I returned to Ko Lipe after 19 years, expecting a seam of memory to reconnect me to that tiny, almost mythical island. In 2006 it felt remote: sporadic electricity, simple bungalows on the sand for a few dollars, one beach bar, a handful of eateries, and the season’s last boat. Days dissolved into snorkeling, swimming, reading and slow conversation with locals and travelers. It was an easy kind of paradise that could swallow weeks.
I avoided going back for years because I didn’t want to hunt a ghost. On a recent trip down Thailand’s Andaman coast—wanting a festive spot for New Year’s Eve and a boat link to Langkawi—I decided to see it again. I feared the worst, and sadly my fears were warranted.
Ko Lipe has followed the fast-growth trajectory of places like Ko Phi Phi: rapid, extractive development with little long-term planning. Dirt tracks are now paved to handle cars and construction trucks. Palm groves and shade have made way for upscale resorts with pools, despite the island’s lack of an abundant freshwater source. Building is ongoing. The reefs are suffering from increased boat traffic, anchors, pollution and overfishing. Beaches are edged with longtail boats whose exhaust leaves a greasy film on the water. Food options have shifted toward safe, bland Western dishes rather than the vibrant Thai cuisine that once defined the place.
The boom hasn’t helped everyone. Many families sold land to mainland developers and moved off the island; much of the workforce now comes from the mainland and sees few of tourism’s gains. This pattern—build first, think later, with limited advantage to local communities—is familiar across Thailand’s hotspots.
There are still reasons people fall for Ko Lipe. For a first-time visitor the water is breathtaking, the sand still powdery, and the national park nearby still opens access to picture-postcard islands. Compared with Phuket or Krabi it’s less built-up, and newcomers can easily be enchanted.
But enchantment today means adding pressure. Every visitor contributes to the infrastructure demands, pollution and economic forces reshaping the island. Once these changes are underway they’re hard to reverse, and the benefits are unevenly distributed. For those reasons I’ve reached the same verdict I did about Ko Phi Phi: it’s a place to skip.
If you care about supporting better-managed destinations, consider alternatives nearby—Ko Lanta, Ko Jum, Ko Mook—which are generally handled with more attention to environment and community. Consumer choices matter: practices like ending elephant rides and the rise of genuine eco-lodges happened because travelers stopped funding harmful offerings. If enough people refuse to pay for exploitative tourism, places can change.
I don’t expect Ko Lipe to recover overnight, and it pains me—this island helped shape my life—but stewardship sometimes means saying when enough is enough. Don’t visit Ko Lipe.