It’s nearly dusk on Koh Yao Noi, a small island lying between the city of modern Phuket and the fast-developing province of Krabi. The plaintive cry of evening prayer in Arabic echoes through the hills and down to the seashore. The sinking sun casts streams of ochre, orange and pink across the limestone karsts that jut from the ocean. A fisherman stands proudly in his longtail boat, the vessel slicing through glassy seas as he trails his nets for the night. Locals burn piles of leaves in their gardens and hornbills cry in the thick forests that cover the island’s many mountains. A rural idyll?

Yao Noi has so far managed to avoid the over-development of its neighbours, but things are changing fast. The island, once home to nothing but fishermen, rubber planters and a few small herds of goats, is in the throes of what could become a dramatic alteration. And it’s happening quicker than you can say, “Hand me the chainsaw.”

Distinctly different from Krabi’s Railay Beach or anywhere on Phuket or Koh Phi Phi, Koh Yao Noi (KYN) maintains an air of peace and tranquility. It has only had electricity for two years, and sells no newspapers or magazines, so there’s a sense of being cut off. The visitors that come here are nice people and, in the May-November low season, a foreign face is rarely seen. Right now, however, rumours abound. And, if the islanders aren’t careful, this idyll could soon see clothing markets, pizza joints and tourist touts invading its shores.

KYN lies in a strategic position, almost equidistant from Krabi and Phuket. A few ferries run between the three places, and this island offers 15 hotel resorts and bungalow operations to accommodate visitors. Among the population of 3,000 or more, everyone except the youngest children has a motorbike, and at least two new vehicles, cars or trucks, appear on the roads every month. What used to be a single-lane concrete track is currently being expanded, in parts, to a four-lane road, and trees are being felled everywhere.

A new 4-star resort has opened on the north of the island, and a huge development of more than 70 luxury villas is under construction on the east coast. The price of land has doubled in the last year. Unsurprisingly, then, more and more islanders perceive the influx of Westerners as a good opportunity, and are selling their land as though there’s no tomorrow.

But it isn’t all doom and gloom. You can still step off the main road and find yourself in a rubber plantation or a rice field with only the sound of a buffalo munching grass to disturb the silence. The village lines a single street, and, with the exception of a recently built 7-Eleven and an ATM machine, it remains much as it was 40-50 years ago. Mixed in with the drone of karaoke machines and the screeching motorbikes adapted by teenage owners, one sees local life as it must have appeared in the past — granny carrying rice home from the fields; grandad weighing rubber in front of the house; and younger sisters pounding herbs with mortars and pestles. Everyone toots their horn when they pass each other, and across an area of about 10 square kilometres everyone knows everyone else. The northern end of the island has no real roads, and is almost unpopulated; the west side is mainly rice fields and mangrove swamps, while the eastern and southern parts feature a few villages, one hospital, one police station and a scattering of schools. On a Friday afternoon at exactly 12.30pm droves and droves of men dressed in patoong (sarongs) and skullcaps head for the mosque, and the women sit quietly indoors while their husbands pray.

The issue is this: Will “development” prove good or bad for the island? Out of the 50 or so people this writer talked to — a mix of locals, Western residents and visitors — the majority say that development will be a plus for the island, but only if it can be controlled. All the small businesses are enthusiastic about the future, but emotions about preserving what the island has are so passionate that a local French architect has even formed a conservation society. (KYN doesn’t come under the government national park land scheme.) In all, the consensus seems to be that what, among other things, is required is no disco bars, no bargirls, no loud music, not too much selling of land, regulations on building, and proper waste disposal management.

Jade, the Canadian owner of the beautiful Lom’Lae Resort to the southeast of KYN, has lived here with her husband Rad for nine years now, and she sees the changes as a positive thing. “We like things the way they are here,” she says, as we stroll in her gorgeous island-view garden. “This place has a special quality to it, and it hasn’t developed fast because the beaches aren’t so good. Anywhere with a good beach gets developed fast. I used to live at Railay 10 years ago, and I don’t even recognize it now. But I believe Koh Yao Noi will continue to attract ‘good’ people, so development is okay because the locals benefit from it.

“All of us here with small businesses are trying to make a living of course. But there’s no way we’re going to compromise the natural beauty of the island just to get more tourists coming. No way. This place is for the type of visitor who wants to chill out, takes walks and rests. It’s not for party animals. I always think, ‘You like it, great. You don’t, then that’s fine; there are five boats a day to Phuket. We have a certain culture here, visitors have to fit in with us.’”

Another bungalow owner, Bang Mote (“Brother Mote”), shares a similar view. Bang Mote is a policeman on the island. He’s married to a lovely Japanese woman and together they run Tabeak Viewpoint Resort — a charming set of four mountain-side guesthouses with excellent balcony views. “I think development is going to happen whether we want it to or nor,” says Bang Mote. “Myself and the other residents just pray that none of the nature is destroyed. We must stick together and work with local government to make sure there are rules and that laws are enforced. Koh Yao is a special place. Although local people want to earn money from tourism, they don’t want to see their land destroyed. The people here are not poor.” He grins. “So there is no big incentive for tourist-based business. This mainly comes from outside investors. Tourists have been coming here for 17 years, and the changes on the island have been very slow because local people are more interested in the price of rubber and their fish farms, and this is a good thing.”

This writer leaves Mote on his balcony, where he trains binoculars on pairs of eagles as they come in to nest for the night. The last rays of sunlight reflect on the karsts where they rise from the sea, and the cool evening wind rustles through the tabeak trees. The Imam begins his cry, his call to prayer, and I pray along.