Koh Hong: Unexpected Sanctuary

“Babe, I am seriously not interested in going any farther.” Long pause while he buys time. We are paddling a two-man inflatable kayak in a sea cave in Thailand. The water is still, the air is oppressively hot--thick with humidity and the smell of bat guano, and we are in absolute blackness. It’s the kind of dark that almost doesn’t feel real. It’s disorienting. I strain to see something, anything, and I am met only with engulfing blackness. “Okay” he replies but keeps paddling. In protest, I withdraw my paddle. The sound of his oars dipping into the sea, and the water that drips as they emerge, bounces off the cave walls. It is a haunting and sacred sound. I am terrified of what could potentially be below, above, or right next to me—but also strangely sedated by the womb like embrace of the cave.

“For reals...I’m not down.” A bit more urgency in my voice this time. “I just wanna...”, he mumbles as we paddle deeper into the darkness, “see if...”, he’s still paddling. “Ah ha!”, he booms. There it is, the tiniest hole of light emerges. I feel myself breathe again. So this is what the “light at the end of the tunnel” feels like. “There’s an opening!” He is jubilant. Because not only do we not know how big this cave is, or how far back it goes, we also did not know if there was indeed an opening. A portal to the interior. He had been on Google Maps and discovered the open interior of the island that the Thai call a “hong”, but he had no idea if this particular cave tunnel opened into it. “Koh hong” means island room. Thailand is well known for these “hongs”—an interior lagoon ensconced in the center of the island, with a few narrow channels that lead to the sea. There are several of these “hong” islands in the Andaman Sea and we were anxious to explore one. We excitedly press towards the direction of the growing light. The slightest movement of fresh air that now touched us, a pleasant relief. We arrived at the opening and observe a narrow, craggy passage in the limestone. We tuck our oars into the kayak, lay back in limbo-like fashion and carefully, using our hands on the sharp cave wall, “walk” ourselves through the opening.

Inside, I swear that I hear the strains of a heavenly choir. We are bathed in sunlight and gliding in glassy, crystal water. The limestone cliff soars hundreds of feet overhead and drips with dense, tropical greenery. Massive, exotic looking birds drift above us and monkeys cavort on a rocky bank close by. It is rapturous. We are both silent as we maneuver our kayak through the placid water.

I grew up going to church, consider myself to be something of a seeker, and have had my fair share of “spiritual” experiences. But this is like none other. I am filled. Expanded. Every part of me open--reaching out to take it in and experience this sacred space. It feels like communion with the divine. And I just want to bask in it. The tranquility that I feel in every cell of my body is blissful. It is Peace. It is Grace. I feel like crying. Maybe I do.

Reverently, we paddle around the enormous lagoon and into a second chamber, equally extraordinary. We pause to watch another troupe of monkeys carousing on the shore. Babies wrap around their mothers’ backs and juveniles dangle from branches. Palms of gargantuan proportions grow in precarious crags and canopy the lush flora and fauna beneath.

As we kayak back towards our port of entry, we see that the water level is quickly rising with the tide. As lovely as this lagoon is, we have no desire to stay within in it for the next twelve hours until the tide recedes. And since there is no longer room for us and the kayak to squeeze through the mouth of the limestone, we slip out of the kayak, guide it through, and then swim through behind it.

Back in the cave, we clumsily work our way into the kayak. The darkness and stagnation of the cavern a curious contrast. This time, I allow myself to tolerate, and maybe even enjoy the suffocating blackness as we make our way back to the entrance of the cave. We remerge into the sunlight and our sail boat is thankfully, still in place—anchor tethered to the rocky bottom. Rob gives me a wink and a nudge, “Pretty freaking rad, right?” I concede that I am indeed grateful to have heeded his adventurous inkling as opposed to listening to my risk-adverse leanings. “Incredible”, is all I can muster. But I am absolutely buzzing-- high on my accidental encounter with “God”, in this most unexpected sanctuary.

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