Loads looking good and ground staff making sure there are enough seats for the next flight, I proceed to check into my flight to Abu Dhabi which departs an hour delayed due to foggy conditions at the destination airport.

I cram into two seats and shortly after having a substantial meal,  I succumb to the fatigue of a long day at the office and a rushed departure. No space for whining, I am officially on holidays.

As expected when flying East, the night is shortened by several hours and the plain landscape around Abu Dhabi is releaved by the orange sunrise, some seven hours after departing Dublin. Modest muffin and coffee is served minutes before descending into the busy airport.

A storm of memories and nostalgia follows. In the end, I used to operate flights to this airport regularly. A storm fed by the strong smell of amber scent wore by the people in the Middle East and the announcements in Arabic.

It is a full house for my flight to Bangkok, since many flights were delayed due to weather conditions and passengers from every corner of the Etihad network were placed into a large Boeing 777 which leaves the dusty Middle East flying over Pakistan, the bumpy skies of India and the Bay of Bengal and finally reaches the Thai capital nearly 7 hours later.

Once deplaning, the humidity and the heat of these latitudes instantly hit me in the face, despite the air conditioning working at full power at Suvarnabhumi Airport.

First time as a backpacker in Bangkok and with no crew pick up or five-star hotel in sight, I immediately take the modern Skytrain which seems to almost levitate over dark neighborhoods, tall buildings and massive outdoor advertisements promoting ASEAN countries integration.

The Skytrain takes me to the Makkasan Station right in the center of the neighborhood where several accommodation options had been suggested by my Lonely Planet book.

I lose half of my body weight in sweat despite being almost midnight, at a point in which finding the street names in the neighborhood of Sukhumvit becomes quite the challenging task.

Around me, the typical Bangkok night unfolds naturally and my quest for a hostel is defined by a row of pink taxis fighting for their own space in the busy avenue along with rickshaws and trucks, smothered by a strong smell of exhaust pipes, fried cooking oil and sewage.

I finally find a hostel which feature lovely pods and most importantly at this stage, excellent showers and aircon. A dinner of delicious black noddles with seafood and a Singapore sling follows.

The constant whirring of the aircon numbs every possible thought at night and, after a decent sleep, I grab some fried Thai breakfast and check out.

I take the modern metro to Hua Lampong train station to sort out my train ticket first, and after searching for many options due to limited availability, I am given a second class berth for the 15:00 train by a smiley attendant.

A walk from the train station to the area where the Royal palaces are becomes a colourful challenge surrounded by busy street vendors and incense shops in Chinatown and sweat-drenched clothes, quenched by copious amount of bottled water, juices and smoothies. A walk rewarded by the sight of the colourful pointy towers of Wat Pho, a Buddhist temple which is also known as the birthplace of the Thai massage.

Each tower is covered in small tiles and placed within the Palace grounds strategically to guard both sanctuaries where local bow and a countless amount of golden Buddha images, with the larges resting on almost 50 meters of a red berth and covered in gold leaf.

A few steps down the road and a short ferry trip across the busy Bangkok’s main artery, the murky Chao Phraya River, I climb up the former military fortress of Wat Arun, defying vertigo with its steep and narrow steps for a hazy yet one of the best overviews of the second largest city in South East Asia.

My attempt to visit the Royal Palace is instantly frustrated by the heat and the large crowd of tourists gathering around the main entrance, moment in which I decide to visit the red Giant Swing and through quieter neighborhoods reach Siam Square, a place which, with its airlifted monorail lines, passageways, tall towers and neon signs, perfectly translates one of Asia’s largest passions: a love for retail.

Air conditioning has now become a precious asset, enjoyed with a lovely Pad Thai by the Bangkok Art and Culture Centre.

I walk back to the train station by way of the green and fresh grounds of Chulalonkorn University, moments before sipping on a cold strawberry Fanta and board my old-fashioned second class carriage, featuring an area for washing up and a squatting toilet.

We leave the station on the dot. Families around me say their good-byes and kids run beside the train as we slowly pull away from the platform and enter the city’s suburbs: a mix of low-rise houses, slums and motorways under construction.

The landscape around the train line slowly changes and the haze of Bangkok’s concrete jungle surrenders to villages, small golden pagodas and swampy rice crops, shining by the reflection of the late afternoon sunset.

I entertain myself jumping from carriage to carriage, spotting obvious differences between the facilities of each ‘class’, from wooden seats in the budget option to comfortable first class berths, aircon or not.

By night, my sleep is interrupted by the noisy clickity-clack of the old tracks, the fully lit lights, a banging door and the Antarctic-like aircon.

Almost 13 hours after leaving Hua Lampong, a loud assistant wakes everyone up announcing my stop, the sleepy and dusty village of Surat Thani.

At 04:00am, a decent omelette is enjoyed at a restaurant which has placed tables on the main street and proudly offers wi-fi as their main luxury.

After two hours of waiting in the early morning stuffy heat and legs almost devoured by large mosquitoes, we are led to a bus that seems to have had better days for a short transfer to Surat Thani town.
I meet two Dutch girls on the way and as small talk flows, we soon decide to join forces for the next days in exploring our next destination.

We are transferred to a larger coach and through a modern motorway which zig zags through soft hills covered in rice fields and palm tree plantations, dotted by lonely towers of karst and solid granite rising from the plain lands, we reach the noisy Krabi about two hours later.

Once again, we are led to the back of a pick up truck for a short trip to the ferry station, slightly forced to run through the long jetty in order to make it in time for departure.
I sit on the floor of the main front deck for a decent sized piece of personal space in the packed ferry and also to avoid sea sickness.

The quiet navy blue waters of the Andaman Sea seem to easily flow under the hull of our slow boat, rocking and splashing our legs at times, soothing the effects of the Equatorial sunshine slowly burning our skins.
And as a mirage, large blocks of rock rise from the horizon like some sort of giant’s fingers trying to stay afloat.

Passengers become excited and countless camera clicks are heard as we approach the islands from the West, increasing the excitement of arriving into a paradise of blue water, white sand and luscious greenery.
Ships and longboats pile around the main pier. A large yellow sign welcomes everyone to the island, seconds before being tackled by a short man charging a conservation fee.

Conservation you say? The main settlement in Phi Phi Dom is far from being a paradise. A backwater town, once completely destroyed by the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, seems to have been reconstructed in an improvised way with sewage running across the main pedestrianised streets, flooded by open air tattoo studios, massage houses (lady boys included), small shops and loud bars.

I find a rather cheap accommodation option which would work for at least one night, squeezed in between a loud bar and a little convenience shop.
The girl in the bed besides me reads a book whilst her phone charges in the wall and briskly tells me stories from the previous night, warning me about the night ahead and the fellow guests lethargically sleeping their hangovers.

I run to the beach to savour the feeling of the warm ocean water around my skin at Lo Da Lum Bay and spend the afternoon laying in the hot white sand strand, emulating the behaviour of hundreds of other tourists sleeping, having a drink and heavily working on their tans as a sun holiday credo. All of this complemented by the rock walls sheltering the bay and adding the Thai touch to the beach.

Four white walls covered in graffiti and a loud ceiling fan are the recommended dinner place for the night and dishes of Pad Thai, soup and refreshing fruit juices are consumed vigorously. A small place which is then visited two more times, one for each night I spend in Phi Phi Don.

At night, sleeping becomes impossible thanks to a broken air conditioning and loud backpackers constantly crashing into furniture, laughing and speaking out loud.
Agreed that the profile of the traveller reaching this piece of paradise is younger, therefore a bit more prone to lose control of normal decency around their fellow peers.
An element that somehow has taken some of Phi Phi’s beauty out and has turned it into a messy party capital, only slightly surpassed by the loud and infamous Patong Beach across the sea in nearby Phuket.

Refusing to believe this is all Phi Phi has to offer, we venture through a beautiful pathway under lush trees bordering the island to a place known as Long Beach.

The seclusion of the place has preserved it, making it almost ideal for a day of relaxation, sleeping under the trees, dipping in the spotless waters and having a little drink.
In the distance, the constant come and go of the main pier is muffled by the rocking of the waves and the sight of Ko Phi Phi Leh, turning darker as the hours pass by.

Once the skin is tired of sunshine and hunger strikes, we decide to find a better accommodation option, which is never an easy task in the small island.
We find a wooden bungalow in the quiet side of the island, with a balcony that becomes a hang out place in the evening contemplating the stars, chatting and enjoying a few cold beers (oh yes, we have wi-fi as well).

Despite my obvious seasickness problem, we decide to take a full-day boat trip around the island in the morning, joining a crowd of young budget tourists in the main street and, upon receiving instructions, I find myself marching in some sort of a queue around the muddy streets of Phi Phi Don to the main pier.
We board a wooden noisy longboat, which rocks constantly when leaving the sheltered bay and it finally enters the open sea, however, my policy of non-eating before a boat journey seems to be working perfectly.

The boat suddenly stops in the middle of the water and sharp instructions are given: ‘Shark Point, snorkelling, twenty minutes’. And off we go,  jumping into the crystal clear waters with our snorkels.
No sharks are spotted, however, I don’t think anyone would care when you are surrounded by an infinite amount of curious and colourful fish playing in the coral reef.

About an hour later battling tall waves and drifting away from Phi Phi Don, we reach the white sands of Bamboo Island, where we are given fried rice in Styrofoam packs along with a bottle of water as lunch.
I decide to explore the small piece of land instead, walking through the beautiful sandy beaches, dipping in the refreshing blue waters at times (avoiding the crowd of Chinese tourists) and finally climbing the rocky and virgin side of the island for a beautiful view of the Andaman Sea and my little piece of private beach.
A full loop of the whole island is completed in around twenty five minutes, followed by a little siesta under the trees.

With the body used to the constant rocking of the boat, I no longer find any reason not to finally enjoy myself, have a bite to eat, dive in the waters of Mosquito Island for another session of snorkelling, this time in turquoise waters, and feel the breeze of the afternoon weather blowing in my face.

Family Guy’s ‘Evil Monkey’ themed sign indicates we have now reached a place called Monkey Beach.
Tourists seem to almost crawl in the white sand trying to get close ups pictures of the several monkeys wandering around the place.
It is never a good idea to feed the monkeys they say. Combine uneducated tourists and food leftovers and you are guaranteed a number of aggressive monkeys running around screaming and scaring their benefactors. I just limit myself to laugh from the safety of the warm water.

A visit to the Southern Thailand islands could not be completed with reaching the epitome of the Thai tourism boards splattered all over the world.
Bordering rocky shores and navigating across the bay we finally reach the island of Phi Phi Leh which slowly reveals our next docking point: Maya Beach,  ‘The Beach’ beach.

It’s a unique landscape. A perfect balance of white sand, blue water, a line up of colourful longboats and a rocky frame with a beauty probably not describable with words.
Perhaps the small piles of rubbish, the constant whirring of boat engines or the hundreds of tourists with selfie sticks have taken its toll on the magnificence of the place, yet it’s a place of inspiration and somehow feeling of accomplishment.

A ‘Chang’ beer serves to commemorate the conquest of yet another iconic place in the world, moments before the day ends in a rather melancholic note, navigating through the quiet waters of Blue Lagoon, a body of water which reflects everything in sight like a giant mirror and finally enjoying the ‘orangest’ of the sunsets by the sea, sunset that had been offered as part of the package.

Once docked back in Phi Phi Dom, the three of us enjoy an evening of dining at our little Thai food spot and having a few Singapore slings by the beach, watching fire shows happening at the sound of loud techno music and neon lights from the distance whilst young backpackers walk around the beach to one of the many party spots in the main island.

In the morning, I wave good-bye to my sleepy new friends and walk through the empty streets of town for an early morning ferry departure.
I grab a seat on the main deck because in the end, my sunburned skin is crying for a break from the sunshine and some air conditioning pampering.

The ferry lines up West. About forty-two kilometres separate me from my next destination: the loud and world-famous Phuket.