A year in the life of the L.O.S - Thailand - TravBuddy

I suppose this is cheating really, but here's an article I got published which condenses about 18 months spent in Thailand into something resembling a travel article. Bit long, but worth the time? You tell me.

Millions of tourists flock to the sultry jungles and pristine beaches in the Kingdom of Siam every year, to experience the sights and smells of SE Asia, where Thailand provides legendary hospitality and world renowned cuisine.
Thailand offers a wealth of natural beauty, with scenery ranging from virgin rainforest-covered mountains in the North, to idyllic white sand beaches in the South, separated by huge swaths of flooded rice paddies.
Over the course of an extended stay in the Land Of Smiles (LOS), we made acquaintance with a broad range of the many activities that Thailand has to offer, from elephant treks to motorcycle muggings, from snorkeling to terrorist bombings.
Landing at the now defunct Don Muang airport in Bangkok, replaced in 2006 by the gargantuan Suvarnabhumi airport, the first impression we had of Thailand is one of immense, crushing heat. With temperatures reaching and exceeding 35º in the Summer months, further compounded by the regular occurrence of 95 per cent humidity, the transition from chilly England is made all the more challenging.
As you make your way through the international arrivals gate at the airport, the sea of white faces crashes upon a wall of taxi touts, sharing stories of the outrageous fares extricated from unsuspecting new arrivals and jostling for the latest victim.
After navigating the queue to secure a government regulated taxi, and asked if you would like to take the tollway route (a very reasonable £1.50 surcharge), you are whisked through the sprawling metropolis that is Krung Thep, the original City of Angels.
Bangkok is actually a misnomer, named for the planned site of the city which was abandoned in favour of a more defensible position. The actual name, shortened to Krung Thep by the Thai people, is registered in the Guinness book of world records as the longest place name in the world.
The translation of the capital's full name gives an insight into a mentality obsessed with keeping up appearances: “The city of angels, the great city, the residence of the Emerald Buddha, the impregnable city (of Ayutthaya) of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukarn.”
Bangkok is home to over 6m inhabitants, according to an official census, though public opinion is that in reality the figure is closer to double that number. It is the financial centre of the country, with an output that has matched that of Singapore, and driving through the city it is possible to catch glimpses of the wealth that is washing around.
From atop the elevated expressway, built with Italian financial assistance (a deal which the Thai government reportedly reneged on), Bangkok's skyline stretches out for miles in every direction, dominated by fading concrete structures, which give an impression rather more of the Eastern Bloc than a city perpetually bathed in sunlight.
Thailand's burgeoning tiger economy was tamed by the Asian financial crisis of 1997, which also affected other SE Asian nations, notably South Korea and the Philippines, and saw the Thai stock market lose 75 per cent of its value.
Before the crisis, Thailand's economy had seen an average growth of nine per cent per year, giving rise to huge investment in the country's, or more noticeably the capital's infrastructure, work which was halted during the crash and still remains incomplete.
The recovery that the capital's economy has made is also apparent, however, for among the concrete edifices stand ultra-modern constructions, plush five-star hotels and up-scale shopping malls which would be at home in any US city.
While the capital does indeed boast gems in the form of the Grand Palace, Wat Pho, home to the reclining Buddha, and the excitement of Muay Thai at the Lumpini and Ratchadamnoen stadiums, multiple visits to the city of angels, the great city have left me with an impression of a chronically congested city, over-run by tourists fresh from the Southern islands, sporting holiday dreadlocks, and middle-aged Westerners, keen to take advantage of the besmirching flesh trade which flourishes in the notorious PatPong district.
Leaving behind the capital, which in the writer's humble opinion, is the least attractive aspect of the LOS, one can quickly appreciate exactly what it is about the country that lures so many visitors.
In the far North of the country, 700 kilometres from Bangkok lies the jewel in Thailand's crown, the Northern capital of Chiang Mai. Feeling intrepid, I decided to take a night train, a journey of some 12 hours aboard a 1970's carriage imported from Japan that while rather spartan, was extremely practical, comfortable and impeccably clean.
After a meal (the Thai staple of rice, red pork and the ubiquitous hard, fried egg) delivered to our table, in a style which invoked thoughts of an ultra-budget Orient Express, the tables and chairs which occupy passenger's alloted space during the day were magically transformed into bunk beds at dusk, a task performed with a minimum of fuss by the carriage's attendant.
The 2000 baht fare (£30) secured us two bunks on a second-class, air-conditioned sleeper, with each bunk set in its own pod and lent a degree of privacy by a curtain. Being over 5'6", the bunk was slightly less accommodating for me than the majority of my fellow passengers, but was quiet, save for the rhythmic clanking of the train's progress and felt secure .
After a restive night, we awoke in the early dawn light to the sounds of people moving about, preparing for the impending arrival at Chiang Mai. The jungled approach to the city was a welcome change to the grime of the capital, and looking from the carriage, we saw villagers emerging from their straw huts to start the day.
Chiang Mai, the ‘New City’ is the largest in Thailand after the capital, but its meagre population of 700k is dwarfed by its Southern cousin. Sitting on the Ping river and surrounded by mountains, it benefits from the increased altitude, being noticeably cooler, although whether 30ºC can be described as cool is open to debate.
The famed ‘Thai smile’ becomes truly apparent in the North, where despite large numbers of ‘farang,’ the local people have yet to become jaded by the hoards of foreigners traipsing through the city.
The architecture in Chiang Mai is all low-rise, lending an unimposing, homely feel, uncharacteristic for a citadel of its size. A short trip in an onomatopoeic tuk-tuk - a three-wheeld motorcycle, capable of carrying a baffling number of passengers, albeit in terrifying fashion - will bring you from the train station to the old centre of the city, which is surrounded by a walled moat.
The characteristic friendliness of the occupants of the North of the country is in stark contrast to the busy, impersonal attitude in the capital. Everywhere you go, you are greeted with a friendly smile, and an archetypal Thai “helloooh.”
While Central Thai is the official language, and various dialects are spoken around the country, especially in the North, English is fast becoming the second language.
Thai is a tonal language, which means that the same word can have five meanings, dependent on the tone in which it is pronounced. In my experience this can extend to as many as ten different meanings for some words, dependent on context, making learning the language a challenge for all but the most committed and patient.
This provides great consternation for speakers of a language in which tones imply emotion or change the sentence into a question. Pronunciation is vital, and makes for some hilarious misunderstandings when done incorrectly. The most innocuous of words, when mangled by the Western tongue, have decidedly impolite alternative meanings. For one of many examples, the writer suggests a great deal of practice before uttering the word banana in polite company.
That said, if the effort to learn and speak the language is made, it is greatly appreciated by the Thai people. Rooms in fully booked guest houses suddenly become available, and prices at markets drop markedly.
Chiang Mai boasts an impressive night market, stretching along both sides of a busy road for a mile. Haggling is very much the order of the day. While the vendors are more than happy for you to accept the inital price quoted for the enormous range of handicrafts, counterfeit clothing, pirated media and jewellery on offer, it is very possible to reduce the figure by more than half, with a bit of persistence and a smattering of Thai.
Mopeds can be rented all over Thailand, but nowhere as cheaply as the new city, as little as £1.50 per day not being uncommon. Driving on Thailand's roads is erratic, at best, but with a great deal of care and even more courage it is possible to navigate the system with little event.
Unless, that is, you give the appearance of easy pickings to motorcyle-bound muggers. During my last journey made on a motorcycle, a thief attempted to steal my partner's purse from her shoulder, pulling us both from the steed.
After checking my girlfriend's well-being, I sped off on foot to confront the would-be highway-man, busily trying to extricate our moped from his own. Unfortunately, flip-flops are not designed for sprinting and he made off before I was able to enquire about his motives. He went away empty-handed thankfully, owing to the awesome resilience displayed by my better half.
It bears mentioning that in the writer's experience and those of his fellow travelers and residents of Thailand, that this was an isolated incident, and purely a case of bad fortune.
Much of the far North of Thailand, bordered by Burma (Myanmar) to the East and Laos to the West, is densely forested, mountainous country. If one is so inclined, you can trek through the jungle, visiting hill-tribe villages - little more than voyeuristic theme parks - along the way, take a meandering ride on an Asian elephant, visit a snake farm, traverse the mighty Mekong by speedboat, or visit the fabled golden triangle, once the CIA-sponsored epicentre of the world's opium trade.
There are numerous national parks to hike through; high-canopied rainforests where one can emulate Ray Mears, and stop off for a naam som (orangeade) along the way, served in an ice-filled plastic bag and sold anywhere in the country that man has ever ventured.
The pace of life in Thailand rarely exceeds a trot, but we ventured toward Pai, the modern Haight-Ashbury of Asia, 20km from the Burmese border, where the trot comes to a complete halt.
The serpentine road through the peaks Northeast from Chiang Mai provided fantastic scenery aboard the rented chopper, and the foolhardy lack of a crash helmet gave an enormous sense of liberation from real-world cares.
Thai traffic laws stipulate that motorcycle riders are to wear a helmet, though this is rarely followed up, except on Friday afternoons. Bribes paid by offending drivers to avoid fines and the hassle of attending the police station are reputedly a good source of income for the poorly-paid police force's weekend whisky fund.
Pai itself was an anticlimax after the jaw-dropping journey there. It is an unremarkable Thai town, populated by nondescript teak houses and aging hippies fleeing the wiles of reality. Aside from the novelty of continually being offered opium, still in seemingly good supply despite a global crackdown on its cultivation, our time at the destination was uneventful and overshadowed by the approach.
While the majestic jungles and accommodating people of the North are peaceful, relaxing and awe-inspiring, the true draw to Siam for me was the beach. Opting to fly the 1500-odd miles South to the lauded islands in the Andaman Sea and the Gulf of Thailand, we booked ourselves onto a flight with the easyJet of the East, AirAsia. The Malaysian-owned company flies to destinations all over IndoChina at prices which are comparable to its Western cousin, so for a small premium on the £30 train fare, we shaved 18 hours from our travel time.
After a connection in Bangkok we touched down on the island of Phuket, the much mispronounced destination for millions of package tourists every year. Phuket is part of what is known to the ex-pat community in Thailand as the ‘Costa del Siam,’ and is a great choice of destination should you want to watch the footy match with a nice pie and chips and pint of Tetley's after scorching yourself raw on the beach all day.
As with most of the Costa, which includes Ko Samui in the Gulf and Rayong on the mainland, all of the comforts of home are readily available along with a few more, slightly less conventional comforts besides.
Everything on the islands costs more, reflecting the extra time, money and effort involved in shipping goods across the sea. Something which costs 100B on the mainland might go up to 200B on most of Thailand's islands. In the Costa, however, the local people have cottoned on to the stark price differences between Thailand and the West, so prices soar to at least quadruple the going rates for everywhere else. These ultra-inflated prices still seem cheap to most visitors though, so everyone (especially the Thai business owner) goes away happy.
Not wishing to delve too far below the surface of Phuket, we made for the ferry port to catch a boat heading for one of Thailand's least commercialised islands, Ko Lanta. The modernity, budget prices and frequency of Thai ferries, makes them a good place to see a whole cross section of Thailand's visitors, from budget travelers making their way around the island group to couples making a day trip to visit what exists outside their all-inclusive resort. It is even possible rub shoulders with locals amongst the tide of increasingly-tanned white faces, owing to the reduced fare Thai nationals are charged.
Most of Thailand's tourist attractions operate a two-tiered pricing scheme wherein tourists often pay a 1000 per cent premium. These disparate charges (endorsed even by the government in the case of national parks) are the result of the national view of socioeconomic etiquette, which when directly translated from Thai, means ‘big face.’
Traditionally, Thai culture holds generosity, politeness and respect for your superiors in extremely high regard. If you venture into any government building in Thailand, you will be faced with a hierarchical map, letting everybody know just where they stand, and how ‘big their face’ is.
When dining out, the person with the best perceived economic standing, or ‘biggest face,’ will invariably pay for their guests and order far more food than the occupants could possibly eat, thereby proving their ability to afford the luxury of waste. The fact that Westerners can afford to travel to Thailand automatically affords them high esteem, so they are charged prices which are reflective of their large visages.
Dining on authentic Thai food is an experience which, depending on the strength of your stomach, is something that can definitely be missed. Public opinion on Thai food in England is generally positive, and conversations on the subject will usually involve “loving green curry,” or chicken satay being “delicious.” In reality, as soon as you venture away from tourist traps, the adjectives take a serious turn for the worse. “Authentic” Thai food more often generates descriptors of a much more negative nature. While insects of every persuasion regularly make it to the plate, my personal favourite ‘delicacy’ is chicken feet which are available in many guises, from barbecued on a stick to boiled in a soup. The list is almost endless: live red ants and their larvae, chicken intestines, fish eyes and brains, pig face and not forgetting grilled rat. While not all of these treats are everyday items, most appear with an alarming regularity.
Vegetarians beware: the seemingly innocuous markets which cover the country and entice the uninitiated with bright colours and bargains galore are most often tainted with a food section which would shock Leatherface. Parts of animals experienced butchers were ignorant to hang in the sweltering heat, attracting flies in such numbers that the horrors below are fortunately concealed.
The flies are no deterrent to local people, however, whose national pastime appears to be eating, or more accurately, snacking. The nutritional value of rice, with its accompanying chicken toenails, chili and fried egg demands that meals come frequently - every two hours seems to be sufficient.
Tourists can travel to the country with culinary confidence though; pad thai, fried rice and cashew chicken without any terrifying ingredients are all widely available in areas frequented by farang, particularly the southern islands.
Ko Lanta Yai, the larger of two islands with the same name, lies in the Andaman Sea, an enclave of the Indian ocean. All of the mental images of serene, powdery beaches separating the emerald green water from populous palm trees, jostling each other for a view of the sea became reality as we drew closer to the island.
Lanta has been blessed with being overlooked by the land developers who have transformed many of the Andaman's jewels. It has only recently been able to boast a paved road, which still doesn't manage to circumnavigate the entire island.
Much of it is protected as a national park, and although ‘bungalow resorts’ continue to crop up, the area manages to retain an untamed appeal. Jungle treks await those with a more energetic disposition, while pristine beaches beckon to those in search of something closer to serenity.
However, the lack of development on the island does have its drawbacks, as we discovered while searching for accommodation. In the absence of a taxi service, misadventure and bulky backpacks led us to rent a very Thai-style motorcycle-sidecar - a moped with a steel cage welded to the side, ordinarily used to ferry passengers - which had steering capabilities on par with an elephant. Overjoyed at reaching our bungalow at the far end of the island without making the grim reaper's acquaintance, we quickly swapped the willful conveyance for two more nimble scooters.
After reaching our saturation point for peaceful solitude, the next stop on our tour of a huge and incredibly varied country was to be the deep South. So, once again we heaved on our backpacks and waved goodbye to the lush idyll of the Andaman, heading for the province of Songkhla.
The South of Thailand has very different characteristics to the rest of the country, owing in part to its proximity to Muslim Malaysia. Its food is spicier, its monsoon rains are heavier and its people are less homogenous, and infinitely more brusque. The four provinces at the bottom of Thailand, on the Isthmus of Kra are generally referred to by the media as the ‘restive’ South, and we were about to discover just how restive it is.
In a separatist movement that dates back to 1909 Thai annexation of Pattani, the 80 per cent Muslim population has repeatedly expressed a desire to split from Thai sovereignty and become its own state, or join with its - culturally much more similar - Southern neighbour. For many inhabitants of the provinces of Pattani, Yala, Narathiwat and, to a lessor degree, Songkhla, Yawi is the first language and Islam the first religion - a stark contrast to the rest of the Thai-speaking, Buddhist nation.
In the Songkhla province, Hat Yai, which translates as “big beach” despite being 30 miles from the coast, is the third biggest city in Siam. It is often referred to as “little Bangkok,” because of its abundance of tall buildings and its resemblance to a modern city.
For the writer, it will forever be remembered as “Rat Yai” (big rat) in the land of smells, due to the the city's burgeoning population of monstrous rodents. Rubbish bags line the streets every night, providing a veritable feast for the armies of rats which scurry from shadow to shadow, brazenly darting over your flip-flopped feet should you cross their path.
Cheap shopping, legal booze and (essentially) legal prostitution are the main reasons for visiting Little Bangkok. Ancestral ties with mainland China has led to a huge influx of budget electronics into the city, meaning that the astoundingly cheap £20 DVD player you might find in England becomes a £5 DVD player, while £25 will now afford you an in-car DVD player, with an LCD screen.
This, and the lax alcohol laws compared with Malaysia, draws thousands of comparatively wealthy Malaysians across the border (a 60 mile drive) into Hat Yai for a cheap stereo and some ‘R & R.’
During our stay in Hat Yai, spent exploring the labyrinthine electronics market, visiting the entirely forgettable beach in nearby Songkhla and being stared at to the point of marvel by the locals, we gained unwitting first-hand experience of the insurgency.
Late into our stay, whilst relaxing on our hotel room balcony one evening, we heard a series of loud bangs, which were soon followed by the wailing of sirens. Being curious and remarkably foolish, we ventured from the safety of the hotel in search of the cause of all of the excitement. Our lack of appreciation of the severity of the troubles occurring in the area was quickly rectified. Six bombs had been detonated in a three mile radius of our hotel, in which four people were killed and sixty injured.
While our cautious delay in leaving the room had thankfully spared us the full horror of what had happened 30 minutes previously, the shattered windows, smouldering cars and bloody footprints told us more that we had wanted to know.
Unfortunately, the land of smiles, aka the land of surprises, had not yet finished enlightening us about harsh reality. Three days later, I awoke one morning to find that the government had been overthrown by a military dictatorship, and tanks were roaming the capital.
The obvious alarm was soon followed by total disbelief as we watched, from the semi comfort of our hotel, the unfolding of events and the reactions of the Thai people. The coup of 2006 sometimes being referred to as a ‘non-event’ is a very serious understatement. While slightly expectant of an undertaking to replace the unpopular Thaksin, the situation remained alarming and demanded a great degree of concern on my part, as the country was now governed by a military dictatorship and tanks roamed the capital.
The initial shock was very quickly - the same day - replaced with utter bemusement that a nation could approach such a monumental event with such a light heart.
People were pictured on the news photographing themselves with tanks, giving soldiers flowers and generally enjoying their new ‘freedom.’ Business as usual returned the following day, changed mainly by anyone we came into contact with asking if we liked the ousted Thaksin. The biggest problem that we faced now was reassuring people at home that it really was nothing to worry about, and it was a ‘Thai-style’ coup.
With the time to return to the daily grind fast approaching, we made our way back to Bangkok and the ‘amazing’ new international airport of Suvarnabhumi. We had no further brushes with calamity, despite the fact that, according to the press, airport officials experienced serious logistical problems with the new airport. Approximately 60k Thais made the pilgrimage to the new wonder - every day - to see the source of national pride and picnic on the grounds. Presumably to partake in their seventh meal of the day, involving any number of the culinary delights on offer.