I never imagined myself on a cruise ship in Thailand. Cruises, I thought, were something other people put on bucket lists, not me. Yet here I was, boarding a mid-sized boat at Phuket’s marina with a mix of skepticism and mild curiosity.
The afternoon sun glinted off the Andaman Sea as I stepped onto the deck, duffel bag in hand.
I told myself I was here for the sake of a dear friend’s invitation (and maybe the promise of tropical sunsets), but inwardly I remained unconvinced that a cruise was my ideal adventure.
From the moment we left port, Thailand began to work its magic. Our vessel glided past Phuket’s headlands and into a world of astonishing seascapes: limestone karst islands and idyllic hidden bays stretched out before us, harboring coral gardens and colourful schools of fish – even the occasional passing whale – all best explored from the freedom of a small boat.
I watched the island-dotted horizon with arms folded, feigning nonchalance, but couldn’t help feeling a spark of wonder. As Phuket’s shoreline faded, a soft breeze carried the scent of salt and frangipani. Maybe, just maybe, this cruise held more than I’d expected.
Karst Castles in the Sea
By dawn the next day, we were sailing among towering karst isles draped in green. I woke early to the gentle notes of the Thai national anthem drifting from the ship’s speakers, a daily sunrise ritual courtesy of our Thai co-captain. Clutching a cup of strong coffee, I climbed to the upper deck.
In the pearly morning light I found myself surrounded by gargantuan, tree-clothed limestone towers rising straight from the sea. The cliff nearest our bow jutted into a cerulean sky brushed with pink and purple wisps of cloud, standing tall like a silent giant watching over us.
The only sounds were the distant trill of birds and the rhythmic lap… lap… of waves against our hull. In that moment of hush, the natural grandeur around me started to erode the cynicism I’d brought onboard.
We anchored off a craggy islet in Phang Nga Bay to explore by dinghy and kayak. Donning a headlamp, I paddled with a small group into a sea cave cathedral. Inside, our voices hushed: above us hung ancient stalactites, glistening with moisture like melting wax. (Our guide cheerily called this hidden grotto the “Ice Cream Cave” for its drippy limestone formations.)
Squeezing through a narrow passage, we emerged into a hong — a secret lagoon encircled by cliffs. Sunlight slanted in, illuminating emerald water so clear I could see fish darting above the sandy bottom. My indifference was melting away; I felt like an explorer discovering a lost world.
Back on deck, our crew had a special breakfast waiting. The onboard chef, a Phuket native named Dao, ladled out steaming bowls of khao tom goong, an aromatic Thai rice soup brimming with shrimp, ginger, and coriander.
The fragrant mix of rice, prawns, garlic, and spring onions in a hearty broth was both strange and comforting to my Western palate. Slurping soup while anchored beside a postcard-perfect jungle island was not how I ever imagined starting my day, but it was glorious. I realized I was actually enjoying myself – and the day had only just begun.
Underwater Wonders and Island Hopping
Late morning brought us to an inviting cove off Koh Phi Phi Leh. As soon as the anchor dropped, a few of us plunged into crystal-clear water teeming with life. Snorkeling wasn’t initially on my must-do list, but the moment I dipped my face underwater, I was transfixed.
Coral gardens bloomed beneath us in neon splashes of orange, purple, and green. Schools of tiny electric-blue fish flitted by, and I spotted a pair of clownfish nestled in an anemone, bobbing as if to greet me. At one point I found myself surrounded by dozens of delicate pastel-pink jellyfish – harmless moon jellies drifting languidly.
I confess I yelped into my snorkel (startling a parrotfish) when I almost bumped one, but the jellyfish simply floated on, unfazed, like ethereal ghosts. Once my nerves settled, I felt a childlike awe take over.
We even sighted a hawkbill sea turtle gliding through the reef shallows, a silent guardian of this underwater kingdom. The Andaman Sea’s reputation for vibrant sea life was well earned; it felt like swimming in a tropical aquarium come to life.
After lunch on the sundeck (a delicious spread of pad thai and green mango salad prepared by Dao), the crew announced an afternoon beach excursion. We rode a longtail dinghy to a powdery strip of sand on Phi Phi Don island. The beach was flanked by towering green cliffs, and as our toes hit the soft sand, we realized we were not alone.
A troupe of macaque monkeys emerged from the treeline, eyeing us with brazen curiosity. This was the famous “Monkey Beach,” and its furry residents lived up to their notoriety, padding right up in search of snacks. I laughed in delight as one little macaque tried to tug a pineapple out of our fruit basket.
We kept a respectful distance (mindful of our guide’s warnings), but being so close to monkeys in the wild was thrilling. It struck me how alive everything felt out here – the mischievous monkeys, the dazzling fish, the very water itself shimmering with possibility. Each island we visited had its own personality and surprises.
As our cruise continued, the hits kept coming. One day we stopped near a quiet isle called Koh Yao Yai, far from the tourist crowds. A shore excursion took us into a small fishing village.
Here, Thai culture greeted us warmly. Village women showed us how to crack open coconuts and invited us to help cook sweet coconut treats over a wood fire, a traditional snack they sold at the local market. I sat on a low stool, scraping coconut flesh and stirring it with palm sugar in a pan, while children peeked out from behind their mothers’ sarongs, giggling.
The air was rich with the scent of coconut and woodsmoke. Despite my earlier indifference, I found myself fully present and engaged – opening up like a coconut, if you will.
This intimate glimpse of daily life, facilitated by our small ship’s flexibility, was something I never expected on a “cruise.” It wasn’t a packaged tourist show; it was genuine human connection over food and laughter. I could feel my perspective shifting with each encounter.
Temple in a Cave
One afternoon, our guide surprised us with a short trek to a hidden Buddhist temple tucked inside a limestone cave on the mainland coast. We clambered up steps into the cool dimness of Wat Suwan Kuha, the “Cave Temple.” Inside, a magnificent golden Buddha lay reclining peacefully in the rocky chamber, illuminated by shafts of sunlight from a sinkhole above.
Around the giant Buddha statue stood smaller Buddhas and a simple altar where the scent of incense hung in the air. I found a quiet corner and knelt for a moment, joining a few locals in silent respect. Outside the cave, monkeys lingered (earning the site its nickname “Monkey Cave”), but within, there was only serenity.
I’m not a particularly spiritual person, yet in that cave temple I felt a sense of calm reflection wash over me. In the silence, broken only by the drip of water from stalactites, I had time to absorb just how far I’d come – not only miles across the sea, but emotionally from the person who’d boarded the ship with a jaded heart.
Sunsets, Stars, and New Beginnings
Evenings on the cruise quickly became my favorite time. Each dusk seemed determined to outdo the last. One day, after a blissful stop at a deserted island (where we swung on an old rope swing and collected shells), we returned onboard for dinner as the sun began its descent.
The sky ignited in a mesmerising palette of soft yellows, fiery oranges and reds – the most spectacular sunset I’d ever seen. Everyone fell quiet, plates forgotten, as we watched the sun melt into the Andaman Sea. The limestone cliffs surrounding us turned to dark silhouettes, and a chorus of cicadas and seabirds provided the evening soundtrack.
Our captain, an old salt with twinkling eyes, sighed contentedly and murmured, “No matter how many times I see this, it never gets old.” In that moment I understood exactly what he meant. I felt a fullness in my chest — a surge of joy and gratitude that nearly brought tears.
On our final night, the crew organized a little celebration. We feasted on freshly grilled seafood and spicy tom yum goong soup (a hot-sour shrimp soup that tantalized my taste buds with lemongrass, chili, and lime). After dinner, they surprised us with an impromptu dance party on the deck. Under the stars we danced barefoot, laughing like old friends.
The only lights came from our boat and the eerie green glow of distant squid-fishing vessels on the horizon – their neon lights attracting plankton and casting an otherworldly glow on the waves. I remember tilting my head up to marvel at the Milky Way smeared across the sky. With no city lights for miles, the stars felt close enough to touch.
Just before midnight, as the music faded, a shout came from the bow: “Dolphins!” We rushed over in time to catch a small pod of dolphins surfacing near our ship, attracted by its gentle movement. They arced and dove in the silvered water, playing in our wake.
I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. It was as if Thailand wanted to give us one more gift. Earlier that week I wouldn’t have bothered to step out on deck for a mere chance at wildlife, but now I was practically leaning over the railing, heart thumping with childlike excitement. (A part of me even remembered that someone had spotted a whale breaching between Koh Yao Yai and Koh Mai Thon on the previous voyage— such sightings, while rare, were proof of how alive these waters were.)
When I finally retreated to my cabin that night, I couldn’t sleep right away. The boat gently rocked and I listened to the whisper of water against the hull.
My mind replayed the week’s moments in a vivid montage: emerald jungled karsts at dawn, laughing under a warm downpour on Railay Beach while fruit bats flitted overhead, the shock of turquoise water as I jumped from the boat for a spontaneous swim, the kind smile of a villager guiding my clumsy hands to grate coconut, the hush of the cave temple, and a hundred shades of sunset.
I had come on this cruise a skeptic, but I was leaving with a heart brimming with wonder.
Back on Shore, Changed Forever
On our last morning, the boat pulled back into Phuket’s harbor. Land beckoned with its bustle and noise – a return to reality. I found myself lingering on deck, soaking up the final views of the open sea and limestone peaks in the distance. I didn’t want to disembark; I didn’t want this feeling to end.
Where I had once been indifferent, even dismissive, I was now completely, unexpectedly enthralled. This cruise around Thailand’s islands had gently dismantled my defenses and filled me with a renewed sense of curiosity and appreciation.
As a final goodbye, I made a stop at Phuket’s famed Big Buddha, perched high on a hill overlooking the sea. Standing under the serene gaze of that 45-meter marble Buddha, I reflected on the journey I’d just taken. The panoramic view from up here was breathtaking – I could trace the route our boat had sailed, the azure bays and tiny green islands dotting the expanse of ocean.
I realized that the transformation I felt within mirrored the landscape I was gazing at: once unfamiliar territory, now cherished ground. A cruise in Thailand had never been on my bucket list, but as I whispered a grateful kop khun ka (thank you) to this beautiful country and its people, I knew it had given me something I hadn’t even known I was looking for.
I arrived a skeptic and left a believer carrying home sunlit memories and the conviction that sometimes the best journeys are the ones we never thought we’d take.
