Only after the larger beautiful tropical islands become over-developed, over-populated and polluted, it’s the small fishing villages – quiet islands – which look charming and attractive.
Koh Lanta was once a quiet island populated by small fishing villages before it caught the eye of developers and, although its tourism industry is bustling, it has yet to be dominated by high-rise resorts, world-class restaurants and, expensive fashion boutiques. Compared to the larger more developed islands and beaches of Thailand with their cosmopolitan diversions or full moon parties, Koh Lanta is chill, more laid-back and, less developed.
Like many things dubbed “classic” or “old school” eventually has its resurgence and are recognized for their value. Llike the working class beer or the vintage rock T-shirts which resurfaces and regains popularity, Koh Lanta is the island slightly less traveled; the “cool uncle” of southern Thailand.
My first two weeks in Thailand were spent cooped up indoors finishing a manuscript for Falcon Guidebooks which felt like being held hostage in a hyper-air conditioned prison. The moment I hit “send” on the manuscript we were off! We were ready to visit every corner of Koh Lanta like a couple of explorers. Two weeks, and I barely made it out of my hotel room. This felt like revenge travel!
A Journey on Two Wheels
Koh Lanta isn’t the most bike-friendly island, but the main roads are well-paved, and the drivers—considering Thailand’s motorbike culture—are relatively courteous. What I love about cycling is the unfiltered connection to my surroundings: the heat rising off the asphalt, the scent of sea salt drifting inland, the occasional monkey perched on a roadside railing, watching with mild curiosity. We pedaled through bustling hotel strips that quickly gave way to sleepy fishing villages, then onto long stretches of jungle highway, no glass barrier separating us from the rawness of it all.
I’ve always felt that cars, buses, and—especially—airplanes rob you of the experience. They turn travel into a distant, framed picture instead of a full-body immersion. But Koh Lanta is bigger than it looks on a map, so we willingly upgraded to a motorbike.
Motorbikes are as plentiful in Thailand as street food stalls, and for about six bucks a day, we had free reign of the island. We rode north first, where the roads thinned and the landscape grew wilder. Here, people smiled and waved, genuinely surprised to see two foreigners wandering into their quiet corner of the world. Heading south, the jungle closed in, the road curled along the coastline, shifting from sandy village paths to cliffside highways with staggering ocean views.
Chasing Waterfalls and Jungle Trails
Khlong Chak Waterfall was on the agenda. I love waterfalls—obsessively. And if there’s one universal truth I’ve learned in my travels, it’s that the best ones demand effort. The kind of effort that involves sweating through dense jungle trails, dodging gnarled roots, and feeling your heartbeat in your throat as you climb higher. That’s the payoff. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water tumbling down rock faces, the air thick with mist, the sound of nature in its most powerful, untamed form. They are humbling places.
Later, we tackled a rainforest hike in Mu Koh Lanta National Park. The one-hour loop trail climbs quickly, swallowing you in a world where everything is alive, tangled, and thriving. Vines coil like muscular arms, ferns the size of umbrellas fight for space, and the smell—earthy, floral, decayed—is intoxicating. This jungle doesn’t just exist; it competes, pushing and clawing for sunlight. We emerged just before sunset, drenched in sweat, just in time for Koh Lanta’s greatest show.
Sunset, Reggae, and the Unexpected
Sunsets here are a spectacle. The island’s west-facing coastline turns the evening sky into a masterpiece of molten gold, deep indigo, and ember-red streaks. The sun doesn’t just set—it melts into the sea, a slow-motion collapse that demands silence, if only for a few fleeting moments. And just as the last sliver of orange slips away, the night crackles to life with reggae.
Yes, reggae—Thailand’s unexpected but thriving love affair with Bob Marley and the Rastafarian way of life. Something about the island mentality—easygoing, warm, open—aligns seamlessly with reggae’s laid-back spirit. In places like Koh Lanta, it’s more than just a genre of music; it’s a full-fledged subculture, complete with Thai Rastas, dreadlocked guitarists, and beachside bars – which look more like collections of driftwood than eating/drinking establishments – strumming out familiar island rhythms.
But our evening entertainment wasn’t limited to music. Muay Thai—the “Art of Eight Limbs”—holds a special place in my heart, and no visit to Thailand feels complete without witnessing it firsthand. My last trip to the country, I trained in Chiang Mai, learning firsthand why this sport is revered. More than just a fight, Muay Thai is ritual. The Wai Kru Ram, the pre-fight dance, is part battle cry, part spiritual homage. The fighters wear Mongkon headbands, the air hums with the eerie notes of Sarama music, and then—fists, elbows, knees, and shins—all weapons, all precision. It is equal parts ballet and brutality.
The Night Market Frenzy
There are few places in the world as intoxicatingly chaotic as a Thai night market. Step into one, and you are immediately enveloped in a world of movement, noise, and a dizzying array of smells. The air is thick with the scent of sizzling meat, chilies so potent they make your eyes water, and wok-seared seafood that defies identification.
Navigating the crowd is an art. Elbows tucked in, you shuffle forward, sandwiched between fruit vendors and stalls hawking unrecognizable street snacks. Watching a vendor at work is like witnessing a magician in action—one hand flips skewers, the other tosses spices into bubbling oil, all while negotiating prices with three customers at once. There are fresh fruits stacked like edible jewels, piles of fish with unblinking eyes, deep-fried insects, syrupy Thai desserts, and the ever-present, unmistakable aroma of grilled meat on sticks.
The Flavors of Koh Lanta
Thai food doesn’t just taste good—it feels good. It is layered, complex, unapologetically bold. Lemongrass, galangal, kaffir lime, and bird’s eye chilies come together in dishes that slap your senses awake. In Koh Lanta, we found the best meals in places that felt like someone’s living room, where the person taking your order was also the chef, bartender, dishwasher, and owner.
Good food takes time. If the restaurant is full, you wait—sometimes 40 minutes—for a green curry or pad Thai that will blow your expectations apart. And when it arrives, steaming and fragrant, you realize that some things, especially in Thailand, should never be rushed.
This trip wasn’t just about seeing Koh Lanta. It was about feeling it—through the grip of bike handlebars, the heat of the jungle, the pulse of live music, and the slow, deliberate savoring of the island’s best flavors. And that’s the thing about travel: the best moments aren’t framed through car windows or squeezed into itineraries. They’re out there, waiting, just beyond the next bend in the road.
