Mae Sai

Sitting on the balcony of my guesthouse in the morning heat of Mae Sai I took a drink of water. Less than I had needed to drink two weeks ago, in Bangkok’s humid heat, but the dry heat of the North is still enough. The Sai river separating Thailand and Myanmar flows directly beside my guesthouse balcony, although thick foliage obscures the view into the isolated Country.

I had left Chiang Mai for Mae Sai the previous morning after reading about the Monkey Island guesthouse in a guidebook. I stayed in Chiang Mai for about ten days. First, saying goodbyes to friends, then, spending my time drinking cold beers in the sun on the roof of an old diplomatic compound that had been turned into a hostel. It was nice to stay in one place for more than a couple of nights but I it would have been a waste to spend the rest of my trip in that comfortable a place. It wasn’t what I had come here for. The guesthouse in Mae Sai turned out to be a dud, only vaguely pirate themed. The town, though, turned out to be a true end of the road town, a place off the beaten path, in the best kind of way.

A small border town with a wide six lane road running through the middle of it. There was a lack of action on the drive in but a busy hub of activity at the Northern end where the feature of the town was the bridge across the Sai river to Tachileik in Myanmar. The previous evening, I had walked to the main road, close to the border gatehouse where a nightly food market had been set up selling all sorts. This wasn’t a tourist town and the food stalls were less appetizing to Westerners than in Chiang Mai or other places more frequented by tourists. Unsure of what to get, I pointed to something at one of the food stalls. Inside the foam box I was handed was a Thai version of tripe as far as I could make out. All part of going off the tourist trail I guess. Perhaps the only bad meal I had in Thailand. I began thinking it might be better to try a more established place to eat that night.

While walking around exploring the town the Burmese influence was noticeable. Even more so than the other border town I had visited, Sangklaburi. Burmese food was advertised every few shops and I decide, since I was so close to the Country, it would be a shame not to try the cuisine. I found what looked like a popular working class joint with the proprietors cooking out back, the children waiting tables, and the plastic stools, ubiquitous in these types of establishments in South East Asia, set around the tables. The Burmese green curry was tasty but mild compared to Thai levels of spice.

Satisfied, I walked outside back onto the street market, near the towns prominent border gate, and found one of the stalls serving a delicious sweet Thai crepe with condensed milk dessert that I had eaten before in Sangklaburi. After giving the cook his small fee he handed me my pancake and I took a seat on the edge of a footpath and observed the activity going on around the border. Activity of Thai traders that had been selling in Myanmar for the day arriving back then packing up their wares, perhaps. The temperature at this time of night was warm with a more comfortable breeze than in the heat of the day. My fried crepe pancake in hand, a coke in a plastic bag w/ straw, I was happy watching the goings on in what was one of the rare, truly Thai markets, I’d seen in this Country.

Anna, an American woman, also staying at the guesthouse, walked onto the balcony carrying a herbal tea. I introduced myself while she sat down at the table. As we started talking about the usual, where we had been and all that, a patrol boat passed down the river underneath our balcony. While is was unclear whether it was Thai or Burmese, the topic of conversation turned to the main attraction in this town.

Myanmar had yet to be partially democratized, the military junta had ruled absolutely for several decades and there were few signs, to the casual observer at least, the military rulers would be compelled to release Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest just a few years later. Sadly in recent Months, at the time of writing, the military are attempting to regain total control of the Country and brutally suppressing resistors.

Anna mentioned she was traveling with a friend. She mentioned had been told by other travelers there had been artillery shelling between Thai and Burmese forces a decade earlier (their are archive reports of an exchange of fire in 2001). I said that might explain the smooth roads and modern Siam Bank offices on the main street of a town this remote. She said some of the the roads in Tachileik were still full of potholes and the repairs needed after the shelling hadn’t been done.

She asked me what had brought me this far North, and explained that most people, including her, come to cross the border and extend their visas another Month. Not wanting to tell her I came to see a stupid guest house called Monkey Island or that I was bored in Chiang Mai, I explained I wasn’t sure, but that I wanted to check out another border town after staying in Sangklaburi. It was lame, although at this point I didn’t even know how I ended up at this end of the Country instead of the beaches in Ko Samui.

Anna explained that only certain areas of Tachileik was accessible to foreigners. To keep those pesky Westerners from exploring too far the border guards held your passport to ensure your return. The border also closed on the Myanmar side at random times leaving the possibility that one could be stuck over there for a night or more. Despite the process, Anna had done the visa run the day before and it had gone smoothly. She said she hadn’t looked around too much but I was beginning to think it might be worth a visit. I had come this far and it had been too comfortable chilling with backpackers in Chiang Mai. A visit to Myanmar would certainly be something to talk about back home. By the time Anna finished her tea and excused herself my mind was made up, curiosity had got the better of me, it was time to see what was on the other side of the river.