Earlier this year, I wrote a post about how I’m not bored when I take beach vacations alone. And I’m not…but sometimes I am lonely. Beach vacas are prime spots for couples, after all. More than that, though, sometimes resorts make it way more awkward than it needs to be.
I took off by myself for, after a stopover in Bangkok, five nights divided between two islands: Koh Kood and Koh Chang. They’re two of the three Trat islands—located to the east, close to Cambodia in the Gulf of Thailand, they can only be reached by taking a ferry from Trat, a tiny, one runway, propellor-plane airport about a forty-five minute flight from Bangkok. The remoteness of the islands is part of the allure; they’re less populated and touristy than the more famous stops like Phi Phi.
Koh Kood in particular feels like another world. There’s one main road that winds around the island, with only a few shops and restaurants, by which I mean huts on the side of the road—no chains here, not even 7-11 (a staple in much of Asia).
The awkwardness started when the driver from the resort met me at the Trat airport. Apparently the resort told him he was picking up two people, so I had to communicate across a language barrier that it was, in fact, just me. It continued as I went through the various transit stages: He drove me in a van to a checkpoint, where I got a ferry ticket and transferred to a golf cart. The golf cart drove me to a ferry, and that driver carried my bag onto the boat and made sure I got a seat. Another driver met me when the ferry dropped me off on the island, and he drove me to the resort in the typical open-air pickup truck retrofitted with bench seats, while a hotel employee sat in the back with me and told me a bit about the island as we drove.
The most awkward moment came when we arrived at the hotel. A line of about six employees stood out front to greet me with a chorused Thai hello. They presented me with an orchid garland and then insisted on taking my photo before I checked in—they never delivered the print as promised, though; perhaps they also recognized that it was a bit sad.
I blame forced luxury for all of this nearly as much as traveling alone. I love a nice room, a high thread count, and plenty of amenities, but beyond that, I generally want to be left to myself. The hotel, High Season, was very nice, but as one of only two five-star resorts on the island, it seemed like they felt pressure to provide services that felt a little performative. But the fact remains that it would have been far less uncomfortable if I were traveling with another person.
I spent a quiet day and a half on the island. It poured for much of my only full day, a huge tropical thunderstorm that woke me up when it started at 5 am, and I spent the morning hiding behind my mosquito-netted bed with a cup of coffee. I appreciated how isolated the resort felt, though—I only saw a handful of other people; after the welcome greetings, it was quite peaceful. And, when it wasn’t raining, it was lovely:
I then took a ferry, by which I mean a mid-sized speedboat, to Koh Chang, a larger and more populated island. My resort was a little less fancy but a lot more of a bargain, so there was mercifully less fanfare. Though when I checked in, I of course got the, “Are you alone? Really, just one? No one is joining you later?”
Just. Me.
The resort, The Dewa, was much busier, though, so I was surrounded by more couples and several families as well. It always feels strange to me to see couples my age with a baby, even though it’s more than normal now that I’m in my mid-thirties.
The most awkward moment came when I was in the shower one afternoon and housekeeping started knocking at my door. I was in the middle of rinsing out my hair, so I couldn’t do much. I exited the bathroom in a towel just as a man from housekeeping was coming in. He apologized and left quickly, yet not a minute passed before he knocked on the door again. In fairness, it was to give me delicious cake, but give a girl a second to put on a robe. Or give a girl a second person to answer the door.
Other than that, it was standard—every night, for instance, the hotel restaurant set up candlelit tables on the beach. It was very romantic, but I put my game face on and ate there anyway. I watched the sunset alone:
And the fire show alone:
And I enjoyed myself, as I nearly always do. Traveling alone, particularly to places seemingly designed for couples, is sometimes sad and uncomfortable, but it beats the hell out of not going.
