editorial

A solo kayak trip along Thailand’s Andaman coast is filled with untouched scenery, hair-raising challenges, and unexpected moments of hospitality.
Illustrations by Nachiket Kalbhande
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A small crowd of villagers has gathered to watch me set up my kayak—a hard-edged, high-tech inflatable model from France—at Bang Rong, a sleepy river port on <a href="https://destinasian.com/travel-guide/thailand/phuket" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Phuket</a>’s east coast. Once ready, I push off, leaving the worries of the world behind and entering one where I am alone with my thoughts. Almost 13 million tourists visited Phuket last year, but I may as well be on the other side of the moon for the solitude I feel at the start of a 300-kilometer solo kayak expedition north to Ranong, a secluded port town on the Thai–Myanmar border.
The river empties into Phang Nga Bay, a national marine park known for dramatic limestone karst formations that rise out of the water like giant chess pieces. But my route takes me in another direction: west, across the top of Phuket, through an arm of the bay that separates the island from the blue-gray mountains of the mainland.
The vantage point afforded by a kayak is unique, though it comes at a price. Only the first two hours of a day’s paddling are pleasurable. After that, your elbows, wrists, and palms start hurting. Stomach cramps are likely to set in. But it’s the kind of pain that makes you stronger. After seven hours on the water, including short breaks at a couple of islets, I make landfall at a yacht-lined marina near Phuket’s northern tip. There, I check in to a small hotel and, after wolfing down a pizza, sleep like a whale.
Dawn finds me gliding up a channel—the Prak Pah Strait—as the rising sun paints the sky in soft pastel hues. Passing underneath the Sarasin Bridge, I soon meet the turquoise waters of the Andaman Sea. My route now takes me northward alongside a sugar-white beach that stretches uninterrupted to the horizon. I stop overnight at a campsite run by a lonely old Thai man who spends his days raking pine needles and his nights drinking Singha beers.
Morning brings with it the same perfect weather conditions—a Technicolor sunrise, gin-clear water as flat as a lake, and a slight tailwind to help push me forward. I paddle slowly and methodically for five hours until reaching a rocky headland at Khao Na Yak National Park. After beaching for a quick lunch of canned-tuna wraps, I brace myself for what lies ahead. Kayaking along sea cliffs is risky as waves can rebound off the walls and come at you from several different directions at once. Heading out deeper into the ocean is an option, but that introduces other potential hazards, such as stronger currents and pointier waves.
Even at a respectful distance of 30 meters, I get tossed left and right by choppy seas. My stomach and ribcage cramp as I dig deep with my paddle to parry the waves. Blisters form on my fingers and palms. Still, I soldier on for two long hours, always keeping my eye on the prize—the most distant section of cliff—until I round a point and enter the calm waters of an enclosed river estuary south of the tourist town of <a href="https://destinasian.com/editorial/uncovering-the-charms-of-khao-lak" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Khao Lak</a>.
The map app on my phone tells me there is a guesthouse nearby. Exhausted by the time I reach shore, I still have to drag the kayak up the beach and across a wide lawn. To my surprise, I’m stopped by two marines. They inform me I am trespassing on Royal Thai Navy property—and no, I cannot pitch my tent on the beach. But when I tell them about my journey and explain that I’m physically unable to paddle another meter, the Thai hospitality train comes to town. One of the sentries calls a policewoman, his cousin, who pulls up half an hour later in a pimped-out pickup truck. The marines promise to look after my kayak and I am spirited away to a small hotel. The proprietress cooks me dinner: a green curry with prawns and fluffy jasmine rice, followed by mango sticky rice for dessert. In the morning, her son drives me back to the naval base and my kayak.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-148571" src="https://staging.destinasian.com/wp-content/uploads/Thailand-Andaman-Kayaking-Stormy-Waves-Illustration-by-Nachiket-Kalbhande.jpeg" alt="Thailand Andaman Kayaking - Stormy Waves Illustration by Nachiket Kalbhande" width="1600" height="2400" />
Two days later I reach the pancake-flat island of Koh Phra Thong, the halfway mark of my journey and a jewel in the crown of Thailand’s Andaman coast. It has the second-longest beach in <a href="https://destinasian.com/travel-guide/thailand" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Thailand</a>—a golden 12-kilometer strip of sand—and a tropical savanna that bears a striking resemblance to the grasslands of eastern Africa. In place of gazelles and lions, Koh Phra Thong supports sambar deer, wild boar, macaques, pythons, otters, leopard cats, and carnivorous plants. It is also a birdwatchers’ paradise. Paddling along the coast, I see four sea eagles engaged in an aerial dogfight.
I take a much-needed rest day at Baba Ecolodge, a rustic resort with 27 stilted wooden villas sprinkled across a forested headland on the island’s west coast. In the morning, I am woken by an unusually loud birdsong. Perched in a tree outside is a pair of magnificent pied hornbills with yellowy underbellies and double-decker beaks. They’re said to bring good luck.
Fortune does seem to favor me, at first: conditions on the morning of day six of my journey are ideal. I advance almost effortlessly over smooth, emerald-green water, hopping from islet to islet, paddling around long curling sandbanks. But as I continue north, the weather turns. I battle whistling wind, meter-high waves, and powerful ocean currents. I have to paddle twice as hard to achieve half my regular speed. My blisters become larger and more painful and my ribs feel as if I have been in a boxing match. It takes eleven painstaking hours to cover 35 kilometers today, my hardest day on a kayak in the seven years I’ve practiced the sport.
Feeling in no condition to camp on a beach that night, I paddle up a river to a fishing village and the promise of a homestay. When I appear on the jetty at dusk, wet and dazed, I am welcomed by a group of fishermen who are amazed to learn I paddled 100 kilometers from Phuket. They invite me for drinks—Mekong whiskey and soda on ice—at a fish-packing area at the end of the jetty. Someone lights up a barbecue, another guy starts chopping up the day’s catch, and soon we’re all chowing down on grilled octopus, oyster omelets, and fried fish. That’s the great thing about traveling alone, especially by kayak or motorcycle. People are interested in you; they respect you for taking risks. And there’s always room for one more person at the table.
Before the party ends, one of the men warns me that for the past week, the seas have gotten rough here after 10 a.m. I head out at sunrise the following morning. Even so, after only an hour at sea, I again find myself battling the wind, waves, and current. Every meter must be paid for with salt and sweat; with creaking elbows, aching blisters, and stomach cramps.
After five hours, I’m exhausted, yet there is still one major obstacle ahead of me: an estuary wide enough to contain an archipelago of towering limestone islands. Within minutes of entering it, I feel the might of its swirling currents and am overcome by fear. A fisherman in a longtail boat recognizes my predicament and hauls me aboard. Five kilometers up the coast, he drops me off at a run-down but welcoming resort.
That evening, I study the map in detail. The distance between my current location, Ban Bang Ben, and the finish line at Ranong is 50 kilometers. Normally I could do this in one and a half days. But the coastline is remote and uninhabited and entangled with mangroves, with only one beach at which to land. Coupled with the rough seas and my general exhaustion, things are not looking good, so I make an executive decision to end the trip here. It’s disappointing given all the time, money, and energy I have invested in the expedition, but at least I’ll live to paddle another day.
When people ask me why I do these grueling kayak adventures, I have many different answers. I do it for fitness and as a form of meditation. I do it because I have become increasingly uninspired by the land-based trips I regularly embark upon as a travel writer. I do it because it teaches me self-reliance, how to solve problems on the run; and because it gives me a sense of accomplishment I can’t currently find anywhere else. Kayaking also allows me to view the world from a different perspective and visit places I wouldn’t otherwise see. Mostly, though, I do it because, like many of us, I just love being on the ocean but can’t afford a yacht.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-148570" src="https://staging.destinasian.com/wp-content/uploads/Thailand-Andaman-Kayaking-Sunset-Scene-Illustration-by-Nachiket-Kalbhande.jpeg" alt="Thailand Andaman Kayaking - Sunset Scene Illustration by Nachiket Kalbhande" width="1800" height="1350" />
Paddle Power 
Phuket-based <a href="http://www.seacanoe.com/?DestinAsian" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sea Canoe Thailand</a> rents Atlantis 14 touring kayaks for about US$22 a day. The company also offers three-day guided kayak mini-expeditions in Phang Nga Bay from US$810 per person.
This article originally appeared in the <a href="https://subscription.destinasian.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">August/September 2025</a> print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“The Shape of Water”). Buy a single issue or subscribe <a href="https://subscription.destinasian.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">here</a>.

Thailand Andaman Kayaking - Sunset Scene Illustration by Nachiket Kalbhande

Paddling from Phuket: An Unusual Journey for the Intrepid