Wat Phumin

Nan’s Wat Phumin has an unusual cruciform ubosot, built in 1596.

Ubosot at Wat Phumin, Nan

Inside there are four Buddha figures in bhūmisparśa mudrā. This posture reflects the moments after the Lord Buddha achieved enlightenment when he was challeged by Māra (the leader of a horde of demons) to prove that he had indeed achieved enlightenment and found a way to end all suffering. The Lord Buddha touched the earth, proclaiming that the earth was his witness.

Buddha figures at Wat Phumin, Nan

The inner walls of the temple are covered with vibrant murals painted by Thai Lü (an ethnic group, originally from Yunan in China) artists in the 19th century. They’re a wonderful reflection on life in those days.

Murals at Wat Phumin, Nan

Murals at Wat Phumin, Nan

Murals at Wat Phumin, Nan

Nearby there’s a strange domed building.

Building at Wat Phumin, Nan

I was a little surprised by what I found inside.

Hell at Wat Phumin, Nan

Hell on earth.

Wat Phra That Chang Kham

Nearby is Wat Phra That Chang Kham. (“Phra That” indicates that the temple houses a relic of the Lord Buddha.) It’s unknown when this temple was founded, but the vihara was rebuilt in 1458 CE. The gilded chedi dates from the 14th century.

Chedi at Wat Phra That Chang Kham, Nan

And has elephant supporters.

Elephant supporters at What Phra That Chang Kham, Nan

Inside the temple there’s a massive figure of the Lord Buddha.

Buddha figure at Wat Phra That Chang Kham, Nan

The walls have some faded murals. It’s said that the abbot ordered the murals to be whitewashed over because they were distracting the congregation from his sermons. Now they’re slowly being restored.

There were many novices hanging around in its grounds, some sweeping the paths, some buying shaved ice desserts, some just talking. Here are two playing a board game.

Novices playing a board game at Wat Phra That Chang Kham, Nan

Wat Suam Tam

This temple, dating from 1456, has an interesting 40 m high chedi dating from the 1600s. It’s clearly influenced by Khmer architecture, though also has strong Sukhothai influences.

Chedi at Wat Suam Tam, Nan

The vihara is absolutely ravishing in red and gold.

Vihara at Wat Suan Tan, Nan

Wat Hua Khuang

This minor temple has a beautiful wooden mondop (library), though it’s now used as a kuti (monk’s residence).

Mondop (library) at Wat Hua Khuan, Nan

Wat Phra That Chae Haeng

A couple of kilometres outside town is Nan’s most sacred temple, Wat Phra That Chae Haeng. The walk there’s pleasant enough, on a road through rice fields that gradually rises as it approaches the temple, which is situated atop a small hill.

Originally this wasn’t a temple, but was rather a chedi built in 1355 to house sacred Buddha relics.
Chedi at Wat Phra That Chae Haeng, Nan

The interior of the newer temple is, however, most impressive.

Interior of Wat Phra That Chae Haeng, Nan

[357]

Each city in Thailand has a guardian spirit which lives in a pillar known as the “lak meuang”. Somewhat surprisingly, this isn’t an ancient tradition. The first lak meuang was erected by King Rama I in 1782 when he moved the Thai capital from Thonburi across the river to Bangkok. The shrine built to house Bangkok’s lak meuang was in fact the first building erected in the new capital.

Nan’s lak meuang is an impressive affair, decorated with gold leaf and topped with the four faces of the Hindu creator deity, Brahma (known in Thailand as Phra Phrom).

Nan's lak meuang

It’s housed in a fancy silvery-white pavilion.

Nan's lak meuang pavilion

And is guarded by scary demons emerging from the mouths of nagas.

Guardian of Nan's lak meuang

[356]

One of my dark secrets is that I’m a closet Leonard Cohen fan. His witty, literate songs such as Hallelujah, I’m Your Man, Everybody Knows (“Shining artefact of the past” has to be one of my favourite lines ever) and Suzanne appeal greatly to me. Surely he must be one of Canada’s greatest exports ever.

Tonight I was reminded of another of his songs. As I looked up I saw tens of thousands of small birds perched on the overhead wires – small swifts, evenly spaced.

Birds on wires in Nan

During the day to find evidence of these birds one can look down and see the trails of bird lime.

     “Like a bird on the wire,
     Like a drunk in a midnight choir
     I have tried in my way to be free.”

Funny how he forgot to write about the poo.

[355]

Nan

As the aeroplane descended I could see the river snaking its way along the valley floor. To either side there were ox bow lakes. Seven of them I counted, but there could have been more. The houses of the small town of Nan clustered either side of the river.

For centuries Nan was an independent kingdom, isolated by the mountain ranges which surround it. Short stretches of the brick walls built to defend it still stand. Its isolation still gives it its own special character. McDonald’s and Pizza Hut haven’t made it here yet. Around town there are posters announcing stag beetle fights. And a few households still put out jars of drinking water for passers-by.

Water jars in Nan

Nan lies about 670 km north of Bangkok, close to the border with Laos, and is small, with a population about 20,000.

At the bus station the woman selling tickets had a small plastic bag full of cicadas. A short bamboo tube, too small for the cicadas to crawl through, was secured to the neck of the bag by a rubber band. A small crowd had gathered to admire her tasty snack.

The town looks much like any other town: ugly rows of concrete buildings, a tangle of wires overhead. However, there are a few large teak houses in the centre of town, and a number of shady gardens with moss growing over the walls.

The major attraction of the town, however, is its charming temples. I didn’t see another Westerner in my three days in here. I doubt, however, Nan will remain off the tourist trail for much longer.

[354]

In Thailand there have been 39 occupations which are restricted to Thai nationals only. My life-long dream of becoming an alms bowl maker or crafter of Thai dolls will sadly go unfulfilled. Never will I be able to create shoes or hats, or forge a knife. Cutting gemstones is forbidden to me, as is making lacquerware and bronzeware. I can never be a farmer or taxi driver, nor can I weave mats or make a paper parasol. And to this catalogue of unfulfillable dreams you can now add “beggar”. The Thai government has resolved that only Thais can be beggars.

A government spokeswoman is reported as saying that “passing the legislation into law would help the authorities get rid of the large number of foreign beggars in the country”.

In future beggars will be required to prove to the local authorities that they are suitably needy, carry an ID card with them at all times and get a work permit.

Of course, such legislation is the obvious way of dealing with the desperate, the mentally ill, the impoverished. So much better an idea than introducing any sort of social welfare for the destitute.

[344]

The British government doesn’t treat its exiles very well. For example, whilst the pensions of pensioners living in the UK increase every year in line with inflation, the pensions of most expats are fixed at the time they retire. Inflation erodes the pension’s value over time, and what starts out as a trivial sum becomes a pittance.

But then expats don’t have a vote, and since governments are driven by expediency, rather than a moral compass, the expat will be done over every time.

For example, there’s the the discriminatory taxation of expats. Rev. Jonathan Mayhew is famous for proclaiming “no taxation without representation”, whilst James Otis put it a little more directly: “taxation without representation is tyranny”. Both these gentlemen were American just before American independence. They had no vote, just as I have no vote today. I guess British taxation was as odious then as it is now.

There’s discrimination in the treatment of inheritance tax for people with foreign spouses: whilst someone with a British spouse can leave ₤300,000 to their partner tax-free, a foreign spouse only gets a ₤65,000 allowance.

Now, I don’t like the idea of the tax man taking 40% of my hard-earned cash when I die. One way of getting around this is to be non-UK domiciled. Basically you have to prove that you’ve severed your links with the UK. Then only your UK assets are subject to UK inheritance tax. There’s no way I’d ever even consider returning to the UK to live – in my mind my domicile is now Thailand. If for some reason I had to leave Thailand I’d relocate to somewhere else in South East Asia. The tax man, however, may have a different idea – particularly when the prospect of stealing my savings when I’m gone arises.

In an attempt to clarify my domicile I wrote to the tax man. He was written back, refusing to comment on my domicile because … I’m not UK resident. Quite frankly, I think that’s outrageous; there shouldn’t be such uncertainty when it comes to taxation.

Anyway, I’m now in the process of moving my pension to Guernsey, where it will be beyond the tax man’s greedy grasp. I’m also contemplating moving the bulk of my investments to Luxembourg. This won’t exempt them from inheritance tax if I’m deemed to be UK domiciled, but will if I’m not. Such are the hoops we must leap through.

[342]

There are a few restaurants around town that proclaim they serve Vietnamese food. The ones I’ve been to have either had Vietnamese dishes on the menu, but they’re not actually available, or have had regular central Thai menus. It was therefore with an air of skepticism that I went to another self-proclaimed Vietnamese restaurant last night. It was a simple place, shielded from the street by a screen of bamboo poles with cast concrete tables and benches, the tables topped with inlaid ceramic tiles.

There were quite a few customers there already eating, which is always a promising sign.

The menu when it came was all in Thai, and I’d forgotten my glasses, so I asked my companion to handle the ordering, adding a few suggestions from happy memories of past trips to Vietnam.

The first dish arrived quickly. It was simple, thin slices of pork rib topped with crispy fried garlic and a spicy dipping sauce.

Next to come was minced shrimp wrapped around a sugar cane stick accompanied by a large bouquet of herbs and leaves, some bitter, some aromatic, some peppery. I recognised coriander, mint and holy basil, but the rest were a bit of a mystery to me. There were also lettuce leaves and a large plate containing pieces of star fruit (carambola), sour green mango and cucumber, slivers of garlic and small, fiery green chillies as well as small coils of thin, cold wheat noodles. The idea is that you peel the shrimp mince from the stick and place it either on one of the lettuce leaves or on a larger herb leaf along with a selection of the other items. You then add a little hot/spicy/sour peanut sauce, roll the whole thing up, and pop it in your mouth.

Then arrived a thin, crispy pancake filled with stir-fried minced meat and vegetables accompanied by a small salad of cucumber and chillies in sweetened vinegar and another spicy dipping sauce.

And finally we got fresh spring rolls: thin sheets of moistened rice paper lined with lettuce leaves and topped with minced shrimps, lots of holy basil and tiny pieces of other vegetables and noodles, then tightly wrapped and sliced into bit-sized pieces. And, of course, there was yet another dipping sauce.

The food was pretty good. OK, they’d mixed minced pork with the shrimp wrapping the sugar cane to keep the cost down, and they’d used holy basil in the spring rolls rather than the more traditional mint and coriander (mint is quite difficult to find here I find). A Vietnamese traditionalist might have frowned, but for five pounds for two (including a large bottle of beer), it was excellent value for money and a very pleasant change.

[340]

I celebrate each fourth of July (or “Thanksgiving” as it’s known in the UK) by taking a worming pill. It’s a common precautionary measure here in Thailand. Each year schoolchildren are lined up and fed one of these foul-tasting preparations by their teacher. What makes it worse is that you’re supposed to chew the pill, rather than swallow it whole.

Much of the risk comes from eating undercooked meat. Particularly in the north east (Isaan), salads are prepared with raw minced meat or fish, or only very lightly cooked meat. Here in the central plains when they make Isaan food they cook the meat more fully, but there’s still a risk. I suspect the Isaan tradition stems from two things: (1) the available meat is very tough and stringy, so mincing makes it more palatable. (In the case of the fish, freshwater fish are very bony, so mincing means you don’t have to pick out the hundreds of tiny bones.); (2) fuel has traditionally been in very short supply, and even now is expensive, so minimal cooking keeps down the cost.

The shortage of wood for fuel has also historically accounted for the rise of stir-fried and other quickly cooked dishes; slow-braised dishes are almost absent from the cuisine.

[339]

I often see large millipedes on the pavement, perhaps 15 cm long, glossy black, with rippling rows of legs. They’re pretty harmless, unlike the local centipedes which are highly venomous.

Researchers, however, have recently discovered a new poisonous millipede here in Thailand which goes by the alluring name of “The Shocking Pink Dragon Millipede”. It’s about 3 cm long, very spiny, and it smells of almonds, the result of the hydrogen cyanide it produces for self-defence. It’s also (as the name suggests) bright pink. So deadly is it that it rests in the open, unafraid of predators. Indeed, its colour is almost certainly aposematic.

Here’s a picture of two of them making baby millipedes. The male is on top.

Shocking Pink Dragon Millipede

[Photograph from H. Enghoff et al. (2007), The shocking pink dragon millipede, Desmoxytes purpurosea, a colourful new species from Thailand (Diplopoda: Polydesmida: Paradoxosomatidae), Zootaxa 1567, pp.31-36]

[334]

A few months ago I visited Phanom Rung, a 12th century Khmer temple situated on top of a hill in the north east of Thailand. (My original Postcard is here.) Last week something awful happened there: the temple was vandalised. A large number of naga (mythical serpent) balustrades were smashed, as was the Nandi figure (the bull vehicle of the Hindu deity Shiva), two singha (mythical lion) figures and a couple of guardian statues. The Shiva lingam (stylised phallus) at the heart of the temple was moved from its yoni (female private parts) and turned to face the opposite direction.

Phanom Rung naga balustrade
Naga balustrade at Phanom Rung

Phanom Rung nandi figure
Nandi figure at Phanom Rung

Phanom Rung guardian
Guardian figure at Phanom Rung with Shiva lingam in background

There was apparently some sort of black magic ritual performed before the vandalism – a plastic glass of water and three cigarettes were found as well as candles and incense sticks – though the purpose of the ritual is unclear. One theory is that the ritual was to counteract the effects of a previous ritual performed by the current government at the site. Another is that the ritual was associated with the production of amulets.

The local people are stunned. Many of them were involved in the 10 year restoration project for the temple back in the 70s. They can’t believe that anyone local would do something so terrible. One of the archaeologists who worked on the original restoration said “I never thought that I would have to restore this temple again, especially as a result of vandalism. The feeling is so much different. The 1971 restoration work was conducted because of natural causes, but this time it is the work of a group of ill-willed people.” The site – like many similar sites in Thailand – was woefully poorly protected. The budget only allowed for three security guards to be employed to cover what is a large area.

Restoration will be swift – probably about a month – but the shock will take longer to fade.

[330]