A Living Zoo? On the Surin Islands
In the Andaman Sea, a visit to the Moken raises an uncomfortable question: who is really on display?
Soft waves lap at the wooden pyres supporting the structures on the beach. A mahogany-skinned child is looking up at me with distant, wide eyes. The plea is obvious. Hand painted postcards rest on makeshift shelves. Woven bracelets on another. It’s not much different than the lemonade stands of my childhood.
The paintings are innocent and whimsical and flow with the artistic freedom adulthood stifles. Only a child’s painting could look more beautiful than the scenery itself. It would be the perfect souvenir to buy, but I know not to. The wooden structures, not much different from over-water villas in the Maldives, are the children’s homes. Our boat’s arrival from the mainland brings a rush of juvenile entrepreneurs.
The Moken are a semi-nomadic indigenous group that have roamed the Andaman Sea, off Thailand’s western coast, for thousands of years. Spending most of their lives on wooden boats called kabang, a permanent settlement of approximately 300 now lives on Koh Surin Tai, or Surin Islands, as tourists call it.
Boats from the mainland disgorge 40 people each directly into the sandy lanes of the Moken village. Cameras in hand, the village quickly turns into a living zoo. Today’s paying customers and documenters have arrived. Reduced to merchants, the Moken are world-renowned free divers, capable of holding their breath for minutes while hunting underwater. The children have been found to have 50% better vision underwater than other children. Never missing the shimmer of a shell or twitch of a crab.
Crystal clear waters lap at Surin’s rocky shores. Peering through liquid glass, vibrant colorful coral paints the seafloor. Shimmering, spotted, striped fish dart and weave through the winding streets of the undersea coral metropolis. Koh Surin Tai is not easily accessible enough to have been ruined…yet. Now a protected marine park, it preserves some of the country’s most pristine snorkeling sites.
I spent $400 for my husband and myself to have a private tour of the marine park. But we still had to travel from the mainland within a large group, and we are still required to wander like an uninvited guest through the tiny beach village. Our awaiting private boat captain is a broad footed, agile, constantly smiling Moken. Our guide, a Thai mainlander.
It’s not long before we are floating in a secluded cove, holding hands, faces gazing downward to the flurry of submerged activity.
“You two look very happy,” our guide remarks as we haul ourselves back onboard the groaning wooden boat.
“Most people want to swim too much, they can’t see.”
Our captain is sunning himself on the bow, relaxed.
The chug of the diesel engine cuts through the water as our captain navigates us to three other locations. Not once do we see the other larger boats. Today he gifts us his magical home and the luxury of seclusion and peaceful insulation. Cool crystalline waters and a living aquarium are his to hide or give freely.
The Moken recognized the receding tide as a “wave that eats people” (la-boon) before the 2004 tsunami and survived the disaster by fleeing to higher ground. Were one to hit now would we become sea gypsies ourselves? Or what if the nearby border crises with Myanmar or Cambodia boiled to catastrophic proportions? Would we be destined to become nomads ourselves?
As the day progressed, floating in paradisaical waters, I became acutely aware of our constraints: the boat will return to the mainland at 4pm. Our check out is tomorrow at 10am, and our flight at 2pm. I will return to my walled apartment in a city built in a grid formation and my lunch break will be at noon. Perhaps the Moken aren’t the ones in a living zoo.
I write these stories to capture the 'why' of a place, but I know the 'how' is what gets you there. For those planning their own escape to the Thai coast, I’ve shared my personal travel logistics and 'no-B.S.' recommendations in the Field Notes Vault. It’s a growing library for the community that keeps this publication going.
If we haven’t met yet, I’m Richard Philion. I traveled the world during my dance career and continue to explore with the same passion. If you love adventures to both new and familiar places, I’d love to connect and share our mutual love for travel. Through the Travelling Troubadour, I hope to inspire and inform with stories, tips, and itineraries.
Feel free to message me directly—I’d love to meet you.