Forever China in a Corner of Thailand

Just a stone’s throw from Burma is a small, mountainous corner of Thailand that might as well be in China. But you won’t find portraits of Mao hanging on the walls or Little Red Books being thumbed in the village tea shops. Instead you might find battered copies of Chiang Kai-shek’s memoirs, and your server will probably speak Yunnanese.

Santikhiri, nestled in the upper slopes of Doi Mae Salong in the northernmost province of Chiang Rai, is the kind of place that time forgot. This quaint hamlet, wreathed in a pink mist of cherry blossoms, is home to the so-called “lost army” of the Kuomintang’s 93rd Division, which in 1961 stumbled, exhausted, into this mountain paradise. Although by now their numbers have dwindled, you can still see the old warriors padding about in quilted jackets, sipping tea in the shadows of pagodas and reliving old campaigns.

As the communists swept to power in 1949, more than 12,000 troops from the 3rd and 5th armies of the kmt fought their way out of Yunnan province while their compatriots hot-footed it to Taiwan. The dedicated troops set up a makeshift camp deep in the jungles of northern Burma, and for the next 12 years waged a vicious, opium-funded guerrilla war against the armies of both communist China and Burma. They were gradually pushed south until, battle weary and demoralized, they sought sanctuary in neighboring Thailand. About 4,000 men, under General Tuan Shi-wen, settled in what was then called Mae Salong. After the lost army gave up its involvement in the opium trade, the Thai government, in an effort to symbolize the area’s transformation, changed the name to Santikhiri, meaning hill of peace.

A steady stream of tour operators now convey travelers up the vertiginous road to Santikhiri?particularly from December until February when the cherry trees dot the slopes with their pink exuberance?but it wasn’t always thus. As late as the mid-1970s, Doi Mae Salong was strictly off-limits to outsiders. Tuan and his men had struck an agreement with the Thai government that their presence would be tolerated, provided they helped fight the Thai communist insurgents in the region. The fiercest battle began in 1970 and lasted five years. Almost 1,000 kmt soldiers perished before they finally routed the guerrillas. For their efforts, they were given Thai citizenship.

“That all seems a long time ago now,” says General Lue Ye-tien, Tuan’s former right-hand man. Tuan died in 1980 but Lue still cuts a sprightly figure at 85 and relishes the peace of his twilight years after a lifetime of fighting. A towering chap with a ramrod back and a vaguely wintery air, he retains a formidable presence even as he potters about the twisting rows of tea bushes swaddling the slopes below his Chinese-style villa. Further down, the mountain falls away in an undulating patchwork of tea, tobacco, fruit trees and stands of thick forest. Above, near the summit, the sun glints on the gilt-wrapped domes and spires of a Buddhist temple. “We are just ordinary Thai citizens now,” Lue says. His passport records his name as Aroon Charoentangchanya, and under that alias he has slipped back into China several times. “I even went to Beijing a couple of years back,” he says. “I wanted to have a look. It was dirty and there was too much traffic. I’m glad I live here.”

The Thai government cut off aid to the village in 1994, and its inhabitants now survive through tourism and farming. The crisp mountain climate is ideal for growing choice-grade oolong tea, and dozens of Chinese teahouses along the main road serve it up sweet and steaming. There are also strawberry, pear and corn plantations, not to mention a thriving industry in illicit firewater distilled from local fruit and grains.

Santikhiri is the place to go for an escape, not for a hill-tribe adventure. “Most of our guests are happy to enjoy the cherry blossoms and the fresh air, walk in the hills and eat some good Chinese food,” says Lui Pao-hong, with an American twang. Lui runs the Mae Salong Resort, a smattering of no-frills bungalows tucked between towering pines, and he sports the perpetual smile of those who have found their calling. For reservations call (66-53) 765-0148.

And his uncle Lue seems to have found his second calling. Sipping tea on the sun-drenched balcony of his villa, I ask him about the cherry blossoms. I mean, they’re lovely, but aren’t they kind of, well, Japanese? “No,” he replies. “These are special Chinese sakura trees from Yunnan. I planted some of them myself.”