Trip Report, Part 25: Khuk Khi Kai

The road-side view of Khuk Khi Kai

While on a long weekend getaway this last trip I had the opportunity to stop and see Khuk Khi Kai, a remnant of the French-Thai unpleasantness at the end of the 19th century.

An internet image of Siamese mounted artillery in 1893

The Franco-Siamese War of 1893 was a conflict between the French Third Republic and what was then known as the Kingdom of Siam. The Thai naturally didn't care for the attempted occupation of Chantaburi, and some rebelled. As punishment, those who did were rounded up and put into the small (4.4 meters/14.4 feet across and 7 meters/23 feet high) brick building above.

If you don't already know, Thai culture believes the top of your head is the closest to heaven, and therefore the most "holy" part of the body, and your feet are the most base parts. It's common knowledge that you don't touch the top of peoples heads unless you've been given permission to do so, and that you don't point your feet at someone, step on them, or, indeed, even step over them. 

With that in mind, here's what made this holding facility most odious to the Thai: the French put a slatted roof on the building and kept chickens in a coop up there. The chickens would eat, scratch about as chickens will, and, naturally, poop - and their droppings would fall with no warning on the heads of the captives below. It wasn't a physical torture, per se, but one that was a great insult psychologically.

"Well, that was kind of a chickenshit thing to do," I commented while taking these images, and my friend blushed - he would rarely use such a crude term himself - but agreed. I had to push to get an answer as to how that would be said in Thai, and since I didn't take note of it I can't share it with you today. Probably just as well - there's plenty of that very behavior still going on today, anyway. Man's inhumanity to man, and all.

Being uncomfortable about the whole idea I declined to go inside myself, but you can bend down and enter a 3-foot high doorway, if you visit there.  It's history, but it's not history at its finest.  Still, an interesting stop.

The back side view, with the entrance door on the right

Book Report 2: Doing The Crime, Doing The Time

If we're to believe what most accused people say there are precious few folks in custody for one infraction or another who are actually guilty. If you dig back into your earliest memories of childhood I'd guess you can all remember someone tagged for something and hollering in protest "I didn't DO it!" Siblings in particular come to mind, but school friends were undoubtedly included too, right?

Anyone who's watched professional sports like basketball, baseball or football - gridiron and soccer combined - or most any other has heard it repeatedly, even when a replay shows their claim to be an obvious lie. In the corporate world it's all too often a job requirement. It's one of the less honorable forms of lying, and I'd wager lunch that with rare exceptions it's a part of every culture around the world.

The recent "I didn't do it" stories in the sporting news lately reminded me of it, so here's the second book report/review for the series.

Oftentimes greed is more a part of it than a matter of honor by dishonorable means, and that greed can be a want of prestige, popularity or face; but more often than not it's in an effort to gain money, one way or another.  It can also have to do with sex and/or drugs, but those themselves are  a form of currency in many cases. 

Warren Fellows wrote a book in the late 1990s called "4,000 Days - My Life and Survival in a Bangkok Prison" that I'd heard of but didn't get around to reading until 2005, after hearing repeatedly in Thailand of how horrific conditions were said to be in most Thailand prisons. In it, he spends 20 pages describing how he got himself involved with areas of Thai life no clear thinking foreigner has any business dabbling in, and then another 180 talking about how horrific the penalties of said dabbling can be.

On the first page of the prologue he says "I do not tell this story to bring pity on myself. I know that many people hate me for what I did and would believe that I deserved whatever I got. If, at the end of my story you still believe that anyone could deserve the horrors that I saw, then you, too, are a criminal."  Hmmm.  I damn near put the book back on the shelf at Asia Books in Bangkok after reading that, but I was told it was a good representation of inhuman prison practices there, so  I thumbed through the rest of it for another few minutes and then purchased it.  I read a bit of it while resting in my room that afternoon, said to myself "Oh, man... what a whiner", and didn't get back to it until a couple of years later back home.

Let me be clear here, however: I find the gross inhumanity visited on prisoners in many parts of the world to be reprehensible, but I'm not at all sure we have the privilege of telling those of other countries and cultures that what we find gross indecencies should be stopped because we don't do it that way in our own homelands.  There's no debate here today - just a report. 

Giving credit where credit is due, the book may well have been intended as a warning to others, but in all honesty, after Fellows extensive sharing about how much he knew of the pitfalls of drug smuggling and cooperating with the seediest sides of trafficking between Australia and Thailand it's difficult to see him as a sympathetic character, despite the horrific things he experienced and witnessed.  I felt for him, but I kept saying to myself "but you knew". 

If you're a person who's genuinely disturbed by man's inhumane treatment of other human beings, this isn't a book for you.  However, if stories of life in Bang Kwang, Maha Chai, Bumbud and other places referred to in general as the "Monkey House" pique your morbid curiosity, you'll find stories a-plenty here.

Pathumthani Prison "Chain Gang" At Work

Yesterday you saw a crew of trustees from Pathumthani Prison while they were doing some drain cleaning work on the streets of Bangkok. Here today, as promised, are the video clips and follow-up photos of what the guys were actually doing.

No arguments from here - this isn't the most scenic post I've ever done, by far; but as most boys of assorted ages will do I'll stop and watch construction sites, carpentry work, cement pouring and, yes, even drain cleanings.  If nothing else, it makes me thankful I've never had to do such labor-intensive work myself.

Depending on where you are in Bangkok, Pathumthani (or Pathum Thani) is about 46Km/28Mi away. No real reason to include that, I suppose, unless you know someone being held there or are intending to commit a crime that might land you there yourself and you want to let folks know where you'll be spending your extended holidays.  Bad joke, there; having seen a bit of the insides of a Thai prison it's probably not something anyone should be joking about.

If you're heading North to visit the lovely Summer palace at Bang Pa-in (built by King Prasat Thong in the early 1600s, restored by King Rama IV in the mid-1800s) you drive through the general area, though. Just a thought, but a bit off-topic, sorry.

The one with the Halloween mask in the center seemed to be the Alpha Dog, directing the others.  His mask alternated between usage as sun and splatter protection. You'll see below that it wasn't always effective.

The work entailed the crew threading a thin rope attached to a much heavier one from one drain opening to the next at some point, pulling a cylindrical bucket through the line from one point to the next and then lifting the bucket of muck up through the opening and dumping it into one of dozens of large light blue bins to be hauled away.

The thin rope went through first, followed by the heavier one, which then held the bucket.

This meant opening each grate or cover and then replacing it afterwards. Some of them were quite firmly set in place, either by crud settled into the perimeters or by shifting of the surroundings, etc. That involved a more united effort of a different sort to pry them up. At one point they had six of them working on the ones below to break them free.

Lifting sidewalk grates with picks and crowbars is heavy duty

Pulling the bucket through the drain

Once the rope was ready to be pulled through a call went out to the lead man on what looked like a one-sided tug-of-war, and he began his call to heave ho to the guys to begin pulling:



When the bucket full of gunk reached the next opening, it was hooked and lifted up so a length of pipe could be put in place to hold it near street level, and guys would then lift it out and dump the contents into the blue bin.

For those who don't have the bandwith/time/patience to see the clips I'm including still photographs today, also.

Lifting the full bucket to sidewalk level...

... and emptying it for removal and disposal

Most of the time it all seemed to go smoothly.  The crew wasn't being hounded to move faster or work harder; it was obvious it was hot, heavy, risky work already.  I did see things stop for a couple of minutes while one of the guys who was knocked in the brow got a bandage put over his eye, and another time when the Masked Man had a large dollop of skunk water splash up and get into his eye.  I had a packet of hong nam tissues (just in case) and let him pull a couple from the pack.  He thanked me and wiped his face, while a co-worker looked up and giggled at his friend's misfortune.

Another usage of the phrase "here's mud in your eye"

As a bystander it was an entertaining 20 minutes or so. As a worker on this roped version of a chain gang it must have been a long, difficult day... but at least they were out and off of the prison grounds for the day. I hope their rate of recidivism is low, because the ones I had (admittedly very little) contact with seemed to be friendly enough guys.  Perhaps theirs were more "white collar" crimes, I don't know.  I wish them luck.

Fraternize With The Prisoners? Go Right Ahead.

Walking back to my room from a 7-Eleven a few months ago I heard what sounded like short bursts of rhythmic chanting on the streets of Bangkok.  Supposing at the time that it might have been another group of students or kids doing some form of fundraising I made a slight detour and went over to where I could see them better. There weren't any signs, balloons or anything like what the Pantip cheerleaders were using, so I was still a little puzzled until I could actually see them and saw that they were hard at work.

Now, we've covered the concept of sanuk before; the Thai philosophy that if there isn't some fun to be found in doing something it isn't worth doing, and how camaraderie can pull people together in even more trying times, but this was a Gold Star example of thamngan sanuk (finding enjoyment in your work), so I thought it worth sharing with you.

It felt a little too warm to me to be wearing the garb they had on, but I figured it was a case of a) being acclimatized and/or b) protecting themselves from the harsh rays of the noonday sun. I'd guess the group was about 20 in all.

They were doing an unpleasant and difficult job - cleaning the muck out of the storm drains below the sidewalk, and doing it essentially by hand; dragging a bucket on a rope along multiple long lengths of pipe.  The "chanting" I thought I'd heard was their call-and-response while they did the heave ho, led by one of their own, sounding a little like a coxswain on a rowing team's boat.

It looked to be pretty demanding work in the heat and traffic-fueled smoggy air, even though there were breaks of several minutes between each length of pipe cleared. Nevertheless, they smiled and joked before, during and after; cheering or jeering the others pulling along with them.

I finished off a bottle of water while I walked along the sidewalk beside the work party, pantomiming taking pictures with them and taking them with the camera when they gave me an "OK" sign of one form or another.

As they worked their way past a cart where the vendor squeezes oranges to fill small plastic bottles of juice to sell I bought about 12 of them and took them over to the group of guys when they next sat down to rest between sessions.  They were surprised, but pleased. The bottles began to go quickly.

It was then that I noticed a man in a nicely pressed uniform walking towards me, with a patch sewn on the chest of it.  Most of the wording was in Thai, but there was one word in English: PRISON. Concerned that I'd perhaps overstepped a boundary my mind scrambled hurriedly for an explanation as he approached, but he smiled and reached out for one of the bottles of juice, I gave him one, and my heartbeat returned to normal.


I nodded towards the workers and asked him a one word question - "Prisoners?" - and he nodded, popping the top off of the juice and taking a long pull off of the bottle, downing half of it. These were trustees, he said, allowed out on work detail because they were deemed to be inmates with a low flight risk, but I wondered what they got in exchange for what was essentially slave labor other than being out of the prison for a while.  I didn't think to ask him that, so I still don't have an answer.


While a few of them gathered up the ropes, buckets and tools to load into a cart one would pull off down the street I motioned for the guys who'd by now finished their juice to gather together for a group shot.  That's the photo below.  More tomorrow on the actual work they were doing - and some video clips.

My Time In A Thailand Prison

Sorry to disappoint those who thought this might be a confessional-type post, but the title refers to a visit made to the Pattaya Remand Prison (also known as Nong Palai), and not a sentence served by your humble host. Quite frankly, it was discomforting enough just to be in there on the "free" side of the cell bars; I have no intentions of ever being an unwilling guest on the other side.

In early 2008 I was making a visit to a Pattaya charity organization I've had the pleasure to be of some minor assistance to and walked in to find staffer Pui with several loaves of bread and a large jar of peanut butter. "Are you here to make sandwiches?" he asked. "Why not?" I replied, and after washing my hands I began to help him assemble the several dozen needed for their jail rounds that day.

Although peanuts in sauce and nuts crushed up for Thai cooking is common in Thailand, jars of processed peanut butter such as Skippy or JIF or Peter Pan that we in the West take for granted are expensive items for regular folks there. Primarily for the label I'd bought a tiny 6 ounce jar of Skippy to bring back for my brother as a joke and paid a dear price for it, as I recall. Now when I fly there I take a couple of two-pound jars along with me to help stock their "prison" supplies.

A small (3" tall, 4 oz.) jar of Skippy peanut butter (above)

I was offered the opportunity to tag along with them on one of their regular visits to local correctional facilities where they distribute water, fruit and peanut butter sandwiches to prisoners being held there. Sometimes there's actual contact with the inmates, sometimes the supplies are just given to guards just inside who distribute them further into the cell areas. Feeling I'd be OK since I'd be along with folks who regularly go inside I took them up on their offer.

After we'd finished making them up we stacked the sandwiches back into the bread wrappers and loaded them into the back of their Toyota pick-up truck, along with bags of bottled water and oranges. Scrunched in the back onto the bench seats the four of us made our way off on our rounds: two Thai, one British friend who'd made the trip several times already, and myself.

The first stop was Nong Palai, not far away from the charity's compound. There were a couple of dozen people sitting on the ground or wandering around the main building as we pulled into the lot, some of them looking as though they'd experienced the less comfortable side of life, let's say. We parked the car and as I was unfolding myself from the cramped quarters in the rear of the mini-truck I realized I had my camera in my pack. Rats. Knowing the answer I asked Pui "I can't take my camera inside of the prison, can I?" He looked at me as if I'd just asked if I could carry a handgun in with me. "No!" he laughed, "Leave it in the truck."

Glancing at the folks loitering around us and taking interest in we two farang I set my small pack onto the floor of the front seat and turned to go inside, thinking "OK, if it's gone, it's gone. It's not like it's my passport and wallet," and walked to the entrance, where Pui rang the bell and a guard recognized him, opened the door and ushered us in. The door latched shut behind us with a resounding boom I can still hear today.

Suddenly I remembered one more thing: the small Swiss Army knife I had in my pocket. "Sh*t," I whispered to Pui "I have a knife in my pocket!" I began to sweat even more than usual for a hot morning, but Pui said "Don't worry about it - we won't be searched. Just don't take it out, and you'll be fine." "Yes," grinned my British friend "and if you're not, tomorrow we'll bring you a peanut butter sandwich!"

We were taken down a short hallway to some holding cells where folks awaited processing, court dates, sentencing or transfer to other facilities for longer stays. The cells were small: maybe 12 feet by 12 feet, bare except for a small area enclosed behind a low wall where the squat toilet was.

There were a good 25 men in each of the two cells on one side of the aisle, and only a few less women in the cells on the other side, maybe eight feet away. The heat was oppressive and the air was worse than stale because of the crowded conditions. I have no idea what bathing options there might have been in this holding area, but I've been told that in the regular cells you're alloted five cups (1.2L) of water to wash with when you're allowed to bathe, and soap and toiletries are luxuries purchased with your commissary funds, if someone's good enough to provide them for you.

When they saw us come in, almost all of them rose from where they'd been squatting or lying on the cement floor of the cell, coming in an orderly fashion to the bars between us. The guard stood by, watching closely. Most of the prisoners knew why we were there and began to stick their arms through the bars to accept the sandwiches and fruit, grateful for fresh food.

Nearly all were Thai, and a couple of them came to Pui with requests as he handed them food. He stopped several times to reach into a kit containing basic first aid supplies he'd brought in with him and handed out band-aids, aspirin and the likes.

One grey-haired British falang stood out in the crowd, and he seemed more pleased to be able to speak English than he was to get the food. Close to 70 years old, he'd overstayed his visa by a week or two - I don't recall, actually - and was being shipped to Bangkok to be sent back to the United Kingdom. He was a pathetic looking character but really no worse than the other couple of dozen men he was locked up with. He'd already been there a couple of weeks, was tired and sore from sleeping on the bare cement floor and had no idea when they'd be getting him out of there and on his way home. I made mental note to not make the same mistake.

When we'd distributed all of the food there wasn't much left to do but prepare to leave. Once the distraction of giving the supplies out was finished I was again acutely aware of where I was - and how unsettling and unpleasant it felt to be there - and I was happy to hear Pui say "OK, we go now."

Emerging from the building into the "living" air I couldn't complain about the heat- or anything else, really. We were free to go, and while I was happy to have been able to walk into the place, I was happier still to walk out.

To this day I think of those folks in there every time I put peanut butter on bread.