How can you say no to the Maldives?

“We should go to the Maldives!” Heather said, completely out of the blue, while we were in Thailand.

“I’d love to, but I thought it’s really expensive. That’s why we didn’t go last year, remember?” was my reply.

“Yeah, that’s right. But I really wanted to see those islands. Who knows, they might disappear soon – climate change and all.” With that I would’ve thought Heather would move on from the idea. But no. “Last year we were thinking of going during Christmas. That’s high season. If we go a bit earlier, prices are actually pretty reasonable. I think we can do it!” And that’s how we decided to visit this stunning archipelago in the Indian Ocean.

The Maldives are unique. Sure, there’s the crystal-clear waters, blinding white sand beaches, vibrant reefs and whale sharks and manta rays. But it’s a Muslim country. Serious in a very devout kind of way. That means no liquor and no pork – you can’t even bring your own booze into the country! Swimsuits are only allowed on the “bikini beaches” that are managed by resorts. On public beaches full dress is expected – ever hear of a burkhini? It’s a real thing. So, we went into our nine-day visit thinking of it as kind of a spa/detox vacation. The Maldives takes some planning, as the twenty-six atolls that make up the country comprise a thousand islands, and the capital, Male, which hosts the international airport, is not the place you want to spend your vacation in. We chose two islands, in two different atolls, which promised affordable accommodation and stellar snorkeling on house reefs. Our first stop was Thinadhoo, a ninety-minute boat ride south of Male. It did not fail to impress. The “bikini beach” was stunning. The snorkeling was stupendous. The staff at our hotel were incredibly friendly. The food was decent. We couldn’t ask for more (okay, maybe just ONE cold beer would be nice).

Our view out from the “bikini beach”, which was always deserted midday.

Each day around noon all the other guests on the island would return to their respective hotels for lunch, as most visitors opted for the full-board plan. Heather and I only had a bed & breakfast plan, which meant we had the entire beach, which spanned one entire side of the island, to ourselves for most of the afternoon.

After six days on Thinadhoo, we were transported by a speedboat to our second destination – the western atoll island of Bodufolhudhu. Folhudhu, as the locals thankfully called it, was similarly sized to Thinadhoo, boasting a small village of about twenty families. Upon check-in the staff told us of the activities available: water sports, including diving and snorkeling tours through the onsite dive shop; snorkeling at the house reef; and a walk around the island, which would “take about ten minutes. If you want to shop in the market or souvenir shop, let me know. I will the call the shopkeepers to open up for you.” This promised to be a pretty relaxed, laid-back place. As before, our days consisted of leisurely mornings snorkeling, breakfast, leisurely late mornings on loungers, snorkeling, leisurely afternoons, snorkeling and dinner. Tough to stay awake past nine. One day we opted for the Manta Search Trip, a snorkeling trip to a nearby reef that had been recommended by another guest. At 7:30am, in order to beat the other boats to the manta area, we boarded a small speedboat and roared across the sea for about ten minutes until we reached an offshore reef. A large manta was on the surface, flapping it’s massive wings and splashing around. “Here” the captain shouted to us. So we really didn’t have to “search” all that hard. Heather and I were in the water quickly. Two more mantas swam at us, mouths wide open, scooping up plankton. At the last second they would turn away or dive below us. Then another, and another. For thirty minutes, the same group of mantas moved back and forth across the reef wall, just a foot or two below the surface. Once they moved off we returned to the boat. Still no sign of another tour. Another amazing experience, all to ourselves.

A successful search.

Enjoying a sunset paddle off Folhudhu. The kayak only came with one paddle. Lucky me! Then . . .

Oh yeah!

We enjoyed nine amazing days in the Maldives. And made it through without any pork. How can we ever top this? Um . . . how about Bali for Christmas.

After two weeks in the north of Thailand we were ready for some beach time. The folks who managed our guesthouse in Pai had warned us how cold it could be up north in the “winter”. Then again, as Heather and I left our room each morning in shorts and tank-tops to have breakfast in the open-air restaurant, they would greet us from in front of the huge brick firelace that dominated one end of the dining area, a huge wood fire burning in it’s hearth, wrapped in down coats and wool hats. Maybe they don’t really know what winter is. But it was time to head south. After several visits to idyllic tropical Thai islands in the past, we knew that many had been over-touristed and overdeveloped. Signs in Russian and Chinese began to appear, indicating the onslaught of those particular groups. The locals had developed a certain surliness and indifference, no doubt in response to the treatment they were receiving.We had even told ourselves that we probably wouldn’t return to Thailand after our last visit in 2015. But we wondered if there were still any islands that hadn’t suffered from a Communist takeover. We found one island that did peak our interest. Ko Ngai is located off the west coast of southern Thailand, in the Andaman Sea, south of the larger islands of Ko Lanta and Phuket. It was everything we had hoped for. Ngai is home to about five or so sets of bungalows and three upscale resorts . . . and nothing else. No local village. No roads. No cars. No motorbikes. No jet skis. Just a long stretch of sandy beach, a decent coral reef and a swing hanging from a palm tree in front of our bungalow. But it wasn’t all Robinson Crusoe-esque. Each day around noon several long-tail boats would motor up to our beach, disgorge a couple dozen day-trippers who would spend an hour taking selfies, rouse me from the comfort of my beach lounger to take photos of them on the swing, then wade back out to their boats and return to their busy islands to the north. The folks who were staying on Ngai, if they had hidden out in their bungalows or enjoyed lunch in one of the restaurants during the onslaught, would reemerge like a swarm of hermit crabs, making their way back onto the beach to reclaim a chair or a shady spot under a palm tree.

The beach on Ko Ngai for all but one hour a day.

The swing in front of our place. I’m sure it’s an Instagram hit across Europe.

The livings easy on Ko Ngai.

A fairly decent coral reef just off the beach provided the only entertainment we needed. Hornbills roosted in the trees overhead. The only challenge to be faced was which of the four restaurants to dine in that evening and when could I enjoy my first cold beer. Ko Ngai restored my faith in Thai islands.

The road from Chiang Mai to Pai, in northern Thailand, covers 762 curves. It also crosses three mountain passes, meaning all those twists and turns are climbing or descending at the same time. This is not a combination that makes for a comfortable ride for someone (Heather) who can be prone to car-sickness. Forgoing the Dramamine tablets we had purchased in a local pharmacy the day before (“They’ll make me drowsy and I don’t want to miss anything along the way”) and despite her preventative measures, such as wearing pressure-point wrist bands, sipping ginger-ale and even using mentholated essential oils, she spent most of the ride curled into a ball on the seat next to me in the minivan, missing everything.  Upon arriving in Pai, while Heather recovered a bit, I negotiated a taxi to take us outside town to our chosen guesthouse, which promised views over the rice terraces to the surrounding mountains. They did not disappoint. We entered our room and headed immediately to the terrace off the back. From the green metal railing, over the deep green foliage just off the terrace, past the faded green of the royal palms marking the property boundary, across the green of the rice paddies just beyond and all the way to the pine tree-covered mountains surrounding town, it was simply stunning. We sat spellbound, neither of us talking (no small feat for Heather).

View from our terrace.

Eventually, other colors started to show themselves. A farmer on the far side of the rice paddy, only visible due to his red shirt. A pair of white egrets taking flight. Several black butterflies flitted amongst the foliage inches in front of us. A red dragonfly alit on a palm frond.

A little red amongst all the green.

 At first, upon arriving in town, we wondered if we had made a mistake by staying so far outside town, and possibly missing out on all the action there. But, after arranging to hire a motorbike for the five days we’d be here, and riding into town for dinner and some groceries (beer and wine), we were convinced we had made the right choice. Settling into the lounge chairs on our terrace later, we sipped our “groceries”, watched the setting sun light up the mountaintops, listened to the crickets and other singing insects come alive while a few lights from town came on and twinkled in the dusk. Over the course of the next nine days (we extended our stay) we drove around the valley seeing waterfalls, wats (Buddhist temples), and other sights, always happily returning to our terrace each afternoon to soak in those views (after soaking in the pool) before heading into town to sample all the wonderful dishes from Pai’s famous Walking Street food stalls.

A regular stop for us on Walking Street – 15 cent skewers!

One particular dish stood out for me. A specialty only found in northern Thailand, Khao Soi is a spicy bowl of rich coconut milk broth, infused with generous amounts of lemongrass and lime leaf, served over yellow egg noodles, topped with succulent chicken and vegetables, then finally garnished with crispy fried noodles. Small dishes alongside include sliced shallots and fresh lime wedges to balance the richness of the coconut broth, and a dab of chili paste. However, with all the Khao Soi dishes I enjoyed in Chiang Mai and Pai, I couldn’t even consider adding any more spice to the bowl. By the time I slurped the last noodle and broth from the bowl, I had formed a small pile of the small, thin tissues that pass for napkins on Thai restaurant tables, soaked with the sweat and tears generated by the potent red chilies in the dish.

Who needs Pad Thai! Khao Soi is my new favorite Thai dish.