The ferry trip from Malaysia to Thailand was uneventful, which is disappointing for me to convey since I normally love ferry trips. Ferry trips in Asia differ from the ones I’ve taken in the US. In Asia it is more like riding a long distance bus. You are assigned a seat and expected to stay in it for the duration of the trip, which in this case was about an hour and a half.

Compounding my disappointment was the realization that my decision to island hop up the Andaman chain was not going to be the romantic journey I had chosen over the typically traveled land route. Still, there was the excitement of not yet having pieced together how I was going to get from island to island, beyond a general expectation that it seemed possible.

Upon boarding, I was directed to my seat by a crew member. I asked whether there was a viewing deck and was given a firm “no”. I asked if it was okay if take pictures while we departed as the unobstructed view from the water is often the best vantage point of the of the place you’re leaving from or going to. That request was also responded to in the negative, and I was again instructed to take my seat.

In the US, of course, you can walk around the ferry enjoying both inside and outside viewing decks. Further, you can always count on food and drink being sold. It is more an experience than a simple conveyance from port to port. Having traveled by ferry here before, I had anticipated this, and I brought snacks to tide me over should the journey be longer than expected.

The seating on the ferry was not well thought out. On the upper deck, the windows were just low enough that you had to duck down to see out. On the lower deck, they were high enough above the seats that you had to stretch your neck to peer out. Not that there was anything to see. The constant spray of water against the window had left a coat of salt particles that made any clear observation impossible.

To further exacerbate our confinement on the boat, there were TV screens throughout the seating areas, and the movie playing was some American action film that must have contained the longest shootout scene I’ve ever witnessed. It was impossible to hear the limited dialog over the incessant gunfire, so I am not sure whether the shooter was the good guy or the bad, but I found myself hoping he would be killed soon so the noise would just stop. It never happened, and the body count continued for at least 45 minutes with only an occasional respite. Given this portrayal of America, it’s no wonder so many I meet overseas are afraid to visit my country!

Thankfully we were relieved of the film by the scrolling credits and the slowing of the ferry as we reached our destination. Fortunately, I had read about the overall process of this landing so I had an idea of what to expect. Our passports had been gathered up at the customs desk on the island of Langkawi, Malaysia, and we weren’t to see them again until we arrived at customs in Thailand.

Being out of possession of your passport is always disconcerting, but it was made worse in this case, as the last time I saw it was on an island we had departed an hour and a half ago. The State Department website advises you that it is illegal for your passport to be taken out of your site by any official, but there are times that you must just trust that it will all work out. Arguing about your rights in a foreign country never proves fruitful.

The ferry sat bobbing in the water within sight of the beach. I watched as Thai long tail boats zipped by us and wondered how long it would be before we continued to the pier. On the high speed trip from Malaysia, the boat was steady, but now that we sat moored offshore, it was swaying back and forth, and I moved to the center of the boat to reduce my feelings of nausea.

Finally, a crew member came and told us it was time to disembark, which I though odd since we hadn’t yet moved closer to the shore. When I got to the door, however, there alongside the opening was a longtail boat, and another crew member was motioning me onboard. I ducked under that tattered canopy seeking shelter from the afternoon rain showers. It wasn’t entirely effective as the canopy was littered with holes allowing drops of water to land on me and the other passengers at irritatingly random intervals.

As we raced to the shore, I pulled out my raincoat and waterproof backpack cover, which I’d conveniently stowed at the top of my pack. As I mentioned, this wasn’t my first time traveling by boat in Thailand. This meant I was also prepared for the offshore landing, wearing shorts and sandals. This makes it convenient as you step off the longtail boat into waist deep water before sloshing to shore.

I can’t express enough that the backpack is the way to go while traveling. Cobblestone streets and offshore water landings negate any benefits of wheeled luggage. You will spend a good amount of time carrying your bags, so save your arms, and bring a good backpack. As I strolled up the beach to the customs office, I looked back to see some unprepared travelers in soaked pants holding their shoes in one hand and dragging their “rolling” luggage across the sand with the other.

Nothing is communicated about the customs process when you buy your tickets from one of the many vendors that line the streets of these island towns, so I really am fortunate to have read a little about the procedure. Otherwise, standing around on the beach with no direction would have been more frustrating. The process could have been more efficient for us, had the same Thai customs agents who were to check us in not been busy checking departing people out.

When we arrived, the customs area was already crowded with people waiting to catch the ferry we’d just arrived on for their trip to Malaysia. The customs agents were busy stamping those people out of Thailand. Once the outbound people embarked for their boat, the customs agents moved to our side to stamp us in.

I can share this all now, though at the time I really had no idea what was going on. Everyone just collected underneath the small rain tarp looking mystified as to what would happen next. There were a couple Thai people who came at intervals to share with us in indecipherable English what was to happen next.

Eventually, a man with a handful of passports and a bullhorn came to the front of the group. It was as comical to hear him pronounce European names as it had been listening to my teacher try to pronounce Asian names back in elementary school. The one helpful thing he did do, was announce the country on the passport first so you knew to be alert for some derivation of your name to be called.

I was fortunate to be called right away. Not that I could make out the name he actually called, but I was the only American from the boat, and I recognized the blue jacket of my passport. After I passed through customs, I was relieved to see that I had received a 30 day stamp since I planned to be in Thailand for 29 days.

All the material I’d read stated that 30 day stamps were only issued at Bangkok international airport and that all land crossings only issued 14 day stamps. My 30 day stamp would save me the trouble of having to leave and come back to Thailand in the middle of my trip or, perhaps even more inconvenient, a trip to the Thai immigration office in Bangkok.

The path from the customs desk led me to a makeshift table with one more person checking my passport. I was informed that I had to pay an environmental fee for visiting this island. This, too, would have been a cruel inconvenience as they expect you to pay in Thai currency, something I clearly would not have had access to since I’d just arrived, and they’d been holding my passport the whole time. Fortunately, I never arrive in a country without some of the local currency in hand and was able to pay the nominal fee and move on.

This was one of the few arrival centers in the world where you aren’t assaulted by taxi drivers as you leave the customs area. In this case, it was because there are no cars on the island. You could take a motor taxi, and I did see a few privileged tourists doing this, though they didn’t look to be exactly pleased by the lack of safety standards followed here.

You can walk across the island of Koh Lipe in about 20 minutes, and it took me half that to find my hostel. I was immediately blissful to be surrounded by the outwardly jovial Thai people. I had just spent the past three weeks in Malaysia, and it was as if there was a constant pall covering their people. They are nice enough, but they lack the spiritedness of the Thai people, presumably because Malaysia is an Islamic state.

You can’t help but feel oppression in a place where more that 50% of the population is treated unequally. I had to constantly contain my anger at seeing women forced to wrap their heads and even their faces in such an oppressively warm climate. If men were forced to do the same, how long do you think that tradition was dispatched with?

I was joyfully welcomed by the woman at the front desk of my hostel. She gave me all the details of the facility, and a male attendant showed me to my room. It was a pleasant 12 bed dorm with large windows and an outside deck. The air conditioning kept the room at a comfortable temperature, and privacy curtains covered each of the individual bunks. The attendant also pointed out my individual electrical outlet and reading lamp. Daily cost of this accommodation: $15.

I refreshed myself with a quick shower, packed my raincoat in a day pack and headed out to explore Thailand. I completed my trans-island trek in about 10 minutes, arriving at a beach with a downed tree that tourists were using as a backdrop for beach photos. I walked down the beach a little and then headed back inland.

There are two main roads on the island at approximate 90 degree angles from each other. And I should clarify, when I say roads, I mean walkways. They are about 8 feet across at best, leaving just enough room for two motorbikes with sidecars to pass each other. It also means that, as a pedestrian, you’re constantly dodging motor bikes, but it’s just another way foreign travel keeps you young and agile.

I was excited by the number of food stalls I saw making note of some of the more local looking places. I eventually made my way down what turned out to be a dead end street that kind of had the feel of a place where all the things that shouldn’t be happening here were happening here. The tourists had thinned out a few blocks ago so I knew I had taken the right path for me.

I thirsty so I ducked under a thatched roof and ordered a iced green tea. I had considered an ice coffee, but it was almost 6 PM, and that didn’t seem like a wise decision. Perhaps heading down this street wasn’t a wise decision either, but I am selective about my poor decisions.

A man brought me a “to go” bag but I took my drink out and handed the bag back to him. I planned to drink here. Everyone in the place was immediately curious and began to ask me questions about where I was from, what I did, why wasn’t I married. The usual set of questions I get when traveling.

In truth, only one of them spoke English, and his was very limited, but we took our time and were able to converse about basic things. I asked him what he did, and he leaned over to whisper that he was a police officer. So there I sat in a Thai policemen’s bar drinking my iced green tea while they enjoyed their beers.

Once we ran out of vocabulary, I thanked them for their hospitality and headed on my search of some food. I’d noted a place on my walk earlier and remembered it was across the street from the place with the umbrella shaped lanterns. Though it appeared quiet the first time I passed, it was bustling with people when I returned.

Everyone was standing in front of a counter filled with fresh fish. People were grabbing the fish, getting a feel for the weight, and handing them to the cook. I followed their example and sat down as my one pound grouper was grilled. I decided to order a spicy Thai salad so that I’d have some accompanying vegetables.

The cooked fish was delivered to my table whole so I had some work to do to get at the meat. I find that, in Asia, you always have to work for your food. All meats are served bone-in, fruits have seeds, nuts have shells; things we forget in America since our food is so thoroughly processed.

My hands were completely covered in fish by the time I was done, but there was an outdoor sink conveniently located in front of the restaurant, and I washed my hands, paid the bill, and headed back to the hostel. The closer I got, the more touristy it became, and I lauded myself for getting off the beaten path and having an experience that none of these people would have: hand picking my own fish.

I returned to the hostel and did some research for the next leg of my trip, though truth be told I couldn’t yet imagine leaving this island.