Ko Lipe

Ko Lipe's first settled community were Urak Lawoi, one of the sea peoples of the Andaman, who moved among the islands of the far south in wooden boats and were the island's first settlers. That settled population is what set Lipe apart from its neighbours: by the time the archipelago around it was protected, people had been living and fishing here for generations, and the island's history since has turned on the gap between customary occupation and formal title.

In April 1974 the surrounding archipelago became Tarutao National Park, Thailand's second marine national park, a protected area of 51 islands. Ko Lipe sits on the park's border, and that position shaped everything that followed. While the neighbouring islands stayed forest and empty beach under park control, Lipe was built on, and bungalows spread from the village across the flat ground behind Pattaya Beach; the parks department has since tried to check building on land it considers its own.

Growth came late and then quickly. The island had no road link, no airport and no mains electricity, yet it came to have dive schools, resorts, a pedestrian commercial street and seasonal ferries from Malaysia. The change brought land disputes: Urak Lawoi families were pushed off ground that had become valuable, and in 2022 it was reported that 125 families, about half the island's Urak Lawoi community, had lost legal title to the land they occupied. Waste, water and the pressure of visitor numbers on a small island remain live questions.

The Urak Lawoi are the island's oldest community, and their language, a Malayic tongue distinct from Thai, is still spoken in the village at the north end of Sunrise Beach. Their calendar turns on the boat-floating ceremony, when a small boat is built, loaded with ancestral spirits and symbols of misfortune, and set adrift after a night of drumming and dancing — a rite shared with Urak Lawoi communities on Ko Lanta, Ko Phi Phi and the Adang group. Fishing knowledge, free-diving and boat-handling are part of the same inheritance, though fewer young islanders now make a living from them.

Layered on top is the culture of Satun province, a Malay state associated with Kedah until 1916 and still the Andaman province closest to Malaysia, where a large Muslim population, southern Thai and Malay are part of everyday life. Mainland staff who work the season bring that with them, and much of the island's food follows it.

The third layer is the seasonal international one: divers, long-stay visitors and business owners from Europe and elsewhere, a scene concentrated on Walking Street that empties out in the monsoon. The three groups mix more than they merge. Visitors are expected to observe ordinary Thai courtesies — modest dress away from the beach, quiet respect near the village, no loss of temper in public — and to remember that the reefs and islands around them are protected ground.

Ko Lipe's permanent population is small — a village-sized community, most of it Urak Lawoi families and Thai residents from Satun — and it multiplies in the dry season with staff who come from the mainland and from Myanmar for the tourist months. Almost every household income now depends on visitors, through rooms, restaurants, boats, dive schools or shops; fishing continues alongside it rather than instead of it.

The island has no mains grid, water supply or waste system of the kind a mainland town takes for granted. Power comes from generators, fresh water from wells and rainwater, and rubbish has to be shipped off the island, which is one of the loudest local complaints. There is a school, a health station and a mosque; anything more serious than routine care means a boat to Pak Bara and a hospital in Satun or Hat Yai.

The day begins early, with boats loading at first light and the piers busy when the ferries arrive in the late morning. Afternoons are quiet in the heat, and the island turns out along Walking Street in the evening when the grills are lit. In the monsoon the pattern breaks: many businesses close, families travel to the mainland, and the island returns to something nearer the fishing village it was fifty years ago.

Seafood is the island's own contribution. Squid, prawns, blue swimming crab, snapper, grouper and barracuda are laid out on ice outside restaurants in the evening and grilled over charcoal, served with nam chim seafood — a sharp dip of chilli, garlic, lime and fish sauce. Whole fish steamed with lime and chilli, pla neung manao, and prawns or squid stir-fried with garlic and pepper are the standard orders, and tom yam goong, the hot and sour prawn soup, appears on almost every menu.

The cooking behind the tourist strip is southern Thai and Malay-influenced, as it is across Satun. Kaeng som, a sour yellow fish curry, and kua kling, minced meat dry-fried with turmeric and chilli, are eaten with rice, while khao mok gai, spiced chicken rice, and satay come from the Muslim kitchens of the mainland. Roti is the island's breakfast and its late-night sweet, griddled and folded with banana and condensed milk, alongside coffee brewed strong and served sweet.

Fruit arrives by boat from Satun and Trang, mangoes and rambutans in their seasons, and coconuts are drunk cold on the beach. Prices reflect the crossing: imported groceries, beer and wine cost noticeably more than on the mainland, and the cheapest good eating is at the small village kitchens rather than on the sand.