Baronbonk.com Chiang Rai, Thailand

As a dyed-in-the-wool city boy, it’s not often I feel the need to escape from Bangkok. But last month I did; the country air was calling and I felt compelled to answer. So, armed with my mosquito repellant and a healthy supply of Imodium, I booked myself on to the next available flight to Chiang Rai, Thailand’s most northerly city and province. After about an hour in the air I found myself at a tiny airport surrounded by green hills and rolling landscapes. Five minutes later I was in a taxi and on the way to my hotel. En route I got my first clue that in Chiang Rai, as in the past, they do things differently. Just as we were approaching the city centre (I use the term loosely) I noticed a sign offering: “Thai massage by the blind.” Now that could be interesting, I thought.

Instantly I imagined myself lying on a bed, wearing nothing but a towel, as a myopic masseuse got to grips with the back of a Chesterfield. “I’m over here!” I would cry to no avail. “You velly, velly stiff,” she would reply. “Skin like buffalo!” Ten minutes later I was at the Golden Triangle Inn, a pleasant, if basic hotel on Phaholyothin Road, one of Chiang Rai’s main thoroughfares. After a quick shower and change I set off in search of food. Chiang Rai’s ‘nightlife’ centres on Jet Yord Road, a shortish soi running south from Baanpa Pragarn Road, and the adjoining Sapkaset Plaza, so that’s where I headed. Passing by a few lifeless beer bars I eventually found a place to eat.

Despite its rather odd name - Triple 9 (which no one seemed able to explain), the place was pleasant enough, with an attractive garden out the back where I chose to dine al fresco. Sitting among the tropical plants and beside a gurgling mini-fountain, I soon felt the pressures of the city lift from my shoulders. And after a couple of large bottles of Heineken – great value at only 85 baht – it was time to order. The food was predominantly Thai, but reasonably extensive and ludicrously cheap (after Bangkok). Following a short period of consideration, I opted for the Vietnamese pork strips in a spicy sauce and the tendons of chicken.

Now, it could be that you have just questioned the word ‘tendons’ there. I know I did when I first saw it on the menu. However, for reasons unknown, I decided that the menu’s creator probably meant ‘tender’ or ‘goujons’, so I ordered it anyway.

Mistake number one. The pork was quite delicious, and at 49 baht, a gift. The ‘tendons’, however, were something else – or rather, they weren’t – they were actual chicken tendons! I couldn’t believe it! One minute I’m sitting there all chilled, the next I’m gagging and choking like a human lab rat being force-fed Kentucky Fried Cartilage! It was time to move on. As I said before, there is little nightlife to talk of in Chiang Rai, but I was determined to find something to do after my unpleasant encounter with Achilles.

Heading back up Jet Yord Road I soon came to Phatphong Bar. With a name like that, regardless of the misspelling, there had to be something going on, I thought. Mistake number two! Apart from myself, there were just two farangs in the place, an American and a Brit who were deeply embroiled in a heated debate over the Palestinian conflict. What a night this was turning out to be! While consoling myself with a glass of Carlsberg (again great value at a mere 35 baht), I was approached by a bar girl, who after enquiring about my name told me she was Acker. Just I was about to ask her to knock out a few bars of Stranger on the Shore on her clarinet she explained that ‘Akha’ was her race, a hill-tribe people originally from Tibet. Her name was Sky.

As nice as she was, the conversation was far from flowing and after a few games of pool and several more Carlsbergs, I took my custom across the street to Snake Agogo. Mistake number three!

Now I have been in plenty of bad gogo bars, but this has to be the dullest in Thailand. Apart from being the only farang in the place, the music was awful and the single, fully clothed dancer looked more bored than I was. It was time to call it a night.
The next day I decided to take a trek around the local countryside on the back of a small motorbike. Up front was Sam, a wonderfully eccentric Thai guy, whose youthful looks belied his 46 years by at least a couple of decades.

Over the course of the afternoon we took in several hill-tribe settlements, including an Akha village, a dramatic waterfall and a natural hot spring that was bubbling away at 76 degrees C. It was wonderfully refreshing, if not a little hard on the buttocks, and a huge change from the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. The highlight, however, was on the return journey. Despite it having been a blisteringly hot day, by sunset it was becoming clear that a storm was brewing. And sure enough, little more than five minutes into our homeward leg, the heavens opened and the sky turned to jet.
Within seconds we were drenched – it was Songkran all over again! Only this time the situation was far from fun, it was threatening!

With lightning flashing through the blackness, occasionally striking the ground in front of our pathetic two-wheeler, and thunder blasting in our ears, we knew we had to find a place to stop, and soon! Our sanctuary came in the form of a small roadside café, where we were greeted warmly by a couple of young girls and their mother. However, just as they were bringing us a couple of Changs (and a towel) their electricity was blown out so we were hustled inside their modest home where a couple of small candles provided the only lighting and heat.

Make a mental note to never come to Chiang Rai again, I thought to myself. But despite my immediate feelings, the warmth of our hosts soon rekindled my spirits. And while the ladies prepared a few simple dishes for us – not easy without electricity – Dad emerged from the shadows with what appeared to be a large bottle of Leo.

I should have known better, of course. Just like Sam’s roll-ups, which he had earlier described as a ‘special blend’ he buys from the Akhas, Dad’s beer was not all it seemed. It was actually sticky rice wine, a potent brew to rival the best of the world’s cottage industry spirits!

On another night I may have declined the offer to sample such a lethal concoction, but after surviving the seemingly inevitable electrocution on the back of the bike earlier, I was suddenly fearless. Three glasses of sticky rice wine later and I was also legless! And so there we sat for several hours – smoking and drinking some of Thailand’s finest homegrown substances and laughing hysterically (as you do) at anything and everything.

It was only on the return trip, after bidding our fine hosts a fond farewell, that I realised my vision had been so distorted by the wine, I could barely see.

My thoughts on the other hand were perfectly clear - Chiang Rai wasn’t such a bad place after all. And if my eyesight did fail to return, at least I could get a job as a masseuse!

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