Little known Thailand
It would be a crime not to check out the little visited islands of Thailand’s Global Geopark, writes Graeme Green. And yet, once, criminals were exiled there.
Acluster of mysterious standing stones loomed ahead. There are more than a few striking differences between this henge out in the Andaman Sea, near the Thai island Koh Lipe, and Stonehenge, England’s famous prehistoric monument.
For a start, these granite pinnacles are
18 metres beneath the ocean surface, coated in white and purple soft corals, and surrounded by thousands of golden damselfish and bigeye snapper. There are no coaches full of underwhelmed tourists by the side of the motorway, either. In fact, there was no one apart from my dive instructor and me.
It’s not just crowd-free under the water; Thailand’s off-the-radar, south-west corner of Satun, on the border with Malaysia, receives few international travellers, a fraction of the hordes that hit Bangkok, Phuket and Koh Samui each year. If you know where to look, you can even get a paradise-like Thai beach all to yourself.
But Satun’s anonymity might be changing. Sprawling four districts of Satun province, it was recently awarded ‘‘Global Geopark’’ status by Unesco, having been marked out as an area with geological heritage that is being protected and used in a sustainable way. There’s evidence of an ancient sea landscape dating back more than
500 million years, with fossils of early organisms, as well as colourful rock formations, mountains, beaches and giant caves.
Locals have embraced their geopark status. We visited Panya Batik on the mainland, a community-run project producing batik textiles featuring trilobites and ammonites, while Muslim women from the region served us khao tom (blue sticky rice), and other treats usually eaten at postRamadan parties. Even our basic hotel on the coast had signs with ‘‘catchy’’ fossil-related room names such as Tentaculite, Stromatolite and Ordovician.
We’d started, though, at Koh Lipe, the tiny island that is Satun’s tourist epicentre, packed with hotels and resorts (not allowed on the other
50 islands within Tarutao National Marine Park), beach bars, and dive shops. Dropped off by speedboat, we set off one morning from Idyllic Concept, our resort on Sunrise Beach, to hop around the Andaman Islands in a smoke-spitting longtail. Anchored off an empty beach at Koh Adang, we snorkelled over an array of gold, purple and green coral gardens, accompanied by clownfish (of Finding Nemo fame) and neon damsels, while giant clams below waited for something to clamp down on.
At Koh Rawi, we shared the water with puffer fish, bright blue starfish, sea cucumbers, and parrotfish that nibbled at spiky staghorn coral and funnel coral.
Later, we strolled along a beach of smooth black stones on Koh Hin Ngam. I got the feeling they don’t want anyone stealing rocks as souvenirs. A sign warned of ‘‘The Curse of the God of Tarutao Island’’, promising anyone who removes stones will face ‘‘Fatal accidents; Family life shattered; Loss of property and fortune; Loss of life.’’
I headed out from Sunrise Beach again next day, with Max Ravi Gitsanalow from Satun Dive. Our first scuba dive offshore from Koh Adang rushed by in a blur, carried along on a fast-moving current. I spotted behemoth titan triggerfish and tiny nudibranchs, while keeping a beady eye ahead to avoid smashing into rock or coral.
Between dives, we dined on shrimp curry on one of Adang’s empty beaches, down from the bamboo home of Orang Laut sea gypsies who live and fish around these islands.
‘‘At somewhere like Koh Phi Phi, you might get
10 big boats at one dive site, maybe 100 divers swimming under the water,’’ Max said, comparing diving here with some of Thailand’s better known hotspots. ‘‘Not here. It’s much more relaxed.’’
With stormy waves rocking the boat, we rolled backwards into the ocean and descended. Soon, we were surrounded by thousands of snapper and damsels, the sheer numbers a mesmerising sight. We swam through them to the henge. Some of the granite menhirs were standing in clusters, others lay flat or at angles.
We explored sprawling table corals, golden fan corals and big vase corals, which looked like the ominously hatched eggs from the Alien films. There was a notable absence of druids, pagans, hippies or ravers, but we were never short of company: bug-eyed bronze soldierfish, half-moon triggerfish, sharpnose pufferfish. Max shone his torch on a moray eel between two standing stones, snapping its jaws at passing fish. Making our way through a bank of white-belly damsels, I couldn’t recall another site I’d dived in Thailand with such remarkable corals and volume of fish, without any other divers to be seen.
Next day, we took a speedboat across to Tarutao, the heart of Tarutao National Marine Park. Quieter and emptier than Koh Lipe (though with many beaches in need of a serious rubbish clean-up), there are just two taxi ‘‘trucks’’ on the island, most people getting around by bike, moped or on foot. A wild boar wandered through the trees, while a cluster of oriental pied hornbills picked berries in the branches above.
Oddly, this little getaway, 5km from Langkawi, used to be a penal colony, established in 1939 by the Thai government to detain criminals and political enemies. At its peak, in 1941, 3000 prisoners were held here. Life was not a beach. ‘‘They had to work hard every day,’’ guide Mukta Langkart explained, as we walked on the east side of the island. ‘‘It’s a paradise for people now. But for the prisoners it would have been more like a hell in paradise.’’
Life became so desperate on Tarutao during World War II, when the island was all but forgotten and food and medicine became scarce, that the prisoners and wardens combined forces as the ‘‘Pirates of Tarutao’’, raiding ships passing from Penang, Langkawi, Phuket and Myanmar
Thailand’s off-the-radar, south-west corner of Satun, on the border with Malaysia, receives few international travellers. If you know where to look, you can even get a paradise-like Thai beach all to yourself.
(formerly Burma), stealing cargo and killing crews. Eventually, the British government and Thai forces restored order, and the prison closed in 1948.
We stayed in no-frills beachfront bungalows in Mo Lae Bay, with electricity for just a few hours each evening, no air-conditioning (only a fan), no hot water, and certainly no wi-fi. There were more vervet monkeys feeding and grooming here than other tourists, with waves crashing on Ao Molae beach, ours alone to enjoy.
A longtail boat pulled up next morning and the captain took us to Tarutao’s untouched snorkelling sites. Later, we picked up kayaks at Tarutao’s pier, off Pante Malacca beach, and paddled down the wide river through mangrove forests, the silvery trunks and spidery roots reflecting in glassy water. Flying fish broke the surface, while crested serpent eagles soared above towering black cliffs.
Back on the mainland, staying near Pakbara Pier, we took a walk through the ‘‘Time Traveller’s Zone’’ in Petra National Park. At the centre of the coastal walkway, there’s a meeting point in the cliff of red sandstone from the Cambrian Period (541-485 million years ago) and the limestone of the Ordovician Period (485-444 million years ago), clashing together, a jagged abstract artwork in gold, pink, orange, white and black.
‘‘An earthquake brought the two periods of rock together,’’ Mukta said. To walk past the fault plane, goes the spiel, is to cross 100 million years of geological time in just a few steps. It’s a popular spot for couples now, celebrating ‘‘love that straddles time’’.
We explored nearby Khao Yai by longtail, Mukta leading us to a summit where nautiloid fossils are set in the stone, scientific evidence of life from 470 million years ago. Or, as a Creationist might put it, a trick planted by the Great Deceiver (Satan).
‘‘The fossils and geology are the No 1 reason Unesco protected this geopark,’’ Mukta said.
We climbed into kayaks and paddled past caves where the Pirates of Tarutao stayed during raiding missions, then through a tunnel into Prasat Hin Panyod (meaning ‘‘1000 stone castles’’), a roofless sea cave crowned with jagged formations. A monitor lizard stalked the rocks at the exit, picking off insects with its blue, forked tongue.
On our final day, we drove inland from Pakbara to Phu Pha Phet Cave (or Diamond Mountain Cave, named for the glittering particles inside), the largest cave in Thailand and the fourth largest in the world.
A narrow tunnel led into the first of
20 limestone caves, stretched across 20,000 square metres, where prehistoric humans are said to have once lived. Inside, spiderwebs hung on metal lamps that creaked and swung with the movement of the wooden walkways. But it was a wonder to walk through, with subterranean ‘‘room’’ after ‘‘room’’ filled with stalagmites, stalactites and columns where the two have fused over thousands of years.
We were alone inside – no ‘‘Same Same’’ T-shirts, no selfie sticks. If such a natural wonder was anywhere near Bangkok, Phuket, Koh Samui, or any other hot spot where the bulk of Thailand’s
35 million annual visitors cluster, it would have been crammed. Except for water and our footsteps, it was silent.
We reached the lowest cave, sunlight seeping in from a hole above on to a bright green rock, the socalled Jade Stone, which looks like a Star Trek prop for an alien planet.
From there, we retraced our steps, past weird mounds, like jellyfish or ghosts, and other formations that looked like giant candle drippings, towering columns, ‘‘curtains’’ of calcite crystals, walls that appeared to have been smattered with icing sugar, human faces, a serpent’s head . . .
Just one reminder after another, in Satun, of the wonders nature can produce if you give her a little time.