A fortnight ago, we ventured to the ancient-modern Thai provincial centre of Lopburi, where we met petrified and hungry monkeys, scaled ancient ruins, and contemplated the “geomorphological” (go on, say that one 10 times fast!) relationship between the near future and ancient history. If you haven’t read part one yet, be sure to find it in the Travel section of ThePhuketNews.com before continuing.
My family’s short stay in Lopburi was refreshing, but I wish I had more time to wonder beyond the city walls. If I did, I’d certainly be keen to explore one of the many archaeological mounds scattered in the countryside, north and east of the modern town centre, and further fathom the fate of long-forgotten Khmer and Dvaravati settlements.
Khama-excuse me, Davra-what-ya ask? A quick history lesson: More than a millenia ago, prior to the ages of the glorious Siamese kingdoms we’ve all heard/read much about – Rattanakosin, Ayutthaya, Sukhothai and even Lanna, for example – much of present-day (Central, North and Northeast) Thailand was ruled by ancient-Cambodian and Mon kings and queens.
Namely, the Hindu-Buddhist-Indic influenced Khmer (pronounced ‘Ka-mare’) empire thrived in the Indochinese peninsula from roughly the 9th to 14th centuries. Remnants of this grand civilisation are found today in the form of many ancient Hindu sanctuaries’ ruins across the region, from Champsak to Chaiyaphum; Siem Rieb to Buriram; Lopburi to Phetchaburi.
And, according to historians and archeologists, prior to the Khmer period, some 1,300 to 2,000 years ago plus plus, the region was under the sway of a glorious Mon civilisation referred to as Dvaravati (pronounced “Ta-wara-wadee”), whose lasting influence is still apparent in modern Thai art and architecture to this day...
Okay, enough ancient history for now. Clock ticking, my prime agenda for this trip was further north, up the basin.
We hopped in our 2015 Nissan Tienna and hit the highway. At 100kph, we had about an hour in front of us. Even though I was going the speed limit, I was of the minority, constantly checking my rear view mirror for other commuters closing in on my tail at the 140kph norm; meanwhile the left lane was usually obstructed with some overloaded lorry, trucking along at 60. On the bright side, switching lanes constantly, helps to keep one awake, that and some good old Thai country – Luke Toong – and Lao-influenced Mor Lum, setting the tone on every radio station.
From Lopburi, we entered Singburi, passing through its ancient centre of Inburi. Again, if I had more time, I’d stop and explore one of the old famous temples here, or the site of the famous Siamese-Burmese battle of Bangrajun. Another time I suppose.
The highway throughout Chainat is marked with faux Hornbill figurines, apparently that’s the province’s signature bird, as also indicated by Chainat FC’s pretty pink mascot. Suffice to say, we didn’t see any there. Plenty of cars and hammocks being sold on the roadside though.
The scenery was seemingly a lot greener than in Lopburi, as we were a lot closer to the life-giving Chao Phraya River too. Though the affects of the recent drought were still apparent, and it wasn’t as lush as I remember.
Finally, we made it to Nakhon Sawan – literally the “Heavenly City”. Our first stop was to check in on my cousins whom I hadn’t seen in years. And just as I met them last, there they were along the highway, selling their ancient-recipe, baked chicken – Gai Ope Sood Boraan. Just like our ancestors, they still bake whole chickens in huge clay pots, with a sweet and crispy seasoning that’s to die for. My wife says one of the secret ingredients is shredded coconut. One thing’s for sure, if I ever decide to run a food business, you can bet I’ll be recruiting my cousins and their clay pots.
Though we planned to check-in to a hotel in the city, first I had to bring my family out to the “village”, even if only for a few hours, for every now and then, it’s grounding to go back to one’s simple roots. I was slightly disappointed this time around though. There remained only three households in the village. Last time I was here there were about 10, and perhaps double that when I first visited in 2001. A common Thai story, one by one, villagers are abandoning their rural roots, for the shallow promises of the city life; perhaps it’s minimum wage on a construction crew or bonding redundancy at a fish sauce factory, earning just enough to get by, and to qualify for more financial bondage.
The village well, with its manual-hand pump was still in tact and in the middle of the remaining three houses. One solar panel – one in a lot that the Provincial Electric Authority (PEA) had donated to the village in honour of HM the King a decade back – was still powering my uncle’s hand held radio in the day time, but “real fossil fuel” power lines had recently been brought in.
So now they had a fridge, TV and lights at will, all day, every day. Not sure if it’s a step forward or backward.
One key element was particularly missing, though. Children’s laughter. There were no kids playing traditional Thai games in the sand as I remember so fondly, for they’d all grown up now, off to work; the promise of B300 a day was just too irresistible to pass up.
My distant uncle remembered me, but could barely hold a conversation any more. I believe the Lao Kao rice wine is finally starting to take its toll, and sad to say, before long, he’ll likely be joining my other uncles and grandfather in “Poo Yai” heaven.
Back in the “heavenly city”, we checked into our hotel room. Nothing fancy, but with twin beds, basic TV and shower for B500, it would do. Next, we head to the riverside, the designated point of pilgrimage for this trip. The riverside evening market was alive and kicking. All kinds of food, drinks and cheap goods on offer. If I planned it properly, I could probably turn a reasonable profit on the Thai Phuket-for- sale page on Facebook. But that’s not why we’d come.
Just the other side of the baracade, the river level was low, but flowing grand as ever. Pak Nam Po, literally the “Mouth of the Bodhi Water”, refers to the point where two major Thai rivers – the Ping and Nan – converge into the kingdom’s most famous river: Chao Phraya, the mighty “River of Kings”.
The two contributory rivers have made the journey from contrasting lands, bearing different hues. The Nan River, which originates in Nan in the far eastern part of the North, is red like a fig (Bhodi) fruit, and the Ping, from Chiang Mai, is brown, like the mud of the Himalayas’ foothills. And here at Pak Nam Po, at the heart of Thailand’s 8th most populous city outside the capital, the rivers unite to form the Chao Phraya, which journeys down past Uthai Thani, Chainnat, Singburi, Angthong, Ayutthaya, Bangkok and finally Samut Prakarn before finally meeting its destiny at the Gulf of Thailand.
This regional artery, cutting straight through the abdominal flood-plain of the Indochinese region, has seen it all. It has carried Kings into battle, welcomed merchants from distant lands into the awe of charming Siam; carried the wrath of nature from the north, devastating its banks with floods galore, while punishing the nation’s rice stalks with drought conditions, like at present.
And yet, here at its origins, it is one of the most peaceful places I know in the kingdom. Take the ferry boat – reua dock – across to the Chinese shrine to make merit, or just enjoy the B20 crossing. Young men enjoy a game of Takraw on the sandy bank, while a fisherman knee-deep at the converging point of the rivers looks to reel in his dinner.
I am one again. The past and future are at a convergence, just like the rivers before me. It is now, and time stands still in this moment. Having picked up my young cousins, we treated them to a 3-D movie at Big C, something they hadn’t experienced since the last time I was here several years ago.
The next morning, we had to check out early, anticipating the three hour drive back to the capital, before catching our flight back to Phuket. But not before a trip to the summit of Khao Gop, the 185-metre-high mountain overlooking the entire city, and upper part of the Chao Phraya River basin. The temple at the top with all its bells, and statues, is nice, but shadowed by the view. To the east you can make out the outline of Beung Boraphet, the kingdom’s largest freshwater swamp. It was particularly drier than usual but distinguishable nonetheless.
Like Phuket Town, Nakhon Sawan has a predominate Chinese population with shop after shop along its narrow streets selling this and that – much more pleasant to observe from far above. Soon, it was time to depart. We detoured slightly, and stopped at Beung Boraphet for a quick pic. The waterside restaurants were packed, and I made my way down to the waterfront. This body of water is home to some wild crocs, but I trusted that if any were lurking nearby, they would have surely gone after one of the stray dogs hanging out on the shore. I gazed out in the distance. There were no pink hornbills that I could make out, but a white pelican or two out, gliding and swooping down for a fish, setting the scene for the perfect ending to a
perfect trip. I must return soon.