rose of the north

Chiang Mai, located in the rolling foothills of the Himalayan mountains, is the fifth largest city in Thailand. Centuries old, it was only until recently - 1920 to be exact - that journeys into the city no longer required difficult river travel or elephant treks.

Rumor has it, the city is quite beautiful, with the largest number of temples per square mile, and remnants of its walled past. But I spent too much time receiving daily massages (which in my humble opinion are the best in all of Thailand), learning how to cook Thai food and spending the evening hours wandering down the massive night markets to even take notice of the city itself. 

"long last the nation's pride and victory..."

A few years ago, a French expat living in Chiang Rai, Thailand got upset because he was unable to purchase alcohol that evening. Elections were the next day, precipitating the ban on drinking, and he hadn't stocked up. Angry, he went home, grabbed a paint can and proceeded to black out the king's face on five different nearby pictures. Images of the king are seen all over the country on billboards, giant pictures that drape off large buildings, easels placed in front of shops, and the list goes on.

The expat was caught on tape. The license plate on his motorbike was traced and police showed up at his door a few days later. For defacing property containing the king's image is punishable by 3-15 years imprisonment. He was sentenced to the maximum charge, times five for each picture he destroyed.

Each prisoner is allowed one chance for amnesty during their sentence. The French expat sought it on his first day in jail.  It was his only chance in survival. The other prisoners would have surely killed him, as his actions are viewed as badly as a child molesters. The king, in turn, granted his freedom. He was sent to an immigration prison and shortly thereafter back to France.

The king, unlike what I had previously thought before hearing this story by another long-term expat in Chiang Rai, wasn't pompous or arrogant at all. Whether or not he promotes the splashing of his face around the country, he respects those who don't like him as much as he does those who do.

It poses the question, who initiates the public display of affection?  Who encourages the national anthems played in movie theaters just before the show starts, with images of the king's life splashed across the screen? What about the requirement to stand in silence every time the anthem is played, whether in the train station, at night markets, or any other random occurrence? Have ancient kings created the requirement, which have consequently trickled down generations and created a patriotism wherein citizens themselves insure its continuation? Or is it for tradition's sake?

Wherever the root behind Thailand's patriotism lies, being a witness of it, and a participant in its celebrations - including the highly anticipated King's birthday involving a festival of lights, will remain the most memorable aspect of the country.

it's easy as...

"You can't go to northern Thailand without going to Pai!"

"You totally have to go to Pai."

"You're going to Pai, right?"

The amount of times I heard similar statements in my preparations to head north got so excessive that I feared Pai was being over-hyped. That is, until I arrived in the tiny, three stop light boasting, hipster town and began contributing my voice to the chorus of Pai-lovers.

What once was a tiny market town tucked away in the hills of the Mae Hong Song provence has turned into a tourist's mecca filled with free live music (which plays nightly), a wide range of unbeatable eats from cafe's and restaurants to evening markets, accommodations to fit any budget (read: $2 a night dorm bed), mountains to trek through or ride around on a rented motorbike, waterfalls to cool off in and a "chill vibe" long-term travelers come in search of. Many such-a-traveler ends up staying for indefinite periods of time.

It's as easy to get lost exploring the seemingly endless surrounding landscape as it is being sucked in to do nothing more than sit in a little cafe for hours chatting with the people seated at the table next to you.

My three-day planned trip turned into a six day stay, before I held an intervention with myself. It would have been all too likely I'd become a Pai statistic otherwise, unable to find my way out.

what a difference a border makes...

During our 28 day stay, the Burmese way of life - what little we were exposed to - didn't feel taxing. Amid the limited resources (it was sheer elation when we stumbled across a pack of Saltine Crackers)  we were never left wanting. And life didn't feel Third World.

Until we returned to Bangkok.

The modern Sky Trains, the reflective windowed high-rises, towering billboards, expansive freeways,  and 21st Century metropolitan feel was a contrast that hit us with such force, our bodies were drained by what we left behind. Then again, the exhaustion could have come from the 12 hour bus ride up to the Yangon airport where we spent more countless hours waiting for our flight to neighboring Thailand to depart. 

road to Mandalay

He was a monk the most of his life, before becoming a teacher and later starting a family.  Today Thura is a mushroom farmer who supplements his family's income as a tour guide - something he started in his teaching years, when all proceeds were donated to the school.

Having grown up in and around Mandalay, he can see past the concrete buildings that would have stopped Esther and I short, aside from the few major "must see" tourist hot-spots.

So we followed him on a journey outside of the city center to see a few insider sights.

Local transport, oddly filled to the brim with females. Thura, standing in the background, being the only exception

ceramic water jugs

Most efficient number of containers to carry is 4, although they are able to carry up to 7 at once (in a stable stance)

monks depositing their shoes at the entrance of the temple for lunch

The line of monks goes from oldest to youngest

Lunch, which is served at 10:30 (breakfast is at 4:30), is the final meal of the day, and eaten in silence

Tin and silversmith

View of the Taungthaman Lake

The U Bein Bridge, a 1.2km (.75mi) teakwood bridge, built in 1850 is still used as a main thoroughfare for locals

And, is quite possibly the most photographed site in and around Mandalay

"It's not power that corrupts, but fear. Fear of losing power..."

It takes strong and courageous people to speak out against a corrupt government. People who are willing to accept the consequences, whatever they may be, in hopes of providing a better life for not only themselves, but for all those around them.

Aung San Suu Kyi is one such person. She rallied for a Democratic Burma. The military government wasn't pleased. They placed her in house arrest, offering her freedom under the condition that she left the country permanently. She refused. Yet, amidst the confines of her own home in Rangoon (Yangon), her influence carried on. The political party she chaired, the National League for Democracy, won the majority vote in the first general elections in over 40 years. She won the Nobel and other Peace Prizes. Her fellow countrymen were inspired.

Four hundred miles (630 kilometers) north of Suu Kyi's confines, three men known as the Moustache Brothers - two of whom are actual brothers and the third being their cousin- rallied behind her. They too were in search of a democratic country.  Comedians at heart, they travelled around the country putting on shows which poked fun at the lack of resources afforded by the government: insufficient hospital care, poor schooling, water shortages, and the list goes on. In 1990, the oldest brother, Par Par Lay, was jailed for 6 months after poking fun at the military government with a satire to brandish their refusal in acknowledging the landslide votes Suu Kyi's party received.

Possible jail time is what all Burmese political comedians agree to sign up for. And there are many who have seen that sad side of activism. It is the risk they take by speaking their mind. Six years later, in 1996, following one of their largest shows which happened to be hosted inside Suu Kyi's home, Par Par Lay and his cousin U Lu Zaw were sentenced to 7 years hard labor at a camp on the Chinese border. Par Par Lay's brother, Lu Maw, was spared the sentence. Prior to the show, the three pulled straws to see who would blatantly crack jokes on the insufficiencies of the government. They knew consequences were highly inevitable. Their voices were heard though.

Upon their release, they were allowed to perform again, but only in the confines of their own home and under strict rules. The comedy show can only be given in English, only to tourists. It must follow the patterns of a typical Burmese show, with song and dance included with the sketches. They've agreed to the terms, yet still find the time to squeeze out little bits of political activism throughout the show which is held in single room offering plastic chairs for their guests to sit on.  Their nephew sits outside keeping watch for cops.

Lu Maw (left) and his cousin U Lu Zaw performing in front of an audience of tourists in their home

In 2007 Par Par Lay was again temporarily arrested for supporting a monk-led rally against the government. Monks are the only individuals able to speak out against the country without consequence.

In 2010 the government shed its military skin and is now touted as a civil one. Aung San Suu Kyi was released. Since then, hope is in the air. But as the Moustache Brothers put it, the government hasn't changed, only the uniform has. They await the day for the next general election in 2015 when Suu Kyi has a clear shot at becoming President.

Sadly, Par Par Lay will never know if that dream will be realized. In 2013 he died of kidney failure. Lead poisoning, from the bad water at the labor camp, is what Lu Maw says is the cause of his brother's shortened life.

And until that hopeful day in 2015, the two remaining Moustache Brothers continue their nightly show to handfuls of tourists inside their home. It's not the ideal situation for them, but the duo believe that the foreign presence will only help in their fight for freedom.

Lu Mau showing the audience a proud moment for him, in which Obama greeted Aung San Suu Kyi with a kiss

Twilight Over Burma

Inge Sargent was six years old when the Nazi's first invaded her village. But even post-war Austria, years later, was hard to deal with. So when afforded the opportunity, Sargent moved to the United States to study in Colorado on a Fulbright scholarship.  It was there she met Sao Kya Seng, a Burmese mining engineer student. The two fell in love and married in 1953 at the home of a mutual friend.

Seven months later, they sailed to Burma. When nearing Yangon (formerly Rangoon) a parade of people lined the river awaiting the boat.

Sargent asked what was going on, but Sao didn't reply.

As they drew closer to the shore, a band began to play and a Welcome Home banner came into view.

She asked again with no reply given in return.

Once a welcome group entered little boats, throwing flowers into the water as they neared the ship, Sao finally said, "I have to tell you something."

"No, not now," she responded, "I don't want to miss the welcome."

"Please," he requested.

"No, no, no, later. Tell me later. I want to see what's happening."

"They're welcoming us," Sao blurted out.

Sargent looked at him and asked, "They welcome every mining engineer like that?"

"No, I'm their Prince," came his response.

"You're their what?"

"I'm the Prince of Hsipaw and you are my Princess."

"Oh, why didn't you tell me earlier," she remarked, "I would have worn a different dress!"

Sargent fell in love with her new homeland. She adopted the local dress and customs and learned to speak Burmese and Shan, the local language from the minority group with the same name. The Shan state, roughly the size of Connecticut, comprises the North Eastern portion of Myanmar.  Hsipaw residing in the heart of it.

the Shan palace in Hsipaw

The royal couple worked tirelessly to create equality amongst their people.  Sao, who's family reigned since 40AD, drew wealth from rice patties. After returning home, he gave the fields to the farmers carrying for them.  They were going to buy rice just like everybody else. Their fortune would come through mining - which was his reason for getting an education in the US.

Their time in democratic Burma was a happy one. The country was wealthy and literacy was high. And through their efforts, people were gaining an equal standing with one another.

Nine years and two children later, in 1962, the Burmese military overthrew the government in a coup d'etat. Sao was arrested and imprisoned - he never really was liked by the military, being a Prince of a minority people with a foreign wife, and democratic to boot. Sargent and her daughters were placed under house arrest, which lasted for two years. She spent them exhausting her resources in search of her husband and to know of his welfare.

Still unsure of his fate, she fled to Austria with her daughters and three suitcases. Sao, if he was alive, would find her there like they had discussed early on, should something happen to him.

But he never came. She knew he was dead. Documents, eyewitnesses, and everything else she had gathered told her so. The government just wouldn't admit it. To this day, 52 years later, they still won't. Sargent's daughters, who moved with her to the US not long after leaving Burma, still write letters to the Burmese government each year asking what happened to their father. They have never received a reply. Until they do, they won't step foot into the country. Sargent isn't allowed in, even if she wanted to.

Today, in Hsipaw, to tell their story is the wife of Sao's nephew, Mrs Fern (her Anglicized name).  They lived in the palace - a small colonial styled house - together, telling the history of their family until the military government grew unhappy. Sao's nephew, Mr. Donald, was arrested, held for four years and told upon his release that he could no longer speak to foreigners. Donald and Fern moved to Taunggyi to live until Fern couldn't stand it any longer and made her way back to Hsipaw. People had to know. So she is there, on and off, welcoming a revolving door of guests to tell the story of the Prince of Hsipaw and his Princess.

Mrs. Fern, with a picture of Sao and Sargent behind.