I looked at the vertical ring of fire without too much apprehension. I'd already jumped through it three or four times–my girlfriend was trying to catch the daredevil moment on film. The fifth and final time, one of the local fire breathers offered to blow a mouthful of kerosene over the Hula-Hoop as I dove through it. Naturally, I took the opportunity. As he blew and I jumped, the flame somehow caught on the high-quality Versace shorts I'd bought for a few baht from a market stall in Bangkok the week before. I fell to the ground in a stop, drop, and roll attempt, throwing sand over my flaming knockoffs. When this failed, I ripped them off and ended up standing in my boxers, grinning sheepishly at everyone at the beach bar.

Perhaps that was the defining moment of the trip. After spending two nights in our bungalow on the hill listening to the bass boom over Sunrise Beach on the island of Koh Phangan, we made the sober decision that we'd had enough of Had Rin, the town on Koh Phangan that hosts the infamous full-moon parties. We headed to Thong Nai Pan, a tiny village on the less visited north coast of the island.

Although the village is only about 15 kilometres up the coast, the only way to reach it is to go back to the island's main port, at Thong Sala. From there, a mangosteen vendor offered to take us there in the back of her pickup truck. With mouths full of the tasty fruit, we held tightly to the sides of the truck as it wound along deteriorating roads through the jungle. Forty-five minutes later, she dropped us off at the side of the road about 500 metres from the beach. The bungalows recommended by our guidebook were full; as usual, we had failed to make a reservation. So we walked down the length of the beach, hunting for accommodation, until we found a spacious bungalow with a water view for about $10 a night.

The village of Thong Nai Pan is situated on a small bay with a headland dividing the two crescent beaches, Noi and Yai. Once we settled in and slowed our pace of life to an appropriate level, there were several things to do there. First, we rented a kayak to navigate the windy waters of the bay. At the western end, where the bay meets the Gulf of Thailand, we got out and chased crabs over the Dali-esque rock formations. We jumped back in our kayaks when the tiny fish caught in a tidal pool began nibbling on our toes. Pausing on the semi-secluded beach of a resort, we lusted over the lavish fountains on the tiled patio long enough to attract a few raised eyebrows from guests wearing Gucci sunglasses–and not of the $2 variety.

When we got back to the beach, we decided our aching shoulders could justify a splurge on a traditional massage for $6 an hour. Several places offered them, all conducted on thatched, open-air platforms overlooking the beach. As we were battered by the masseuses' therapeutic hands, we watched the waves lap at the boulders scattered around the bay.

At night, we settled into one of the seaside restaurants. Many of them barbecue fresh lobster, prawns, or even shark steaks for reasonable prices. The whole experience couldn't get much closer to the sea–triangular mon khwan pillows are arranged around low tables set right in the sand. Some restaurants light small bonfires, and every night someone sets off fireworks, illuminating the black waters of the bay with streamers.

One night, we caught a free ride to a muay Thai boxing match with one of the local fight promoters. After we all respectfully stood for the Thai national anthem, the action unfolded. The fighters commence each match with a ritualistic dance, complete with traditional music, prayers to deities, and offerings of gratitude for their instructors. As a warm-up for the festivities, the first couple of fights usually boast a combined participant weight of 100 kilograms. We bought a couple of beers, and then watched seven-year-old kids knee each other's hopes of college into a coma. Every night there are around eight matches, the fighters getting progressively heavier (and older) as the night goes on. Betting is encouraged, and sometimes even mediated by the announcer.

When we were finally ready to leave the island, we took a look at our options. There were several boats right on the beach that would make the 30-kilometre trip to the larger island of Koh Samui for a set price, so the more friends you could round up, the less you would pay. Since it was just the two of us, the price was substantially higher than that of taking the ferry from Thong Sala. We searched for the mangosteen vendor who had driven us in, but she was nowhere to be found.

We decided to pay $3 to hop on one of the infrequent passenger trucks that bounce over the island, but unfortunately the next truck for Thong Sala didn't leave until 3 o'clock, and it was only noon. Thus, we were forced to head back to the beach for another three hours of lounging. Curiously, the time flew by as we lay against mon khwan pillows, sifting sand through our toes.

Access: It helps to keep the monsoon season in mind when planning your trip. Avoid the wet months, October to December. The Lomprayah catamaran service runs between the islands and to the mainland at Chumporn, with connections to Bangkok. Koh Phangan is a 30-minute catamaran ride from the pier near Koh Samui's international airport. Tickets cost about $13 return. Check schedules at www.lomprayah.com/