Nightlife
I spend my evenings walking the beach and watching the sun set from beachside bars. Fresh mango shakes and light lager beers beat the heat and humidity, which can be oppressive. On the sand, the locals pass the time playing games.
The locals are very athletic. Below, they're playing a game that's a cross between soccer and volleyball. Get the ball over the net without letting it touch your hands or the ground. They're very good. Flying high kicks over their heads present no difficulty.
After the sun goes down, many beach bars hire local fire jugglers to perform on the beach. They spin torches on the ends of chains, flinging them high into the air and catching them, all in beat to thumping DJ music. This guy took his show into the audience and, to laughs all around, spun his torches within inches of my face. I saw them through my closed eyelids, smelled the burning kerosine, and felt their heat as they whooshed past my face. "Don't flinch, don't flinch," I thought.
Lazy Days
Weekdays are for working, but weekends are mine, and I spend them wandering the island. It's small -- I could probably walk the whole thing in half a day, but I never make it that far. I inevitably find a pleasant beach and pass a few hours sitting under a palm tree or paddling in the shallow, warm waters. The tropical fish swim right up to you and give you a good looking over. The small ones nibble your toes.
Below is some resort in the southwest of the island. Fancy a dip in your own private pool in front of your bungalow on the bay?
Yesterday, I stumbled onto a remote southern beach, over which is perched the Banana Rock Bar. It's a surprisingly large, split level bar made mostly out of driftwood and old weathered planks. The walls are open and the roof is thatched. It juts over the rocks and the water, has a 180 degree view of the bay and faces the sunset. It took me 15 minutes of hiking along the coast from the nearest village to get there. The only other way in, as far as I could tell, is by water taxi. It's surrounded by rocks, palm trees, water, a few bungalows ... and nothing else.
The locals who work there seem to be as awed by the place as the visitors. The Thai who brought me my curry was rail thin and dark skinned. He had long hair, a wispy mustache, and unrestrained enthusiasm for Koh Tao. His home is on the mainland -- an ugly place, he says, where the air is fouled by scooter exhaust. "On Koh Tao ...," and here he takes a deep breath with arms outstretched, smiles broadly, looks out to sea and falls silent.
