Phi Phi Islands: A Paradise Healing from Tourism’s Heavy Hand

There’s something surreal about watching the Phi Phi Islands emerge from the Andaman Sea as your ferry approaches. Those iconic limestone cliffs jutting dramatically from turquoise waters—they’re exactly like the postcards. But as I fumbled with my camera settings trying to capture the perfect shot (note to self: next time adjust exposure before the crucial moment), I couldn’t help wondering if the islands would live up to their legendary status.

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Spoiler alert: it’s complicated.

My journey to Phi Phi in late 2023 was filled with breathtaking vistas, disappointing crowds, surprising moments of tranquility, and signs of an ecosystem slowly healing from the wounds of overtourism. As a photographer primarily focused on capturing natural landscapes, I found myself constantly torn between frustration and fascination.

First Impressions of Phi Phi—Beauty with a Bit of Baggage

The chaos hit me immediately at Tonsai Pier. Honestly, I wasn’t prepared for the wall of sound—boat engines, tour guides shouting offers, music blaring from nearby bars, and the constant chatter of hundreds of tourists disembarking alongside me. My camera stayed firmly in its bag; this wasn’t the serene arrival I’d imagined.

“Hotel? Where you stay?” A young Thai man gestured to his cart, offering to transport my luggage. I showed him the address of my guesthouse, and he grimaced. “Very far. Narrow path. 300 baht.” I negotiated down to 200, only to later discover my place was barely a 10-minute walk away. Classic rookie mistake.

The narrow, winding paths of Phi Phi Don (the main inhabited island) were a labyrinth of souvenir shops, dive centers, restaurants, and bars. No cars here—just feet, bicycles, and those luggage carts. My backpack kept bumping against passing tourists as I navigated the uneven concrete, stopping occasionally to check my increasingly useless map app. The GPS kept jumping around between the tall buildings and limestone cliffs.

“Are you lost?” an older Western man asked with a knowing smile. “The Viewpoint Guesthouse? Turn left at the 7-Eleven, then right at the dive shop with the blue sign.” Travelers helping travelers—one of my favorite things about these journeys.

When I finally dropped my bags and walked to Loh Dalum Beach, the island’s natural beauty hit me full force. The bay curved in a perfect arc, with crystal clear water lapping at white sand. The dramatic karst formations created a stunning backdrop that had me immediately reaching for my camera. The late afternoon light was creating gorgeous rim lighting on the cliffs—a photographer’s dream.

But then I turned around. Beach clubs were setting up massive speaker systems. Plastic cups littered sections of the sand. Signs advertised fire shows and bucket drinks. The dichotomy was jarring—pristine natural beauty on one side, the infrastructure of mass tourism on the other.

I remember thinking, “I should have come here 20 years ago.” But then again, so did everyone else.

The Dark Side of Paradise—How Overtourism Hit Phi Phi Hard

The Phi Phi Islands’ journey from obscure fishing community to international hotspot happened with dizzying speed. While travelers in the know had been visiting since the 1980s, everything changed with “The Beach.” When Leonardo DiCaprio’s 2000 film showcased Maya Bay’s perfect shores, it transformed from hidden gem to bucket-list essential almost overnight.

“You should have seen it before,” said Som, a local tour guide I chatted with while waiting for my coffee one morning. “Maybe 50 people per day would visit Maya Bay. After the movie? Sometimes 5,000. Every day.” He shook his head, the weight of those numbers hanging between us.

The numbers tell a devastating story. By 2018, this tiny archipelago was receiving over 1.5 million visitors annually. The environmental impact was catastrophic. Up to 80% of coral reefs around the islands suffered damage or destruction. Boats dropped anchors directly onto fragile ecosystems. Sunscreen chemicals bleached corals. Plastic waste accumulated faster than it could be removed.

I saw evidence of this during my first snorkeling excursion. Sections of reef were ghostly white—bleached beyond recovery. Fish populations were noticeably thin in the most accessible spots. Our guide kept apologizing: “Before, many more fish. Very colorful coral. Now…” He trailed off, gesturing to the underwhelming scene below us.

The human impact extended beyond the marine environment. Freshwater—always limited on small islands—became increasingly scarce. Waste management systems buckled under the pressure. The authentic local culture that once defined Phi Phi was increasingly hard to find beneath layers of identical beach bars and generic tourist menus.

I’ll be honest—there were moments I felt like part of the problem. Standing in a crowd of tourists all aiming their cameras at the same sunset, I couldn’t help thinking we were loving these islands to death. The irony wasn’t lost on me that my own presence contributed to the very issues I was documenting.

The breaking point came in 2018. Thai authorities made the unprecedented decision to completely close Maya Bay—the poster child of overtourism—to visitors. The paradise that had drawn millions would be given a chance to breathe, recover, and heal.

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Some locals I spoke with were initially devastated by the closure. “No tourists, no money,” explained a longtail boat operator named Chai. “Many people very angry at first. But now we understand. No nature, eventually no tourists anyway.”

Even with Maya Bay’s closure, parts of Phi Phi still felt like tourist traps during my visit. The central area of Phi Phi Don transforms into a pulsing nightlife zone after dark, with fire shows, loud music, and beach parties that seem completely disconnected from the natural setting. Drink prices rival those in Western countries. “Authentic” Thai food is often watered down for foreign palates.

I’m conflicted about all this. Part of me understands—tourism is the economic lifeblood here. But another part wishes these islands could have developed more sustainably from the beginning. I wonder if the damage can ever fully be undone, though I desperately hope I’m wrong about that.

Signs of Recovery—Phi Phi’s Slow Comeback

The morning I joined a small-group snorkeling tour to the outer edges of the archipelago, I wasn’t expecting much after my initial disappointment. We departed early, before most tourists had finished their breakfast, and headed to less-visited spots on the eastern side of Phi Phi Leh.

“Special place,” our guide Nok promised with a knowing smile. “Not many boats go here.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. As we slipped into the water at the first site, I was stunned by the difference. Healthy coral formations stretched below us in shades of purple, blue, and green. Schools of parrotfish nibbled at the reef while black-tipped reef sharks patrolled the deeper water. I nearly flooded my underwater camera housing in my excitement to capture it all.

“This area never closed,” Nok explained later as we ate fresh fruit on the boat. “But tour companies agreed to limit visits. Only small groups, no anchoring.” He pointed to the mooring buoy we were attached to. “These are new. Better for coral.”

This voluntary stewardship is one of many promising signs I noticed during my week on Phi Phi. Beach cleanup initiatives happen regularly, with both tourists and locals participating. Many restaurants have switched to paper straws and biodegradable containers. Signs educate visitors about marine life and responsible behavior.

The most significant recovery story, however, centers on Maya Bay.

Maya Bay Today—Worth the Hype?

After over three years of complete closure, Maya Bay reopened to visitors in January 2022—but with strict new rules. Daily visitor numbers are capped. Boats can no longer enter the bay itself, instead dropping passengers at a designated dock on the opposite side of the island. Swimming directly in the bay is prohibited to protect recovering coral.

I debated whether to visit at all. Would it be worth it with all these restrictions? Ultimately, my photographer’s curiosity won out—I had to see this famous beach for myself.

The approach was dramatically different from the pre-closure free-for-all I’d seen in videos. Our boat joined a queue at the new dock, where national park rangers checked tickets and briefed us on rules. We then walked along a boardwalk through lush jungle before emerging onto the legendary beach.

I’ll admit it—my first reaction was a mix of awe and slight disappointment. The bay itself is undeniably stunning: a perfect crescent of white sand embraced by towering cliffs draped in greenery. But the roped-off areas and ranger patrols created a somewhat museum-like atmosphere. My wide-angle lens still captured the spectacular scenery, but the experience felt curated rather than wild.

That said, the signs of recovery were undeniable. Beach vegetation was returning. Small coral formations were visible in the shallows. Fish darted through the crystal-clear water. Nature was healing, even under the watchful eyes of dozens of visitors.

“Before closure, sand all gone from people walking,” explained a park ranger when I asked about the changes. “Now coming back. Blacktip sharks return too. Twenty, thirty baby sharks in bay now.”

I left with mixed feelings but ultimately glad I’d witnessed this conservation experiment in action. The new Maya Bay isn’t the free-spirited paradise seen in “The Beach,” but it might be something more important—a template for sustainable tourism in fragile environments.

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Navigating Phi Phi as a Responsible Traveler—A Practical Guide

If you’re planning to visit Phi Phi (and despite the challenges, I do think it’s worth seeing), there are ways to minimize your impact while maximizing your experience. Here’s what I learned through trial, error, and conversations with locals:

Timing makes all the difference. I visited in late September, just at the tail end of the rainy season, and found a sweet spot of decent weather with significantly fewer crowds. May and October are similar shoulder-season months worth considering. The weather can be unpredictable—I lost one day to heavy rain—but the trade-off in crowd reduction is worth it. Plus, hotel rates drop by 30-40% compared to peak season.

Finding ethical tour operators requires some research but pays dividends in experience quality. I nearly booked with a large company offering rock-bottom prices until a conversation with another photographer at my guesthouse changed my mind.

“They pack 30 people on boats meant for 15,” he warned. “And they all visit the same spots at the same time.”

Instead, I went with Phi Phi Green Tours, a slightly pricier option that limits group sizes and emphasizes marine conservation. Our guide actually stopped one of our group from touching coral and explained why it’s harmful—the kind of education that makes a difference.

When researching tours, look for specifics about group size and environmental policies, not just vague claims of being “eco-friendly.” The Travelfish app was invaluable for finding vetted operators with genuine sustainability credentials.

Accommodation choices significantly impact both your experience and the islands’ sustainability. After seeing massive concrete hotel blocks being constructed near Tonsai, I was grateful for my small family-run guesthouse on the quieter eastern side of the island.

The Viewpoint Guesthouse wasn’t fancy—my room had slightly temperamental plumbing and the Wi-Fi worked best on the shared balcony—but it offered authentic hospitality. The owner, Khun Lek, served homemade Thai breakfast each morning and offered photography tips for catching the best light at different beaches. When I accidentally left my battery charger behind, she messaged me on WhatsApp and arranged for a ferry staff member to deliver it to me in Krabi. Try getting that level of service at a chain resort!

For Maya Bay specifically, booking through the official national park channels is essential. The system can be frustratingly glitchy (I had to try three different credit cards before my payment went through), but it’s the only legitimate way to secure a spot under the new quota system. Arrive early—the first boats have the best chance of experiencing the bay before it reaches its daily capacity.

A frustrating reality is that some tour operators still bend or break rules. During a longtail boat trip around Phi Phi Leh, I watched a large tour boat anchor directly on coral while guides did nothing to stop tourists from standing on fragile reef formations. When I mentioned this to my guesthouse owner, she encouraged reporting such incidents to the marine park authorities.

“Only way things change is if people speak up,” she insisted.

One last practical note: I’m terrible at haggling and nearly overpaid dramatically for a private longtail boat tour until another traveler quietly mentioned I was being quoted double the standard rate. Don’t be afraid to walk away and compare prices among multiple operators—there’s healthy competition that keeps prices in check if you’re willing to shop around.

Hidden Corners and Unexpected Joys

My favorite Phi Phi experiences happened far from the well-trodden tourist paths. The islands still harbor quiet pockets of beauty for those willing to sweat a little and wake up early.

The hike to Phi Phi Viewpoint became a daily ritual during my stay. The first morning was brutal—I set out at 5:30 AM, huffing and puffing up hundreds of uneven steps in tropical humidity, my camera gear feeling heavier with each elevation gain. But reaching the platform as the first light gilded the twin bays below was a photographer’s dream come true. The islands’ distinctive hourglass shape revealed itself, with boats appearing as tiny specks on the turquoise canvas below.

“You come every day?” asked an amused vendor who was setting up her drink stall as I made my third pre-dawn ascent. “Same same tourists never do this!”

I explained my quest for perfect morning light, and she nodded approvingly. “Smart. After 9, too many people, cannot take good picture.”

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She wasn’t wrong. By mid-morning, the viewpoint platforms became selfie central, with queues forming for the prime photo spots. But in those golden dawn hours, I sometimes had the entire vista to myself.

Long Beach (Hat Yao) on the eastern side of Phi Phi Don became my sanctuary when the main beaches felt overwhelming. A 15-minute walk from the main village—just far enough to deter the day-tripping crowds—this stretched-out strip of white sand offered breathing room. The snorkeling directly off the beach revealed healthy coral formations and abundant fish life.

One afternoon, as I adjusted my camera settings on Long Beach, I noticed an elderly Thai man launching a traditional longtail boat. Something about his unhurried movements caught my attention, and I gestured toward my camera, asking permission to photograph him. He smiled and nodded, then unexpectedly motioned for me to join him.

My limited Thai and his limited English somehow combined into an invitation to join his short fishing trip. For the next two hours, I sat in his weathered boat as he checked traps in small coves I would never have discovered independently. He showed me a hidden lagoon accessible only through a narrow gap between limestone formations—a spot I later learned even many local tour guides don’t visit.

We barely communicated with words, but he patiently demonstrated his fishing techniques while I photographed everything from his weather-beaten hands to the spectacular hidden beaches. When we returned, he refused payment but accepted my offer to buy us both coffee at a small local cafe away from the tourist center.

These unplanned moments—the ones no guidebook can prepare you for—remain my most treasured Phi Phi memories.

Final Thoughts—Is Phi Phi Still Paradise?

On my last evening, I sat on a quiet section of Loh Dalum Beach, watching the sun sink behind Phi Phi Leh’s silhouette. Fire dancers were already practicing further down the beach, music was starting to pump from nearby bars, and longtail boats were returning with the day’s final tours.

Is Phi Phi still paradise? The honest answer is: it’s complicated.

These islands are not the untouched Eden they once were. The scars of overtourism remain visible in bleached coral, concrete developments, and a commercial center that sometimes feels more like a beach resort anywhere than a unique Thai destination.

Yet there’s an undeniable magic that persists. The limestone karsts still soar majestically from crystal waters. Pockets of vibrant marine life continue to thrive in protected areas. The genuine warmth of local residents who’ve weathered tourism’s boom and bust cycles shines through in unexpected interactions.

What I found most encouraging were the signs of change—tangible evidence that both authorities and communities recognize past mistakes and are actively working toward a more sustainable future. The Maya Bay rehabilitation project, while imperfect, represents a bold acknowledgment that natural resources need protection, even at the cost of short-term tourism dollars.

I left feeling cautiously optimistic but also somewhat melancholy. These islands are caught in the fundamental paradox of tourism: the more beautiful and special a place is, the more people want to experience it, potentially diminishing the very qualities that made it extraordinary.

As visitors, the best we can do is approach places like Phi Phi with open eyes and treading feet. Seek out smaller operators, stay in locally-owned accommodations, accept some inconveniences as the price of preservation, and always remember we’re guests in someone else’s home.

I don’t have all the answers on how to save places like Phi Phi from loving them to death. But as I packed away my camera and watched one last stunning sunset, I made a promise to myself: I’ll return in a few years, not just to capture more images, but to see if this fragile paradise continues its journey of recovery.

Because despite everything, these islands get under your skin. They’re complicated, challenging, sometimes frustrating—but ultimately worth fighting for.

Note: This article reflects my personal experience visiting the Phi Phi Islands in late 2023. Opening hours, prices, and regulations may have changed since then, particularly regarding Maya Bay access. Always check official sources for the most current information before planning your trip.