The Myeik (Mergui) Archipelago: A Land Forgotten

In this age of oversharing and leaving no stone unturned, it’s rare to stumble upon an area that is yet to be spoilt by the many footsteps of wandering tourists. Even as I write this, I’m hesitant, for I’m doing the exact thing which exploits and overshares. So before I dive into the details on our adventure through the Mergui Archipelago, I make a humble request: if you are ever given an opportunity to visit this wondrous region, please tread lightly and hire a boat that gives back to the local communities, educating their youth and encouraging ecological responsibility. It is a gift for us all, and I hope it will continue to be for generations.

Our anticipation for our sail through the Mergui Archipelago could not have prepared us for what lie ahead. After the endless touring through Bagan, Mandalay, and Yangon, a break was certainly in order, and a sail through a relatively undiscovered set of islands was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Without question, this was a land more beautiful than any place we had yet been...

The turquoise waters were crystal clear and vibrant, matching any of the prettiest Caribbean blue seas. The white sand beaches were truly breathtaking, with one so powder soft we spent hours lolling on the beach, exfoliating our skin and marveling at the softness of the sand. The snorkeling rivaled that of places I had seen in Australia, and for everyone the underwater world was engaging and rewarding.

​Yet, despite all of the beauty, it was the Sea Gypsies that stole my heart. For the most part, the landscape felt uninhabited, as though no one had lived here for centuries. But soon enough, we encountered the mystical Moken people, or Sea Gypsies. These nomadic hunter-gather people were all around us, unseen but ever present. They live off the sea and are rumored to be able to see clearly underwater and hold their breath for up to five minutes while they free dive for fish. They often live in their boats or in villages on the water. We were fortunate to visit one such village and to see first hand their way of life. Unsurprisingly, we were struck by the simplicity in which they lived.

The laughter and pure joy of the children as they rowed out to meet our boat, or as they frolicked in the waves and cannonballed off the docks, was in sharp contrast to the trash littering their shores. When we asked the captain of our boat about the litter, he said they will spend hours cleaning the trash only to have it all come rushing back with the next tide turn. It was disheartening to hear, to say the least, but the focus of our captain and crew was to educate the children, both in the villages and in the mainland, for the more education, the better the outcome. And of course, we were reminded by our own responsibility as visitors to respect their traditions, their land and their simplicity, and above all, do what we can to help them retain the beauty of their homeland. It’s my hope that an increase in eco-tourism will have a positive effect on the region, despite the challenges that progress can bring.