“How I Found Peace and Purpose on Boulder Island” By Peter Steyn
The Unexpected Invitation
When it comes to choosing between the serenity of “life is a beach” and the majesty of “life is a mountain,” I’ve always found myself torn. The towering peaks of the Himalayas, which I’ve trekked extensively in Nepal and Pakistan, hold a special place in my heart. Yet, there’s something undeniably alluring about remote, untouched beaches—those secret corners of the world where the ocean meets the land in perfect solitude.
My passion for photographing islands has taken me from the many islands across Asia Pacific to distant archipelagos around the globe, but what truly captivates me are the places where human footprints are scarce, where nature reigns supreme.
A few months ago, I was introduced to the Norwegian co-owner of a small eco-resort on Boulder Island, a hidden gem some 84 kilometres (52 miles) west of the coast of Thailand and Myanmar in the northern Andaman Sea of the Myeik Archipelago. This gentleman, who has become deeply connected to the people of Myanmar and Thailand over many years, shared my appreciation for the resilient and warm-hearted Burmese. In a gesture of kindness, he extended an unexpected invitation—a four-week stay at the Boulder Bay Eco Resort. As the only guest on the island during the off-season, the largest and best bungalow would be reserved just for me. The only conditions were that I would be there during the island’s monsoon season, and dine on simple Burmese and Thai meals alongside the staff who remained to maintain the resort while there were no tourists.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I eagerly accepted this rare opportunity. The thought of spending a month in a bungalow on a semi-deserted island, with just a few Burmese workers its only other inhabitants, was a dream come true. The prospect of dining with the local staff and immersing myself in the rhythms of island life only added to the allure.
This is the story of my experience on Boulder Island—a journey that not only deepened my connection to this remote paradise but also left me profoundly thankful for the generosity of the resort owner who made it all possible.
Moken Beach, Boulder Island
Arriving in southern Myanmar
And so, the day of my departure to Boulder Island finally arrived. From Bangkok, I took an overnight bus to the town of Ranong, where I then embarked on a 20-minute crossing over the Kraburi River in a small long-tail boat to Kawthaung, the southernmost town of Myanmar.
This was my twelfth visit to Myanmar, and even this river crossing to Kawthaung was familiar territory. Each journey to this remarkable country has left a lasting impression on my life. One memorable trip had taken me from Myanmar’s northernmost reaches down to this southern tip, while another led me from Kawthaung to a luxurious resort on Wa Ale Island in the Myeik Archipelago. Despite my familiarity, each arrival still brought with it a sense of culture shock—a reminder of the profound contrasts that define this enigmatic land.
Even though I have visited Myanmar many times, each journey has deepened my love for the country and its people. The bond I felt with Myanmar was not one that had formed quickly. It had been cultivated over years, through countless interactions and experiences that had left indelible marks on my soul. The more time I spent in Myanmar, the more I came to understand the complexity of its people—their ability to remain gentle in the face of adversity, their unwavering hospitality, and the way they could make a foreigner like me feel at home in their land. My love for Myanmar was rooted in these connections, in the countless stories shared over cups of tea, in the quiet moments of understanding that needed no words, and in the way I felt seen and accepted by people whose lives were so different from my own, yet so deeply connected by our shared humanity.
To illustrate the complexity of its people, consider that Myanmar—with a population of around 55 million, is home to a diverse array of ethnic groups with over 135 officially recognized ethnic tribes. These groups are often categorised into eight major “national races” which include the Bamar, Shan, Karen, Rakhine, Mon, Chin, Kachin, and Kayah, though within these categories, there are numerous sub-tribes and smaller ethnic communities, each with its own distinct language, culture, and traditions. This vibrant diversity makes Myanmar one of the most ethnically varied countries in the world. No wonder those who have visited Myanmar and met its multifaceted people can never stop talking about their incredible experiences in this land of ancient pagodas, timeless temples, untouched landscapes, and a colourful mosaic of cultures, all embraced by the warmth and resilience of its people.
As I stepped off the boat from Thailand and into the bustling harbour of Kawthaung, I was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds that had become a part of my many experiences in Myanmar. The salty breeze whispered against my skin, carrying with it the scents of fish sauce, diesel, and tropical flowers. The harbour, with its crumbling facades and aromatic markets, had always been special to me—a complex tapestry of beauty, perseverance, and sorrow woven into its very fabric. The fishermen, mending their nets with practised hands, their weather-beaten faces telling stories of generations lived and lost by the sea, reminded me of the enduring spirit of the Burmese people.
Approaching Kawthaung from Ranong in Thailand
The street vendors called out in singsong voices, offering steaming bowls of mohinga soup and crisp samosas, adding to the pleasant chaos that was uniquely Burmese. The energy of the place belied the hardships these people endured, a stark contrast that made the warmth of their smiles all the more poignant. Despite everything they had faced, the people of Myanmar remained resilient, their quiet strength a constant source of inspiration for me.
As I stood in the harbour, looking out over the waters that had brought me here once again, I felt the weight of my previous 11 journeys settle into my bones. This land, with its golden pagodas and war-torn history, had long ceased to be merely a destination. It had become a part of me, etched into my soul like the intricate tattoos adorning the faces of the Chin women living in the far north of the country. Each visit was a return not just to a place, but to a deeper understanding of life, of resilience, and of the profound connections that bind us all, regardless of where we come from.
This was Myanmar—a land of contrasts, of beauty and hardship, of history and hope. And each time I returned, I was reminded that this place, with all its complexities, had captured my heart in a way that few other places could.
The bustling harbour of Kawthaung
The Journey Begins — Aboard the Burmese Junk Boat
I spent the evening in Kawthaung soaking in the vibrant sights and sounds, indulging in the delicious local cuisine, and then retired to a newly renovated hotel conveniently located right by the harbour.
At the first light of dawn, I could see the misty mountains of southern Thailand across the Kraburi River as I made my way back to the harbour. The town was slowly stirring awake, the soft hum of early morning activity blending with the salty breeze coming off the Andaman Sea.
An elderly woman, her face adorned with the traditional thanaka, caught my eye and offered me a hot samoosa with a bright red betel-stained grin. This moment of connection reminded me why I kept returning to this land. The spirit of the Burmese people and their ability to find joy in the simplest moments was a balm to my often world-weary soul.
As I approached the dock, the wooden Burmese junk boat that would carry me on the journey to Boulder Island was waiting. This vessel, with its graceful lines and well-maintained wooden hull, was a cherished embodiment of timeless craftsmanship. Its polished teak decks gleamed in the morning light, and the intricately carved bow told tales of countless voyages across these waters. There was an undeniable comfort in the sight of this boat—a sense that I was stepping into a piece of history, lovingly cared for and respected by those who sailed her.
Boarding the boat, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—guilt, privilege, anticipation. Here I was, setting off on a journey of self-discovery and solitude, while around me, the people of Myanmar continued their daily lives, marked by strength in the face of poverty and political turmoil. The contrast was stark, almost uncomfortable, yet, as always, softened by the warmth and kindness of these people.
The Burmese Junk Boat
Once I settled on the boat, I saw a small bundle of fur curled up near the stern. A puppy, no more than six weeks old, lay sleeping amidst coils of rope, its tiny body rising and falling with each breath, oblivious to the commotion unfolding around it. As I drew near, its eyes fluttered open—deep pools of brown that held love far beyond its few weeks of life. The puppy’s soft fur brushed against my hand, grounding me in the moment. Without thinking, I scooped the puppy into my arms, feeling its rapid heartbeat against my chest. In that instant, an unexpected wave of emotion crashed over me.
This tiny bundle of life symbolised innocence and the beginning of a new chapter—a blank slate embarking on life’s great adventure. I saw in this small creature a reflection of my own journey—leaving behind the familiar, venturing into the unknown with nothing but trust and hope.
The puppy nuzzled into my neck, its wet nose tickling my skin. I realised then that this tiny being was more than just a companion for my island sojourn, it was a living reminder of the purity and simplicity I was seeking. In the puppy’s unquestioning acceptance and joy, I glimpsed the Myanmar that had first stolen my heart—a place where the human spirit, despite all odds, remained unbroken and full of wonder.
My companion called Puppy
The boat’s crew, seasoned mariners with sun-darkened skin and relaxed smiles, moved about the deck with practised grace. They welcomed me aboard with the same warmth I had come to expect in Myanmar. There was a fluidity to their movements, an innate understanding of the sea that spoke of a lifetime spent on the water. They busily loaded the boat with bags of rice, fresh vegetables, and all the essentials we’d need for the next month, along with a stack of bamboo mats and other traditional building materials destined for the renovation of the bungalows.
Eventually, our boat pulled away from the harbour, the rhythmic chug of the engine resonating deep within my chest, in sync with my heartbeat. I stood at the bow, where I could watch Kawthaung slowly recede into the distance. The golden spire of Pyi Daw Aye Pagoda caught the morning light, offering a final, gleaming farewell from the mainland.
As the boat continued west, the town, with its mix of the old and the new, faded into the distance, its chaotic energy gradually replaced by the calming rhythm of the sea. The further we sailed, the more the world seemed to dissolve around me, leaving behind only the essentials—the vastness of the ocean, the steady thrum of the boat’s engine, and the ever-deepening connection I felt with this land and its people.
The five-and-a-half-hour journey to Boulder Island was a meditation in itself. The sea stretched out endlessly, a shimmering expanse of turquoise that merged with the sky at the horizon, creating an illusion of infinity. The gentle rocking of the boat lulled me into a state of reflection, each wave a reminder of the fluidity of life, the constant ebb and flow of experiences and emotions.
Cutting through the waters of the Andaman Sea, our boat passed countless pristine islands of the Myeik Archipelago. Each one seemed untouched by time, its dense jungle and white sand beaches beckoning with the promise of hidden wonders. The islands drifted by like dreams—some shrouded in morning mist, others bathed in sunlight, their rocky outcrops standing tall against the backdrop of endless blue. The beauty of this archipelago was mesmerising, each island a reminder of the untouched beauty that still exists in this part of the world, far from the reach of modernity.
Standing at the bow of this boat with the wind in my hair brought back memories of my ferry crossings during the1980s over the English Channel, long before the Channel Tunnel was opened. It also reminded me of my multi-day cruise through the islands of the Galapagos. There’s something exhilarating about being at the front of a boat, surrounded by the open sea, facing whatever the journey brings—an experience that never loses its thrill.
The puppy nestled at my feet brought me back to the present. She looked up at me with eyes full of trust, but also with curiosity, as if sensing the significance of this moment. We were both embarking on an adventure, one that would take us to a place of solitude and introspection, a place where the outside world would fall away, leaving only the raw, unfiltered essence of life.
When the captain announced Boulder Island’s presence on the horizon—a smudge of green against the cerulean sea, a profound sense of rightness settled over me. As the island drew nearer, I whispered a quiet thank you to the owner of the resort for bringing me back to this land that had become my spiritual home. I was ready to embrace whatever lay ahead with an open heart and a puppy by my side.
Our boat passing many islands
Arriving on Boulder Island
A sense of awe washed over me as the island’s features came into sharper focus—a jade jewel set in a sea of liquid sapphire. Boulder Island revealed itself like a hidden gem in the vast ocean—its shores embraced by impossibly clear, turquoise waters that shimmered under the mid-morning sun. The surrounding water was so clear that even from a distance, I could see the coral formations beneath the surface. It was as if every cliché about tropical paradise had been brought to life, tangible and breathtaking.
What truly set this little island apart from the many beautiful islands I’d seen in my travels, were the massive rock formations that gave it its name. These colossal boulders, stacked precariously along the main beach—aptly named Boulder Beach—seemed almost surreal, as if placed by some ancient giant hand. They defied both time and gravity, silent sentinels that had withstood centuries of wind and waves.
Approaching Boulder Beach where the resort is located
As we approached the beach, my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the incredible rock formations. Up close, they were even more impressive, their surfaces etched with patterns crafted by wind and water, whispering silent stories across millennia. I felt small in their presence, a mere speck in the grand tapestry of time that this island represented.
The boat anchored just off the beach, and I gathered the still-sleepy puppy in my arms. The crew skillfully manoeuvered us closer so I could step off into the water.
The puppy squirmed in my arms, eager to explore. I set her down gently on the beach, watching as she took her first steps on the island that would likely become her home for the rest of her life. As my bare feet sank into the warm sand, a profound sense of peace washed over me. It was as if the island itself was welcoming me, its tranquil atmosphere a warm embrace. The rest of the world felt impossibly far away. Here, there were no blaring horns, no urgent emails, no constant demands for attention—only the rhythmic sound of waves, the rustle of the screw pine trees in the breeze, and the occasional cry of a white-bellied sea eagle.
With a deep sense of contentment, I picked up my small backpack and the large plastic bags filled with drinks and snacks I had brought from Thailand for the staff. My now sand-covered puppy trotted behind me as we made our way towards the lovely eco-resort that would be my shelter for the coming month. Behind us, our footprints in the sand—one set large, one set tiny—marked the beginning of our island adventure. Ahead lay endless possibilities, quiet revelations, and the promise of profound transformation.
I could not wait to start exploring the beaches
The Boulder Bay Eco Resort as my Sanctuary
Nestled under the trees just a few steps away from the turquoise waters of Boulder Beach, my large beachfront bungalow quickly became more than just a place to sleep—it was a sanctuary, a retreat where the outside world faded into the background. Simple yet comfortable, the bungalow exuded a charm that perfectly harmonised with the island’s unspoiled beauty.
From the veranda, I could gaze out over the vast expanse of the ocean, stretching into an infinity broken only by the gravity-defying boulders. This view was a constant reminder of the peace and solitude that Boulder Island offered—a rare and precious gift in a world so often filled with noise and chaos.
The bungalows of Boulder Bay Eco Resort are designed to blend seamlessly with their natural surroundings, creating an intimate, enchanting experience. Gently tucked among the lush screw pines, fish poison trees and flowering wild jasmine, these bungalows are more than just accommodation—they’re private hideaways where the whisper of the ocean and the rustle of trees compose a symphony just for you. Each bungalow is crafted in traditional Burmese style, with wooden frames and nipa palm-leaf roofs, a design that respects the island’s delicate ecology while offering a comfortable and rustic charm.
Whether your bungalow is nestled in the shade of the trees or perched closer to the shoreline with a front-row seat to the ocean’s ever-changing moods, you’ll find the perfect balance of solitude and connection to nature.
At night, your bungalow transforms into a cosy haven. The gentle hum of the ocean becomes your lullaby, and the cool sea breeze your blanket. In this slice of paradise, the world feels wonderfully distant, and the simplicity of nature becomes the luxury you never knew you needed.
Imagine waking up in your wooden sanctuary as the sun’s first rays filter through the large windows. Waking up to the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore, the chirping of birds greeting the dawn, and the soft rustle of the wind through the palm trees.
Stepping out onto the spacious veranda, you’re greeted by the sight of smooth turquoise waters kissing the sandy shores. It’s the kind of place where even the local sea otters might stop by to say good morning.
My spacious bungalow by the beach
Boulder Bay’s bungalows are also more than just places to rest—they’re invitations to immerse yourself in the island’s magic, with a touch of rustic elegance and a playful island spirit. Here, the boundary between you and nature blurs, allowing you to reconnect with the earth in a way that feels both profound and rejuvenating.
The resort’s large community centre is a retreat designed for relaxation and socialising. Also built in a traditional Burmese style, the centre’s thatched roof and wooden beams give it a warm and inviting atmosphere. Inside, you’ll find a well-stocked bar with ice-cold drinks and comfortable reclining couches, perfect for unwinding after a day of exploring the island and its marine life. The space is equipped for various activities, from playing cards to watching videos showcasing the stunning beauty of the islands of the Myeik Archipelago. With its large open sides and uninterrupted views of Boulder Bay and the Andaman Sea, the community centre is a great spot to sip a drink while enjoying the serene surroundings.
During the rainy days of the monsoon season, this building becomes even more of a sanctuary. It’s the perfect retreat to enjoy the sound of rain falling on the roof, while you revel in the warm atmosphere inside.
Although the centre usually provides WiFi access, during my first visit, the satellite internet was disabled for the off-season, allowing me to fully disconnect and relish the peace without digital distractions. It was the first time since the invention of the internet that I had been cut off for such an extended period, and I wondered if I could survive without any connection to the outside world. I’m pleased to say that not only did I survive, but it was a true blessing to be free from the continual reminder of the world’s many problems.
The resort’s Community Centre
One early afternoon, as I relaxed on one of the comfortable couches, I had an extraordinary encounter. A long, slim green snake slithered along the beams just two metres above me. It would occasionally pause to glance down, as if ensuring I posed no threat. I was well aware that there are no known poisonous snakes on the island and felt it was a blessing to have wildlife approaching me out of curiosity. This thrilling moment was a powerful reminder of the wild beauty that envelops this remote island retreat.
A few days after my arrival, late in the evening, I encountered one of the island’s pythons stretched out behind the kitchen. The serpent’s sleek form was illuminated by the dim evening light, casting an air of mystery over the scene. Armed with only my mobile phone, I inched closer, eager to capture the moment despite the low light. The photos I managed to snap weren’t the best, grainy and imperfect, but they still held a certain charm—an unpolished record of another unexpected brush with the island’s friendly reptiles.
During a subsequent visit to the island, I had an even more remarkable encounter. This time, I found a python coiled up around the beams of the kitchen ceiling, its body draped like a living sculpture. I got so close that I reached out and touched its delicate skin, which felt surprisingly soft and moist. With nothing to fear, as these pythons are completely harmless to humans, the experience was exhilarating—a moment of connection with the wild beauty of the island that left me in awe. Although I only had my phone with me again, this time I managed to take better close-up photos in the improved light, capturing the intricate details of this magnificent creature.
The island is also home to several monitor lizards who have claimed the small pond near the kitchen as their own little kingdom. Whenever they were lounging in a tree and spotted me approaching, they seemed to panic, as if thinking I might be a pro at tree climbing. They leapt out of the branches and made a mad dash for the water, clearly betting on their swimming skills over their climbing prowess. It was as if they were saying, “You can have the tree, but the pond is ours!”
The reticulated python with skin as smooth as silk
The Rhythm of the Island: Days and Nights
Morning Rituals
Each day began with the soft light of dawn filtering through the large doors and windows of my bungalow. The mornings were sacred—a time when the world seemed to pause in a gentle embrace of stillness. I would wake to the chorus of birds, their songs weaving through the crisp air, calling me to step outside and greet the day. In fact, the chirpy white-rumped shama woke me every day before sunrise with its enchanting melodies, filling the dawn air with a sense of serenity and joy. Its harmonious song gently ushered in the new day, making the early morning feel truly sublime.
The view from my veranda was magical—the endless blue of the ocean, the gravity-defying boulders standing resolute on the shore, and the sky painted with the delicate hues of sunrise. This reverent morning ritual was a balm to my soul. I would eat a few snacks on my veranda while I watched the sun rise higher in the sky, bathing the island in a warm, golden light. These moments reminded me of the beauty in simplicity and the peace that could be found in the quiet beginnings of a new day.
The rhythm of island life quickly became my own. I found myself naturally rising with the sun, my body syncing with the elemental forces around me. Gone were the artificial constraints of alarms and schedules. Here, time was measured by the arc of the sun across the sky and the ebb and flow of the tides.
After leaving my bungalow each morning just after sunrise, I strolled down to the beach and simply appreciated the beauty of the early hours. After taking in the serene morning scene, I grabbed one of the empty rice bags outside my bungalow and headed back down to the beach to pick up the trash that had washed ashore overnight. Despite the island’s remote location, far from any developed areas, the reality is that trash floating in the sea can wash up anywhere on the planet.
Once I had cleared the main beach of any new debris, I would move on to the next beach on my schedule. There, my task was not only to collect any freshly washed-up trash but also to tackle the older trash that had accumulated and become lodged under the bushes and mangroves at the top of the beach. Often, I had to crawl under the thick foliage to retrieve plastic bottles, large pieces of polystyrene and all sorts of items discarded from our modern lives—spoons, straws, shavers, bottle caps, and more. Occasionally, I would get bitten by the large, fierce ants that built their nests between the broad green leaves of these plants. Fortunately, I didn’t encounter anything more dangerous, like spiders or snakes, though the island isn’t known for having any deadly snakes or critters.
I worked every morning until around 9:00 AM, when the sun’s heat became unbearable. Then, I would cool off with a swim in the clear waters before heading back to the resort for a light breakfast in the kitchen. It was satisfying to see the beaches becoming cleaner each day, gradually being freed from the unsightly trash that had likely been harboured under the bushes for a long time.
An everyday chore to remove washed up trash from some beaches
Midday Meditations and Connections with the Staff
As the sun climbed higher, the heat of the day would settle in. This was the time I sought out the shade in my hammock, strung between two sturdy trees on one of my favourite beaches. Here, I would surrender to the rhythm of the island, letting my thoughts drift like the waves that lapped gently at the shore. These afternoons had a meditative quality—a space where the mind could wander freely, unburdened by the demands of the outside world.
I reflected on the path that had led me here, to this remote corner of the earth, and the choices that had shaped my life. The solitude was a mirror, reflecting the thoughts and memories that had been buried beneath the surface, now rising like bubbles to the top. In an effort to be more productive, I did a lot of reading during my stay and compiled a list of 86 projects I needed to finish before the end of the year.
Often, I would fall asleep, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the gentle sway of the hammock, only to wake to the sound of the waves. Then it was time for another swim, followed by another nap in the hammock.
During the late afternoons I spent time with the local staff, about 10 in total, who were responsible for maintaining the resort. They were everything I cherished about Myanmar—warm smiles, easy laughter, and boundless generosity. A few spoke English quite well, and I communicated with the others through broken English, gestures, smiles, and the universal language of kindness. Each conversation was a window into their lives—lives shaped by modest upbringings, yet full of hope and dreams.
I learned of fathers working on Boulder Island while their wives laboured at resorts on other islands, with their children staying with family on the mainland in Kawthaung, or even in distant towns in the far north of the country. Some of these parents only see their children once or twice a year.
Late afternoons are set aside for a game of chinlone, the captivating traditional sport of Myanmar. Chinlone, or cane ball, is a unique blend of sports and dance that has co-existed with the locals for a long time. In this entertaining and fluid game, a four-inch cane ball is tossed and kicked around by players in a circle, showcasing their agility, coordination, and grace. Watch as they effortlessly keep the ball aloft, using a mesmerizing combination of kicks, headbutts, and gentle strikes to create a mesmerizing dance-like performance. Chinlone is more than just a game; it’s a captivating experience that will excite your senses and leave you with a deeper appreciation for the fascinating traditions of Myanmar.
Staff playing chinlone
In the evenings, as we enjoyed local food prepared by one of the staff, we would gather around to watch Burmese love stories on the small television. Later, some of the men would light up cheroots, the traditional cigars of Myanmar. If they were lucky enough to have some of the whisky I had brought for them, they would sip it, highly diluted with water, while watching TV and playing card games. These card games, played with great enthusiasm and at a volume that filled the room, were unlike any I had seen before.
These moments, sitting in the staff kitchen made me feel deeply connected to them. The island, remote and isolated as it was, became a microcosm of the country—a place where the strength of the human spirit shone brightly, despite the shadows that tried to dim it. Their stories, kindness, and unwavering spirit became a part of my own journey, enriching it in ways I could never have imagined.
Staff relaxing in the evenings
Evenings of Music and Memories
When the days began to fade, the beaches and boulders took on a different hue, the soft light of dusk casting long shadows across the sand.
This was the time when I would return to my bungalow and let the day’s adventures give way to quiet reflection. Evenings on Boulder Island were a blend of nostalgia and peace, a time when the past and present seemed to merge into one. I would sit on the veranda, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange reflected on the large boulders as the sun dipped below the horizon. The vibrant palette of the day—turquoise waters, lush green jungle, and warm golden sand—faded into a world of deep blues and silvers, painted by starlight and the soft glow of the moon. This transition was not merely visual, but brought with it a new symphony of sounds—a nocturnal orchestra that became the soundtrack to my nights.
Then it was time to turn on my phone and let the music of the 1970s and ’80s transport me back to another time. The familiar melodies filled the air, each song a thread connecting me to memories long past. There was something deeply comforting about these moments, the way the music wrapped around me like a warm blanket, bringing with it a flood of emotions—joy, longing, and a bittersweet sense of time’s passage. The island, with its timeless beauty, seemed to understand this dance between past memories and the present, becoming a backdrop to my introspection. Music became a time machine, blending nostalgia with fresh perspectives, deepening my island experience.
As darkness fell, the island settled into a quiet calm, the only sounds the gentle rustling of the leaves and the distant roar of the ocean. The nights on Boulder Island were a time of deep solitude—a solitude that felt both comforting and profound.
Lying in my hammock under the veranda, I would gaze over the sea and up at the star-filled sky, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the universe and my small place within it. The darkness was not something to fear, but to embrace—a cloak of serenity that allowed the mind to rest and the soul to rejuvenate. The sounds of the night—crickets chirping, the occasional call of a night bird, and the ever-present sound of the waves—became a lullaby that eased me into a tranquil daze. These nights were a time of surrender, a letting go of the day’s thoughts and emotions, and a return to the simple act of being. The island, with its soothing pace, had become a part of me, its days and nights marking the passage of time in a way that was both grounding and sublime.
The boulders that gave the island its name took on an almost mythical quality in the darkness. Their massive silhouettes loomed against the star-studded sky, and in the soft light of the moon, it was easy to imagine that they held secrets from times long past, their weathered surfaces etched with stories of countless nights just like this one.
But beyond the ancient mysteries and secrets the boulders harbour, there’s a lighter tale that adds a playful twist to their creation. Legend has it that Boulder Island’s iconic boulders were stacked by a colony of giant hermit crabs, led by an inventive crab named Hermy. Instead of using ordinary shells as their homes, they used their massive claws to create towering boulder formations, competing for the best “boulder home”. Hermy’s stack was the tallest, earning him the title of King of the Boulders. Today, visitors chuckle at the thought of these imaginative crabs, their playful spirit adding a whimsical touch to the island’s serene beauty.
A hermit crab
One of my favourite nighttime adventures was heading out to the beach in front of my bungalow, armed with my powerful flashlight and Nikon camera. As I strolled along the sand, I would spot many large sand crabs scurrying at lightning speed across the beach. My mission was to capture close-up macro photos of these fascinating creatures, particularly their long, intricate eyestalks, which undergo quite a metamorphosis as the crabs mature.
I quickly discovered that the best way to stop these fast-moving crabs in their tracks was to shine my light directly on them.The beam seemed to hypnotise them, and most would freeze under its glow, giving me just enough time to position myself for a great close-up shot with my 100mm macro lens. The crabs usually stayed put until I either touched them or turned off the light, at which point they would dart away at full speed—almost as if they felt betrayed that I had managed to get so close while they were in a daze.
Photographing them became a highlight of some of my evenings, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty, wondering if my light might have disturbed them. But aside from that brief moment of hypnotism, I caused them no harm, and the experience of capturing their unique features up close was immensely rewarding.
Sand crab on the beach
Another one of my favourite nightly pastimes on the island was to venture out onto the beach during new moon nights to gaze at the stars. The island’s remote location meant there was no light pollution, allowing the night skies to reveal their full splendour. It was as if every star in the universe had found its place in the sky, shining with an intensity that seemed almost overwhelming—there was scarcely room for another star, the heavens were so full.
The sight transported me back to my childhood on a farm in South Africa, where my family and I would lie on the grass late at night, marvelling at the millions of stars above. It also reminded me of spending many weeks in northern Sweden, standing in -25 degrees Celsius, waiting for hours in the freezing cold for the Northern Lights to appear and dance across the sky. The wait was always worth it, just as these nights on Boulder Island, under a blanket of stars, were moments of pure magic.
Early evenings on the island also marked the playtime of the mosquitoes. While there weren’t too many during my stay, there were just enough to keep me constantly slapping at every itch on my arms and legs. Most nights, I had to wait until late before I could comfortably turn off all the lights and settle into the hammock on the veranda of my bungalow. Here, I would listen to the sounds of the night—a symphony that was mostly soothing, except on those occasions when strange noises would echo through the darkness, reminiscent of horror movies where large creatures leap from the shadows.
Of course, being a grown man, I wasn’t scared by such thoughts, but I couldn’t help but wonder what was making those eerie sounds. The only conclusion I could draw was that it might be a bird, though I couldn’t identify the species. Despite these occasional mysterious noises, it was incredibly peaceful to lie in my hammock, surrounded by darkness, with no light around me, just listening to the night’s serenade.
When I eventually went to bed and fell asleep, my dreams became vivid and almost prophetic, with insights about future events and my place in them. Freed from the constant stimulation of modern life—the endless notifications, the perpetual connectivity—my subconscious seemed to come alive, processing the day’s reflections and experiences in technicolour detail.
During my third night I was stirred from sleep by a faint, persistent gnawing sound. At first, I brushed it off, assuming it was just some creature busy outside the bamboo-matted walls of my bungalow. But as the hours passed, a curious thought crept in—what if this determined little visitor was trying to find its way inside?
Eventually, sleep reclaimed me, but it wasn’t long before I awoke to the sensation of something darting across my bed. Flicking on my flashlight, I caught a glimpse of two field mice scurrying away, and there, in the bright beam of my flashlight, I noticed a small mouse-size hole in the ceiling—a clear entry point for my nocturnal guests. Now, I’m not one to be afraid of mice, especially these delicate field mice, likely as clean as any mouse could be, a far cry from the street rats of Hong Kong, Bangkok, or Delhi. But the thought of it nibbling on my belongings didn’t sit well with me.
The next morning, I asked the staff to seal the hole, though I couldn’t help but voice my concern—what if we were trapping the mice inside? That night, my fears were realised. I woke again to the familiar sound of frantic and loud gnawing. Switching on my flashlight, I saw a mouse desperately trying to claw its way out, determined to reopen the freshly covered hole. At that moment, I couldn’t help but admire its tenacity. I decided to let it be, watching as it worked tirelessly, and finally, with one last push, it made its escape. What happened to its friend I will never know.
The experience stirred memories of another island adventure, a few years back, on one of Thailand’s most secluded islands. I was staying in a fairly basic bungalow when, after a few days, I discovered a charming little brown-and-white field mouse that had made itself at home—snuggled up under the pillow right next to mine. How long it had been sleeping there beside me, I couldn’t say, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Moments like these remind me of how deeply connected we are to nature, even in the simplest, most unexpected encounters. There’s a certain magic in sharing your space with the creatures of the wild, a reminder that we are all part of this incredible, interconnected world.
Each morning, I awoke feeling as though I had journeyed far, my mind and soul refreshed and enlightened. The boundary between dream and reality felt permeable in those early dawn hours. As I stepped out onto the beach, the first rays of sunlight painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, the insights and emotions from my night journeys stayed with me, colouring my perceptions of the new day.
Eagle Beach
The Beaches: My Private Playgrounds
Each day on Boulder Island was an opportunity to discover a new beach, each more secluded and tranquil than the last. The island’s eight beaches became my personal playgrounds, where I could connect with the natural world. Here, I would set up my hammock between two trees right by the beach, letting the fabric sway gently in the breeze as I lost myself in the rhythm of the waves and the whispers of the wind.
The powdery white sand and clear, inviting waters created a paradise that felt timeless, where every moment stretched out and allowed me to ponder life, reminisce, and simply be. The solitude was profound, allowing a long-overdue conversation with myself, where I could finally hear the thoughts and feelings that had been drowned out by everyday noise back home.
Each of the island’s beaches offers a unique experience. The main beach, Boulder Beach, where the resort and the iconic stacked boulders are located, presents a rugged landscape perfect for exploration and photography. Next to it lies Eagle Beach, with expansive views and a haven for birdwatchers, where white-bellied sea eagles often soar overhead. Bamboo Beach, my favourite, is a tranquil escape with fine sand and lush bamboo groves a few metres from the beach. Sisters Beach is a more secluded, intimate spot, ideal for swimming and snorkelling in calm, clear waters, surrounded by dense jungle that provides a sense of privacy and isolation. Moken Beach, named after the indigenous sea gypsies who still sometimes come to collect water from the stream flowing onto the beach, offers a scene from a storybook where you can swim among large boulders and bask in their shallow pools. Pebble Beach is distinctive for its smooth, rounded rocks, creating a natural soundtrack as the waves roll over them. Cliff Beach stands out with its towering cliffs, offering dramatic views and a sense of adventure. Finally, Fossil Beach fascinates with its ancient fossils embedded in rocks, inviting close-up looks and sparking wonder about how long ago these fossilised shells were alive.
Bamboo Beach
The clear waters surrounding Boulder Island held a whole other world beneath the surface. Each day, as I ventured into the warm embrace of the Andaman Sea, I felt like I was entering an alien realm, teeming with life and colour beyond imagination. The coral reefs fringing the island were like underwater cities, bustling with activity and adorned with structures more fantastic than any human architect could devise. Schools of tropical fish darted around me, their vivid colours painting the water in brilliant hues. Among them, parrotfish, clownfish, and angelfish moved gracefully, creating a living tapestry of the ocean’s wonders.
However, it was the blacktip reef sharks that left the most lasting impression. Initially, their presence sparked a little concern but as I observed them more closely, curiosity began to replace my apprehension. I started to look forward to these encounters, as the sleek predators circled me with an elegance that was so exhilarating. In those moments, I felt a profound connection to the natural world, a terrestrial mammal accepted into the sharks’ domain. These experiences became a metaphor for my time on the island, teaching me to approach the unknown with curiosity rather than fear, and to find harmony in nature’s delicate balance.
When I dive or snorkel, I always try to form a bond with certain fish, especially pufferfish, who tend to be rather affectionate creatures. During the Covid period, I was snorkelling at the Surin Islands in Thailand, about 100 kilometres (62 mi) south of Boulder Island. One day, as I floated motionless in the water, I spent about 20 minutes gaining the trust of a large pufferfish. Eventually, it came so close that it was just inches from my mask, curiously peering at me as if trying to figure out what was behind the glass.
Another time, on the same islands, I spent about 45 minutes in an intense exercise of patience to earn the trust of a batfish I affectionately named Betty. At first, she was quite hesitant, keeping her distance, but as the minutes ticked by, she began to relax. By the end of our long encounter, she was so comfortable with me that she allowed me to gently rub her belly and even gave my fingers a light nibble. I’d like to think she fell for me just a bit because, as I eventually started to swim back to shore, she kept following me, never letting me out of her sight. Every few minutes, I’d glance back, and there she was, loyally trailing behind.
Moken Beach
That day, Betty made me promise never to eat a batfish, and I’ve kept that promise ever since. It was an incredible experience—one that felt like a secret love story under the sea.
After leaving the Surin Islands, I caught my first and only case of Covid, which left me feeling under the weather for just two days. Shortly after recovering, I headed to Phuket in Southern Thailand to photograph the annual Vegetarian Festival. For seven intense days, I felt like a war photographer, capturing extreme moments as firecrackers exploded relentlessly around me. Most of the time, I didn’t wear earplugs, and sadly, the deafening noise ruptured my right eardrum. Since then, I’ve been unable to dive or even snorkel, which means I can no longer bond with the fish in their underwater world.
Despite this, I’ve seen many videos and photos of the marine life and unspoiled corals in the Myeik Archipelago, including the Andaman Sea around Boulder Island, and they are spectacular. If you love exploring underwater realms where few others have ventured, this should be your playground. The resort’s resident dive instructor can guide you to the many dive sites around the island.
On several days, I encountered large schools of tiny fish near the beach. From a distance, they appeared as a vast, dark patch in the water, but upon closer inspection, this dark spot revealed itself as a slow-moving mass of fish. These shimmering schools were a prized target for the larger parrotfish and juvenile blacktip reef sharks. I could spend hours watching as the bigger fish darted into the school, hoping to snatch a meal. The fish, quick and agile, would swiftly form large gaps around the attacking predators, making the hunt seem almost futile. Yet, day after day, I noticed the schools growing smaller, evidence of the relentless persistence of these fierce hunters.
A school of tiny fish getting attacked by a parrot fish
Since childhood, one of my favourite beach activities has been exploring low tide pools when the corals are exposed. Around the full-moon phase, the difference between high and low tides is at its greatest, ideal for swimming during high tide and exploring the vast expanses of exposed coral during low tide. In these shallow pools left behind by the retreating waters, you can discover all kinds of fascinating sea creatures.
It’s tempting to roll over every stone you come across to see what lies beneath, but doing so often disrupts the delicate homes of these creatures. If curiosity gets the better of you, go ahead and do it once or twice to catch a glimpse of the scurrying marine life, but be prepared to feel both delighted and slightly guilty for disturbing their world.
As I walked cat-foot between the exposed corals, I was struck by the beauty and diversity of life in these tidal pools. I even came across a five-inch juvenile lionfish in a small puddle—needless to say, I didn’t test its spines with my finger. I also spotted many anemones, with clownfish nestled among their tentacles, often left behind in these temporary pools. During these very low tides, a whole different world is revealed, one that’s easy to get lost in. But as you walk, remember to tread lightly and think carefully before doing anything that might harm these delicate creatures.
During low tide explore the exposed corals
The Innocence of Play: Bonding with my Puppy
From the very first moment we set foot on Boulder Island, the puppy and I established a daily routine that quickly became a cherished part of my days on the island. Each morning after my breakfast, we would head back to the beach—our private playground. The puppy, full of boundless energy and curiosity, would race ahead, her tiny paws leaving prints in the wet sand. I would follow at a leisurely pace, soaking in the simple joy of her exuberance.
Sadly, our short love story quickly turned into a trio, rather than the exclusive duo I had envisioned. Shortly after our arrival, I discovered that my puppy wasn’t the first canine to claim this paradise as home. There was already a charming two-year-old white male dog on the island named Anut—yes, named after none other than Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I must admit, I felt a pang of jealousy as my puppy was instantly drawn to Anut’s company. My dreams of an exclusive bond with my furry friend seemed to fade as she eagerly embraced Anut’s friendship. But I had one thing that Anut didn’t—an endless supply of snacks, perfect for a growing and hungry pup.
Within the first two days, the island’s staff gave my puppy a proper name—Meh Tu—and I was fine with that. Anut, however, wasn’t too pleased with our friendship, and his jealousy was evident as he often barked at me, clearly reluctant to accept me as part of their new pack.
This rivalry led to a unique arrangement. Whenever Meh Tu was with me, we had the beach to ourselves, with Anut keeping a watchful, albeit jealous, eye on us from a distance. It was a balance that suited me perfectly. After all, some friendships are meant to be just a little bit exclusive.
Our beach outings were a delightful counterbalance to the island’s profound solitude. As we strolled along the sun-drenched beach, Meh Tu’s curiosity was piqued by the mysterious holes dotting the sand. It didn’t take long for her to discover the source of these intriguing craters—sand crabs that had burrowed beneath the surface. Within days, my little companion had become an expert excavator, eagerly digging out sand crabs from depths of up to two feet. Her technique was a marvel to watch. She’d start by sniffing intently at a promising hole, her tail wagging with anticipation. Then, with a burst of energy, she’d begin to dig, her paws sending sand flying in all directions. Sometimes, she’d lose her footing, but this never deterred her. She’d simply stick her nose deeper into the hole, sniffing in every direction until she caught the telltale scent of the crab once again.
A happy puppy on the beach
Then, there was no stopping her. She’d dig with renewed vigour, following the smell with great accuracy until she unearthed her prize. After each successful find, she’d look up at me with a mixture of pride and uncertainty, as if to ask, “Look what I found! But what do I do with it now?” That was my cue to step in. I’d gently take the crab from the hole, always careful to avoid its pincers, and carry it back to the water’s edge. As I released the crustacean back into its watery home, the puppy would watch intently, seemingly fascinated by the entire process of catch and let go.
This routine never grew old for her. She’d race along the beach, nose to the ground, investigating every sizable hole in the sand. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself eagerly anticipating each new discovery alongside her. While crab-hunting was her favourite pastime, Meh Tu also enjoyed playing in the shallows. She’d splash about happily, chasing the retreating waves and darting away from the incoming ones. Occasionally, I’d carry her out to slightly deeper water, supporting her as she paddled. She took to swimming naturally, her little legs working furiously to keep her afloat. After these aquatic adventures, she’d swim determinedly back to shore, and once her paws touched the sand, she’d give herself a vigorous shake, sending water droplets flying in all directions. Then she’d turn to look at me, her expression a mix of excitement and pride, as if to say, “Did you see that? I can swim!” I couldn’t help but smile at her boundless enthusiasm for these new experiences. She truly was in love with the island, and I shared those feelings intensely.
These beach outings became a treasured part of our routine, filled with the simple pleasures of discovery, play, and the strengthening bond between a puppy and her master. Each day brought new adventures, whether it was unearthing a particularly large crab or conquering a slightly bigger wave. Through it all, Meh Tu’s zest for life and her trust in me shone brightly, making every moment on that sun-soaked beach a cherished memory.
As the days turned into weeks, I watched Meh Tu grow—both in size and confidence. She began to navigate the jungle and beaches with ease, much like my own growing familiarity with this little paradise. Each new skill she learned and each discovery she made marked the passage of time, not by a calendar but by the flow of nature. Her playful antics were a constant source of joy, a light-hearted contrast to my moments of introspection.
In the vast solitude of Boulder Island, she became my loyal companion, a source of warmth and affection in my otherwise solitary existence. Our bond grew deep, built on shared experiences and the simple joy of being together. Whether playing on the beach, exploring the island, or resting in the shade, we found comfort in each other’s presence. But she was more than just a companion—she was a symbol of the life and vitality that existed on the island, reminding me that even in the most remote places, there’s always the potential for love and connection.
An even happier puppy digging out the crabs
The Monsoon and the Hammock
September on Boulder Island marks the tail end of the monsoon season, a time when the skies often open up, releasing torrents of rain that can last for days. This part of the world receives a staggering amount of rainfall during this period, and I was witnessing it firsthand.
One afternoon, the skies opened up not with a drizzle, but with a sudden, torrential downpour that enveloped the entire island in a watery cocoon. The rain fell in sheets, creating a constant beat on the roof of my bungalow. Far from being an inconvenience, this dramatic turn in weather brought with it a profound sense of peace.
It poured non-stop for five days, turning the island into a world of mist and water. The landscape before me transformed into an impressionistic painting, all soft edges and muted colours. The usually light sparkling turquoise sea turned a moody deep azure, merging with the sky at the horizon in a seamless blend of water and air. The boulders on the beach, normally so stark and defined, now looked softened, their edges blurred by the constant veil of rain.
On the second day of the rain, I noticed I had company. The pair of colourful white-rumped shamas, who always woke me up with their morning songs, had taken shelter under the eaves of my veranda. They perched just a few feet away from my hammock, their tiny bodies shivering slightly as they shook off the water. Over the next few days, more birds joined this impromptu avian refugee camp.
There was something profoundly moving about sharing this space with these beautiful birds. They showed little fear of me, as if recognizing a fellow being seeking shelter from the storm. Their presence added to the surreal quality of these rain-soaked days, a reminder of the raw, untamed nature of this island paradise. We were all, in our own way, seeking refuge, finding solace in the shelter of the bungalow, content to simply exist in that moment.
When the rain finally eased, I emerged from my cocoon transformed. The monsoon had baptised my soul, aligning my inner state with the freshly cleansed island, ready to embrace the remaining weeks of solitude with renewed clarity.
Relaxing in my hammock while its pouring rain
Farewell to the Island: A Bittersweet Departure
In my final days on the island, I found myself frantically trying to capture every moment, as if I could somehow lock each of them into my very being. I wrote impassioned journal entries and took mental snapshots of every detail—the dappled light through the leaves, the exact shade of blue where the sky met the sea, the feel of sand between my toes.
The morning of my departure arrived with a sunrise more vibrant than any before. I took one last swim in the turquoise waters, feeling the cool embrace one final time. As I walked along the shoreline, the waves gently washed over my feet, each one pulling at my heartstrings. I sat on the warm sand, absorbing the scene—the ocean’s whisper, the play of light on the water, the breeze tousling my hair. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the peace and lessons the island had given me. The last sunrise was not just a farewell, but a celebration of the personal transformation that had unfolded under its skies.
Returning to my bungalow, I was greeted by the joyful barks and wagging tail of my loyal companion, Meh Tu, who had shared in every adventure and quiet moment of my island life. Her innocent eyes seemed to sense the impending change, reflecting a mix of confusion and unwitting acceptance.
As I packed my few belongings, each item part of the simplicity I had embraced, I made a silent vow to carry this island within me—a private paradise to retreat to in times of stress. The lessons I had learned—the importance of solitude, the value of emptiness, the joy of living in the moment—were not meant to be hoarded on a remote island but to be integrated into my life and shared with others.
Together Meh Tu and I made our way to the main beach where the staff had gathered to bid me farewell. Their warm smiles and glistening eyes spoke volumes of the friendships we had forged in this remote corner of the world.
We took group photos and selfies, capturing the moments we had shared. Saying goodbye to my puppy was the saddest moment of all. Kneeling down, I held her close, feeling her breath on my neck. Leaving her behind was so hard, but I took comfort in knowing she would be well cared for by the people who had become like family to both of us.
Standing on the beach, waiting for the boat that would carry me back to the world I had left behind, I felt a curious mixture of sadness and anticipation. Boulder Island had been more than just a physical refuge. It had been a crucible for personal transformation.
Some of the staff of Boulder Bay Eco Resort
As the boat approached, I turned to take one last look at the island that had been my home, my teacher, and my sanctuary.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my words carried away by the sea breeze. As I stepped into the boat, I knew that while I was leaving this physical paradise, I was taking its essence with me. The island had given me gifts beyond measure—gifts that I hoped would continue to shape my life long after I’d left its shores.
As the boat pulled away, I stood on the deck, watching the boulders, beaches, and greenery that had been my world slowly merge into the horizon. The island’s silhouette, fading into the distance, was now etched into my heart. My journey home was a mix of emotions—sadness at leaving, contentment from the experiences lived, and anticipation for how these newfound insights would shape and change my everyday life.
I realised that paradise isn’t a place but a state of mind. I knew I was returning to the world not as I had left it, but as someone new—more whole, more at peace, and more alive to the beauty and possibility of each moment. The essence of Boulder Island—its peace, simplicity, and deep connection to nature now lived within me. I could conjure up this inner paradise whenever I needed.
I was not the same person who had embarked on this journey a month ago. The island had given me gifts beyond measure. The expanse of the Andaman Sea stretched out before me, its endless horizon mirroring the boundless possibilities that awaited me. Feeling the salt spray on my face and the wind in my hair, I felt ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the ocean, I took a deep breath, carrying with me the essence of the island—a paradise not lost, but eternally found within my soul.
Sunset over the boulders of Boulder Island
A Few Months Fast Forward – A Puppy Transformed Into A Mommy
During my follow-up visit to Boulder Island a few weeks later, I was given some wonderful news as I departed from Kawthaung on the boat. My little puppy had given birth to seven tiny pups just a few days before! My heart soared with excitement at the thought of seeing them all. As our boat docked in Boulder Beach, I barely touched the sand as I hurried across the beach, eager to meet the newest members of her family. I found them safely tucked in a large box with a sliding door, protected from the island’s hungry monitor lizards and pythons.
The moment Meh Tu heard me approaching, she let out a protective growl, guarding her brood. But when I called out my usual, “Hey Puppy, where are you my sweetheart?” her demeanour changed in an instant. She bolted towards me, her body wriggling with joy as she licked my hands, arms, and even tried to reach my face. It was clear she was just as thrilled to see me as I was to see her and her new puppies.
One by one, I gently picked up each tiny pup, their eyes still closed, and marvelled at the beauty of these new lives. All the while, Meh Tu proudly stared at me, and I could only imagine what she was thinking. It was a deeply touching experience, immediately bringing back memories of cuddling my puppies when I was a child. I was in heaven, immersed in the joy of these precious new lives. Meh Tu just couldn’t stop licking me, her happiness and affection obvious to all. And just as she expected, I brought her and her small puppies plenty of delicious Thai doggy snacks!
Meh Tu and her puppies
Needless to say, I spent much of the first day of my second visit simply watching Meh Tu and her little ones. At just six months old herself, she had transformed from the playful pup I knew into a caring mother, instinctively nurturing her brood. It was astonishing to see how quickly she had embraced her new role.
However, the reality of island life means that Boulder Island can only support two dogs, so eventually, she will have to part with her puppies. My hope is that each one will find a loving home back on the mainland, where they can bring as much joy to others as Puppy has brought to me.
As I reflect on my time at Boulder Island, my heart swells with gratitude. To the owner who graciously extended this once-in-a-lifetime invitation, and to the incredible staff who cared for me with such warmth and attentiveness—I cannot thank you enough. Your dedication to preserving the island’s beauty and creating an experience that is both unforgettable and deeply personal made my stay nothing short of magical. Boulder Island will forever hold a special place in my heart, not just for its stunning landscapes, but for the genuine kindness and hospitality that made my time there truly extraordinary.
I invite you to discover Boulder Island for yourself—a place where time slows down and the world’s troubles seem far away. Here, you can reflect on life, sinking your toes into the soft, sun-warmed sand, or let the gentle rhythm of the turquoise waters soothe your soul. Whether you’re lounging in a hammock strung between trees by the beach, snorkelling among vibrant marine life, or hiking through the lush jungle, every moment on this island offers a chance for renewal.
Visit between November and May, when the skies are at their clearest and the rains are but a distant memory, revealing this hidden paradise in all its glory. Boulder Island isn’t just a destination; it’s a sanctuary for the soul, waiting to transform those who venture to its shores. Come, let this idyllic haven work its magic on you—and send my love to the staff. I know they will take care of you as well as they always take care of me. They are awesome people.
Boulder Beach
