PART 1 of this story can be found here.
WITH the Burmese border only a few km to the west of Mae Salong, this part of Thailand has always had a slightly lawless feel. The different ethnic fighting forces of the Wa and the Shan are notorious in the nearby Burmese hills as smugglers and purveyors of illicit heroin and amphetamine. This drug trade was something the 93rd also dabbled in – the KMT’s involvement being depicted in the 2007 Denzel Washington movie, American Gangster – but they swapped this for tourism and tea. The nearby town of Toerd Thai is even home to a museum dedicated to the most famous opium warlord of them all, Khun Sa, who made a base in Toerd Thai for several years until his death in 2007.
Somboon at the Martyr’s Memorial Hall, Mae Salong (© Andrew Spooner)
The cultural diversity produced by this region converges every morning at Mae Salong’s market. Brightly adorned Lisu people arrive five-to-a-motorcycle bringing trinkets and produce. Akha women, clad with elaborate silver headdresses, carry huge faggots of wood and sell vegetables from simple stalls while ethnic Chinese sup bowls of noodles. But Mae Salong is also beginning to attract a more cosmopolitan element.
“We moved here because we’d really had enough of Bangkok,” says Kittikhun ‘Ton’ Khongstisawat (35) the joint owner with his wife, Jinapuck ‘Mee’ Chewanorrasuchakul (33), of the funky Sweet Mae Salong cafe. Clinging to a slice of ridge with gorgeous views over the nearby valleys, Sweet Mae Salong is a labour of love for this thoroughly urban couple. “I worked as an advertising production creative,” says Ton, a professional photographer, “but it’s such a fake world. I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Mee, who now bakes all of the cafe’s delectable array of cakes, pastries and goodies and who was once the PA to ousted Thai PM Thaksin Shinawatra’s sister, is also eager to point out how much they love Mae Salong’s relaxed vibe. “We were so stressed out in Bangkok,” she says. “Life here is such a contrast. Everything happens at such a slower pace.”
By 1982, with the final defeat of Thailand’s communist insurgents and Thai citizenship handed out to remaining members and their families, the 93rd was forced to disband. Money poured in to help the ex-fighters become tea farmers and guesthouse owners. Even the old barracks were turned into a gaggle of tourism bungalows, The Mae Salong Resort, under the stewardship of one of the 93rd’s remaining senior military officers, General Lue. Today this resort is a run-down affair that seems to be on its last legs but the location, in a forest overlooking Mae Salong, would be the envy of many 5star places.
Back down in the town, right next door to Somboon’s Little Home is the oldest hostelry in Mae Salong, Sinsane Guesthouse. “My family started this place in 1970, 38/9 years ago,” says Mr. Ho, the owner, whose father was a payroll officer in the 93rd. “We were even the first people to have a building that was taller than two floors.” These days, Sinsane is a fixture on the backpacker route and Ho is happy with the effect tourism has had on Mae Salong. “More and more people come every year,” he says. “It’s actually a great place to experience well-preserved Chinese culture.”
One of the most authentic slices of that preserved culture is just a short walk down from both Little Home and Sinsane guesthouses. There, in a small wooden house adorned with Chinese calligraphy and Taoist yin-yang symbols, lives ex-KMT desk soldier, Jun Tong Ming (86), a Taoist practitioner and healer. “I spend most of my time reading about the Tao,” says Mr Ming as he sits sipping tea. “It’s a shame that more people don’t listen to what the Tao can offer. People can be so greedy, even here in Mae Salong. The Tao teaches you to want to less.” Mr Ming then performs a quick health check on me, reading my pulse and studying my face. “You don’t seem to have any major health problems,” he says. “Although you could benefit from some of my special 32year old tea. Drink it when it becomes cold,” he says, handing me a small paper packet containing some aromatic leaves.
Later that afternoon, after imbibing a cup of Mr Ming’s tea, Somboon suggests a visit to what is one of Mae Salong’s most important sites – the Martyr’s Memorial Hall and Museum. Here the history of the 93rd’s struggle through China and Burma is laid out in huge maps, photo displays and models of famous battles. More poignantly, in the memorial hall itself, are runs of short, red wooden staves, lined up in platoon-like regimentation and inscribed with the names of every fallen 93rd officer.
In the centre, next to an effigy of Chinese war god, Kwang Woo, stands the stave dedicated to General Duan. Just to the right is another, short stave, gold script running it’s length. “This is my father,” says Somboon. I can see Somboon’s eyes misting up as he lights some incense and falls to his knees in silent prayer for his fallen comrades.
As we leave the hall Somboon is in reflective mood. “So many of my friends died,” he says. “I never liked fighting but we had to do it to survive. Everything was so tough before but now I have a very good life.” And with that we head back to Little Home to sip Oolong tea, sit in the sun and watch the world go by, the battles of 1949 finally fading into distant memory.
