the similan islands

Snorkeling in the Similan Islands, in Five Chapters

I. Comfort Pocket
II. The Fish Whisperer
III. Taming of the Iguana
IV. Bodily Harm
V. The Beach

I. Comfort Pocket
The first leg of our three-day/two-night snorkel trip to the Similan Islands, off the western coast of southern Thailand, was to actually make it to the islands themselves, so that said snorkeling could take place. It seemed like a straightforward enough proposition, particularly because I had never been on a speedboat, and thus had little understanding of what 80 minutes on a speedboat is like. And particularly because Brendan and I were two of the fools who jostled for the front of the boat to start our beach holiday off right, soaking up the sun. As soon as we got up to speed, we realized that there would be nothing holiday-esque about the journey to the islands. We bounced all the way to our first snorkeling stop. And bounced doesn't quite capture it. On the way back, we smartly picked our seats towards the back of the boat (where the bouncing, from what we could tell on the ride out, was considerably less), and even in this location there was a middle-aged woman who had to stand for the majority of the ride back, presumably because she had back problems. This translates to a ride in the front of the boat -- where we naively found ourselves as we set off on our adventure -- that could potentially crack vertebrae, if not entirely reduce them to dust over the course of an hour long ride. The only saving grace was that I scored myself a corner seat, so I did not have to contend with my butt also sliding along the seat into any neighbor, made more awkward by the fact that in any given seat at least one of your neighbors was going to be a stranger. And thus my spot came to be known as the comfort pocket. It is noted that this little pocket of mine was not so comfortable to lure me back to that spot for another ride on the return trip. Or ever again, for that matter.

II. The Fish Whisperer
Once we got started snorkeling, our memories of jostled vital organs quickly faded into nothing. The underwater sea life was incredible, and I am pleased to report that we saw very little that was of potential danger. My main concern was this whitish-silver fish that seemed to enjoy human company, and so would swim around (and follow) us every chance they got. I was convinced they would sooner or later take a nibble, but no such thing ever came to pass. We did see one sea snake - at a distance that even for me was (mostly) comfortable - and two fishies that may have been barracuda. I was sure to duck behind Brendan on each of these occasions, and thus keep my panic to a minimum. We did get a little nibbled by supposed plankton in the water... though their bite seemed kind of harsh if they were in fact the plankton whose microscopic proportions I learned about in ninth grade biology. Regardless, the little stingy sensations brought back painful memories of my run-in with a Portuguese man-o'-war many years ago, so I started to think of each venture into the water as another installment of long overdue ocean-based therapy. I could barely get Brendan out of the water, even with the yummy Twinkie-style banana cakes that awaited him on board (they were enough to keep me, on the other hand, mostly out of the water by the last day). A snorkeling trip was apparently the right choice, as he couldn't get enough of all of the beautiful tropical fish that were in abundance around every corner. He will henceforth be known as the fish whisperer.

III. Taming of the Iguana
For our two nights on the islands, we were signed up to stay in a tent. The islands are designated as a national park, so there are no accommodations other than those run by the park, which include tents and bungalows on two of the nine islands. As we settled into our spot for the first night, we were pleasantly surprised by how spacious it was, and they even gave us a sleeping mat to provide some cushion under our loaner sleeping bags and pillows. We settled into bed at an unsurprising time (7pm -- adjusted from our usual night-owl rhythm of 9pm, given the fact that when camping there really is little to be done after dark) and I quickly fell asleep. Brendan was up throughout the night trying to improve air circulation in the tent and dealing with his own inability to fall into a deep slumber.

I woke up at 5am to hit the bathroom, and was quickly freaked by the amount of wildlife I passed on my way to and fro. I saw a couple of little furries that I presumed were mice, and something distinctly more rat-like in the bathroom. I also had the pleasantly constant thought of the pythons that Brendan had informed me inhabit the island. I made my way back to the tent as quickly as possible, but at this point was completely wide-awake given my wild imaginations of possible scenarios involving me and all of the rodents I left in my wake. I read for a bit to try to get tired again, and as I was starting to doze off, I noticed that one of my feet seemed to be propped up higher than the other. I thought for a moment that maybe some clothes were stuck under my sleeping bag. I checked, but no luck. Though there was indeed a large-ish lump underneath my sleeping pad. And the more I contemplate it - without daring to look under the mat itself - the more I notice that there is a subtle rising-and-lowering quality about it. And so I wake Brendan/F.W. up to get his thoughts on a potential living creature inside our tent that has made its temporary home under my sleeping mat. He takes it in and concurs that it looks like there is something there. Then he comes up with the brilliant - BRILLIANT! - idea that perhaps the creature is under the whole tent in that spot, and not co-habitating with us on the inside at all. I immediately love this much more palatable idea.

We decide that we will both exit the tent to determine - to start - where the creature is, exactly. We find ourselves crouching in the pitch black outside the tent, aiming our headlamps in the direction of the offending lump. Somehow I get the duty of pushing the pad out of the way. I work myself up to it, and - holding my breath? - push the pad aside. Sure enough, the lump is under the whole tent. We study its shape for a minute or two, and decide that it must be a close relative of the large iguana-looking lizard we saw traipsing around earlier in the day. We get back in the tent and Brendan (F.W.) throws our bag at it (so much for leaving only our footprint on national park territory) to try and encourage it to move from its spot where it could perfectly cuddle my legs for the remainder of the night. We think it moved slightly, but eventually I moved over (the tent's ample size really did pay off) and considered the iguana the victor. We immediately decided that we would look into paying the extra $10 to get a bungalow for the next night. We managed to sleep for another couple of hours, and in the morning I looked under the tent to see what had become of our third party. He wasn't there anymore, but looked to have left an indented path on the floor of the tent as he made his way to his daylight resting spot... far, far away, or so we hoped.

IV. Bodily Harm
On day two of snorkeling - immediately following the iguana encounter - things did not get off to a good start. I took my malaria pill on an empty stomach for the first time, figuring - stupidly - that my body was probably used to them after taking them for three weeks. As soon as we were getting on the boat for breakfast, I started feeling horribly nauseous and couldn't find it in myself to eat anything (which would have made me feel better, as I soon learned). We talked to our guide, and decided to stay on the island for the day. I soon put it together that it was the pill that was causing my malaise, and ate a bunch of fruit and soon was feeling good as new. Brendan (F.W.!), in the meantime, had secured our (presumably) iguana/wildlife-free bungalow for the second night. When I was feeling better, we gathered up our stuff to move house. We sprayed down our sandy feet before crossing the deck to the door of our bungalow. Wet feet, freakishly slick wood, and I was down on my knees before I knew it. I now have a couple of nice shiners and some scrapes on my knees, just like any seven-year-old you would find on the playground at recess. And as if that weren't enough, I also managed to spear the top of my right foot with a sharp object (stick?) when we were walking to our bungalow later that night. Despite my fears of ocean life, our trip to the Similans was a good lesson in how I would be better off fearing myself... on land.

V. The Beach
Last, but not least, is the insane beauty of the beaches on the Similans. Given its national park status, they are immaculately maintained, and there are strict regulations on how many boats and come in and out (though there were still a surprising number, especially being aware of the regulations). We got a good chunk of beach time throughout the three days, and it was unbelievable. Superlative in seemingly every way -- the whitest, softest sand (we learned that the sand is ground down coral, giving it - in Brendan's words - its likeness to powdered sugar); the bluest, clearest water. And given its relative inaccessibility (see the injury-inducing speedboat narrative, above) it was amazingly private, especially in the morning and evening before and after the many who made the trek for just a day trip had not yet arrived, or had already gone. It was absolutely breathtaking.