Myanmar’s Andaman Paradise - Part 2
Thailand Tatler May 2002

That afternoon we visited Majung Galet island and Palau Nala, a sea gypsy and Burmese village of some 250 people. As we gingerly stepped across the beach, we were greeted by two nats, a man and a woman, animist figures common to Burmese homes. Beautiful Burmese and Moken girls, their faces patterned in yellow powdered swirls, strolled by hand in hand. It was a public holiday of some sort and the men, clad in slinky longyi, a sarong-like garment, played a gambling game with roosters, snakes and tigers drawn on over-sized dice that are pulled from a shelf-like tray by a rope. Others, more giddy, belted out their favorite karaoke tunes at a small, rattan-hatched joint called New Frined Karaoke.

We visited one of the many shops filled with chillies, mango paste, rum and sweets and ordered Nescafe, Chinese tea and water from the cheroot-puffing owner, a Burmese woman whose long hair was held up by an array of combs. Young girls came by to have a look at us and then ran away giggling. A stroll up the hill brought us to a temple where we met the local monk who introduced us to his three acolytes before inviting us to view the stunning landscape below.

The next day we visited Lampi Kyun and explored its mangroves by kayak before swimming in its clear waters by jumping off a convenient sandbar still exposed at high tide. We passed under a python curled asleep on a branch just metres over our exposed heads. A gibbon hooted in the distance. “I want to go back to the boat,” our nine-year-old begged, but then resumed her determined paddling while keeping a wary eye. We arrived at 60 Island a day later and went snorkelling through a magnificent coral reef. That night, we anchored at Wa Ale Kyun in an S-shaped channel. As our boat, Gaea, was gently rocked by night breezes, I lay on deck with my two daughters, each of us staring intently at a sky so white with stars we weren’t sure where to look next. “See those three stars,” said Carl, our dive master, “that’s Orion. He’s raised his club to strike Taurus who’s defending the seven sisters, the Pleiades, those stars to the left, so that he can reach the furthest, most beautiful sister, and steal her for his bride.” Lost in our thoughts and lulled by a cool breeze, we slipped into our dreams and missed the full moon’s glorious rise a bit later on. But no matter: It was still there when we awoke, though now clear across the sky and heading for its rest behind the Mergui’s lush hills. A solitary brahmany kite rose up to greet the day.

Later in the week, while anchored off Salet Galet, we snorkelled down a few metres and peered through an opening in a cave-like reef. There before us was a three-metre-long nurse shark, remoras firmly attached near its gills, lying at rest. Around us was an explosion of reef life, from sweet lips to groupers to squads of angel fish, trigger fish and snappers, all rolling back and forth as if on parade. At sunset a cloud of hundreds of fruit bats flew across the inlet, while a half-dozen crab-eating macaques scrounged on the beach for crab and shellfish, the little ones badgering their elders for goodies.

At North Twin, I’d just returned from a long snorkel when eagle-eyed Nong spotted something: “Mantas!” We took off after them with the dive master and played a mesmerising game of tag with a magnificent 3.5-metre-wide manta, which was later joined by a smaller 1.5-metre-wide friend. Together they silently swooped in, over, under and around us like beautiful alien space craft, before retiring into the murkiness beyond our ken. “The mantas were playing with you,” said Tom, our Burmese kayak master, a big smile on his face. Later that day, at South Twin, we spotted sea turtles and then – heart-pounding moment – a black-tip shark turned up to inspect us. It cut back and forth for a while before (mercifully) going its own way. It was a long 20-minute swim back to Gaea! Our next visit was to In-Through-the-Out-Door, an underwater cavern complex and renowned dive site famous for its brood of resident sharks.

Our magical trip ended as it began, in Kawthong harbour, but one that looked quite different in the red and yellow glow of the early morning sun. We awoke on Gaea while the town slowly came to life. On our right a Buddhist shrine rose mystically from the morning fog, its golds warmly tempered by the new day’s colours. On our left lay Cape Bayinnaung, named after King Bayinnaung, the 16th-century Bamar monarch who invaded Thailand several times. His bronze statue, fully clothed in martial gear, sword pointing incongruously at Thailand, stands on the crest of a hill. It’s an odd sight, completely belied by the warm welcome nature and man have extended to us this past week. As I stared back, a solitary brahminy kite headed past the tyrant’s statue, as if inviting the intrepid into the Meyik, its pristine, magical home.