From Koh Tao to Koh Lanta, the journey is done in several stages, as there is no direct connection between the two islands. Typically, you start with a combined ferry from Koh Tao to Surat Thani. This trip takes about four to five hours and costs between 600 and 1,000 baht depending on the company and the type of ticket. Tickets can be purchased directly from agencies on the island, through hotels, or online on platforms such as 12Go Asia.

Once you arrive in Surat Thani, you then take a minibus or bus toward Krabi. This leg of the journey takes about three to four hours and usually costs between 300 and 500 baht. In Krabi, you continue with a final van transfer to Koh Lanta, including a short ferry crossing depending on the season. This last part takes about two to three hours and also costs around 300 to 500 baht.

In total, the journey between Koh Tao and Koh Lanta generally takes between eight and twelve hours, for an approximate cost ranging from 1,200 to 2,000 baht. Even though it is long, everything is very well organized in Thailand and the transfers connect smoothly with combined tickets.

Koh Lanta is an island located in Krabi Province, on the west coast of Thailand, in the Andaman Sea. It is mainly made up of Koh Lanta Yai, where most tourist infrastructure is located, and Koh Lanta Noi, which is more rural and much less developed. The island is larger and quieter than destinations like Koh Tao, with a much more relaxed and less concentrated atmosphere.

The landscape of Koh Lanta is relatively gentle, consisting of coastal roads, hills covered in tropical vegetation, and long, less urbanized beaches. The island is also marked by significant cultural diversity. You will find Buddhist and Muslim Thai communities, as well as the Chao Leh, often referred to as sea gypsies, who traditionally live from fishing and maritime life.

On my first day on the island, I rented a scooter for about 250 to 300 baht per day to explore Koh Lanta. It is really the best way to discover the island, since everything is quite spread out and you need to ride between beaches and villages. After several small, unplanned stops, I met Garry, a French man living in Thailand. A generous, ambitious, very athletic guy — he has practiced combat sports his whole life. He actually owns a Muay Thai gym here on the island.

We talked for a while. It was really interesting to hear him speak about his immigration journey in Thailand. He explained how complicated it had been, especially with all the rules for foreigners who want to settle or buy property. He also told me, half jokingly, that he had to marry a Thai woman in order to stay here. In the end, I still don’t know whether it is an arranged marriage or if there are real feelings… but honestly, not really my business. He ended up inviting me to a fight happening that evening.

Muay Thai is a traditional Thai martial art deeply rooted in the country’s culture. It is not just a combat sport, but also a discipline that includes rituals, traditional music, and a strong sense of respect between fighters.

Watching a Muay Thai fight for the first time is an experience that goes far beyond a simple sporting event. From the very first minutes, you understand that what is happening in the ring is deeply embedded in Thai culture. Each fight is preceded by precise rituals, especially the wai kru, a dance performed by fighters to pay respect to their coaches, their family, and their ancestors. The traditional music played live during the fight sets a unique rhythm to the match and reinforces this almost ceremonial dimension.

However, what struck me the most, and honestly unsettled me, was the presence of very young children in the ring. Some were clearly no older than eight or nine years old. From an outside perspective, especially a Western one, it is difficult not to feel discomfort in the face of this reality. We often associate childhood with protection, school, and play, and seeing children compete in such a physically intense sport can be immediately shocking.

But when you take a step back and try to understand, you realize the situation is much more complex. In Thailand, Muay Thai is often passed down from a very young age as a family tradition. Many children grow up in training camps where they learn discipline, respect, and rigor. For some families, it is also an important economic opportunity. The earnings from fights, even if modest, can contribute to the household income, especially in more rural or disadvantaged regions. It is not only about fighting, but about a way of life. The children train daily, develop strong resilience, and acquire a sense of responsibility very early on. In some cases, it can even open doors to a professional career or create opportunities they would not have had otherwise. That does not take away the fact that, for a visitor, the scene can still feel unsettling. There is a constant tension between admiration and discomfort. Admiration for the discipline, technique, and culture surrounding Muay Thai, but also discomfort in the face of the social realities it reflects.

It is precisely this mix of emotions that makes the experience so impactful. It forces you to step outside your own frame of reference, to question your values, and to try to understand another reality without necessarily idealizing or fully condemning it.

I also visited Mu Ko Lanta National Park, located at the southern tip of the island, and it is without a doubt one of the places that marked me the most in Koh Lanta.

To get there, it takes about 45 minutes to an hour by scooter from the more popular areas such as Long Beach or Klong Nin. The road itself is part of the experience: it becomes narrower, more winding, and hillier as you head south, crossing much wilder and less developed areas. In some places, the pavement is damaged, with fairly steep climbs, which requires a bit of caution, especially on a scooter.

At the entrance of the park, there is an admission fee of about 8 CAD for foreigners, plus a small fee for the vehicle. From the very first steps, you feel a clear difference compared to the rest of the island: the vegetation is denser, more humid, almost suffocating at times. You are truly entering a tropical jungle.

The park is relatively compact, but it offers several points of interest. The most well-known is the lighthouse, perched on a rocky promontory at the tip of the island. To reach it, you walk a few minutes along a slightly uphill trail. Once at the top, the view is striking: on one side, a beach bordered by jungle; on the other, a more rugged coastline battered by waves. The place gives a real sense of isolation, as if you were at the very edge of the territory.

There is also a hiking trail that forms a loop through the jungle. It is not very long, but it can be demanding because of the heat and humidity. The path goes through dense vegetation, with roots, rocks, and sometimes slippery sections. You often encounter monkeys, sometimes quite close, which is both fascinating and a little intimidating. You also have to be careful with your belongings, as they are known to be curious and opportunistic.

The beaches inside the park are another highlight. Unlike those in the rest of Koh Lanta, they are much wilder, with no infrastructure at all. No bars, no sun loungers, just sand, sea, and jungle in the background. They are perfect for stopping, resting, and enjoying the calm, although swimming depends on sea conditions.

Another memorable moment was discovering Lanta Old Town, located on the east coast of the island, far from the large beaches and the more touristy atmosphere of the west coast. From the moment you arrive, the contrast is striking. Here, there are no long stretches of sand or beach bars, but instead a calm atmosphere, almost frozen in time.

Lanta Old Town is an old trading port that dates back several generations. Before Koh Lanta became a tourist destination, it was the economic heart of the island. Chinese merchants, Thai fishermen, and Muslim communities lived and traded here, which still explains today the cultural mix visible in the architecture, cuisine, and local way of life.

The village is mainly made up of long wooden stilt houses built above the water. Walking along the main street, which runs parallel to the sea, you feel as though you are suspended between land and ocean. Some of the structures look old, slightly worn by time, but that is exactly what gives them their charm. The wooden facades, colorful shutters, and small artisanal signs create a very different identity from the rest of the island.

What struck me most is the extremely slow rhythm of the place. There is no heavy traffic, no constant noise. Just a few scooters, locals chatting, cats sleeping in the shade, and the sound of water below. You feel that life here follows a different tempo, much more relaxed.

As I wandered around, I came across several small cafés built directly over the sea, with wooden terraces open onto the horizon. They are perfect places to stop, have a coffee or a juice, and simply watch the tide rise and fall. The landscape changes a lot depending on the time of day: at low tide, you can see the seabed and exposed stilts; at high tide, the water almost touches the floors of the buildings.

Seafood restaurants are also very common, often run by local families. The menus are simple but fresh, with fish, shrimp, and crab caught nearby. The experience is less about luxury and more about authenticity, with a real feeling of eating in a place full of history. There are also a few small craft shops and galleries, often discreet, where you can find handmade objects, light clothing, or souvenirs different from those in more touristy areas. Nothing overly commercial, more like small local initiatives.

What makes Lanta Old Town particularly interesting is that it does not seem to have been transformed solely for visitors. It remains inhabited, alive, with a real community. You do not feel like you are in a set, but rather in a place that has evolved slowly while preserving part of its original identity.

It is a place that is not meant to be visited for “doing activities,” but rather for feeling an atmosphere, observing, slowing down, and understanding another side of Koh Lanta — a quieter but deeply authentic one.

Finally, I also explored Koh Lanta Noi by scooter, and it is probably the place where I felt the strongest contrast with the rest of my trip on the island. To get there, you simply cross a bridge from Koh Lanta Yai, but that short crossing almost feels like an invisible border. From the first few kilometers, the atmosphere changes completely.

The roads become quieter, sometimes almost empty. There is no longer a succession of cafés, resorts, or developed beaches. Instead, you pass through much rawer landscapes, with fields, plantations, wooden houses often built on stilts, and small scattered villages. You mostly meet locals, children playing, families sitting in front of their homes, and very few other travelers.

What struck me was this feeling of riding without a real purpose, without a precise itinerary. Koh Lanta Noi is not an island you come to in order to tick off attractions, but rather to observe and absorb. At times, the road runs along the sea, but unlike Koh Lanta Yai, there are no real accessible or developed beaches. The coastline is wilder, sometimes lined with mangroves, sometimes difficult to reach.

You also pass through several agricultural areas, with rubber plantations and palm trees. You can see the structures used to harvest latex from the trees, which is a reminder that the local economy still largely relies on traditional activities. There is something very authentic in these landscapes, far from the usual tourist image of Thailand.

The villages are simple, often organized around a main road, with a few small grocery stores, local restaurants, and mosques, as a large part of Koh Lanta’s population is Muslim. The call to prayer can sometimes be heard, adding to the feeling of being in a place deeply rooted in its culture.

There is also something very peaceful about this part of the island. Less noise, less movement, less stimulation. Just the road, the landscapes, and time that seems to slow down. At several moments, I had the impression of being completely alone, which is quite rare in destinations as popular as Koh Lanta.

Exploring Koh Lanta Noi by scooter is ultimately about accepting not to look for anything specific, but to let yourself be surprised by everyday local life. It is a more subtle experience, less spectacular, but one that gives access to a different reality — a simpler and more authentic side of Thailand.

Koh Lanta is a destination that is meant to be lived slowly. It is not an island of intensity or parties, but rather a place where you take your time to ride, observe, stop, and let the days unfold naturally between sea, road, and encounters.