The Thai island escape that’s an antidote to ‘White Lotus’ frenzy

By Finn-Olaf Jones

For The New York Times

At dusk, a languorous breeze skimmed across the Gulf of Thailand as a flock of geese waddled along the shoreline. A small group of Thai women in modest swim dresses reminiscent of Victorian-era beachwear strolled by. Behind them, three men stoked a beach fire next to two three-story wooden fishing boats pulled onto the sand and reimagined as rustic hotel rooms.

Soon, iron grills would be laid across the fire, loaded with squid, tilapia and whatever else the sea had offered up that day. A dousing of sauce and seasonings later, the meal, served on plastic plates, was handed to guests who had managed to walk this far down the deserted beach and plunk down 180 baht (about $5.60, including a frosty bottle of local Singha beer). I sank into an orange chair in the sand and feasted on the sound of gentle waves, the chirping of cicadas from the jungle lining the beach, and the murmuring in Thai around me — a soundtrack so soothing it felt as though it should come with a prescription.

Was this place really just a 20-minute boat ride from the city of Pattaya’s red-light districts and soiled shores? While crowds flock to the “The White Lotus” setting of Koh Samui, with its five-star resorts and thong-thronged beaches, Koh Lan, 80 minutes from Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok, offers an alternative.

The hotels here are simple. The seafood is plentiful and delicious, and the experience is authentic and affordable. While my Thai and expatriate friends all have their favorite islands along this northern stretch of coast — notably Koh Si Chang and Koh Samet — Koh Lan has a unique advantage: No reservations required. Just hop on one of the many boats from Pattaya and find a bed on the stretch of beach that appeals to you the most.

Sunset swims, beach huts and a gin-clear sea

I discovered Koh Lan three years ago, when a spontaneous trip with a group of Thai friends took us to the island after a night out in Bangkok. A 1,277-baht taxi ride later, we were at Bali Hai Pier at the bottom of Pattaya’s red-light Walking Street, boarding a clunky wooden speedboat powered by two 400-horsepower outboards. The boats depart every 20 minutes, and for 230 baht, we were whisked across the water to a destination far more laid-back than its famous counterparts. Freshly grilled crab and squid salad greeted us at the open-air food stalls on arrival — it felt like the region’s best-kept secret.

With a couple of free days during a trip to Bangkok last March, I returned. Though cheap cabs are plentiful, I rented a scooter for 600 baht a day and drove 10 minutes to Tien Beach, the one with the geese, and perfectly sheltered from the winds by cliffs and jungle.

Some parts of Koh Lan are not exactly a secret. About 12,000 day-trippers find their way here from Pattaya, with Russian and European tour groups jamming onto Tawaen Beach to create an interesting contrast of bikinis and Speedos with modest Thai swim dresses and shorts. It’s a crowded beach scene, with banana boats, jet skis, snorkeling trips and bustling eateries limited to a tiny stretch on the western shore of the island. My favorite time there is around 4 p.m., when the day-trippers are replaced by Thai families gathering for sunset swims and dinners near abandoned deck chairs.

A short 2-mile ride north brought me to Ta Yai Beach, which is far more serene, with calm waters perfect for swimming and plenty of quiet spots to enjoy a meal at one of the small open-air seafood shacks along the shore. Meals are rarely more than 120 baht, including a beer or fresh-squeezed fruit juice.

Nual Beach, on the southern tip of the island, felt like another forgotten corner of paradise, with only a few beach huts and hardly anyone with whom to share the gin-clear sea. A playful colony of long-tailed macaques hangs around the hills and rocks above the beach, eager to be fed. They’re impressive acrobats, swinging on the branches by their tails, and they were quick to seize a couple of plantains I proffered them.

“Careful, they sometimes bite if you keep your hands out,” a man selling coconuts on the beach warned me. For the daring, it’s possible at low tide to wade north around the point to Priss Beach, an isolated airstrip-size stretch of sand along the steep coral cliffs. I have yet to come across another swimmer there.

That March afternoon, walking along a narrow bike path through the jungle, I encountered an octogenarian Thai contractor named Mr. Niran, who introduced me to his extended family picnicking in a clearing overlooking the sea. Within moments, they had pressed fish cakes and Chang beer into my hands.

“How did you find this place?” he asked with a smile, as if I had stumbled upon a secret family heirloom. Shared meals, friendly conversations, spontaneous encounters — this island invites connection.

That night, packs of wild dogs gathered along the roads, necessitating a bit of zigzagging on my scooter. As I snaked through the jungly hills, Pattaya’s distant 60-story skyscrapers shimmered above the foliage like some surreal Oz across the sea, and I felt a smug joy observing this hectic city from an isolated flower-scented hilltop.

Golden pagodas and wild dogs

Nightlife here is low-key. Think open-air beer gardens along the main coastal road playing percussion-heavy Siam-style electronic music. On a parking lot near Na Baan Pier, I also came across a troupe of Thai transgender performers in flowing white robes staging a royal romantic musical to delighted families. In the course of the evening, I was grateful not to hear a single note of reggae, that global beach-resort cliche.

The most chill scene for me was Klom Klom Kohlarn, a bar perched on a hilly corner above Tawaen Beach. A riot of beach flotsam decor surrounded a pool table where 20-something Thai scooter riders sang along to soft Thai pop ballads played by a live band. They make a solid margarita (200 baht) and serve excellent snacks like shrimp toast and spring rolls (120 baht).

Where to rest? There are endless options, and I’ve never reserved in advance. The boat-hotels and shacks on Tien Beach are around 1,000 baht a night, but I prefer the modern comforts of Tawaen Beach. The Greek-inspired Ennkai (doubles, including scooter, from 3,800 baht), tucked into a southern cove, offers plush whitewashed rooms facing the sea and a small pool.

But I chose the modest midcentury-modern Tawaen Beach Resort, run by a young couple with great taste (1,900 baht for a beachfront double, if booking directly). The next morning I waded into the warm sea right after sunrise before grabbing a latte, orange juice and cut mango (210 baht) in the hotel’s open lobby by the beach.

About 300 feet above the shore sits a Buddhist nunnery centered around a golden 30-foot statue of Luang Pu Thuat, a revered 17th-century monk. At night, it glows like a lighthouse above the coral island.

I drove up the winding road, parked and climbed an increasingly steep set of stone stairs to the golden pagoda glinting in the sun. The place was nearly deserted, save for a lone nun sweeping the courtyard with a palm-leaf broom. On my descent, a pack of wild dogs blocked the path. One barked and snarled as it circled me. I picked up a rock and, after a tense moment, it backed off.

A small wave of guilt passed over me for this display of violence on holy ground. But then the sweeping nun appeared, smiling. “Next time, you borrow,” she said, showing me a bamboo pole about the size of a baseball bat tucked into her belt.

It was just another reminder that Koh Lan keeps it real.