A Taste of forbidden fruit (Part 2)
South China Morning Post (October 2000)

Text and photos by: Cathrin Schaer

The first Europeans came to this area in the 15th century because Mergui, the town at the northern end of the Archipelago for which the whole area is named, was an important maritime trading centre. Cargo came around the Malay Peninsula and then went overland to Ayuthaya, the capital of the Siamese empire. Because of all the uncharted islands, the area was also notorious for piracy.

But since around the middle of the 18th century the animals have had the islands to themselves. The wildlife has never even been properly observed but there were reports once of Asiatic black bears, tigers, leopards and elephants.

Gibbons call in the morning at the end of our beach, and one of the most common sights is the Asian reticulated python, usually sunbathing in trees over inland rivers. One accidentally fell out of its tree and into the inflatable, according to Graham.

But the wildlife is smarter than us. When we arrive, it has scurried away, leaving all kinds of foot, paw and slither prints on the sand.

One of the most impressive sights we do see is a two-metre monitor lizard coolly checking our boats out from his stretch of sand. It is a close living relative of the dinosaur and a bird-eater. This funky dragon looks us over disdainfully, shrugs his scaly shoulders, then ambles casually away into the jungle.

We area taken to the only official village in the whole area, Mah Jong Kyi on Pu Nala island. This is a beach-front row of stilt-houses with thatched roofs. It was built by the government to accommodate the sea gypsies when they come ashore, as they do for six months of the year when the weather gets too bad to stay at sea. Even when they're on land, real sea gypsies will live in their hand-made boats. The entire extended family cooks, sleeps, plays cards, smokes opium wrapped in banana leaves and dies in small wooden canoes. Wherever they land their dugout, that's their home.

We wander along the shore, avoiding rubbish, beaches boats and ragged dogs. We're chased around by packs of dirty little children. One Burmese kid, cheeks smeared with traditional white paste, asks one of the tourists where he's from. "America," he replied. "Rambo, Rambo, Rambo," the kid runs off yelling.

There's no doubt things are changing here. However, despite the huge potential, there is no real agenda for tourism in Mergui. When we leave our island for Kawthoung we go during the day, and pass many coral-fringed islands. "I should have bought a postcard," I say without thinking. Thankfully, there is none.