Phi Phi Island in 1992: I Found Paradise—and Somehow Got Bored

In 1992, I went to Phi Phi Island and found the sort of place people dream about.

Clear water. Limestone cliffs. A quiet beach. Very few people.

And somehow, I managed to get bored.

Looking back, that feels almost embarrassing to admit. But beautiful surroundings do not automatically make a young traveller good at sitting still.

Apparently, even paradise required a little practice.

A Very Quiet Corner of Thailand

I stayed at Phi Phi Island Village, beside Loh Ba Gao Bay on Koh Phi Phi Don.

One of my photographs from that visit shows me as the only guest. It captures how I remember the place: peaceful, green and remarkably quiet.

There were places to stay elsewhere on the island, including a small village and backpacker accommodation. But the corner I had chosen felt isolated.

I had wanted to escape and explore. What I had perhaps underestimated was how quiet an escape could be.

The sea was there. The beach was there. The scenery was doing an excellent job.

I was the one who occasionally wondered what came next.

Maya Bay Before It Became a Film Location

One memory stands out particularly clearly: visiting Maya Bay on neighbouring Koh Phi Phi Leh. When I arrived, I was virtually alone apart from my boat driver.

There were the limestone cliffs, the clear water and that extraordinary feeling of being somewhere tucked away from everything else.

Years later, Maya Bay became internationally familiar as a filming location for The Beach. But during my visit in 1992, I knew it simply as a beautiful bay I had reached by boat.

I had no idea that the place in front of me would eventually become such a recognisable image. That is one of the strange pleasures of looking through old travel photographs. Sometimes you discover that you recorded something whose significance you could not have understood at the time.

Back then, I was taking a photograph of my trip. Now, I see a moment that cannot be repeated in quite the same way.

Can You Really Be Bored in Paradise?

Yes, apparently. At least, I could.

There was no endless programme of things competing for my attention. Where I stayed, the days felt simple: sun, sand, sea and plenty of time.

Sometimes I enjoyed that. Sometimes I struggled with it.

I could appreciate the view and still feel restless. I could enjoy the solitude and then wish there were a few more people around. Those feelings seem contradictory, but they belonged to the same holiday.

Perhaps I expected the destination to provide all the excitement. I had arrived somewhere extraordinary; surely something extraordinary should happen next?

Instead, the sea carried on being the sea. It was under no obligation to entertain me.

What the Photographs Bring Back

My photographs preserve the hotel, the bay and the green landscape I remember. But they also bring back something less visible: how it felt to be there at that age.

The curiosity. The freedom. The occasional loneliness. And, yes, the boredom that probably would not have made it into a holiday brochure.

That is why I value these pictures. They remind me of a younger version of myself who could stand in a remarkable place without fully appreciating how unusual that moment might later seem.

I do not want to tidy him up too much in the telling.

He enjoyed the island. He also occasionally wanted something more to happen. Both things are true.

A Place I Remember, Rather Than a Place I Can Freeze

It would be easy to look at those photographs and declare that everything was better before more visitors arrived.

But I was a visitor, too. I had travelled there because I wanted to experience a beautiful place. Other people wanted the same thing.

What I can describe honestly is the Phi Phi I experienced in 1992: the quiet corner where I stayed, the boat trip to Maya Bay and the feeling of having so much space around me.

Those memories are personal. They are not a complete history of the islands. Nor do I need them to be.

What I Appreciate Now

Looking back, I appreciate that quiet more than I probably did while I was there.

The very things that sometimes made me restless—the empty hours, the solitude, the lack of activity—are part of what makes the memory special now.

I would not rewrite the experience as perfect contentment. That would make a smoother travel story, but a less honest one.

I found somewhere beautiful. I enjoyed it. And sometimes I got bored.

More than thirty years later, I am grateful that I went—and that I took photographs. They let me return to a quiet beach in 1992, where a younger version of me was apparently wondering what to do next.

For a different experiment in island solitude, read An Island to Oneself: The Book That Left Me Alone with Two Baguettes. Or return to the city with my memories of Hong Kong in 1992.