I’d been in my digs between Krabi and Ao Nang for a few weeks before I finally took a trip to Railay Beach. It’s one of those places people say you have to see, and as it looked — for once — as if it might not rain, I booked a Grab and headed to Ao Nang to get a longtail boat over. There’s no road access.
I’d been warned about the water. “Knee deep,” someone had said. So I wore shorts and planned ahead — shoes off, orthotics out, dignity intact.
That lasted about thirty seconds.
Before I really knew what was happening, I was being ushered towards a boat. Shoes off on shingle (not pleasant), then into the sea. Knee deep turned into something closer to waist deep once the waves had their say, and my already tender feet had to negotiate a wooden ladder with metal edges.
I made it. But any enjoyment of the ride was tempered by one thought: I have to get out of this thing later.
Railay itself? Beautiful, undeniably. But busy. Very busy. And commercial in a way that takes the edge off the scenery.
I wandered for a couple of hours, saw some monkeys (none tried to steal my cap), had something to eat… and started to notice something else.
I was, for all practical purposes, the oldest person there.
Out of hundreds, perhaps a dozen looked vaguely my age. No one older. And no one with any obvious mobility issue. Not one.
It’s not something that gets mentioned in the “must visit” write-ups.
The return journey was… less graceful.
Getting onto the boat this time involved little more than metal rungs. Manageable, just about. The sea, however, had become more enthusiastic, and by the time we reached Ao Nang I was already well on the way to being soaked through.
Then came the dismount.
I stepped onto the edge of the boat, lined up for the ladder — and at that exact moment a wave arrived. I went backwards, landing flat on the floor, and spent a few undignified seconds floundering like an overturned turtle before managing to push myself sideways. Someone helped me up.
A crew member appeared, mildly impatient, and demonstrated that I could simply step off and jump — we were in about two feet of water.
Which, of course, meant getting soaked all over again.
What followed was perhaps the least glamorous part of the day: a slow, painful shuffle across shingle to a bench where I could sit and wrestle my shoes back on.
As I was leaving, a couple arrived with two large suitcases and backpacks, heading for the same boats. I found myself watching as they tried to work out how to manage it all. I couldn’t help wondering what was waiting for them at the other end.
Would I do it again? No.
Did it make me feel old? Yes.
With a bit more research, I later discovered there’s a pier elsewhere at Ao Nang, (and nearer to my digs,) where you can step straight on and off the boats. It would have made at least half of this a lot easier.
I suspect the couple with the suitcases hadn’t discovered that either.
The next day I had a foot massage. The day after that my IBS flared up.
There’s a message in there somewhere.
If you’re going to travel full-time, there may be something to be said for doing it while you’re younger.
