Koh Phangan - more than just a Full Moon Party - International Traveller Magazine

Koh Phangan’s Full Moon Party is an infamous monthly event drawing backpackers from all over.

Two things happen when you tell people you are of to Koh Phangan.

The first is they surprise you with their intimate understanding of the lunar cycle. “Really, you will only be there for the waxing gibbous? You’ll miss THE PARTY by a couple of days."

And the second is that look; a searching stare where they try and imagine you covered in fluro face paint, eyes as round as the full moon above, euphorically parading up and down the Haad Rin beach with glow sticks tucked into a bright golden G-string.

To put it bluntly and as much as I wish it weren’t true, I am too old for that sh…….. enanigans.

Koh Phangan and its Full Moon Party

The Full Moon Party has a deserved reputation for being a relatively lawless escapade for backpackers in paradise.

The obvious irony is that the paradise becomes quite ugly when the sun rises on the detritus of human bodies, fluids and waste strewn across the tiny beach.

But the party takes place on the southern tip of the island.

What about the other 160 square kilometres?

Rumour has it that the other side of the moon is the quintessential Thai beach life, like Samui and Phuket before their overdevelopment; peaceful, beautiful and blissful (and not manufactured from Draino and bleach in an underground lab in Bangkok).

Koh Phangan for non Full Moon party goers

The backpacker-style life is concentrated on the southern coastline of the Phangan closest to Samui. To avoid these bed-bug-infested, hygienically-challenged travellers I am taking a speedboat straight to the north-eastern tip of the island.

My first sight of the island is the infamous Haad Rin. It’s fairly empty at 11am and the new moon phase is two days old.

Huddles of bungalows stretch west for as far as the eye can see. The speedboat swerves past the beach and heads directly north, away from the bungalows and up the (hopefully) remote, calm east coast.

Except for the odd shack, bungalow and maybe villa, all I can see is idyllic beach after idyllic beach without a human.

Koh Phanga, Thailand — Koh Phangan, Thailand

Forty minutes after leaving Samui, the boat arrives at Thong Nai Pan Noi: a butterfly-wing-shaped enclave with fantastically white sand, fringed by coconut palms and a couple of long boats idly bobbing in the bay waiting for passengers eager to explore the beaches.

There are a couple of resorts on the bay, each with a different coloured type of umbrella, ensuring strolling guests can find their way back home.

Rasananda Koh Phangan

The red Anantara Rasananda umbrellas are like landing lights, guiding us into their stretch of sand and the waiting arms of luxuriant service.

Bags are lugged up the beach by the waiting staff. Mark Eletr, the jolly and jovial Aussie GM, warmly greets the glamorous couples with whom I shared the boat ride. Seeing me he calls me by my name.

I’m not sure if it’s my obvious lack of travel companion or lack of glamour that makes me so easily identifiable. Probably both.

I have that curious moment where relief is mixed with joy as I take in the resort ambience and like what I see and feel. I end up smiling inanely at Mark.

Infinity pool Rasananda Koh Phangan Thailand

“It’s not like Samui or Phuket. It never will be." Mark tells me 90 minutes later, as I bury my face into my third cool towel.

Lunch of soft shell crab with Thai dipping sauce and a crisp Australian riesling arrives as the towel is whisked efficiently away.

I give Mark the ‘don’t bullshit a bullshitter’ look and he explains; “The cost of land, construction and materials here is just too high."

“There is no road access to most of the east coast – the best part of the island – so it makes it prohibitively expensive to develop," he says. He should know – he has been GM of some of Australia’s most prestigious properties, including Bedarra Island, before joining the Thai hotel and resort chain.

“This is the relaxed, laidback luxury that travellers are all looking for, and that’s the way it’s going to remain," he continues. I’ve only been here two hours, but I can’t disagree.

Anantara Rasananda, Koh Phangan, Thailand

Infrastructure or not, the northern tip of the island is everything the south is not. Quiet, sophisticated, beautiful and, here at Rasananda in particular, luxurious without ostentation or pretension.

We are sitting in the restaurant just metres from the beach. Barefoot diners feast on tasty resort food seated at tables or at plush rounded lovers’ lounges, with their feet in the sand.

Soft breezes on the relatively empty beach swish coconut palm leaves in harmony with the lapping of the warm seawater.

A glamourous couple sit at the swim-up pool wearing the requisite Prada sunglasses, while sipping cocktails and picking at bar snacks. It is the very essence of the barefoot bohemian boutique property – surprisingly affordable for the quality offering.

Day trip around Koh Phangan

Painfully, to get to the northwest tip of the island from Thong Nai Pan Noi in the northeast, I have to travel back down to the southern coast, which is full of backpackers and their cringeworthy insights.

“I have come to the realisation that you have to stop worrying and just let go," croons Lulu from Cape Town. “You have to stop trying to make things happen. If you can commit to a massive change like that, it changes your whole brain."

I have run into Lulu at the only temple worth a look on the island, Wat Kow Tahm, which also acts as a meditation centre. Lulu is so obviously not meditating enough – she’s obviously too busy backpacking her way through that horrible-to-witness (and worse to listen to) journey of self discovery.

I had been tempted to hire a scooter to make the journey south, but Mark warned me against it. Good move – I find deep ruts formed by heavy rain that would swallow a scooter wheel in an instant on steep unsealed roads.

Still, there are several helmetless backpackers scootering the road as I slide the four wheel drive up and down the steep climbs.

The southern fringe that I must traverse to head north is an unsurprising ramshackle of ordinary local business interspersed with bars, bungalows, ziplines and elephant trekking companies. Fluoro signs advertise various reincarnations of the party; a half moon, blue moon, black moon and any moon party.

The promise of 20-somethings looking for a good time is an insatiable market in this part of the island; though it used to be coconuts and the signs of this trade are still obvious. Huge piles of shells are dotted along various work yards on the road.

I eventually wind my way past the chaotic, decrepit bungalows and reach the northwestern tip, Haad Mae Haad, where the Island View Cabana and its Beachfront Club are mostly taken with relaxing backpackers.

Get into the swing at Haad Khom, Koh Phangan, Thailand — Swing seat at Haad Khom, Koh Phangan, Thailand

The beach massage cabana is doing a roaring trade (those backpackers really work themselves into knots partying). The sundrenched Beachfront Club is full of travellers sipping Thai beer and eating local lunches. But it’s a magical spot – even if it is run for the backpackers.

Fisherman's wife and daughter dealing with the today's catch, Koh Phangan, Thailand — Fisherman’s wife and daughter dealing with the today’s catch, Koh Phangan, Thailand

Just around the corner, Chaloklum is a huge bay where local fisherman still go about their traditional business. The village has a mix of bars, a jazz club and an abandoned hotel that would have been a fantastic find if it was still a going concern, but obviously the sophisticates required to make the hotel viable never quite found it.

The village has no pretenses and the fishermen’s wives are busy processing the day’s catch.

Mark insisted I came here for three very good reasons. Firstly, for lunch at the so-white-the-glare-hurts-your-eyes Malibu Beach; secondly, for the island’s best secret beach, Haad Khom and finally, for the jaw-dropping beauty of Bottle Beach – not a secret, but too remote for most people’s effort levels.

Malibu Beach Restaurant, Koh Phangan, Thailand

A quick and easy Pad Thai lunch is worthwhile at Malibu (and the sand really is that white). Getting to Kohm requires a little navigation, but I eventually find it by parking in a local resort and descending the stairs to a paradise fringed by palms and wispy trees.

A small bungalow bar is staffed by Italians. A pig snuffles around the stools. Someone decides to give the pig a little clean with the hose. It is all utterly uncontrived.

Experiencing the jaw-drop promised by Bottle Beach proves a little harder – it’s only accessible by long boat. In truth, that’s probably all that saves it from being a tourist icon – it’s gorgeous. (Though in truth, my favourite remains Rasananda’s).

Like Western Australia, when you are spoilt for choice a great beach needs something a little special and for me Rasananda is exactly that; perfect beach with luxurious service.

I don’t want to admit it, but I came to Phangan somewhat snobbishly, ready to dismiss it as ‘just another Thai island’; overrun with travellers, spoilt by greed and necessity and compromised beyond belief.

Sure there are pockets like that, but on the northern side, cynicism and jaded disappointment are replaced by that travellers’ holy grail: unspoilt Thai island life.

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How to get to Rasananda Koh Phangan

The easiest way is to fly with Bangkok Airways from Bangkok to Koh Samui and then take the Rasananda speedboat.

Flights to Samui from $108.

Make use of the free lounges for all Bangkok Airways passengers at both airports. Speedboat transfers with Rasandana are $118 return.

Alternatives include the ferry from the mainland at Surathani or one of the three ferries from Samui to Phangan which are not that much cheaper at $83 return.

Anantara Rasananda, Thong Nai Pan Noi, Pool suite from $212, phangan-rasananda.anantara.com

Best thing about Koh Phangan

Finding that magical island life is still possible.

Worst thing about Koh Phangan

I can’t say the party because I didn’t go, so I’ll say bumping into painful backpackers

After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?

In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.

Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?

Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?

How tourism is changing in Nepal

Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.

Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.

“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.

Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”

Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”

CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.

A new generation demanding more

Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”

We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”

Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels — Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…

bouda stupa prayer flags — Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.

Boudha Stupa vendors — Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.

A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.

Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.

Life unfiltered in the Terai region

tharu woman — Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.

Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.

Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.

Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.

On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.

community homestay entrance — A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.

The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.

In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.

food at community homestay — Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.

The power of community homestays

community homestay owners in Nepal — Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.

“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”

The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.

Sonara community room — An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.

Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.

CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.

“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.

In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.

“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”

Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”

Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.

Koh Phangan – more than just a Full Moon Party