SAME, SAME . . . BUT DIFFERENT

The Night Market, Chiang Mai, Thailand (November 28, 2006). There’s an expression that’s big over here – in Thailand and elsewhere in Southeast Asia.

“Same, same.”

People tend to use it when speaking English and comparing things that are more or less alike.

It also shows up on shirts for sale in T-shirt stalls in places like the Night Market.  The fronts of these shirts say “Same, Same” and the backs say “But Different.”

To give you some idea of the degree to which the expression has seeped into the popular culture, in Cambodia the Red Piano restaurant in Siem Reap (made famous by Angelina Jolie’s entourage as a hang-out when filming Tomb Raider) sells T-shirts that say “Red, Red…But Piano.”

Yeah, I know, I don’t get it either, but someone obviously finds it the height of wit.

I have no idea where the term comes from, but the expression is a useful way to describe where I have ultimately wound up in my thinking about Thailand and North Carolina, a few days away from pulling up stakes here and heading off to Singapore.

Over the past few days, I have had a series of meetings and site visits that have offered me some useful perspective on the similarities I initially noticed between our respective situations.

One of the issues I have always been intellectually curious about is the degree to which governmental entities can effectively influence private sector decisions about where to locate investments and new jobs.

It’s popular for free market advocates and critics of governmental-business collaboration to pooh-pooh the idea that the government can influence location decisions by business. Businesses, they say, go where the costs and resources they need are the cheapest. Government officials attempting steer and plan for balanced economic growth are simply on a fool’s errand.

They’ll point to North Carolina’s Global Transpark or academic studies of the Bill Lee Act tax credits and say, “See how pointless it all is?”

But the reality is not so simple.

One of the things I wanted to explore on my fellowship was the how governments in Southeast Asia had used economic incentives and public investments to drive investment to rural or underdeveloped regions as a means of alleviating the pressures of increasing urbanization and creating more balanced growth.

What I learned was that the issue is a fairly tangled one. Governments can definitely influence these sorts of decisions by private companies, but a wide variety of factors can come into play when attempting to determine what makes such efforts succeed, fail or yield mixed results.

I have to thank Paul Wedel at the Kenan Institute for recommending that I visit the city of Rayong in Thailand’s eastern seaboard region.

The visit involved getting up around 5:00 in the morning and driving for hours to get there. It was complicated by the fact that my interpreter failed to connect with us and my driver couldn’t find some meeting sites in an unfamiliar city. But those were just minor distractions in an otherwise fascinating visit.

The two most important kernels of insight that I gleaned from the visit were:

1. A better appreciation for the role that strong (or weak) state and local governments can play in achieving the goal of regional economic growth in underserved regions, and

2. The advantages that a national government seeking to achieve economic growth has over states like North Carolina that seek to achieve similar results.

Rayong’s success – and the success of the cluster of industrial growth that has occurred along Thailand’s eastern seaboard over the past 30 years or so – is owed to a centrally planned effort, led by the national government, to disperse growth away from overcrowded Bangkok.

The plan was reportedly hatched during a period when the Thai military controlled the government and was apparently willing to give pretty much free rein to the economists, planners and visionaries housed at the National Economic and Social Development Board (the NESDB). The period when the Eastern Seaboard project was hatched was arguably the NESBD’s finest hour – a golden age for central economic development planning that has since passed. It was a time when big ideas – really big ideas – were the order of the day.

Before I left, Paul explained to me that I would be seeing the Map Ta Phut industrial estate while I was there. Map Ta Phut seems to have been the central government’s first “stake in the ground” in an effort to catalyze economic growth in this region.

I knew a little about the system of government-sponsored or sanctioned industrial estates in Thailand from my reading and from meeting with Tom Reese, a creator of the Amata Industrial Estate south of Bangkok. These, however, did little to prepare me for the reality of Map Ta Phut.

I was expecting an office or industrial park -- something like you see along Highway 70 between Clayton and Smithfield.

What I found was a sprawling industrial complex dominated by heavy industry and fed by vast quantities of petrochemicals piped in from offshore drilling operations in the gulf.

A network of huge pipes run along the roadsides, rising up at forty-five degree angles to form gates at road crossings. These carry the gas that fuels the heavy industries located here. Rails sidings and spurs branch out into park. Giant refineries and processing plants dominate landscape, which you can view from atop a tall viewing tower in the center of the estate.

There really isn’t anything even remotely comparable in North Carolina.

The estate, however, demonstrates what a central government can do when it has vast resources at its disposal and the ability to steer large quantities of natural gas into an otherwise undeveloped region.

There were, of course, additional factors that enabled the region succeed industrially. The government put a quality superhighway in place to speed transport to and from the region, which is in reasonably close proximity to the Bangkok airports and the country’s primary deepwater port. It sweetened the pot for industry by creating significant tax incentives for industries locating in the estate – typically providing many years of targeted income tax exemption and relief from restrictions to market entry that foreign companied would otherwise face.

All of this cost money. A lot of money. Billions of dollars worth of money.

And it could all be done because the central government ran the show right down to the local level.

Map Ta Phut appears to have succeeded. It is pretty much full. And there are around five or six other industrial estates (some sponsored by the government, some by private interests) that have sprung up and are now operating in the region.

This is central government-driven clustering on the grandest of scales.

Of course, it hasn’t come without a price. The people who live in Rayong aren’t exactly in love with the whole operation. Yes, it provides jobs and ensures a growing economy, but it is the “eight hundred pound gorilla” around these parts.

The people with the hardest job in Rayong, in my opinion, are the local and provincial government officials.

One of the very things that made Rayong possible – a strong central government and a very limited local government – is the thing that makes it a hard neighbor to live with.

Because the central government built it, the central government gets the lion’s share of the revenues derived from it. The taxes it spins off for the local governments do not fund the costs associated with living next to it.

The factory operations tend to attract low-wage labor from the eastern provinces and Cambodia. This creates vexing social problems.

The operations at the estate aren’t exactly the cleanest industries. While things have no doubt improved over the years from an environmental standpoint, there is a sense among the leaders there that the environmental costs and risks to the people are not being fairly addressed or funded by the central government.

To bring all this back into focus – this type of regional economic development is a very hard model from which to draw lessons for North Carolina. About the only thing it could shed light on would be the potential for transforming the economy in eastern North Carolina if we were to open up the continental shelf for drilling off the coast or succeed in establishing an east coast terminal for import and gasification of liquid natural gas.

I suspect we could do a better job of managing environmental impact and social costs than the Thais were able to do at Map Ta Phut, and the impact of such a project could be huge, but this type of publicly funded regional development is simply beyond the scope of a state government such as North Carolina to implement.

Another aspect of my “Same, same . . . but different” realization was a fascinating meeting I had with the Ministry of Industry division responsible for developing Thailand’s automotive parts cluster.

When we talk about developing North Carolina’s automotive cluster, we think about recruiting suppliers to major automotive manufacturing plants, building up the presence of our motorsports teams, forging research alliances between the auto industry and the university system, attracting new research and testing facilities, and turning out highly skilled machine operators and engineers that can keep the factories and testing labs all humming at top speed.

That’s what I thought I was going to learn about in my meeting on Thailand’s motorsports cluster.

What I learned instead was that Thailand’s history as the “Detroit of Southeast Asia” has been deeply complicated by the nature of the foreign investment involved, the lack of an indigenous Thai motor vehicle or parts industry, and the now intense competition that Thailand’s fledgling automotive suppliers face from established auto and parts-makers like the Japanese.

I won’t bore you with details, but at the end of the day, I learned that the government’s efforts to build a motor vehicle parts cluster have been aimed primarily at developing a manufacturing supply chain and distribution network for local Thai businesses that develop, manufacture and sell motorcycle parts to the Thai market.

It seemed to be all about developing a purely Thai network capable of competing with an already well-integrated and established foreign motorcyle and parts industry that is both producing and importing goods for the local market.

The effort uses all the economic development buzzwords and theories for “clustering,” but puts a uniquely Thai spin on them. It is also designed to solve what seems to be a uniquely Thai problem -- or at least a problem that does not exist for states like North Carolina.

Same, same. But different.

There is no question that Thailand and North Carolina face similar challenges in the face of an increasingly global economy. But as my time in Thailand grows to a close, experiences such as these have been useful counterweights to the tendency to search for and identify parallels and similarities.

We face many of the same challenges and employ many of the same broad strategies, but we are nonetheless very, very different.

THE VIEW FROM ATOP MOUNT WASSANA

Thai Elephant Conservation Center, Lampang Province, Thailand (November 27, 2006). The first step is to reach up and grab on to the gigantic, leathery ear lobe.

You tug on it and call out, “song soong!”

A giant right foreleg lifts and the lower leg curls under.

You step with your left foot onto the back side of the lower leg, which by now is parallel to the ground. You step up and place right foot on top of the upper leg, which is probably at about a 45 degree angle.

The elephant then lifts its entire curled leg up -- with you standing on top of it. The effect is kind of like being on an elevator (an "elephantvator," if you will). Standing on the top of upper leg, you find yourself lifted to a height from which you can then clamber up the elephant’s side.

The giant ear continues to play a role in this process, as it gives you something up high to grip as you heave yourself up and onto the back.

Once atop, you make yourself comfortable, just above the neck at the point where the elephant’s head crests to form a dome of sorts.

Your bare feet dangle behind the pachyderm’s ears, and with the command “bai,” and a few taps of your feet behind both ears, the elephant starts to move forward.

By tapping behind the ear opposite the direction you want to go -- and with an occasional cry of “benn” -- you can steer your elephant left or right.

Should you need him to pick up something with his trunk and pass it up to you (a tool or a shoe, for example), “geb bon” usually does the trick.

I have to give props to Kay for this. It was all her idea.

Sitting back in our family room in Raleigh, pondering activities for our two-month odyssey, the idea of visiting an elephant camp had sounded kind of corny to me. It conjured up images of elephants exploited for the sake of tourists and seemed (at the time, at least) like a tremendous distraction from my more erudite goal of exploring the economies of Southeast Asia.

“Well, if we’re going to Thailand, I want to go to elephant camp and learn how to be a mahout,” Kay had announced.

“Umm, okay,” I replied, not really paying much attention and hoping she would soon forget all about it.

If worse came to worst, I figured we'd spend a few hours, bored and watching elephants at some tourist trap, and that would be the end of it.

The elephant camp adventure, however, turned out to be far more complex, and far more interesting, than I could ever have expected.

Rather than a few hours of time, a few days were required.

And the camp was not at some mere tourist destination. It was at the “Thai Elephant Conservation Center,” home to “Royal Elephant Stables” (and if you know anything about Thailand, you know the word “royal” is never used lightly). This was also the home of the world-renowned elephant artists, who paint pictures (quite satisfactory ones, actually) with their trunks.

And we wouldn't be sitting in a bandstand watching elephants perform. We would be riding solo on them, guiding them through their shows.

On arrival at the camp in the mountains above Chiang Mai, we were each assigned our own elephant and issued our own “mahout suits” to wear while we learned to ride and handle these giants.

I don’t know about you, but I had never in my life stood side-by-side to a full grown elephant and contemplated the reality of what I was facing.

Believe me, it is a sobering experience.

Elephants are almost twice as tall as you are.

You may weigh somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred to two hundred pounds. But your exact weight really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even remotely approach the 3 to 5 tons these amazing mammals can weigh.

You quickly realize that any chance you have of controlling one of these behemoths depends completely on its indulgence and willingness to be controlled.

And if you spend some time with one, you come to learn a couple of other things pretty quickly too. For example:

Elephants are remarkably graceful.

You might think of them as lumbering galoots stomping around the jungle, crashing into trees, and causing a ruckus, but you would be amazed at how naturally graceful they are.

Their feet are marvels of engineering. They deliver tons of force with each step. But an elephant can walk nimbly, foot over foot, across a single log. Its broad feet disperse weight in a way that makes its footsteps almost gentle. It makes little or no sound as it walks.

Elephants' trunks are astonishingly agile. They can pluck tiny objects from your hand. An elephant can take a seemingly endless supply of sugarcane from visitors, sticking some in its mouth, lodging pieces between its tusks for a second helping, and reaching out with its serpentine trunk for yet a third.

An elephant's skin is very dry and rough, with occasional bristly hairs sticking up here and there.

Elephants sweat only around their toenails.

Elephants are quite intelligent. They are one of only a handful of animals able to recognize their reflections in a mirror. And their reactions can be almost human-like. Contrast that to puppies that search behind a mirror for the playmate they think they see. Elephants are regarded as more intelligent than dogs.

And yes, it's true -- elephants never forget. We were told, matter of factly, about one mahout on staff at the camp who once did something to deliberately startle his elephant. It was a one-time occurrence that didn’t hurt the elephant, but the elephant knew the act was intentional, resented it, and held a grudge from that day on. He never let that mahout ride him again.

Kay was assigned to a middle-aged female elephant named Jon Daeng, which means “red moon” in Thai. I was assigned to a wise older elephant named Wassana, whose name means “destiny.” Wassana is in his fifties, good-natured, and has acquired a few scrapes on his forehead -- the result of battering a few trees.

Elephants like Jon Daeng and Wassana may be donated to the Conservation Center when they can no longer be cared for by their owners (the care and feeding of an elephant is not cheap) or when they become injured. The staff at the camp then adopt them and care for them for life. If they need medical care, there is even an elephant hospital on site.

Over the next two days, Kay and I learned how to mount, dismount and steer Jon Daeng and Wassana.

And trust me, when you spend any significant amount of time on top of elephant using your knees and feet to grip and steer him, your legs – especially your inner thighs – get a workout more grueling than any personal trainer could ever inflict.

We spent the night at the camp in a thatched cottage, sharing beers and delicious Thai cooking with our cabin mates, Rene and Monique, travelers from the Netherlands. They were on holiday and, with their one previous day of mahout training, were seasoned hands compared to us.

The air in the mountains around Chiang Mai is crystal clear and the stars are exceptionally bright. Standing on the path before our cottage, I could easily count all seven stars of the Pleiades.

We retired to bed early that night, and, as I lay on my cot, it seemed as if my leg muscles had recorded the rolling motion of Wassana’s gait earlier in the day and were replaying the memory as I drifted off to sleep.

Supat, who runs the program we were participating in, met us at the crack of dawn on our second day to go fetch our elephants from the forest. We were each paired with a full-time mahout and, together, campers and mahouts trekked out into the forested hills to locate our elephants and bring them back to camp.

Elephants spend the night in the forest. They are tethered for the night and don’t roam free (unless they decide they really want to -- as Jojo, one of the camp’s most mischievous elephants has been known to do). But fear not, they have plenty of room to graze. It is not uncommon to leave an elephant in a thick leafy patch of forest, only to return the next morning to find he has eaten himself a sizeable clearing.

Yet, even in such circumstances, the elephant himself is not always that easy to see. Elephants can be very quiet and still. You would never think it, but with a few trees or bushes beside them, they can render themselves more or less invisible.

We continued to practice with our elephants that morning, but I had to leave the camp early to get back to my fellowship meetings in Chiang Mai. Kay, however, stayed on to complete the course and perform with her elephant in one of the shows held daily for visiting schoolkids and curious tourists.

To learn more about the Thai Elephant Conservation Center, check out the website Supat has created. It should be obvious from the site that he and the staff hold the greatest affection for the elephants they care for. Go to http://www.changthai.com/.

And if you’re ever in northern Thailand pay them a visit.

Spend a few days there.

You won’t be disappointed.

(Note to Rene and Monique: Send us your email address so we can track you down when we decide to come bother you in the Netherlands.)

HOLIDAY IN CAMBODIA

Pavillon Indochine, Siem Reap, Cambodia (November 23, 2006). One of the first things you notice upon arriving in Cambodia is the pace of life.

To say it’s slower doesn’t really do justice to the difference.

Bangkok moves like a motorcycle, blaring down a street at noon.

Cambodia rolls by quietly, an old bicycle on a dusty road.

Time here doesn’t flow. It oozes.

It moves at the speed of kapok tree roots, creeping over the ruins of lost temples and fallen empires.

Today is Thanksgiving.

Kay and I dined on curried chicken and beef, prepared in a traditional Cambodian style, at an open air roadside restaurant in the countryside, forty miles outside of Siem Reap. Sharing dinner with us were Seum Sophal, our kind, wise guide, and a shy young driver from our hotel.

We were among the few guests at the diner, and the owner and his wife were happy to fuss over the stove preparing a variety of dishes for the feast. A group of children, five to seven years old, sat barefoot at a nearby table, eyes glued to a silly Thai soap opera on a small TV set in the corner.

Across the highway, young boys took turns leaping from a dock and splashing in the river that flowed between us and the ruins of Beng Melea, the last temple we would visit in the vicinity of Angkor.

I challenge anyone to visit this country and not be moved.

The monuments of the Khmer kingdom rise out of the jungle like giant stone gods.

Huge moats surround fortified walls that encompass the remains of parade grounds, promenades, causeways, guest houses, libraries, and, above all, temples.

Impossibly steep steps climb to level upon level of vaulted halls, inner courtyards, dizzying precipices, and porticos laced with delicate balustrades.

No description prepares you for what you find there.

Murals carved in exquisite detail. Stone sculptures of gods, warriors, mythological beings. Countless representations of the apsaras – celestial, ethereal beings that radiate a sense of beauty and peace.

The architectural elements are in such perfect proportion and balance they tempt you to believe nature itself must be as ordered and rational.

Kay and I wandered for hours in the ruins, guided gently by Seum and his friends at the many temples.

These are historical sites that should be sealed off, protected from the public and preserved by armies of archaeologists.

And yet they are not. They lie exposed in the jungle. Descendants of the temple-builders live and work within the walls of some of the compounds. Visitors clamber over giant blocks of stone. They stand atop city walls. They step through windows onto ledges that overlook vast plazas.

Kay and I, lawyers that we are, could not help but remark on the dangerous setting and the disregard that both care-takers and visitors seemed to have for safety.

In the U.S., we imagined, there would be ropes and rails, barricades and guards at every turn to protect the public from the ruins – and vice versa.

But Cambodians, no doubt, have a different perspective on life and its risks. There is no safety net for the people here. They rely on themselves, their neighbors and their own good judgment to survive in a country that is desperately poor.

The very absence of barriers and protection ultimately serves to draw you closer to the monuments, heightening their reality.

In temples like Angkor Wat or Ta Keo, you wander freely through dark halls and step into empty atriums. Incense hangs in the air. It feels as if, just moments before, nobles, monks or royal courtesans may have lingered there, and might soon return.

Other temples – like Ta Prohm and Beng Melea – have fallen into spectacular decay. Bridges, gatehouses, and halls have collapsed and been overtaken by the jungle. Giant kapok trees have grown up in the courtyards and on walls, forcing their roots into cracks and wrapping themselves like pythons around crumbling stone blocks.

Ta Prohm is a popular temple for tourists, and thousands visit it on any given day.

But Beng Melea lies far from town, and on this Thanksgiving Day we walk through it in solitude under a leafy canopy amid supreme and riotous ruin.
A wiry, white-haired man – a widower with no family – lives in the temple. He guides us over piles of stones, showing us how to scale the heights, and how to descend. Time seems frozen. Only birds and forest animals can be heard.

I challenge anyone to visit to Cambodia and not be moved.

But not just by the temples. By the people themselves.

Getting to the temple of Beng Melea requires a long drive from Siem Reap. Most tourists don’t bother with it. The distance may be only forty miles or so, but the journey is slow and takes hours.

It’s funny, really, because the roads are actually quite good. A Westerner might expect to make the trip in about forty-five minutes.

But that is not the way of Cambodia.

The roads that carry you to Beng Melea are not simply motorways. They are arteries that carry the flow of life through the countryside, and they move at their own pace.

You sit in the back of your hired car and stare out the windows at the living, breathing whole of Cambodian village life.

Along the roadside, women prepare food in beautiful patterned skirts. Men, shirtless, repair carts or tools in their sarongs. Children in spotless uniforms travel in packs, laughing to and from school. Small children, naked, chase each other under palm trees.

At points along the highways trees break away and reveal rice fields stretching off to the horizon, dotted with palms under clear blue skies. Houses rest on stilts – some of modern construction, some of thatched roofs and woven panels.

Oxcarts trundle by on wooden wheels, loaded with fertilizer. Motorcycles bearing everything from groceries to pigs to bamboo poles travel to and fro, their drivers occasionally clutching a child or two, along for the ride. Villagers peddle bicycles, dwarfed by woven baskets strung together and strapped in a heap to the back.

And, inevitably, your eyes are drawn to the people.

Unforgettable faces, skin burned brown in the tropical sun. They stand in the doorways of homes. They sit cross-legged on platforms under stilted houses, carrying on the daily business of their lives. Sewing. Cooking. Building. Cutting children’s hair.

Children are everywhere. A nation recovering from the killing fields, Cambodia’s young sons and daughters are its hope for the future. Laughing, playing, either bare-chested in the noonday sun or in their school uniforms – blue trousers, ankle length skirts and blindingly white shirts.

As you look out at the people, they will often stare back into your eyes, holding the gaze, open, and unafraid. Sometimes they smile. Sometimes they wave. Sometimes they just stare.

The Cambodians are a beautiful people – their faces mirror the grace of the apsaras and resolve of the warriors preserved in the stone sides of the jungle temples.

Their beauty, the simplicity of their daily lives, and the knowledge of the tragedies they have collectively witnessed all combine to sear their images into the back of your brain.

When you visit Angkor Wat, the temples appear as lightening bolts. Big and bold. Seemingly forged by the Khmer gods themselves.

But long after those flashes fade, the quiet beauty of the Cambodian people lingers with you, like a soft thunder rolling over distant rice fields.

POST SCRIPT ON ANGKOR WAT – A STAIRCASE TOO FAR

A word of caution to those traveling to Angkor Wat – the undisputed “big daddy” of all the Angkor temples.

You will want to climb. The pyramidal towers beg to be ascended. The views are well worth the effort.

But the steep monumental steps are far easier to mount than to descend.

That is my word of caution.

At the end of any given day, after several hundred tourists have crowded the top of the central spire, a collective recognition sets in among all those perched there.

Only one of the several staircases leading to the ground has a handrail – a spindly thing to which tourists must cling as they slowly maneuver themselves hundreds of feet down in the fading light.

The flow of descending tourists moves at a glacial pace. It would not surprise me if there weren’t a few souls still negotiating their way down at midnight.

It really is a funny scene.

For a brief time on our first day, however, the jolly humor in the situation quite eluded us.

That was because Kay and I, in an effort to avoid the interminable wait to descend via the handrail, opted instead to descend an equally steep and far less-traveled staircase that had no handrail.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should note that I may have been the more enthusiastic party to this venture.

Kay’s reluctant participation may have come only after some rather extensive persuading on my part – pleading that would have been complicated by fact that this was the same staircase below which the crowd in the courtyards would applaud and cheer any time an intrepid traveler managed to negotiate the precarious climb up or down.

About halfway down this unconventional alternative route, Kay’s nerves decided they had had enough.

Unfortunately, by this time Kay had reached a point in the climb where the trip down and the trip back up each appeared equally perilous and unappealing, and the prospect of clinging motionless and white-knuckled to the sheer stone blocks seemed the infinitely preferable course.

The sun was setting, and the situation we found ourselves in was something less than optimal.

I tried to relieve Kay’s fears by explaining, that if she could manage to climb down a few more of the tall, narrow steps, a fall from such a lesser height would probably result only in serious bodily injury, and not death.

Such assurances failed to achieve the desired result and seemed only to tighten Kay’s lichen-like hold on the sheer rock sides of the temple.

The crowd blow began murmur. I suspected wagers were being made.

The light grew dimmer. And when the situation seemed at its worst, we heard a cry from the plaza.

“Ms. Kay! Hold on! I’m coming!”

It was Seum Sophal at the base of the steps, starting the precarious climb to our level.

This was the same Seum Sophal who had looked so strangely at us when we said we wanted to go to the top and who had politely declined to accompany us, noting the near vertical nature of the climb.

His concern for his two charges, however, momentarily trumped his concerns over heights, after a friend below drew his attention to Kay’s predicament.

When he finally reached Kay’s side, she had two persons to assist her in the climb down. Seum stayed with her, holding her hand as she tentatively backed down each steep and narrow step.

I descended just below her on the steps, explaining that, if she were to fall, she would inevitably collide with me and I would then serve as a convenient cushion for her when we both reached the stone courtyard some distance below.

That assurance may not have helped the situation, but I do believe it strengthened Kay’s resolve, as I think I heard her mutter something to the effect that such a result would serve me right.

In the end, Seum’s friend, a fellow guide, was waiting to welcome all of us when we safely reached the bottom.

There was great relief on the part of all.

The one consolation of the whole ill-conceived affair was that, well after we had exited the temple and were proceeding down the long causeway leading to the gate, we could look back and see hundreds of tourists, still stuck at the top in a giant knot, as a stream of bodies slowly trickled down the side of the temple, hands gripping that single rail like a lifeline.

And there was also consolation (at least on my part) in the fact that Kay had generously elected not to kill me for being the proximate cause of the whole affair.

KNIGHTS ON THE CHESSBOARD OF BANGKOK TRAFFIC

Offices of the Kenan Institute Asia, Queen Sirikit Convention Center, Bangkok (November 21, 2006). I know I shouldn’t be doing it.

I know how dangerous they are.

Heck, my program coordinator Kim missed our reception at the U.S. ambassador’s residence because her cab collided with one of them.

But sometimes you’re running short of time. Or the traffic’s stalled. Or you’re soaking in the blazing heat and there isn’t a hint of a breeze to be found.

And you start going through the mental exercise.

“How far do I have to go? How hot is it? How late am I going to be? How bad is the traffic? What kind of roads are we going to be on? How much is it going to cost? How much do you trust the driver?”

And, of course, the ultimate question.

“Do you feel lucky?” Well? Do you?

Assuming you can afford to take other modes of transportation, whether you choose to ride the motorcycle taxis in Bangkok probably, at some level, says something about your personality – how you view risk, how you view life, and how you embrace the ephemeral Thai concept of sanuk.

“Sanuk” is a Thai word for “fun.”

I’m no expert on language, and my knowledge of Thai and my ability to speak Thai phrases registers a little less than a micron above “nonexistent.”

But from what I can tell, sanuk is a concept deeply imbedded in the Thai way of life.

And riding the motorcycle taxis is nothing, if not sanuk.

I know all the shop girls and office clerks riding on the backs of these quicksilver little menaces are probably perched there because they're the cheapest mode of transportation available.

But even if economic necessity has put them there, riding sidesaddle, no helmet, one hand on their skirts and the other clutching the back of the seat, I doubt they would deny for a minute the sanuk of it all.

Bangkok traffic is a mysterious and organic force – a test of will and patience that challenges all problem-solving skills.

Why you sit on an exit ramp leading down to a main drag like Sukhomvit for half an hour, only to reach the street itself to find traffic moving normally is beyond my powers of comprehension.

Why an entire soi turns into a parking lot for twenty-five minutes only to clear as suddenly as it stalled, is one of those things you just don’t think about – at least if you want to maintain some semblance of jai yen (“cool heart” in Thai -- Google it for details).

When the gods created Bangkok traffic, they had a wicked sense of humor. And the motorcycle taxis, and the Hobson’s choice they offer, are perhaps the best proof.

At the beginning and end of every soi, you will find them. A cluster of motorbikes and drivers in their orange vests. They linger under the BTS and MRT stations and in front of major offices, attractions and shopping centers.

For the equivalent in baht of between a quarter and a dollar or so, one of these chrome and steel steeds can take you where you need to go – fast.

As with knights on a chessboard, players facing them in the traffic game are powerless to block their progress. And when gridlock strikes, their true value in the traffic equation comes to light.

They race down major throughfares between the lines of stalled cars. They flirt with oncoming traffic every time a lane temporarily opens up allowing them to pass. They zip the wrong way down one-way streets, leaping onto sidewalks, snaking through back alleys.

On big streets like Sukhomvit or Ratchadapisek, they move through traffic jams like water between cracks, seeking equilibrium.

I think the fact that motorcycle taxis work at all (without killing everyone who gets on them) reveals a feature of Bangkok’s traffic often overlooked by those who gripe about its admittedly abominable nature.

For all the chaos, for all the gridlock, there really is a system at work. I’m not sure I know exactly what it is, but I think it may have something to do with the mutual tolerance the drivers of all the various forms of transportation that contribute to the problem seem to demonstrate for one another,

The taxis, the motorcycles, the tuk-tuks, the buses, the bicycles, the trucks.

For all the congestion going on, there seems to be, at least from what I have seen, an astonishing amount of yielding going on.

I can’t say it’s “yielding the right of way,” because it is practically impossible to figure out exactly what that is in any given traffic jam around here,

But the drivers seem to be remarkably tolerant of one another. In situations where Americans would start swearing, going for weapons (or at least wishing for them), and generating “road rage” stories for the six o-clock news, Thais allow drivers from other lanes to merge, to turn off of stalled side streets, to enter slowly moving sois. And they put up with the “creative problem-solving” the motorcycle taxis demonstrate every time the traffic flow jams up.

So yeah, I confess it. When time is short and life feels cheap, I have been known to climb onto the back of the motorcycle taxis.

Kay has even learned to ride side saddle in the demure fashion of Bangkok’s young ladies.

I know we shouldn’t do it.

I know it’s dangerous.

But so is life, if you put it in perspective.

And what should life be, if not sanuk?

SAILING THE ANDAMAN SEA

The Similan Islands, Somewhere Off the Coast of Phang Nga Province, Thailand (November 18, 2006). The economy of Phang Nga province on Thailand’s west coast has its challenges, and the 2004 tsunami helped bring them into focus for all concerned.

But one thing cannot be denied.

In terms of natural assets, it has been truly blessed.

Broad, unspoiled beaches. Rich and diverse national parks. Lush archipelagos that look like emeralds scattered on the bright sea.

Yeah…we took a field trip.

But how else can I learn about "place-based tourism" in the Thai hinterlands without getting out there and seeing what all the fuss is about? This is research, people -- real "fingers in the dirt" kind of stuff.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Kay and I arose at some unholy hour to meet a bus arranged for us bv Khun Nakorn and Khun Ann at the Kenan Institutes Offices in Khao Lak. Our destination was the Similans – a group of seamounts about 40 miles off the coast of Thailand popular with divers and snorkelers. This undeveloped island chain, its reefs, empty beaches and rich forests are a major draw for eco-tourists from resorts as far south Phuket and Krabi.

Tour boats collect passengers along the Andaman coast for outings that range from a single day to extended stays. Accommodations on the islands tend to be rustic – tents, for example – but there are a few cabins too. The appeal is not the neon, glitz and “wildlife” of Phuket, but sparkling clear water, dramatic underwater coral landscapes, and an abundance of sea life – schools of fishes and rays, sharks and quirky crustaceans that make their homes in the rocks.

We snorkeled for a day in the waters off Ko Bangu, Ko Payu, and Ko Miang, drifting in the currents, watching scores of brightly colored fish dart in unison through sunlight filtered through crystal waves. We wandered beneath swaying palms, scaling dramatic rocks and cliffs on the seaside.

Late in the day, we boarded our yacht for the long journey to the mainland. The Similans slipped below the horizon and raindrops fell as we plowed our way home across the Andaman Sea.

The Similans – and other natural attractions like them -- hold a promise for the struggling economy of Phang Nga. If the area can be developed with care – and the commercial sprawl of Phuket avoided – an industry of more eco-friendly resorts and residential communities could develop in the region to provide a third opportunity for economic growth – beyond the standard agriculture and industrial economy that has sustained it in the past.

The promise is not simply that investment and foreign tourists will come. That is likely to occur in one form or another. The real hope for the region lies in the opportunity to link its workforce and young people into an economy where English language skills are vital and necessary and where business opportunities exist for any small and medium-sized businessmen with the know-how and capital to exploit them.

That challenge is a tall order. It's really not that different from that facing regions like the “Inner Banks” of North Carolina.

Meeting it requires a commitment from the government to develop the skills and resources of the local population and help connect them with visitors to the region in ways that will ensure that the true benefits of tourism ripple into the local economy in meaningful ways -- not merely into the pockets of the handful of developers and financiers who build and operate the resorts.

Economic development officials in the province and in NGO’s like the Kenan Institute are working to make that happen, but it represents one of economic development’s most daunting tasks.

From my days meeting with local officials and exploring the reefs and coves of the Similans, I now have a real interest in returning a few years from now -- both to see how the development process is faring and to check (for purely acadmic reasons, of course) on whether the sunlight still filters as brightly through the aquamarine water.

THAILAND AND NORTH CAROLINA: PARALLELS IN ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT

Khao Lak Merlin Hotel, Phang Nga Province, Thailand (November 17, 2006). Make no mistake about it, there are countless differences between Thailand and North Carolina, and any attempt to compare the two necessarily invites superficiality.

But Thailand and North Carolina do have some noteworthy similarities. Let’s start with geography.

Like North Carolina, Thailand has a mountainous region – long the home to isolated, independent-minded people with their own distinct cultures and values.

Thailand also has its own coastal region, home to some of the most spectacular scenery and most beautiful beaches in Asia. Sound familiar?

And Thailand has its urbanized, industrial center, which developed based out of an agrarian economy capable of producing workers for low-wage manufacturing and textile and apparel-making jobs.

And, Thailand’s industrial economy has suffered as China and its less-advantaged neighbors to the east in Vietnam and Cambodia have expanded their production capacity and begun to capture the market for lower wage manufacturing.

Suddenly, Thailand, which boomed in the 1980’s and early 1990’s, has found its role in the region’s economy in flux. It now grapples with how to compete in a 21st Century globalized economy. Its emphasis has shifted from low-wage manufacturing to higher value-added activities. Rather than cut and sew garments, it must become a fashion leader. Rather than just produce handicrafts, it must ride the swells of popular culture and predict and produce trendy designs. Instead of simply growing rice, it must transform itself into a processed food center hub – the “Kitchen of the World.”

It is now required to differentiate itself by delivering an educated workforce capable of handling more complex manufacturing processes. And its people must become more self-sufficient – better at developing their own businesses, spotting market opportunities, and generating their own wealth.

So what have I been doing since I arrived here? Mostly meeting with officials and businessmen to learn what is happening in Thailand’s economy and, indirectly, the world at large.

Needless to say, in the wake of the recent coup, there is a certain amount of national soul-searching going on, and that fact is reflected in my meetings. The interim government, installed by the military (which promises to step aside as soon as a new constitution is in place and free elections can be held), has emphasized the need for Thailand to develop a “sufficiency economy” that focuses as much on “gross domestic happiness” as on “gross domestic product.”

When I hear Thai officials speak of this goal, it is clear many of them are wrestling with this vague concept, which originated with the King. They are doing their best to understand how such a loosely articulated goal might mesh with the mission of their particular ministry, department, or division.

It’s funny, really, because the term has only the meaning to which people ascribe it. It's sort of a national Rorschach Test for where the Thai economy may be headed. The efforts of government officials to define the term and make it relevant to their work probably reflect a universal tendency to take broad, general themes (e.g., “One North Carolina”) and strive to give them meaning and translate them into action in daily life.

I’ll write more later about Thailand’s current “Sufficiency Economy” focus because I think it provides a fascinating glimpse into the challenges that developed nations face in a world of free and globalized trade. Some might call it a uniquely Thai response to the new world order, but I think it has broader implications that all western economies should reflect upon.

But that’s just philosophical noodling. What have I actually been doing? (a question the Secretary has no doubt been asking himself).

I began my meetings with representatives of the Thai Federation of Industries, where we discussed in particular the significance and challenges of workforce training. I followed that by meeting with the officials of the Ministry of Labor’s Skills Development Department. I met there with beautiful and charming M.L. Puntrik (granddaughter of one of Thailand’s kings, no less) and her dedicated staff involved in workforce development and entrepreneurship training. I have also met with officials at the Kenan Institute directly involved in transportation planning, clusters planning and the development of regional economies.

I have discussed the particulars of rebuilding the economy of Thailand’s western coastal provinces in the aftermath of the 2004 tsunami (yet another another North Carolina parallel – devastating natural disasters that wreck fragile rural economies). I met with Charlie Blocker, a former North Carolinian who worked at Wachovia years ago, but jumped at the chance to ride the wave of capitalism in the suddenly market-oriented economy of Vietnam. His current company, Gannon Realty, is helping underwrite the cost of developing a capital project (a new fishing pier and related facilities) to serve as an asset for small businessmen engaged in fishing in the Phang Nga province. I traveled to Phang Nga to meet with representatives of the Kenan Institute and with the provincial government tasked with doubly difficult job of trying to develop a tourism-oriented economy that benefits the local residents while at the same time aiding in the recovery of one the most damaged regions hit by the 2004 tsunami.

I’ve talked with the infrastructure divisions of the Bangkok Metropolitan Administration about the city’s considerable urban challenges, and I have met with a developer of one of Thailand’s “industrial estates” – unique, government-sanctioned or sponsored business parks that do not really seem to have a clear analog in the United States. I’ve also met with policy experts in the country’s Board of Investment – the Thai equivalent of North Carolina’s division of business and industry.



My impressions from these meetings are still fluid. As I told Mike Luger after meeting with him prior to leaving on my fellowship, I am “still in the ‘dot-collecting’ phase of my work.” In other words, I haven’t learned enough to start ‘dot-connecting’ yet.

My surface observations, however, are clear enough.

People, and challenges, seem to be more alike than different.

The complaints I hear from the leaders I have met with sound remarkably similar to those I hear on a daily basis in North Carolina:

· Business complaints that government doesn’t fully appreciate the skills needed by workers in the marketplace.
· The challenge of motivating students to seek industrial education through community colleges.
· The huge challenges of fragmentation, especially of economic development efforts.
· The difficulty of leveraging university assets and translating investments in ivory-tower research into practical real-world economic benefit.
· The questions about the role tax incentives play in business location decisions.
· The difficulty in justifying many government-issued small business loans from a pure “rate of return” standpoint (the number of NPL’s in any government loan program is high and “capacity to administer” issues are a major factor at all levels in the process).

I have been at this for only about two weeks now, and I have a long way to go in my fellowship. Stay tuned, and I’ll keep you posted on what I learn.

LONG LIVE THE KING

Kenan Institute Asia Offices, Queen Sirikit Convention Center, Bangkok (November 15, 2006) Americans tend to think of monarchies as fairly silly stuff. We dumped ours in 1776, and the British have done little in the two hundred thirty years since to make us second guess that decision.

Like England, Thailand is a constitutional monarchy. But the comparisons end there.

Thais love their King.

I mean, they really love their King.

Let me give you an example. On my first Monday in Thailand I dropped by the Kenan Institute, which is in a large convention center named in honor of Queen Sirikit. In addition to being a convention center, it houses many offices and businesses. When I walked into the Institute’s office, I couldn’t help but notice that there were quite a few people wearing bright yellow golf shirts that bore the royal insignia on the left breast – the place where you might otherwise expect to see an alligator or little polo player.

I was hard pressed to find anyone in the office not wearing such a shirt. Even Paul Wedel, the director, sported one.

It seemed clear enough to me. This was the official Kenan Institute shirt. “I guess I’ll need to get me one of those,” I thought to myself.

When I left the office at closing time to head back to my apartment, I noticed there were people wearing the same shirt all over the convention center.

My first thought was that the Kenan Institute had a lot more employees than I had originally thought. Then, it dawned on me. It wasn’t the Kenan Institute shirt, it was the Queen Sirikit Convention Center shirt! That explained the royal crest where the alligator would otherwise have been. Everyone who worked at the center wore the shirt.

The convention center has its own metro stop, and as I stood at the platform waiting for the subway, it made perfect sense that I would be surrounded by hundreds of people all wearing the same bright yellow golf shirt. I felt pleased that I was understanding more and more about Thailand with each passing minute.

At Asok Station on Sukhomvit Road, I transferred from the subway to the skytrain. As I rode the escalator to the elevated platform, I was somewhat surprised to see so many Queen Sirikit Convention Center employees milling around waiting for the train.

And when the train arrived, it was filled with hundreds more Queen Sirikit employees, all of whom must have boarded at an earlier stop. I noticed some had small embroidered logos on the sleeve or below the collar on the back. These, I surmised, were the names of their employers whose offices were in the convention center.

When I exited the skytrain at Phrom Phong, I noticed hundreds more people, all wearing the same shirt.

As I walked down Soi 22 toward my apartment, I noticed shopkeepers and store clerks wearing the shirt as well.

I began to doubt my carefully reasoned conclusions about the significance of the ubiquitous yellow shirt.

“All right, I give up” I said to Paul the next day. “What’s the deal with all the yellow shirts?”

As he has done with other mysteries about Thailand, Paul explained this one to me as well.

Thailand’s King Bhumibol was born on a Monday. And 2006 is the 60th anniversary of the King’s ascension to the throne. In honor of their King, and in recognition of their esteem for him, Thais wear the yellow golf shirts with the royal insignia on Mondays.

And here’s the thing. No one makes them do this.

And Thais aren't exactly the sort of people you expect to be mindless automatons or brainwashed lemmings.

So when you see the sidewalks, skytrain platforms and shopping malls of Bangkok awash in a sea of bright, rich yellow on Mondays, you are left with one inescapable conclusion.

Thais love their King.

They really love their King.

When Paul explained the whole yellow shirt phenomenon to me, a lot of other things sort of fell into place.

The boarding ramps at the new Suvarnabhumi airport are covered in bright yellow and bear pictures of the King and the words “Long Live the King.”

These are not political signs or the shameless self promotion you might expect from elected officials. These are the genuine expression of a consensus viewpoint of the Thai people.

When you travel around the city, you see images of the King and Queen everywhere. On subway platforms, in taxi cabs, in big department stores and in little corner shops. Expressions of good will for the King are to be found literally everywhere.

Paul explained to me that King Bhumibol has taken great care to conduct himself as the Buddhist embodiment of what a king should be. He does not meddle in the daily affairs of state. He leads by example and by his own good works. He champions the causes of the poor and less fortunate. He has spent decades living up to the ideals of selflessness and service.

Paul explained to me that Buddhists place great stock in the concept of “making merit” – of doing good works during one’s time on earth. By this measure, King Bhumibol has made great merit for himself.

In fact, Paul describes the King’s power not in terms of his ability to send armies into battle or to win riches or wealth for himself or his family. Paul describes the King’s power by using the Buddhist term barami – the power that comes from accumulated merit. The idea is that if a person does enough good works in his life, power flows naturally to him, a power recognized by all as emanating from the merit he has made in his life.

To the people of Thailand, King Bhumibol represents the living embodiment of a very good man.

As you may know, there was a bloodless coup in Thailand a few months ago. Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was removed from power by the military.

Thaksin was Thailand’s first truly powerful prime minister. He had been elected twice by the people of Thailand by commanding margins. He was a political force for the 21st Century. He embraced globalism and democracy and championed the cause of Thailand’s rural poor.

Elections were supposed to be conducted later this year, and many felt Thaksin would be reelected. But Thaksin had his share of detractors, especially in Bangkok. In recent years he had entered into audacious business deals of dubious legality and had begun to make encroachments into both military and royal affairs.

In the months leading up to the coup, Thaksin spoke of persons that were out to get him – figures that were trying to upset his plans for the country and frustrate his efforts to lead. He wouldn’t identify these enemies specifically, speaking only vaguely of shadowy figures in the background, plotting against him.

Many foreign observers have speculated that Thaksin was referring to the King or to his close advisors. Whether the King had a role in the matter or not is irrelevant.

The point is this. The most powerful elected politician in Thailand’s history did not dare mention the name of the King or his advisors in connection with the turmoil that swirled around him in his final months.

To have done so would have sealed his political fate more surely than any military coup.

Thais love their King.


A POST SCRIPT REGARDING THE THAI MONARCHY

It may interest you to know that the movie and story of The King and I is banned in Thailand.

While censorship is a larger issue that always raises issues of freedom and individual rights, the banning of The King and I was not an entirely Orwellian matter. In fact, it represents something of a consensus view among the populace.

The story is considered deeply offensive to the Thai people and their culture.

And for good reason. It simply isn’t true,

The king that is the subject of the story, King Mongkut, was one of Thailand’s most forward-thinking rulers. A learned man and an enlightened leader, his palace employed Anna Leonowens for a time to teach English to his children.

The story of Anna’s fabled relationship to the king is just that – a fable, devised by Anna in an effort to advance her own financial and societal interests.

The only mention of Anna Leonowens in the papers of King Mongkut’s administration is reported to be a reference to her appended to the end of what appears to be a shopping list.

Perhaps the most interesting story of all, however, is not the fictitious nature of The King and I (which is well-settled among scholars) but the story of Anna Leonowens herself.

Ms. Leonowens contrived a detailed story of her background, painting a picture of a refined lady of breeding who fell upon financial misfortune and found herself in the employ of the royal court of the King of Thailand, to which she was to bring an air of culture and enlightenment.

According to an essay I read recently, after the story of The King and I had been debunked as a fanciful myth, a researcher took it upon himself to inquire not into the facts of Ms. Leonowens’ account, but rather into the facts of Ms. Leonowens herself. The story that had been generally accepted up until that time (the one Ms. Leonowens had told of herself) quickly unraveled in the face of fact-checking.

Ms. Leonowens, it appears, was a woman of a lower class and of a somewhat questionable reputation who essentially reinvented herself to enhance her stature. In the process, she spun a largely fictitious tale that maligned a respected leader and aggrandized both her standing in the court and in society at large.

Thais are renowned as a kind, polite, fun-loving and genuinely warm people. While they may not dwell on the story of the The King and I, and may prefer simply to smile and forgive, the story remains an insult and an affront, and their ban on the book and the movie serve as a reminder of that fact.

THAILAND’S NEXT EISENHOWER FELLOW
(A “Heads Up” to my Friends in the Media)

Kenan Institute Asia Offices, Queen Sirikit Convention Center, Bangkok (November 15, 2006) When I compare myself to Thailand’s next Eisenhower Fellow, I have to admit, I am humbled.

After all, what am I but a lawyer and lobbyist for business and economic interests, stumbling around the Orient, trying to make sense of broad trends in urbanism and economic development?


For those reading this in the United States, get ready to meet Supinya Klangnarong.

She is an articulate young advocate for a free press and against concentration of media ownership. And she is an unabashed spokesperson for democratic ideals in a country that, to some these days, might seem a bit ambivalent on that score.

Khun Supinya (“Khun,” by the way, is the unisex Thai honorific for both men and women – sort of an all-purpose equivalent to “Mr.” “Miss” or “Mrs.") has the singular distinction of having been sued for libel to the tune of $14 million by the Shin Corporation – the media conglomerate controlled at the time by former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. Her crime? Daring to speak critically in the Thai Post of the corporation and the Prime Minister.

The events leading up to the recent military coup swirled with allegations that the Shin Corporation was marred by conflicts of interest and had profited from government policies. Supinya, a soft-spoken charming young woman, spoke out, publicly and effectively, about the propriety of actions taken by company.

There followed a true “David and Goliath” battle, in which Supinya was slapped with a $14 million lawsuit and potential criminal liability that carried a 2-year jail term, all at the hands of a mega-corporation with millions of dollars and a phalanx of lawyers at its disposal.On her side, however, she had potent allies – the strength of her convictions in a free press, the good faith in which she reported her story, and a groundwell of public opinion to boot.

The lawsuit quickly became a public relations nightmare for Thaksin. It ended with the Shin Corporation losing the criminal case, dismissing its civil lawsuit and, along with its army of lawyers, slinking away under the cover of night, hoping the whole thing would blow over.

It did not.

Khun Supinya’s saga became one more straw on the straining back of the camel that ultimately led to the collapse of the Thaksin government.

After seeing Thaksin turned out of office by a military coup, one might expect Supinya to be pleased that her situation helped lead to a change in leadership.

Not exactly.

“Understandable, but not acceptable,” she explained at recent dinner party that Kay and I attended, hosted by another Eisenhower fellow Khun Rapee Sucharitakul at his home in Bangkok. Her point was that the democratic process should have been allowed to work and the military should not have intervened – no matter how well-intentioned the effort may have been.

These were the same sentiments she had voiced at the reception held at the U.S. Ambassador’s residence several nights before – an event to recognize both her and me as Eisenhower fellows (although, in fairness, I should note that it was she, and not I, the attendees were there to see).

Her remarks at the event were made all the more significant by the fact that one of the King’s Privy Council members served as the master of ceremonies (for more of the King’s role in Thai society and government, read my ruminations on the subject in an upcoming post).

Khun Supinya will travel to the United States in March of 2007 on an Eisenhower Fellowship.

So to my friends Melanie Sill, Jordy Whichard, John Bussian and Mark Prak – and to all those at my old alma mater, the UNC School of Journalism and Mass Communication, take note. I have attempted to explain to Khun Supinya that North Carolina has a distinctive role in the history of journalism in the United States, having fathered some of the great voices in the U.S. media. And I have told her of our state’s dynamic Fourth Estate.

If we are lucky, we may be able to persuade her to visit North Carolina when she comes to the States.

If that comes to pass, I think you will find her a graceful and inspiring figure and a kindred spirit.

AN INTERESTING PIECE OF SUSHI

Paragon Shopping Center, Bangkok (November 7, 2006): I had an unusual piece of sushi for dinner tonight at this upscale shopping center downtown. It is called basashi in Japanese. It was delicious, but don’t tell Tony Copeland. It might make him ill.

A FEAST FOR THE SENSES

House by the Pond, Bangkok (6 November 2006) – Okay, forget all that about “no jet lag” business.

Somewhere between Narita and Suvarnabhumi, it caught up with me. A 12-hour headache and one really miserable night later, however, and I was feeling fine. Needless to say, I was most grateful to Erin, my U.S. program director and to Kim, my Thailand coordinator, for insisting I take a couple days off to adjust before beginning meetings.

With nothing official to do for two days, I explored the city, learning to get around, getting a sense of how people live, and trying to pick up a few Thai phrases and expressions here and there.

I arrived in Bangkok in my jet-lagged state around midnight at the new Suvarnabhumi airport -- a massive piece of brand new transportation infrastructure. It is rare these days for architects and engineers to be given a giant blank canvas and an even bigger budget and told to design something dramatic. But that is what happens on the few occasions when major international airports are relocated. To replace the aging Don Muang airport, the Thais drained a huge swamp and built this gigantic aviation complex in the middle of nowhere on the far outskirts of town. The airport is beautiful at night and, surprisingly (given the amount of traveler whining on-line in the Bangkok Post), really wasn’t that hard to get around in.

As we traveled along the deserted superhighway, speeding into the city, my head was pounding. The staff at my apartment, House by the Pond (off Soi 22 down from Sukhomvit), were awaiting my arrival and quickly escorted me to a room on the second floor. Disoriented and unable to figure out how to call Kay back in Raleigh, I fell into bed for a fitful night’s sleep that ended around 8:00 a.m. on Sunday morning with the noise of construction workers banging around a nearby building under construction.

The second floor was, fortunately, not to be a permanent location for me. I talked to the staff, who were happy to switch me to a higher floor on the other side of the building where I would gain a view and relief from any construction noise. After moving my bags up a few floors, I set to work on my “to do” list.

First on the list was to communicate with Kay. And for the life of me, I could not get the phone in my room to dial overseas. Language barriers notwithstanding, the staff explained to me how to make the call, but, as I later discovered, the telephone in my room (or perhaps the lines, or the system as a whole) is extremely temperamental, requiring multiple vain attempts to get an international call to go through. As an alternative, I used the House By The Pond’s wireless internet to send a few e-mails confirming my safe arrival.

I then went off in search of two more critical elements on the “to do” list – some aspirin and a detailed map.

For reasons not entirely clear to me in retrospect, I had chosen to leave behind our stash of BC powders, a giant bottle of ibuprofen, and all our guidebooks and maps – the idea being that Kay would bring them along with her the following week.

Nonetheless, I remembered enough about the general location of House By The Pond from having looked at satellite mapping images of the city on the Internet and a little schematic on the hotel’s website. I knew that, to explore the city, I would need to get up to Sukhomvit – one of Bangkok’s main thoroughfares.

When I first get to a city, I like to go out and walk it (rather than take a cab), just to get oriented. I find getting lost to be particularly useful because it heightens the senses and forces you to better understand your location and the relationship of the streets and landmarks around you.

The first thing I discovered was that House By the Pond was a lot further down Soi 22 than I had thought it was – almost a mile. As I walked up the soi (the Thai word for “street” or “side street”) in a direction I hoped would lead to Sukhomvit, I passed streetside food stalls serving delicious-smelling grilled meats, small shops, traditional Thai massage salons, motorcycle taxi stands, games of sidewalk chess and bottlecap checkers, and a small population of lazy dogs, all fast asleep on steps in the sun. Wonderful sights, sounds and smells – a fest for the senses,

I finally reached Sukhomvit and from there went in search of a Skytrain station – one of the stops on the modern elevated transit system that provides quick access to parts of the city.

I purchased a fare card for 30 trips and traveled to Siam station, stopping to explore a large, elegant and very new shopping complex. I quickly found a pharmacy there and purchased some aspirin. I had looked for aspirin in the area’s countless Seven Elevens (located on almost every street corner) but had been unable to find any for sale there. As it turns out, it is sold over the counter, but apparently only in pharmacies. After downing several aspirin, I went in search of snacks – grilled meat on skewers and a ginger drink. I found a map in a large bookstore in the shopping center.

From Siam station, I traveled to Saphan Taksin bridge, the last stop on the Silom Road line. The Skytrain ends there at the edge of the Chao Praya river. When I arrived, I was immediately struck by the large number of people selling beautiful arrangements of flowers in shapes that looked like cakes. There were various sizes and designs laid out on table after table as I walked toward the river. Families had spread out blankets on the ground and were making hundreds of these delicate bouquets.

Finally, it hit me. These were the krathongs of Loy Krathong – an annual celebration of the Thai people. Made of banana leaves and flowers, they contain a candle and three sticks of incense in their center. They are designed to float on the river or in a canal during the November full moon. Everyone either makes or purchases a krathong and lights the candle and incense sticks before placing it in the water. They make a wish and release their krathong, with the hope that it will stay lighted as it travels downstream.

I wandered along the river for a time in the afternoon, observing preparations for the Loy Krathong festivities. I returned briefly to my apartment and then ventured out again to the river to watch the celebration that evening. When I returned, thousands of people lined the Saphan Taksin bridge. Crowds milled about in the streets while families climbed aboard river taxies for a journey upriver.

Not really sure where the boats were going, I nonetheless paid my 50 baht and climbed aboard for a journey. Elegantly illuminated barges and boats bobbed along beside our water taxi as it churned up the Chao Praya river. Our boat traveled north, passing scores of hotels and boats hosting Loy Krathong dinners and parties. All along our path floated the lighted krathongs, riding the swells produced by the motorized river taxis.

When we reached the farthest point of our journey, alongside a beautifully illuminated temple, the passengers made their wishes and released their krathongs.

I was pleasantly surprised when I realized the river taxi was returning to the Saphan Taksin bridge, as I really had no idea how I would find my way home if it discharged its passengers at some destination upstream. Thai taxi drivers are unlikely to speak English and, as former fellow to Thailand Roz Fuse-Hall told me before I left, no one knows where House By the Pond is anyway.

When I reached the bridge, I watched a group launching fire balloons that floated lazily in the air along the river, and as the Skytrain pulled away from the station, the night sky erupted in a spectacular burst of fireworks all along the shore.

JET LAG (OR NOT . . .)

Terminal 2, Narita Airport, Tokyo (4 November 2006) – Okay, so my departure didn’t go exactly as planned. Rather than stumble out of bed at 4:00 a.m., I wandered into the bedroom at 4:00 a.m. to wake up Kay and the dogs.

I had the coffee, and I made it to the airport, but a good night’s sleep? Not so much.

That’s what happens when you don’t pack for your two-month trip abroad until the night before.

Of course, there may be an upside to that. Apart from having only the vaguest recollection of my trip to RDU and subsequent stopover in Dallas Fort Worth, I slept like a rock on the plane. I was out cold for seven hours on the flight to Narita during a time that would roughly correspond to sleeping hours in Bangkok. We arrived in Tokyo under dreary leaden skies, but I felt great. We’ll see if it lasts…

A word or two about what I’m doing here.

I received an Eisenhower Fellowship back in June that has enabled me to travel to Southeast Asia to learn about economic development and urbanization trends there -- what’s happening, planned and unplanned, with the region’s economies, how that is affecting people’s lives, and the implications all this may have for North Carolina.

Admittedly, that’s pretty broad. In some ways I’m surprised the organization approved me for a fellowship. My focus is not easy to define. I work in the realm of state economic development. My concern is helping chart an economic course for North Carolina into the 21st Century. We are a state of humble origins, propelled over the last 75 years or so from a history of small farms and little mill towns into an increasingly urbanized dynamic economy.

We’ve seen economic disruption as a result of globalization (most notably over the past five years), but our state really continues to be on an upward arc. Our challenges are managing a transition into a global, technology-based, high skill economy and, at the same time, reaching out to lift up less urbanized and disadvantaged regions and help them prosper.

What can Southeast Asia teach me about our future? That’s what I’m here to find out.

I’m someone who has always been comfortable admitting to his own ignorance. And I know next to nothing about Southeast Asia.

That’s probably why I proposed it as a destination when I applied for this fellowship. There’s something about being in a completely alien environment that challenges your thinking – forces you to reevaluate what you believe to be true.

I’ve been doing a fair amount of reading on the region, but you can read a book about a place ten times through and probably learn more about it in a few days on the ground. I’ve also been spending more time than usual talking to leaders in North Carolina about our strengths and weaknesses as well as their perceptions about emerging Asian economies. So I guess I’m about as well prepared as I can be, but I still feel like I’m going into this experience with my mind a tabula rasa.

So what about Eisenhower Fellowships? They’re a great organization, based in Philadelphia, dedicated to increasing international understanding by enabling leaders from the United States to have immersive experiences in host countries in the areas of their professional expertise. They run similar, and more extensive, programs that bring leaders from many nations to the United States. Their goal is the development of an international peer network that can build bridges and facilitate understanding and connections in an era of increasing globalization.

I’m lucky. This is a chance of a lifetime.

A JOURNEY COMMENCES

The adventures chronicled in this blog will begin around 4:00 a.m. on Friday, November 3, 2006.

I will stumble out of bed, down a cup of coffee, and, in an early morning fog, head for RDU Airport. That inauspicious start will mark the beginning of my Eisenhower Fellowship to Southeast Asia.

Its purpose?

To connect me with leaders in government and industry in Thailand, Singapore and Malaysia. To provide me with new and international perspectives on how economic development strategies can help tackle the challenges posed by urbanization.

What, exactly, does that mean?

Come along with me and my wife Kay and find out.

I serve as Director of Legal and Legislative Affairs for the North Carolina Department of Commerce. It's my job to help build and shape policies and laws that will grow the economy and create jobs and opportunity here in North Carolina.

With any luck, after eight weeks on this grand adventure, I'll have learned a few things that will help me do that even better.