Credit: Getty Images
I am so not in Kansas anymore.
Above me, ancient limestone cliffs rear up out of the glassy water, while, below the surface, mysterious forms move among the shadows. The signs of life in the depths make me realize that right now, only a hunk of Styrofoam separates me from the unknown. For me, the sea has always been a threatening force -- a dark hint of the infinite to add mystery to ordinary life.
There is nothing ordinary, however, about my current, un-Kansas-like location. Skimming along in a flimsy one-person kayak, I am a tiny speck on the Andaman Sea, dwarfed by the limestone cliffs of Railay, a peninsula in the southern part of Thailand.
As is often the case with travel, a series of arbitrary decisions has brought me here, starting off with my notion to take a trip to Thailand while studying in Australia. Once in the country, I decided to trust the advice of a travel agent who recommended Railay. This gem is not one of Thailand's popular destinations, and many people who visit do so on the basis of word-of-mouth recommendations. But the fact that it is not well known just increased my sense of awe and discovery at arriving in a wonderland of white sand, clear water, and magnificent palisades.
Shaped by thousands of years of water percolation, these cliffs reach heights of more than 900 feet, their sheer faces rising dramatically from the sea's surface. It's no surprise that one global subculture knows the area well: the fraternity of elite rock climbers. But from my kayak, the only people visible are a few fellow kayakers on solitary adventures of their own, and some local fishermen doing more lounging than fishing. In my tiny vessel, I can go right up to the base of the gigantic rocks to touch their cool walls. Waves have gradually carved into the limestone around the water's edge, creating cool, dark caves just the right size for kayak exploration.
Although it's a peninsula, Railay, like all the most exotic parts of southern Thailand, is accessible only by boat. My companions and I arrived via one of the tourist ships that connect such hot spots as the islands of Koh Phi Phi and Koh Lanta to Phuket, which has the largest airport in the south. But the only way to get to shore from these ships is to take a long-tail motorboat, the aquatic taxi of this area, and even the long-tails don't go all the way to land. We were left to wade the last few yards of surf, which gave me the delightful feeling of being washed ashore on this exotic spot.
Railay is also a great place for scuba diving, snorkeling, and jungle trekking. But if you're in the mood for partying, bumming, and working your way through two-dollar buckets of booze, go to Koh Phi Phi. I found Railay to be better suited for sweating the party toxins out of my body and escaping the pattern of overindulgence many vacationers fall prey to in this region.
For those who want company and a guide, local tour operations offer kayaking safaris. I would recommend, however, skipping inflated prices and talkative tourists to go it alone with the hourly kayak rentals available on any of the beaches. Despite my lingering thalassophobia, I went out alone, because my two friends preferred to get foot massages and couldn't be talked into anything resembling physical effort. But I was rewarded with sublime views and a deeply satisfying sense of exploration -- and welcome quiet. After several hours of hard paddling, I dragged myself back to shore, ate a spectacular green curry, and enjoyed -- what else? -- a well-earned foot massage.