Bangkok: Mall and Mall

Bangkok was the much anticipated denouement of our trip. With the exception of Chatuchak Weekend Market, it was a cumulative tally of mall and mall. Mary had, uncharacteristically, drawn up a hit list of restaurants and shops to visit before leaving. She had also taken a very personal interest in the choice of accommodation in Bangkok. (The last time this happened was in Hobart - we ended up in a motel 6 kilometres from downtown, in a city where the buses stopped running at seven in the evening.)

Below: Krungthepmahanakhon Amonrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharatratchathaniburirom Udomratchaniwetmahasathan Amonphimanawatansathit Sakkathattiyawitsanukamprasit.

Her strategic decision-making this time was vindicated. The Berkeley Hotel, Pratunam, adjoined a mall, with one of Bangkok's main shopping district a mere five minutes away on foot. Many of our compatriots went through the same decision-making process to end up there. There were times when we felt like we never left Singapore - except when we were crossing the road.

Below: Elbow room on the road - there wasn't much of it as vehicles spent a lot of time stationary bumper to bumper.

As was to be expected, much of our first day (in fact, of our entire Bangkok stint) was spent in that airconditioned belt between Central World and Siam Discovery. Occasional forays took us to A&W, long since wound up on our shores, but we never strayed far from the aforementioned stretch of malls. It wasn't the first time we ended up with most of our time in a city indoors. Nearly four years ago, we hardly stepped outside the Green Belt and assorted SM Malls on our trip to Manila in the Philippines.

Below: What Bangkok was for us - a view of Centralworld from Kinokuniya at Siam Paragon.

So Up There: Park Society, Sofitel

What I did differently this time, however, was to arrange dinner at a posh restaurant. (I don't often do this, because I never quite grasped the strange arithmetic of fine dining - basically how presentation is made to compensate for paltry portions.) Dinner at Park Society, Sofitel, was meant to celebrate our five years since the day I asked Mary to be my sunshine, on a wintry summer's evening in Berlin. The restaurant looked north over Lumphini Park to the Pratunam skyline, and was one of the many top-floor eating establishments for which Bangkok is known. It was also indoors, because I expected rain (rained it eventually did).

Below (top to bottom): So Good, the views from Sofitel Park Society, of glacial traffic that inches by day and glows by night; and of bright lights in a city that hardly seems to sleep.

The witty people in the Sofitel branding department had decided to take a pun on the hotel's name. The result was So and So, the adverb attached as prefixes to form catchphrases for nearly every service provided by the hotel. Park Society was dimly lit, and not too crowded on a Friday evening. Service was excellent - we were served by this young French chap from Strasbourg, who was surprised I've even heard of his city. He didn't know it was because I played Championship Manager many seasons ago.

Below: Before the main courses were served. Mary liked the food. I liked that she liked her food.

Chatuchak Weekend Market

The following day was a Saturday, and so we took a day trip to Chatuchak Weekend Market. Chatuchak was a window to another world. People flock there for the often knockdown prices and the range of products on offer - from food (cooked, uncooked, hot, cold), to flowers (artificial, real and miniatures), to fashion (of various shapes and sizes), to all manners of utensils, to home decor and furniture (of different makes and material), to even pets (with rights to photograph the animals peddled too). The market could have very well been a country unto itself. It lacked nothing - except perhaps aircondition, walking space and general navigability. We tottered out of the market blinking and bleary-eyed when glut became tedium, and when all the alleys and display shelves looked the same.

Above (top to bottom): People Parade in Chatuchak Weekend Market; Banana Brigade out in force.

Bottom (top to bottom): ceramic receptacles, miniature artificial flowers and straw roosters, just some of the stacks and stacks of unthinkably interesting items on sale in Chatuchak, through tactics of similar creativity.

Krungthepmahanakhon Amonrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharatratchathaniburirom Udomratchaniwetmahasathan Amonphimanawatansathit Sakkathattiyawitsanukamprasit is the Thai capital's full name. City of angels, great city of immortals, magnificent city of the nine gems, seat of the king, city of royal palaces, home of gods incarnate, erected by Vishvakarman at Indra's behest. But Thais know the city as Krung Thep, City of Angels. That these names have been both forgotten and drastically abbreviated represents just how many modern experiences within the city are bereft of any historicity. It was the same for us. We were drawn here to shop, and to eat, and to feel good doing nothing else but the above. At the same time, it seemed like all things in the city yielded some margin of profit. Many taxi-drivers tried to charge us higher flat fares. Firm insistence got us on the taxi meter. It also got us sullen silence the rest of the way.

On our last evening in the city, upon entering the departure hall in Suvarnabhumi Airport, we were greeted by gilded statues of demons and demigods churning the milk ocean with the sinuous torso of a giant naga (pictured above). For a time, these set aside their differences for a chance to obtain the elixir of immortality which the toil would reward them with. Mortal folks today have not stopped seeking after the same prize.

For some, eternal life is a leather bag with an Italian label.

Thirty-six Degrees in Ubon Ratchathani

After what transpired in Pakse, we had looked forward to going back to Thailand, and to relative development. A mostly unchanging panorama of green unfurled as we gazed out of the bus on the three-hour journey from Pakse to Ubon Ratchathani. The last half-hour, however, saw cultivation replaced by construction, each successive building encountered en route seeming to get taller and more vehicles on the road than animals by its sides. Pakse, that sleepy city in Laos which is also its fourth largest, made Ubon Ratchathani look like a metropolis.

Below: the unexpected highlight of our visit to Ubon.

At the immigration checkpoint, we were reminded that borders are simply arbitrary, imaginary lines made permanent only by conviction. There wasn't even a fixed border. Skirmishes in the late 1980s between Thai and Lao forces further north precipitated the establishment of a commission to resolve the border dispute. Nearly three decades on, the lines are, literally, still being drawn.

Northeastern Thailand: a very brief history

The city of Ubon Ratchathani is part of the wider region of Isan, coterminous with northeastern Thailand, which comprises nearly a third of both Thailand's land area and population. Here, Central Thai vies to be spoken with Khmer and Lao, to the last of which the majority Isan language is closely related. It reflects the three-way contestation for political dominance of previous centuries in this part of the country.

In the wake of Khmer decline from the thirteenth century onwards, Lao influence under the Lan Xang Kingdom held sway in the region. The steady growth of Siamese power in turn fed on Lan Xang's decline, which later split into the Kingdoms of Luang Prabang, Vientiane and Champasak. The city of Ubon Ratchathani was founded in the late eighteenth century by Lao princes fleeing southwest from the post-Lan Xang chaos. The irruption of French colonialism a century later posed a new challenge. It was in response to French policies on the other side of the Mekong that Siam and later Thailand worked to secure the loyalties of the Isan peoples through policies designed to entrench their identification with being Thai. Today, the level of development continues to lag behind the Central Thai provinces, and the area is seen as a cultural backwater. Isan identity has also become embroiled in Thailand's recent political wrangling, with even talks of secession surfacing.

Below: We imagine many things - lines on earth being one of the more enduring ones.

Ubon Ratchathani: Cursory Glances

Our plan for the half-day we had in Ubon Ratchathani was to spend half of it sightseeing, and another half in the mall. We didn't stray far from Thung Si Muang, the little park in the city centre just across the road from Hotel Ratchathani where we stayed. A 45-minute walk took in the City Pillar Shrine, the Candle Monument and Wat Thung Si Muang. At the last-named landmark, our itinerary withered under the unrelenting 36°C-day. Mary was visibly vexed, and we quickly hopped into a taxi for the mall.

Below: The City Pillar Shrine, erected in 1972, housed the, well, City Pillar. In Thailand, these have come to form part of the sacral architecture intended to cement ties between Bangkok and the provinces.

Below: The Candle Monument, completed more recently in 2000, commemorates the annual Candle Festival held in the city. This marks the advent of Khao Phansa, the annual monks' rainy season retreat. Traditionally, the villagers presented candles to the monks as lights to aid their prayers and reading.

Below: East of Thung Si Muang stands Wat Thung Si Muang, built to house a replica of the Buddha's footprint. The grounds also contain a wooden library raised on stilts in the middle of a lily-filled pond, constructed thus to prevent crawling insects from getting to the precious manuscripts.

Our visit to the mall coincided with a pet fair, which we smelt long before we saw. There was the usual assortment of puppies, kittens, rabbits, hamsters and turtles, as well as a not so typical supporting cast of raptors, prairie dogs, marmosets and a lone squirrel monkey. For us, the undoubted stars of the show were the two binturongs who made special appearances later in the afternoon.

The animals were disarmingly adorable, but the double standards involved were not lost on us. Nearly all the creatures were caged. Perhaps many of these never knew a life beyond bars, and were happy to snuggle and scamper about to the delight of on-lookers. Several others looked as though they could never know contentment until they were freed. Their responses to restriction ranged from resignation, to restlessness, to rage. It was heart-rending. After playing Groot to the binturong's Rocket, I had gushed to Mary about how we should have one at home. The thought, however, that a cub may be torn from its mother's breast killed any such intentions.

Above (top to bottom): Caged predicaments, from contentment; to resignation; to restlessness; to rage; to regality; to utter indifference. Also note how human primates (marmoset and squirrel monkey, second and third from top) and rodents (the prairie dog, fourth from top) actually can be, with their doleful eyes and nimble figures.

Below (top to bottom): My favourite animal (binturong), perched atop my wife's favourite animal (me); Central Plaza, Ubon Ratchathani, looking a bit like Noah's Ark on the thirty-ninth day.

Below: Leaving Ubon Ratchathani International Airport, which, like several other Thai airports in the region, were once upon a time used as staging grounds in the American effort to render Laos the most bombed country on earth.

The binturongs were the highlight of a short day, and could vie with the spectacular Mekong waterfalls to be the most memorable experience on this trip. On our taxi back from the mall, close to eight in the evening, we passed a bustling couple of night markets. It was a far cry from Pakse, where street life ebbed with the light of day.

Pakse and a Lesson Money Can't Buy

With the sightseeing in Laos all wrapped up, we returned to Pakse. If nothing untoward had occurred, we would have been taking a nice unhurried stroll in the city, where we were based for a night before returning to Ubon Ratchathani the following morning.

But something had happened.

Below: Hotel Transylvania. No, that's giving Transylvania a bad name. The Champasak Palace Hotel in Pakse - good views from the top, but bad reviews otherwise all the way to the bottom. You can get better views and service from the Pakse Hotel in the middle of town.

Theft in Champasak Palace

Four days had passed since we first checked into the Champasak Palace Hotel. There, right under our noses and without us realising until two days later, our money was stolen. We had returned from dinner at the hotel restaurant when we saw that one of the doors (there were three, two of which were previously locked and not used) to our room was ajar. Ostensibly, our valuables were still physically present. Unbeknownst to us, somebody slipped in and away with a part of the Singapore dollars, Thai baht and American dollars which we brought.

When we realised at check-out about the theft, we had a bus to Pakse to catch. Perhaps we should have taken the matter up immediately with the hotel management, or even with the police. We didn't, though. Looking on the bright side, our itinerary wasn't derailed by dishonesty. We later found out, when we took any action at all, how dismally little would have been accomplished even if we had reported the matter immediately.

We knew we couldn't get back the money. But we hoped to secure a police report for insurance purposes. When we returned from Si Phan Don, we opted to stay at the Pakse Hotel in the centre of town. This was an infinitely better choice. Some helpful individuals we spoke to quickly dispelled any residual notion we had of the police force's effectiveness in those parts. We arrived at Pakse Hotel at 4 pm - we were told the police were unlikely to be there from 3.30 pm. How about early the next morning, we asked, just before catching the bus back to Ubon? Impossible, too. The police have to investigate first before issuing any report. This could take a week or more, and the actual issuance of a report would depend on how much money is going the other way. Amidst the uncertainty, we managed to arrange a meeting with the hotel's Managing Director, who said there was nothing he could do - given the number of days that have passed and the fact that our money wasn't in a safe.

So what has this taught us? Firstly, that we never should have let our guard down. The level of a hotel's security is never commensurate with its level of classification. The second, after we shared this experience on online travel forums, was not so much a lesson as a reminder. While these forums are excellent sources of information, sometimes they turn out to be gladiatorial arenas. There were a number of responses which provided useful suggestions on how the theft which we encountered could have been prevented. There were also an inordinate number of "why on earth did you", "did you expect" and "you should". Well, we were thankful that neither our passports nor the rest of our cash were taken. We also thought twice about appreciating the tender mercies of thieves.

Below: better views from Le Panorama Restaurant on the seventh floor of Pakse Hotel (globetrotting lizard included).

Sights and sounds, and a dash of history

And so sightseeing in Pakse was curtailed, and the day marred, somewhat. We took a wander from late afternoon, but couldn't see a lot as day waned and the streets emptied. Given the faded facades which dominated the streetscape, we felt like archaeologists unearthing and piecing together fragments of a mosaic. A few of these fragments stuck in the mind - the prevalence of Chinese and Vietnamese influence in the city and the ubiquitous Hammer and Sickle which invariably accompanied the display of each Lao national flag.

Above (top to bottom): the ubiquitous Hammer and Sickle aside nearly every Lao national flag - one sometimes forgets Vietnam isn't the only nominally Communist state in ASEAN; the Chinese Society Building in downtown Pakse, a reminder of Chinese involvement in regional colonial enterprises.

Below (top to bottom): Getting around in Pakse; one last glimpse of the Mekong, en route to Ubon.

Pakse was founded in 1905 by the French as an administrative centre. The Chinese and Vietnamese influx was a product of the city's colonial origins. Many Chinese, like those elsewhere in Southeast Asia, hailed from the southern Chinese provinces, who arrived in southern Laos after sailing first to Thailand, Cambodia or Vietnam.

The Vietnamese were brought in by the French to support the colonial administrative edifice, as some Indians were by the British to run their own colonial possessions. Later, Vietnamese influence extended also to nationalist politics. The Pathet Lao, a leftist group which came to power in 1975 with victory in the Lao civil war, was a child of Vietnamese clout and support. (We observed both facts in the flesh in the Vietnamese-run Dao Lin Restaurant, where the portrait of Ho Chi Minh gazed benevolently on patrons - they serve pretty good food too, I must add.) The Hammer and Sickle that fly today next to the Lao national flag harked from that year, when the Lao People's Democratic Republic was proclaimed, and the monarchy abolished.

With the years of relative stability and the number of companies today that are investing in the area, it is hard to argue that Laos has seen better days. But the crumbling infrastructure stands witness to long decades of strife between the pre-Second World War 1930s and the conclusion of the civil war in the late 1970s.

In a sense, Champasak Palace Hotel represents what Laos seems to have become today. It was literally meant to be a palace. War thought otherwise, and drove its resident potentate out of the country. Today it remains a pretty building with some disappointingly unpretty standards - a palace with its heart broken by misplaced youth, and its spirit sapped by middle age.