The owner of the bungalow handed me a key attached to a piece of driftwood and said, “No 7-Eleven. No ATM. Also, the monkeys know how to open zippers.”
My friend Maya looked at her backpack. Then at the trees. Then back at me.
We were on Koh Kood, a speck of green in eastern Thailand, a two-hour ferry from the mainland. Koh Samui has airports and traffic jams. Koh Kood has one paved road, a few thousand locals, and zero jet skis. That last part is the best part.
Getting here cost us less than a mediocre dinner in Bangkok. A minivan from the city to the pier in Trat: 250 baht ($7.50). The ferry to Koh Kood: 450 baht round trip. The driver played Thai pop so loud that Maya’s sunglasses rattled off her face.
Our bungalow was called Baan Jaidee, hidden behind a rubber plantation. 600 baht per night ($17). Two beds, a fan that worked sometimes, and an outdoor bathroom with a frog that returned every evening like a roommate.
The first morning, we rented scooters for 250 baht each ($7.50). The girl at the rental shop pointed at a helmet with a cracked visor. “This one is free,” she said. “Other tourists are scared.” Maya took it.
We drove to Klong Chao Waterfall. Most tourists swim in the main pool, take a photo, and leave. We walked upstream for five minutes past a fallen tree. A second pool opened up, empty except for a Thai family grilling chicken on a rock. The father waved us over. “You want?” he asked, pointing at a skewer. We ate. He refused payment. “Tourists pay too much on the beach,” he said.
The water was cold enough to steal your breath. We stayed for two hours. No entrance fee. No lifeguard. Just a rope swing that Maya used once and almost lost her shorts.
For lunch, we drove to Ao Salat, a fishing village on the east coast. Restaurants here are built on stilts over the water. A plate of crab fried rice cost 80 baht ($2.30). Maya ordered the same thing twice. The owner, a woman named Pa Noi, saw my sunburnt shoulders and brought me a jar of aloe vera from her house. “Put it in the fridge tonight,” she said. “Feel better.”
We ate while watching local fishing boats unload their morning catch. A man threw a live crab onto the dock. It landed next to my foot. Maya screamed. The crab didn't care.
The hidden spot no one mentions is Klong Hin Beach. The road there is dirt and full of potholes. Our scooters bounced so hard the cracked visor fell off. We parked and walked through a cashew nut grove to a stretch of sand covered in tiny shells.
One other person was there – a Danish woman reading a paperback novel. She looked up, said “Finally, someone,” and went back to her book. We floated in the warm water for an hour. No boats. No music. Just the sound of a rooster from somewhere in the trees.
That afternoon, we found a roadside stall selling roti. A woman named Mam made us banana and chocolate roti for 40 baht each ($1.20). She cooked on a propane tank with a spatula that was missing half its handle. The roti was the best thing we ate on the island. Maya asked for a second. Mam said, “You hungry or sad?” Maya said, “Both.” Mam nodded and made another.
For sunset, we drove to the western coast near Bang Bao Beach. A small bar called Sunflower had beanbags on a wooden deck. A beer cost 90 baht ($2.60). A fresh coconut cost 50 baht. The sunset turned the sky purple and orange. A cat slept on the beanbag next to me for an hour. The owner said its name was Somchai. Somchai did not move.
The worst part of Koh Kood is the sandflies. They come out at dusk, and they bite like tiny vampires. Maya forgot to spray her ankles. She woke up with twenty red dots that itched for three days. The local pharmacy sold a green cream for 60 baht. It smelled like menthol and regret. It worked.
Season warning: The island closes down in November. October is rainy but cheap. We went in mid-February. Dry, sunny, 30 degrees during the day. The water was flat. The ferry ran on time. A German couple at the pier told us they came in August and got stuck for three extra days because of storms. They didn't seem upset about it.
The cheapest activity was free. We walked to the pier at 6 AM. Fishermen were untangling nets. An old man sat on a bucket drinking coffee. He pointed at the horizon and said something in Thai. We understood nothing. But he smiled, and we sat next to him for twenty minutes watching the sun rise over the fishing boats. No translation needed.
Three nights, two people, one cracked helmet, no jet skis. Total cost including minivan from Bangkok, ferry, bungalow, scooter rental, all food, roti, beers, coconuts, and the mysterious green cream: $98 per person.
Maya looked at the receipt from Pa Noi’s restaurant – handwritten, smudged, correct – and said, “My friend in Phuket paid that for a transfer from the airport.” I thought about the crab that landed on the dock, Somchai the cat, and the sandflies that still itch on her ankle. Some islands charge you in money. This one charged in bug bites. I’d pay that again.
