The high-rise elephant

From Nakhon Pathon to Bang Sai, Youssef Rakha seeks out a stately culture lost in the high-tech, no-nonsense urbanism of the non-Communist far east
Its insularity, efficiency and facilities made Bangkok Airport far more like Heathrow than Cairo -- a tendency that would prove true of much of Thailand's infrastructure. On the way to passport control, for example, the series of tourism promotion billboards featuring an elephant -- Thailand's "national animal," which was to resurface in many forms -- made for an impression of slick sophistication. At his residence in Zamalek, Thailand's Ambassador to Egypt Warawit Kanithasen had averred that, while comparing Egypt to England would be pointless, Thailand was more homologous. Concrete overdevelopment, the proliferation of inter-city flyovers and traffic congestion are all symptoms of Third World urbanism, indeed. Yet, unlike their counterparts in Cairo, Bangkok's roads are adequately paved, its sidewalks are spotless, its vehicles (not excluding the trademark, now invariably motorised tuk- tuk) in good condition. Though punctuated by the architecture of Thervada Buddhism, the skyline is impressively modern.
Despite the conscientious thoughtfulness of the second secretary of the Thai embassy in Cairo and her husband, Maleewan and Mana Chinaprayoon -- steadfast companions and giving guides -- arriving at the JB Hotel after 2am turned out to be anticlimactic. After a day spent entirely in the air, jet lag, quiet and Bangkok's insufferable humidity combined to make landing on the 14th floor a disappointment. Air-conditioning, television and a little refreshment quickly eased the transition, however. And within hours the fascination of Bangkok had asserted itself. In the next few days visits to the Grand Palace, home to the magnificent Temple of the Emerald Buddha, and the Bang Pa In Royal Summer Palace, on the outskirts of the ancient capital of Ayutthaya, would prove less revealing of the intricate complexities of contemporary Thai culture than tours of the Rose Garden Resort in Nakhon Pathon province, outside Bangkok, and the Bang Sai Arts and Crafts Centre, near Bang Pa In.
The primary attraction of the Rose Garden Resort is the Thai Cultural Village, which daily runs an hour-long "spectacular introduction" to Thai culture. The Rose Garden's German general manager, Heribert Gaksch, introduced the downscaled "natural habitat" to which villagers are brought over from their native provinces to demonstrate umbrella and Khon mask painting, silk production, pottery, fruit carving and garland making. The quasi-villages even include a mini rice paddy with an adjoining traditional farmhouse. This lopsided glimpse into Thai village life -- which spills over imperceptibly into Bangkok -- explained the exquisite shapes into which the contents of the fruit platter had been cut the previous night and the distinctive jasmine strings peddled to stalling vehicles on the streets (like ful garlands in Cairo), testifying to the individual skill involved in producing Thai handicrafts. In so far as these products are in use among present-day Thais -- and they are palpably less in use than Western and Western-inspired products -- the Village does reflect aspects of contemporary life.
Yet the Pharaonic Village atmosphere proved inescapable as tourists began filing in to the sort of amphitheatre set up for the show. "A cross section" of indigenous performance arts -- wedding and monk ordination ceremonies, "tribal dances," Thai boxing and sword fighting as well as the so called Elephants at Work -- the show featured traditional popular music from the north, the northeast, the south and the central plains. The small ensemble, positioned on a stage designed like a Thai courtyard, gave voice to the ranad (a bamboo xylophone), the pinai (a reed flute) and a variety of drums. The costumes seemed a little too dazzling to be authentic, however, and when the dancers incongruously began to wave the flags of the resort's visitors' homes, forcing members of the audience to join in a sort of circular tap-dance, there was a feeling that something venerable was being desecrated. Rather than demonstrate the traditional use of elephants as vehicles of war or beasts of burden, moreover, Elephants at Work, much like the Thai boxing and sword fighting demonstrations, was nothing more than a slapstick trick sequence. In this age of wildlife worship, what could dancing elephants possibly mean?
Compared to the northern teak forests in which they reputedly still labour, the concrete forests of Bangkok have little use for these noble animals except as lucrative tourist displays. Many cultural animals touched on in the Village, in fact, turn out to be marginal to urban life. Masks that had a practical use in Khon -- Thailand's classical drama, traditionally reserved for the court -- have been reduced to the status of souvenirs. Slowly recounting the events of the Ramakien, the Thai version of the Indian epic Ramayana, Khon and the classical musical tradition (no vestige of which was to be had at the Rose Garden or elsewhere) are precise, engrossing arts requiring exceptional technical prowess and interpretive skill on the part of the audience. Lakhon, the popular theatrical tradition that subsumes the dances presented at the show, and the music that goes with it are supposed to share much of this refinement. Yet in attempting to make the tradition more accessible the show reduced what might have been a powerful Lakhon performance to a spectacular-enough display of local colour. One example is the Fingernail Dance: in Lakhon the individual dancer's hand acquires an immense expressive capacity, and pleasure derives from an appreciation of the delicate nuances of its subtlest gestures; in the show a large number of dancers in glaring costumes diverted attention away from the hands, thus inadvertently emphasising the mawkish choreography. Sadly, the short-term visitor is unlikely to experience either Lakhon or its sibling art Likay, a satirical performance similar to pantomime. Lakhon is restricted to shrines: resident female troupes perform when worshippers wish to thank the resident deity for an answered prayer. And touring Likay troupes feature in the numerous festivals held yearly around the country.
The Rose Garden would seem to reflect a general attitude to art. Thais, like Sanchat Devahastin, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' director-general for South Asian, Middle East and African Affairs, are justifiably less interested in their glorious cultural heritage than in maintaining their present status as one of Asia's newly industrialised giants. This implies not only supporting the electronic revolution and the Pop industry but utilising the reputation of commodities like Thai cuisine and Thai silk and the commercial potential of traditional handicrafts.
"For countries like Egypt and Thailand," Devahastin declared, "which in the end are still Third World countries cultural exchange comes after the basic necessities, which must be ensured first. There is educational exchange," Devahastin referred to Thai Muslims studying at Al-Azhar. "Most trade options are not worth the transportation costs. So perhaps we can exchange rice grains. And there is [developmental] know-how," Devahastin concluded. "That is very important, know-how. Exchange of know-how would be very beneficial."
Development meets heritage in the Bang Sai training centre, where some 500 trainees -- "the children of poor villagers," as public relations officer Anchana Kittiwongpaisal explained, "especially the handicapped" -- are engaged in courses ranging in duration from six months to three years. The second to be established under Queen Sirkit's Foundation for the Promotion of Supplementary Occupations and Related Techniques (SUPPORT), the centre brings potentially successful artisans together with some of the best craftsmen in the country in 27 fields. On graduation, trainees are expected to have improved their workmanship sufficiently to achieve financial independence. Bang Sai exemplifies both Thailand's ruthlessly systematic approach to education and professional conduct ("There will be no inferior material," the promotional leaflet insists, "no inferior workmanship in unseen parts... Refinement of craftsmanship is constantly stressed throughout the course") and the role played by royalty in a constitutional monarchy: people love King Bhumibol Adulyadej (Rama IX), it is repeatedly said, because of his good deeds. Through programmes like crop substitution to eliminate opium cultivation in the northern hills and the improvement of water supplies in the north east, Rama IX has achieved a moral authority that rivals the political power of many of his predecessors (King Rama VII gave up absolute power in June 1932), which enables him to play an important role as mediator in times of crisis. Two examples are the student revolution of 1972 and the upheaval following the financial crisis of 1992.
After a promotional video that featured the queen recounting the origins of SUPPORT -- while touring the country with His Majesty, Queen Sikrit, a lover of handicrafts, had conceived of alleviating poverty by sending out instructors to help villagers improve the quality of the handicrafts they produced -- Kittiwongpaisal led the procession through a sample of departments including bamboo and fern-vine basketry, classic Thai and Western painting, batik and glass sculpture, artificial flowers and sculpture. Appropriately, her commentary commenced with the statement, "The queen is a very important leader that everyone loves very much." Hard-working and fully engaged, the trainees (some are school students on vacation, for whom there are separate courses) seemed perfectly content with their endeavours. For the duration of their courses they are provided with free accommodation; they have the opportunity to participate in international competitions; and on graduation their work may be sold in the alumni shop or they may be provided with the cost of the raw materials they require to pursue their newly acquired vocations back at home.
The individual skill encountered in the Rose Garden was more obvious here, though the almost mechanical methodology would seem to preclude personal creativity. That portion of the work meant to be "entirely new" as opposed to traditional, moreover, amounted to nothing more than accomplished enough but predominantly humdrum instances of Western art. Trainees are taught to employ the cheapest locally available materials, and the glass workshop especially provided an exemplary model of creative recycling. The tour ended with a visit to the exhibition building where the best of the work -- Khon masks, miniature royal barges made out of glass, tiny fern-vine baskets and copies of temple murals -- is confined to exhibition halls dedicated to the king and queen. Those objects on offer for sale at the alumni shop, by contrast, proved unremarkable; and it was with a muted frustration that the present writer carried two out of a total of some 35 CDs of traditional Thai music back outside.
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