Thailand tradition is golden

ON the front line of a region synonymous with opium trafficking, the poppy fields have been trampled by luxury hotels. Standing at the confluence of the Mekong and Ruak rivers, I can survey each constituent third of the once lawless Golden Triangle; between myself and the misty hills of Laos is a bottle-green wedge of Burmese territory dominated by the bright red Paradise Casino. My surroundings on the Thai side are similarly sanitised.

Then I meet Chamrat, a local guide armed with an "Adventurer's Map", who insists that the wider environs retain a distinctly tribal flavour.

Pinpointing a likely looking mountain area, we settle into his airconditioned van and follow our noses past pineapple plantations and tobacco fields and into hilltribe country.

Thailand's ethnic minorities - numbering around 800,000 - are culturally, spiritually and geographically remote from mainstream Thai society; most have no citizenship papers, and therefore no access to basic social services. Despite strong political pressure, a dozen hilltribes continue to uphold a unique lifestyle in more than 3,000 villages. Two hours into our trip, we break the tree line a thousand metres above sea level and draw up outside an Akha settlement.

At the entrance stands a sacred gate flanked by wooden carvings believed to deter evil spirits. Reaching for a closer inspection draws a shriek of alarm from Chamrat, who babbles that a sacrifice will be required if anyone but the religious leader touches it. Unsure whether he means I might be called upon to do the decent thing, I leave well alone.

The village comprises around 30 wooden stilt houses. A thin man in an Arsenal shirt, teeth blackened from the betel leaves he's chewing, is carefully loading doomed grubs into a bird snare. Chamrat's attempts to engage him in conversation founder on the local dialect, drawing a laugh from the elderly woman next door. The silver coins on her headdress signify her wealth and status; nearby, sacrificial buffalo horns above someone's doorway indicate a recent bereavement.

It's quiet: life here revolves around the agricultural cycle, and most people are out working the fields; between the houses a number of women are visible, carrying children on their backs.

The scene beyond remains sleepy as we drift aimlessly westwards on the undulating Tarmac. Then a twist of razor wire appears on one side and we're stopped at a military checkpoint. That morning's papers were full of the seizure nearby of nine million methamphetamine pills. It's hard to reconcile their harsh depiction of a "pariah state" with the lush Burmese countryside beckoning us across the wire. The fresh-faced soldier apologises for any inconvenience, but he's given us a sudden sense of direction. Mae Sai, Thailand's final frontier, is just 50 miles away.

THE border is bedlam, with swarms of scooters buzzing towards the Union of Myanmar, orange-robed novice monks hurrying back with cut- price DVD players, and scores of shoeless children chasing both for coins. Formalities completed, we adjust our watches by half an hour, switch to driving on the right and cross the narrow river for a head- spinning afternoon in Tachilek town.

Gone are the guest houses and internet cafes of traveller- friendly Thailand; in their place, a dusty maze of battered streets peopled by a vivid cast of characters. There are men with Indian and Chinese features wearing lunghi (a kind of baggy sarong), women with faces streaked with tanaka (a skin-cooling paste made from ground wood), high-cheekboned children riding four to a moped.

In the shady marketplace, we find shotguns, tiger intestines, bottles of whisky containing snakes and the skin of a clouded leopard, none of which is on my shopping list. As a conspicuous Westerner, I'm permanently surrounded by persistent vendors touting yabaa (amphetamine "crazy pills"), pirate CDs and women of questionable repute. Where was the repression we'd been reading about? All too soon we're hurrying for the border, mindful of the 5pm deadline but thrilled to have found this parallel universe. The Golden Triangle has lost none of its power to intoxicate.

WAY TO GO

Carl Thompson stayed at Anantara Resort and Spa Golden Triangle (www.anantara.com), UK reservations through Small Luxury Hotels (00 800 525 48000). Doubles from around Pounds 73 per night, room only. Trips to hilltribe villages and the one-day tour to Thailand, Burma and Laos cost around Pounds 70 per person. Or as part of a package with an operator such as Travelmood (08700 664 556): 10 nights with four at Anantara Golden Triangle and six in Hua Hin cost Pounds 799, including internal flights with Thai Airways and international flights on Eva Air (www.evaair.com). Further information from Tourism Authority of Thailand (www.thaismile.co.uk).

(c)2004. Associated Newspapers Ltd.. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.