Back in 2007: My Hidden Journey to Koh Chang, Thailand

It feels almost like another life—around 2007—when I was traveling through Thailand. Since we were living in Vietnam back then, hopping on a budget flight to Bangkok was as simple as booking a bus ticket.

I had always loved Bangkok’s energy: the tuk-tuks weaving through traffic, the night markets bursting with color, the endless noise. But after several visits, I was curious about a different pace—the slower, coastal Thailand I’d only read about.

Back then, the internet wasn’t in my pocket. Smartphones weren’t really a thing, and Wi-Fi, if it existed, was expensive. Most evenings, I ended up in an internet café, or, if I got lucky, I’d find a guesthouse that offered a shared computer. One of my absolute favorite places to stay was a hostel tucked into a numbered side street off Sukhumvit Road, fittingly called Suk 11. It’s long gone now, but at the time it was legendary: bamboo-lined corridors, cozy common spaces, and an unmistakably authentic backpacker vibe. Many travelers later called it a Bangkok institution.

That’s where I sat one night, scrolling slowly on an old desktop computer, when I stumbled upon photos of a place called Koh Chang. The name immediately caught my attention—Chang means “elephant” in Thai, and the island was named for its elephant-shaped silhouette rising from the sea. I’d never heard of it before, and that was reason enough.

By the very next morning, I was on a long-distance bus, my Lonely Planet guidebook open in my lap. There was no Google Maps to double-check routes, only trust in a hand-drawn map and the notes of travelers who’d been there before. After about five and a half hours, I reached the ferry pier and boarded the boat to the island.

At the time, Koh Chang was still relatively unknown—overshadowed by Phuket and Koh Samui—so cars were rare. As soon as I stepped off the ferry, I rented a motorbike, which was second nature to me after years of riding my little red Yamaha Mio Maximo through Hanoi’s chaotic streets.

I spent the next days exploring. Roads sometimes crumbled into the sea from old landslides, forcing me to inch carefully past missing asphalt. Monkeys watched me from roadside trees. I stopped at driftwood shacks that doubled as restaurants, serving some of the best local food I’ve ever tasted. Snorkeling in deserted bays, kayaking from one hidden beach to another—Koh Chang felt like a secret world.

Accommodation was an adventure too. The gap between the cheapest and the priciest was huge, so I mixed it up: one night in a rickety hut that looked like it might collapse on me, and two nights in a “royal” little beach bungalow that felt like my personal palace.

Every evening, I joined other travelers on the beach. No one had their noses in screens; instead, we shared stories under the stars, music playing softly in the background, the waves keeping rhythm. There was a kind of unfiltered connection in that simplicity, the kind you rarely find now.

I did all of this alone, and I’ve never regretted it. Koh Chang, in its quiet corners, showed me a Thailand that felt untouched—so different from the relentless energy of Bangkok or the tourist-saturated islands. I don’t know what the island is like today, or if that kind of peace still exists there, but I’d love to find out.

So, tell me—have you been to Koh Chang recently? Is Elephant Island still hiding those tranquil beaches, or has it joined the ranks of Thailand’s busier destinations?