Bangkok is Thailand's vast and endlessly energetic capital city: a place where gilded Buddhist temples stand in the shadow of luxury hotels traffic-choked boulevards give way to tranquil river klongs and street food stalls serve some of the finest cooking in Southeast Asia.
Thailand: Surin Islands: Thailand’s Coral Wilderness
🏝️ Thailand: Surin Islands — Thailand’s Coral Wilderness
🤿 Should We or Shouldn’t We?
When we were planning our three-week lap around Thailand, the question of whether to have a crack at scuba diving came up fairly early on. We’d been toying with the idea for a while — it seemed like the sort of thing you really ought to do when you’re floating around one of the most biodiverse stretches of ocean on the planet. The one concern I had, and it wasn’t a trivial one, was how my sinuses would hold up under the pressure of diving. I’m not exactly in the first flush of youth, and the thought of equalising poorly at depth with no medic for 60 kilometres in any direction didn’t fill me with confidence. After some deliberation, we decided to shelve the scuba idea and stick with what we knew — a mask, a snorkel, and the surface. As it turned out, that decision didn’t cost us a single thing. What we saw from just below the waterline was, in Karen’s words, “more than enough.”
When we started researching the best snorkelling in Thailand, two places kept coming up in every article, forum thread and YouTube rabbit hole we fell down: the Similan Islands and the Surin Islands. Both sit in the Andaman Sea off Thailand’s west coast, both sit within protected national marine parks, and both have a well-earned reputation for extraordinary underwater visibility and coral health that puts most of the more accessible Thai islands in the shade. In the end we plumped for the Surin Islands, partly because the Similans had a reputation for being slightly more heavily touristed, and partly because the Surins offered the chance to stay overnight on the islands themselves, which appealed enormously. We booked ourselves onto a 3-day, 2-night adventure and tried not to get too excited about it.
🚤 Getting There
Our pickup from the Retreat was at 7 am, and there was another group of six who were travelling with us from the hotel. Their English wasn’t great, and I had no idea what language they spoke, and they were loud. Not unkindly loud — just the sort of volume that, at seven o’clock in the morning with a long boat ride ahead of you, sits somewhere between lively and exhausting.
It took about an hour for us to reach Khura Buri Port, a small working harbour town in Phang Nga Province in southern Thailand, roughly 110 kilometres north of the better-known resort town of Khao Lak, where our speedboat was waiting to carry us the 60 kilometres or so to the Surin Islands. Khura Buri itself is a fairly workaday sort of place — there’s not much here beyond the port, a market and a handful of guesthouses — but it’s the main jumping-off point for the Surins and has been since the national park first opened to visitors in 1981. After a briefing from our guide covering the islands’ layout, the day’s schedule and the usual safety information, we clambered aboard our boat. It wasn’t large, and it was packed. Most of the passengers were on a day trip to the islands, so the atmosphere was already buzzing before we’d even cleared the harbour walls.
🗺️ The Surin Islands — Five Islands at the Edge of Thailand
The Surin Islands are an archipelago of five islands within Mu Ko Surin National Park, sitting within the Phang Nga Province of southern Thailand. The islands lie 55 kilometres off the Thai mainland, and just 18 kilometres from the maritime border with Burma — close enough, on a clear day, that you can feel the geography of two countries pressing up against each other across the water. They sit about 100 kilometres north of the better-known Similan Islands, also in the Andaman Sea, and the national park itself covers a total area of 135 square kilometres, of which a remarkable 76 per cent is sea. The park was formally established in 1981, although these islands had been known to the Moken sea nomads and to Burmese and Thai fishermen for generations before anyone thought to put a fence around them.
The two main islands are Ko Surin Nuea, meaning North Surin, and Ko Surin Tai, meaning South Surin. The two are separated by a shallow channel just 200 metres wide, and that narrow strip of water between them — calm, brilliantly clear and absolutely alive with coral and fish — turned out to be one of the best snorkelling spots we found during our entire stay. The other three islands in the group — Ko Ri, Ko Khai and Ko Klang — are smaller and largely uninhabited, serving mainly as backdrop, roosting habitat for seabirds, and additional snorkelling sites on the park’s boat routes.
What makes the Surin Islands genuinely unusual in the context of Thai tourism is how little development there has been. Other than a small Moken village on Ko Surin Tai and the national park’s own camp facilities — basic but perfectly functional — there are no hotels, no beach bars, no jet-ski operators, no 7-Elevens. Just trees, coral and the sea. In a country where the coastline has been comprehensively commercialised in the decades since tourism really took off in the 1980s and 1990s, the Surins feel like something the modern world hasn’t quite managed to get its hands on yet. Long may it stay that way.
It took about an hour for our speedboat to cover the 55 kilometres from Khura Buri to the islands, and the moment the anchor was dropped and we were in the water, all the faff of the early start dissolved completely. The water was incredibly clear — visibility comfortably exceeding 15 metres — and there was so much to see: colourful hard and soft corals, giant clams of a size that made us blink twice to be sure we were reading them correctly, massive sea stars draped over the reef like rather self-satisfied decorations, and more species of fish than either of us could begin to catalogue. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best snorkelling either of us had ever experienced. After about 45 minutes we were summoned back aboard and ferried the short distance to Ko Surin Nuea, where we were transferred ashore by long-tailed boat to the national park camp for a buffet lunch. The park’s facilities here — kitchen, restaurant, toilets, and overnight tent and bungalow accommodation — are basic but clean and well run, and the lunch was better than a national park canteen in the middle of the Andaman Sea had any right to be.
🛶 The Moken — The Sea Nomads of the Andaman
After lunch, we headed to another island, which was literally about 200 metres away, by long-tailed boat. On this island there is a small village of the Moken people — the only permanent human community in the entire Surin Islands archipelago.
The Moken are a semi-nomadic Austronesian people who have lived among the islands and waterways of the Mergui Archipelago for at least 4,000 years, possibly considerably longer. The Mergui Archipelago comprises approximately 800 islands in the Andaman Sea straddling the maritime boundary between Burma and Thailand — a borderless world of mangrove channels, coral reefs and open ocean that the Moken have navigated by traditional knowledge and seamanship across scores of generations. Linguistically and culturally, they are distinct from both the Thai and Burmese peoples, speaking their own Austronesian language which belongs to the Malayo-Polynesian branch of the language family, and sharing closer cultural affinities with the sea nomads of the Philippine and Malaysian archipelagos than with the mainland populations of either country. Anthropologists estimate they migrated to the Andaman region from southern China approximately 4,000 years ago, though some oral traditions suggest an even deeper connection to these waters.
Historically, the Moken spent most of the year living aboard hand-built wooden boats called kabang — extraordinarily seaworthy vessels, constructed entirely from natural materials, in which extended family groups would migrate between islands according to seasonal food availability, monsoon patterns and trade. They have traditionally placed little value on material possessions beyond what they need to survive, and have shown a striking preference for remaining apart from the settled societies on their doorstep — though the satellite dishes we spotted on a few of the houses in the village suggested the twenty-first century is making at least some inroads (which is fair enough, really — even sea nomads presumably want to watch the football).
Today, however, the Moken’s maritime existence is genuinely under threat. The Thai and Burmese governments have both made sustained efforts over recent decades to settle the Moken permanently — in national parks, in designated villages, away from the open sea — partly out of bureaucratic unease with a people who decline to recognise national borders and partly as a function of broader development pressures. The 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, which killed an estimated 250,000 people across fourteen countries and caused catastrophic destruction along Thailand’s Andaman coast, devastated many settled Moken communities, though — and here the story takes a remarkable turn — the Moken on the Surin Islands survived almost entirely unscathed. One of the villagers had noticed the sea retreating in the hours before the wave arrived and raised the alarm. The elders recognised the signs immediately. Knowledge of the laboon — the “seventh wave,” a term describing the kind of catastrophic wave event that precedes a tsunami — had been passed down through Moken oral tradition for generations. The community’s stories and songs had preserved, in living memory, an understanding of extreme oceanic events that modern coastal populations — with all their concrete and coastal development — had entirely forgotten. They headed for higher ground and deep water, following knowledge that was thousands of years old, and every one of them survived. It is one of the more extraordinary stories to come out of that terrible day, and it says something important about the depth of understanding embedded in traditional ecological knowledge that tends to get dismissed as superstition right up until it saves your life.
There was a small exhibition on the island that introduced the history and culture of the Moken people — well put together, thoughtful, and worth taking seriously rather than rushing through. After spending a good few minutes working through the exhibits, we walked through the village itself. It sits firmly on the tourist trail — the park brings visitors here regularly — and several children and women had set up blankets outside their homes displaying carvings, baskets and small handicrafts. The houses are single-storey wooden structures raised on stilts at the edge of the beach, a design that protects them from high tides and the daily rhythms of the sea. They’re beautifully constructed in their own functional way, though the stilts, as the 2004 tsunami proved, offer no protection whatsoever against the full wrath of the ocean when it really decides to make a point.
🌊 Surin Islands National Park — Days on the Reef
After about 30 minutes in the Moken village we were back on the long-tailed boat and returning to our speedboat for one more snorkelling session on a shallow reef before the end of the day. Like the morning swim, it was extraordinary — the kind of encounter with the natural world that stays with you and makes everything you subsequently read about coral reef ecology suddenly feel both urgent and personal.
It was now time for the day visitors to head back to the mainland. A long-tailed boat pulled up alongside us with half a dozen or so people aboard who had spent two nights sleeping on the islands. We exchanged places with them and, as the speedboat set off back towards Khura Buri, we were ferried ashore to begin our two-night stay.
On the long-tailed boat with us was a family from South Africa — Gael and George and their four children: Josh (12), Nathan (11), and twins Rebecca and Anna (both 8). They were on a four-month tour of Australia and Thailand and had just come from snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef, which rather raised the bar for what we were offering to show them. The two girls were genuinely identical, which made telling them apart at distance essentially impossible — though Rebecca had burnt her leg on a motorcycle exhaust, which provided a temporary if unfortunate means of identification. And here the twin story gets properly strange: Rebecca and Anna were identical twins. Their mother was also a twin. Their grandmother was also a twin. I don’t know what the statistical probability of all that is, but I’d guess it makes the Hobbs family’s occasional winning of a tenner on the lottery look like pretty long odds by comparison.
We pulled up at a small jetty and climbed off the boat. A man arrived with a wheel-cart to transport our luggage, and we followed him along a narrow trail through the jungle to the national park camp.
Our accommodation for the two nights was a tent right next to the beach. The crescent-shaped beach was lined with a thin grove of trees, had beautiful soft white sand, and the water beyond it was that particular shade of turquoise that photographers spend entire careers trying to reproduce accurately and never quite manage. It was, by any reasonable measure, paradise.
We’d had many glamping experiences over the previous few months, particularly in Africa, where the words “camping” and “discomfort” have been carefully separated by an industry of zip-up showers and Egyptian cotton fitted sheets. This was not glamping. Initially we tried a tent right on the edge of the beach — the view was extraordinary, but I couldn’t actually lie down flat inside it, which is something of a non-starter for a two-night stay. So we relocated to a larger tent a couple of rows back, which was marginally more spacious without being what you’d call roomy.
There wasn’t a great deal to do on the island in the evenings beyond sitting and relaxing, which was, as it turned out, exactly what we needed. Dinner was nothing spectacular, made slightly more chaotic by the discovery that the message about our being vegetarian hadn’t made it through to the kitchen staff — always a slightly anxious moment when you’re on an island with no alternative dining options — but they sorted something perfectly decent for us in the end. After dinner we walked the beach, listened to the sounds of the Andaman Sea doing its thing in the dark, and turned in. We had been provided with very thin bed rolls, a pillow of distinctly limited ambition, and a sleeping bag. I was not expecting a restful night. The heat and humidity weren’t going to help.
☀️ Day Two — Back in the Water
As predicted, neither of us slept particularly well, although Karen continued to invoke her years on Boy Scout camps as evidence that she was made of sterner stuff than I was giving her credit for. I was as stiff as a board and aching in several places I hadn’t expected when I climbed out of the tent, but it was a bright, sunny morning and the sight of the turquoise waters of the Andaman Sea stretching off towards Burma soon put the discomfort of the night firmly in its place.
After breakfast we gathered our swim things and snorkelling gear and headed back to the pier, where we joined our South African friends and an Australian couple for the morning’s outings. We were taken to a different snorkelling point from the previous day, about a 20-minute boat ride away — which was a perfectly good amount of time to catch up with the family and discover more about their remarkable twin genealogy.
The first swim of the day was in the channel between Ko Surin Nuea and Ko Surin Tai, the two main islands — the same shallow corridor we’d identified on arrival as one of the park’s best spots. This section of reef had suffered significant damage in the 2004 tsunami and was still, nearly twenty years on, in the process of recovering, which meant the coral was patchier and less dazzlingly healthy than the pristine sections we’d swum the previous day. That said, the deeper water brought different rewards: larger pelagic fish including impressive angelfish, parrotfish and butterflyfish in profusion, and the tantalising possibility of sea turtles and reef sharks. Several members of the group did indeed spot a green sea turtle working its way along the reef at a dignified pace; I, characteristically, was looking the wrong way at the crucial moment.
The second swim moved us to the edge of the reef itself, where the coral shelf drops away precipitously into water at least 15 metres deep and clear enough that you could see the bottom of the drop-off from the surface — a sensation that is equal parts beautiful and faintly terrifying, rather like looking down from a very high building but while floating and unable to retreat quickly. It was, as experiences go, exceptional. The highlight, at least for me, was catching sight of a reef shark cruising along the drop-off about 20 metres away, perfectly calm and entirely indifferent to our presence. I made a determined effort to get Karen’s attention and point it out to her, but by the time she’d located me and followed my gesticulating arm, it had slipped off into the blue. I maintain it was a very impressive shark. Karen’s view is that she’ll take my word for it.
By lunchtime we’d worked up a genuine appetite from all the swimming, and the national park camp’s buffet lunch tasted considerably better than it had any right to. In the afternoon we headed out for two more sessions on the reef before the day finally wound down, leaving us — as the original post rather perfectly put it — tired in a healthy, satisfied sort of way.
🌅 Day Three — The Best Reef of All
Once again we didn’t sleep particularly well, though the novelty of waking up to the sound of the Andaman Sea a few metres away from our tent compensated for a great deal. The plan for the final day was breakfast, a morning snorkel on what our guide described as the finest section of coral reef in the entire Surin Islands, then back to camp to collect our bags, lunch, and then the speedboat home.
The morning swim was a drift snorkel along the reef edge — a technique where you let the current carry you at a comfortable pace from one point to another while the long-tailed boat shadows you and picks you up at the far end. It’s an oddly meditative way to explore a reef: you don’t have to work at it, you just float, and the ocean does the rest. The coral here was in exceptional health, dense and multi-layered, with a complexity of colour and form that made some of the more famous dive sites we’d read about feel almost abstract by comparison. We moved through clouds of small fish that parted around us and reformed in our wake. Among the coral there were sea anemones with clownfish darting through the tentacles — yes, exactly like the film, though Nemo presumably wouldn’t have appreciated the comparison. There were huge butterflyfish, boxfish, angelfish and, most spectacular of all in my entirely subjective view, giant parrotfish. The parrotfish, which can grow to over a metre in length, feed by crunching coral with their fused, beak-like teeth — a sound you can actually hear as you swim above them, a satisfying grinding crunch — before ejecting a trail of fine white coral dust from behind them like a vapour trail from a low-flying aircraft. Or, to put it rather less poetically, the beautiful white sand beaches of the Surin Islands are, to a significant degree, parrotfish excrement. Make of that what you will.
After the drift snorkel, we were taken to a second spot for one final swim before the time came to pack up and say goodbye. The family from South Africa — who had, as noted, recently been on the Great Barrier Reef — offered us the rather gratifying verdict that the Surin Islands were at least the equal of what they’d seen in Australia. That’s not a comparison we’d make ourselves, not having been to the Barrier Reef, but we were certainly not going to argue with it.
We returned to camp, packed our belongings, grabbed a final lunch, and then boarded the long-tailed boat back to the speedboat. We did the shuffle once more with the fresh intake of snorkellers who would enjoy the next two nights on the islands — and I will admit, while I envied them the sunsets and the early-morning silence, I was not entirely sad to be waving goodbye to my bedroll. We sped back across 55 kilometres of the Andaman Sea to Khura Buri, and it was late afternoon by the time we arrived back at Khao Lak.
That evening, we collected the bikes with the dodgy brakes from the Retreat, cycled up to the main road to get some cash from the ATM, and then rolled down to the beach to watch the sunset, which was, after three days of underwater spectacle, somehow still the right way to end the trip.
The Surin Islands had been remarkable — quite simply among the finest natural experiences of our entire journey. But there was more of Thailand to see, and it was time to get back to the mainland.
Planning Your Visit to the Surin Islands
🏝️ Mu Ko Surin National Park
📍 Location
Mu Ko Surin National Park, Phang-nga Province, Thailand 82120
| 🕖 Opening Times | 🌐 Website |
|---|---|
| Daily, 16 October – 14 May (park closes during monsoon season) | thainationalparks.com/mu-ko-surin |
| 📞 Phone | ✉️ Email |
|---|---|
| +66 76 491 378 | munkosurin@dnp.mail.go.th |
🤿 Surin Islands Marine National Park Visitor Centre
📍 Location
Ko Surin Nuea (North Surin Island), Mu Ko Surin National Park
| 🕖 Opening Times | 🌐 Website |
|---|---|
| Daily 8:00 AM – 5:00 PM (during open season only) | dnp.go.th |
| 📞 Phone | ✉️ Email |
|---|---|
| +66 76 491 378 | mnpsurin@dnp.mail.go.th |
ℹ️ Notes
The park headquarters on North Surin Island handles dive permits, snorkelling tours and accommodation bookings. Rangers lead guided snorkelling trips to the reef from here each morning.
🐠 Moken Sea Gypsy Village
📍 Location
Ao Bon Bay, Ko Surin Nuea (North Surin Island)
| 🕖 Opening Times | 🌐 Website |
|---|---|
| Accessible during daylight hours; respectful visits only | thainationalparks.com/mu-ko-surin |
| 📞 Phone | ✉️ Email |
|---|---|
| Contact via park headquarters: +66 76 491 378 | mnpsurin@dnp.mail.go.th |
ℹ️ Notes
The Moken are a semi-nomadic sea people who have lived in and around the Surin Islands for generations. Visitors are welcome to walk through the village and purchase handmade crafts, but photography should always be done with permission.
🚢 Getting There
The Surin Islands sit approximately 60 kilometres off the coast of Phang-nga Province, and the only way to reach them is by boat from Khuraburi Pier on the mainland.
By Road to Khuraburi
Khuraburi is around 110 kilometres north of Phuket and 270 kilometres south of Surat Thani on Highway 4. Minivans run from Phuket Bus Terminal 2 and take roughly two hours. From Khao Lak, the journey is around one hour by minivan or taxi.
By Ferry from Khuraburi Pier
The Surin Islands Ferry operates a daily speedboat service from Khuraburi Pier to Ko Surin Nuea during the open season (16 October to 14 May). The crossing takes approximately 2.5 to 3 hours and costs around ฿2,500–฿2,800 return. The boat typically departs at 9:00 AM and returns from the island at 3:00 PM. Booking ahead is strongly recommended during the high season.
| 🌐 Ferry Booking Website | 📞 Ferry Phone |
|---|---|
| tarutaosurinspeedboat.com | +66 84 843 1599 |
ℹ️ Notes
The park closes entirely from approximately 15 May to 15 October each year due to the south-west monsoon, and no boats operate to the islands during this period. Schedules and dates can shift slightly from year to year, so it is worth checking with the ferry operator or park headquarters before travelling.
The Best Time to Visit Thailand
Thailand’s climate is more complex than most, and the single most important thing to understand before planning a trip is that the country has two distinct coastlines — the Andaman Sea to the west and the Gulf of Thailand to the east — which follow opposite monsoon cycles. When the Andaman side is being battered by the south-west monsoon between June and October, the Gulf coast around Koh Samui and Koh Phangan is largely dry. When the north-east monsoon swings in from November, the situation reverses. Bangkok and the north operate on a third rhythm of their own. Getting that geography straight is the key to avoiding a soggy fortnight.
🌞 November to February — Cool & Dry Season
This is Thailand at its most comfortable and, not coincidentally, its most visited. The south-west monsoon has retreated, the north-east monsoon brings dry, cooler air down from China, and the result across most of the country is warm, sunny days with low humidity and pleasantly cool evenings — particularly in Chiang Mai and the northern highlands, where temperatures can drop to 15°C or below overnight in January. The Andaman coast — Phuket, Koh Lanta, the Phi Phi Islands, Krabi — is fully open and at its most inviting, with calm, clear seas ideal for snorkelling and island-hopping. Bangkok is at its most walkable. The trade-off is straightforward: this is also the most expensive and most crowded window of the year, with accommodation on the popular islands booking out months ahead around Christmas and New Year.
Packing: Lightweight breathable clothing for the days, a light layer or thin long-sleeved shirt for cooler northern evenings and air-conditioned transport, swimwear, reef-safe sunscreen, a hat, sandals and a smarter pair of shoes for evenings out.
🌶️ March to May — Hot Season
The coolness of January fades quickly into an often ferocious heat that builds through March, peaks in April and only begins to ease with the first pre-monsoon storms in May. Temperatures in Bangkok regularly hit 38–40°C, the air in Chiang Mai and the north becomes hazy with agricultural burning, and humidity climbs steadily. The saving grace is Songkran, Thailand’s exuberant water festival, which falls in mid-April and turns the streets of every city and town into a good-natured nationwide water fight — one of Southeast Asia’s great travel experiences, and worth timing a trip around specifically. Rates drop noticeably from the December–February peak, and some travellers find the heat manageable provided they plan outdoor activity for early mornings and evenings. By May, the first Andaman resorts begin closing for the low season as the south-west monsoon approaches.
Packing: The lightest, most breathable clothing you own, a refillable water bottle, high-SPF sunscreen, a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and a change of clothes for Songkran if travelling in April — you will get soaked regardless of your plans.
🌧️ June to October — South-West Monsoon
The south-west monsoon arrives in earnest from June, bringing heavy, sustained rainfall to the Andaman coast, the Gulf of Thailand’s western shores and much of the interior. Phuket, Krabi and the Andaman islands receive their heaviest rain of the year, seas turn rough, and several of the smaller island resorts close entirely between June and October. Bangkok floods periodically in September and October, when rainfall peaks. The Gulf coast, however — Koh Samui, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao — follows the opposite pattern and stays comparatively dry through this period, making it the right side of the country to base a beach trip. The north and inland areas receive regular rain but often in short, intense afternoon bursts rather than all-day downpours, and the countryside is extraordinarily lush. Prices across most of Thailand drop to their lowest, and popular destinations feel genuinely quiet.
Packing: Quick-dry clothing, a lightweight waterproof jacket or compact poncho, waterproof sandals, a dry bag for boat trips and electronics, insect repellent, and a flexible itinerary that can bend around weather disruptions.
🌀 November — North-East Monsoon (Gulf Coast)
November sits in a transitional position that deserves separate mention. For most of Thailand, it marks the beginning of the best season — the Andaman coast reopens, Bangkok cools and dries, and Chiang Mai starts to feel wonderful. But the north-east monsoon, which is bringing all that dry, pleasant weather to the rest of the country, simultaneously pushes rain onto the Gulf coast, and Koh Samui and Koh Phangan see some of their heaviest rainfall of the year in November. Flooding can be significant, and a handful of years have seen the Samui airport disrupted. Anyone with the Gulf islands on their itinerary in November would do well to adjust either their timing or their destination.
Packing: Similar to the cool and dry season for most of Thailand — light layers and sun protection — but with a waterproof jacket and a contingency plan if travelling to the Gulf coast.
Overall Best Time
November to February is the easiest answer for most visitors: the weather is at its most reliable, the widest range of destinations is fully accessible, and Thailand in the cool season has a particular lightness to it that is difficult to argue against. For the Andaman coast specifically — Phuket, Krabi, the Phi Phi Islands — December to March is the undisputed prime window. Travellers who want the Gulf islands and can travel outside peak season should target February to April, when the Gulf coast is dry, the Andaman is still perfectly good, and the worst of the heat has not yet arrived. Those happy to follow the sun around the peninsula’s two coastlines, and who plan accordingly, can piece together an excellent trip in virtually any month of the year.
Where to stay on the Surin Islands
🏕️ Surin Islands National Park Accommodation & Camping
📍 Location
Ao Chong Khad Bay, Ko Surin Nuea (North Surin Island)
| 🕖 Opening Times | 🌐 Website |
|---|---|
| Accommodation available during open season: 16 October – 14 May | thainationalparks.com/mu-ko-surin |
| 📞 Phone | ✉️ Email |
|---|---|
| +66 76 491 378 | mnpsurin@dnp.mail.go.th |
ℹ️ Notes
The park operates bungalows, longhouse dormitories and a campsite with tent rental available. All accommodation must be booked in advance through the DNP website or by contacting the park directly. Meals are available at the park canteen.
🎟️ Entry Fees
| Foreign Adults | Foreign Children | Thai Adults | Thai Children |
|---|---|---|---|
| ฿500 | ฿300 | ฿100 | ฿50 |
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