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Paradise is Ko Lanta

Unfortunately, these eight weeks have slipped away far too fast and the final blog entry is now upon me. Yet there was no better way to finish the adventure than heading to the Andaman Sea, and the tiny island of Ko Lanta — paradise by all the accounts we'd read.

From Bangkok we rode a shaky flight to Phuket, the plane momentary rocked during the initial moments of takeoff. Karen and I had boarded the plane late and were sitting a few rows apart from eachother. After the turbulence, she glanced back at me with an alarmed face. The petite Korean woman in the adjacent seat tugged at my sleeve and asked if I'd flown with Air Asia before.

"Four times," I answered.

"Is the plane supposed to shake like that?" she said.

I considered the question. "No, not really."

We arrived in Phuket without further incident and met up with Manit, the owner of the guesthouse we'd be overnighting at before catching the ferry to Ko Lanta the next morning. Manit drove extremely fast, pounding mid-90's dance music from his mp3 player, weaving in and out of the traffic, pausing only to proudly point out the latest gigantic shopping mall invading the city. To him, it was a sign of money and progress…to us, it was the depressing encroachment of globalization. By the time we pulled into the quiet suburban location of the guesthouse, his stereo was just starting "The Macarena."

Fantastic host that he is, Manit upgraded us to the "Boogey Board" room at no charge, and chatted with us about his own travel experiences. He'd been to San Francisco, New Zealand, London, Australia, and had the enormous blown up photos of himself on the walls to prove it. We asked him about last year's tsunami. He somberly recounted the facts and the deaths, but ended on a cheerful note. "You can't live your life waiting for bad things to happen. They will, it's unavoidable. All you can do is go out and be happy."

In the morning he drove us to the ferry terminal and bid us a genuine goodbye. Karen and I turned to face the tourist horde once again. All the usual suspects were there – the old and the young clambering for sun space on the ferry deck, attempting to kick off their holiday tans. I couldn't help but feel that they were cheating a bit, as if Karen and I had somehow earned our visit to paradise by trekking through the rural countrysides of the region, braving overcrowded trains, stifling heat, and days on a plank of wood floating down the Mekong River. I was wearing a Cambodia T-shirt for crying out loud…didn't that stand for anything?

I quickly realized I was passing judgment, and could feel the frown of the Buddha on my shoulders. We were tourists just like the rest of them, the coloured stickers on our shirts directing us to our boat, where we would escape to the islands for rest, wonder, and relaxation. Everyone has their own motivations, desires, and perceptions…to pretend to know is the worst quality of character. We settled in for the trip, smiles of anticipation on our lips, just like all the rest.

Hours later we pulled into Ko Lanta's port and hopped onto a makeshift dock (the new one is currently a skeleton of cement pillars) and dodged guesthouse touts to find our own arranged driver. He piled us into a brand new leather seated SUV and drove us to Narima Resort and our roomy bungalow, our home for the next four nights. On the steps of the resort we were met by the tiny Japanese owner, who told us all the information we needed and then some. As Karen and I dumped our bags on our bed, flicked on the ceiling fan, and swept wide the doors of our patio, we both heaved a sigh of relief. After almost 2 months on the road, it was time to relax.

The days were a bit of a blur, a slow experience of beach reading, swimming in the warm pull of the ocean (Karen taught me the front crawl!), and renting a motorbike to explore the island. On the second day we found ourselves lost in an old growth jungle, wandering up a path that could have been 10 years old. We were searching for a waterfall that didn't appear to exist. After turning back amid a swarm of mosquitos, we found the actual trail was the shallow creek itself, as confirmed by a robust speedo-clad German we passed along the way. The waterfall was more of a trickle, but the lagoon-like pool beneath it was worth effort.

On the ride back the motorbike slid on a portion of sand-covered pavement and Karen, attempting to launch herself free in the event of the bike falling over, instead landed on her tailbone and came to rest face down in the dirt. While things could have been much worse, it's the tableau of Karen moaning in the dust, me yelling, "Karen, you have to get out of the road!" and trying to lift her body from the ground, that makes a good story. Luckily, she was able to hobble to the cleansing waters of the ocean at a nearby beach, and the pain receded after a few Advils and an evening bottle of Chang beer.

The third day was filled with snorkeling the blue waters among a chain of local islands, providing the most spectacular underwater scenery we'd encountered this trip. I'd name the types of creatures we saw, but I can't remember any of the names. Instead I'll just say there were fish, colourful fish, and lots of them. Also a pink jellyfish. That was neat.

Our last day arrived with the bittersweet recognition that it was almost time to begin the long journey home. We spent the day once again on the beach, in the swimming pool, on a motorbike buzzing along the winding roads and the steep vistas. (Careful to avoid the sandy patches, of course). With the sun easing into it's fiery descent from the sky, Karen and I packed two glasses and a bottle of wine, and nimbly picked a spot on the charcoal-coloured rocks adjacent to our resort. (Karen somehow managed to cut a gash in her heel, but a band-aid patched her up quick.)

 We reflected upon our journey; the cities, people, settings, and lessons we'd learned, just as any journey should inspire. We thanked all the friends we'd met and shared with along the way, grateful for their stories and conversation. And when our first glasses of wine were drained, I put them aside and watched the sun for a moment, then remarked to Karen, "I think we should get married."

She said yes.

February 26, 2006 

This article originally appeared onTravelblogger.net where additional photos are available. Republished by permission.

Subscribe to TravelBlogs Posted by Ian MacKenzie on February 26th, 2006 in Articles.