Thailand
Totally Thailand - Wednesday, Nov-18
It’s 4:30am and I can’t sleep, so I get up and organize my gear and read the Lonely Planet Guide in lieu of a good book. The Chiang Rai section is pretty limited. I fall back asleep an hour or so later, waking up after 8am.
Baan Bua serves breakfast in the garden. I order coffee and croissants with butter and jam, but it’s pretty uninspiring. I obviously didn’t order the right thing. Over breakfast I chat with a couple whose room is next to mine. Giuliano and Stella are from a town near Venice, and today they’re going to the Hilltribe Museum. I ask if I can tag along. I’m not shy about insinuating myself into other people’s plans.
We take our time browsing all the exhibits. There’s an interesting timeline that details the history of opium, and I learn how much influence the US has had in stemming the production and export of the drug. I’m learning as much as I can about the Akha, Lisü, Hmong, and Karen. The Karen are those women who wear many brass rings that push down their collarbones and give them the impression of having unusually long necks. The Karen who live in Thailand are refugees from Myanmar, and because of their non-citizen status, they are unable to legally work in Thailand. The only option they have is to wear the rings and be on display for busloads of farang, making money by posing for photos. The tradition of wearing heavy brass rings on the neck and legs was an old practice that fell out of use a long time ago. I’ve heard that the rings were used to make women unattractive to rival tribesmen, or else it protected the neck during an unfortunate encounter with a hungry tiger. But now the brass rings serve no other purpose but to act as a photo opportunity to voyeuristic tourists. As a visitor, I face a moral dilemma. Do I support these artificial villages created by Thai entrepreneurs, knowing a small portion of the pricey admission goes to support the Karen? I do not begrudge them the right to earn a decent wage, but I do not need to be a spectator in the human zoo.
The exhibit ends with a documentary about Putao, a region in a remote part of northeastern Myanmar, a place only accessible by small plane. The film covers the efforts of a British/Birman couple that have been working with the local tribespeople to bring a small number of visitors to the region. They have been collaborating with tribal leaders to bring some responsible ecotourism, leaving as little impact as possible but offering the tribes some sustainability. Toward the end of the film, we are introduced to the plight of the Karen. The filmmakers, as well as the curator of the Hilltribe Museum, take a very strong stand against supporting these artificial villages, but they offer little viable alternatives.
After the film, my Italian companions and I do a little shopping in the museum gift shop. I buy a Hmong bag and a couple of Akha pillowcases for about $15 USD, knowing that most, if not all, of the proceeds will support the tribes.
Our entrance ticket includes a complimentary beverage at Cabbages and Condoms, a restaurant located on the lower level of the building. Cabbages and Condoms is a Bangkok-based NGO whose mission is to provide family planning and HIV prevention in response to each community’s individual needs. They’ve been instrumental in giving villagers economic alternatives to the commercial sex industry, especially for young rural women in the north who are often targeted by big city recruiters.
While we enjoy our drinks in the courtyard we meet Eleanor from New Zealand, a jolly, ruddy-cheeked woman who just returned from three weeks in Myanmar. I had seen her at Baan Bua earlier, so I invite her to join us. She talks at length about Myanmar, a destination I’m extremely interested in visiting, so I press her for as many details as she can pass along. I had originally wanted to make Myanmar the focus of my trip, but I think it’s a journey best shared with another traveler, if only to defray some of the costs of getting about and hiring a guide. Eleanor suggests a very doable three-week itinerary that includes Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan, and Inle Lake.
Giuliano and Stella excuse themselves. They’re leaving tomorrow and don’t have much leisure time to simply hang out and do nothing. I ask Eleanor if she wants to join me for a lunch of khao soy, followed by some picture-taking at the market. At the lunch place we meet Micheal Chang who is visiting from Malaysia and is also an art director. We dish about the usual things freelancers dish about (e.g. “make the logo bigger”) while enjoying our 30 baht meals (about $0.92 USD) I really like Micheal, and he invites me to stay at his home in Johor Bahru should I ever find myself in Malaysia. That’s entirely possible.
We part ways with Micheal after lunch, and Eleanor and I wander the market, a huge arcade of shops and stalls selling, well, everything. I watch a pile of live crabs all trussed up and stacked one on top of the other. One of them is blinking wildly, which I find slightly disturbing and wonder whether this creature is trying to send me an SOS signal the only way it can. I entertain the idea of buying him and releasing him into the river, but it is probably a ridiculous idea anyway, though one PETA might applaud me for.
We wander out the back entrance of the market, past the Indian-owned textile shops selling bolts of gold lamé fabrics used for draping on the Buddhas. We come upon a great teak temple, passing a long row of idle rickshaws painted in bright floral patterns, each one awaiting their next fare. This is Wat Phra Keo, home of the Emerald Buddha, or one of the Emerald Buddhas. I’m not clear how many there are, but the real one originated here — maybe — and is now ensconced in Bangkok. The great teak building is also a museum, with immaculate shiny floors and glass cases displaying ceremonial bowls, religious figures, and other art objects. An older monk sitting by an open door asks where I am from, I wai him, placing my hands high to show respect. Monks don’t wai back because they’re a little higher up in the social hierarchy. As I understand it, first comes the Thai royal family, then the monastic body, then everybody else. Even in the “everybody else” group there are certain norms. A service person like a waitperson or concierge would wai me, but it would be inappropriate for me to wai them back.
Eleanor needs to return to the guesthouse by 4pm to receive some tailoring, so we part ways and I continue my exploration of the wat, eventually making it back to Baan Bua by 5pm. At 6:45pm I meet Eleanor in the garden to watch the clocktower’s nightly spectacle. At 7pm, and also at 8pm, the golden clocktower in the town center lights up and changes colors while music blares from the surrounding loudspeakers. It could not be more Thai, which means it’s covered in gold paint, spiked, and lit up like a Christmas tree in Las Vegas. There are quite a few people, mostly Thai, gathered around to watch the extravaganza.
“It’s so OTT!” exclaims Eleanor. Indeed it is.
By now we are both pretty hungry, so Eleanor takes me to the (presumably) best noodle shop in Chiang Rai. All the signs are in Thai and there’s no farang menu, so she pulls out a slip of paper with a dish written on it in Thai, and we each end up having one very tasty bowl of soup for 30 baht. We make plans to meet at 8 am for breakfast in the Morning Market.
After dinner, I wander by myself to the Night Market and really look at the different scarves so I can buy one for my mom. She wants one “the color of autumn leaves,” and it should be easy to find among all the different vendors plying their textiles. I’ve only 100 baht in my pocket, so I find an exchange counter that’s still open at 8:30pm. There’s one guy in front of me, and I can tell by his accent he’s a Spaniard. We chat briefly before he speeds away on his motorbike with his boyfriend, but not before he gives me the obligatory kiss on both cheeks.
My scarf mission accomplished, I make my way to the Peace House for a cold beer and some friendly conversation with Ot, the owner. I meet a nice couple of travelers, Gail from Paris and Henry from London. They are spending two months traveling around Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and ultimately ending up in Beijing before returning home. We swap travel stories and itineraries and I give them some Vietnam travel tips, but by 11pm I’m ready to call it a night.
Totally Thailand - Tuesday, Nov-17
After saying goodbye to my delightful Bangkok hosts, I catch a flight to Chiang Rai to spend the next 5 days. My friend Cameron thinks I’ll get bored in a couple of days, but I can easily find things to do to occupy my time. Even sitting in a café watching the world go by can hold my interest, and there is always a market or wat to make me pull out my camera and go shutter-happy.
But the real objective is to get back on track after neglecting myself for the last few months. 2009 sucked for a good many people, yet despite the scanty work assignments I got, I still managed to pull it together and be here, in southeast Asia, for the next 4 weeks. So perhaps 2009 wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Heck, I could have been one of those homeowners who defaulted on their mortgage and lost their house and is living in her car. So here I am, seeking a little clarity – and distance – from the day-to-day distractions of life in San Francisco. I need to think about what I want to do with myself for the next few years. Do I give up the freedom of freelancing and get a “real” job, or….? I secretly hope the universe pushes me in the direction of “or,” except I have no idea what that might be.
After I arrive in Chiang Rai I hop a taxi into town (200 baht, or $6.25) with a chatty driver who wants to know if I’m married. It’s the usual question a female solo traveler hears.
“Yes, but my husband is in university and couldn’t come with me.”
“You want a young Thai boy?”
My first thought is “how young,” but really now. No. Good lord. Can’t blame him for his pimping entrepreneurial skills, though.
He drops me off on Th Jet Yod at the entrance to the soi that leads to Baan Bua Guesthouse. A couple of ladies at the massage place on the corner hustle me for a foot massage, but I respectfully decline. The single red bulb reveals this is the red light district, literally.
It’s a short walk down an L-shaped dirt track to the pretty garden at the end of the lane where the guesthouse is located. I check in, and am handed the key to the last room in the row. The room is basic and small but clean, and I’ve got a nice little porch with 2 chairs and a table, and a screened front door. Most guests leave their doors open when they’re around. It’s a friendly, comfortable place to hang my pack for a few days.
It’s time to wrangle up a meal, so I head away from the tourist strip and find a local eatery serving khao soy, washing its spicy, noodly goodness down with a cold Pepsi. I’m looking forward to browsing the Night Market tonight, but it doesn’t get going for another hour so I return to my guesthouse for a shower and a rest. I’m too hot and restless to nap, and I also don’t want to upset my sleep pattern that, for the time being and for the rest of my trip, means I’ll be getting up at 5:30am and going to bed by 11pm, if not earlier. Six hours a night will be all the sleep I’ll get, if I’m lucky. I’ll catch up on those sleep credits when I get home.
It’s hot here in Chiang Rai and an ice cold beer seems perfect right at this moment, so I venture out to Jet Yod and find the nearest bar that’s not too farang-y. Less than a minute away is the Peace House, a hippy haven celebrating the rasta lifestyle and colorfully painted in reds, yellows, and greens. The bartender and owner, a wiry Thai guy with long dreadlocks and a scraggly beard, wais me as I enter. He looks like Bob Marley.
“I’d like a cold beer.”
“What kind beer?”
“Surprise me.”
He pops open the cap on an icy Leo, opens one for himself, and we toast.
A cute blonde girl who was sitting at one of the wood burl tables in front bounces in. She helps herself to a beer from the cooler and plunks down on a stool behind the bar. We toast. I learn her name is Mimi and she is from Sweden. She’s been in Thailand for the past six months, primarily for health reasons. She had been suffering from severe fibromyalgia and had been in a wheelchair until she came to Thailand. Suddenly, and without any treatment whatsoever, she was very nearly pain-free and able to walk again. So she left her husband behind and now lives in Phuket. I like her immediately. She’s lively, open, and greets every passerby.
“I love people,” she says. “When you’ve been as sick as I was and then you’re not sick anymore, life is more beautiful.”
Amen, sister. I lean across the bar and give her a peck on the check.
A little girl comes in selling roses, and Mimi buys two: one for me and one for another Rastafarian sitting 2 stools away. He’s got the most amazing and well-kept dreads that reach past his butt, all decorated with silver ferrules and beads. How I wish I could chat with him, because he looks like the coolest guy this side of Jamaica, but he speaks about as much English as I speak Thai, so we resort to smiles, gestures, and whatever else works to communicate. I excuse myself after the second beer, as I was planning to go browse the Night Market. If I stay, I’ll have to order another beer, and I’m really a big wuss now when it comes to alcohol. I got over that habit by the time I was 20 years old.
“Promise me you’ll come back?” asks Mimi. How could I not?
“Of course!” I reply. I’m halfway down the street when I hear Mimi calling my name.
“You forgot your rose!”
We run toward each other and hug before she hands me my rose. So far, Chiang Rai rocks a 10 on the friendliness scale.
The Chiang Rai Night Market is described in the Lonely Planet Guide as a smaller, low-key version of Chiang Mai’s Night Market. That may be partially true, and certainly open for debate, but it is no less seducing. There are the usual hilltribe textiles, making appearances in handbags, bedspreads, and clothing, and sewn in a hodgepodge of patchwork dominated by the indigo-dyed cloth native to the Hmong. The Akha ladies display their belts, bags and elaborate headdresses characterized by the large, silver, spherical beads the size of shooting marbles, and decorated with a thick swag of seed beads under the chin that spans from ear to ear. Other vendors sell silk scarves and pillowcases, pashminas that may or may not contain cashmere, Muay Thai boxing shorts, Red Bull tshirts (did you know Red Bull originated in Thailand?) mangowood bowls and platters, and other tchotchkes, but this isn’t a tourist trap like San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf. There are far more Thais than farang wandering the stalls and eating. I swear Thais eat twelve times a day, all day and all night, and yet most of those who have not been tempted by modern processed foods are thin as whippets.
I wander among the food stalls, but nothing jumps out and says, “Eat me.” I’m fascinated by the fried cicadas but not feeling adventurous enough. I’d hate to start gagging in public, but I’d do it on a dare. Unlike Chiang Mai’s Night Market, Chiang Rai has two stages and live music every night, conveniently located at either end of the food court. Some of the entertainment is good, like the singer/guitarist sweetly crooning Eagles songs; some of it is quite mediocre or worse, like the dancing girls in evening gowns lipsyncing Thai pop songs. I take it all in with the wonderment of a simpleton.
At a corner eatery not far from the hustle of the Night Market, I order basil chicken over rice. I appreciate the smaller portions, which suits my still-iffy-from-jetlag stomach. It’s good, and I can’t wait to return tomorrow or the next day to try something else.
Before I call it a night, I stop at the Peace House to say goodnight to Mimi and my rasta friends. I just got into town, but they instantly made me feel as if I’d been coming to this place on a regular basis. It’s a feeling I can get used to.
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