Pause and Wander

Dates: January 21-26, 2026

Places: Singapore -> Thailand: Phuket -> Koh Yao Noi 

The phrase came to us on our second day in Thailand, right when we needed it most. Mai Phen Rai—loosely translated as “no problem,” but carrying something deeper. A cultural tendency to be slow to anger and quick to forgive. An acceptance that problems will come and go, and what matters most is how you respond. A philosophy that would become our mantra for the next week.

We didn’t know we’d need it quite so badly.

The Rough Start

Our introduction to southern Thailand began in Phuket, and if we’re being honest, Phuket wasn’t really our style. After a smooth departure from Singapore—automated immigration, an excellent AMEX lounge where we savored a local Singaporean favorite laksa, followed by an uneventful Scoot flight—we arrived to find the opposite experience at Thai immigration. Despite having paperwork ready, we somehow chose the slowest of three lines. Six booths started open, then three inexplicably closed. Whether it was sunk cost fallacy or fear of the Office Space traffic lane scenario, we stubbornly stayed put and eventually made it through.

The hotel itself was lovely: a nice restaurant, a central courtyard pool, lush gardens. But the beach scene near our accommodation felt like tourism at its most hollow—beautiful sandy shores packed shoulder to shoulder, lacking the cultural richness we seek when traveling. It reminded us why we travel in the first place: to experience new places, meet people who think differently, and engage with local culture. This particular stretch of Phuket felt more like recreating hometown comforts halfway across the world just because there happened to be a pretty beach nearby.

And of course the hard-as-a-board mattress didn’t help matters.

After a forgettable dinner on the beach, we picked up our laundry and called it a night, confident that day one of twenty-one in southern Thailand would give way to better opportunities ahead.

When Things Fall Apart

The next morning started promisingly enough. We found Jin Cafe for breakfast, apparently the go-to spot for families based on the number of kids in tow. The girls ordered pancakes with fruit plus eggs and bacon. Shaina chose a croissant topped with cheese and avocado. Max went local with stir-fried pork and basil, a fried egg, and steamed rice. Everything was excellent.

Then came the unraveling.

We were trying to catch the 12:30 ferry from Phuket to Koh Yao Noi, and in classic fashion, we were skating right along the edge between “just in time” and “late.” The girls were struggling to listen, patience was wearing thin, tempers were rising, and the clock kept ticking. We hadn’t checked out. We hadn’t called a Grab.

Shaina hustled out to check out while calling back for Max to order the ride. But Max didn’t know which pier we needed—there are several—and the Grab app makes timing unpredictable. Sometimes a driver is thirty seconds away, sometimes twelve minutes, and you don’t know until it matches. With the girls still wrestling their way out the door, ordering seemed premature.

As it turned out, that was a mistake. There were no drivers nearby anyway. When Shaina met Max at reception and learned the Grab still hadn’t been ordered, frustration boiled over. Max explained the confusion about which pier. The explanation didn’t help. Even making the ferry was looking questionable, and that was before accounting for a fifteen-minute wait.

What happened next wasn’t pretty. We fell into a pointless tit-for-tat bickering session that served no purpose beyond fueling bad vibes. The girls were clearly embarrassed watching their parents squabble in public. Anyone nearby was surely rolling their eyes at the American couple who couldn’t keep it together.

The Grab eventually arrived. We missed the 12:30 ferry and switched to the 1:30. No big deal, objectively speaking. Once the pressure released, we looked at each other and shook our heads at how fast things had spiraled. That’s not our usual mode. We pride ourselves on communicating well.

We apologized. We hugged it out. We reset.

That’s when we learned about Mai Phen Rai. The phrase reflects a cultural wisdom we desperately needed in that moment: a setback can either become a real problem or an opportunity to show flexibility and adaptability. We chose the latter, and from there the day unfolded beautifully.

Paradise Found

Koh Yao Noi is a sparsely populated island of only about 5,000 regular inhabitants, most of whom are Muslim. We arrived at the port to find a taxi waiting to take us up the quiet west side of the island to our two-bedroom bungalow. It sat next door to a small local Muay Thai boxing gym run by British expat Nick, who left gloomy London decades ago to live his best life in Thailand.  It came complete with air conditioning, soft mattresses (a welcome change), an outdoor lounge area, and a plunge pool. 

Mai Phen Rai indeed.

We rented scooters from Nick and his girlfriend, another little side hustle of theirs in addition to renting out their bungalow. That evening, we rode north to Unpao Pier for stunning sunset views across Phang Nga Bay, then followed a winding seaside road looking for a 7-Eleven to stock up on essentials. We got distracted by a charming cafe paired with an art installation—a rambling but thoughtful mashup exploring the history of the universe, technology’s acceleration, and Koh Yao Noi’s local history. A bit scattered, but with great design aesthetic.

Eventually we made it to 7-Eleven, stocked up on breakfast supplies and snacks, then returned to the bungalow for a quick dip in the pool. Tired, reset, and grateful for how the day had landed.

The next day, we set out to explore the island properly. We headed to Yaem Yang Point on the far southwestern coast, following a dirt path winding through rubber tree plantations, cashew orchards, and small farming homesteads. It felt like Thailand from a bygone era, with its dusty potholed dirt roads winding between sparely populated tropical greenery, before resorts and mass tourism arrived and changed the vibe.

We crossed to the eastern shore, where development was more visible—restaurants, rental shops, and hammocks everywhere. Still, it felt like the Thailand we had visited twenty years ago. We’d ended up on this quiet island by googling “places that feel like Thailand 20 years ago” and remained skeptical, but in this case, the claim proved true.

Near the northwest end of Koh Yao Noi, we found Long Beach and Three Ladies Restaurant: a rustic bamboo outdoor kitchen with equally rustic furniture scattered about, all facing azure blue water dotted with karst islands that looked straight out of The Beach. The area was ringed by palms and fig trees providing ample shade. Only a handful of people had ventured this far. The girls built sandcastles while we enjoyed pad Thai, spring rolls, and vegetable stir-fry.

Half the fun of a place like this is traveling by scooter. You see so much more. You feel the temperature changes, the wind, the humidity, even the smells. It’s visceral in the best way.

We returned to the bungalow just as golden light enveloped the island. By 8:30, we were all in bed.

The Hard Lesson

Day three brought our first Muay Thai session with trainer Nick and his assistant Beu at the open air gym next door. Even though we started at 8am, it was already 80+ degrees outside and 80% humidity. At least we were in the shade! For 1,200 Thai baht, about $36 USD, we got two hours of stretching, warmups, and exhausting drills: jabs, crosses, elbows, knees, kicks, and blocks.

There’s something deeply satisfying about punching something. Not the violence of it, but the physics—arm position, wrist alignment, foot placement, balance, then contact. Was it solid? Was the aim on target? The girls were rock stars, quickly remembering their training back in Reno at an MMA gym u see their beloved KJN Denice, who teaches a mashup of Brazilian jiujitsu, Tai Kwon Do, and Muay Thai. Shaina quickly realized she was far less coordinated and much weaker with her upper body, so she focused more on strong knees and flexible side kicks. More often than not, Max got bungled up, jabbing when he should have crossed, kneeing when it was time for a kick. One drill at a time, our reaction times shortened and power increased with precision.

Then exhaustion hit. We could barely keep our hands up in proper defensive position. Everything fell apart comically fast. Thankfully this was part of the trainers’ plan. They push you quick, quick, quick, then call for a break right when exhaustion sets in. Two hours flew by, leaving everyone glistening with sweat, breathing hard, and downing electrolyte drinks. Max even earned a nasty bruise on his ankle from one misplaced kick.

The girls, meanwhile, looked far less worse for wear. They could have easily gone another full class. These shared moments—the ones that push you into discomfort in the name of adventure—are the ones that really bring a family together.

After second breakfast of fresh mango, pineapple, and bagels, we knocked out necessary tasks. Shaina rode into town, finally giving up on the antibiotic drops and switching to systemic antibiotics for Arya’s wicked ear infection, now three weeks running. The girls stayed back to take IXL diagnostic tests to gauge their educational progress in the year up until now. They both showed improvements across the board on their diagnostics, particularly Finlee on mathematical measurement—telling time, counting money, calculating area and volume. Focused lessons worked like magic.

With the to-do list handled, we headed back to our new favorite spot, Long Beach, on the northwest corner of the island. The weather was warm but overcast, exactly how we like it—cloud cover keeping UV at bay. We traversed the island again, enjoying the immersive feel of scootering through tropical landscape.

Then Shaina and Finlee took a spill descending one of the steep, rocky, rutted slopes approaching the beach.

It was the strangest fall we’d ever seen or experienced, tipping over while going only two or three miles per hour. Shaina cautiously used the right hand brake—normally controlling the rear brake—while on a steep loose slope. However, we now know that the brakes are reversed in Thailand. Whoops—should’ve checked that before setting off.  That mistake, combined with trying to turn out of a rut, the bike turned sideways in a blink.

Finlee popped up instantly like a gymnast finishing a roll. Shaina was slower but able to stand and dust herself off fairly quickly. She had road rash on her forearm and a small bleeding puncture wound on her shoulder, but thankfully nothing serious. The bike had deep scratches on one bright red panel, made worse by dirt packed into them.

We took a moment to settle and center ourselves, then continued to the beach. Shaina was shaken and riding without her usual confidence, but we made it without further incident. The girls bounded off to build sandcastles and play in the waves. Shaina and Max sat and talked through what happened.

She was flustered and angry with herself for the crash and how she’d reacted as control slipped away. Max encouraged her to breathe and let it go. No major injuries. No catastrophic damage to the bike. Yes, we’d need an awkward conversation with our neighbor who rented us the scooter, but in the grand scheme of things, all was good.

Mai Phen Rai.

Easier said than done, but we were okay.

We ate a great meal at Three Ladies—pad Thai, cashew chicken with pineapple, and red curry. It’s hard to oversell how consistently good the food is in Thailand. From street carts to bamboo shacks to proper restaurants, there’s a deep appreciation for culinary arts, and the food is almost always good, often great.

With sunset approaching and nerves still a bit frayed, we decided to put Shaina back on the older scooter with fatter tires for the ride home. We headed back earlier than planned, slow and steady but comfortable, arriving without incident.

Beu was at the Muay Thai gym when we returned, so we addressed the crash immediately. Max had cleaned the bike as best he could before leaving the beach. Both Beu and Nick were most concerned with whether everyone was okay and if first aid was needed. Once that was settled, we walked through the scratches together. Max told Beu we didn’t need to resolve it that night and she could think about how she wanted to proceed. She appreciated that, though the lack of immediate resolution left a small cloud of uncertainty hanging over the evening.

What we needed next was calm. We spent the evening reading favorite books outside on our patio, listening to frogs, crickets, and night birds, and the occasional Call to Prayer from the small neighborhood mosque a few houses down. With nerves soothed and tiredness settling in, it was finally time for lights out.

Finding Community

The next morning brought another pivot. We’d planned a kayaking excursion off the northwestern pier, but gray skies and ominous clouds greeted us. As we moved farther up the coast, wind really started blowing. Looking out at an ocean filled with whitecaps and roiling clouds—a far cry from the tranquil waters we’d seen days before—Max and Shaina quickly knew they weren’t taking their kids out on kayaks in those conditions.

Time to pivot again. Mai Phen Rai.

We grabbed beach gear and headed back to Long Beach, because why not? While the east side is typically windier, today proved the exception. The east side at Long Beach was much more pleasant.

We settled into our favorite spot facing the sea in sling chairs, ordered a large Chang beer to split, and sent the girls out to build epic sand castles while we journaled and talked. The afternoon unfolded slowly this way—occasionally ordering passion fruit and mango smoothies, writing, helping with sandcastles, taking dips in perfect-temperature water, then starting the cycle over.

At a certain point, we noticed a young girl about Arya’s age watching longingly as our daughters played on a swing, draped dreamily from a branch overhanging the water. She stood close enough to be seen but not so close that the girls noticed enough to invite her over. When they happened to look our way, we waved them over and pointed out what was obviously a kid their age who wanted to play.

“Oh, we didn’t even notice,” they said. “Yeah, let’s go ask her to play.”

That’s how we met Tamina.

The girls hit it off immediately. Socialization must be truly hardwired at their age, because once play started it was as if they’d been lifelong friends. This was a repeat of their time in Singapore with other kids. It was wonderful seeing them find outdoor play with others, with no structure and very little adult supervision. They invented their own games, told each other about their travels, and everything in between.

After about an hour, Tamina’s dad Robby headed over and introduced himself. We then met his wife Poppy and their two sons, Wolfy and Rocky. They’re a British family on a five-month trip through France, Spain, Morocco, and now Thailand before heading home. Robby had enrolled in a Muay Thai boot camp—for £2000 GBP (roughly $2300 USD), that gave them a room for five, breakfast and dinner six days per week, pool and beach access, and Robby gets two Muay Thai sessions per day, six days a week, for an entire month. Even without the Muay Thai, that’s a screaming good deal.

We spent the rest of the afternoon learning about them and sharing our own story. The conversations eventually turned to the state of the world and raising kids in the middle of it all. A good bit of commiseration took place over the enormity of that task.

When Poppy and Robby had to leave for Muay Thai class, we agreed to meet back up for dinner at a restaurant midway between our accommodations. We stayed at Long Beach a bit longer, watching the weather shift from calm to windy and choppy and back again.

We arrived at dinner forty-five minutes early after yet another turn in the weather, not wanting to ride scooters on steep dirt roads in the dark. We played card games before Poppy and crew arrived. We took up two tables—kids at one, adults plus three-year-old Rocky at the other. It was another great meal and really good conversation with interesting people.

We stayed out later than usual. The kids were loving the company, and we were enjoying proper grown-up conversation. It wasn’t until Rocky started turning into a pumpkin and throwing chunks of gravel that we admitted it was time to go. We said our goodbyes and made plans to meet again the next afternoon at Long Beach.

Letting Go (Again)

We woke early the next day with another full plan: scrapping kayaking entirely in favor of another Muay Thai session, homework, and afternoon at the beach. The workout was excellent—explosive exertion leaving us tired but somehow ready for more. Unfortunately, Shaina tweaked something in her upper back between her shoulder blades, either from enthusiasm or from her motorbike fall the day before. A massage would be needed sooner rather than later.

After class, the girls tackled their first homework session since Ho Chi Minh City. Surprisingly, they fell back into routine with ease, helping us feel more confident about our homeschool program.

That gave Max time to follow Beu to the mechanic to assess damage from the scratches. The island isn’t that big, and we made it in less than ten minutes. After some back-and-forth between Beu and the mechanic, the verdict came: 700 baht. Twenty-three dollars.

At that point, it didn’t feel worth all the time and hassle this had consumed, so Max told Beu we’d round it up to 1,000 baht just in case it took longer than expected. She seemed genuinely surprised—not only that Max agreed to the price, but that he offered more. While Max doesn’t believe karma exists in any literal sense, he does think that when you try to do right by people, it tends to come back around.

With homework finished and journaling nearly caught up, we were ready for the beach.

Normally, going to the same beach every day for four days would feel like a non-starter. But at Long Beach, we’d found exactly what we were looking for: lots of shade, incredible views, wonderful water, delicious food and drinks, and pristine sand perfect for play regardless of tide. Add another family with kids our girls genuinely loved, and this became a really special chapter of the trip.

Time flew as our kids played about ninety percent unsupervised—chasing each other, climbing trees, swinging on swings, swimming, generally frolicking without a care. We spent those hours talking with Poppy and Robby, occasionally pausing to smile at the carefree scene unfolding before us.

Eventually our British friends had to leave for Muay Thai and dinner. We needed to head to a massage appointment but agreed to meet back up at Pradu, the famous seafood restaurant near our bungalow, for farewell dessert of mango sticky rice.

The massage was therapeutic in the truest sense—skirting the line between uncomfortable and pleasant—exactly what Shaina needed for her growing back and shoulder pain. Max’s sixty-to-seventy-year-old masseuse had hands that felt forged from iron and wrapped in leather. He worked by digging into trigger points, then sliding up and down associated muscles. None of it truly hurt, but almost none of it felt good either. This was a massage designed to break through accumulated stress and tension. Max squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed under the prodding for sixty minutes. When the masseuse finally said “ok, done,” all Max could think was thank god. Then he stood up. Moved around. Felt limber. 

We both felt really, really good.

With bodies feeling better, we headed to Pradu for our final dinner on Koh Yao Noi. The restaurant is the oldest on the island, started decades ago by a sweet grandma who still works as chef, with the front of the house run by her daughter. At her recommendation, we ordered deep-fried soft shell crab with garlic and Thai chilis. We never would have thought to order it, but it absolutely blew us away. The entire crab is deep fried, shell and all, and you eat the whole thing. It tasted like the love child of fried chicken and fried calamari. The garlic umami was incredible, and the spice was real without being overwhelming. Quite possibly the single best dish of the trip so far.

Just as we finished, Poppy and Robby arrived with their kids for the promised mango sticky rice. Once again we split into kids’ and adults’ tables, with Rocky bouncing between the two. Wolfy stole the show, pulling out a magic box and deck of cards to mystify everyone with his tricks.

Arya and Tamina had their heads close together, talking nonstop. If we’d had more time together, a deep and lasting friendship would have formed between those two. They really did seem cut from the same cloth.

With the mangoes and rice devoured and a tired Rocky starting to fade, we had to say our goodbyes. We exchanged contact info with real interest in a possible exchange for Tamina down the road. Who knows—maybe our paths will cross again.

The Philosophy That Stuck

Our time on Koh Yao Noi flew by. We could have easily stayed another four days, but we believe it’s best to leave while you’re wanting more rather than waiting until you’re fed up.

Looking back on those six days from Phuket to Koh Yao Noi, the phrase Mai Phen Rai became more than just words. It became a practice. When we missed the ferry because we couldn’t get our act together, we could have let that bickering session poison the rest of the day. Instead, we apologized, reset, and chose flexibility over frustration.

When Shaina and Finlee took that spill on the motorbike, we could have let anxiety and self-recrimination ruin the afternoon. Instead, we chose to breathe, center ourselves, and continue forward. No major injuries. No catastrophic damage. All was good.

When storm clouds rolled in and forced us to pivot from kayaking plans not once but twice, we could have sulked about missed opportunities. Instead, we embraced the alternative and found Long Beach, which became the heart of our entire Koh Yao Noi experience.

When we met Poppy, Robby, and their kids entirely by chance, we could have stayed in our family bubble. Instead, we opened ourselves to connection and found friendship that enriched our days immeasurably.

Mai Phen Rai isn’t about being passive or indifferent. It’s not about avoiding responsibility or dismissing genuine problems. It’s about recognizing that life rarely goes exactly according to plan, and the quality of our experience depends less on what happens to us and more on how we choose to respond.

It’s about being slow to anger and quick to forgive—not just others, but ourselves.

It’s about accepting that setbacks will come, and what matters is whether we let them become real problems or opportunities to show flexibility and adaptability.

It’s a practice we’re still learning, still working on. But those days in southern Thailand gave us a mantra worth carrying forward, wherever our travels take us next.

Mai Phen Rai. No problem. Let it go. Stay flexible. Keep moving forward.

And maybe, just maybe, stop for mango sticky rice along the way.