If there was ever a case study on how to destroy paradise, Phi Phi must be it. In fact, it’s been destroyed twice by tourism as it was built back up after the tsunami hit in 2003. Divine Intervention? Bad joke! No hate mail pls 
I submit the following evidence in the case of Nature vs. Man.
Man allowed:
- The Beach to be shown on loop at every other bar.
- Premiership football to be shown between screenings of The Beach.
- Men with finely trimmed pencil beards and tatoo-ed necks off the ferry. Many of them were called Kev and were rumoured to have hailed from Essex.
- Burger joints to out number Thai restaurants. One had a burger challange where the burger was free if you managed to finish it.
- Peroxide to be the dominant hair colour.
I could continue (did I mention the smell?), but I wouldn’t want to be accused of ranting.
I arrived on Phi Phi early afternoon having travelled from Chiang Mai on a variety of land, air and sea-based modes of transport. After inhaling a Phad Thai at the local food market (devoid of Johnny Foreigner, he must have by now made it to the gristle at the burger place) I looked at some accomodation on the net, plumbing for a bungalow hut a few bays around from the main town.
I decided to walk the 1/2 hour or so around the coast. The concrete path soon gave way to a dirt one as it wound it’s way through the trees. At one point I found my self clambering over the rocks that formed the shore. I had my full pack on and so arrived absolutely soaked in sweat at Viking Place Resort.
Viking was OK, but the noise from the town managed to reach around the coast and remain fairly loud. That night I relaxed in my hammock while simultaneously watching Recount and being eaten alive by mosquittos. As I tried to sleep through the racket blasting out from what I later found out to be Hippies Bar I vowed to plan my escape from Phi Phi the very next day.
After asking around I looked into camping trips to either Maya beach (The Beach) or Bamboo Island. Neither worked out as the former was a bit too 18-30′s looking and the later wasn’t running as there was only me interested. Wait-a-minute I thought, only me interested? I was onto something here!
30 minutes later I had negotiated a rate with a Muslim longtail driver called Che and was enroute back to my bungalow to pick up some things; I’d decided to DIY it and go camping on Bamboo myself.
After I’d packed my day bag I headed back to the boat, which was anchored in the next bay. Things weren’t looking too good though as it had begun to rain as I waded out to the longtail. Che was wearing a frown by the time I’d dragged myself on board. I could see why as he pointed out to a choppy sea under a heavy grey sky. We sat there for about 10 minutes debating in broken English whether we should go or not. I was for the motion, he was against; I couldn’t face my escape being scuppered! We settled on waiting an hour to see if the weather passed.
I trapsed back to the resort, this time in heavy rain, which left me soaked to the bone as I reached the resort restuarant for lunch.
An hour later I returned to the boat, the rain had passed but the sky still looked a little murkey. Well, I say I returned to the boat, but I returned to where I left it. After wading out to an almost boarding a different long tail it became apparent my guy had had a change of heart. Bugger. The afternoon was slipping away by now and I was still determined to escape and so I set out on the hike back to town to hunt down my boat guy.
I found him sat with a few mates drinking coffee and not looking as guilty or apologetic as I would’ve liked. One cup of coffee later we were back on track, this time with one of Che’s mates who was the spitting image of Che Gueva. I doubt Che was really called Che, but no mind. We bobbed out of the main bay in light rain, but this had passed by the time we ran ashore on Bamboo Island an hour later.
With the help of Che and Che we found the Park Ranger (a rather grand title for a guy lying around a wooden fishermans hut) and secured a tent. This was a relief as I wasn’t certain you could hire them on the island.
Bamboo Island is a National Park. It’s fairly small with a circumfrance of only about 4km, most of it pristine beaches of white sand slowly dissapearing into the calm, coral-filled emerald waters. A true desert island.
All I’d brought in the way of food was a half-eaten packet of chocolate biscuits that I’d got on the VIP bus from Chiang Rai to Chiang Mai.
They were a touch on the soft side by now and so I was pleased to learn that the small hut-shop also did noodles. However, it turned out that I was also to be saved from a poor man’s Pot Noodle as I befriended a family who invited me to eat with them!
They had their very own guide-come-chef who knocked up a feast! There were actually two familes as the guide had his young family in tow. Big thanks to Clare Simon Faye & Phill (the family) and Elisabeth, her husband who’s name escapes me & little Noah (the guide family). After dinner we all chatted for a few hours about a bunch of stuff. I remember Elizabeth (an ex-lawyer turned free-spirited guide) being particularly disparaging to the legal profession in trying to influence Faye (a student with legal aspirations).
Just as I thought my luck couldn’t get much better, a couple of mini bottles of Wolf Blass Cabernet Sauvigon appeared!!
I was up at 05:30 to watch an amazing Sunrise.
It was quite a moment sat there on the beach all alone. At about 7-ish I then took off around the island while the tide was low. It took me longer than I thought to circumnavigate as the other side of the Island had some tricky rocks to contend with, especially in flip-flops. There were some amazing sights on the way around of some other smaller islands.
As I got back to camp I was welcomed once again into the family camp and ate a breakfast of fruit and fresh, hot coffee.
Reluctantly, it was time to call Che for my ride back to Phi Phi. I would definetely be comming back though as I wanted to show Lau, Kaz and Em when they arrived on Phi Phi in a couple of days.
