Less than two years after the tsunami, Thailand's beaches are again perfect and once raging waters have returned to vivid clarity. Mike Di Paola takes an audit and finds touching stories of human grace and resilience

Map: Click here to download our massive guide to Asia's unrivaled pleasures, plus every nonstop flight from the United States. Viewing requires a copy of the freely available Adobe PDF reader.

Update: Since this article went to press, Thailand experienced a coup. So what does it all mean? Click here for a Q&A with Sadanand Dhume, Bernard Schwartz Fellow at the Asia Society.

To the uninitiated, a Thai smile can be confusing, since it serves so many purposes. There are at least a dozen different phrases in Thai describing types of smiles and the moods that they signify: happiness, mirth, mischief, embarrassment, fear, and I'm sure many other things. I've seen Thais smile as they describe a motorcycle accident, a cheating spouse, or a military coup in Bangkok.

Visitors may come away with the impression that Thai friendliness is superficial, but in truth it is more than just a show of affability. The traveler in Thailand—particularly one who can speak a bit of the language—is bombarded with genuine bonhomie. Strangers will feed him, buy him drinks, and insist on knowing everything about him. In my experience, the friendliness quotient goes up with people who have little to gain by being affable, and the most giving are those with little to give. I'd feared that the December 2004 tsunami would erase the ubiquitous Thai smile and quell this marvelously generous culture. But in three visits to the Andaman Coast since the disaster, I see that my fears were unfounded.

Phuket is a prosperous island in the Andaman Sea, and has long been a playground for Western travelers, mostly from Europe and Australia. Now, more than a year after the tsunami, I find little evidence of catastrophe: Mai Khao Beach, on the island's northwest coast, is a perfect swath of white sand, palms, and pine trees, and creates the front porch to a warm, benign sea. Much of this nirvana is within Sirinath Marine National Park and is thus protected from new development, although JW Marriott has found a niche here, if that's the right word to describe its sprawling resort.

The adjacent Saikaew Beach, to the north, is so well hidden that hotel staffers take some time to discuss exactly where it is when I ask. In fact, it's right here, fusing with Mai Khao to form the longest beach on the island. The resort, set back a good hundred yards from the water, suffered only minor damage. It is claimed that one of its massive swimming pools absorbed some of the blow from the waves. The hotel is about eighty-five percent occupied on this winter day in high season, and it's gearing up for more business: Eighty-four new villas are being built, the spa has been expanded, and a third pool has been added.

I'm happy for the resort enclaves—they seem to be doing well—but I'm more interested in seeing smaller places, which might have had a harder time rebounding from a lost season.