getusoutofhere.net (for the burmese refugees)

Thailand, Asia’s number one tourist destination arguably offers the best value for money of any country in South East Asia. This partly explains why so many travelers who enter with the intention of leaving after a few months end up staying for several years to a lifetime.

I role into Thailand’s second biggest city and the capital of the north Chiang Mai under the blistering heat of a mid afternoon sun to circle in on a guest house owned by an old German ex-pat named Marcel. The rooms here come complete with cardboard mattresses and a squadron of mosquito’s, but at only $4 a night you can’t complain.

Marcel’s tale is similar to many. In the early 70’s he threw in his napkin as a waiter and traveled the ‘hippie trail’ from Istanbul to Delhi, found an Ashram in the Himalayas and like so many free spirited traveler’s fell in love with India. An empty wallet coupled with a severe bout of dysentery prompted him to move on to Thailand where he married a Thai lady, found a job teaching English and spent his inheritance on a guest house. Though as he explains it was a risk.

“You know, to buy property in Thailand 51% must be in the name of a Thai. In my case my wife, if we divorce she could take all the investment, I would lose everything.”

This is not an uncommon occurrence for ex-pats in Thailand. Many will buy properties and business’ which by law must be 51% owned by Thai nationals. For many, at some point in the future, circumstances change and they lose everything. For Marcel at least, things seem to have worked out just fine.

“I think you must be crazy,” he cheerfully observes.

“Why?”

“Riding ze bike over these mountains.”

I agree with him and set out on an early evening cycle through the back alleys and into the central zone of Chiang Mai.

Every night of the year come what may the popular night bazaar of Chiang Mai dominates and lights up the city center drawing in the tourists like moths to a flame. The origins of Chiang Mai’s night bazaar stretch back centuries to when Yuan’s (Chinese) trading caravans would stop over on their way to Burma. Today it’s still the Chinese who dominate trade throughout South East Asia.

There’s a huge selection of hand made craft and textile products from the hill tribes of north Thailand along with an even larger selection of mostly fake designer labels. Pravda handbags at $10, Diesel Jeans at $15, Nike trainers at $30 and Rolex watches from between $30 to $90 depending on quality. Pausing to look at some pirated DVD’s flying off the counter at $3 I get my bike jammed between a corpulent Englishman and a market stall selling T-shirts with mock slogans such as Mac Shit (Mac Donald’s), Kentucky Fried Crap (KFC) and a T-shirt design portraying Bush and Blair sharing an intimate moment beneath a ‘stars and stripes’ flag. The designs are crude and dumb but you can’t help chuckling.

“Get your bike away from here,” the Englishman’s wife firmly instructs me whilst turning beetroot red either from fury or too much sun. I apologize and cycle off in search of a bar whilst pondering what it is about us ‘farangs’ and our obsession with sun-tans. Perhaps we think the darker we become on holiday the longer it’ll last through the long dark months of winter.

Out here it’s considered beautiful to have and maintain a pale complexion. Advertisement’s promoting beauty products for pale skin are plastered onto neon lit billboards that rise above the city skyline. Forget about architecture and landscaping, selling and commerce is the ‘big foot’ that tramples on Thai culture.

In the first open air bar I happen upon I spot a lady boy so pale and dainty she resembles a Chinese manicured doll with an oversized Adams apple. No one works harder on their mannerisms and appearance than Thai lady-boy’s. This ones entertaining an old man who could well be an octogenarian beaming like he’s just rediscovered the elixir of his youth, though the bulge in his trousers, I suspect, is more likely the result of a plentiful supply of Viagra pills than anything to do with youthful virility. The young lady boy knows exactly which knobs to pull and buttons to push. Watching such a performance is like watching a master perfecting their trade. Push ‘n’ pull, push ‘n’ pull till finally she hits jackpot, money shoots across the table and every ones happy, at least for now.

Kylie Minogue plays loud from a juke box, a couple of Thai girls play pool in the corner of the bar with some young backpackers and on the streets outside the whole town has come to life in typical Thai fashion. Mopeds negotiate traffic where rickshaws and trucks compete for space. Steam rises up from mobile noodle stores where plastic chairs and tables accommodate the young and the old who gather for what has to be (at less than $1 a bowl) one of the worlds great culinary bargains; Thai noodle soup.

I wander over for a bowl of delicious fish noodle soup which in turn fuels me on deeper into the night.

Like most towns and cities in Thailand the night-life in Chiang Mai is vibrant and, if you keep your eyes open, full of surprises. Not far from the night bazaar I follow the roar of a crowd down a narrow lane littered with street dogs. This leads me to a huge hanger that doubles as an indoor market during the day. Around the periphery are bars and more mobile restaurants, within this are hundreds of spectators whilst at the fulcrum stands a boxing ring. Two guys no taller that 5 foot 5 are flinging blows at one another whilst the crowd lay their bets and cheer on their favorite.

One guy is stout and solid the other is wiry and quick. His movements are repetitious. Throwing a number of knee, foot and fist blows at his stocky opponent who stands at the ropes with his body crouched, his elbows up and his head down. The crowd shouts louder and at the moment I expect him to fall he steps forward and deals a series of powerful knee, foot and fist blows sending his exhausted opponent to the canvass, the whites of his eyes and his dislodged gum shield protruding from hollow features beneath the glare of spotlights. It’s gripping stuff and reminds me of Muhammad Ali’s legendary ‘74’ fight ‘Rumble in the Jungle’ when he held tight against the ropes, holding off the blows from George Foreman before un-expectedly flooring his opponent in one of sports greatest and most iconic moments.

A huge roar goes up as the winner picks his baby girl from her mother’s arms and raises her aloft.

‘Flat out in Chiang Mai.’

Kick Boxing (Muay Thai) is a great sport. There are several countries that compete in this sport but it’s the Thais who excel. Being the only foreigner in the crowd has attracted attention in my direction. One of the competitors from an earlier fight, still in his boxing shorts asks if he can sit at my table.

“Sure.”

“Where are you from?”

“England”

“Ah, England, very good, number one David Beckham. I like Liverpool.”

He pulls out his card and invites me to his gym where they train westerners in the art of Muay Thai.

He’s half my weight and a good five inches shorter, veins protrude from his forearm and his muscles are threaded like tightly wrapped wire. I’m under no delusions. Twenty seconds in a ring with this guy and I’d be flat out on the floor like a beaten dog in a Vietnamese restaurant.

I share some more noodle soup with him, explain my plans for travel and toast his victories. Twenty years ago I’d have loved to have tried kick boxing. Today the limbs are rusty and the speed has gone. Except when I’m descending.

The squadron of mosquitoes continue their bombing campaign till dawn. Shortly after they all bugger off (where do mozzies go during the day?) I arise from my bunker, have breakfast with Marcel and his beautiful wife and pedal north to Chiang Rai.

The 185 km’s to Chiang Rai is mercifully less torturous than those Japanese trails leading me from Pai to Chiang Mai. But it’s still tough and midway between I have little choice but to pull up in an overpriced resort ($30) per night. The resort, spread along a hillside has a capacity for hundreds but there’s hardly any one else here except for myself, a hand-full of staff who appear timid and depressed and the manager.

‘Midway between Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai I catch a glimpse of Big Foot."

 

The manager, middle aged with slicked back hair, a Rolex watch and opulent chunks of gold jewelry calls me over to his table and offers me food and whisky. I thank him, order some extra food and sip a little of his whisky more out of politeness than pleasure.

There’s little joy in this place. Outside the rain is hammering down. Inside the staff look worried, the manager is drunk and that most ridiculous of 80’s pop hits ‘I’m a Barbie Girl’ is repeating itself on a loop.

Moments before I attempt to make a move back to my room the manager begins talking about Bangkok, the army and the military coup that occurred last October.

“What you think of Thaksin?” he asks.

I’m not eager to tell him what I think of Thaksin. I tell him I dislike Thaksin. Then I try to explain that I dislike Bush and I never had a soft spot for Thatcher but that doesn’t mean I think there should be or should have been a military coup in either country.

The second half of my explanation gets lost in translation as he fires back.

“Thaksin good man, he help people.”

Up until September 19^th 2006 Thaksin had been the prime minister of Thailand with two landslide victories. His opponents argue his greed and corruption as a political leader had been without parallel in Thai political history. He’d maneuvered his family and friends into key positions of power in the Thai legal, military and political institutions, thereby establishing a strangle hold on power. Sold off one of the nations key communications industries (Shin Corp) to Singapore and pocketed more than $2 billion of tax free profits from that sale.

Greed amongst high society is nothing new in Thailand. Perhaps Thaksin’s greatest political blunder was the contempt and arrogance he displayed to his opponents. He told insurgent Muslim leaders in the south they should go back to school and read the Koran. He ridiculed the coup leader Sonthi as being ineffective but worst of all he failed to take heed of the King who told him to step back from politics. In Thailand losing face is the ultimate humiliation. When such a fate befalls the most powerful men in Thailand debate is swept aside and the tanks role in, laying weight to Chairman Mao’s darkest statement; “Power lies in the barrel of a gun.”

It was shortly after this that the tanks rolled into Bangkok and Thailand’s 16^th military coup since WWII swiped power from the hands of it’s elected leader.

The manager is bitter about this chain of events. Thaksin’s hometown and constituency is in Chiang Mai. Throughout north and north east Thailand he maintains overwhelming support.

“You don’t know, you don’t know” he begins to growl.

Sure, I’m far from an expert on Thai politics but I’ve enjoyed this heated debate so rather than leave on a sour note I bring up football and ask the manager whom he supports (most Thai guys support an English football team).

“Manchester United, I like Manchester United, number one,” he asserts.

“What, Manchester United! Thaksin Shinawatra has just bought Manchester City. Come on, you should support Manchester City.”

With this he laughs.

“Yes, yes, Manchester City.”

In England, on account of pronunciation difficulties, Thaksin Sinawatra has been labeled with the nickname “Frank Sinatra.”

With the demise of Thaksin it would have been appropriate to listen to “My Way” as the manager and I sipped our final whisky. Unfortunately, ‘Barbie Doll’ was still on a loop.

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