A couple of days before Christmas, there is hardly enough time to tell readers about travelling to Thailand for the holidays, unless, perhaps, plans have already been made. If that’s the case, I can tell readers then what to expect.
It used to be, Christmas was the time to stay home or that’s when the grandkids came to grandma’s for the day. Chances are these days grandma and grandpa are out travelling. A week ago I was in Singapore and everyone there, it seemed, was planning to spend Christmas in Bangkok or Hong Kong—anywhere but Singapore. And here in Bangkok many people I know are going down to Singapore or to Hong Kong, and some to America. They all have the Christmas spirit but they don’t want to spend it at home.
Every time I see Christmas decorations going up around Bangkok and other cities in Asia, I am reminded how far the Christmas spirit has spread. It wasn't always that way, at least not when I first came to Asia after World War Two. Hardly anyone except Westerners living in Asia celebrated Christmas back then, and it wasn't an easy thing to do to spread the Yuletide spirit to those who never knew the meaning of Christmas.
But spreading Christmas cheer was what I had to do on my first Christmas in Asia, when, as a US Marine still in my teens, I was sent with my regiment to China. It was winter and we landed at Tsingtao on the Shantung Peninsula. Our company commander decided we should have a Christmas party for the town's street urchins. He sent us out into the streets to round up the children. We managed to herd 50 kids or more into the company mess hall on Christmas day. The meal was a disaster: They couldn't use knives and forks, and they were baffled by the turkey and mashed potatoes, chocolate candy and ice cream. What was a meal without rice?
When Santa Claus thundered into the mess hall shouting "Ho, Ho!" to the top of his voice, pandemonium broke out. The frightened children scrambled to seek cover under the tables, knocking everything over. No wonder. Santa, a rotund mess sergeant, was suffering from a hangover. He looked horrible with a floor mop wrapped around his chin for whiskers, and his long winter underwear died red.
We gave the children coloured balloons and boxes of crayons but we forgot to give them paper to write on. In the end it was pretty miserable, turning them out into the cold afterward. It was a sad Christmas for all of us.
Times have changed. Now, many Asian countries celebrate Christmas, adopting western customs. But where did we get some of those strange Christmas customs, like decking our homes with holly and mistletoe? The two plants don’t even grow in Asia.
Perhaps the single biggest oddity of Christmas in tropical Asia is the fact that it's so hot. How do you explain to children why Santa is all wrapped up in a fur-trimmed suit and hat, wears big boots and has cheeks and a nose that are flushed red? And how do you explain the sleigh when there is no snow?
Santa Claus resorts to some ingenious methods to get to his destinations in Asia without snow.  In Hong Kong I saw him swoop down in a helicopter to deliver his goodies. At the Selangor Club in Kuala Lumpur, he glided down in a parachute. In Cebu in the central Philippines, one Christmas right after midnight, Santa arrived in a calesa, a horse-drawn carriage. In Bangkok he's likely to arrive in a tuktuk.
Still, what is Christmas without snow? Bangkok manufactures its own snow. In department stores and malls all over town air-conditioners are turned on full blast, and white flakes fly through the air. But the flakes bounce when they hit the floor—they're chopped Styrofoam. I wonder what effect it has on children who have never seen real snow.
Actually, Christmas in Asia is not much different from America and Europe: Santa Claus, presents, jingle bells, Christmas carols, and even the snow, artificial as it is. Yet, I do have to admit, it can be different, depending where you are going. Travel to a dozen different countries, or cultures, and you'll have a dozen different Christmases.
I have spent some bizarre Christmases in this part of the world—once in a longhouse up the Rajang River in Borneo where, instead of mistletoe, human skulls hung in the rafters. Another time, probably my most memorable, was in the Malay jungles.

Every major hotel in Bangkok lightens up for the
holidays

The entire city puts on a display

The malls brighten up with large posters

Even the statues of elephants put on a glow

There is a real Santa as the author points out

Even Chinatown celebrates Christmas

Pretty Thai girl display the Christmas cheer

 Santa come to Asia too

A jungle man prepares a treat for the author

The Christmas tree at Hotel Conrad is a special

I was invited by the Chief Game Warden to join him and his rangers on an expedition to take stock of the remaining wild rhino. The day before Christmas we had reached the upper reaches of the Libir River and set up camp on the riverbank. We were having dinner with the rangers and three Negrito scouts, sitting around the fire waiting for the tea to brew, when the warden asked if I missed spending Christmas at home.

The Negritos were curious, so I had to explain the meaning of Christmas: that it was a sentimental time of the year when people exchanged presents. I avoided mentioning jolly fat men in red suits. The Negritos wanted to know what kind of presents. I had to be careful. I couldn't tell them about electric shavers, since they didn’t know about electricity. Nor could I tell them about things like the new tie from grandma or leather wallets kids give their fathers. I had to stick with things they knew about, like food.
"We exchange sweets," I said. “Sweets! You know, candy!" They didn't know candy. “What about sugar?" They didn't know sugar. "Honey then, you know honey?" They beamed. The jungles have honey. "What do you do with the honey?" they asked.

"Breakfast"—I had to say something—"we have it for breakfast on Christmas morning," I said, hoping this would end the questions. It didn’t and immediately they began a heated conversation. Soon, they were on their feet and gone.
“You started something," the warden said. "They are going to get you honey for Christmas." What a nice gesture, I thought, until I saw what getting honey in the Malay jungles entailed.
The Negritos found a huge tree back from the river, 200 feet high, with a girth that would take six men holding hands to reach around it. There were no branches, not a single one, except at the very top. And there the honeycombs were. But how were they going to scale the tree?
That night I found out. It had to be night, for bees don’t sting at night. In the darkness, I watched Samid, our chief guide, coiled rope over his shoulder, and with a long pole dangling at his side, he began climbing a smaller tree next to the big one with the honeycombs. He chanted on his way up, until his voice was barely audible. Then a most incredible feat began, just to please me for Christmas.  
From the top of the tree, he used his six-foot pole as a spear and, with the rope attached to the centre of the spear, he tossed it across the open space into the branches of the honey tree. He made three tosses before the spear caught. Now, hand over hand, more than a hundred feet above ground and in the black of night, he crossed to the honey tree. We held our breaths. I was certain the rattan would snap. I wanted to call out that I didn’t really care about a Christmas present. But Samid made it! We could hear him call from the treetop.
Samid then lowered one end of the rope, to which the rangers attached a torch, and this Samid pulled up to his side. He shouted for us to move back. Suddenly, the top of the honey tree far above lighted up like a building on fire. Samid had lit the torch. Instantly, the forest floor all about us was showered with millions of bees, falling to the earth like rain. They fell everywhere, still alive but stunned. Then there was a loud crash, followed by another, and another. Samid tossed down the honeycombs, some the size of dustbins. Rangers ran to scoop them up, and placed them in baskets they had weaved.
The next morning, I was presented with hot tea, biscuits, and a tin bowl filled to the brim with fresh honey. What better Christmas present could anyone ever have?
But not all Christmases have to be primitive. I found this out in Sydney with an Aussie friend. He invited me to share Christmas with him and his family. They were having turkey and all the trimmings. Here was my chance to spend Christmas at an Australian home. He said to be at his house early Christmas morning.
The skies were brilliant blue when I arrived, and the weather was hotter than in Bangkok. One almost forgets that winters in the northern latitudes are summers Down Under. I could smell the turkey when my friend opened the front door. The kids came bounding out of the front room like kangaroos, excited to show me all the presents Santa had brought. So far everything was normal.
My friend's wife was in the kitchen, making preparations for our Christmas dinner. At a glance I could see this was going to be something special. They had their finest crystal laid out, along with their best silverware and china, and there were linen napkins and tablecloth. But something didn't quite fit into place. Among all this finery was a huge Styrofoam ice chest. "We can't forget the eski!" my friend revealed when he saw me staring at the yellow box. 
"And what do you do with that?" I asked
"You put it in the boot, of course."
Put the eski in the boot? I didn't bother asking any more questions. Besides, I didn't have the time. Things suddenly began to happen. They were going berserk. The eski was suddenly being jammed full of beer, the fine linen, the dishes, the crystal, the silverware, the turkey and all the trimmings.
"Okay," my friend bellowed when the lid was closed. "Let's go!"
 "Go?"
"Yeah, to Bondi. Hurry. Me in-laws are waiting."
The in-laws were waiting, waiting on the beach at Bondi. The in-laws, just as daffy as he, had a large table set up on the beach, with proper dining room chairs arranged around the table. But we weren’t alone. Half of Sydney, it seemed, had gone mad too. They were all having their Christmas feast on the beach at Bondi. With their eskies.
Have a nice Christmas, even if you are away from home.
Next week we will take a look what one can do in Bangkok.

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS

Q. Dear Mr. Stephens. I just returned from a great 12-day trip to Thailand. We stayed at Phuket, Chiang Mai, Bangkok and on a Live-aboard boat (SCUBA Diving) but I wasn't able to locate a nice collectable map that I can have framed for my Shop here in the USA. I was wondering if you had any suggestions or could offer me any help. Thanks, Ryan Weeks.

A. Dear Ryan, there are a few good mapmakers around. APA Press, the publisher that produced Insight Guides, has a good line of maps. Some of the most attractive maps I have seen are by B&B Maps of Thailand (www.berndtson.com) produced by David Unkovich, a photographer who lives in northern Thailand. These maps are really first class and worthy of hanging on any wall.

Harold Stephens
Bangkok
E-mail: ROH Weekly Travel

Note: The article is the personal view of the writer and does not necessarily reflect the view of Thai Airways International Public Company Limited.

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Next week, a cruise on the river and others delights