AsiaLIFE Media Vol. 103
| OCTOBER 2016
airport overhaul Krav maga Les Come Out
SÁCH KHÔNG BÁN
INFORMATION AND COMMUNICATIONS PUBLISHING HOUSE
kok to Monica Majors heads to Bang tile. drape herself in the royal tex Photos by Monica Majors.
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D
uring World War 2 an American CIA operative named Jim Thompson underwent intensive jungle survival training for his upcoming assignments in Southeast Asia. When the war in the region ended abruptly in 1946 he soon received orders to return to the United States. However, it was not before he had fallen in love with the region, and would soon return to make Bangkok, Thailand, his forever home. It was there that he created a new life for himself, one that re-invigorated a dying art: Thai silk production. Enviably to Vietnamese neighbours, the terms ‘Thailand’ and ‘silk’ go hand-in-hand. Traditionally, production of raw silk took place in the north-east of the country. As modernisation hit the Kingdom, families moved away from the time-consuming methods in search of more efficient means to earn a living. When Jim Thompson created his namesake Thai silk company, he filled this cultural gap and kept alive a tradition that has recently resurfaced among textile connoisseurs, tailors, designers, upholsterers and hoteliers. From a small shop over a ubiquitous Bangkok canal, his brand-name stores are now a staple in most Thai malls and airports, and his house has been converted to a museum which displays several of the antiques he collected on his travels throughout the region. The lavish costumes of The King and I were his design, and the Thompson name echoes throughout the country. When I headed to Bangkok to explore his heritage, I wasn’t surprised that investigating the vibrant silk dyes would take me to a gold-trimmed hotel and a slatecoloured canal.
Starting At The Top
Jim Thompson made his house in the midst of city centre, tucked against klong Maha Nag. Rooms in the house emulate Thai architecture from several of the country’s regions, the entire structure made out of coveted teak wood. It’s both humble and well preserved and currently showcased as a museum. About a 10 minute walk away (or three stops on the skytrain) sits Anantara Siam Bangkok Hotel. What connects the two? They both claim iconic status in the city, and both adore
silk; the latter to such an extent that they’ve created a suite in his honour. Their Jim Thompson Explorer Suite unfolds over a full corner of the hotel with views out to the Royal Bangkok Sports Club, and is thoughtfully draped in namesake silk. Even wall panels are ornately crafted in handpainted silk murals that tell stories of old Siam. I had all two bedrooms to myself, though without as much time to enjoy the suite as I should have taken. I was on the search to learn more about this heralded American expat who deserved such a five-star memorial. Lucky for me, staying in the suite also came with a trip to the Jim Thompson House and a far more local experience. Khun Krit, concierge at Anantara Siam, was my personal escort, as is the norm for guests staying in the suite. I declined the included luxury car transfer in favour of a smoggy walk along the streets of Bangkok and a sky train connection. Hands-free in the train I was feeling like a local until an uncommon stop-short sent me lurching forward. Mortified, as Krit chivalrously helped me upright he said, “We can take the Mercedes on the way back if you wish.” My blush nodded for me.
Learning Of The Legend
An intrepid explorer, Thompson used his jungle training avidly as he traipsed through Cambodia, Malaysia and Thailand collecting a wealth of statues and antiques. They’re on display in his house, eerily echoed by his ghostly disappearance. On 26 March 1967 he disappeared deep in the jungle of the Cameron Mountains, Malaysia, resulting in one of the widest manhunts ever to take place in the region. The most commonly endorsed rumours are that he was attacked and killed by a tiger, or that he succumbed to malaria. A Thai court ruled his death ‘in absentia’ in 1974, but his story rings different in some parts of Malaysia, where some claim his body was found and buried. As the tour guide imparted her impression of these speculations, Krit simply said, “It maintains quite a myth here.” With so many priceless relics adorning all corners of the house, one is not allowed to meander the halls alone. Guided tours are common, and the museum is a staple among many travellers. It doesn’t take long to walk
through, and there’s an extensive gift shop in case you’ve not yet come across his many handbags, lipstick cases, scarves, pillow cases or elephant plush toys. If you’d like to order in bulk, you’ll need to head deeper into the city where they sell by the metric yard for you to upholster furniture. Or, you can follow my journey.
An Oldie But A Goodie
Time magazine once printed that Thompson “almost single handed[ly] saved Thailand’s vital silk industry from extinction.” Committed to hand weaving, he encouraged authentic silk weaving, from silkworm to cocoon to hand dyeing. Across the canal (or klong) from the house, chain-smoking octogenarian Khun Aood is still weaving with his methods. The last of Thompson’s apprentices still alive, his house-cumworkshop is decorated with penance to the ‘Saviour of Silk’, and he welcomes visitors. As Krit led me into the house, the mid-day sun beat through the aluminium roof. The many fans barely made a dent, and the two men worked shirtless. The loom had stopped until I walked in, the weaver cursing she had forgotten to leave enough space on the end to make it a scarf. Aood took this opportunity to show me his collection of shirts, shawls and scarves on sale. It paled in comparison to the prices charged at the museum, the hand-loomed quality apparent so much that I was nervous to touch it. When I walked through, Aood had just finished spinning spectacularly vibrant silks in royal blue, burgundy and sunshine gold. His workshop was meticulously laid out to maximise drying space and working environment while also keeping out as much of the heat as possible. A second-floor housed rows of hanging silk that glistened like a royal procession as the rays of the sun shone through. A pregnant cat lazing in the doorway hadn’t moved since I arrived, and as Krit and I left, offering a wai (bow), she seemed to exemplify exactly what we were thinking. We crossed over the pedestrian bridge away from the quaintness that so much of Bangkok offers, and found our air-conditioned German chariot waiting. With that, I returned to Anantara to take advantage of such luxury. AsiaLIFE HCMC 37