"Now pay attention," said Michael. "I'm going to teach you how to eat like a Thai, so you don't embarrass yourself while you're over here."
Fat chance. On my first visit to Thailand I was beyond embarrassment, running around in a state of crazed overdrive as I tried to process the country's extraordinary sights, smells, tastes and sounds. Table manners hadn't quite sunk in. But my young friend, an American expatriate wise to the ways of things Thai, was a patient teacher.
We were sitting at an oilcloth-covered card table on the banks of the Chao Phraya River, on a tiny island north of Bangkok called Ko Kret. Arrayed before us was a three-course lunch for four, served up by a street vendor for the equivalent of $2.50: fish soup with lemon grass, sweet-and-sour vegetables, spicy chicken with cucumbers. What's to learn, I thought. I grabbed my fork and started to dig in.
That was my first mistake. In Thailand, Michael explained, putting a fork all the way into your mouth is -- well, it's just not done. Spoons are the conveyance of choice. Furthermore, he said, eyeing my plate, never serve yourself huge portions -- it insults your host. And whatever you do, he warned, don't finish everything on your plate, or the poor host will really flip out. This last bit of advice is especially hard to follow in Thailand, where the food is so good that what you really want to do is pick up your plate with both hands and lick the thing clean.
Poor Michael. He had his work cut out for him. I, however, was having the ideal travel experience: I was seeing the country like a local.
Sometimes you just want to lie on the beach, but it's also one of the great joys of travel when you can break out of the tourist rut and catch a glimpse of the "real" country. That can be difficult to pull off when you don't speak the language, your time is limited and all around you the sanitized forces of tourism offer easy ways out. If you only knew a local, you think, you could get an insider's view of the country instead of the guidebook version.
I was lucky: I knew a local in Thailand. Or rather, my traveling companion did. His son, Michael, fell in love with the country on a visit three years ago and decided to make it his home. When his father and I visited him last spring, we knew a good thing when we saw it -- we glommed onto that kid like ducklings, letting him arrange our itinerary, choose our lodgings, negotiate our bargains and basically do everything but chew our food for us.
And so we sought out little-known places like Ko Kret, with its diamond-in-the-rough street chefs and unassuming monasteries. We wandered through back alleys where the only Western faces were our own. We learned to eat sticky rice with our fingers, how to tell an express boat from a local and how to bargain a silk blouse down to the price of a T-shirt. In short, we experienced the country like seasoned locals. As long as our mama duck stayed close by.
Seeing a country through a resident's eyes is a rare privilege, and I knew I'd soon be back to guidebook-schlepping. So I took Michael's advice and paid attention during my two weeks as an insider, hoping to pick up a few tricks to apply to other exotic destinations down the road.
Cheap Room, Priceless View
Of course, having a twenty-something ex-pat as your designated local means that you learn to ratchet down your hotel expectations. In Bangkok, Michael booked us into a guesthouse with mismatched furniture and lumpy beds, nestled deep in a neighborhood of auto chop shops -- but with a killer view of the river. "It's very rare to find a view like this without paying $300 a night," Michael said. We were paying $16.
Over beers with ice (it's a Thai thing) in the hotel's rooftop restaurant, we plotted our itinerary: a couple of days in Bangkok to explore the wats (temples) and museums; a plane ride 400 miles north to the trekking town of Chiang Mai and the elephant sanctuary at Lampang; a 550-mile bus, train and ferry trip south to the resort island of Ko Chang; and back to Bangkok for a parting dose of urban chaos.
Our hotel was tucked down an alley so narrow that even tuktuk drivers couldn't fit, so we ended up walking a lot -- a great, ground-level introduction to the bedlam that is Bangkok. Making our way through twisting streets, we sidestepped feral chickens, comatose dogs, seen-it-all noodle vendors and guys haggling over carburetors. Out on the main drag, mornings were especially intense: cars honking, motor scooters zooming, office workers sprinting, street vendors grilling, orange-robed monks begging for alms, schoolgirls arm-in-arm hurrying to class. Sidewalk stalls were explosions of color, with baskets of guavas, bananas, mangoes, papayas and pineapples crowding out vegetable and fish displays.
Following the locals' examples, we fell into the national pastime of eating all day long. It's easy to do, when vendors every few feet offer everything from fresh pineapple and papaya chunks to grilled pork and fish, all usually selling for less than a quarter.
Soon we could walk, snack and dodge traffic at the same time. The Thai rule of the road: Whatever's bigger has the right of way. Best to avoid the clogged roadways altogether, we quickly learned, and get around by Skytrain, the city's elevated light-rail system, or the Chao Phraya Express boats.
The boats are cheaper and lots more fun. There are docks up and down the river, and when the barge-like boats pull up, workers attempt to hold them steady as commuters take a flying leap aboard. A ride costs about 12 cents. Figuring out the stops can be confusing, but it's easy to self-correct by hopping on and off.
On our jaunt from central Bangkok to Ko Kret, we got our 12 cents' worth, leaving the high-rises behind and cruising past wooden cottages, metal shacks and the occasional gleaming wat. Four or five miles outside Bangkok, we were the only farangs (foreigners) on board. On the long-tail boat we hired to take us on to Ko Kret, we were the only people on board, period.
Ko Kret, just 1 1/2 square miles, is known for its ancient Mon (Indo-Burmese) culture and red-clay pottery works, and although it hasn't made most guidebooks, it's popular with Bangkok residents seeking peace and quiet. There's lots of that -- no cars allowed.
The pottery was pretty, but Wat Pai Lom, a centuries-old monastery with intricate wood carvings, was a real find. Inside, two young monks quickly ditched their cigarettes to show off their temple, with its five Buddha statues in various incarnations. Michael translated as they described their typical day: up at 6, pray, beg for alms, pray, fast, pray, study, pray.
Back in Bangkok, as we wandered around the Patpong district of go-go bars and call girls, it was hard to reconcile the day's images. There was one constant, though: the goodwill that emanated from just about everyone we encountered.
Later that night, as we walked through an open-air market, a middle-aged vendor called out, "Hello! Hello!" -- showing off his English to the farangs. A nearby woman laughed and, gesturing to us, said something to him in Thai. I wouldn't have blamed her for talking a little trash about us -- that "Seinfeld" episode where the Korean manicurists dish about Elaine in Korean came to mind. But since we had a stealth Thai speaker along, we knew the woman's comment about us wasn't derogatory but was simply, "Say good night to them!"
This, Michael said, was typical. "It's a Thai phenomenon. They are always saying something nice. There's no hostility in their hearts."
The Art of the Deal
There is, however, the desire to get as many dollars as they can out of the pockets of tourists and into their own. In the northern city of Chiang Mai, where we stopped for a couple of days on our way to elephant-trekking country, we hit the famous Night Bazaar to see if we could find a few good deals amid the bronze Buddhas, Simpsons T-shirts and faux "Vuittion" luggage. There actually are some, but you have to be sharp.
Michael wasn't crazy about Chiang Mai, considering it second only to Bangkok's Khao San Road as Rip-off Central. "You're like a walking purse here," he complained. "The problem with these touristy places is that they're so used to ripping off foreigners that they won't even bargain if you know the right price." Which he did. He helped me buy a Chang Beer T-shirt for $2.50 -- we'd seen it for twice that in Bangkok -- and an embroidered vest for $6 (down from $8).
But then I blew it. Picking up a delicately stitched pillow cover, I asked Michael -- in front of the shopkeeper -- if it seemed like a good deal. "It's pretty," he said loudly, "but remember, we saw the same thing in Bangkok for a lot less."
"Gosh, I don't remember seeing anything this nice in Bangkok, and at such a good price," I replied honestly -- thereby ruining his little bargaining ploy. What a dope. In Thailand, bargaining is not only an art, it's expected -- indeed, you're looked upon as somewhat of a moron if you don't play the game.
But if I couldn't bargain like a native, I could at least try to party like one. That night, we joined a crowd of locals at a noisy riverside bar, where a Thai rock band was covering American classics like "Killing Me Softly" and "Hotel California" with gusto. At the end of their set, the keyboardist and the lead singer, an impossibly slender young woman in a tank top and low-slung jeans, wai'd each other -- that lovely, palms-together gesture of acceptance and respect that is ubiquitous in Thailand. A wonderful cross-cultural experience, all for the price of a beer.
Elephant Walk
Prathida the elephant stood patiently as she tolerated the clown who was trying repeatedly, and without success, to climb onto her back. I'd been at it for what seemed like hours, as several members of the Thai Elephant Conservation Center looked on with amusement.
"Put your right hand very close to her ear, then a little hop and you're up," my coach kept repeating helpfully. It was the "little hop" part that was killing me.
Eventually I made it up, gasping with astonishment -- it's high up there -- and grinning. I slid forward as instructed, nestling into the sweet spot between the elephant's ears and gripping her head with my knees, and instantly felt more in control.
But of course Prathida, a hefty 8-year-old with soft brown eyes and legs like wrinkled telephone poles, was the one calling the shots. I was riding barefoot and bareback, and her bristly hide tickled my legs as she lumbered around the track, her mahout (trainer) never far behind. It was like a kiddie pony ride, except that this "pony" could have happily shucked me off and stomped me to death if she were so inclined. Mercifully, she was a sweetie pie. "All the elephants involved in this are sweetie pies," one of the camp's directors, Richard Lair, assured me.
There are lots of elephant trekking opportunities in northern Thailand, but TECC, a government-sponsored camp about 1 1/2 hours southeast of Chiang Mai, is the best place for a hands-on experience. Visitors can come for a few hours, attending twice-daily shows and observing the animals' routines, or can stay for several days or longer, living in the mahouts' village and learning to feed, bathe and ride the resident elephants -- 49 at last count. I spent the day in Mahout 101 class, hopped another elephant for a ride into the jungle, then bunked down in a bamboo hut on campus, savoring the isolation of this lovely little sanctuary.
Lair, 59, is a wisecracking ex-San Franciscan who fell in love with elephants at age 3 and has devoted his life to them. He takes great pleasure in dreaming up imaginative ways for the animals to earn their keep -- TECC's elephant "artists" produce paintings that sell for astonishing amounts in New York auction houses, and an elephant "orchestra" does interesting things with gongs and giant xylophones and has the CDs to prove it. But he hates it when people romanticize the beasts.
"Elephants are just like people -- you've got everyone from ax murderers to Mother Teresa," he said. "Most people believe that they're these gentle creatures. You see people going right up to them" -- he cringed. "As an elephant expert, I would never, ever walk up to an elephant of any size without talking to the mahout. They can hurt you with their trunks, tusks, forehead or feet. Besides stomping, they can kick. . . . They're really killing machines."
The elephants are here because they're in serious trouble. In 1815, there were 100,000 domestic elephants in Thailand; that number has since dwindled to about 2,300, with 1,000 to 2,000 more in the wild. Long revered by the Thai people, many elephants spent their days transporting logs in the jungle. But with deforestation and the banning of logging in 1990, they lost their last form of honest work, in many cases ending up on the streets or performing in nonsanctioned tourist shows. That's where TECC comes in, taking in malnourished and overworked elephants and treating wounded ones in its hospital. The animals can't be reintroduced to the wild because, well, there's not much wild left anymore. So they live in this camp, performing during the day and spending time in the jungle at night.
"The elephants shouldn't be here," Lair said. "But if they've got to be in captivity, this is the best place in the world -- the kindest and most humane. Just look at how good-natured they are. You wouldn't see this in a zoo. Zoo elephants tend to get squirrelly. Here, they form a close bond with the one or two people who care for them."
Later that afternoon, after settling into our hut in the mahouts' village, we watched the elephants lumbering across the fields, carrying loads of sugar cane and banana leaves. Soon they'd be released into the forest for the night, tethered to the teak trees for a little quality jungle time -- as close as they can get nowadays to their old wild ways.
The Island Life
It was hard to get the elephants out of our minds, so it was only fitting that when it was time to move on, we headed to Ko Chang (Elephant Island) in the Gulf of Thailand. The beach resort and national park wasn't easy to get to, and that was precisely the point -- to escape the throngs on the overdeveloped islands of Phuket and Ko Samui. So from Chiang Mai, we took an overnight train back to Bangkok, then a five-hour bus ride to the town of Trat on the southeast coast, and finally a ferry to the island.
The train ride was a vacation in itself, with a five-course dinner delivered to our compartment, and an incredible bargain at $28. But it was the long-haul bus trip that gave us a glimmer of how most Thais get around.
We'd been feeling progressively more confident, but one look at the Bangkok bus terminal and we immediately reverted to toddler mode, letting Michael fend off the touts. His bus tutorial basically boiled down to "Don't trust anyone." "They'll say anything," he said. "It's taken me three years to master it and I still get ripped off."
But once on board we had a perfectly comfortable ride, although I wondered how the driver could see out the windshield amid all the floral wreaths, doilies, troll dolls, Buddhas, air fresheners and amulets that dangled over the dashboard. As the PA system pumped out syrupy Thai love ballads, a uniformed stewardess offered cold sodas. At $4.50, the ride was a steal. The only semi-chilling moment came when a police officer, looking for illegal workers, boarded mid-journey to check everyone's papers.
In Trat, a dusty, mid-size city with a busy downtown, we hopped a ferry for the half-hour ride to Ko Chang, which was looming ever larger in our imaginations as the quintessential island paradise. We'd spent a lot of time choosing this place, known to Thais for its beaches, waterfalls and virgin rain forest. Could it really be that amazing?
It could. Our hotel sat on a pristine, virtually deserted crescent of beach dotted with palms and pine trees, against a backdrop of jungly mountains. Simple cottage-style rooms surrounded a bay and an open-air dining pavilion. You could rent kayaks right outside your door and paddle off into the ocean. We would do just that in the days that followed -- when we weren't lolling on the beach, succumbing to itinerant masseuses or snorkeling in the warm emerald waters. Each night we checked out another beachfront restaurant, feasting on fresh fish and vegetables grilled to order on the sand. It was hard to resist a place whose hand-painted sign promised:
Everynight BBQ!
"On the Beach"
Daily Fresh Everything!
Price okay! Come on!
What else could we say but "Okay!"
It couldn't last, of course. Three idyllic days later, we were back in Bangkok, walking around our funky guesthouse neighborhood one last time. We had a final, wonderful lunch at a little place called the Duck Noodle House, where the formica tables were packed with office workers on their lunch breaks, and a sweet, grandmotherly-looking woman sat ensconced in the front window, methodically whacking duck carcasses with a cleaver as they came off the spit out front. As the cook plopped each one down, she would pick up her cleaver, all business. Plop. Whack! Plop. Whack! You didn't want to get too close.
One of those ducks ended up at our table, along with deep bowls of broad rice noodles, Chinese broccoli with crisp fried garlic, fried rice with chili peppers and chicken with hot basil leaves. I looked at the feast before me and smiled in anticipation. Placing a very small amount on my plate, I grabbed my spoon and started to dig in.
K.C. Summers will be online tomorrow at 2 p.m. to discuss this story at www.washingtonpost.com during the Travel section's weekly chat.
Don't Know A Local?
How to experience Thailand like a local, if you don't happen to know one? A few tips:
• Seek out a student for directions, restaurant recommendations, etc. -- they all speak some English. You can tell them by their uniforms and backpacks. Thai students are typically very shy, so approach politely.
• Eat street food. Take advantage of Thailand's ubiquitous vendors' carts and open-air cafes for a cheap introduction to the country's amazing cuisine. When choosing a restaurant, follow the locals. Ask your hotel clerk where he or she eats on their day off.
• Speak the language -- even a few words. It will be much appreciated.
• Stay at guesthouses rather than tourist- class hotels. Because Thailand attracts so many young, backpacking visitors, there's a wide choice of low-end accommodations. You'll sacrifice a few comforts but you won't have that insulated feeling.
• Take local transportation. In Bangkok, take Chao Phraya Express boats and the Skytrain instead of taxis. In the country, consider intercity buses.
• Bring pictures of your family, house and home town to share.
Details: Thailand
GETTING THERE: Bangkok is a 22-hour-plus flight from D.C., usually with a connection in Tokyo, Seoul, London, etc. A check on Expedia.com last week turned up a flight on United with two stops -- San Francisco and Tokyo -- for $758, about as good as it gets. Also check discounters like www.cheaptickets.com or www.flights.com, and consolidators (you'll find their tiny ads in newspaper travel sections). Always pay by credit card when dealing with a consolidator, and confirm your reservation with the airline.
WHEN TO GO: Peak season is October to March, with temperatures in the eighties. From March to June, it gets pretty steamy. June to October is the rainy season.
WHERE TO STAY: Hotels range from budget to deluxe, but for a less-insulated experience, seek out low-key and affordable guesthouses. This doesn't mean you have to stay in a dump -- some guesthouses are surprisingly comfortable. In Bangkok, I liked the somewhat seedy River View Guest House (768 Soi Phanurangsi, Songwat Road, Talad Noi, telephone 011-66-2345429, fax 011-66-2375428) for its private baths, superb river view and central location near Chinatown. An air-conditioned double with private bath runs about $16 a night.
In Chiang Mai, Gap's House (3 Rajadamnern Soi 4, telephone 011-66-53-278140) was a wonderful find, with a lush, antiques-filled central courtyard ringed with private rooms. We paid about $9 for a double with a private bath and air conditioning, full breakfast included. Gap's also runs a cooking school and trekking center.
On Ko Chang, top-quality resorts are ridiculously cheap. I loved the Klong Prao Resort (11/3 Mool Laem-Gnob, Trat, telephone 011-66-39-597216, fax 011-66-39-597106), with cottage-style rooms circling a placid bay, beachfront bar and restaurant. Double rooms with private baths and air-conditioning run from about $27 to $45 and include a full breakfast.
WHERE TO EAT: It's very hard to find a bad meal in Thailand (although an ersatz Mexican restaurant in Chiang Mai comes to mind). Street vendors and open-air cafes are ubiquitous and cheap; you can dine nicely on a couple of dollars a day. If you're near the Royal Orchid Sheraton along the river, don't miss the Duck Noodle House (945 Soi Vanit, 2 Yota Rd., Talad Noi) for lunch. A favorite of local office workers, it features delicious soups, duck and noodle dishes; a sumptuous lunch costs about $1 per person. In Chiang Mai, the Riverside Bar & Restaurant (9-11 Charoenrat Rd.) offers Western and Thai food at bargain prices and is popular with locals, with Thai rock bands performing in the bar nightly.
ELEPHANT SANCTUARY: If you have even the slightest interest in elephants -- or even if you think you don't -- visit the Thai Elephant Conservation Center in Lampang, about 1 1/2 hours southeast of Chiang Mai. You can visit the government-sanctioned camp for the day or stay for several days, living in the mahouts' (elephant trainers) village and learning to feed, bathe, train and care for the elephants. Plus, you get to buy cool elephant paintings for way less than they sell for at fancy New York auction houses.
TECC's U.S. rep, Global Spectrum in Falls Church, can arrange visits of varying lengths; a five-day training program, including breakfast, dinner and a personal guide, costs about $1,000, not including airfare. Global Spectrum also offers guided tours elsewhere in Thailand and in other Asian countries. Details: 703-671-9619 or 800-419-4446, www.asianpassages.com.
INFORMATION:Tourism Authority of Thailand, 800-842-4526, www.tourismthailand.org or www.experiencethailand.com.
-- K.C. Summers
