The World Through the Eyes of Mr. Paparazzi
“I never imagined the highlight of my week would involve having my toes sucked by a pig.”
Nor did I expect to arrive at a tiny island off Koh Samui and genuinely think we’d accidentally sailed into the Australian Parliament.
The only difference? These pigs are honest about having their snouts in the trough.
I’m getting ahead of myself. It had already been one hell of a week.
A Lightning Storm Over the Gulf of Thailand
It began with Mother Nature reminding everyone who’s really in charge.
For hours, Koh Samui disappeared beneath one of the greatest lightning storms I’ve ever witnessed. I wandered from my lounge room to the pool deck and finally into bed long after midnight, unable to stop watching. Every flash lit up the Gulf of Thailand like daylight before another crack of thunder rolled across the island.
People all over the world were spending a fortune on theatre tickets. I was sitting front row at what could only be described as an Oscar-winning performance by the natural world.
…for absolutely nothing.
By sunrise the storm had vanished as though it had never happened. The Gulf was flat. The palms barely moved. The sky had returned to that ridiculous shade of blue that almost makes you question whether somebody has turned the colour saturation up too high.
Another perfect day. Another reminder why Koh Samui has just been voted the best island in Asia-Pacific. After living here, travelling here and continually returning here… I completely understand why.
But the real story this week wasn’t the storm. It was Pig Island.
Pig Island, Koh Samui: Higher Than a Mud Pit
I’ll be honest. When somebody first mentioned Pig Island months ago, my reaction was probably the same as yours.
“Really? People actually pay to go and look at pigs?”
In my head I imagined mud. A couple of miserable pigs. A tourist trap. Take two photographs. Leave.
Christ, was I wrong.
As our forty-one-foot catamaran drifted towards the island the colour of the water changed almost by the minute. Emerald. Turquoise. Then crystal clear. You could see the sand twenty feet below the boat.
The girls from Siam Spa were already laughing before we’d even dropped anchor. Their two young children were bouncing around the front trampoline with that excitement only kids seem capable of producing.
The music started. Somebody opened a bottle of bubbly. And then the pigs appeared.
Piglets everywhere. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. I honestly have no idea how many pigs live on Pig Island, but there are enough to make you realise one thing immediately.
The humans don’t own Pig Island… the pigs do.
Meet the Locals (Who Own the Island)
That’s what fascinated me. The tourists arrive. The tourists leave. The pigs couldn’t care less. They don’t perform. They don’t pose. They don’t suddenly become social media stars because you’ve pointed an iPhone in their direction.
They’re simply getting on with life. Rolling in the warm sand. Cooling off in the sea. Grunting to one another. Sleeping under palm trees. Looking for food. Looking for love. Looking for absolutely nothing in particular.
I’ve travelled to more than a hundred countries. I’ve photographed presidents. Prime ministers. Royalty. Hollywood stars. Billionaires. Yet I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen animals living happier lives anywhere in the world.
Think about it. Sun. Sea. Crystal-clear water. Fresh food delivered every few minutes by tourists. No mortgages. No meetings. No alarm clocks. No politicians. And judging by the extraordinary number of piglets running around… they’re certainly not short of a shag.
Frankly… I’m jealous.
What surprised me most was how clean the island was. I’d expected chaos. Instead, the pigs had their own wallowing areas tucked away while the beaches remained remarkably pristine. Families swam together. Children fed bottles of fresh water to thirsty pigs. Couples wandered barefoot through the shallows. The cafés were packed. The atmosphere wasn’t tacky at all. It was joyous. Pure joy.
Then, standing there watching pigs wandering along the shoreline, it suddenly hit me. For one split second… I genuinely thought…
“Bloody hell… we’ve accidentally sailed into Parliament House.”
The resemblance was uncanny. Snouts everywhere. The only difference? These pigs are honest about having their snouts in the trough.
Maybe Australia has been looking at immigration all wrong. Forget detention centres. Forget parliamentary pensions. Forget question time. We should simply negotiate with Thailand and permanently relocate Australian politicians to Pig Island. They’d fit in beautifully. Plenty of troughs. Plenty of mud. Plenty of opportunities to introduce another tax.
Forget GST. Welcome to… PST. Pig & Services Tax. Knowing Canberra, they’d probably tax the coconuts before lunch. The pigs would probably vote them off the island within a week.
The Toe-Sucking Incident
Trying to photograph them proved far harder than I’d imagined. It’s surprisingly difficult getting a selfie with a pig. They’re unpredictable. They wander off. They ignore you. They simply refuse to cooperate.
Unlike politicians… who generally can’t find a camera quickly enough.
One adventurous little piglet wandered over, sniffed around my feet, rolled onto its side and enthusiastically started sucking my toes.
Immediately I was transported back more than thirty years to the South of France and one of the biggest paparazzi stories we’d ever distributed around the world. Sarah Ferguson. John Bryan. Toe sucking. History really does repeat itself.
Only this time… my admirer weighed about twelve kilograms and had a curly tail.
The girls nearly fell over laughing. So did I.
Lucky the Dog Finds His Family
There was only one bloke missing. Lucky. The now world-famous little Vietnamese dog from Ho Chi Minh City.
Poor Lucky. His owners shaved him this week. Not clipped. Not trimmed. Shaved. He now looks less like a fluffy little dog and more like one of Pig Island’s piglets.
The funniest part? His owner later told me that before they finally called him Lucky… his original name was… Pig.
Honestly… he’d have wandered ashore and nobody would’ve questioned him.
Lucky, if you’re watching Mr. Paparazzi’s World back in Vietnam… I’ve found your long-lost family.
The Girls of Siam Spa
The real highlight of the day, though, wasn’t actually Pig Island. It was watching the girls.
These wonderful women from Siam Spa have looked after me ever since I came back from World Tour 2. They’ve fixed tired muscles. Sorted out old injuries. Made me laugh. Become friends. This trip was simply my chance to give something back.
Watching them dancing across the bow of the catamaran… watching the kids laughing… watching everybody forget about work, money and life’s endless pressures… that was my favourite part of the day.
Travel isn’t about ticking countries off a list. It’s about collecting moments. And this was one of those moments I’ll remember for a very long time.
The barbecue lunch arrived straight off the grill. Fresh prawns. Beautiful calamari. Chicken thighs. Thai fried rice. Fresh fruit. Cold drinks. Everything somehow tasted better because it was eaten barefoot in the middle of the Gulf of Thailand.
I’ve spent far more money on boats before. Ridiculous money. This wasn’t about luxury. It was about value.
By the time we sailed back towards Koh Samui through another glorious sunset, I’d realised something. I expected Pig Island to be a gimmick. Instead… it became one of the highlights of my year. And perhaps that’s exactly what travelling should still be capable of doing: surprising you.
This week hadn’t really been about pigs at all. It had been about freedom.
Funny where life teaches you its biggest lessons. Sometimes it’s in a boardroom. Sometimes it’s in Parliament. This week… it was delivered by a pig with a curly tail.
Little Japan: Dust, Drills and a New Project
Back on dry land, reality arrived with dust, drills and demolition. Little Japan had officially begun.
People often ask me why I keep buying properties. Simple. I don’t collect houses. I collect projects. Some blokes disappear every Saturday to play golf. Others spend their weekends restoring old Holdens. Give me a set of plans, a blank canvas and a slightly mad idea, and I’m happier than a kid in a lolly shop.
Little Japan isn’t another renovation. It’s another story waiting to be told.
Watching Thai builders work is almost entertainment. No endless meetings. No committees. No six blokes standing around watching one bloke dig a hole. They simply crack on. By lunchtime they’d achieved more than many crews back home would manage in three days. No fuss. No drama. Just results. I love that.
Another unexpected visitor also wandered into my week. A magnificent White-throated Kingfisher landed beside the pool at Rockpool Villa, looked at me as if I’d interrupted his morning, posed for a few photographs, then flew off without asking for royalties.
Even the birds seem more relaxed over here.
Twenty Kilos Down
Every morning still begins exactly the same. Nine o’clock. Danny Reeves appears on WhatsApp from Jets Geelong West. Gym. Sweat. Pain. Repeat.
More than twenty kilos have disappeared now. I genuinely feel better than I have in years. The body is lighter. The head is clearer. Life is simpler.
Although I did temporarily undo some of Danny’s good work by cooking one of the best Thai green chicken curries I’ve ever made, using the Blue Elephant Bangkok recipe. Worth every calorie.
SOL at Choeng Mon: Not Buying the Hype
Not everything this week earned a Black Diamond.
Everyone told me I had to try SOL at Choeng Mon. I did. Sorry… I don’t get the hype. The bakery looked sensational. The sourdough was excellent. Then somebody drowned breakfast in enough butter, cream and truffle oil to lubricate a Harley-Davidson.
People can keep it. I’ll stick with two boiled eggs.
That’s the philosophy behind the Mr. Paparazzi’s World Black Book Premium. If somewhere is brilliant, I’ll tell you. If I think it’s overrated… I’ll tell you that too. I’m not here to collect free lunches or kiss arses. I’m here to stop people wasting their holidays.
Why I Built the Black Book Premium
The Black Book Premium isn’t another travel guide. It’s simply everything I wish somebody had handed me the first time I landed in Koh Samui.
No algorithms. No influencers pretending everything is amazing because someone shouted them lunch. Just firsthand experience. I’ve stayed there. I’ve eaten there. I’ve paid for it. I’ve made the mistakes. Now you don’t have to.
That’s worth far more than another anonymous five-star review.
The Political Reels Nobody Expected
One thing genuinely surprised me this week, and it had nothing to do with beaches or boats. The political reels have gone absolutely ballistic. The biggest one is now pushing 286,000 views and climbing, with the others following close behind.
To everybody who’s watched, shared, agreed, disagreed or simply joined the conversation… thank you. It tells me something. Australians aren’t suddenly interested in me. They’re interested in being heard.
People are working harder. Paying more. Owning less. Getting taxed to death. And quietly wondering where common sense disappeared to.
Which brings me neatly back to Pig Island. Because after spending a day watching those pigs… I honestly came to one conclusion. They’ve got a better deal than we have.
Think about it. Sun. Sea. Crystal-clear water. No mortgage. No meetings. No bureaucracy. No politicians. Just food. Family. Freedom. And judging by the number of piglets… a bloody healthy social life.
Maybe we’ve been measuring success all wrong. Perhaps the happiest creatures I met all week weren’t people at all. They were pigs.
And before anyone writes in… no, I’m not suggesting we all move to Pig Island. Although… I’d happily deport every Australian politician there tomorrow morning. The pigs deserve better company.
What Pig Island Really Taught Me
As another Samui sunset disappeared beyond the horizon, I found myself smiling. Not because I’d visited another island. Not because I’d photographed another sunset. But because somewhere between an electric storm, a pig sucking my toes, Lucky discovering his extended family, the girls from Siam Spa dancing across the bow of a catamaran, a kingfisher dropping in for a visit and the first walls coming down at Little Japan… I’d been reminded why I came here in the first place.
I don’t collect countries. I collect stories. This week just happened to produce one of the funniest I’ve told in years.
And perhaps that’s the biggest lesson Pig Island gave me. Sometimes paradise isn’t the most expensive resort. Sometimes it’s a tiny island where the pigs own the beach, the tourists are merely passing through… and nobody gives a damn how many followers you’ve got.
Who would’ve thought a little island full of pigs could teach me more about freedom than a week of watching Australian politics?
Mr. Paparazzi’s World – Black Book Premium: Koh Samui
Don’t just visit paradise. Know paradise.
If you want the places I’ve genuinely stayed, the restaurants I’d happily return to, the tours worth your money and the tourist traps I’d steer you away from, that’s exactly why I created the Black Book Premium.
Because anyone can spend money in paradise. The trick is knowing where to spend it.
🌴 MrPaparazzisWorld.com 🎟️ Save on tours & experiences: gyg.me/darrynbig-app 🏨 Hotels & Villas: Agoda
