The boat falls to starboard, and I catch another glimpse of the island through the rain and the sea spray. It rises up from the sea smoothly, beach turning quickly to jungle, punctuated by rocks that look as if they had been purposefully placed for decoration. The island looks to be comprised of two distinct hills running south to north, with another, further hill visible through the haze. To the north is another small island, but I can't see much more before the boat pitches again to port.
After retrieving my bag from the front of the boat, and pushing my way through a thick crowd of passengers, I finally make it above deck and climb onto the pier. It's a slightly overcast day - muggy. My shirt is immediately sticky, and the fabric is wet where my bags force it to touch my skin.
As I exit the pier, people begin to shout in my direction.
"You need scooter?"
"Taxi! Taxi!"
"Fruit shake!"
"Hey! Where you go?"
Avoiding eye contact while making what I hope is a polite-yet-firm shake of the head and wave-of-the-hand, I continue forward, off the pier and onto a cobblestoned street. Everything is coated in a thin layer of sand. The air itself feels sticky with salt. Wobbly foreigners lurch past on their rented scooters, kicking sand into the air and requiring some athleticism from pedestrians as they leap to the side. A persistent honking grows in volume, and I leap out of the way just in time to dodge a motorbike with a loosely attached side-mount, carrying cases of water. Lethargic dogs lay across the street, panting, too tired to move out of the sun.
Draped above the streets on loosely connected wires are multicoloured signs clamouring for attention. One advertises a "Jungle Party," another a pub crawl claiming to be "Asia's Biggest (est. 2011)." An ironic banner on a nearby fence advertises the date and location for the next "Secret Party." Small groups of people make their way past a roti stand, and over the drum and bass blasting out from behind the food cart I catch snatches of German, Dutch, and French.
The smell of diesel fills the air as a procession of utes passes in front of me, each with a small pagoda providing shade for bench seating installed in the tray. Shirtless men and women in bikinis sit in the back, holding on to poles and each other for stability over the bumpy road. I notice one particularly burnt man with a skull tattoo on his tricep, and wince in sympathy.
Every few metres, there is a PADI banner. I'm walking down a narrow street that, thankfully, is somewhat shaded. Despite its narrowness, large utes attempt to drive down it, causing havoc as green scooter drivers panic and try to reverse or veer onto the side of the road. Locals look on bemused as one man – British by his accent – attempts to drive his scooter up some stairs to escape the ute's path. Finally, the gridlock is cleared, and I inch past the lines of scooters. To the right, past a thatched fence, is a group of 4 people gathered around a pool in full scuba gear. They stride into the water, and I can hear the puff of air as they surface and inflate their BCDs. An Australian instructor begins to lecture them on ensuring they keep their regulators in their mouths until after their BCDs are fully inflated, but I don't catch the rest.
A large man with thick dreadlocks chats with his patrons outside another dive shop. Empty air canisters line the walls, and still-dripping wetsuits are draped over wooden chairs. "Koh Tao must have the highest density of dive shops in the world," I murmur to myself. A pungent odour hits me as I walk past a Bob Marley-themed cannabis shop, No Woman No Cry wailing out from some hidden speakers. Beyond that building a small alley gives me my first glimpse of the beach. A longtail boat roars its way back to shore, coughing up a trail of black smoke. Trailing it, a larger boat with colourful slides on the stern drifts past, blasting Pitbull and proudly proclaiming its status as "Koh Tao's Only Booze Cruise!"
Shouting and cheering suddenly start further down the road. I go to investigate and discover a crowd of Burmese men in a small, dark shop, thanaka powder decorating their faces. They seem to be looking at something on the opposite wall. Craning my neck to see, I can make out a TV. I stoop a little lower and see the man on the television placing a chicken onto a small patch of dirt, ringed with a blue plastic fence. Soon, another chicken is added to the patch of dirt, and the two birds eye each other warily. The shouting starts up again as the first chicken paces toward the second. The birds become a blur, and all I can see is a mess of scratching talons and pecking beaks. I move on, but the shouting and cheering follow me down the road for some time.
It's now dusk, and the beach is the busiest it's been all day. A lazy game of volleyball is playing out to my left, and I watch some kayakers launch from shore, heading towards the smaller island I noticed when I was coming in. The entire length of the beach is dotted with bars, and the sound of cocktail shakers blends with the hiss of beers and the general murmur of beachgoers. Music blares from the countless bars, merging into tuneless mush. A cheer goes up to my right, and I catch a flash of light in the corner of my eye. Two men light disks on fire, and launch them into the air before catching them to shouts and whoops. Another lights a long stick at either end and whips it around himself, leaving white heat in its wake.
The sun melts away, leaving streaks of colour in the sky. The island, all gold and bronze, soon turns to grey in an uneasy twilight. Dark clouds gather to the south, and a sudden flash of light reveals a foaming sea. Despite the looming storm, tourists still line the streets. Bars heave with their patronage, an oasis of light and sound in the otherwise dark alleyway.
I'm at a viewpoint. High in the jungle, flimsy bamboo platforms are set atop a rock outcrop. Hammocks hang between nearby trees. An enterprising woman stands by a fridge of soft drinks. "40 baht!" she proclaims. "Refreshing!" In the distance, I watch another storm rolling in towards the island. Sheets of rain cast a shadow across the ocean. A crack of thunder rings out across the ocean, and I take that as my cue to start the descent.
I follow an uneven street up a hill, away from the beach. As I walk, the buildings turn from solid concrete and glass to flimsy constructions of corrugated iron and wood and plastic. A gnarled tree emerges from the driveway of one, resting itself on a shed that looks barely able to support its own weight. The smokey smell of pork skewers wafts past me as I pass a restaurant situated in what appears to be an old mechanics' garage. To the right is thin jungle – palm fronds and vines hang across yet more sheds; lines of mopeds waiting outside. Two barking dogs stand on opposing sides of the street. They look tame, but I give them a wide berth regardless. Behind me, a third dog joins the fray.
Koh Tao is a creation. A theme park. Disneyland. Stepping off the boat onto Mae Haad Pier, one enters a simulacrum of a Thai island. Koh Tao is a construction for tourists. There is no 'real' Koh Tao; there is only this self-referential construction of dive shops and resorts and carefully constructed-to-be-rustic beach bars. Just as Disneyland hides its workers behind costumes and networks of tunnels, Koh Tao hides its human infrastructure out of sight; in shacks in the jungle and rooms above massage parlours and hidden dorm rooms. It is the Western ideal of a tropical island. Koh Tao does not exist.
I purchase a roti from a street vendor with the same signage as every other one on the island, differing only in its particular proclamation of quality. This one claims "Best Roti On Koh Tao: You Will Come Back!" A slight Burmese man takes my order. He has yellow thanaka powder on his face, arranged in circular patterns. "A coconut vanilla roti, please." He nods, and adjusts a too-big belt over too-big pants – it's just stopped raining but a light drizzle persists. Flashes of light from the corner of my eye come from welders making the most of the fading light - attaching a new fence to a 7/11. Finished with his belt, he jumps into action with well-rehearsed movements; as though he is a performer playing a part. Disneyland. With a flourish, he spins the roti dough out onto the bench. Coconut shavings are sprinkled out from a container, and a vanilla sauce is drizzled over the top. In a fluid movement, the roti is folded and flipped onto a hot plate. Flipping the pancake onto a paper plate, he unveils a large cleaver and slices the roti into nine pieces. Finally, he raises his hand, pauses for a moment, and drives a skewer into the plate with force, before handing it to me with a slight bow and an "a-ha!" I thank him and fish out 60 baht from my wallet. Three crumpled 20s change hands and a couple behind me make their orders. I walk away as the performance starts again.
On Koh Tao, you are on an assembly line. Dive shops, snorkel tours, themed parties, beach bars. Despite the apparent variety, everything is manufactured just so for uniformity of experience. It is the island of the Lotus Eaters. The novelty of a jungle party wears off quickly once you realise that that's all it is - a party in the jungle. Travel always has a degree of novelty, it almost requires it, but it is particularly pronounced on Koh Tao. A hike through the jungle to an abandoned hotel; a winding drive to a viewpoint; a 'secret bar' high in the jungle. Places you go just to say you've been. This isn't exclusive to the island, but Koh Tao is so small that everything is maximally capitalised upon. Every dive site has at least 4 dive boats attached to the mooring at any one time. Every beach has a throng of snorkelers. 3 separate tour companies offer tours to the abandoned hotel - all arriving and departing at the same time. Of course, it's not surprising that a touristy place has a well-developed tourism industry, and this article is not a complaint (it would be hypocrisy at its finest if it was – I visited Koh Tao, and I engaged in all of the things I would be deriding). Koh Tao, however, is an interesting example of a place emerging from nothing, it is divorced from context. You're in Thailand, but Koh Tao could be anywhere. Everyone who visits the island has the same experiences. They visit the same spots. They see the same things, taste the same foods, and leave with the same memories.
I watch the sun set over the ocean one final time. A light breeze rustles the palm fronds above me. Perhaps the key to Koh Tao is that there is no 'key'. Koh Tao exists on its own accord. Although it feels as though it is a bubble outside of reality, there is no 'outside,' really. A dive boat eases back into the harbour, tanks rattling. I stand up, brush the sand off my legs, and wander over to the waiting ferry.