The Thai beach begins where the land decides to surrender to the sea, a boundary line of sand that flows softly into the water. The waves come and go, always the same and yet different, as if they want to reveal their secrets, but withdraw at the last moment.
The sky is blue, but not the blue you know; it is deeper, more alive, almost tangible. The sunlight plays on the water, breaking into thousands of flakes of gold and silver, as if the sea itself were breathing. In the distance, the silhouettes of islands are visible, islands that float between dream and reality, shapes that exist to seduce the eye and confuse the heart.
Here, on this beach, time seems to dissolve. There is only the sound of the waves, the soft, constant sound of water that remembers, that knows what it is to be timeless. And sometimes, when the sun begins to set, the light changes to a rare orange that clings to the sky, as if the earth has been baptized in fire for a moment. It is then that the beauty of the Thai beach takes on its ultimate form; everything becomes silent, even the birds in the mangroves seem to be silent, as if they were witnesses to an ancient promise, a covenant between land and sea, once made in times that man has never known.
One day I met a Thai fisherman, an old man whose skin the salt and sun have carved like a map of stories. He stood there, a mere silhouette against the endless blue, looking as if he had been standing on that beach for an eternity. “This beach,” he said slowly, his eyes staring at the horizon, “is not mine, it is not yours. It belongs to the sea.” And he told me about the Naga, the ancient sea serpent who rests beneath the waves and protects the land. “She breathes in and out, and that is why the sea comes and goes.”
The legend of the Naga mixes with the salty air here, it is a myth that lives in the sound of the water. Somewhere in the distance a fin appears, the dark, shiny body of a fish that knows the depths like no other. Perhaps it is a messenger, perhaps just a shadow. The people who live here, the fishermen and islanders, believe that this beach and this sea have a will of their own, that the wind and the waves listen, that they can judge. And they say that the island reveals itself to those who deserve it, and hides itself from those who do not understand it.
In the evening, when the last rays of the sun retreat behind the rocks, a bluish light appears in the surf. The bioluminescence, a play of light that seems otherworldly, like little stars that break the night with every wave. It seems as if the beach itself, this sand, this air, the sea, breathes everything. The stars in the sky are reflected in the water, and so, under this sky, the beach seems to become infinite. Whoever sits here, whoever listens here, gets lost in something that is unnameable.
I remember hearing a story about a wandering monk who, years ago, traveled these shores. He left a trail of footprints in the sand, but never for long, for the sea swept each step deeper inward, as if absorbing his journey. In silence, it was said, he had preached about the human soul, which, like the sea, is restless and never comes to rest. The monk believed that this beach was a place where the earth surrendered itself, where the soul could find refuge.
And yet, the beauty of this beach, the soft sand, the smell of the ocean, the sounds that lull you to sleep, is not something you can own or take with you. It is a fleeting experience, a glimpse of something that is always shifting. On the day I left, I looked back one more time. The sky was clear, the sea calm, and the horizon was there, inviting but unapproachable. The beach was empty, but it seemed as if the world was waving goodbye in silence.
About this blogger
-
My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.
ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.
I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.
Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!
Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.
Read the latest articles here
CultureJanuary 13 2025'Bangkok traffic is dancing with chaos'
CultureJanuary 11 2025'The last lap'
CultureJanuary 9 2025'Bangkok, a city slowly suffocating'
CultureJanuary 7 2025'Two friends who clash over the columns of De Expat'