Island-hopping fun in Ko Lanta

If it’s the people that make a place, then Ko Lanta’s beauty is merely superficial.

An Andaman Sea island district in Krabi province, inevitably it boasts clean, warm sea water, miles of beaches, countless palm trees and a laidback atmosphere that attracts many visitors.

However, such assets lose their allure once a visitor experiences human failings on Lanta that range from merely unprofessional through to dangerous and even criminal.

I love Krabi. In fact, I’d probably rank it my favourite Thai province outside of Bangkok. So I will doubtless return, although I’ll lose no sleep if I never set foot on Lanta again after a shambolic final day which involved worry, danger, frustration, anger and eventually the police.

Last week, I spent three days on Lanta with my visiting step-brother, Andy, and his friend, Steve. It was OK for two of the days, save for a couple of minor reservations with the accommodation. We chose Bee Bee Bungalows on Khlong Khong beach, primarily because it was given the “Our Pick” rating by Lonely Planet. But sometimes the accolade precipitates a downturn in standards, because it guarantees custom and the proprietors may then cease making an effort.

At least the prices at Bee Bee had not been ramped up – another common side-effect of Lonely Planet backing – and you can’t really argue with 400 baht (£8) per night for a bungalow sleeping three people. The bungalow itself was fine for the price and the location was OK. The beach was overly rocky but swimming possible at high tide, and the stretch of coast was rather undeveloped, which can be what a lot of people are looking for – quiet, calm and with a “faraway” character.

However the staff were sorely lacking. There was often nobody at reception and we’d have to wander around the complex looking for someone. Even when there was somebody nearby, it was often difficult to catch their attention from our table without shouting or walking over to them. The kitchen was agonisingly slow. Even when we were the only ones ordering food one afternoon, it took 20 minutes to make one sandwich and 35 minutes to fry some pad Thai. Ridiculous.

But you might argue they were merely “normal” staff. Surely the manager would be competent. Unfortunately not. Clearly the man (I didn’t get his name) was not well schooled in the concept of keeping his customers happy and safe.

On the second day, the three of us rented motorbikes from a nearby shop and pottered around the island without incident. We returned the bikes the next morning before joining an island-hopping boat trip. It was a shambles – and a dangerous one – from start to finish.

I’ll come back to the Bee Bee manager and the rental bikes later. The boat trip – nominally by a company calling itself Four Islands Centre Riviera Tour – failed to deliver on almost every front.

First of all, the boatmen had taken a payment to transport a couple to a resort not on the itinerary. This added an hour to the journey out and meant one of the scheduled stops was scrapped.

That little bit of side-business complete, the first stop was to visit the Emerald Cave, inside a rocky island which had no shore, just a cliff dropping into the sea. I was snorkelling around rocks with other people, when suddenly there were no other people. The man leading the cave excursion had obviously taken the others through, but had not told me, nor had he done a head count.

I was alone – and that was when I spotted our boat leaving! With nowhere to stand or sit or even hold on to (all the rocks were covered with razor-sharp shells), I was left to tread water in the midst of the Indian Ocean. I can swim well and I’m fit, but at that point I had no idea how long I’d be left like that. The Hollywood movie Open Water – when a couple are left behind while scuba-diving and are later devoured by sharks – came to mind quite quickly.

At least Andy and Steve were also on the tour and they would notice my absence sooner rather than later. But after a while they emerged from the cave entrance (they thought I’d gone ahead of them rather than having been left behind) and were also pretty unhappy with their own turn of events.

The cave bores through to the other side of the island, where the boat picks up the swimmers – or at least those not left behind. Andy and Steve were at the back of the pack following the sole tour guide, who had a small torch and led the swimmers too quickly, rounding a corner and leaving the last two in pitch-black darkness, neck-deep in water and with no idea of which way they had come from. And the guide had not maintained a headcount nor turned back at the loss of two people.

Andy and Steve eventually made their way out – not before Andy raised a welt on his head after striking it on a rock – and they too were left to tread water with me.

At least it’s a popular tour spot, so before long we were resting on another boat which had pulled up and allowed us to sit on it. Finally our own boat returned and the day continued.

A Ko Lanta boat trip buffet

After another – thankfully hassle-free – island stop, we paused for lunch. After proceeding gingerly over the shallows of a beach strewn with jagged dead coral, we sat down for what was advertised as a “buffet lunch”, to be served a polystyrene punnet of cold rice, some cold soup with a bit of celery in it, and some cold tinned fish.

Then it was back on to the boat – which was very nearly driven straight into the side of another parked one. This was only averted by one of our fellow passengers sitting on the prow who was strong enough to keep them pushed apart.

Finally, on the way back, the boat’s steering wheel came off in the driver’s hands. Literally. By now, we and our fellow passengers just wanted to get back to shore but we had to wait longer still while our bungling duo of “tour guides” fixed their latest mishap.

We got back safe and sound – somehow! – and reported what had happened to the guesthouse manager, as we had booked the tour through him. We sought a discount, and he said he could knock all of 50 baht (£1) off it! That was not acceptable, because apart from not delivering on the advertised package, the tour was actually dangerous. The manager told us he couldn’t discount further because he’d get in trouble with the boat operators. Apparently the safety of his guests was less of a consideration, and even when I pointed out that dealing with such people reflects badly on him and his business, that didn’t seem to register. But then why would it, when his business is “Our Pick” in Lonely Planet?

We stood firm on wanting a larger discount when yet more trouble reared its head in the form of a woman from the motorbike rental shop.

Although happy enough with the state of the three motorcycles we’d returned at 8am, now they were claiming I had damaged one of them. The Bee Bee manager said they’d first come round at lunchtime, which meant a good four or five hours had passed since they’d happily taken the bikes back. In that time, a scratch had turned up on the front of the bike. Probably they’d tipped it over themselve and then sought to hit us for the repair bill. But I had a playing card.

As we’d still been riding at night the previous day, Steve had pointed out the back light didn’t work, and so made a point of riding behind me from then on so as to ensure my safety. I opened “negotiations” with the bike shop woman by demanding to know why she rented unsafe vehicles. She wouldn’t answer that, only repeatedly saying I’d had an accident. Eventually she said if I didn’t want to pay for repairs, she’d tell the police. I said she was welcome to, so I could report her for renting unsafe vehicles.

To my mind, it was “even” – if she didn’t report me, I wouldn’t report her. After all, the scratch was my word against hers, but the back light was indisputable as it hadn’t been fixed. She’d save herself trouble by not proceeding, but she wanted money – and I wasn’t going to give her any.

She called my bluff and the police came around, along with another woman, the driver from the boat tour and a man from the bike shop. It was apparently an attempt at intimidation. I was surprised they were so dogged, but I was determined to keep calling their bluff in return, so off to the cop shop we went, with Andy and Steve in tow for backup.

I still hadn’t yet told them I was a Thai resident rather than a mere tourist, nor that I worked for the press, nor had I spoken a word of Thai. I figured these were “weapons” I could pull out later if need be. Sometimes it works to not show your whole arsenal immediately. But also having lived here for a few years and working in the media has instilled in me a knowledge that Thai police are often not the most honourable of people, so I knew not to press my luck too far. I’d state my case and see where the cards fell – if the police were on the take, then paying up would be the path of least resistance.

Translator's accommodation offer

The translator clearly favoured the woman. His opening words were to ask us if we wanted to spend a week in jail! His job should have been simply to interpret what each person was saying for the monolingual officer on duty, but he took it upon himself to cross-examine me. At least I got him to admit that renting motorbikes with broken lights is a crime. Therefore I stuck to my position that I wouldn’t pay and that if she pressed charges against me, I’d press charges against her. So finally she decided not to go that route and the officer washed his hands of the matter. But the translator was still pushing for a cash resolution. As he put it, “if you’re a gentleman, you’ll pay her”. Sorry, but I’m only a gentleman for ladies, not for con artists.

The way he talked also insinuated that it would be in my best interests to pay something, and he suggested a sum of 1,000 baht (£20), which was way too much. But before anything could be negotiated, the woman drove away on the offending motorbike – broken back light and all (it was after dark by now).

On the ride back to the guesthouse, Andy suggested 200 baht – the price of a day’s rental – would be a fair amount. After all, as far as the police and the translator knew I may indeed have been guilty, as it had been simply her word versus mine.

Assuming she would be at the guesthouse, we had the money ready, but she wasn’t there. We waited a while, but she didn’t come. Andy even went to her house to hand her the cash, but nobody answered the door. By the next morning, when we left Lanta, there had been no sign of her. That confirmed her guilt for me.

I’d imagine in 99% of such instances – and the rental scam, plus its variants, are not uncommon in Thailand – more inexperienced folk baulk at the mention of police and pay up. But what I objected to most was that the Bee Bee manager could do nothing to help his guests. The scam was just one of those things – dishonourable people trying to make a dishonourable buck – but he must know of it and should fight his guests’ corner.

But more important was the boat trip issue. That was downright dangerous. Breakdowns at sea, near-crashes and, unforgivably, leaving passengers in the open ocean and in pitch-black sea caves. That such a shoddy business exists is bad enough, but the Bee Bee manager continuing to take bookings for them – and commission from them – and then offering distressed guests insulting discounts of ONE POUND is pitiful.

I will likely never go back to Ko Lanta. By all means visit yourself, and it is a geographically pleasant island, but DO NOT rent a motorbike on Khlong Kong beach, lest you may be scammed, DO NOT book a four-island tour, specifically not with Four Island Centre Riviera Tour, or you will literally be placing your safety in the hands of incompetents, and DO NOT stay at Bee Bee Bungalows, no matter what the Lonely Planet says, because if you experience any trouble they WILL NOT help you.

But as the election and its major players started to take shape, I started to think that even if I could vote, I would no longer be able to do so with conviction. That’s not because the campaigning has been so strong that it would be hard to pick which candidate would be best. Far from it. Now, it would be more a case of choosing the lesser evil.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the major contenders – with “con” being the operative syllable.

DEMOCRAT PARTY – ABHISIT VEJJAJIVA

What happens when you judge a book by its cover? 92 people die.

Abhisit is the incumbent Prime Minister and head of the Democrat Party, which leads the coalition government installed by parliamentary vote in December 2008.

Young, photogenic, Oxford-educated and multilingual, Abhisit’s arrival as PM was largely hailed at the time. He was more charismatic than his immediate – and immediately forgettable – predecessor Somchai Wongsawat, more media-friendly than the cranky Samak Sundaravej, who came before Somchai, and stepped into office with a corruption-free reputation. The latter point was a feather in the cap of the Democrats’ supporters and/or the opponents of Thaksin Shinawatra, who at the time was only a few months into his self-imposed exile which followed a corruption conviction.

Abhisit was lauded as the first Thai premier to take office without any corruption stains on his copybook. But it speaks volumes  of the state of Thai politics that a country’s leader should be celebrated for something many nations would take as a prerequisite of leadership

Despite all the high-level international education, clean reputation and good looks, the evidence of Abhisit’s premiership all points to someone sorely lacking in ability to effectively govern a country and its people.

The biggest example of this, of course, is last year’s Red Shirt anti-government protests which ran for a protracted two months and culminated in the riots which saw iconic buildings across Bangkok torched and Thailand hitting the front pages and news bulletins of mass media worldwide for about the worst possible reasons one could imagine for a country which prides and promotes itself as a safe, friendly tourism destination.

Downtown Bangkok goes up in flames, May 19, 2010. (Photo by www.benowenbrowne.com)

And more important than that distressing imagery was the death toll – 92 people were confirmed killed in the protests (not counting those who remain “missing”), most of them civilians. For sure, most of those deaths could have been avoided. It doesn’t matter what your political stance is, nor does it matter what you think of the Red Shirts and their actions. That the Prime Minister bungled the handling of the crisis to such a degree that almost a hundred people were killed would have led to his resignation in almost any civilised country.

I’m not saying Abhisit was wrong to break up the protests. After all, parts of the city were being held to ransom and innocent people’s daily lives were being affected. But if he’d taken decisive action much earlier, the outcome wouldn’t have been nearly so bad. Sure, it would have been an unpopular move with some, but in trying not to upset people he came across as weak, emboldened the protesters, and ultimately presided over a disaster.

That he didn’t step down counts against him. That he has refused to apologise counts against him. His idiotic attempts to look like a common man on the campaign trail by planting rice in a tailored white shirt count against him. His buffoon of a deputy, Suthep Thaugsuban, with his comments that he “doesn’t trust foreigners” when rejecting a UN investigation into the protests and then saying the army didn’t kill anybody at the rallies but “the protesters ran in front of the bullets” counts against him, and the Democrat Party as a whole, big time.

PHEU THAI - YINGLUCK SHINAWATRA

What's in a name? POWER, if your surname is Shinawatra.

A lot of people will vote Democrat simply because they don’t like Thaksin Shinawatra. On the other hand, a lot of people will vote for Pheu Thai simply because they DO like him. He’s the most divisive figure in Thai politics. People either love him or hate him. He’s either Satan or a saviour. There’s no middle sentiment.

Unfortunately for the Democrats, those who love Thaksin make up the majority of the Thai population, which has been borne out by Thaksin-helmed parties winning by a landslide in the past two elections. But the fact he was deposed in a coup, and that his following proxy government was overthrown by the Yellow Shirts in 2008, shows that popular sentiment is hardly the decisive factor when it comes to choosing governments and leaders.

Unfortunately for Thaksin’s supporters, not only is he unable to become the next prime minister,  but he can’t even return to Thailand without being jailed. He fled the country in 2008, after which a two-year prison sentence was handed to him in absentia for corruption offences. If he returns, he will have to serve the jail term.

But that’s not to say he’s not involved in Thailand’s affairs. Far from it. Just look at the family name of prime ministerial candidate of the party he leads in all but official status. That’s right – Yingluck Shinawatra is Thaksin’s sister.

Now, I know nepotism is a big part of business and politics in Thailand, but this is ridiculous. Thaksin isn’t even trying to pretend Pheu Thai’s No.1 is there on merit or that he isn’t really the boss. Pheu Thai have said that if they form the next government, they will push for an amnesty for anyone convicted of political offences in the past five years. It’s clear who that refers to, although Yingluck has said the party is not about one person. Sorry, dear, but when you carry the Shinawatra name and are proposing a bill that will enable the most famous Shinawatra to plot a route back to power, I’m not buying that.

Red Shirt protesters

But in the bigger picture, it’s not necessary to hide this ambition. As said, most Thaksin supporters will vote Pheu Thai anyway, and his staunchest supporters will absolutely vote Pheu Thai if the stated policy is to bring him back, so an overt strategy along those lines won’t hurt. On the other hand, Thaksin’s opponents won’t vote Pheu Thai no matter what, due to the party’s association with him, so there’s nothing to lose with them by stating a “bring Thaksin home” agenda.

What bothers me, though, is not Thaksin or the goal of bringing him back. Of course he’s corrupt and of course his actions as a politician have been self-serving, but he’s far from alone in those two considerations and his actions have made a tangible difference to a lot of people. He was also elected – twice, and by a large majority – in fair polls. So him being the figurehead of the Pheu Thai campaign is fine.

But large numbers of Thaksin’s support base fought – and I mean literally fought – for him last year, with the Red Shirts pushing for elections (Abhisit was voted in the parliament, not the public, after Thaksin’s previous political incarnation, the People Power Party, was dissolved). Dozens of them died and hundreds were injured. Ostensibly they did so in the name of democracy, but Thaksin formed the spine of the movement. You could say, without melodrama, that many of the Red Shirts who were killed died for him, or at least for what he represented. So for Thaksin to then put his sister – a formidable businesswomen, no doubt, but utterly inexperienced in politics – in the Pheu Thai driving seat instead of the real politicians who fronted the Red Shirt campaign is tantamount to a kick in the balls for those who risked – and gave – their lives in last year’s pro-Thaksin rallies.

RAK PRATHET THAI - CHUWIT KAMOLVISIT

Whaddup dawg?

So, one candidate is incapable but heads the Democrat Party because he looks good and speaks well. Another has zero political experience but is in Pheu Thai’s top spot because of nepotism. What else can we add to the mix that so far includes superficiality and cronyism? How about hypocrisy?

I know just the man…

Chuwit’s election posters are the most eye-catching, after the Yellow Shirt animals (we’ll come to that next). He’s the guy frowning, scowling, growling and otherwise exasperating all over town. His fans like him because he’s a straight-talker and he’s not afraid to put the odd nose out of joint. His big ticket is that he wants to eradicate corruption, both in business and politics. Corruption makes Chuwit angry, and there’s a lot of corruption in Thailand, so there are a lot of posters around Thailand of Chuwit looking angry.

In fact, there are only two things that make Chuwit smile – dogs and women.

Dogs? Well, apparently so, according to his posters. Chuwit doesn’t even smile when there’s a baby in his arms. Most politicians on the campaign trail kiss babies. Chuwit holds them and scowls. But he’s quite happy to shake hands with a dog, and can be seen smiling while doing so in the one poster which is incongruous with his “I hate the world” character. The point of that poster is that, just like a dog, he offers loyalty.

There’s something else Chuwit can offer you which dogs are also famous for: casual sex.

This is also why women are the only other thing which can make him smile. Chuwit, you see, is a pimp. Or at least he used to be. He still has a “managerial interest” in certain “entertainment establishments”. They are advertised as massage parlours, but everyone knows what kind of “massage” is on offer, and Chuwit doesn’t deny this. He used to, but then eventually he confessed when he decided to launch his campaign against corruption. He had to confess because he went public with the amounts of bribes he would pay – and who he would pay them to – in order for his businesses to remain free of police inspection. But in 2003 he was arrested anyway, so he blew the whistle on the police officers who had taken his bribes.

In other words, he is fighting corruption because corruption didn’t work for him. If he’d never been arrested, then corruption would still be getting the thumbs up from Chuwit Kamolvisit.

PEOPLE’S ALLIANCE FOR DEMOCRACY – VOTE NO

The best way to appeal to "wise" voters is to use cartoonish imagery.

Don’t like the man who presided over 92 deaths? Don’t like the man who thumbed his nose at the 92 victims by appointing his sister to lead his party? Don’t like the massage parlour baron who’s laughably fighting corruption? Then why note “Vote No”, as the Yellow Shirts are imploring you?

The yellow posters of various animals in suits encouraging the no-vote are designed to evoke the negative qualities of politicians. There’s the lizard (slippery), buffalo (stupid), dog (aggressive), monkey (selfish), and so on.

But the no-vote is a bit different to abstaining or spoiling your ballot. The Thai ballot paper has a box to ”Vote No”, the equivalent of “none of the above”, and this will be recorded as an actual vote and the percentage of no-votes an official election statistic.

However, this won’t affect the final result. Even if the overall majority votes no, the next government will still be based on the total votes for candidates. So what is the point of this campaign, you might ask.

Back in 2008, when the Yellow Shirts rallied to overthrow the Samak administration – and succeeded – they answered questions as to why they were protesting against a democratically elected government by saying democracy itself was flawed. They did not believe the “one vote for one person” system worked. They said that having Thaksin or Thaksin-aligned politicians in government was proof of this, because if people were using their vote wisely, this wouldn’t happen.

Distastefully, they proposed a merit-based voting system, in that the value of a vote was based on someone’s class, level of education and place of residence. If you were middle class or above, educated to degree level and urban-based, preferably in Bangkok, you’d get a full vote, whereas your opinion would be deemed less valuable the further away from those attributes you were. If you were a rural member of the working classes who hadn’t gone beyond high school, your vote would be least important. Which was all very convenient, considering that demographic makes up the majority in Thailand, and that the majority voted for Thaksin.

So the logic now is that if enough people vote no, the Yellow Shirts’ stance that the current political system is flawed will be validated. They would not win any seats, but they could point to the results and say that the public agrees with them, and therefore it’s time to overhaul the current form of democracy.

Just one problem with that, though. By pushing this stance through the existing “one person, one vote” system, the Yellows can’t win. If they fail to encourage enough no-votes, then they can’t push for electoral reform as a result. But if the campaign does attract significant support, then isn’t that result flawed by their  very own definition of what’s wrong with the voting system? You can’t say the voters aren’t intelligent enough to vote wisely, and then change your mind if the vote falls the way you want it to. Although that is exactly what I expect they would do…

Rungsan and Jamie

“Hey, where you go?” “How much you pay?” “Meter not work.” Phrases that are all-too familiar for anybody who has been to  Bangkok, beginning as soon as you leave the arrivals area of the airport and following you all along downtown,  around the visitor attractions and surrounding your hotel.  Yes, it’s the hawking call of the notorious Bangkok taxi driver.

There are an estimated 60,000 of them in the city, and to be fair, the majority of them are reasonable enough. It’s just the majority of them do not congregate at the airport, the tourist traps, the nightspots, the malls and the big hotels. It is the unscrupulous few who dominate these places, who can spot a freshly arrived holidaymaker at a hundred paces, who can speak enough English to negotiate a con, and who foster the negative image many visitors take home of the corrupt cabbie.

The problem persists because, of course, newcomers to the city don’t know any different, or what the going rates should be. On top of that, even when the prices are ramped up, they’re still usually a fraction of the price that a western holidaymaker would typically pay for an equivalent taxi ride back home. So, even if they’re being overcharged by two or three times, the typical response is “So what?”.

Well, my policy has always been not to reward dishonesty. Of course I too was once a green tourist here and have been stung by taxi drivers, but even if it was only 50 baht here or 100 baht there, I still begrudged it, not because of the money but because of the principle. Why should I pay this man more just because I’m a tourist, just because I’m white, just because I’m staying at this hotel or going to that place, and just because he’s doing his job, for which he is already paid?

Obviously, over time, you get to know the routines. I live in a residential area, not a tourist one, so the drivers around there are fine. Speaking a little Thai shows you’re not fresh off the plane. Even if you know no Thai, simply pronouncing places correctly goes a long way (note to backpackers: it’s not “KO” San Road). In certain areas you simply can’t avoid the conman cabbies, but just consider how many taxis there are at any time or place in Bangkok and remember that if one, or two, or three of them won’t use their meter, you never have to wait more than a minute or so until you find one that will.

Again, 50 or 100 baht is a nominal fee, but I just don’t want it to go to a dishonest person. I like to reward honesty and good manners with my business. Which brings me to Rungsan Chintanawong, my favourite taxi driver; a good natured, helpful, punctual, polite and unceasingly cheerful little old guy who I have used regularly since moving here in 2008.

With 60,000 taxis operating in Bangkok, there's no reason to give your money to a conman cabbie

Rungsan was driving the airport taxi I took the night I arrived when moving to Bangkok. He spoke rudimentary English, enough for getting-to-know-you routines, and told me he also speaks fluent Mandarin, as well as some Lao, Malay and Isaan. He’s a former lorry driver who has been to every province in Thailand, as well as most of the neighbouring countries. As I would learn over time, he knows Bangkok intrinsically, and the rest of Thailand very well. On top of this, he’s never failed to be anything less than happy, polite and enthusiastic. And, crucially, has always been utterly fair.

And so we come back to the point about rewarding honesty. I don’t call Rungsan for around-town travel, but he’s always my first choice for airport runs or for road trips outside Bangkok. I also recommend him to any visitors who want to do similarly, or want a personal driver for city sightseeing.

Consider this. From my place to the airport costs about 300-350 baht on the meter. I always ask Rungsan for the airport run, and always recommend him to visitors flying out. Day hire or trips outside Bangkok are negotiated separately, but Rungsan has charged one of my friends 1,600 baht for a full-day Bangkok sightseeing trip. He has taken my mum and her boyfriend Jamie to Ayutthaya and back for the same price and included a sightseeing itinerary. He has driven them to Trat for 4,000 baht. I have used him several times to go to the likes of Pattaya, Amphawa, Bang Saray, and Ayutthaya, driving only, for about 1,000 baht each. He has taken my dad and I to Rayong and back for 2,000 baht each way. He even took my dad and his wife all the way to Krabi, a journey of some 10 hours, when anti-government protesters shut down the airport in November 2008, at a price of 8,000 baht.

So, all told, Rungsan has made tens of thousands of baht in taxi fares from me and from me recommending him to friends and family. And he will continue to earn well from me. Why? Simply because he is a nice guy who has always treated me fairly.

To his unscrupulous peers who hit tourists for an extra 50-100 baht, I say well done. You’ve made an extra 50-100 baht. Big deal. But you will never see those passengers again. Rungsan recognizes the importance of repeat business, and how to get it, and I’m glad to give it to him.

Honesty pays, even for a Bangkok cabbie.

* For fair taxi prices and cheerful chat, Rungsan can be reached on 0816428048.

Ko Sichang offers Thai countryside atmosphere and attitudes by the sea

Thailand’s image needs all the help it can get right now. Last month’s dramatic footage of bomb sites and gun fights across Bangkok played out internationally and many countries have yet to lift their travel warnings to the erstwhile Land of Smiles.

For sure, confidence has been rocked, and even beyond the photos of war on the streets, the reputation of Thai people as gentle, benevolent Buddhists has been tarnished by displays of downright ugly behaviour during such fractious times.

Whether the protesters promising – and almost succeeding – to turn Bangkok into a “sea of fire”, or their opponents cheering and swearing as the death toll neared a hundred, there was precious little positive humanity on display.

I reported on what happened as the army dispersed the Red Shirts last month and, as the situation has calmed, have wondered what I should write about next. I wanted to find something positive to say because, for all the bad news, there are still a lot of good reasons to be here.

But, with the deaths and the gunshots and the smoke still so fresh in the memory, and the vicious verbal invective – likely to, and perhaps designed to, widen the social divisions even further – still being spouted from both sides, what could I say to help restore some dignity to this scarred nation?

Well, travel remains a true pleasure in Thailand, and you’re never far away from tranquil countryside, rich historical sites, pretty coasts or fun smaller cities. Even when the Bangkok crisis peaked on May 19, with dozens of buildings set ablaze and an 8pm curfew locking down the capital, it only took a couple of hours’ drive to Hua Hin and a few days of safety, calm and natural beauty.

Another, less famous, seaside escape within reach of Bangkok is Ko Sichang. I visited there last weekend with my girlfriend, Waew, and it was here that we were reminded of the inherently good nature of Thai people, away from politically volatile Bangkok and the money-hungry types of the famous resort towns.

I had visited Ko Sichang once before, over a year ago, and loved its unspoilt, rural atmosphere. True, the primarily rocky island only has one beach of note, and that is average in Thai terms (although clean and safe), but it is the look and feel of Ko Sichang which encouraged me to return.

Local kids play in the harbour

The majority of shops and businesses here are family-run, independent affairs. There are no chain hotels, no fast-food joints, no condominiums, no go-go bars, and only one 7-Eleven. It may be too sleepy for some, but sometimes you want a quiet retreat. The houses are old-fashioned and colourful. The people are relaxed. The barnacle-clad port creaks both with age and character and children leap from its heights into the aquamarine depths all day long. Wild goats roam the island, chewing between the rocks, unperturbed by the occasional passing vehicle.

A drive of an hour or so south-east of Bangkok, towards Pattaya, brings you to the town of Sri Racha, from where you catch a boat to Ko Sichang. The ferry ride takes 40 or 50 minutes but is not particularly attractive. Sri Racha is a major industrial town and this, combined with its proximity to Pattaya, makes it a major shipping lane, so the ride to Ko Sichang goes past innumerable rusting old cargo vessels.

However, on disembarkation at the island, its charms become immediately evident. I’d recommend doing as I did and hiring a motorbike if there is only one or two of you. There are tuk-tuks available for transport between port, beach, town and hotels, but no one spot on Ko Sichang is big or developed enough to be worth spending the majority of your time, so riding around and finding your own little places of interest is the order of the day.

Riding off on our newly-commandeered motorbike, we proceeded through narrow streets crammed with shaded old shophouses, into the town area which one could best describe as “Isaan-on-sea”, up the hill which forms the centre of the island, and down towards the opposite coast which is more picturesque and hosts the sole significant beach.

Approaching the beach at Ao Atsadang, a sweeping view of the Gulf of Thailand, unspoilt by the ships and urban landscape facing the other side, is afforded, and as you drive along with barely another vehicle in sight, swathes of greenery uninterrupted by buildings, and the occasional impassive goat, it’s hard to conceive the major urban centres of Bangkok and Pattaya are so close by.

A word of warning: while Ko Sichang is small, and relatively undiscovered, consequently it doesn’t have many choices of accommodation. For sure you won’t be left stranded, but the primest options – beachside at Hat Thampang Bungalows, clifftop at Paree Hut, or the converted palatial ruins at Malee Blue – tend to be fully booked at weekends. We stayed instead at Benz Bungalows in town, which was basic but acceptable, and within walking distance of the deservedly popular Pan & David Restaurant.

A day is plenty to take in the main attractions of the island – the Rama V palace, a temple or three, a Chinese monastery, and a swim – at a leisurely pace, stopping as you please to imbibe the tranquility all around.

Waew and I did just that, ate delicious seafood salad at the beach, and watched the sunset from the western rocks. Well, one thing we didn’t do was swim at Ao Atsadang – at lunchtime, the water was as clean as usual, but when we returned in the late afternoon, it has turned to a dark green sludge. The reason, according to a bartender, was that a whale in the vicinity had suffered an upset stomach!

Already the day had been charming enough – whale diarrhoea or not – but it was the events of the night which would do so much to restore my faith in the Thai character. This country’s natural attractions endure, but a reminder of the qualities of its people was timely.

Waew all patched up

After dinner, Waew and I went for a stroll through the sleepy town. It was nearing 11pm on a Saturday night but even so, was very quiet. We attracted the attentions of a barking pack of dogs and unfortunately one of them bit Waew. It was just a “warning” bite rather than an all-out attack, but even so, it drew blood and of course was a distressing moment for Waew.

We dashed across the road to a small seafood eatery which was still open, just to ask to use their bathroom so we could clean the wound and then consider what to do next. But they had seen what had happened and no sooner had we crossed over to them than we were piled on to a motorbike with sidecar and whisked immediately to the hospital.

Waew had her wound cleaned and dressed, received rabies shots and was given a course of antibiotics and, some minor pain aside, she was no worse for wear. While she was being attended to, our emergency-response driver, a friendly middle-aged guy called Somphit, kept me company. Between his limited English and my limited Thai, we made a decent-enough fist of it.

When Waew checked out of the ER, Somphit tried to pay the 580-baht bill. Of course, I would not allow it – he had already been such a help in driving us to the hospital and waiting until Waew had finished there. Now he wanted to pay for the treatment too – unbelievable!

Somphit then ran us back to where we had met him and invited us to join him and his friend for beer and grilled crab. The crab was delicious and the beer quickly dispensed with, at which point Somphit dashed off on his motorbike for more.

When that, too, was finished, Somphit said he’d love to stay up later but he had work in the morning, so gave us another ride, back to our hotel. He had refused to take any money for the beer run, so in thanking him I hid a “tip” in my handshake. I at least wanted to show my gratitude not only for the sustenance and the petrol but also for his time and companionship, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “I did it for friendship, not money,” he said, on the verge of taking offence.

Earlier, Somphit had told us he worked as an ice delivery man. That must pay minimum wage, or close to it, and that’s not much in Thailand. He probably takes home a tenth of my salary, and I say that not to boast about myself (indeed, my salary here is some way short of what I’d command in the UK), but to show what a fiscal gap there is between the Thai working  and middle classes. He must know this too, and knew of my job, and yet he was willing to pay the hospital bill of a stranger and flat-out refusing any form of recompense for his time and expenditure.

I was so touched, and I couldn’t help but feel that if only the rest of Thailand – and certainly the majority of people in Bangkok – could show such unconditional empathy for their fellow human beings, this country would not be in the mess it is in today.

So, to Ko Sichang, to rural Thailand, and to Somphit – whether he accepts it or not – I toast the kindness of strangers. May such powerful qualities triumph over the negative traits which have hurt Thailand so much in recent months.

Downtown Bangkok goes up in flames, May 19. (Photo by www.benowenbrowne.com)

As Bangkok burned, I made good my escape. Evacuated from my workplace as Red Shirts descended on the road to my office, with their brothers bombing and torching dozens of important and iconic buildings around the city, I met my girlfriend Waew and together we headed for Hua Hin, a seaside retreat a couple of hours’ drive south.

My personal experience of the drama of last Wednesday is best told through a piece I wrote for the Daily Post back home in Wales. Beyond that, the story is less exciting, but after the fright of May 19, that’s just how I wanted it.

Ultimately, Wednesday was the climax of the two-month-long protests and Bangkok started the recovery process almost as soon as the curfew was lifted the following morning.

But as fires blazed, black clouds choked entire neighbourhoods, shops boarded up their windows, and the military announced looters and arsonists would be shot on sight, the atmosphere was not one of a resolution close at hand, but rather one of a city on the verge of war.

I didn’t want to be around to see which way the balance would tip. In fact, I wanted to be well clear of Bangkok for the immediate future.

Hua Hin, despite its proximity to the capital, was another world. While reports were coming in of government buildings going up in flames in other cities – mostly in the Red Shirt stronghold of the Isaan region – and after-dark lockdowns being imposed on two dozen provinces, Hua Hin was a picture of calm.

Too calm, however. What is usually a busy resort was almost empty on the weekdays, with only a slight increase in visitor numbers at the weekend. And those were mostly Thais, presumably doing as I did and getting clear of Bangkok. The number of foreign tourists was markedly down. Usually – and typically for a Thai beach town – the foreigners outnumber the locals. In Hua Hin, it’s so much so that it is nicknamed “Little Scandinavia”. But last week and weekend, they were conspicuous by their absence.

Even 12km north of Ratchaprasong, the smoke could be seen clearly from my roof.

Restaurants that had half a dozen customers could consider themselves lucky. Girls working in the salons and spas sat outside and yawned, the interiors of their businesses empty. Bar staff played dominoes or slept, in lieu of anyone to serve. The hotels in town had barely a bedroom light switched on.

Waew and I went out on the weekend nights. We purposely chose the bars with the fewest customers. But it was not for the lack of an atmosphere that I couldn’t enjoy myself. I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of sadness; that perhaps Thailand had changed for the worse – and for good.

The kingdom has shrugged off difficult times before, most notably 1992’s “Black May” anti-government protests which, until last week, were Thailand’s darkest hour. The 2006 ouster of Thaksin Shinawatra generated negative international publicity but thankfully was bloodless. The Yellow Shirt protests in 2008, which closed Suvarnabhumi and Don Mueang airports for a week, affected tens of thousands of tourists, many of whom justifiably swore to never return. Four months later, the Red Shirts made their first serious push, with deadly clashes souring the usually fun-soaked Thai New Year celebrations. And now this – the biggest and bloodiest event in contemporary Thai history.

Each time, Thai tourism has somehow bounced back. The kingdom’s qualities are undeniable – natural beauty, tropical climate, ease of travel, good food, and Third World prices for a near-First World infrastructure – but how many times can the country self-harm before the damage becomes irrecoverable?

Who would blame any foreigner caught up in these domestic conflicts if they washed their hands of this place? The innocent holidaymakers stranded for days on end in an airport in 2008. The terrified tourists who had to evacuate their hotels last week, or could hear the gunfire as they tried to sleep. Anyone planning to come here who watched the news anywhere in the world and saw the biggest smoke cloud to cover a metropolis since 9/11, saw soldiers gunning down their countrymen, saw the protesters fight back with rockets.

Perhaps it’s crass to talk of the tourists’ hardships when so many Thais have died. But let’s not forget that tourism is one of Thailand’s vital organs. Without it, the country itself would wither.

I love this country. Yes, I’m “just a foreigner”, as so many Thais are so keen to point out when I voice a political opinion they disagree with, but this is my home. Of course, I wouldn’t pretend to feel the hurt as acutely as a native, but I know what a marvellous country this is, and as long as I’ve been here, I’ve sung its praises and encouraged everyone I know to come here. It does hurt to see what’s happening here. Let’s say that to a Thai, it’s like seeing family get hurt, so to me, it’s like harm being done to a good friend.

Hua Hin: far from the combat zone

As I said, as long as I’ve been here, I’ve encouraged people to visit. Even when the Yellow Shirts were making life difficult. Even as the Red Shirts occupied Ratchaprasong. It’s not dangerous, I said. Just stay away from the protest sites and you’ll be fine, I said. But with what happened last week, I can no longer urge anyone to come here with a clear conscience. The danger has been very real in the past week and a half.

OK, the current protest is over. The Red Shirts leaders are in custody. The men who fought for them have either gone home, or are dead. But who could say with any confidence that that the matter has been resolved?

For the Red Shirts, ultimately, it was a crushing defeat. It may be that they won’t have the appetite to regroup. Then again, if indeed they do represent the “repressed majority” which they were packaged as, then the divisions can only widen in the wake of this result. The “elites” triumphed, and appalling as it is to say, many of them cheered as the army was given permission to use deadly force against their own kind.

Before the bloodshed, the Reds were not shy to pitch their movement as a “class war”, rallying support from the poor rural areas. Their opponents in turn were not shy to pick up the gauntlet, publicly mocking the protesters for their lack of education. It was no coincidence that Ratchaprasong, a neighbourhood heavy with high-end malls and 5-star hotels, was chosen as the demonstration headquarters.

No, this situation has not been resolved. Perhaps the Reds will prove to have been beaten into submission, but all that means is that one side won by use of force, not that any compromise was reached. Even if a bandage can be applied to the damage done over the past couple of months, the wound may prove impossible to heal. Whether it ulcerates, or merely festers, remains to be seen.

And how to heal the damage done to the tourism industry? Thailand has always been remarkably fertile in this regard, but Hua Hin was barren last week. Can Thai tourism still bear fruit when the likes of Malaysia, Vietnam, Bali, the Philippines and more in this region alone offer a similar – but safer – experience for a similar price?

The forecast can’t fail to be gloomy, and just as I left Bangkok under a black cloud five days ago, I returned under one, too. But this was not the man-made result of eviscerated malls and besieged banks. It was merely Mother Nature, lashing the city with a tropical – and topical – monsoon. Whether she was just washing the streets of spilled blood, or warning of bigger storms to come, only time will tell.

Red Shirts on Silom Road

Front-page headlines from the past few days in the Bangkok Post which are in no way an exaggeration.

The anti-government protests by the United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD), or “Red Shirts”, have been going on for two months now, and friends and family back home who’ve seen dramatic news footage have enquired about my safety, to which I had always replied that “it looks much worse than it is”, and that I was completely safe so long as I stayed away from the demonstration zones.

Not anymore. Now, the news coverage tells it exactly as it is: a full-scale, lethal battle is being waged on the streets of Bangkok. For the first time, I am genuinely worried.

Yes, the combat zone is clearly defined, and therefore easily avoided, but that’s not to say violence won’t spread. Every day comes news of a fresh flashpoint area, or a further fortified protest site, or another bomb attack. Where is safe today may not be safe tomorrow.

Yes, the fighting is between protesters and the soldiers attempting to disperse them, but that’s not to say innocents have not been hurt. They have been, including members of my profession. Bombs and grenades have been fired at hotels and trains.

None of my immediate friends or colleagues have been hurt, although a friend of a friend has been shot in the leg.

One friend lives in Sala Daeng, pretty much “ground central” in the conflict, and spoke to me two nights ago at the same time as bursts of automatic gun fire rang out from a neighbouring street and a blast left his whole house shaking.

Another friend lives in nearby Chit Lom, where the electricty has been cut and the air filled with smoke from burning tyres. They have both moved out, at least for now.

The UDD headquarters at Ratchaprasong

Many businesses, including hotels and schools, have temporarily closed. People who do not have to go to work are taking their families to the countryside. Unfortunately, as a member of the media, I must stay.

As a measure of reassurance, where I live – Phahon Yothin – is fine. There has been no trouble there in as long as the protests have been going on.

The road where my office is situated is also unaffected, although access to it used to typically be via Rama IV Road, a major arterial road on which there is now a running battle and is therefore closed for a long stretch. I go to work by taxi (the entire subway and skytrain networks are closed), taking the tollway over Rama IV and exiting further south, near the port, and heading to the office from there. It’s more expensive commuting this way, but it’s safe.

And while the newspaper must still go out every day, the management has told staff that they don’t have to come to work if it is unsafe to do so. I am a professional and yes, it is safe for me to attend, but for those concerned about me, let me assure you that I will not be taking any risks if that changes.

Only a week ago, we seemed on the verge of resolving the deadlock. Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva had announced a roadmap to reconciliation, including details of a November election and September dissolution of parliament.

Seh Daeng

The Red Shirts provisionally agreed, yet they did not disperse their rally by last Wednesday’s deadline. A few dissenting voices, led by head of security Major General Khattiya Sawasdipol, wanted an immediate election and vowed the protest would continue until they got their wish.

Maj Gen Khattiya – known popularly as “Seh Daeng” (“Commander Red”) – was then shot in the head by a sniper as he spoke to foreign press on Thursday night and chaos has reigned ever since. Seh Daeng died on Monday morning.

The government denied any role in the hit, but then that’s only to be expected, just as the Red Shirts denied any role in the grenade attacks on Silom after the military pitched up there. The government is calling the Reds “terrorists”, yet the death toll is overwhelmingly in favour of the army. The Reds claim to be unarmed, yet rockets have been fired on the Dusit Thani Hotel, which it is alleged was housing soldiers. The military has told of “Red Shirt supporters in army uniforms” killing innocents. The spin on both sides is as undeniable as it is unbelievable.

As I type this, the UDD has agreed to mediated truce talks and is waiting for a response from Abhisit. It sounds hopeful, but then we have been to the brink of peace before only for matters to escalate time and time again.

People have batted the words “civil war” about almost as long as this protest has been running. Until last weekend, such talk sounded alarmist. A month ago, when I visited the UDD’s main stage at Ratchaprasong, it sounded wildly improbable, given that the Reds were engaged in activities no more threatening than singing, dancing, sleeping, eating barbecue and smiling for photos with tourists under a huge English-language banner proclaiming “Welcome to Thailand! All we want is democracy!”.

Now, with buildings and vehicles burning, sharpened bamboo canes and barbed wire sealing off major roads, designated live firing zones, dozens of deaths and hundreds of injuries, civil war no longer looks unrealistic.

I can only hope that I’m wrong.

Together forever - even in death

Where should one take a visiting mother in Bangkok? Temple-hopping, perhaps? Bargain-hunting in markets and malls? Rooftop or riverside dining? Or maybe to see mutated babies, preserved serial killers, elephantiasis-afflicted scrotums the size of medicine balls, and all manner of diseased, ruptured, punctured, crushed and deformed organs, skulls and limbs?

If that, rather than a Chao Phraya cruise, is what floats your – or your mother’s – boat, then jump on board a ferry to Siriraj Hospital’s Forensic Museum, which mixes genuine scientific endeavour with the kind of shock appeal previously reserved for Victorian carnival freakshows or 1980s body-horror movies.

My mum, visiting me for a second time, and Thailand for a fourth, only planned a token few days in Bangkok before heading for the beaches of Krabi and Phuket, as she had “seen it before”. So, the gauntlet had been laid and I had to surprise her with something. Siriraj’s museum promised to open eyes and turn stomachs in equal measure.

There’s no easing you in. Immediately you are confronted with a brightly-lit room full of pickled babies sporting all manner of deformities, from conjoined twins, to a “mermaid” (fused legs), to one with its brain growing outside its skull, and more.

From there, its on to a photo gallery featuring the hideous effects of various crimes and accidents, sitting atop a row of glass cabinets filled with human bones.

The central body of the museum is a mind-numbing miscellany of disease and disaster, arranged in no logical order, with cirrhosis-afflicted livers neighbouring dismembered hands or feet, blackened smokers’ lungs accompanying sheets of tattooed human skin, punctured organs in a different part of the room to an exhibit boasting the items which did the puncturing (bullets, pencils, and even a vibrator), and, utterly incongruously in a room full of human carnage, a lone, skinned tiger’s foot. Oh, and more bottled babies.

The legend of Si Quey lives on

The museum’s star exhibit is the preserved body of Thailand’s most notorious serial killer, Si Quey, a Chinese immigrant who killed and ate a number of children in the 1940s and ’50s.

Skin coated in paraffin and orifices plugged with wax, his naked body is housed in a glass box for your viewing pleasure, with a few unnamed peers (labelled simply as “murderers” and “rapists”) similarly accommodated nearby.

Si Quey looks no different to any other decades-old preserved corpse, so in that sense I didn’t feel any gravity in viewing his body, although perhaps its different for Thai people, for whom he is a historical household name. Maybe I would get more of a chill if something similar had been done with Fred West’s or Myra Hindley’s remains.

Finally, we enjoyed the delights of the parasite exhibition, with its rows of jars of awful organisms pulled out of innards and extracted from skin, photos of worms pouring out of backsides by the litre, and the aforementioned centrepiece of a preserved scrotum swollen by elephantiasis to the size of a large pillow (indeed, there is a mocked-up display of a man – presumably the victim – sitting atop his afflicted balls as if they were indeed some kind of cushion).

For all its unashamed shock value, the museum is nevertheless genuinely fascinating, especially as such a place would be unfeasible in the First World.

The human rights questions are myriad. Who donated the bones, the body parts, the babies? How do the families of murder victims feel about their loved ones’ mutilated features being put on display, whether as photos or actual pieces of people?

What, even, of Si Quey? As despicable as his crimes were, is it appropriate for his body to be kept in this way, or, having been executed, has he paid his debt to society? And what do the families of his victims think? Does his preservation and public shaming constitute some form of continued punishment, or would they prefer he was buried or cremated and thus have his legend lessened, along with the reminders of what he did?

These are not questions for me to answer. It’s just amazing that such a place exists in this day and age, although appropriate laws and regulations are more relaxed in developing countries. Often that is part of the appeal of living in a country like Thailand - or visiting.

Which brings me back to my mum. She has never been one for the conventional tourist trail, preferring instead to attempt to get under the skin of a place and its people. At Siriraj Medical Museum, you can do exactly that – literally!

* Siriraj Forensic Museum is open 9am-4pm, Monday-Saturday. Entry is 40 baht. The nearest public transport link is Wang Lang pier on the Chao Phraya Express Boat route, or simply catch a taxi to Siriraj Hospital.

Pattaya's skyscrapers loom in the background, but it's easy to forget the city while lounging in Bang Saray's clear waters

Talk to any old-timer expat here in Thailand and chances are that, before long, they’ll regale you with tales of when places such as Pattaya and Phuket were quiet fishing villages, and then lament that if only they’d bought land or property back then, they’d be stinking rich now.

Which raises the question of where tomorrow’s Pattaya or Phuket might be, or whether there even remains such potential in a country which is vastly more ensconsced on the tourist map than it was in the 1970s or 80s. Surely anywhere of commercial opportunity will already be long-discovered?

Maybe not. There may well be some places which, while not likely to explode along the lines of Pattaya, Phuket and Ko Samui, could nevertheless still have growth potential.

With this in mind, I headed for the little-known Chon Buri provincial village of Bang Saray, a 30-minute bus ride south of Pattaya, last weekend.

Having never before heard of the place, my interest was piqued when I saw a real estate advertisement selling condominiums off-plan in Bang Saray at a mere 695,000 baht (£13,900). While I’m as-yet unsure as to to the length of my stay in Thailand, that is so cheap that it’s almost worth investing in simply because I can.

The question, though, is what will become of Bang Saray in the future? If I don’t buy one of these condos at such a modest price, and end up staying in Thailand, will I one day be among the number of ageing expats bemoaning the fact that I didn’t get involved before the boom, before the international hotels, the nightclubs and, crucially, the package tourists?

Then again, if I did buy, and nothing happened, I would be the proud owner of a property that wasn’t appreciating, in a village of a low population – and thus few potential tenants – which is too far from my work to commute from.

Bang Saray beach road

Well, first things first, and so to my inaugural visit. Putting aside property musings, the idea of a relatively untouched beach town not far from Bangkok appeals in its own right.

Sure, there are several seaside options close to the city, but most of them are indundated either by foreign tourists (generating prostitution, fast food and dramatically hiked prices), domestic tourists (causing the carpeting of entire beaches with parasols), or both. When I mentioned Bang Saray to expats and locals alike, nobody had heard of it. That was very promising.

The approach road, leading to the beach from the bus stop, featured a handful of guesthouses, mostly independent small shops and a few small bars and eateries. No big hotels, no entertainment strip, no malls and no McDonalds. Good.

To the seaside: the road traversing the coast is quiet, with an occasional family-run shop or restaurant, and only one ramshackle bar, which apparently closes at 8pm. There are even old-style houses directly facing the sea, with families still living in them. Such scenes in Thailand’s developed beach towns are unimaginable.

The beach itself is a little underwhelming. The sand, which is dark but soft, runs in a thin but long strip of, at a guess, a kilometre and a half, and there is shade between the road and the beach provided by rows of palm trees. This thankfully negates the need for the dreaded parasols which obliterate the landscape in so many Thai-oriented seaside towns.

While sitting beneath one of these shady palms, an occasional snack vendor will come along, but they are infrequent and not at all pushy. Again, this is most pleasingly contrary to the typical Thai beach experience. If you want food or drink in between their visits, there are a few small stalls set up along the road.

And now for the highlight of Bang Saray beach – the water. From a distance, it is bright blue and green, and up close, is clean and clear. Swimming is safe and refreshing. How nice to be able to enjoy such a delight so close to Pattaya, where the sea water is notoriously polluted.

You wouldn't catch me doing this in Pattaya

All told, a very pleasant day out, and for someone seeking a beach break from Bangkok that isn’t overrun by tourists, I’d definitely recommend going that little bit further south past Pattaya to Bang Saray.

And what of the future? Well, as a visitor, it would be just fine by me if Bang Saray remains “undiscovered”, as that would mean I’d continue to have the option of a quiet, hassle-free, clean seaside spot near Bangkok.

But if I had an eye on investment, obviously I’d want the village to grow. And will it?

The motorcycle taxi driver who transported me from the bus stop to the beach said he’d already seen modest development in the past few years, and I did see a few advertisements for condominiums dotted around. Have the seeds of tourism and foreign investment been planted?

Certainly the location is very appealing. The total drive from Bangkok is about two hours, and to Pattaya is just 30 minutes. This alone could mean Bang Saray is set for growth, as Pattaya’s neighbour town of Jomtien has benefitted economically simply due to its location beside the exponential growth of “Sin City”. It stands to reason that continued growth would follow the coast, not go inland.

If so, will the Bang Saray of today be unrecognisable in 10 years or so? And whether or not that would be a good thing depends, I suppose, on who’s got a financial stake in the place. While anyone who witnessed the Pattaya or Phuket of old would probably not like what they have turned into, those who own property there will surely be laughing.

Journalism 101: Never let the facts get in the way of a good story

As I work in the press, I’m always quick to defend journalists, especially against the stereotype that they “make things up”.

It is true, though, that facts can be shaped to fit an agenda, and also that whenever there are two or more sides to a story, a journalist can take whichever side best fits his remit. But they can’t simply make things up.

For a start, it’s against the law. If a newspaper prints a story about a person or event, and cannot prove that it is true if required to do so, then it will face penalties.

Take, for example, the 2004 case of the Daily Mirror‘s publication of photos which apparently showed British soldiers abusing an Iraqi captive. Desperate for a sensational scoop, The Mirror didn’t check the authenticity of the pictures, which were later proven to be fake. The result – editor Piers Morgan was fired.

So, a publication really can’t “make things up” without risking personal, political or financial repercussions. However, that’s not to say it never happens. While I may be quick to defend the press against this stereotype, at the same time I am quick to criticise journalists who do contribute to it.

Of course, they’re all out for a good story, and they all dream of that sensational scoop. Fair enough. But if it isn’t there, you shouldn’t force it to be there. Don’t create a sensation where one does not exist, and do not add details that don’t exist for the sake of adding character or credence to the story. In other words, don’t make it up.

So, while I’m often quick to defend journalists, by the same token I believe those who are guilty of passing off fantasies as facts, or who use creative licence to such a degree that they are no longer writing non-fiction, should be named and shamed. 

By all means have a stance, an agenda. We all have our remits and our biases; this is human nature, as well as the nature of the media. But the points used to engender a stance must at least have grounds in reality, or else you risk damaging your own reputation, as well as that of your employer.

"If only one investigative journalist follows my footsteps, then my death won't have been in vain."

When it comes to sensationalism, Bangkok is an easy target. Even people who have never been here will have their opinions about it, right or wrong, mostly formed from the movies and the lurid tales that their friends bring home from their holidays.

Much of it is exaggerated, but not outrageously so. The real Bangkok is variously exotic, steamy, sexy, dangerous, chaotic, cultured, corrupt. The city’s reputation precedes it, and in many ways it is justified. The possibilities for an investigative journalist are endless.

Which makes it all the more unforgiveable when one writes a piece that is so ludicrously overblown, and in which the “facts” are so easily debunked by anyone with even the most passing experience in Bangkok, that it calls into question whether the writer has even visited the city.

The story in question appears here. Note that is not the work of a ranting blogger or an enthusiastic but undertrained freelancer.

No, it is an article published by Maxim, one of the world’s leading glossy men’s magazines, and attributed to a scribe called Mark Ebner, who, apparently “has been covering crime and Hollywood for 20 years”.

The piece is a follow-up on the shadowy death of David Carradine in a Bangkok hotel room last June. (Unfortunately the article was only recently brought to my attention.) Carradine’s passing, whether suicide, murder, or sex games gone wrong, was the ideal backdrop to a piece of investigative reportage from one of the world’s most infamous sin cities.

It could have been done so well. But Ebner apparently visited a Bangkok that, in cultural terms, hasn’t existed since the 70s, and in geographical terms, doesn’t exist at all! His sense of geography makes you wonder if indeed he’d even physically set foot in the city.

The creative licence used to colour his adventures are so far-fetched that an article with such potential loses all credibility – and even if (and I don’t) that could be justified as merely an application of the art, what can’t be forgiven, especially for such a prestigious magazine, are the atrocious geographical errors which riddle the piece, followed by the downright irresponsible reports of child prostitution.

At best, this writer simply wasn’t paying attention when here. At worst, perhaps Ebner didn’t even travel to Bangkok at all.

You can read the full article at Maxim.Com but for your convenience, here are some selected passages.

The Nai Lert Park Hotel, where Carradine met his end - a scene from a sordid sex capital if ever I saw one.

… wasn’t it a little too convenient that such a sordid suicide should take place in Bangkok, the sex capital of the world?

Ebner sets out his stall early. Yes, Bangkok has a deserved reputation for its vice, but sex capital of the world? OK, it’s up there in the rankings, for sure, but even within the same country, Pattaya is by far the more notorious, and within the region Phnom Penh is just as infamous, with a darker tone, too.

I’m not saying the writer is essentially wrong in his description of Bangkok – after all, how would you measure such a thing? – but I have the feeling that if Carradine had died in Amsterdam, the same writer would have applied the same label there.

… a teeth-rattling cab ride through the smog-choked, sweltering squalor of metro Bangkok, dodging rickshaws and limbless sidewalk cripples begging for change.

Teeth-rattling? Bangkok’s – and, in fact, most of Thailand’s - roads are flat and paved and have been for some time.

Squalour? Yes, there are slums in Bangkok, but an average crosstown cab ride doesn’t even come close to them. Large parts of Bangkok are modern and well-maintained.

Dodging rickshaws? Rickshaws? Did Ebner board a time machine rather than a commercial airline, and land in Bangkok 1974 rather than Suvarnabhumi Airport? Hands up anyone who’s seen a rickshaw in modern-day Bangkok. Anyone? OK, in the last decade? Two? Anyone at all? Thought so.

Smog, sweltering temperatures and “limbless cripples” (even though that is an excellent example of tautology, and since he says they were on the sidewalk, why was his cab forced to dodge them?), I’ll give him.  But already we can see the writer is more concerned with painting an atmosphere to suit the story, rather than “follow in Carradine’s footsteps”, as he claims is his mission.

Open-air sex, Patpong market style

A vast open-air sex market, the Patpong is a 20-minute walk from the hotel…

Ebner’s description of his adventures in Bangkok’s red light districts are where he really gets lost. “The” Patpong? Nobody calls it “the” Patpong any more than people call London’s red light district “the” Soho.

A “vast, open-air sex market”? Well, I won’t dispute the “sex market” description, but that side of things is far from open-air. Patpong’s sex – and sale of such – goes on behind the doors of bars and massage parlours, not in the street. True, street walkers do ply their trade in Bangkok, but Patpong’s set-up is primarily indoors. There is an open-air market in Patpong, though – only it sells bootlegged clothes and watches, not sex.

Furthermore, to walk from the Nai Lert Park Hotel to Patpong – and good luck with that, given that one thing the author accurately conveys is the city’s heat and humidity – would probably take over an hour, not a mere 20 minutes.

The Patpong is divided into Soi 4, which is predominantly gay; Soi Cowboy, a note-perfect re-creation of pre-Disney Times Square, designed to cater to the Western tourist; and Nana Plaza, which is where they keep the kink.

OK, now he’s really lost me. For a start, Patpong, Soi Cowboy and Nana Plaza are three entirely different, and distinct, places, all separated by distances that require taxi rides or skytrain/subway runs. There’s no possible way anyone could mistake them being one and the same – unless, perhaps, they hadn’t even set foot in Bangkok and research for the article consisted of Googling “Bangkok red light district”?

Finally, is Nana Plaza really where they “keep the kink”? If so, would those in the know care to share this information with me? (We’ll discuss the kickback later.) Because as far as I can tell, all three red light areas offer much the same fare of standard hostess bars and go-go joints. Now, if women dancing in bikinis or fawning over middle-aged men is “the kink”, then so be it, but personally it takes a bit more than that to shock me.

Typical prostitutes line up outside the Nana Hotel

Looking for answers at the dodgy Nana Hotel, I meet a striking-looking child bride…

This is where Ebner goes beyond mere inaccuracy and enters dangerous irresponsibility. In painting his lurid picture of the supposed world’s sex capital, he couldn’t resist throwing into the mix a predictable dose of paedophilia.

Let me make this clear: in almost two years living in Bangkok, not once have I seen anything that even hinted at child prostitution. Unfortunately there was once a time when Thailand was on the map for such things, but like the author’s experiences with rickshaws, that is something that was left behind decades ago.

Now, I’m not naive enough to think it doesn’t happen somewhere, but the point is that the average tourist is not going to walk into one of Bangkok’s most famous and busiest streets and be propositioned by a child, just like that.

I do not spend a lot of time in Patpong, but I have been there enough times to comment on it, and as said, if I haven’t seen such things in my two years here, I very much doubt this writer would have within a day of arrival.

For the record, while prostitution remains technically illegal in Thailand, it is tolerated and well-regimented, and the working girls in the bars are all 20 and older – and have the ID to prove it. It is more than a bar’s business is worth to break such serious laws.

Thailand has worked hard to cast off its reputation as a child sex destination and this article sets back such efforts. If it was an expose, detailing how such practices continue, then it might have had merit, but coming as it does in the midst of an article strewn with inaccuracies and sensationalism, then we have to take it for what it appears to be: rubbish.

…but for 10,000 baht (roughly $300 in U.S. currency) she will come back to my hotel…

At anything from five to 10 times the going rate, this guy’s Googling hit on the wrong info. Unless he really was here, and was quoted that, which I suppose would be possible if he showed as much cluelessness in his interactions as he does in his writing – Bangkok’s ladies of the night can spot a sucker coming a mile off (or even a “20-minute walk” away).

Mr Ebner, come on, this is not rural North Korea or a far-flung Pacific island. You can’t write wildly fanciful things about the capital city of a country which attracts over a million tourists a year and has a population of eight million people, with a large, English-speaking expat population, and expect to get away with it.

Thankfully the comments added to the article call him to task, but so far neither the man himself nor the commissioning magazine have responded.

The Lord did there confound the ordering of Sprite of all the earth

I’m learning Thai, but my abilities remain limited, so I’d never criticise a Thai person’s attempts at English.

Still, brand names are the same in both languages, and even allowing for phonetic differences, there’s no way you can get them so spectacularly and repeatedly wrong as in the conversation below, unless there’s something spectacularly wrong with the listener. Is there?

I was at the drinks stand of a Bangkok food court. The vendor stood in front of a double glass door fridge. I appraised his wares, and the lingual fun began.

The conversation was a mix of my limited Thai and his limited English, but for simplicity’s sake I have transcribed it in English only. But even allowing for language differences, there’s no way such a simple transaction should have been anywhere near as protracted. Sprite is Sprite, whether in English or Thai, written or spoken.

Me: Sprite, please.

Him: Bottled water?

Me: No, Sprite, please.

(He reaches for a bottle of Minute Maid orange juice.)

Me: No, Sprite.

Him: No have.

Me: Yes, you have (pointing at the Sprite in the fridge).

(He reaches for the orange juice again.)

Me: No, down.

(He reaches two shelves down, passes the Sprite, and goes for the bottled water again.)

Me: No, up.

(He reaches two shelves up and goes for the orange juice again.)

Me: No!

(He looks at me as if I’m stupid.)

Me: Sprite. Suh-prite? Spuh-rite?

(He continues to just look at me.)

Me: There! (Pointing again).

(He reluctantly opens the fridge again and we begin to repeat the up-down routine.)

Me: No, up. No, down. Right. Right. No, go right! Yes! That one!

Him: (Looking at me like I’m really stupid) Oh, you want Sprite.

Me: *Sigh*

(Note: As Thai for “bottled water” is “nam plao” and “orange juice” is “nam som”, there’s no possibly way he could have confused either with “Sprite”, whether in sound or appearance!)