I was left standing on the pier and suddenly felt completely alone amongst the other tourists. I had just said goodbye to Eike, who had started his journey home to frosty Germany after a 14-day holiday. Now it was just me – and I had a mission: I wanted to find the biggest, the widest and the oldest tree in Thailand, photograph it and use it as the basis for my artwork.

However, it was difficult to grasp what was really in front of me. Three of the four trees I had identified were far away from typical tourist areas, some of them deep inland. There were therefore no detailed reports on the areas, nor did I know anyone who had been there before and could have reported back. I was about to leave my comfort zone for the first time in a long time and experience something fundamentally new. I had been longing for a situation like this for a long time. It was part of my big vision and I couldn’t wait to really live this vision. But as I looked after the speedboat and saw how it drew its wide, white curves in the dark waters, becoming smaller and smaller, a strange feeling slowly crept over me. It was a mixture of loneliness, sadness, unease, confidence, anticipation and great excitement. On the one hand, I felt left behind and alone, and on the other, like a great adventurer, about to set sail into a strange world, ready and hungry to experience life.

Ko Yao Noi

After Eike’s speedboat had disappeared into the distance behind a small island, two hours later I myself had boarded one of the brightly coloured, roaring and overcrowded motorboats. After stops at the tourist destinations of Railay Beach and Ao Nang, we were now on the direct route to our final destination of Phuket – at least that’s what almost everyone thought. Because when we stopped after another 40 minutes at an inconspicuous concrete pier on a barely built-up island – obviously not Phuket – I saw many astonished, disbelieving looks. However, a broad grin appeared on my face when I was almost the only one who stood up, picked up my rucksack and climbed off the speedboat past everyone else. In fact, only a couple of tourists and a local old Thai woman left the boat with me.

A dark green, red-gold-brown silhouette with several green hills in the east loomed in front of me. Above it were low cloud formations in an impressive variety of intense grey tones. It was pleasantly warm and there was some rain in the air, something I hadn’t experienced in the last four weeks. A wide, long concrete pier, split in the middle, led to the island. At the end, in the centre where I was standing, was a large area parked with countless scooters. So this was Ko Yao Noi. All melancholy was now completely wiped away and replaced by a deep, intense but calm euphoria. The adventure could begin!

‘Taxi, taxi?’ The shouting of the two local taxi drivers, who were endeavouring to pick up the few arrivals, suddenly pulled me out of my romantic rapture and back into reality. ‘No, no taxi, I need a scooter’ I replied to the two taxi drivers, whereupon a wild shouting match broke out in Thai and eventually a small man in his late 50s headed towards me. As always, hiring the scooter was very straightforward and after handing over 600 baht for the next three days and receiving the scooter key in return and a note from the hire company that the tank was relatively empty and that I’d better fill up soon, I was already mobile and free to explore the island.

I strapped my rucksack to my back, secured my straw hat to the handlebars, set the sat nav to my booked accommodation and manoeuvred swiftly from the car park onto the pier. The whole situation had taken less than five minutes, so I approached a taxi on the pier, where the couple from the boat had just taken a seat. I got in line behind the taxi and felt even more free, independent and euphoric in this contrast. Suddenly, the man from the boat seemed to recognise me, his face brightened, he began to grin and greeted me in a somewhat appreciative manner. I was obviously radiating an infectious, positive vibe. Not something I was used to as a notoriously serious person. However, the whole situation put a big grin on my face again. I had single-mindedly and quickly organised my independence and freedom and was now travelling around the island individually and self-determined right from the start, while others sat passively and dependently on the back of a taxi pick-up and were driven to the next resort, i.e. consumer facility. But I had a job to do here, I wasn’t just here for fun.

Grinning with satisfaction, I set off to overtake, leaving the taxi and the situation behind me and savouring the impressions of this new, unfamiliar island. My first impression of the island of Ko Yao Noi was completely different to that of the other island of the last four weeks. There were hardly any typical tourist restaurants, but most of the houses were in very good condition. Everything seemed lively and the island generally gave an authentic, bustling impression, away from the tourist industry. Passing a police station that was too large for the size of the island, I reached the centre of Ko Yao Noi, which actually only consisted of two intersections, a 7-Eleven supermarket in the middle and a dozen shops. There was a pharmacy, a liquor store, a new marijuana shop and three shops that sold the typical tourist clothes on the street, but only offered all kinds of everyday products inside. There were also a couple of small restaurants and three cafés, but these were spread out over a maximum of two kilometres.

I turned off and after manoeuvring my scooter through deep, loose gravel, I reached a kind of courtyard surrounded by large trees. Anna, my hostess, was a friendly, sturdy woman in her thirties who spoke very good English. Together we walked a few hundred metres across her property, past colourful Malabar hornbills, a few well-kept houses and clucking chickens, until we reached a large, wooden bungalow with a huge, covered terrace. My bedroom was nothing special, but it was clean. The view, on the other hand, especially from the bed and the terrace, was marvellous! There were several coconut palms all around, a fertile, light green meadow next to it and a rubber tree plantation a few metres away. Through the palm leaves I could make out a few more little houses, which seemed to be romantically situated by a lake. Apart from the chirping of the cicadas, it was wonderfully quiet and very idyllic here! I couldn’t have imagined my starting accommodation any better.

I explained to Anna what I was planning here and she offered to organise a boat to the Big Tree, my destination on this island, as it was located in a bay in the very north of the island. When Maria told me that it might also be possible to reach the Big Tree by land, but that this would have to be organised, I pricked up my ears. According to Anna, her cousin could say more about this, as he worked as a guide at the only five-star resort in the north of the island and therefore knew his way around. However, her cousin wouldn’t be home until the evening.

There was a small, inconspicuous but cosy restaurant right next to the gravel driveway to Anna’s property. I looked for a seat from where I could watch the hustle and bustle on the street and ordered fried rice with vegetables and chicken and an ice-cold Coke. I wanted to have a late lunch here and then explore the island. While I was sipping my Coke and waiting for my order, the sky suddenly closed in. It got darker and darker and finally started to rain. First tentatively, then suddenly very heavily. The restaurant owner quickly brought me my food and then told me with his hands and feet that he had to leave for a moment and would be back in five minutes. As frantically as he set off, he probably had to protect something from the rain. This rain was the first rain for me in four weeks and as a rain-spoilt North German, I actually enjoyed it. I enjoyed the whole situation. Sitting in the dry, energised by the circumstances, impressions and the new island, I watched the soaked, hectic locals who occasionally rode their scooters through the rain while the raindrops drummed on the tin roof above me. I was happy. I had discovered a completely different, interesting and authentic island and an extraordinary place to stay. I was planning my first journey to my first truly original motif in my new life as an exploring artist. I ate authentic food in an authentic restaurant. I was free, independent, motivated and alone – and I was highly excited about the next few days and the rest of the island.

The rain shower was short and heavy. It took a while for the restaurant owner to return, so the road was almost completely dry again by the time I got on my scooter. My first impression of the island was not deceptive. The inhabitants of the island seemed to have fared better during Covid than those on the other islands focussed solely on tourism. The houses looked better and I also discovered more businesses and facilities that had nothing to do with tourism. The nature of the island was impressive, the roads hilly and relatively well maintained. I had chosen two beaches that I wanted to visit. The first beach was in the north-east, away from houses and hotels. However, another rain shower a few kilometres further on made me take a break in a small grocer’s shop where I treated myself to a cool drink. This shop didn’t even have the typical tourist clothing at the front. Just everyday items as well as fruit and vegetables – and petrol. However, this was not sold from plastic bottles, as is often the case, but from a small petrol station with large, transparent cylinders and a mechanical pump.

My navigation system now led me across a small crossroads into the middle of a jungle. The tarmac quickly disappeared and the road turned into a red-brown track littered with potholes and a few muddy puddles. I drove the scooter bumping and sliding from one hill to the next and was in high spirits until I finally came to a hill and could let my gaze wander. What a marvellous view! I continued up to the left and could actually recognise some buildings. In between, there was a green slope with some bushes and trees and on the right, the sea opened up over a shallow bank. There was now also a small wooden sign here, which somehow unnecessarily signposted Long Beach. You could already see the long beach. My euphoria was almost overflowing by now, but reached its peak when I let the scooter roll down the red slope, parked it at the edge of the shore and a deserted, beautiful, golden yellow beach poured out in front of me. In the background, in the crowns of the large palm trees, I could still make out a few busy Malabar hornbills. Otherwise, I was completely alone there.

I actually didn’t want to leave this place and stay here for hours. However, as dusk slowly set in, I decided to leave after all. I also wanted to explore the other side of this very small island on the way back. However, it was already clear to me that I would not leave this island after just two days, but would stay on it for a few more days. Back on the piste, I steered the scooter over a large, flat stone so that it didn’t have to drive through the red mud. The scooter went into a spin – and stopped. That sent shivers down my spine: In all the euphoria, I had forgotten to refuel! Stopping in the rainforest, in the dark, on slippery, sometimes steep paths with my scooter because I had run out of petrol was not only stupid, rather atypical for me and of course completely unnecessary, but also highly negligent. Especially as, strangely enough, I was starting to feel a bit chilly. As the displays on rental scooters in Thailand are not necessarily to be trusted, I strained to open the petrol cap and squinted into the black hole, but could still see some shiny liquid at the bottom. After all. There was still petrol. I pressed the ignition and – the scooter started! Success! Off to the shop to fill up!

Everything was red. The tyres had been given a red edge, half of the black fairing of the scooter was decorated with wide, red mud stripes, as were my shoes, which were now complemented by a few black mud details. But the most intense red was the sky. The red sun had slipped through the clouds and bathed the whole world in a pink-orange colour. It was magical. After a quick nightcap in the sunset bar, with a crazy view of the rock structures in the sea, which were also illuminated red by the red sun, I suddenly felt really cold. The thermometer on my mobile phone said it was 25 degrees, but it felt more like 10 degrees or even colder to me on the scooter. When my stomach started to cramp, I had a bad feeling: I hadn’t imagined the strange taste at the restaurant earlier. Obviously, a gastrointestinal upset was building up here. ‘Balance’, it popped into my head. “There must always be balance and equilibrium. Thecost of euphoria during the day is an upset stomach in the evening,” I laughed to myself and had to concentrate on not getting off the road as stomach cramps started again.

It had become dark by now. On the way to my accommodation, I had to pass the house of Teerapat, Anna’s cousin. He was sitting on his veranda in the neon white light, working on the engine of a scooter. ‘Sawasdee kap, how are you?‘ he wanted to know from me and I politely lied back, ’fine, thank you’, while I had to concentrate on not wetting my pants. I told Teerapat about my plan to see the Big Tree and that I would prefer to do it on foot. Teerapat then said that he could basically guide me through the forest, but that there was currently a king cobra on the way, which is why he strongly recommended the sea route. Making a climb through the jungle, on steep and slippery, barely recognisable paths, with the chance of encountering a king cobra, which is the largest venomous snake in the world, had a very strong appeal for me. The king cobra would also be an exciting subject, I thought. However, I didn’t have any of the necessary equipment with me, such as a camera with a telephoto lens, the local guide advised me against the climb and I suspected that my fitness would be reduced over the next few days. So I decided to take the sea route and informed Anna of my decision so that she could organise everything else. However, I postponed the whole thing for a day as I was pretty sure I would need tomorrow to recover. After I had stocked up on medication at my accommodation, I received some bad news from Anna. The weather was going to be too bad for the next two days and the waves too high for any boat to go out. Even the speedboats would no longer be travelling to the islands. Disillusioned and completely exhausted, I fell asleep in the deckchair on the veranda while the cicadas sang a night song for me.