17. October 1990, Ban Yang, Buri Ram Province, Thailand

It was a thirty-six hour journey to get here to the other side of the world. Geographically speaking that is. In other respects, concerning aspects of human life and society, it could be universes away. Twenty-three hours flying time it was from Canada to Thailand, plus a one hour stopover in San Francisco and a two hour one in Tokyo. Then two hours at Bangkok airport and another eight hours on the train to Buri Ram, this little provincial capital in the Northeast, the 'Isaan'.

I remembered well enough from my visit earlier this year, where to find the bus stop and where to get off the bus at this little village justoutside of town. But how the landscape had changed from half a year ago! Then it had been the dry season, just shortly before the onset of the yearly monsoon. Then the rice paddies had been bone dry, the only harvest of the year in this part of the country long since completed. Now, with the monsoon almost finished, water was everywhere. Soon I discarded my mud covered slippers, rolled up my pants and continued barefoot through the squelching mud that seemed to be everywhere along this short-cut trail
through the fields. Once I was away from the paved main road it all started to look different. There were reservoirs full of water, which earlier had been completely dry and could not have been recognized as to what they actually were. At one time I thought I was lost, but keeping on my predetermined bearing I eventually regained more familiar territory, viz. the main raod through the village.

And as I walked along it, I was recognized and word flew ahead of me, from house to house, that the 'farang' (foreigner) had come back. People started to collect to watch the spectacle, and as Su, came up to me, our reunion became a matter of public merriment, and our embrace was greeted with joyful shouts.
 

18. October 1990, Ban Yang

After a return to town, to pick up my baggage and to celebrate our reunion away from the public eye, we returned yesterday to the village just in time to witness an event seldom experienced by the casual visitor. Even my extensive reading about the country and travels elsewhere in the area had not prepared me for this. A neighbour had died the previous day unexpectedly. A young family father of 34 with three small children, he had just died in his sleep. He had been perfectly well the day before and the next morning he was dead.

This event set in motion for the family an extensive and costly (to them) series of rituals, which were to occupy the next several days and entertain the entire village. Family and friends carpentered a casket from available materials for the cremation the next day, and a platform was built for the 'lique' (theatrical burlesque type performance) for the entertainment of the guests the evening following the cremation. Food was prepared to feed the multitudes. The casket was exhibited in the living
room of the house, and a number of monks engaged to sing the traditional funeral dirges, while the villagers paid their homage to the deceased.

Then later came the cremation itself. For some reason it was decided not to have it at the temple but on an open piece of ground on the back of the property. The small sons of the dead man had their heads shaven and they were dressed in orange robes to join the attending monks for the day. A funeral pyre was set up from pieces of lumber, including some other material being discarded, and after the proper ceremonies, carried out by the monks, the fire was lit with gasolene out of the dead man's
motorcycle. The guests filed past the pyre and offered onto it sticks of wood and incence. The two brief post-monsoonal rain showers did not impede the progress of the activities.

After dark everybody assembled for the entertainment. Already the previous night a movie had been shown. However this night the stage, that had been built the day before, got its full use. A troupe of several entertainers and musicians, all from the village, had dressed up in traditional costumes, and accompanied by cacophonous music, began a vaudeville type of performance that was to last until dawn the next morning. I had been aware of these marathon entertainment happenings from the
'wayang' performances in Indonesia. Nothing had prepared me for the fact that this obviously is a facet of rural life throughout this part of the world. Half the village had assembled, bringing their mats, and sat on the muddy ground in front of the stage. Still suffering from jet lag I could not keep my eyes open after normal bed time and retired to our sleeping quarters only ten meters away from the stage. Among the spectators most of the children were alternately sleeping and watching. Beer and liquor was passing freely among the older male spectators, so much that by morning the stocks of the small stores of the little street had been sold out. Somehow amidst all the noise I managed to sleep some hours.

Strangely I saw nobody shedding any tears throughout the whole process, nor was there any other sign of bereavement visible. If there had been, living and sleeping only less than twenty meters from the bereaved household I would have noticed it. It seems that the parting from this world, even an uncommon one such as this, is accepted without question as the will of God. The only purpose of the activities seemed to have been to dispose of the material body in a dignified as well as practical manner and to give the soul of the deceased an appropriate farewell, so that his spirit had no reason to haunt his fellows and would be satisfied to allow himself to be re-incarnated as another being in another life.

Finally this morning at around nine o'clock the sound system was switched off and the neighbourhood returned to its own sleepy self with most of the participants sleeping off the the effects of the night.
 

20. October 1990, Ban Yang

The days are blending one into the other. Slowly my mind is settling down from the weeks and months of frenetic life in the industrial West, and is adjusting to the unhurried life of the village and its simple pleasures. This last week in the waning wet season it has been raining uncommonly much. The reason, as I understand from the weather report in the English language 'Bangkok Post', is a series of tropical storms (just below the taiphoon level) which have been hitting the Cambodian coast and with it the 'Isaan' hinterland, and bringing ample precipitation. Yesterday it had been raining heavily off and on all day long. Both umbrellas in the house were broken, and I suggested we buy a couple of new ones. Su protested,because according to her the wet season was finished. But under thecontinuing deluge she finally relented. Another person had died in the village, farther down the main street, and there was to be a repetition of the previous festivities, including the mammoth movie night (six movies) the evening before the cremation. We did not go because of the incessant rain, and I doubt whether the event took place at all.

In spite of the extremely primitive life here and the non-existent facilities, but perhaps just because of it I feel very comfortable here. It means nothing to me, for example like last night, to wander out in the middle of the black night back into the fields through the mud to follow the call of nature. What makes it all worth while is the easy gentle manner of the people and their ready and relaxed smiles. I am constantly amazed how natural is their behaviour, the seemingly total absence of artifice. Surely our western mind, intent on the proprieties, cannot agree with say the custom of paying voters off to vote for you. But this is happening. Yesterday somebody came by and gave Su four brand new 10 baht bills, perhaps for the privilege of putting up that candidate's election poster and also to put her cross in today's municipal election in this
particular candidate's spot. She may or may not do so, or may not vote at all, as we are planning to go to Pimai today. But the money she took. And why not, it would have disrupted the social fabric and somebody would have 'lost face' had she refused, and pointed out the irrational and ill conceived practice of candidate's for office of buying their votes.

Right now, as I am writing this, sitting on top of the ladder-type stairs leading to our sleeping quarters, apart from the bamboo slat platform below the only place I can sit down to write with the laptop virtually on my lap, Su's little daughter Chuang is sitting beside me and watches me typing on this contraption from that other planet. Of course, they have heard about computers. Like everywhere they know that jobs connected with them command big salaries, which to them means a life free from want and the enjoyment of these, to us relatively small, luxuries of owning an TV, a refrigerator, and just maybe a small motorcycle.

Apropos TV. It has been said that the average child in the industrial West, with all the facilities to learn and to engage in reading, watches about three to four hours of television each day. There is a television in Su's house, albeit a black and white one. In the almost full week here, I think it has been on for a total of two hours. There are just too many other activities for the children to engage in, without ANY toys worth their name. Of course, the two stuffed animals I brought and the small hammock are a big hit. In the morning at daylight (six o'clock) Su's eldest daughter Chim (10 years) gets up all by herself and performs her household duties without a word of protest. She starts the cooking fire to cook the daily rice and the food for the pigs. She would not think of her mother making her and her sister's lunch to take for school. I am sure she does not consider it a 'chore' nor a 'duty' but something that is done as naturally as sleeping and eating.

Another thing I am surprised about is my almost complete lack of annoyance about the very limited amount of privacy one has in this society. The neighbours and other villagers wander through the compound at will. This is perhaps accentuated by the fact that Su's mother runs a miniature store, new since I was here half a year ago. Here exhibits itself the lowest rung of business enterprise, small things like candies for the kids, toothpaste, cold soft drinks and beer from the new fridge I bought
for Su on my earlier visit. The profit margins are low, like 25% for rice whiskey dispensed in small quantities from the bottle. I am sure it is not a money making proposition from a purely business point of view. But it supplements their income from the farm, and above all it elevates their social standing in this simple society and provides an additional avenue for social interchange.

Another perception of invasion of privacy in the West is the imposition of one's own brand of music onto the neighbours. Yes, radios start up at six in the morning in the compounds nearby or next door. But, again, somehow I do not resent it but rather enjoy it. Of course it is not hard rock one is exposed to but the soft type of Thai popular music, which I so much enjoy. I do not know why I do. I do know that a great number of Westerners do not enjoy it, some Germans I talked to called it 'kitsch'. It has to be because it is a natural component of this society, all of the aspects of which I have come to appreciate and love.
 

20. October 1990, Nakon Ratchasima

The rains have let off for the moment. Being the weekend, and the kids not having to attend school for two days, we took the opportunity to visit 'Prasat Hin Pimai', the important Khmer temple complex, pre-dating the famous 'Angkor Wat' in Cambodia, which is near here.We saved ourselves the muddy walk (it had rained heavily again almost all night) to the bus stop by taking advantage of the free transportation offered by one of the electoral candidates to take people to the polling booth at the temple (wat). An open truck came around, leaflets were distributed and cigarettes offered as a last minute incentive to swing the voters' intentions. As the vehicle slowly moved along the street people piled in, those that wanted to vote as well as those who just wanted a free ride. The mechanics of the voting itself went much like what we are used to in the West with voters' lists and polling booths etc. In addition each voter had to present his or her identity card.

The ride on the train to Khorat was not a new experience for the children, as they had once been to Bangkok several years earlier. Su was working there then and they had all been staying at Su's sister's place. The big excitement for them was, when we got into the hotel room, that there was water running out of the tap in the wall. Later, after a brief rest and after the heat of the day had abated a little, we took a ride into town to do some 'shopping' (same word in Thai). There was much to see
with the sidewalk vendors selling everything from sandals to the many different snacks. I had read before about the roasted locusts, and here I saw them offered for the first time. We bought a little paper bag full for five baht, and I had the chance to taste three of them before the children had them all gobbeled up. Roasted (live) in boiling vegetable oil and salted they tasted quite good. Not substantial enough for a filling meal but tasty for a snack like nuts accompanying a drink. We also had sweet
waffles and those pretty looking wafers with coconut shreds.

For the evening meal I had selcted a place mentioned in the guidebook, a garden restaurant by a lake, where besides eating local folk entertainment was offered. The 'tuk-tuk' (three wheeled motorcycle taxi) driver agreed to take us there, but was unable to find the place. But on the way back we noticed another garden restaurant on the side of the road and stepped in there instead. We made the mistake of ordering too much of the good food and consequently had to stuff ourselves. While we did not get to have folk entertainment, there was Thai popular singers, a pleasant surprise. This, of course, was a better class restaurant. The children, never having been
exposed to this type of environment before, behaved beautifully. They just have this natural easygoing charm which carries them through everything as if they are old pros. After finishing their food they did not seem to get enough of watching the singers on the stage.
 

21. October 1990, Pimai

This is only a small market town, and if it were not for the Khmer ruins there really would not be any reason to come here, unless you want to sample Thai country life. There is only one hotel here to cater to the tourist trade. Lately a guest house cum restaurant has opened up to fill the needs of the backpack crowd. However today, being a Sunday, the latter was closed, so we had to make do without an English menu, which, of course, with my Thai company was no problem.

The rains seem to have stopped now and it is getting hot. I suppose, coming from Canada, I am not yet used to it, because it seems to be just as hot as when I left here seven months ago. Then it  was  the 'hot season', now after the rains it is supposed to be the 'cold season'. Our room at the hotel also seemed to be quite hot, and the fan did not seem to be able to do much to dissipate the hot air. After a meal I had meant first to have a bit of a rest and then venture out to visit the ruins towards four
to five o'clock, after it had gotten a little cooler. But the children were full of pep and could not wait, they wanted to see 'the stone temple' (literal translation from Thai) right away.

It was only a short walk from the hotel, the temple complex being right on edge of the small town. It had recently been fully restored and is probably the next best thing to the famous 'Angkor Wat' in Cambodia, now accessible only to rich tourists on expensive tours, because of the civil war in that country. Looking at the few sculptures and false arches I could not help being reminded of the Maya architecture and art of Tical in Guatemala and of Palenque in southern Mexico. There definitely is a link
between these cultures and I fail to see why the transfer of ideas and skills between the two should not have taken place a relatively short time before they began to flower (several hundred years after the birth of Christ).

After having seen the historical sights in the sweltering heat the children wanted to go to the other site of attraction in town. On the way in on the bus we had noticed a merry-go-round and other carnival attractions on a piece of open ground. It seemed to be closed when we got there, but we were told it would open again at dusk. So there was nothing to it but to return to the hotel for a shower and a rest.

When we came back later everything was in full swing. We had some food first at one of the stalls at the night market next door. The merry-go-round was an oldfashioned affair with horses, swans, kangaroos, cars and motorcycles crudely fashioned from fibreglass. However, all the children were fascinated by it, as their intent and rapt faces clearly showed. Even after indulging in more potent excitement riding the bumper collision cars, the other major attraction, they were glad to return to the merry-go-round for another ride later.

One of the samlor drivers had suggested earlier to go and visit the 'Sai Ngam' (beautiful banyan tree). This we did next morning before taking the bus to return to Buri Ram. The banyan tree has the tendency to drop air roots from its spread-out branches, which when allowed to touch the earth will eventually form subsidiary trunks. The specimen that we visited was huge and had hundreds of such subsidiary trunks which spread out over almost an acre of ground. At the edge of the grove a vendor had established himself offering for sale little birds, turtles, fishes and frogs. By buying one or more creature and releasing it from captivity to freedom, one could perform an act of merit and earn 'brownie points' for one's future life or lives. Inside there were walks and park benches under its voluminous foliage as well as a small shrine to some hindoo type deity, at which the children promptly knelt down and paid homage.

People in this country are so refreshingly unconcerned about the finer distinctions of doctrine in religion. They would find it utterly incomprehensible why a Christian Catholic would not worship in a Protestant church, or a Baptist would insist to be baptised in a different way than another of his brethren in faith of a different persuasion. They would not even begin to fathom the illusory significance of the food restrictions of Muslims and Hebrews and the silly insistense on a particular day of the week as the holy day in opposition to that of another indoctrination (I hesitate to dignify it with the label of faith) even among Christians themselves. To them deity is a personification of the Buddha, God, or whatever one may want to call it and in whatever shape or form it is depicted. This God is worthy of adoration because it represents the Good, the Constructive in us and in others. Without it the fabric of society would break down and chaos would reign rather than harmony.
 

27. October 1990, Pattaya

Here I sit in a beach chair under a coconut palm, watching the Saturday beach crowd and trying to keep up my diary which had been so sorely neglected over the last few days. With the hordes of European and Australian tourists still to arrive a little later in the season it is reasonably quiet here now. Only over the weekend will the beach be full with Thai from Bangkok trying to catch some fresh air away from their polution ridden city.

Before coming here with Su I spent another memorable day in the village. Relaxing in the yard my attention was drawn to a couple of neatly dressed young men coming in from the road and trying to explain something to Su and her mother. I, of course, did understand hardly anything at all out of the conversation but gathered it had to do with the electric power supply. The expression '700 Baht' was passed between the parties and upon my query Su explained there was something wrong with the power supply. From this I assumed these young men came from the government electric power company and desisted from inquiring further, otherwise I would have 'smelled a rat' earlier.

We then proceeded to the fusebox of the house where the visitor took out the fuse and installed an automatic one. Then he produced a form for Su to sign. My misgivings started then. The price of 700 Baht ($ 35.00) seemed rather high for an ordinary automatic fuse. However I reacted too slowly, the signature had been given and the delegation left. Then I took the time to partially decypher the copy of the signed document they had leftbehind. It was a time purchase contract from a Bangkok commercial firm for 700 Baht, payable in one month's time, when presumable these people would return to collect their ill-gotten reward for a service that was neither
needed nor solicited. The ordinary fuse that had been there before was perfectly adequate for this simple farm household. I tried to explain to Su that in my opinion such an automatic fuse should probably not cost more than 100 Baht (200 on the outside). At this point she started to get embarrassed. I suppose in the eyes of her mother she was losing face, having done something foolish in signing the paper.

I was getting worked up a bit too now and offered we go to Buri Ram to check the prices out ourselves in the shops there. Since she had earlier indicated that her
parents wanted to move the refrigerator downstairs, which required the installation of another receptacle and extension line, I now felt there was enough reason for a trip into town and just went by myself. Yes, I had been right, an automatic fuse of even higher capacity I bought at one of  the stores for 93 Baht. I also got the other required items for installation of the extension and less than two hours later I was back in the village.

I had read about this type of unscrupulous behaviour of door-to-door salesmen before, but to have been confronted by such a blatant example of it 'in the flesh' was a sobering experience. I know, it happens in the West also, but it seems particularly cruel in this environment. Here you have kind, naturally polite people, of meager incomes, who semi-literate as they are, their guilelessness and naivite being taken advantage of by greedy hucksters from the capital. It was an object lesson for Su, not to buy from itinerant salesmen unless she knew from previous experience what the article was worth, and in the end she acknowledged it gracefully.

In the waning hours of the day we went out beyond the 'wat' and past the dam across the river to watch and immemorialize on video the daily procession of the herds of water buffalo returning from the fields to their stables. To me these animals and their herders epitomize the fundamental character of these people. Slowly plodding along, without haste or hurry, but purposeful and steady, rooted firmly in the soil, happy and content with their lot (in spite of occasional intrusions by those greedy city slickers). To watch these animals returning and the happy boys and girls with their sling shots and baskets, in which they carried the harvest of their daily hunt, destined to supplement their larder, made me feel immeasurably happy and content. It made me feel as if this had been my home since time immemorial and that fulfilment could only be achieved in these peaceful and harmonious surroundings amidst the rice paddies, the bamboo groves, the buffalo and these people to whom laughter and contentment comes so easy and naturally.

But too much am I part of the Western way of life to withstand the lure of the excitement of new scenes, of new experiences; and so here we are, Su and I, at the next stage of our adventure together. She has been consumed by desire to achieve fulfilment of that dream of almost every young man or woman in this country, to own one of these small motor scooters, which serve here as the family car. And as of yesterday she has achieved that dream. Yesterday morning we made the rounds among all the showrooms and decided on a 100cc Honda scooter, with a long enough seat to accomodate both us (plus her two small daughters for short trips). It will serve as
her birthday present next month and will give us much freedom in travelling. The various beauty spots, off to the side of the road, waterfalls and beaches, so quickly passed on the bus, or too labouriously reached by bicycle, will be only minutes away now. Even if it survives the mud and punishment of one rainy season (and hopefully it ought to outlast several) it will be a worthwhile investment in the enjoyment and happiness it generates.
 

31. October 1990, Pattaya

The ownership of a motorcycle, as anything that costs a good deal of money, is fraught with frustations, as I found out. The vendor had assured us that it was not necessary to get a licence plate for some time (two months 'no problem'). Besides Su had to get back to Buri Ram her registered residence to have the plate and ownership registered in her name. This fitted us nicely because before the two months were over we had planned to go back there anyway. Next day we set out on a trip to Bangkok, I wanted to do some business there and she wanted to show off her new toy to her younger sister who lived there. The ride was rather tiring. After a
couple of hours I rather started to think that bicycling was more fun and perhaps even less tough on your backside. I guess the only advantage of motorcycling is that one covers the ground about twice as fast as on a bicycle. But for that advantage one trades in the quiet and the leisurely pace.

After we had checked into the hotel we set out to find Su's sister's place the location of which she seemed to have only a rather vague recollection. It was Sunday afternoon, and apparently the day when the police were not overly busy with their normal duties and used their available time to collect funds. The day before I had read a newspaper article about the police regularly collecting bribes and protection money from illegal operations. Some of this money went into the private pockets of the officers and some of it went into a central slush fund to pay for expenses for crime suppression they were unable to cover out of their normal budget. Not exactly proper, but under the circumstances a practical attitude. Although their pay is quite low, some of the Bangkok officers resisted to use any of these funds for their private use and put all their collections into the central fund.

Today I made my first acquaintance with this practice. We were stopped at a road block for having ridden along a street not permitted for motorcycles. I had seen the sign but since there were other motorcycles in front of me who continued nevertheless. After a brief discussion in Thai between Su and the officer we were to buy ourselves out with 200 baht and allowed to continue. Only minutes later we were caught in another road block, where we were asked for ownership papers and drivers licence. On both counts we were found wanting. We were informed there was no period of grace to get a plate, as well my Canadian drivers licence would not do. The discussion that ensued was a bit more lengthy than before but the outcome was that for the payment of 100 baht again we were let go. However, they told us also that in about half an hour hence, at 4 p.m., there would be no more road checks and we would have no more problems.

The place were her sister Smon (together with her brother Hon) lived turned out to be some 30 kilometres the other side of Bangkok. After a lot of mud and dust we finally found it. Smon works in a factory making concrete electric poles nearby and Hon is a truck driver. Their dwelling was one of those shantytown huts made from odd pieces of wood and corrugated iron at the edge of a new housing development. Nothing much different from what one would see in the 'slums' of Bombay or Rio. However, there was electricity, a colour TV, a fridge and some furniture. Above all, the neighbours were friendly and there was an easygoing atmosphere.

Thai people are not very ostentatious when they meet again after a longer separation. The feeling is there for sure, but it does not manifest itself in embraces and the like. We chatted for several hours (except me, who mostly listened) and the various neighbours came one by one to inspect the interesting and desirable 'farang' and the brand new motorcycle. After dark we finally left and had no more trouble, neither from the police nor from the poor quality of the road.

Back here in Pattaya, where information is more readily available in the English language, I found out these things. Yes, by law a foreigner needs a local drivers licence, even though there are thousands of motorcycles for rent on the street. However, the police will in most cases close both eyes for the good of the tourist business and if you get caught away from the tourist spots you can normally help them keep their eyes closed with the odd 100 baht note. In order to get a driver's licence no test is
needed only the payment of 2500 baht. However, I cannot get one because I have only a tourist visa, I need a non-immigrant visa. I had requested that in Toronto before I came, but at Toronto they were not empowered to issue that. So if you want to comply with the law it is a never ending battle with red tape. The Thai know how to handle it, they just ignore it. Su tells me in her village nobody bothers with getting a driver's licence. It is 'no problem', nobody checks, and if by chance once every few years a policeman gets to 'conscientious' there is always the payoff.

However I shall not tempt fate too much. To go down the coast to Trat and Ko Chang we shall take the bus. Close to the Cambodian border there should be a lot of police controls, and sooner or later we shall meet one officer not as amenable as the rest. After return from Ko Chang we shall ride the motorcycle to Buri Ram where Su will get a proper licence plate and hopefully also her driver's licence. When returning from Indonesia and Malaysia later this winter I shall make a point to get a non-immigrant visa so that I can 'buy' a local driver's licence myself.

Last night again we went uptown and experienced a performance of 'lique', the same burlesque type show I had seen at the funeral in the village. Even though I did not understand a word I enjoyed the slapstick comedy which was evident from the facial expressions of the performers and the laughter of the spectators. I was reminded of a very similar type of show I had seen and much enjoyed in one of the parks in the Indonesian city of Solo, proof again that although languages are different, cultures in the countries of southeast Asia are intertwined through centuries of cultural interchange. The accompanying music and singing seemed to be very similar in nature. This show seems to be on every night here, unless is rains, which I find rather surprising in this resort so dominated by tourism and the massive presence of foreigners. But then the beach front street is dedicated to the entertainment of the foreigners with their barbaric tastes, and the locals go to their places in the back streets.
 

5. November 1990, Cha Mao National Park

Now that the Loi Krathong festival is past we tore ourselves away from the fleshpots of Pattaya to tour some of the eastern seaboard towards the Cambodian border. I had been more or less over the same stretch about four years ago with my daughter Kirsten on bicycles. But this time I want to explore a little more in depth taking more time, and particularly go to the offshore island of Ko Chang, apparently an emerging backpack tourist haven.

For Loi Krathong we were still in Pattaya. I had really wanted to experience it in a different surrounding, not with all those beer drinking Australians and Germans around (sex tourists many of them). Still it was a nice experience to watch the general merry-making. One saw some tourists joining in the custom of buying a float with flowers, incence sticks and a candle and setting in out into the sea to float away. But those whom one did see were either the well-heeled family type tourist or the single man permanently attached to his Thai female companion either by love and friendship or by marriage. The beer drinking hell raisers even on this evening were in the beer bars and go-go dance establishments. I was glad that, as we got around to buy our own floats, Su insisted they be not the foam plastic and artificial flower type but those made from a slice of banana stem and wrapped with banana leaves.

Now we are on the road. I decided after all to take the motorcycle, at least as far as Chantabury, before we got into the border region. I supplied myself with several hundred baht bills to bribe any police that might stop us, but so far we had not had any opportunity to make use of them.

Last night we stopped at Laem Mae Phim (the cape of Mother Phim). As a matter of fact we found a reasonably priced cottage to rent (200 baht) right next to the shrine on the rocky cape in the very establishment and at the same price where I had stayed four years ago. There is a long lovely stretch of beach here which four years ago was almost entirely deserted, except for Thai weekend holiday makers from the capital. Now everywhere new condominimum developments and resorts were sprouting out of the earth like mushrooms.

It never ceases to amaze me that the owners actually think that all these new apartment, condominium and luxury hotel units will eventually find a buyer or tenant. The entire seacoast down from Bangkok to Pattaya and beyond will soon be plastered with them. Representing to the newly rich of this country, Chinese most of them, what they perceive as the Western (speak American) way of life, they, together with golf courses and Mercedes and BMW automobiles (no American influence in this department), they are the apex of their aspirations. As it was the case until recently in Canada here also it culminated in a development hysteria with spiralling land prices which now with the Gulf crisis is taking a sobering breather. The whole process would not present such a hideous exterior if at least the building styles adopted would have been more aesthetically pleasing. Again the parallel to Toronto, Canada becomes inevitable. There architects and developers revel in a neo-colonial style super-imposing two and three car garages onto supposedly quaint looking stained glass windows and last-century gables. Here they have adopted what I would call a 'neo-classical Thai' style, some undefinable combination of Chinese shophouse and Thai country villa. In both locales it spells 'I have money and I want
to show it'.

At Laem Mae Phim itself, at the eastern end of the beach, before the road turns inland, not much had changed. There were still the ramshackle bamboo hut type restaurants crowding the seawall. After we had paid our respects to the goddess by prayer, the lighting of candles and incence sticks and the moulding of gold leaf onto one of the holy figures in the shrine, in the setting sun we repaired to one of the restaurants. The food that they served was less than perfect (my sweet-and-sour was a little too salty). However, the lovely Thai popular music on the juke box and the 'mekhong' whisky made up for it and we were quite happy before the meal was over.

Now, the next day, I am sitting on the verandah of the rented cottage in this National Park and enjoy the peaceful quiet of the waning day. We arrived here quite early, it was only a 50 kilometre ride. First they quoted us 500 baht for a cottage (two rooms with bathroom). I hesitated, did they not have tents or rooms with only one bed? So they let us have a cottage with using only one room for 200 baht.

After a simple lunch, Su could not wait to go and see the 'Nam Tok', the water fall. Thai's have an enduring love affair with waterfalls. Everywhere where there is some water running only a little faster than normal, there is a park, picknick spots, and that is where they flock to on weekends and on their holidays. This park encompasses a solitary mountain about 1000 metres high. And sure as not there is a waterfall, actually a series of eight quite nice small falls and rapids with a trail leading along the small river that feeds them. We had quite some fun walking up, although it was hot going. But the water was beautifully cool and we revelled in it. Now we are back at the cottage, having slept away after our exertions during the following rain shower and are now ready for the excitements of the evening. I am sure there will not be any, unless you count a simple supper (with the remaining 'Mhekong' from last night) and some TV watching on our small pocket TV as such. The other entertainment, which the cleaning lady for our cottage had promised us, a couple of monkeys who steal clothing hung out to dry, did not turn up.
 

Trad, 8. November 1990

We reached Chantabury alright the next day, without being stopped by the police. Here we put in a day of rest, partly because we wanted to explore some of the surroundings, and partly because I was feeling a little out of sorts. Initially I had burnt my calf on the hot exhaust pipe of the motorcycle. This injury and another one at the large toe of my other foot had become infected and showed little signs of healing. Wading in the sea and bathing at the 'nam tok', of course, had not helped. A little bit of temperature had developed so I went to seek the help of one of the many shop window doctors. The injection together with the pills he gave me seems to have helped, for now the wounds seem to be healing and the angry red swelling has gone.

After the visit to the clinic we sat down for supper. While I chose more conventional fare Su had, what I, with the help of the dictionary, translated as 'fried appendix'. It was from a pig, the waitress assured us, I had not known that pigs had appendixes too. All through the meal I was joking with her, that the restaurant just had had a fresh delivery from the hospital. Thais as Chinese have a great liking for those parts of animals which Westerners just discard. The menus are full of dishes made from innards, fish heads, chicken feet and the like.

Next morning I made another attempt to find and visit Khao Ploi Waen, 'Sapphire Ring Mountain'. I wished the 'Lonely Planet' guide book would get their directions right in this particular instance. Four years ago it had led me to search southeast of the town without success. The new addition ascribed its location to 'a few kilometres north off highway 3249'. A bit more specific to be sure, but just as unproductive, as we were to find out. After riding some 15 kilometres north, we were advised
that we had come 30(!) kilometres too far. At that point I gave up and we proceded to the next two attractions on our list. The first, Phliu waterfall was just as delightful as it had been four years ago.

On our way to Laem Singh, the site of an old French customs post (not mentioned in the 'Lonely Planet') we came across signs pointing us to a brand new acquarium. Half finished though, they were open with some 65 dolphins in the main pool doing their tricks as they were being fed. Only four kilometres away was Laem Singh, a sleepy little village on a spit of land at the mouth of a large lagoon. There were fishing boats at the pier and a beach full with casuarinas, beach chairs and restaurants, and even cottages for rent over on the headland, we were told. It was a place I instantly fell in love with, in spite of the water not being crystal clear. The place had an ambience which invited one to stay longer. I was sorry that we had eaten already at the acquarium.

When the girl at the acquarium had given us directions, Su had been startled and amused by the name of one feature, where we were to turn, the 'kuk ki gai', and she had been kidding me about it all along  'did I want the police to put me there?'. On inspection of the feature it turned out to be the old French jail, more looking like a small watch tower. There was a tiny barred door at one side and there was no roof. On translating the Thai name I saw the reason for her amusement. The name 'Chicken shit jail' alluded to the fact that there was no roof and the chicken could drop their excrements on top of the prisoners.

This morning we made our way by bus to Trad, the terminus of Highway 3, only some 20 kilometres from the Cambodian border. The motorcycle we left at the hotel to be picked up some ten days hence on our return. With frequent police checks for illegal immigrants from the war-torn country next door and smugglers I did not feel it wise to take our unplated vehicle any further.

I had squeezed my backpack into one of the racks under the roof of the bus from which it promptly fell down hitting a country woman, who sat under it. Apparently there was a bit of an injury to her tooth, one of the two upper ones she had left, or her lip. After apologizing we debated, how to compensate her. Upon Su's inquiry, did she want to see a doctor, she said not, but did accept some money for medicine. Su had felt 50 baht was enough ('she is only a country woman'), but I gave a hundred, with which she seemed to be quite happy. I felt rather bad about the whole thing. The suffering of the underprivileged and unsophisticated carries a small price
in our world. A person in our 'civilized' and 'developed' world might have been tempted to sue for what he could get or demanded a sizeable settlement  'without prejudice', to use the term the insurance companies so much like, especially when the other party was one of the supposedly (and actually compared to country standards) fabulously rich foreigners.
 

9. November 1990, Khlong Yai

This morning we took a share taxi to see this most easterly town in Thailand. The territory of Thailand peters out to a very narrow strip here, as the low mountain range, the top of which forms the border between Thailand and Cambodia, parallels the sea and finally disappears in it. For almost a hundred kilometres there is often less than two kilometres between the border and the sea. At this town about 15 kilometres from the very end we were going to see the Cambodian market where smugglers bring their wares to obtain cash for Western consumer goods they cannnot obtain on the other side.

After we had checked into our rather primitive hotel we went out to have some lunch. While we sat there we were befriended by a Thai marine who was serving here at the border control post. He invited us to take us to 'Hat Lek' (Small Beach), where he was stationed at the southeastern most point of Thailand and where, he said, there was a better market for Cambodian goods than here. We gladly accepted.

The beach was small, certainly, in fact it was only some ten metres long. Around it was the army post with its barracks, a small dyke built out into the sea from the rocky shore, to form protection for a few boats and some bamboo houses where some fishermen, mostly smugglers now, lived. We were introduced to the company commander and shown around. The highlight of the visit was, after we had climbed across the low fortified wall of the border guards, the inspection of the massive international boundary monument, less than ten metres from the sea. For some brief moments Su and I stood actually in Cambodia. Of border guards on the other side nothing could be seen. We were told that indeed there were some but several hundred metres further down along the coast. Then it started to rain. we spent some more time at the company command post and then were driven back to Khlong Yai to our hotel. Tonight we have invited him for drinks at the local night spot.
 

11. November 1990, Ban Cheun

We got up yesterday morning at about 10 o'clock after a heavy night of drinking and good company. Jon, our new friend, brought a couple of his friends, the girls from the restaurant where we had met him showed up also. So we were a happy group of some ten people squeezed around a small table consuming 'Mhekong' by the bottle and those spicy Thai salads by the plate and between watching and listening to the singers and dancers chatted away between ourselves. Of course, the extent of my chatting was limited by my knowledge of Thai and the knowledge of the marines of English. But we had a great time. After a couple of hours of this we repaired to the other restaurant for the traditional rice soup, I suppose to counteract the effects of the liquor, and some more snacks. Sitting among these young people I could not help but wonder how handsome everybody looked. Of course the boys were from better families, having all graduated from the naval academy. It was an easy going atmosphere, a lot of good natured bantering, and nobody got drunk enough to lose control or raise their voice. There were also in the place a number of young men who obviously had just completed their few months of monkhood, as one could easily see from their still shaven heads, and who now celebrated their return to wordly pleasures.

Today we are just lazing it away at a beach cottage a few kilometres north of Khlong Yai. There are miles and miles of beautiful beach and, particularly now after the Sunday visitors have left, it is very quiet and restful. So restful in fact that I could hardly muster my courage to do my daily lesson of Thai. The food offerings are rather limited, very charitably put, hardly anything more than fried rice and soft drinks. Of course there is beer and Mhekong, there always is, but the ice to go with it is not always available. However we did not come here for that but to enjoy the quiet and the fresh air. The only three bungalows available along this coast are on this beach. They are new, but rather sparsely furnished. They are set back from the beach on stilts over the mangrove swamp. While there is electricity, the fans have not been installed yet. However they are not necessary, because it is cool from the sea breeze. There is beach for miles in both directions, shaded by casuarinas and coconut palms, all completely empty except for the odd fisherman's dwelling. There is a nifty inlet across the beach strip to the mangroves behind just to the north of here, allowing for ingress by boats of up to three metres draft or more in case of rough seas outside.
 

12. November 1990, Trad

Now we are back in Trat after our excursion to Cambodia. Although life at the beach was rather leisurely, the food was getting too monotunous, even for Su. They had promised to buy some coffee from the store for my breakfast, but that did not materialize. I had suggested we walk the four kilometres to the main road to catch a 'songtao' (Pickup truck with benches) there for the trip to Trad. However the resort owner offered to take us there on his ancient motorcycle for a small fee. It necessiated two trips because his tires were underinflated and our baggage sizeable, large backpack, small backpack, hand bag. I wished I had walked instead,
because the balancing act on the back seat, my backpack on my back and the and bag in my hand, and only having one footrest (the other having broken
off) was excrutiating. However we made it without me being spilled, and the second trip with Su, being lighter and having a lighter backpack, was a breeze.

We did not have to wait long for a songtao to be cruising by, and shortly before noon we were back here installed in our comfortable hotel. But not before we had had some decent food again in the 'cafe' on the main road where they have an English menu. This time we saw quite a few 'farangs' in town, apparently either coming from or going to Ko Chang, our offshore island destination for tomorrow. After coming back from the bank, I started feeling out of sorts again with some temperature. The wounds on my legs were throbbing. Obviously this infection is not quite ready to give up yet. Bathing yesterday in the sea did not help, I do not think. I had some excrutiating pain last night for a couple of hours, as the new skin was drying out and stretching over one of the wounds. The other had almost completely healed last night, but after today's walk is acting up again. So I sought the help of a doctor again tonight, at the cost of 90 baht, for a new supply of medicines, before setting out to Ko Chang, where there are no such facilities.
 

13. November 1990, Ban Khlong Son, Ko Chang

So we are on the island which the 'Lonely Planet' guide book has described as the new 'Ko Samui'. So far it has not turned out to be exactly that, at least as far as the quality and choice of the accommodation and services is concerned. We chose to go to the northern tip, because that is where the guide mentioned three cottage establishments and because it was relatively central to reach the other areas.

The trip over was quite pleasant in spite of the heavy ocean swell against which the boat had to fight all the way. The captain was very careful though, slowing down the engine when particularly heavy swells were encountered, and we did not take over any water. Shortly before arrival one of the Thai passengers lost her identification card overboard. Luckily it was wrapped in plastic and floated. The boat retraced its route for some 200-300 metres and surprisingly somebody spotted it and it was picked out of the water.

Khlong Son village is a the head of a deep bay, but what surprised me was how very shallow it was. As we were entering it was almost low tide. We bumped over the sand bar about halfway in and pretty well touched bottom all the way to the dock.
 

14. November 1990, Ban Khlong Son

This is the next morning. The clouds of yesterday have mostly disappeared and it is sunny again. We have had a restful night, except that three dogs elected to sleep on the porch of our cottage, and once during the night something caught their attention and they started to bark. Where we are staying is a nice group of cottages alright. The price at 100 baht is alright too, but what is missing is the beach and the food in the variety that western tourists expect. This place is just at the edge of the village and there is a mangrove foreshore. There is a beach, on what counts as a small island, not too far away, but it cannot be reached dry footed as one has to cross the channel of a small river to get there. This establishment has seven nice cottages and five motel type units, but whoever spent the money to build it had no knowledge of what Westerners want. As far as I am concerned, the money invested here is doomed to be wasted. We in the West would say the market research was missing. At least this place has the saving grace to be set in pleasing grounds overshadowed by coconut palms. The other two establishments have no pleasing assets at all, one being a few huts only on stilts right in the mangrove swamp.

In one respect the guide book is right. This island is rather undeveloped for tourism. The rugged topography gives it a forbidding atmosphere. In this it reminds me of what I have read about the Marquesas. It is a beautiful place alright. However, or should one say luckily, there are no roads as such only glorified trails which can be travelled by motorcycles and small carts only. And since it has been declared a National Park it will probably not change very much in the future either. The thing to have here is a boat. That is the only practical mode of transportation between the various parts of the island.
 

15. November 1990, Hat Sai Thong, Ko Chang

We have transferred to another place on the east coast of the island, the one facing the mainland. This is much more amenable to a restful holiday than where we were before. The cottages are a little older but even more comfortable. Very important for me there are three hours of electricity each evening, which enables me to re-charge the batteries for my laptop computer on which I am recording this. But most importantly there is a beach right at our doorstep. Also there is a choice of different meals from an English language menu. Judging from the advertisement about this establishment which I saw on the mainland, they also showed video movies
each night here. But this is not in effect now, since it is the off season and there are not enough guests to warrant the extra expense. Granted the sand on the beach is yellowish red rather than white, as we saw it earlier this morning on our walk over the hill from Ban Khlong Son to the west coast (ocean side) resort of Hat Sai Khao. Also the water is not as crystal clear here as it was there. But the charm of this place is that it is quiet, there is only another guest here now, and one just feels at home. The place is tailor made to do some serious studiyng. Yesterday I had walked over here to explore the area and discovered this place. Walking an additional four kilometres down the coast from here the total distance I covered was about 18 kilometres and I was good and tired after that. This morning we walked in the other direction to check out the next resort on 'White Sand Beach' (Hat Sai Kao). The beach was beautiful alright, but the cottages not quite as comfortable as what we have here. There were some ten to twenty foreigners staying there. The good cottages were all taken and the place appeared almost crowded. Here we have the ground almost to ourselves.

Of course, I cannot take advantage of the bathing opportunities anyway since I am still trying to heal my leg wound. Extended exposure to sea water is not the thing to help it along. So for another couple of days, not more I hope, I have to take it easy, keep it dry to let the new skin form unhindered. Right now it is coming along nicely.
 

21. November 1990, Magic Bungalows, Khlong Prao, Ko Chang

We spend several wonderfully restful days at Hat Sai Thong. There were never more than three cottages occupied and we had the place almost to ourselves. After the first day of fairly windy weather it quietened down and the water became almost perfectly clear. My infected wound began to heal and towards the end of our stay I could go swimming almost as often as I liked without having to fear it would adversely affect the healing process.

Hat Sai Thong was really the place to come and stay for a long time with a lot of bookwork to do. Unfortunately I had left one box of diskettes in Pattaya by mistake and the diskette containing 'Norton Utilities'. So I could only work on my diary and correspondence. However when I deleted several files from one diskette by mistake and for the want of 'Norton Utilities' could not undelete them I was even more restricted, not wanting to overwrite any of these files with something new.

Then we decided we wanted to get to know the other side of the island a little better (ocean side) and took the boat to Laem Ngop and later in the day back out to here at Khlong Prao. The lady selling the boat ticket had recommended 'Magic Bungalows' (80 Baht) and promised the boat would land right there. However the boat she put us on landed only on another beach two kilometres away where there were other and more expensive cottages. We arrived shortly before sunset. The boat stopped in the middle of the bay and we were taken to shore in a smaller boat. None of the cottages there were vacant only some at the very expensive resort next door (1000 baht). The boatman refused to take us to 'Magic Bungalows', where we had intended to go in the first place. I suspect they intended to keep us there, as
captive customers so to speak, give us some temporary accommodation for the night, to be exchanged for a bungalow vacated next morning.

We could see 'Magic Bungalows' farther down the beach, some two kilometres away, however also across a narrow inlet. We decided to walk, hoping that there would be a boat to take us across the last stretch. We were glad we did, because 'Magic Bungalows' turned out to be a very pleasant place. There was a boat ready for us to take us across the inlet as we arrived. The bungalows were 120 baht each, not 80, but we did not complain. The dining arrangements are rustic, the food very tasty and quite cheap, the beach is just beautiful, white, wide and long, overshadowed by beautiful and graceful coconut palms.

Although the place is full of 'farangs' it is very nice. The staff, when not busy, seeing that Su is Thai, cluster around our table to engage in this easy chat that is so pleasant to be part of, although I understand very little of it yet. Ever so often, recognizing what they are talking about, I can throw in a couple of Thai phrases or sentences to the delight of all participating.

The landscape on this side of the island is quite magnificent. There is a steep mountain range just behind us, a waterfall to explore either later
today or tomorrow. The few houses of the village, just beside us alongside the small river emptying into the sea, sitting on stilts are extremely
picturesque. It all has this magic look of the paintings of Malay villages one sees so often. It does look like some lost paradise eons or universes
removed from the hectic life of the electronic society the people of the West are married to, condemned to live with, or are hooked on, whichever
way one wants to label it.
 

23. November 1990, Chantaburi

Now we are back in Chantaburi, where we had left the motorcycle just about two weeks ago. At Khlong Prao we had stayed one day longer than intended because it was just too beautiful to leave after only two nights. With that almost perfect beach, the magnificent scenery, the really good and cheap food and the easy atmosphere of the place it was close to what one might call paradise, even though there were a lot of 'farangs'.

Yesterday we had rented the boat together with a group of eight for several hours to go out fishing and swimming to some of the little offshore islands. My wounds are almost completely healed now and present no impediment to go swimming for extended periods. I certainly took advantage of that and of the fact that I am now sufficiently tanned not to get sunburned anymore. Out there in the gentle breeze with the salt on my skin I just felt great, better physically than I have felt for a long time. However in the end it was time to leave, because other commitments are waiting. The rice is ripening fast now, and we want to be back in the 'Isaan' for the harvest. We shall certainly come back to Ko Chang in the Spring, the next time to stay much longer.

Coming across to the mainland today on the boat it was quite windy after we had left the lee of the island. Su did not get seasick this time. She claims it was because she took two motion sickness pills. Well, it was probably not because the pills did something to her but because she 'thought' they helped her. Anyway, anything that will bolster her confidence is to the good. On arrival at the dock we got onto the 'songtao' and in Trad onto the bus without delay. On the latter they played the tape player rather loudly. After the heavenly quiet on the island it rather got on my nerves and to Su's amusement I proceeded to stuff some pieces of the newspaper into my ears in order to dull the sound somewhat. She thought I was a little crazy.
 

25. November 1990, Pattaya

Last night we stayed again in Laem Mae Phim by the beach. We arrived early and lazed the afternoon away watching television on our pocket set, since the reception again was very good. Again I was reminded how different are the attitudes in some aspects of those who are responsible for the programming from what we are used to in the West. One of the programs we saw was a half hour spot, showing the life of a poor single country woman with two children to support. She is making a living as a samlor driver (bicycle rickshah), quite an unusual occupation for a woman who does not have the physical strength of a man, but she does so out of need. This was a true story and several typical scenes out of her life were shown with she herself acting her own role. Then an interview was shown with her and her two children in which was related that she suffered an accident, broke a leg and had to spend a month in hospital. To defray the unexpected expenses she had had to sell her samlor
and her children had had to work after school to make ends meet. At the end the interviewer presented her with a brand new samlor packed full with boxes of a popular laundry detergent, whence it became clear that the program had been sponsored and paid for by this company and all this really had been an advertisement of sorts. But it was a true story as her tears at the unexpected gift amply demonstrated. The entire thing was done in extremely good taste. What a difference from the North American game shows where people, who already have enough are showered with luxurious and unnecessary gifts.

Later, prior to the national news (here at 'prime time' between eight and nine o'clock) there was a fifteen minute spot encouraging males to have themselves sterilized, in order to curb the birth rate. They showed the actual operation being done on a series of men. The setup reminded me of a blood donor clinic in the West. No false modesty here with close-ups of the exposed tiny portion of the penis, or moral scruples about the religious acceptability of such an operation. If it is sensible and for
the betterment of the quality of life here on earth then it is only natural to expect the Buddha to approve.
 

1. December 1990, Ban Yang

Our 450 kilometre trip to Ban Yang took two days of easy riding. Although the wind was quite strong with all our baggage we could easily proceed at an average speed of 60 kilometres per hour. At midmorning of the second day we ascended into the low mountain range dividing the 'Isaan' from the rest of the country. Even though the sun shone brightly I was soon forced to dig out my windbreaker, which I had luckily taken along, and put it on, because I was getting quite cold. Now it has become apparent that the 'cold season' has indeed started. Although the northeastern plain is only some 200 metres above sea level, at this time of the year it is quite
cool. The reason for this is not its elevation but the fact that it is exposed to the northeasterly winds blowing in from Laos and China. The days now are comfortably warm even a little hot towards noon, but the nights certainly get quite chilly, and a heavy blanket is necessary in order to sleep comfortably. Yesterday morning Su was filling up the water jars from the punp from the well and the water was actually steaming, so great was the temperature difference between the well water (warm) and the outside temperature.

Su had already joked we might be too early for the rice harvest, because we had not seen any ripe rice down in the coastal plain. But as we neared her home area, more and more did we see women and men out in the fields bent over with their sickles to bring in the bountiful harvest. With the western industrial countries suffocating in a surplus of wheat it is quite surprising that Thailand, still a Third World nation will be soon sharing that fate. Rice has been exported for a long time from this country, as the production is considerably larger than what the country itself can absorb. But the markets are shrinking, mainly because their traditional customers are having difficulties paying for it. A deal was recently signed with the Soviet Union to export a sizeable quantity this year. However several of the Russian ships  coming to load it had to leave empty because the Russian government had been unable to produce a bank guarantee for the payment. Meanwhile the storage facilities here are full and the new harvest is just about ready to be brought in. Luckily the weather here is more friendly towards outside storage, at least for a few months until the wet season starts. Until then it will be bone dry.

Yes, yesterday was my first day working on a farm for 36 years. For four hours I was bent down participating in the cutting of the rice. As I heard I was not the first foreigner to do so in this village. Apparently one or two of the 'farang' boy friends of village girls had preceeded me in this experience. It is done in the old time honoured way, as it has been done for thousands of years. Perhaps the utensil used now is different with the advent of steel. Otherwise the procedure is the same. Each harvester takes a number of rows of rice plants (the rice had been planted in neat rows with perhaps half a dozen stalks in each hole). Circling each bunch of stalks with the sickle it is grabbed with the other hand as high as possible to leave as much straw standing as possible without losing any of the ears. A deft upward motion then cuts the stalks off. One gathers this way as many clumps of stalks as one hand can conveniently hold and then deposits them in neat little piles arranged in rows. Each pile will be made just big enough so that it can be bound with a few rice stalks into a small sheaf later on.

It took me a little time to catch on but soon I was working almost as fast as they were. Apart from work the cutting of the rice is a social happening. Bantering talk flows back and forth between the cutters, much of it interspersed with the easy laugh the country people. Of course, I was an easy target for their jokes. Now and then I catch a word or two. Yesterday we were about eight people working side by side, and in four hours we cut almost four of the little paddies. Then everybody broke
for lunch, sticky rice and water, and I and Su took it as an excuse to absent ourselves for the rest of the day. As for myself my back was aching from the constant bending over, I desperately needed to lie down to stretch it again.

Then we rode into town to buy some food for supper and some bread and marmelade for my breakfast. As much as I like the Thai food I just cannot get myself used to rice for breakfast. Coffee and some form of bread I find I just need to start the day with. We shopped for vegetables and some pork at the market, and I found the prices surprisingly low. I had compared prices with Canada in supermarkets before and had found them very similar. But here at the market in this small country town they were anywhere between a third and half of what I am used to paying for similar items in Canada. On the way back we saw whom Su called the crazy 'farang'.
She said that this individual had lived in Buri Ram for three years now. He had come originally to stay with his girl friend here in the village. Then she had left him for one reason or another, she was married to another man now and had his children. But this foreigner had stayed on living in town. He looked well and neatly dressed, so obviously he must have some money. But what he was doing in this small country town all by himself is a mystery. Su thought he drank a lot. When I saw him again the
next day, I had to agree with her assessment, as he was behaving rather strangely on the street. It seems every time one goes into town ones sees him somwhere or other.

When we had arrived in the village the day before yesterday Su had learned that her friend Noek, with whom she had started her Pattaya adventure, had returned from Australia. Noek had been the girl who had accompanied the Australian doctor to live with him, and I had reported about her earlier. It seems that her dream prince, alas like so many others, had turned out to be a bitter disappointment. Apparently he was running around with several other women in Australia and on top of that he was beating her. So after one year the big adventure was over and she was stuck with a 'farang' baby to boot. I suppose to use the term 'stuck with' is not quite
appropriate. While the child will be a burden to her financially, and will likely detrimentally affect her future chances for marriage, the children that some of the girls bring home, and there are a few in this village, are well accepted by their families. In fact they are almost status symbols in themselves as their light coloured skin complexion is highly prized.

There was more rice cutting. The two hours I spent in the paddies today were much easier. I was told by one of the other ladies that yesterday I cut like a 'farang', and today I cut like a Thai. I guess that was because I was holding the rice stalks with my left hand turned the other way, which indeed seemed easier. After finishing one paddy, we took off on another excuse to go to some village where Su's younger sister's boy friend lived. There we collected her family's papers, which he had needed
to buy some life insurance. While inquiring around the village for his residence we came across some old ladies spinning silk. There were baskets of the bright yellow cocoons and one lady had a number of them in a pot, bubbling over a low fire, to loosen the threads I suppose, and was spinning some half dozen of them into a single thread, which she had all piled up loose in another basket. It was all a very simple affair and quite laborious no doubt. It was really very fascinating to see the very
origin of the famous Thai silk in such humble surrounding. According to Su a lot of silk spinning is done in this area, and she promised to take me to some spinners in her own village so that I could catch this activity on my video.
 

5. December 1990, Ban Yang

It seems that weatherwise we picked a bad time to return to the 'Isaan'. The Bangkok English language newspaper, which I bought yesterday, confirmed my assumption of a high pressure area from China bringing temperatures radically down in most of Thailand. Indeed the night temperatures in the 'Isaan' over the last few days went down to almost 10 degrees (days 25 degrees). Even Bangkok and Pattaya registered night temperatures in the mid teens. According to the paper the record breaking low temperatures of the winter of 1966 may even be equalled or exceeded if there is a further drop. The government has been distributing thousands of blankets to the poor in the 'Isaan'. As for myself I bought myself a sweater and a couple of pairs of socks at the market in town today, and this evening for the firts time I am sitting here comfortable at last.

On Sunday we went to visit the other major Khmer historical site in Thailand, Prasat Phanom Rung. It is only about 60 kilometres away and not being readily accessible by public transportation we took the motorcycle. As only Su's smaller daughter wanted to come along, that was quite convenient. Although two adults and two small children can be easily accommodated on short trips on the scooter, on such a longer journey I would have preferred to take the bus.

The site is beautifully restored, and sitting on a high volcanic hill overlooking the countryside it is quite impressive. The sculptures exhibited a curious mix of Buddhist and Hindu influences, which I understand are typical of the art forms of the flower of Khmer civilization.

As one of the guides at the site proudly pointed out to one of the tour groups the famous door lintel at the main temple, exhibiting some fine Khmer sculpture, has now been restored to the site. In the 1960's it had gone missing. It had been reported a helicopter had landed near the site at about that time. Some time later it appeared at a Chicago museum as a gift of an American philanthropist. When the Thai government learned of this it protested vigorously. A Thai pop group even created a new song in support of the return of the ancient piece of art 'Take back Michael Jackson, give us back Phra Narai'. In the end the piece was returned after some private donor in the United States had come up with US$ 250000 and the Thai government had promised to lend a number of pieces of art for exhibition in the States on a regular basis.

We have been running back and forth between town and village (only six kilometres one way) all these last few days fighting officialdom and learning to understand the Thai system in order to get the motorcycle licenced and to get Su licenced as a driver. With Su's limited understanding of the ways of Thai bureaucracy and knowledge of English and mine of Thai it sure is getting to be an experience, bothersome to some extent, and perhaps intolerable if we had been pressed for time, but worthwhile in the end no doubt. It appears some vital papers were not given to us by the vendor of the motorcycle to get it licenced here.

Every time we get into town we see the 'crazy farang'. Yesterday we saw another white man in town and Su said 'the crazy farang has a friend now'. Sure as anything today we saw them sitting together at one of the restaurants. The 'crazy farang' appeared to be 'under the influence' because he was half asleep at the table. We were eating at the same establishment and the waitress told us the other white man had a 'wife' in town. However to me he looked just like another of these unsavoury beer
swilling characters one sees so many of in Pattaya, and I did not really feel like making their acquaintance.

This afternoon we went back to the river where Su's family has some sort of a kitchen garden to pick some chillies to make 'Tom Yum', the famous spicy sour soup, for tonight. We noticed that our few days rest from harvesting were almost over. When we had arrived only a small number of paddies had been ripe for harvest. Now the remainder of the fields have matured and the bulk of the harvest could begin.
 

7. December 1990, Ban Yang

We cut some more rice this morning. After an hour and a half Su pleaded she had to help her father prepare the threshing ground, so I continued by myself until noon. As I was walking back I observed how the threshing ground was prepared. A piece of ground had been cleared of grass and levelled and now with liberal helpings of water buffalo excrement and water from the nearby pond it was 'cemented'. I suppose the average Westerner would be horrified at the idea of the rice he eats having been threshed on this surface. But the method is certainly effective and above all cheap.

Similarly to the cutting the threshing is still done by most people here in the ancient way, which I found, after observing it, quite effective. The sheafs are grabbed in a rope sling at the end of two sticks and then beaten several time onto the ground. This procedure releases most of the rice grains. The straw is then thrown onto an adjacent piece of ground and beaten with sticks, which completes the process. Rice is very easily threshed, rather more easily than the northern grain crops like wheat or oats, and it has very little chaff. So the old method is still used widely although one sees mobile threshing machines touring the countryside and doing the threshing of the crops for a fee. However the dehusking of the rice is a different matter. It is done at the mill. The traditional process is rather laborious, with the rice fed through some sort of a hand mill, where the husks are loosened. Then it is pounded in a large mortar to loosen the husks completely and then fed through basket sieves where
the wind blows away the broken husks.

In the afternoon I was spared from cutting more rice by the necessity of taking some of last year's harvest for sale to the local rice mill. So we loaded up the bicycle wheeled handcart with a 75 kg bag of rice each time and pulled it with the motorcycle to the mill. For each bag Su got just over 200 baht. In previous years, she said, the price had been up to double that. Even so at an average harvest of some 100 to 200 bags, most of this for sale and a smaller part for the family's own consumption, the income is adequate by Thai standards. There will always be food on the table, as rice constitutes some 80% of their food intake, supplemented by fish caught in the river next to the fields. The income from the sale of rice goes for clothing and other items which are not strictly necessary. Of course there are expenses involved with the planting and particularly with the harvesting of the rice. There are plenty of people in the village who want employment during harvest time. A rice cutter will be paid 50 baht per day, and in a farm of this size this would amount to a wage bill of anywhere between 2000 and 4000 baht.

Yesterday we finished our official business dealings with the successful passing of the motorcycle driver's test by Su. I had expected that she would have to try several times, because in my opinion she was very poorly prepared. At first we hit a snag because the examiner would not let her use an unlicenced motorcycle for the test, which took place entirely in the grounds of the motor vehicle licencing office. He suggested she rent one of the several available for 20 Baht. She did not like to do this as she was familiar with her own and would have fared not so well on another machine. After the usual hemming and hawing and explaining to him of our predicament he agreed for her to use her own in return for the payment of 40 Baht to him. Perhaps this softened him sufficiently to pass her on the written test also. So by close of business we were out of there with her brand new licence at a total cost of 120 Baht. A 200 Baht tip I offered to the entire staff for their co-operation  after  the fact was smilingly refused. I was extremely happy about the entire affair because in Pattaya some resident 'farang' had told me the whole thing would cost over 2000 Baht for foreigners and locals alike. Perhaps this is for being excempted from the tests, and the amount of bribes necessary in Pattaya is vastly higher than in the province.

In our other endeavour, that of getting my visa extended for another month, we had not been so lucky. The previous year I had had that done in Pattaya without any problem. The guidebook said that it was possible to do so at any provincial capital. In Buri Ram nobody seemed to know about the existence of an office of the Immigration Police, and after repeated questioning we were told that in Surin, 50 kilometres away, there was such a place. So we went off chasing there on our motorcycle. Again we were unsuccessful. We did found an office though, which did seem to admit to having done so in the past but has discontinued the practice.

As we were cruising through town we noticed a 'Surin Baptist Church' and suspecting a resident 'farang' missionary who might be able to help us in our search, stopped to seek him out. He and his all-American family were just walking along the street, candyfloss eating five-year old and all, as we got off the motorcycle. He could not help us much either, because they were here on a one year visa, which had to be renewed in Bangkok. However his wife wasted no time to hand Su one of their tracts. They were friendly enough and tried to be very helpful, but I just cannot believe that such a sect, American to boot, has anything worthwhile to offer in this country.
I can see that Christian missionary activity has perhaps had some beneficial effect in countries without much of an own culture or enlightened religion, such as on the African continent. Thailand with its strong Buddhist religion I would expect to be the last place on earth, which would need Christian missionaries. They may have a place to counteract the destructive influences exerted by American business and entertainment. But this should not be done by inflicting another foreign concept like another religion on these people, which will weaken their resistance to these foreign, and largely harmful, influences further.
 

8. December 1990, Ban Yang

If I had thought that life in the village would be boring I was wrong. While I still find the time to do my daily Thai lessons and keep my diary there is not time to do anything else of my own. I do not even get the time to read in the one book I brought. This morning 28 rice cutters showed up. As they had to be fed at lunchtime, Su and I went into town to buy some vegetables. There I noticed a large procession forming to celebrate the annual kite flying festival. So we rushed back so that I could get my video camera. While Su stayed behind to prepare the food for the cutters I went back into town to record the spectacle. It turned out to be a riot, an orgy of
colour and pageantry. It amazes me that in such a small town, as Buri Ram really is, there can be such an amount of inventiveness. There were floats of every description dedicated to every conceivable local endeavour. each adorned by one of the local beauties. One of them was dedicated to hog production, and on top of the huge papermache pig, creating much merryment among the onlookers, sat on a throne and shaded by an umbrella 'Miss Mu' (Miss Pig), a rather fat young woman. There were bands and dance groups and a multitude of different traditional dresses.

After almost two hours I had run out of tape on my camcorder, and the parade was still going on. However, it was almost noon and I had promised to be back at lunchtime to photograph the rice cutters, as they were having lunch, so that there would be a memento of this social occasion.

Later in the afternoon, after unsuccessfully trying to buy another video tape in town, we went out to the large open ground outside of town where the kite flying competitions were being held. It turned out we were too late, as proceedings has been completed for the day.

As we were returning to the village we noticed one of these loudspeaker pickup trucks advertising a movie to be shown tonight on the open ground outside of the temple. Su said it was going to be free so we decided to go. These open air movie shows are quite frequent in the villages. A truck comes from the city, a portable screen is erected guyed up by ropes. One of these ancient movie projectors I remember seeing in the film 'Cinema Paradiso' operates from the back platform of the truck. Seating arrangements are what mats the viewers bring themselves, the rest squats on the bare ground. Vendors of sweets and snacks establish themselves on
the perimeter. We arrived when the show was in full swing and settled down on our mat to 'enjoy' the already heavily mutilated (sections of the film missing because of breaks) film.

However, halfway through the reason for the free show became apparent. The projection was stopped and the organizer proceeded with a sales pitch for the goods he hoped to sell. Presumably the movie would continue once enough sales were made to defray the expenses and to turn a reasonable profit to boot. The first item warranting a twenty minute harrange by the speaker was some obscure good-for-everything medicine dispensed in small vials and offered initially for 50 baht for the regular small bottle. No takers! The price was then successively dropped until at ten baht for the smaller quantity in a vial suddenly a bunch of small children, sent
forward by their elders, crowded at the table to obtain their vial. The next item the next speaker offered, the former being exhausted by her verbal exertions, was a tiny sandalwood amulet guaranteed to protect the wearer against any kind of bad luck. Again the price had to be successively dropped until again suddenly, when the price reached five baht, the children stormed forward to claim their item. The next item, the nature of which I did not catch, sold for two baht. At that point apparently the organizer was satisfied with his return and the movie projection continued until its ususal gory end when all the numerous opponents of the good guys had been eliminated.

I have to say that the state run television service offers a vastly superior quality of programming than some of the movie producers, although there is quite a few very good Thai films around. Watching the advertising spots before and during the Thai news I recently noticed a regular item discouraging people from smoking. These spots are directed at adults are several minutes long and thus perhaps have a higher rate of success than the very brief Canadian ads directed at the youth only. The one I saw last night showed a ten year old youngster noticing a leaflet pointing out the harmfulness of smoking for pregnant women. Knowing that his own pregant mother smoked he took one home and gave it to her. The way it was presented, was very beautiful with the love each felt towards each other tempering and accentuating the actions and behaviour of each of the participants. Nothing appeared to be staged, this is the type of advertisement truly constructive to the betterment of society.