Nineteen years after spending nearly a month on Ko Lipe, I went back expecting a familiar, slow-paced paradise. In 2006 it was a barely-touched pocket of Thailand: limited electricity, cheap beachfront bungalows, a single beach bar, and long days of snorkeling and reading. It became one of my favorite travel memories, so I avoided returning for years—afraid of ruining that memory by seeing it changed. On a recent trip down the west coast, needing somewhere lively for New Year’s Eve and with a boat to Langkawi, I finally went back.

The place I fell in love with no longer exists. Ko Lipe has followed the familiar pattern of rapid, unsustainable tourism growth. Narrow dirt paths are now paved for trucks; palm groves have been bulldozed for high-end resorts with pools on an island with no natural freshwater source. Construction is ongoing. Coral is dying from overcrowded boats, anchors, runoff, and overfishing. Beaches are crowded with longtail boats whose exhaust leaves a sheen on the water. The food scene is shifting from authentic Thai to safe, bland Western menus aimed at mass tourism.

The social impacts are just as stark. Many longtime residents sold land to mainland developers and were displaced. Much of the island workforce now comes from the mainland and sees little of the tourism profits. Limited infrastructure and resources are strained by the sheer number of visitors, and the traditional rhythms of island life are fraying.

If you’ve never been, Ko Lipe can still look like a postcard: white sand, blue water, and easy boat trips to secluded spots in the national park. I understand why newcomers fall for it. But viewed through a stewardship lens, this model of growth is destructive. Every visitor increases the pressure on coral, water, waste systems, and the local community.

I’m not against tourism in principle—just this approach. Nearby islands such as Ko Lanta, Ko Jum, and Ko Mook have managed growth more responsibly and are better choices if you care about long-term environmental and social health. Consumer choices matter: travelers helped end cruel elephant rides and boosted eco-lodges by changing demand. If enough people stop feeding harmful patterns, destinations can change course.

It’s painful to admit because Ko Lipe shaped a formative travel experience for me, but sometimes you have to accept that enough is enough. If you want to help protect fragile places, skip Ko Lipe and choose islands that prioritize their environment and communities.

I returned to Ko Lipe after 19 years, hoping to relive a slice of the island I knew in 2006. Back then it was gloriously simple: electricity for a few hours, basic beach bungalows, and a slow routine of beach, snorkel, read, and the occasional beer at the lone beach bar. I made close friends, learned some Thai, and left feeling I’d lived the true backpacker dream. I avoided coming back for years because I wanted to protect that memory.

This time I went because it fit my route down Thailand’s Indian Ocean coast, because there was a boat to Langkawi, and because I wanted a lively place for New Year’s Eve. I should have stayed away.

Ko Lipe today follows the Ko Phi Phi playbook: rapid, unchecked development. Dirt footpaths have been replaced with concrete broad enough for trucks. Palm groves are being bulldozed to make room for high-end resorts with pools—on an island with no natural freshwater source. Construction is relentless. Coral reefs are suffering under heavy boat traffic, anchors, pollution, and overfishing. Longtail boats line the beaches; their exhaust leaves a sheen on the water. Restaurants increasingly prioritize safe, mediocre Western dishes over great local Thai food. Many locals have been displaced or pressured to sell to mainland developers, and much of the workforce now comes from elsewhere, so the prosperity often leaks off the island.

For first-time visitors, Ko Lipe still has the postcard ingredients—turquoise water, white sand, and access to nearby islands in a national park—so it’s easy to understand the initial “wow.” Compared to Phuket or Krabi it feels less developed, and many people will still be enchanted. But that doesn’t change the reality: this pattern of growth is unsustainable and is actively degrading what makes the island special.

I’m not against development per se; places can and should grow. I object to growth that prioritizes short-term profit over long-term environmental and social health. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle, and it’s unrealistic to expect locals to stay impoverished for the sake of an idealized past. But visiting now means contributing to a cycle that harms reefs, strains scarce resources, and displaces residents.

There are plenty of nearby islands that are better managed—Ko Lanta, Ko Jum, Ko Mook among them. If you care about the places you visit, consider skipping Ko Lipe and spending your time and money where it supports sustainable practices and local communities. Consumer choices matter: when travelers demanded change, harmful tourist practices like abusive elephant rides declined and eco-lodges grew. Maybe avoiding Ko Lipe won’t fix everything, but if enough people shift their travel choices it can create pressure for better management.

It pains me to advise staying away because my first visit shaped me. But sometimes responsible travel means knowing when not to go. By choosing alternative destinations, you avoid adding to Ko Lipe’s decline and send a message that sustainability should come before short-term gains.