What is the Rule of Thirds?

One of the most popular ways to compose your photographs is to use the rule of thirds. Although the rule of thirds is frequently used by photographers, not everyone understands exactly what it is or when it works. This article introduces the rule of thirds and explains when to use it for composition (or not). Keep in mind that the rule of thirds is a suggestion for beginners and those who struggle with properly composing their pictures, and it is far from the only way to take good images.

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How I Built This (Or What I Learned from Being a Scammy Marketer)

As I approach my ten-year anniversary of blogging, I want to tell a tale. The tale of an accidental travel writer who simply wanted to afford beer, dorm rooms, plane tickets, and backpacker pub crawls.

I shared part of this story before but, today, I want to go into more depth.

Once upon a time, I started this website with a selfish goal: to make money to keep myself traveling. I wanted my website to be an online résumé where editors could see my writing and go, “Yeah, we want to hire that guy!” — and then paying to go somewhere and write a story about it. I imagined myself a cross between Bill Bryson and Indiana Jones. My dream was to write guidebooks for Lonely Planet. I imagined no cooler job than a guidebook researcher.

Anything was better than working in the cubicle I was sitting in at the time.

These days, it’s not about how I can keep myself traveling. It’s about how I can help others travel. Every day, the team and I constantly ask ourselves: “How do we help and inspire others to travel cheaper, better, and longer?”

Today, it’s all about you.

But, back then, the only thing I ever said was “How do I help myself?”

So how did I get from a me centric to a reader centric website?

In those early days, I worked as an English teacher in Bangkok and Taiwan. Blogging was never meant to support me full–time — let alone lead to book deals, conferences, speaking events, and so much more.

In fact, I didn’t care much about this website. I mean, sure, worked on it and didn’t want it to fail. I wanted it to become popular.

But building it into something bigger than myself was not the goal.

Instead, I wanted the dream: passive income. I wanted money to be coming in while I slept.

I was 27 with no responsibilities. I wasn’t looking toward the future. I just wanted the good times to never end.

While I earned a little bit of money from affiliates and selling links on this site (back in those days, you could make a lot of money selling text links to companies looking to artificially increase their Google ranking), I spent most of my time creating AdSense websites, designed solely to get people to click on Google ads. Yes, I was a scammy internet marketer!

I put all that money I made back into these websites — getting people to write articles, optimizing the websites for search, and creating more websites — and lived off my teaching income.

I found keywords that paid well and designed very niche and ugly websites around those subjects. I had websites on teaching English, growing corn, taking care of dogs and turtles, and even raising pigs. At one point, if you went searching for advice on how to train your beagle, every website on the first page was mine.

Yes, those were some weird days. All the content was legit (I hired dog trainer friends to write the articles), but the websites lacked soul.

As time went on, between this website, my teaching job, and those AdSense sites, I made more than enough money, earning upwards of $8,000 a month.

Then one day it all changed.

I was part of this group called the Keyword Academy. It was run by two guys from Colorado, Mark and (I think) a guy named Brad. (We’ll call him Brad for this story.) As part of my membership, we had monthly consulting calls. During one, Brad said, “Matt, why are you building this crap? You know travel. You have a website that people read and like. You have a skill set. Focus on that. This shit is stupid. We only do it because it’s quick cash.”

And he was right. That shit was stupid. All I was doing was taking advantage of the fact that Google couldn’t differentiate spam websites from real websites. Travel was really my passion.

So, in late spring 2009, I shifted my focus back to this blog and, over time, let those other websites die or sold them off. (They made money for about a year after I stopped updating them.)

And, when Google finally learned to filter those spammy websites out, all the people I knew from those days were left with nothing. I have no idea what they do now. It’s certainly not running websites as I’ve never come across their names again.

But the experience taught me some important lessons about creating an online business:

First, until your hobby can pay your rent, don’t quit your day job. There are a lot of people telling you to “follow your passion” — but they neglect to tell you that unless your passion can pay your bills, you should keep your “unpassionate” day job. Teaching English and those scammy websites allowed me to have some income while I focused on “Nomadic Matt.” It wasn’t until the end of 2009 / early 2010 that Nomadic Matt earned enough where I needed no other sources of income.

Second, no matter how good or helpful your blog is, marketing is important. If no one knows how to find your website, it’s all for naught. Those crappy, scammy websites taught me how Google and SEO worked as well as the importance of marketing and messaging. I took that experienced to improve this website, optimizing my content for Google, created products, and started networking with bloggers outside travel.

I think this is one of the things that gave me an edge over other bloggers at this time. While they focused solely on writing and social media, I focused on that as well as SEO. This ensured that I ranked high in search engines, got visitors every day, and helped get my “brand” other there (I got interviewed on CNN once because the writer found me on Google).

And, as I built this community and saw my friends’ incomes collapse with the change of an algorithm, I learned the most important lesson of all: when you create a business that helps others, you create something sustainable and gives meaning and joy to your own life. I hated those other websites but I will work 24/7 on this one because I love what I do.

I don’t agree with basically anything I did in those early days. It was a very scammy way to make money. But I don’t regret one moment of it because it showed me a better way and helped get here. I guess the saying is right. When you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.

P.S. – If you’d like to learn how to start a blog the right way, avoid my early mistakes, nd get a peek at all the processes and methods I use to continue to grow this website (without scammy ads), check out my blogging course. It gives you all my screts as well as direct feedback on your website from me and tech support from my tech team.

The post How I Built This (Or What I Learned from Being a Scammy Marketer) appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Nomadic Matt's Travel Site https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/how-i-started-my-travel-blog/

How to Photograph the Aurora Borealis

Capturing a stunning shot of the northern lights (or southern lights) dancing across the sky surely must be on the bucket list of many photographers out there. On a recent trip into the Arctic Circle, I was lucky enough to see the aurora borealis on several nights. What follows are some tips and recommendations on how to photograph the northern lights and come back with some stunning pictures.

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from Photography Life https://photographylife.com/landscapes/how-to-photograph-the-aurora-borealis#utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=how-to-photograph-the-aurora-borealis

Recommended Sony A7R III Settings

Sony’s third generation mirrorless camera, the A7R III has been quite a popular choice ever since it came out among photographers who use the Sony camera system. We thought it would be a good idea to provide our recommended settings for this camera, as a number of our readers have been asking for it. With a powerful 42 MP BSI CMOS sensor and a pretty long list of features including in-body image stabilization, native 4K video recording and superb battery life, the Sony A7R III is a high-end interchangeable lens mirrorless camera designed for serious enthusiasts and professionals. In this article, we will provide some information on what settings we use and shortly explain what some of the important ones do. The Sony A7-series cameras have a myriad of different settings and buttons, which can be confusing to understand, so the below information is provided as a guide for those who struggle with the cameras.

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Antarctica and the Traveler’s Ego

I thought I would come back from Antarctica in triumph, my fists raised in exultation. Hey, I can say I’ve been to seven continents now! And you know the Polar Plunge? I did it WAY south of the Antarctic Circle! Also, here are dozens of adorable photos of me surrounded by penguins!

Instead, I’m returning from Antarctica in tears. No destination has ever made me feel more grateful, nor more insignificant. Everyone who has asked me about my trip as received the same response: “It’s the best place I’ve ever been.” 

I had no idea Antarctica would be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. Nor did I expect this trip to be the most spiritual experience of my travels. Antarctica turned me inside out, changed my priorities, and turned me into a more thoughtful traveler and human being.

But first, here’s how it began.

Why do people want to travel to Antarctica, anyway?

I spent several days asking this question of my shipmates on Quark Expeditions’ Ocean Diamond. Most of my fellow passengers came from Australia or North America; they ranged in age from teenagers to seniors, a great many of them over 55.

“Why are you here?” I asked. “Why did you take this trip? What made you choose to come to Antarctica?”

And strangely, everyone struggled a bit when answering, hemming and hawing before admitting the real reason.

“Because it’s my seventh continent,” was far and away the most popular answer. Just behind it? “Because I can. Because it’s there.” And the ever-popular, “Why not?”

It’s far from an unusual ethos — early 20th century French explorer Jean-Baptise Charcot named one of his ships the Pourquoi-Pas. He later gave an island the same name.

When I pressed my companions for more, I occasionally got a more detailed response — “Because I love penguins.” “Because climate change means it might not always be like this.” “Because I’m getting older and I want to do these adventure trips while I’m able.” But the vast majority of responses were rooted in Antarctica being their seventh continent, the ultimate achievement to check-off.

Everyone had a bit of ego in their response. People were traveling here because they wanted to feel more important, more experienced, more special. They didn’t just want to visit somewhere remarkable, they wanted to become more remarkable as a result of having visited.

I find that interesting.

Ask strangers why they’re visiting Italy and they’ll say, “Because I love Italian food.” Or “Because the Italian countryside is beautiful.” Or “Because my family comes from Italy and I want to explore my roots.” Or even “Because I grew up dreaming about taking a gondola ride through Venice and I want to have that experience.” The answers are far more concrete and specific than what I got about Antarctica.

For me, I came to Antarctica because I wanted to be impressed. One of the realities about travel is that the more you experience, the more difficult it gets to be impressed. Remember how excited you were to see cobblestone streets in Europe? Decades later, do you even notice cobblestones anymore? Or cathedrals? Or palm trees?

But everyone I know who has been to Antarctica told me that THIS would be the place to TRULY enchant me and leave me in wonder. It’s the kind of destination that is so big, so remote, so untouched, that nothing I had seen before would be able to compare.

So yes. I was here primarily to be blown away — but I have to admit that there’s ego behind my own answer as well. I did want to say that I’ve been to seven continents. For myself, but also for my career. I’ve always felt that in order to be taken seriously as a global travel expert, I need to have travel experience on all seven continents. I hate the phrase “on six continents,” even as it decorates my site and all my bios — it’s like an asterisk saying SHE’S GOOD, BUT NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

And so I went to Antarctica for several reasons: to become a more experienced traveler and for the boost it would give to my career, but also for the landscape photography opportunities (particularly mountains and ice formations), the wildlife (and especially penguins), and the opportunity to work with Quark Expeditions (which I’ve wanted to do for years, as they’re the best in the polar expedition business), who invited me to join them on this trip as their hosted guest. All that, and to be blown away.

I could not have predicted just how powerful of a destination Antarctica is. It would change me, and it would change all of US.

Antarctica caused the death of my ego.

I thought I’d come back bragging that I jumped into the Southern Ocean beneath the Antarctic Circle, and instead, I’m becoming teary trying to describe the stillness of Paradise Harbour in a late afternoon.

I thought I’d return with so many beautiful photos of myself playing with penguins, and instead I have one good shot but mostly crappy selfies of myself with my face covered up to stay warm.

I thought Antarctica would be just another destination. It wasn’t. It was THE destination I’ve been waiting for my whole life. And as I write these words while crossing the Drake Passage, I’m bereft at the thought of Antarctica slipping away from me with every rise and fall of the swells.

Antarctica wasn’t there to serve me, and it won’t serve you, either. It’s not a national park with a friendly ranger stationed nearby. It’s not an Instagram backdrop just waiting for you to pop in for perfect selfies. It’s wild, unpredictable, and can change at a moment’s notice. It’s dangerous. It smells. Even the journey there pushes your body to its physical limits.

If you forget your sunscreen in Antarctica, you’ll be red and peeling the next day. If you dare to walk too close to a fur seal, it will charge you head-on. If you make yourself up and do your hair for perfect portraits, you’ll be wet and mascara-stained in minutes. If you don’t have your wide-angle lens on, of COURSE a fleeting double rainbow will suddenly appear and you’ll have to make do with your inferior lens or — god forbid — your smartphone.

Why visit Antarctica, then?

Reason #1: Because Antarctica is the most impressive, moving, devastating, beautiful, striking, and gratifying place I’ve ever visited.

I have no words to describe how much Antarctica shakes me to my core. I can make an attempt with photos, but even my best shots won’t remotely convey the beauty, the scale, the power of the seventh continent.

Every day, something happened that made me gasp. An immense glacier shaped like the bow of the Titanic. A seal catching a penguin in its mouth. A perfectly smooth bay filled with snapping, crackling ice forms. Whales surrounding us in every direction, their calls echoing in stereo.

Antarctica made me feel like I was traveling for the first time ever. It redefined what it was to explore.

Reason #2: Because Antarctica’s scale is times a million.

Have you been to Perito Moreno Glacier in Argentina? I haven’t yet, but my friends have (check out Dave’s post on it here) and it’s famous for its size, beauty, and blue color. Most people visiting Patagonia make hiking Perito Moreno a priority.

Now, what if I told you that Antarctica has glaciers that look just like Perito Moreno — only they’re much bigger and LITERALLY IN EVERY DIRECTION YOU LOOK? Tens, hundreds, thousands of miles, all full of incredible and far better glaciers! There is no comparison to Antarctica!

Years ago, I hiked Sólheimajökull Glacier in Iceland. No offense to Iceland or the glacier…but comparing it to Antarctica’s glaciers is like comparing a child’s tricycle to a sports car. They’re not remotely in the same league.

Reason #3: Because Antarctica is the most isolated and pristine place I’ve ever been.

Antarctica has no indigenous human population, leaving it as a beacon of nature. (Side benefit: only in Antarctica do you get to enjoy the history of exploration without colonialism or exploitation of locals.)

Antarctica belongs to no country and the Antarctic Treaty is in place to protect it as a destination of peace, devoted to scientific exploration. Because of that, you don’t see any pollution. No trash. Expedition ships don’t even dump human waste in the ocean here — they bring it back to Ushuaia or wherever they came from.

(Chile did make an effort to strengthen its claim on Antarctica, though. How? They sent Chileans to get married there. Argentina upped the ante — they sent several pregnant women there to give birth! The first Antarctica baby was born in 1978.)

There are so few places on the planet where you can go and experience life at it was lived for thousands of years. Antarctica is one of them.

Reason #4: Because Antarctica’s wildlife is insane.

It’s not as abundant as it once was — the whaling industry did quite a number on the whale population, which has had an effect on other species as well — but going out wildlife-viewing in Antarctica will leave you spellbound. 

Imagine hundreds of penguins jumping in and out of the water, landing about two meters from your kayak before hovering underwater and “Nope-Nope-Nope-ing” as they jump away from you. Yes, that happened to me, and that was one of the best moments of my trip.

Or being out in a bay so resplendent with whales that it seems like every zodiac is watching a different pod. And then suddenly a giant humpback rises out of the water just meters in front of your kayak, rising and rising and looking like it’s going to flip over onto you. Yes, that happened to me as well, and I’m pretty sure you can pinpoint the moment when all the kayakers’ drysuits went from dry to not-so-dry.

Or coming around a corner of an iceberg on a zodiac and finding two seals popping up from a hidden corner. Both tossing their heads in such a human-like way that you feel like you’ve sneaked up on a couple that definitely shouldn’t have been doing what they had just been doing. That playful moment was something I personally experienced as well.

Those wildlife sightings are not exceptional for Antarctica. You know why? Because I saw all three of them in a single day, in Danco Island and Wilhelmina Bay. That’s pretty much a typical day — or, well, the closest thing you can get to a typical day in a place as wild as Antarctica.

Reason #5: Because Antarctica is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.

I think about the most beautiful natural environments I’ve been lucky enough to visit. The Faroe Islands, raised up on cliffs on top of the sea. Wadi Rum in Jordan, its bright red-orange sands changing color by the minute. The riverfront villages in Laos, bright blue mountains rising in the background. Silfra in Iceland, the underwater rift exploding in shades of indigo, turquoise and everything in between. The land-before-time feel in Karijini National Park in Western Australia.

Antarctica is EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL than those places. That’s high praise, but I mean every word of it. The Antarctic peninsula isn’t the slab of snow you may picture; instead, it’s nonstop mountains — jagged gray mountains springing up from the sea. There are fjords. There are the aforementioned glaciers, gargantuan and stacked like frosting, rivulets of azure running through the ice. Each land form peeks in and out of misty clouds, offering you tantalizing glimpses of the peaks.

And as we cruised through Lemaire Channel, the only ship to make the passage in early 2018, I gasped as I saw something I never could have imagined — a waterfall made from gently falling snow, dry and sparkling.

Also, we were under a flat gray sky for nearly the entire trip, and STILL it was that beautiful. Tropical islands don’t look good in gray; Antarctica looks stunning under all circumstances.

Reason #6: Because Antarctica humbles you beyond measure.

Antarctica laughed in the face of my insignificance. 

Once on a zodiac cruise, we actually saw gentoo and chinstrap penguins hanging out together — a very unusual occurrence — and we were taking photos like crazy. Just then, a big wave sent us asunder, pushing us into the shoreline. Our guide quickly gunned the engine and reversed the zodiac. In a worse moment, that could have been fatal.

When we made our first landing near a penguin colony, at Port Charcot, my supposedly waterproof gloves had failed and my fingers were cold, wet, and on their way to freezing. Had I not had a warm ship (with a well-stocked gear shop, thank God) nearby, I would have lost my fingers within a day.

And there was a moment when a leopard seal began stalking the kayaks and we had to form a raft to scare it off. It easily could have attacked a solo kayaker, a drysuit no match for those teeth, sharp like a crocodile’s.

Moments like these were reminders of our fragility in this severe environment, as well as the professionalism of the Quark staff who kept these encounters from becoming deadly.

Antarctica Changed Us

My shipmates may have had ego-driven reasons to visit Antarctica, but after a full week on the continent, that went out the window. Almost nobody mentions the seventh continent anymore. Now, all anyone can talk about are the incredible whale sightings, the beauty of the glaciers and icebergs, and the feeling of being one with this unspoiled environment. And how they can’t wait to return. They MUST return.

Antarctica killed our egos. I didn’t even think that was possible. Over the course of a week here, we were taught the most valuable lessons — that we are insignificant, that we are at the mercy of Mother Nature, and that life will go on long after we’re dead.

Gone are my own worst impulses. For the first time, I kept my documentation obsession in check. I spent a good half hour sitting on a rock watching young penguins play in the water — because I enjoyed watching them. This was the definition of photographer’s gold, and I didn’t take a single shot. I had penguin shots already; I didn’t need more. I am grateful that I spent my time in Antarctica enjoying these moments, rather than chasing down the elusive perfect photo that was unlikely to materialize anyway.

As for dynamite selfies? HA. I have exactly one shot of me that I really like, the one at the top of this post, the one that looks like I’m lecturing a crowd of penguins. It’s quirky and unplanned and I think it represents my personality. Two or three other shots of me are decent, not great. The rest are terrible. AND THAT IS OKAY.

The travel blogging industry may have shifted in the direction of pretty-girls-posing-in-ballgowns-in-increasingly-exotic-places, and I do feel pressure to create content like that. But one reason why that’s never quite worked for me is because I sell reality — not fantasy. I always have. “You’re so honest” is the #1 comment I get from readers. That doesn’t exactly jive with unrealistic photo shoots.

Had I wasted my limited time trying to set up and pose for perfect shots of myself that would get lots of likes, I would have missed the best impromptu moments of life in Antarctica. I lived actual, real life in Antarctica, not an Instagram photoshoot with a little free time tacked on at the end. And for that reason, I couldn’t care less that I didn’t get those photos of myself with penguins.

I like the new version of me that Antarctica made. A quieter version of myself. A more inquisitive version of myself. More of an athlete, more of a scientist, less solipsistic, far less self-conscious. A traveler who let go of her expectations, only took what she was freely given, and was profoundly changed as a result.

I feel like nothing else will ever measure up to Antarctica. Have I ruined myself by experiencing the best place in the world at the tender age of 33? I sure hope not, but if I did, it was absolutely worth it.

The strangest thing? I keep catching glimpses in the mirror and not recognizing myself. Maybe it’s the Antarctic air, the lack of fluorescent lighting on this boat, or the fact that I took a dip in the near-frozen Southern Ocean, but I look so much younger. I’m Benjamin Buttoning before my own eyes.

Antarctica Will Change You, Too

If you enjoy travel in any small amount, you MUST visit Antarctica within your lifetime. You will get so much out of it. It IS an expensive trip — Quark’s Antarctica trips start at $6,695, though keep your eyes peeled for sales — but you receive SO much value in return. I recommend saving Antarctica for a milestone birthday or occasion. Book ahead, especially if you want to kayak — those slots go quickly. If you do decide to visit, I have some valuable advice for you.

Don’t try to control the trip. Antarctica is in charge, and Antarctica will be controlling YOU. Don’t fight what it gives you, whether it’s foggy weather, rough Drake seas, or if there are no adorable penguin chicks — accept it and work with it.

Dress for protection, not style. The climate will NOT be kind to you here. A beanie worn on top of a buff pulled over your mouth may be ugly as hell, but nothing keeps your head warmer. Don’t bring cute clothes; dressing improperly can put you and others at risk and there’s no such thing as sexy waterproof pants. Forget the makeup, too; the ocean spray will ruin it. Stay tuned for a packing post.

Don’t go crazy on the content creation. I guarantee that you’ll take tons of photos, but take time each day to relax, be quiet, and take it all in — without documenting it. I say this especially to my fellow photographers. I understand that your mind is constantly framing shots and that you have a but-what-if-this-moment-passes mindset. Turn off that part of your brain momentarily. Your trip will be SO much better for it.

Say yes to everything. There’s a humpback whale on the starboard side? Run up and go see it, because it could be the best sight of your trip. Feeling tired one afternoon? Don’t skip the excursion, because that’s the time your zodiac will witness a calving iceberg. Feeling cold and wanting to go back to the warm ship? Hike to the top of the hill anyway. This is not a place to choose the easier option.

Submit. Accept what Antarctica gives you, and don’t wish for something better. Everything you get will be a gift. You’ll soon learn its value.

Antarctica has changed my life more than any other destination.

And with that, this is not a one-and-done destination. I’m desperate to come back already. I need Antarctica. Would I go back next year? YES! Hell, would I go back every year and bring a different loved one with me each time? ABSOLUTELY!

It’s not about pride, or ego, or going there because it’s there. It’s because this place has the power to transform your life.

It’s Antarctica. Where the ice is blue against a steel-gray sky. Where paddle is a noun and porpoise is a verb. Where I finally learned to surrender.

Essential Info: I traveled to Antarctica on Quark Expeditions‘ Crossing the Circle: Southern Expedition in March 2018. The 2019 voyage starts at $8,995. The kayaking supplement is $995, which includes kayaking throughout the voyage, but starting this summer in the Arctic Quark is offering one-day “paddling excursions” that are better suited for people with less experience who don’t want to kayak every day.

Quark often has sales — I recommend following them on Facebook and checking out their website. Additionally, some people can get deals by flying down to Ushuaia and jumping on a last-minute discounted trip — though this is risky! You never know what will be available. If you’re looking to kayak, book as early as possible, as kayaking slots are limited and sell out quickly.

While Quark has Antarctica-specific evacuation coverage for emergencies, you need to have your own travel insurance as well. For my trip to Antarctica, I used World Nomads, which I highly recommend for both Antarctica and elsewhere.

This post is brought to you by Quark Expeditions, who hosted me in full on this trip and covered most of my expenses including the full cost of the expedition, kayaking supplement, two nights’ accommodation in Ushuaia, and round-trip airfare from New York. I paid for all incidentals, staff gratuities, gear excluding the Quark parka, and all expenses in Ushuaia excluding the hotel. All opinions, as always, are my own.

What destination changed your life?

The post Antarctica and the Traveler’s Ego appeared first on Adventurous Kate.

from Adventurous Kate http://www.adventurouskate.com/antarctica-and-the-travelers-ego/

The Magic of Bali and the Travel Photography of David Lazar

Indonesia is of particular interest to renowned travel photographer David Lazar, having made multiple trips to various islands in recent years. He returns again in the fall, this time to lead his Bali photo tour workshop. Being one of the most artistically rich micro-climates in the world, Bali is an easy and natural choice for the amiable Australian snapper.

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from Photography Life https://photographylife.com/the-magic-of-bali-david-lazar#utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-magic-of-bali-david-lazar

Ko Lipe: The Greatest Month in All my Travels

In November 2006, I was 5 months into my (supposed) year long trip around the world. While emailing my parents to let them know I was still OK, I saw a message in my inbox:

“Matt, I’m stuck in this placed called Ko Lipe. I’m not going to meet you as planned, but you should come down here. It’s paradise! I’ve been here a week already. Find me on Sunset Beach. — Olivia”

Olivia, a friend from MySpace, was supposed to meet me in Krabi, a tourist destination famed for its limestone karsts, rock climbing, and kayaking.

I looked up Ko Lipe on a map. There was only a small mention of it in my guidebook. It was really out of the way and would require a solid day of travel to get to.

As I looked around the crowded Internet café and onto the busy street, it was clear that Phi Phi was not the tropical island paradise I had envisioned. The crowds were coming back, the beach was filled with dead coral, boats seemed to ring the island, and the water was polluted with a thin film of…well, I don’t want to know. A quieter, calmer paradise held great appeal.

“I’ll be there in two days,” I replied. “Just let me know where you are staying.”

Two days later, I took the ferry to mainland, a long bus to the port city of Pak Bara, and then the ferry to Ko Lipe. As we passed deserted, jungle-covered islands, I wandered to the top deck where a guy was playing guitar for the few people going to Lipe.

After he finished, we struck up a conversation.

Paul was tall, muscular, and thin, with a shaved head and slight stubble. His girlfriend Jane was equally tall and athletic, with curly brownish-red hair and ocean-blue eyes. Both British, they were meandering around Asia with until they were ready to move to New Zealand, where they planned to work, buy a house, and eventually get married.

“Where are you guys staying?” I asked as we lounged in the sun.

“We found a resort on the far end of the island. It’s supposed to be cheap. You?”

“Not sure. I’m supposed to stay with my friend, but I haven’t heard back yet. I don’t have a place.”

The ferry neared the island and came to a stop. There was no dock on Ko Lipe. Years before, a developer tried to build one, but the project was canceled after protests from the local fishermen who take passengers to the island for a small fee, and the developer mysteriously disappeared.

As I got in one of the longtail boats, I dropped my flip-flops into the ocean.

Watching them sink, I yelled, “Shit! That was my only pair! I hope I can get some on the island.”

Paul, Jane, and I went to their hotel, joined by Pat, an older Irish guy, who also lacked a place to stay. The hotel overlooked a little reef and the small Sunrise Beach, which would become our main hangout spots during our time on the island.

I decided to bunk with Pat since I hadn’t heard from my friend Olivia and splitting a room was a more budget friendly. Back then saving a few hundred baht was the difference of one more or less day on the road. Paul and Jane took a bungalow overlooking the ocean. (Their terrace would be another of our little group’s most popular hangouts.)

We headed out to find my friend, who had said she could be found on Sunset Beach at the Monkey Bar.

As we walked to the other side of the island, I could see Olivia was right: Ko Lipe was paradise. It was all gorgeous jungles, deserted beaches, warm, crystal-clear blue water, and friendly locals. Electricity was only available for a few hours at night, there were few hotels or tourists, and the streets were simple dirt paths. Ko Lipe was the place I had dreamed of.

We found Olivia pretty quickly. Sunset Beach was not big, and Monkey Bar, a small thatch-covered shack with a cooler for drinks cold and a few chairs, was the only bar on the beach. After quick introductions, we ordered beers, asked the typical traveler questions, and sat around chatting about nothing.

Pat turned out to be a snorer so, after two nights, I moved into a bungalow in the middle of the island for 100 baht ($3 USD) a night. Nestled behind a restaurant that served the best squid around, this hardwood structure painted red, with a white roof, small porch, and near-barren interior — a bed, a fan, and mosquito net — seemed to be built by the family for a wave of tourism that had never come.

I gave up trying to find new flip-flops. There was nothing I liked or fit. I’d wait until the mainland and just go barefoot in the meantime.

The five of us formed a core group that grew and shrank with the arrival and departure of other travelers. Other than Dave, a young Frenchman, and Sam, a weathered British expat who had been on the island every season for a decade (having once been trapped there after the last boat left), we were the only permanent Western fixtures on the island.

Our days were spent playing backgammon, reading, and swimming. We rotated beaches, though we mostly hung out at the beach by Paul and Jane’s. Within swimming distance was a mini-rock with a sheer drop that provided excellent snorkeling. We’d occasionally leave the Ko Lipe to explore the deserted islands in the nearby national park, fish, and dive. There’s nothing quite as lovely as having a whole tropical island to yourself.

At night, we would rotate restaurants: my guesthouse owner’s restaurant, Mama’s for fresh squid and spicy curry, Castaway on Sunset Beach for massaman curry, and Coco for everything else. Afterwards, we’d move to Monkey Bar for beach games, beer, the occasional joint, and more backgammon. When the power generators were switched off, we would drink by flashlight before going to bed.

The days seemed to pass by endlessly. My original three-day visit came and went. I lost any concept of time.

“I’ll leave tomorrow” became my mantra. I had no reason to leave. I was in paradise.

Paul, Jane, and I became close friends as time went by. We formed a mini-group within the group.

“What are you guys going to do when you get to New Zealand?” I asked.

“We’re going to work for a few years and build a life there. We have nothing that’s pulling us back the UK,” said Paul.

“I’m going there on this trip so I’ll visit. It’s my last stop on the way home,” I replied.

“You can stay with us. Wherever we are,” said Jane as she passed the joint to me.

Sitting on the beach one day, I had an idea.

“You know what would be cool? An eco-friendly hostel. New Zealand would be the perfect place. Wouldn’t it be cool to own a hostel?”

“Yeah, that would be fun,” said Paul.

“We could call it The Greenhouse,” replied Jane.

“That’s a great name.”

“Yeah, seriously.”

Paul said, “I bet we could do it pretty easily. Eco-friendly places are all the rage, and there’s a lot of space there. We’ll have a garden, solar panels, and all the other bells and whistles.”

We were half-serious about our hostel, discussing the details every day: what it would look like, how we would get funding, the number of beds. It was a pipe dream — but dreams like this helped us pass the days on the beach.

We became aware of time again when, one day, our bill at Mama’s was suddenly double.

“What’s going on? This fish was half the price yesterday!”

“It’s Christmas! More Europeans this time of the year, so we raised our prices.”

Ahhh, capitalism at its best.

Christmas also meant something else: I would have to leave soon.

My visa ran only until just before New Year’s, so I would have to leave to renew it before heading to Ko Phangan for the holiday.

I didn’t want to leave.

We were in paradise. Paul, Jane, Pat, and Olivia were staying and I felt like I was being ripped apart from my family, never knowing when I would see them again.

But the visa forced my hand.

Paul, Jane, and I decided to have own our Christmas together. It was only fitting. We wore our best clean shirts and wandered over to Coco’s for its luxury Western dinner.

“I got you guys a gift.”

I handed Jane a necklace I saw her eyeing a few days before and Paul a ring he had admired.

“Wow. That’s amazing, mate! Thanks!” said Paul.

“But this is funny,” he continued. “We got you something too.”

It was a hand-carved necklace with a Maori fishhook on it. It was their symbol for traveler. I wore it for years afterward, a symbol of our friendship, my time on the island, and of who I was.

Traveling quickens the bonds of friendship. When you are on the road, there’s no past. None of the baggage of home is with you or anyone you met. There’s only who you are right now. There’s nothing to get in the way of the now. No meetings to attend, errands to run, bills to pay, or responsibilities.

I once heard that the average couple spends four waking hours a day together. If that is true, then we had just spent the equivalent of four months together, but it felt like triple that since there was nothing to keep our minds off the “now.”

I’ve never been back to Ko Lipe. The development that’s sprouted would burst my image of perfect. Ko Lipe was my beach. The perfect traveler community. But all things must end.

I would run into Paul and Jane again years later in New Zealand, but I would never see the rest of the group again. They are out there in the world doing their thing. Yet for that month, we were the best of friends.

As I packed my bags and put on my shoes for the first time in a month, I said good bye to Plick Bear, the raggedy teddy bear I found on my porch that became our mascot, and I hoped that the journey ahead would be as good as the one I was leaving behind.

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from Nomadic Matt's Travel Site https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/ko-lipe-thailand-travel/