There are places you visit once and enjoy, places you remember fondly, and then there are places you find yourself returning to years later because they somehow stayed with you.

Koh Yao Noi was one of those places.

We first visited the island more than a decade earlier when it was still a quiet corner of Thailand with a handful of guesthouses, a few restaurants and long stretches of road where the loudest sound was usually a passing motorbike.

We liked it immediately.

Unlike some of Thailand’s more famous islands, which had embraced development with great enthusiasm, Koh Yao Noi had remained relatively untouched. There were more visitors now, a few more places to stay and more restaurants than before, but thankfully the island had avoided becoming another stop on the well-worn backpacker route.

That was exactly why we wanted to return.

After weeks of moving around, we were ready to stop properly. Not just a few nights between destinations, but long enough to unpack, settle in and find our favourite places.

That, for us, is the pleasure of slow travel. After a while, you stop feeling like a visitor and begin to feel slightly like you belong.

Our speedboat from Ao Nang was packed with travellers heading to various islands scattered across the Andaman Sea. There were families, backpackers and the usual collection of people who looked far more organised than we were.

The boat bounced across the water, the engine drowning out conversation, and I found myself wondering whether Koh Yao Noi would still feel the same after all these years.

Returning somewhere you remember is always a little risky.

Sometimes places live up to the memory.

Sometimes they don’t.

Thirty minutes later, we slowed as we approached the island.

The wooden pier stretched out over the water, a few people waited, and that was about it.

Compared with the crowds at Ao Nang, it felt wonderfully quiet.

Only a handful of people got off the boat.

A very good sign.

No beach parties.

No bucket cocktails.

No one trying to sell us a tour before we had even found our bags.

Just a quiet island going about its business.

Our hostess had arranged a car to collect us, and soon we were winding along narrow roads through tropical greenery, passing farms, glimpses of coastline and the occasional chicken wandering around with complete confidence that the road belonged to them.

After twenty minutes we arrived at our home for the next two weeks.

Adrianna, an Italian expat who had made Koh Yao Noi her home many years earlier, welcomed us and showed us to our little wooden hut tucked away in a tropical garden.

It was simple but perfect.

The hut was built in traditional Thai style, allowing air to move freely through the space. This was excellent for ventilation.

It was also excellent for frogs.

And geckos.

Within days we accepted that we were not exactly living alone. We had simply moved into a shared house where the other residents were smaller, faster and contributed nothing towards the rent.

Most mornings a frog would be sitting calmly in the kitchen sink looking as though it was waiting for breakfast or inspecting our cleaning standards.

The tiny lizards moved around the walls with complete confidence, clearly believing they were the rightful owners and we were merely temporary guests.

The best part of the hut was the shaded verandah and the hammock.

That hammock became my favourite place on the island.

It was also remarkably good at convincing me that whatever I had planned to do could probably wait another hour.

Our days quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Mornings were spent working, afternoons were for wandering the island’s quiet roads and evenings were about food.

One of our favourite places became Lek’s. Within a few visits we had gone from strangers to familiar faces. The food was excellent, but it was the small gestures that made us keep returning.

A little extra food.

A smile when we arrived.

A glass filled just a bit more generously.

Those are the things that make a place feel welcoming.

For a change from Thai food, we visited Ciao Bella, run by two Italians who had brought a little piece of home to Koh Yao Noi. The homemade pasta and pizzas were excellent, and after weeks of Asian food it was a welcome change.

For sunset drinks we usually ended up at Pa Sai Thai Food, sitting under the trees near the beach watching the day disappear.

Simple.

Relaxed.

Exactly what we had come for.

We also found ourselves returning to The Pub – Extra Time Sports Bar and Restaurant for their excellent burgers and mojitos. Because after many weeks travelling, sometimes your body quietly suggests that perhaps something involving bread and cheese would be appreciated.

We listened.

Two weeks passed quickly.

That is always the strange thing about slow travel. You arrive thinking you have plenty of time, then suddenly you are packing your bags again.

On our last morning we headed back to the ferry pier and watched Koh Yao Noi disappear behind us.

The island had changed slightly since our first visit, but the things that mattered remained.

The quiet roads.

The friendly people.

The good food.

The feeling that life here moved at its own pace.

Koh Yao Noi was not the most dramatic place we had ever visited.

It didn’t need to be.

What we loved about it were the ordinary moments.

A morning coffee.

A walk with no destination.

A familiar face at a restaurant.

A sunset drink.

A frog sitting in the kitchen sink as though it paid rent.

Those are often the memories that last.

We left knowing we would return.

When, we didn’t know.

But some places you don’t really say goodbye to.

You simply say, see you next time.