Off the Grid Travelog

December 15, 2002

Koh Tao: Paradise Found

We drifted to Koh Tao over glassy seas and a cloudless sky, led by whispers from friends about the island's magic, and we were not disappointed. After settling in to a clean and welcoming guesthouse, we plunged into the world of scuba diving. Billy-who we soon learned was the self-appointed host for Buddha View diving school by virtue of his outgoing nature and enthusiasm for all things underwater-oriented us to the open water scuba certification process in his thick English accent. "No worries, mate!" he'd reply to any question, brushing us ever onward toward the deep blue with a nod of his pierced brow. By our second day on the island, we were gurgling around in the pool, practicing the only rule in diving: BREATHE. It's funny how difficult that can be, as I discovered several days later when asked to ditch my mask at about ten meters. The eyes closed, the brain short circuited, and I flailed about trying to remember that simple skill!

In the weightless water world, however, fears are easily forgotten. My first time down, the sounds entranced me: popping, grumbling, gurgling, clicking, and crunching. Yes, crunching! Parrotfish (named for their rainbow hides and beaked mouths) chomp on the coral and you can actually hear them cracking pieces off and chewing away. I felt like a dolphin, twisting gracefully in the water, gazing up from fifteen meters below, watching my bubbles float to the surface like mirrored lenses and the thick rays of sunlight shining in beams through the cerulean water.

While we were not in Koh Tao for the high season (characterized by crystal clear waters and hordes of divers), we still had relatively good visibility and plenty of sea creatures swimming about. Banner Fish donning thick black and white stripes and long, thin dorsal tails; white-eyed moray eels that hide in coral crevices, peeping out like toothless old ladies; Christmas tree worms in all shades of the spectrum that blossomed like tissue paper waving in the wind and then darted completely back into the coral when they sensed movement nearby; bright orange butterfly fish with black-and-white masked faces; blue-striped angelfish that were as beautiful as their name implies; and barracuda up to three meters long that hung out near the silvery surface, practically hidden from sight until we were right on them.

Last, but not least, the infamous triggerfish that haunted several dive sites around Koh Tao. At the White Rock dive sight, the triggerfish have screwy internal clocks-they always think it is mating season and aggressively defend their territory year round. On our first real dive, Tomas and I followed Marco, our enthusiastic Italian dive instructor, nose-to-fin. Suddenly, this huge fish started darting in frenzy around Marco. He quickly put his fins between it and him, and in the next few moments all I could see were legs and fins and a crazed fish on the attack. Had I not heard stories about the triggerfish before we went in the water, I probably would have laughed and jockeyed for a front seat to the show. Alas, the Buddha View divers proudly regaled us with tales of triggerfish taking huge chunks out of fins and all manner of flesh before we dipped our toes into the water. I was not eager to be dinner and was already convinced that my beacon-white skin might encourage the sea life to get a bit too cozy for comfort! At the beginning of the encounter, I was literally a few feet behind Marco, at about fifteen meters down. A few seconds later, my heavy breathing and thrashing fins propelled me backwards and buoyed me up to about five meters. Close encounter survived!

Miraculously, I finished the course with flying colors and we both fell completely in love with scuba diving, so much so that we decided to get our advanced open water certification. Somehow, Tomas managed to convince me that I would forever regret not doing the night dive, so, with much trepidation we leapt into pitch-black waters with a small torch looped around our wrists. I had Tomas in an arm lock the entire time. We saw a funky cuttle fish that looks like a squid with whisker-like tentacles, a two-meter barracuda hunting its next meal, and a blue-spotted stingray. Half way through the dive, we gathered in a semi-circle on the sea floor, turned off our flashlights, and ran our hands through the water, setting off blue and white sparks that trailed our movements. Sixty feet under a blanket of inky black water and thousands, perhaps millions, of phosphorescent plankton exploded around us in a swirling carnival of dancing lights.

As amazing as the phosphorescence was, the absolute highlight of our diving experience was encountering a huge sea turtle. In fact, if it weren't for Tomas, we probably would have missed it altogether. While the rest of the group practiced peak performance buoyancy (mostly floating upside down in headstand positions, face to the sea floor), Tomas swam around a coral formation nearby, taking pictures for the elective photography portion of his certification. A sea turtle nonchalantly swam up to him, munching on huge chunks of pink sea anemone. Tomas quickly caught our attention and soon the whole group trailed behind this majestic creature, full of Zen-like calm and grace. It flew though the water with gentle strokes of its front flippers, looking like a mythical bird as it disappeared into the great blue yonder. Sublime!

Our final day in Koh Tao, we hired a long tail boat to circle the island, taking us to all the snorkeling sights. In true Thai fashion (these people SORT STUFF OUT!), the boat was essentially powered by a truck engine perched on a pivot point connected to a bamboo pole with a propeller on the end. Moo, our hilarious captain, used the pole as a rudder, accelerating by tugging on a piece of rope wound to a trigger on the engine. When making a sharp turn, or turning 180 degrees, Moo had to literally jump over the bamboo pole to the other side. An inelegant, but affective rig that Moo maneuvered while grinning, smoking, and pointing out all the sites on the island.

Other than hiring long boats, the only way to get around Koh Tao, particularly during the rainy season, was by motorcycle or 4-wheel drive. Taxis were basically pickup trucks, sometimes with benches thrown in to cushion the ride. Monsoon storms and torrential rains gouged out the countryside, leaving behind gutted, muddy paths that qualify as roads only because they've been momentarily cleared of dense jungle. Returning from one of our dives, our truck was so overloaded (ten people plus all of our gear in the bed of a Toyota) that its belly caught on a mound in the dirt road and we had to get out and walk the rest of the way back to the shop. As they say here in Thailand, "Mai pen rai," which essentially means, "go with the flow!" or "take it ease!"

The natural world has been a partner in our journey, inspiring us with its beauty, tormenting us with its reminders that WE are the intruders (read "mosquitoes" and "spiders"), and determining our plans for the day. We arrived in Southern Thailand right after a monsoon and for a week, we enjoyed sunshine and dry weather. Then, the day after we finished our open water certifications, another monsoon blasted the island, bringing with it tremendous thunderstorms that lit up the sky and shook our room. Instead of venturing into the sea, we spent our days reading, playing cards, writing emails, and generally hanging about like lazy loungers.

Even during the peak of the monsoon, we were blessed with short breaks in the rain, which Tomas optimistically believed were harbingers of clearer skies. "I think it's clearing up!" was his hopeful mantra, uttered even in the face of angry black clouds rolling in from sea. We got so bored one day that even I began to believe that maybe, indeed, it WAS clearing up. Renting a motorbike and hiking up our pants, we sped into town to do some shopping (I was finding it impossible to live with only two shirts). It wasn't long before we were caught in a downpour and had to dash under the eaves of a nearby building to watch the storm roll through the hills, lighting up the skies like a giant flashbulb. Finally, when the downpour softened to a drizzle, we rode back to the resort a bit wiser and hunkered down for the rest of the monsoon.

The animal kingdom here is primal. Instead of pansy, cuddly kitties, scarred and bloody cats straggle over fences, under porches, along dirt roads, looking forlorn and hungry. The dogs are even more woeful looking. They spend every waking moment protecting their territories. In desperate need of love and attention, they cozy up to humans, eager for a gentle hand on the back of their necks, or, even better, a handful of food. Once you befriend a dog (the simple act of acknowledging its presence will do), it subsumes you into its territory. Yes, you become the dog's property. It will defend you from encroaching competitors and even fight it out with other dogs to keep the privilege of lying at your feet.

In fact, fighting seems to be the preferred pastime of the Thai dogs. In Koh Tao, we witnessed endless turf wars, sometimes waged in a restaurant, other times on the beach or at the side of a road. Basically, anywhere was game. And, the lower the dog on the totem pole, the more careful it was about overstepping its bounds. One night, a dog escorted us half way across a pier and then stopped, whining after us, but refusing to step beyond the invisible line marking the end of its territory. The curious thing is that despite how ferocious these bloodied, scarred, hungry beasts were with one another, they were loving and friendly to humans.

We are adjusting not only to the rigors of living more closely with nature, but also to different ways of life. In Koh Tao, we became accustomed to walking in our bare feet. Shoes were not allowed in stores, restaurants, and bungalows. It really is rather strange how, in the States, we feel no compunction about tracking all the dirt from outside into and around our houses. Speaking of sanitation, there is definitely a different acceptable level here. Things that would have sent me over the edge before this trip no longer give me pause. I'll spare you the details. The upside is that I no longer care about germs. I know when I'm defeated.

What better way to end than to talk about food? One night, we had dinner on the other side of the cove where we rarely ventured. After traversing the beach, a concrete pathway, a rickety wooden pier, and several hundred meters of jungle, we arrived to a wooden platform sheltered by a high, wood-beamed ceiling. In the center of the room was a long table with pillows spread around it. Slowly, people arrived out of the darkness and joined us at the table: three other couples (from England, Kenya, and San Francisco), Roland, who had caught the fish for the meal, and the Thai man who prepared it to perfection. The red snapper he stewed in red curry, another snapper baked with garlic, and a grouper steamed and accompanied by a rich, savory sauce. Roland ate the eyes, the cheeks, the tail, and the flesh stuck between the vertebrae, claiming that they are the tastiest parts of a fish. At the end of the meal, only a pile of bones remained.

The full moon guided us (and our fully bellies) on our walk back. High clouds circled the midnight blue sky like pulled cotton and a bright yellow halo ringed the moon. Long boats rocked gently in they bay. The air smelled of salty sea and night blooming jasmine. At last, we had found our little corner of paradise.

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