KOH CHANG, Thailand (10 Aug 2005) -- As our boat spluttered its way from Trat on Thailand's southeastern coast to Ko Chang (Elephant Island), it was tempting to jump in and swim to our long-awaited island refuge; it was probably just as well we didn't. My wife, Lucy, and I had been looking forward to our open-ended stay on Ko Chang since our arrival in Southeast Asia. Laos' extreme heat, bum-numbing bus trips and clothes-reddening dirt had been great, but it was time for some clean, refreshing sea air. We made it to the Laos-Thai border on the back of a truck, hitched a ride with a boy-band loving Thai ute owner to the nearest major city, sat in a park panting in the sweltering heat with all the stray dogs before the overnight train left for Bangkok, wandered the streets there for two hours and then caught a bus to Trat. The bus trip was meant to take six hours, but it stretched to eight. By the time we arrived in Trat, we barely had the energy to haggle with the taxi driver, who took us to the boat jetty 15 minutes away. Ko Chang towered in the distance - much steeper than the mainland, tropical rainforest clinging to the mountainous terrain. It is Thailand's second-largest island, and from a distance looked as pristine as we had hoped. The ferry dropped us at the island's foot and it was another short taxi (ute with a canopy, known locally as a sawngthaew) trip to the resorts on its west coast. A large, camp German man sharing the ride exclaimed that he was looking forward to getting his swimmers on and laying on the "vite sand". I whole-heartedly agreed. But soon after, the sinking feeling hit. While our taxi was careering around the tight, steep descent into the western township, I caught a glimpse of a store's sign: there in the middle of paradise was a 7 Eleven - just what every secluded island getaway needs. The taxi came to an abrupt and brief halt near the White Sand Beach Resort, where our German friend - trotted off in the belief his wish had come true. Just beyond the 7 Eleven, the quiet beach town we had imagined was heaving with people, hastily built new hotels, bars showing the latest British soccer games and souvenir sellers. Our Lonely Planet (I don't believe there is such a thing any more) recommended a few places, so we worked our way down the road, taking in the sight of tanned young Brits eyeing each other up, across their new hotel balconies. The coastline still has basic beachfront huts, which come with their own or shared facilities, but there is a large push to make all the accommodation more upmarket. Nearly everywhere was full, so we opted for a new unit near the beach. At $65, it cost more than we had spent on accommodation in Laos in two weeks, but we were desperate for a hot shower and a good night's sleep. After dinner, a surprise guest welcomed us back to our hut...the world's largest cockroach had decided to share our bed. I spent my shower stamping on the small cockroaches that were spewing from the drain. Feeling reinvigorated, we picked up our doubts and followed the thumping sounds to the numerous beach bars. I found myself sitting next to a London-based Kiwi who was on his first visit back to New Zealand - via Thailand - in almost five years. He suggested we move away from where we'd washed up on Ko Chang. He and his girlfriend were further down the west coast, toward the island's southern tip. There, apparently, it wasn't like Hamilton on a Friday night after a rugby game. | | We decided to research his suggestion and took a nice - but not quiet - walk south, along the beach in the setting sun. Hunger eventually got the better of us and we popped into a seaside restaurant. We shared a table with a couple of Ko Chang regulars - a Swedish chef and waitress duo who had been holidaying on the island every year for the past five. They talked about how much the island had changed: when they first visited it was a sedate place with virtually no tourism, but the word had got out and visitor numbers had increased dramatically every year (Lonely Planet says annual visitor numbers have gone from 75,000 to more than 400,000 in less than five years), the road had been paved and new hotels built. The next morning, we shifted to our German friend's resort, which had its own beach naturally closed to the hordes by two rocky outcrops. We chose a hut on the water's edge and as far away from the resort's open-air restaurant as possible. It was tiny and thatched but had a basic shower and toilet, and a small balcony in front. I side-stepped the two topless European women flouting the local rules on nudity near the water's edge and plunged into the water. It was incredibly warm and calm. From my floating position I could see a brown slick washing up on the beach a bit further down. It didn't appear to be worrying the Speedo-clad Europeans, so I ignored it. However, after lunch it started turning our white sand a very grotty colour. Again, it didn't seem to worry the other guests, so we waded through it to clearer water, where there was just a bit of rubbish floating around. I reassured Lucy that though it was quite syrupy, it was probably just a bit of sea scum. During our fresh seafood dinner overlooking the beach we joked about the brown muck and decided to get to the bottom of it the next day. After dinner, a surprise guest welcomed us back to our hut. No, not the German, but the world's largest cockroach had decided to share our bed. I hate cockroaches, particularly those big enough to chew off a leg. I smashed it off the bed with the sand broom. It hit the wall with such a thud the hut shook. The cockroach didn't seem to notice and started zooming around at high speed. I tried to match its pace. Lucy stood safely behind as I issued a series of battle cries and flailed the broom like a mad man. After 10 minutes, and a lot of sweating, it was beaten - literally. I turned to Lucy and said I wanted out the next day. She suggested waiting to see if things improved; they didn't. On our way to breakfast, we could see the brown slick was already back for a repeat performance. We bumped into the Swedish chef and he confirmed it was sewage. I felt like finding a wire brush and scrubbing my skin. The locals had tried to tell him it was just "whale crap" –- a fishy story if ever I heard one. He said it only washed up on certain tides. We were on the first boat we could catch off the island, our beach dream flushed away. SOURCE - Stuff |
