When I proudly proclaimed early last year that we'd be going to Chiang Mai early this year, my two girls Sarah and Aida were less than impressed. I know why:
1. Chiang Mai is not Rome (Italy) or Ottawa (Japan).
2. They still had to live in Subang Jaya.
3. (For Sarah) The trip is after PMR, not during PMR.
But one day before the trip, they're suddenly upbeat. They'd been ploughing the internet, and something's firing them up. The hotel I'd booked had a ritzy, puffed-up name, including the word "boutique". The way the world is organized today, "boutique" means exactly the opposite, or worse. My worry was that these girls had fallen for the hotel website and its clever shots of non-existing swimming pools, smiling Swedes, and airbrushed beds.
We'd to wake well before 4 to catch a 6.55 flight. Anywhere in the world the cheapest flights are the early morning flights. It's airline's revenge on skimping customers. Ryanair is now offering a winter early-bird flight from Maastricht to Milan for 10 Euro (RM 40). Problem is, you don't know where Maastricht is.
It's one big let-down for the girls as soon as we touched down. It's technically winter in Chiang Mai and they'd expected a cool 20 degrees. It turned out to be only slightly colder than Kg Pandan. But taxis were cheap, plenty and pleasant here. I guess taxis are cheap, plenty and pleasant anywhere if they're not connected to UMNO. Only 120 Bahts (RM12) to our hotel. Hard to believe because, if you're a tourist in KL, it's RM200 from Pavilion in Bukit Bintang to Sungai Wang in Bukit Bintang.
Chiang Mai literally means "New City" or "Kota Baru" because it's only 700 years old. It was once a walled city, and its main entrance was Thappae Gate, which still stands as a tourist trap and an easy GPS address. The wall had mostly crumbled and its main function now is to separate the old "New City" and the new "New City". If you book a hotel in Chiang Mai through any of the online booking sites (at least 100 of them now), it would indicate the hotel's distance from either Thappae Gate or the night market. If you can't find it, you should panic because you've mistakenly booked a hotel in Bandung.
Our hotel, TJR Boutique Guest House, was in the old city, about 50 m from Thappae Gate (ha,ha), and this area boasted more tourists than locals per square foot. It felt like Bali, but without the dreaded sea. Our rooms were surprisingly spacious and clean, with working aircond and toilet. I guess it's "boutique" and "guest house" because it had only 13 rooms, it had no lift, and it had a fat receptionist.
So what did we do in Chiang Mai? Nothing much, to be honest. This time we decided not to have a plan. Many empires and enterprises had plans and fell, so why bother. Leaving what's left of our good country for the easy and ancient pace of Chiang Mai should be rewarding enough. We'd be back reenergized to face the toll and tariff.
The most practical mode of transport here is the red tuk-tuk. Only 20 baht per person to anywhere in the city. We took tuk-tuk for sightseeing. It's safer than most taxis in KL.
The night market was, well, a night market. It's massive, almost 2 km long, with the normal night market stuff i.e. handbags, haggling and ugly Manchester United shirts. But it's still worthwhile evening-out for us because at the end of the market, there's a mosque and a "halal street" and halal restaurant. You know what'd happen whenever Malaysian tourists see a halal restaurant.
Elephants and tigers were a big draw in Chiang Mai, especially for tourists from Sweden. Since we're not from Sweden or near Sweden, elephants and tigers were just elephants and tigers. Another tourist hit in this part of the world was the long-neck. To see the long-neck in the flesh you'd to go north, around Chiang Rai, another old city about 200 km away.
We hopped on a Chiang Rai tour for 1000 baht each on the third day. It's a one-day guided tour on a 13-seater minibus. We're the first to board the bus, and it's full-house when another six people joined us. Ah, the Swedes, finally. No, actually I didn't know where they're from, but they're all Caucasians, meaning they're not from Kelantan. The guide was a Thai girl who spoke fluent Thai-English. Her name was Sisi. I knew it's never her real name. My Thai friends all have two names with 24 letters each.
It's a two-and-a half hour toll-free highway and she tried her best to fill us with well-rehearsed jokes, like, she's the most beautiful Thai girl in Chiang Mai. That kind of jokes. There's a casino in Laos, and so it's now Laos Vegas. She went on to explain, in jest, the virility virtues of "tiger pinas" and "cobla" whiskey. It pained me to think how many times she'd to repeat these jokes in the course of her career. So I weighed in with some silly banter to liven up her sad routine. My two girls were visibly upset with me for plugging away with my "jokes", which they thought weren't funny enough and wouldn't go down very well with the (purportedly) cultured Caucasians. Why should I care. For all I knew, these Caucasians could well be Kardashians in deep disguise.
I'm not sure why it's called Chiang Rai tour because we didn't tour Chiang Rai. We cruised past Chiang Rai on the way to the Golden Triangle, where we took a Mekong River boat ride into the Myanmar waters before crossing over into Laos, where we landed for 20 minutes, more than enough time to decide that Laos is.... louse. Nothing here except for some makeshift outlets peddling Prada and local whiskey. You could buy these fakes in RM. Laos is the second country that accepts Ringgit Malaysia. The first country is Malaysia. Another low-brow joke, sorry. Ringgit is illegal in Myanmar. More joke.
For all its reputation, the mighty Mekong, at least this part, was no more intimidating than Sungai Kelantan. I first heard about this river in my standard five "Ilmu Alam" class. A few years later the itinerant poet-painter Latiff Mohidin eulogized this river in his surrealist masterpiece. "Sungai Mekong, kupilih namamu, kerana aku begitu sepi, kan kubenamkan dadaku ke dasarmu..." and so on. Not sure what it all meant, but it sure took the local literary scene by storm, spawning forgettable river-themed copycats like "Sungai Pahang", "Sungai Ujung", "Kuala Kangsar". Face to face now, it's hard to fathom all the fuss. Anyway, the boat ride was quite an experience, I mean, three countries in less than one hour, epic.
On the way back we stopped at Mae Sae, Thailand's northernmost town, right along the border with Myanmar. Somehow I liked this town and its roaring roadside trade. We'd to weave through fresh fruit, foodstuff and the heavenly smell of toasted chestnuts. If there's ever a need for poetry, it should be about Mae Sae. The guide warned us no less than five times to steer clear of Myanmar. Whatever's going on between her and the government of Myanmar, reminding fully-grown and fair-minded tourists five times in five minutes was certainly over the top. The Caucasians laughed and really loved this "don't go to Myanmar" skit.
Finally, yes, the long-neck. We're taken to a small show village or settlement where the long-neck lived. They actually belonged to the Karen tribe from Myanmar, brought here by the Thais for tourist money. They all had valid visa, just like our Nigerian students. All women and girls here had metal (maybe brass) rings around their necks for good. Their necks certainly looked longer and narrower than my neck. I'm not sure what these people had in mind. It's quite heavy, easily more than a kg when I held it. When I saw a lot of children running around, it just struck me: how they did it, I mean heavy rings and all.
The Caucasians all seemed happy enough to see the long-necks. Nature, culture, whatever.
We spent our last (fourth) day in Chiang Mai seeing the cottage industries. Umbrella, leather, silver, jewellery, porcelain, and silk. We skipped cotton. (The girls' mum who'd been dormant for three days was suddenly inspired). They're all located in one area, just outside the city, quite unlike Malaysia where we have pewter in Ampang, illegal dvd in Subang Jaya, illegal turtle eggs in Trengganu, and politics just everywhere.
We flew back 7 January (Tuesday) morning. It's a sweet three-hour flight, and I was mostly half-awake, pondering back and forth what would be the singular moment, I mean, the one stand-out thing that defined this Chiang Mai excursion. Not easy, because it'd been an improvised affair rather than a seven-sight-a-day tour. In no time we're already at LCCT. I knew she's waiting for us, my little granddaughter Diana. There's a thick crowd as usual. But when she saw us, she just knew. She almost jumped out of his father's heavy arms with pure joy. This had to be my Chiang Mai moment.
We'd to wake well before 4 to catch a 6.55 flight. Anywhere in the world the cheapest flights are the early morning flights. It's airline's revenge on skimping customers. Ryanair is now offering a winter early-bird flight from Maastricht to Milan for 10 Euro (RM 40). Problem is, you don't know where Maastricht is.
It's one big let-down for the girls as soon as we touched down. It's technically winter in Chiang Mai and they'd expected a cool 20 degrees. It turned out to be only slightly colder than Kg Pandan. But taxis were cheap, plenty and pleasant here. I guess taxis are cheap, plenty and pleasant anywhere if they're not connected to UMNO. Only 120 Bahts (RM12) to our hotel. Hard to believe because, if you're a tourist in KL, it's RM200 from Pavilion in Bukit Bintang to Sungai Wang in Bukit Bintang.
Chiang Mai literally means "New City" or "Kota Baru" because it's only 700 years old. It was once a walled city, and its main entrance was Thappae Gate, which still stands as a tourist trap and an easy GPS address. The wall had mostly crumbled and its main function now is to separate the old "New City" and the new "New City". If you book a hotel in Chiang Mai through any of the online booking sites (at least 100 of them now), it would indicate the hotel's distance from either Thappae Gate or the night market. If you can't find it, you should panic because you've mistakenly booked a hotel in Bandung.
Our hotel, TJR Boutique Guest House, was in the old city, about 50 m from Thappae Gate (ha,ha), and this area boasted more tourists than locals per square foot. It felt like Bali, but without the dreaded sea. Our rooms were surprisingly spacious and clean, with working aircond and toilet. I guess it's "boutique" and "guest house" because it had only 13 rooms, it had no lift, and it had a fat receptionist.
So what did we do in Chiang Mai? Nothing much, to be honest. This time we decided not to have a plan. Many empires and enterprises had plans and fell, so why bother. Leaving what's left of our good country for the easy and ancient pace of Chiang Mai should be rewarding enough. We'd be back reenergized to face the toll and tariff.
The most practical mode of transport here is the red tuk-tuk. Only 20 baht per person to anywhere in the city. We took tuk-tuk for sightseeing. It's safer than most taxis in KL.
The night market was, well, a night market. It's massive, almost 2 km long, with the normal night market stuff i.e. handbags, haggling and ugly Manchester United shirts. But it's still worthwhile evening-out for us because at the end of the market, there's a mosque and a "halal street" and halal restaurant. You know what'd happen whenever Malaysian tourists see a halal restaurant.
Elephants and tigers were a big draw in Chiang Mai, especially for tourists from Sweden. Since we're not from Sweden or near Sweden, elephants and tigers were just elephants and tigers. Another tourist hit in this part of the world was the long-neck. To see the long-neck in the flesh you'd to go north, around Chiang Rai, another old city about 200 km away.
We hopped on a Chiang Rai tour for 1000 baht each on the third day. It's a one-day guided tour on a 13-seater minibus. We're the first to board the bus, and it's full-house when another six people joined us. Ah, the Swedes, finally. No, actually I didn't know where they're from, but they're all Caucasians, meaning they're not from Kelantan. The guide was a Thai girl who spoke fluent Thai-English. Her name was Sisi. I knew it's never her real name. My Thai friends all have two names with 24 letters each.
 |
I'm not sure why it's called Chiang Rai tour because we didn't tour Chiang Rai. We cruised past Chiang Rai on the way to the Golden Triangle, where we took a Mekong River boat ride into the Myanmar waters before crossing over into Laos, where we landed for 20 minutes, more than enough time to decide that Laos is.... louse. Nothing here except for some makeshift outlets peddling Prada and local whiskey. You could buy these fakes in RM. Laos is the second country that accepts Ringgit Malaysia. The first country is Malaysia. Another low-brow joke, sorry. Ringgit is illegal in Myanmar. More joke.
For all its reputation, the mighty Mekong, at least this part, was no more intimidating than Sungai Kelantan. I first heard about this river in my standard five "Ilmu Alam" class. A few years later the itinerant poet-painter Latiff Mohidin eulogized this river in his surrealist masterpiece. "Sungai Mekong, kupilih namamu, kerana aku begitu sepi, kan kubenamkan dadaku ke dasarmu..." and so on. Not sure what it all meant, but it sure took the local literary scene by storm, spawning forgettable river-themed copycats like "Sungai Pahang", "Sungai Ujung", "Kuala Kangsar". Face to face now, it's hard to fathom all the fuss. Anyway, the boat ride was quite an experience, I mean, three countries in less than one hour, epic.
On the way back we stopped at Mae Sae, Thailand's northernmost town, right along the border with Myanmar. Somehow I liked this town and its roaring roadside trade. We'd to weave through fresh fruit, foodstuff and the heavenly smell of toasted chestnuts. If there's ever a need for poetry, it should be about Mae Sae. The guide warned us no less than five times to steer clear of Myanmar. Whatever's going on between her and the government of Myanmar, reminding fully-grown and fair-minded tourists five times in five minutes was certainly over the top. The Caucasians laughed and really loved this "don't go to Myanmar" skit.
Finally, yes, the long-neck. We're taken to a small show village or settlement where the long-neck lived. They actually belonged to the Karen tribe from Myanmar, brought here by the Thais for tourist money. They all had valid visa, just like our Nigerian students. All women and girls here had metal (maybe brass) rings around their necks for good. Their necks certainly looked longer and narrower than my neck. I'm not sure what these people had in mind. It's quite heavy, easily more than a kg when I held it. When I saw a lot of children running around, it just struck me: how they did it, I mean heavy rings and all.
The Caucasians all seemed happy enough to see the long-necks. Nature, culture, whatever.
We spent our last (fourth) day in Chiang Mai seeing the cottage industries. Umbrella, leather, silver, jewellery, porcelain, and silk. We skipped cotton. (The girls' mum who'd been dormant for three days was suddenly inspired). They're all located in one area, just outside the city, quite unlike Malaysia where we have pewter in Ampang, illegal dvd in Subang Jaya, illegal turtle eggs in Trengganu, and politics just everywhere.
We flew back 7 January (Tuesday) morning. It's a sweet three-hour flight, and I was mostly half-awake, pondering back and forth what would be the singular moment, I mean, the one stand-out thing that defined this Chiang Mai excursion. Not easy, because it'd been an improvised affair rather than a seven-sight-a-day tour. In no time we're already at LCCT. I knew she's waiting for us, my little granddaughter Diana. There's a thick crowd as usual. But when she saw us, she just knew. She almost jumped out of his father's heavy arms with pure joy. This had to be my Chiang Mai moment.
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| This monk can really talk. A used-car salesman turning over? |
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| This is a.........Toilet. It's big, it's beautiful, it's toll-free. |
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| Prada, Prada and More Pradas. Where are the fake devils? |
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| Despite their long neck, those two guys are not long-neck. They are Caucasian. |
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| A long-neck calling another long-neck. I swear it's a 5s. |
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| The girls smile because they don't like my jokes |
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| Atok, next time you go off without me, I'm gonna sing Glory, Glory Man United. |
