Many surprises outside of Bangkok

Bangkok is a city that every Asian traveler must see and experience. The countryside all around Bangkok is lesser known, but picturesque, such as the floating market in Damnoen Saduak. Even further inland are other highlights such as Changmai known as the Golden Triangle.

An average afternoon in bustling Bangkok. Traffic on Sukhumvit Road is deadlocked, but apart from a few police officers blowing whistles, no one cares, knowing that getting worked up won't help anyway. In the Grand Palace, visitors from all corners of the world shuffle with open mouths and incredulous eyes past the buildings decorated with gold leaf and glittering enamel.

On the wide Chao Praya River, large and small, slow and fast ships teem together in a risky but fascinating ballet. People cook, bake, roast and eat as usual along the crowded sidewalks and footpaths, with no one seeming to care about the greasy smoke and the exhaust fumes of passing mopeds and tuk-tuks.

The cityscape of Bangkok is mind-boggling and captivating at the same time. One thing is certain: this city lives like no other. There is neither the order and tidiness of Singapore nor the discipline of Kuala Lumpur here. This is a city with anarchist traits, where everyone does what seems right to them, without seriously hindering others, because there is no aggression in the super busy traffic and there is a remarkable amount of laughter.

Thais hardly seem to be burdened by what Westerners consider disastrous: permanent traffic chaos, regularly recurring flooding, stench, air pollution, power cuts, you name it. Mai pen rai is the stereotypical answer to adversity, inconvenience, stress; to translate as: don't worry, don't worry. In addition to a certain fatalism, it bears witness to the rock-solid optimism that seems to pervade this society.

Bangkok is a city that every Asian traveler must see and experience. Because of the smell (I've spoken to people who claim to recognize her as soon as they set foot at Suvarnabhumi Airport), the dynamism, the friendly, smiley people, the positive atmosphere. And because of the spectacular panoramas and monuments that you might not expect, but which are there.

There is no better view than from a high point over the always busy river, especially towards the end of the afternoon when the sun sends its last rays, golden yellow and warm in color, over the water, the countless boats and the maze of buildings on both banks to play.

On my hotel balcony seventeen high above the stream, I feel as if I'm floating above the noise, disconnected from the world below, but at the same time I know I'm one with this dark, mysterious, growling, squirming colossus into misty distances, that wonderfully reassuring City of Angels (Khrung Thep) is mentioned.

Bangkok is, especially when you first come, a city that confuses. But also a city that intrigues, moves, that stays with you and that at some point makes you feel homesick, however strange that may sound. Nostalgia for the impossibly beautiful architecture of the halls and temples in the Grand Palace, where it is always busy, to be sure, but where there are also quiet corners to enjoy the refined interplay of lines, refined colors and subtle painting.

Nostalgia for monumental or surprisingly intimate temples where, after the hectic bustle and heat of the city, cool spaces and sacred atmosphere are poured over you like a soothing bath. Nostalgia for the infinitely graceful moving dancers whose flowing movements evoke a world of unprecedented flexibility and refinement, referring to ancient cultures and high-class forms of civilization. Nostalgia for the swirling melting pot that this city is and the many faces it displays.

Around Bangkok

Sometimes Bangkok is too much for me, then I have to get away from the hustle and bustle, the crowds, the noise. Look for the tranquility of the countryside, where the pace is slow and the air is pure. To the scenic floating market in Damnoen Saduak; preferably early in the morning when there are no tourists yet, because then it is at its best and you have the feeling that everything that happens is authentic.

I like to look for a spot on one of the bridges and, with my arms on the banister, watch the merchant women who sail under you in their boats loaded with vegetables, fruit, fish, clothes or household goods, trying to cheer you up with their sweetest smile. entice them to take a ride in the middle of this colorful maze or offer a tasty snack that they have prepared in the bow of their boat.

On the way back you will automatically end up in Nakhon Pathom, at the huge, yellow gold chedi (bell-shaped monument) that you have seen towering above everything from afar. It is an ancient structure that commands respect, always surrounded by pilgrims and monks and with interesting paintings and sculptures that I could spend hours looking at. An ideal place to eat and drink in the shade of old, gnarled trees, let yourself predict the future or just dream away in the languid afternoon heat.

Then, charged with new energy, visit the Rose Garden, where enthusiastic young people demonstrate various aspects of Thai culture, from classical dances to elephant dressage and from artistic handicrafts to martial defense techniques. In this oasis between graceful pagodas, exuberantly blooming orchids and ponds full of golden carp, the big city, which is really close by, seems miles away.

But Damnoen Saduak, Nakhon Pathom and the Rose Garden are not the only destinations for a trip if Bangkok is too much for you. There are the mysterious ruins of Ayuthaya, the former capital of what was then called Siam, and there is Bang Pa-In, the former summer residence of the royal family, where a small temple rises in the middle of a pond full of lotus flowers, so slender and graceful that you you should go check it out just for that.

All those beautiful places around the Thai capital are easy to reach, on your own or organized. At almost all travel agencies and the in hotels established tour desks you can book organized trips. One of the most popular is the day trip to Bang Pa-In and Ayuthaya, where the outward journey is made by bus and the return journey by luxury saloon boat on the Chao Prya. Or vice versa, but that does not detract from the trip itself.

Chang Dao's jumbos

But Thailand is more than Bangkok and its surroundings, so there comes a time when as a traveler you turn your back on the city and head into the country in search of other highlights. For example, to Chiangmai and the area north of it, which is referred to as the Golden Triangle.

Chiangmai itself is not particularly worth seeing, unless it were the lively night market where everything is traded that one can imagine and much that one had no idea about. But here, too, the city is a good base for sights in the area: the Doi Suthep temple, situated high on a hill, villages in the area where the entire population is engaged in one and the same form of crafts, such as Woalia (silverware) and Borsang ( umbrellas), and the elephant camp at Chang Dao.

You have to have an affinity for elephants to fully appreciate Chang Dao, but who doesn't? The camp is off the road to the north in a jungle setting. To get there you have to cross the Ping River via a wobbly suspension bridge, but then you are also in the middle of the pachyderms who show what they can do with a tree trunk.

With a mahout on their broad necks (men of the Karen tribe who grow up with the animal in their care and stay with it all their lives), the giant jumbos carry leaden teak trunks as if they were twigs, and when the job gets too heavy considered for an animal alone, it receives assistance from conspecifics who work together to get the job done. Meanwhile, youngsters amble around the older animals, occasionally venturing close to the visitors in the hope of catching that banana they smelled long before it emerged from their bag or backpack.

After the demonstration of the hard work in the forests, for which these elephants were used, the best part of the show follows: the bath in the river. In a long line the beasts trudge down to the shallow waters glistening in the sun and, once in the middle of the stream, roll onto their sides with apparent delight, after which the mahouts give them a wash with much splashing.

A sandbank in the Mekong

Always thought that the name Golden Triangle referred to the area where three Asian countries - Thailand, Myanmar (Burma) and Laos - meet and was rather notorious for the opium trade, which has long been the main source of income (and that according to insiders, it is nag, although as a visitor you will not notice it).

But the name appears to come from somewhere else: from a sandbank in the Mekong River, which glows golden when the sun shines on it. This sandbank, which indeed has a triangular shape, is located where the Mae Sai River flows into the Mekong and that is also the place where you can observe the territory of the three countries at a glance.

As so often, the boundaries are erratic. From my room in the Baan Boran hotel, situated on a hill, I look out over a piece of wild, swampy land that still belongs to Thailand, in addition to the luxurious swimming pool. Then there is the narrow Mae Sai, followed by another headland, this time Burmese, after which the wide Mekong looms a little further on, with the mountains of Laos behind it.

Early in the morning, this entire landscape is drenched in a white mist from which solitary trees rise like skinny ghosts. In that thin, unreal world you sometimes hear the cry of a bird or the sound of a motor proa without the bird or boat itself being seen. When the fog lifts, life in the villages slowly starts.

In Sop Ruak, close to the Golden Triangle, fishermen are getting ready to hit the river, shops are opening their doors and the first tourists are strolling past the few souvenir stalls or gazing over the mighty river that is about halfway here on its long travel from the mountains of Tibet to the mouth in Vietnam. From across the water, the clear sound of a Laotian temple bell penetrates here.

Trade at the border

In Mae Sai, located further away, it is less idyllic. The village has a border crossing with Myanmar and exhibits all the characteristics of a border town in the interior of Southeast Asia. A lot of dust and noise in the only through street that looks like a big market, which ends at a bridge with a barrier, a banner above it and green painted houses with uniformed officers who are supposed to watch the flow of pedestrians, cyclists, rickshaw drivers and trucks hold.

The local population apparently can cross the border without difficulty; as a foreigner I have to report to a separate counter where a fat customs man takes a look at my passport, collects five dollars and then loses all interest in me.

Undisturbed I shuffle through the stream of border crossers, take a picture of the crowd around me and then I'm in Myanmar, in the border village of Tha Khi Lek to be precise. A few things immediately stand out: traffic suddenly drives on the right side of the road again and the cuneiform writing on advertisements and signs looks different than in Thailand. But that's where the differences end; for the rest Tha Khi Lek is just trade.

An open-air market begins immediately below the bridge, which is so vast that you can get lost and where literally everything is traded: goods from China and Thailand, but also from Europe and Australia, Chinese whiskey, clothing, suitcases, medicines, spices, wood carvings , furniture and even Dutch beer.

The shopping and trading crowd is already making a noise of itself, but apparently that is not enough; to increase the festivities, large sound systems have been set up here and there, generously spreading their decibels over our heads. The people appear poorer than their Thai neighbours, but seemed just as friendly and smiley until a catastrophic hurricane hit their country recently.

When I leave the market behind, someone gestures that I should also pay a visit to the white temple on a hilltop above the village. I look up doubtfully and the man understands that I dread the scrambling party. Then he points with a beaming face at a moped parked against a tree and a little later we drive up with a crackling sound. The reward is a beautiful view over the two border towns, the narrow winding river in the middle, the bridge with the barrier and all the colorful squirming around it.

Mountain peoples

The north and northwest of Thailand is the habitat of various tribes that are referred to as "hill tribes" for convenience. In total, this concerns approximately 500.000 people who do not originally speak Thai and who can be regarded as ethnic minorities. These are tribes that differ greatly in terms of clothing, religion, living conditions and way of life.

For example, in one village – among the Yaos in Pha Dua, for example – it is a bright and especially clean place with lots of flowers and well-kept bamboo houses, cleaning women and healthy-looking children, while at the Akhas a little further on the atmosphere is decidedly gloomy; the village is dirty and skinny dogs and lounging men hang around everywhere.

Most of the hill tribes came here from China a long time ago, but high up in the mountains I come across an enclave where people live who fled from China relatively recently, namely at the time of the communist takeover in 1949. The majority have Thai nationality, but among themselves they speak the mandarin of their motherland. Their village, Mae Salong, is located at an altitude of 1800 meters with extensive tea gardens all around.

On inquiry it turns out that there are more of those Chinese villages in the area. With their gardens and plantations, they form a green oasis in the rather desolate-looking mountain area that has visibly suffered from clearcutting by opium-growing hill tribes. A reforestation project has started here and there, but it is clearly still in its infancy.

Culture shock awaits upon returning to Bangkok. Once accustomed to the silence and tranquility of the countryside, the unrelenting hustle and bustle of the mega-city falls on top of you. The nostalgia for the vast forests, the tranquil villages, the green rice fields is somewhat softened by the fact that my taxi driver proudly tells us that, like so many of his colleagues, he does not come from Bangkok, but from the Isan, the far northeast where life is a very different pace and what he says he longs for every day.

Author: Henk Bouwman (www.reizenexclusive.nl/)