Wrestlers of Lahore

Encounters: Papa Nor, Thai Reggae Bar Owner

If you want a symbol of the effect COVID-19 travel restrictions have had on Thailand’s tourism industry and the businesses that rely on it, look no further than Home Bar on Koh Lipe. During our recent visit I Googled ‘best bar on koh lipe’ and pretty much everyone seemed to be in agreement that Home Bar, a reggae bar situated on a narrow jungle road between Sunrise and Sunset Beaches, was it. “This place is incredible! Last of a dying breed of laid-back island bars“…”I plan to go back every night and savour the experience for years to come“…”Great place, cool owner“. And so on and so on.

Even better, the bar was just a short walk from our resort so off we went, looking forward to an evening of cold beers and reggae tunes with good company, only to get there and find the lights off and the bar looking in a bit of a sorry state. We were about to leave when a couple of dogs bounded up to greet us, followed by a smiling older man in vest and shorts who beckoned us to sit down. This turned out to be Khun Phanor, the bar’s legendary owner – known to all as Papa Nor – who happily sat us down and told us his story.

A former hotel chef who had worked overseas in the UK, Japan and Singapore, he returned to Thailand in the 90s after a stint in Canada convinced him he wasn’t made for cold weather. After becoming  a Rastafarian and running reggae bars in various Thai beach destinations, he settled on Koh Lipe seven years ago and established Home Bar as a favourite with locals and tourists alike. “I called it Home Bar because when people are a long way from home, they need somewhere they can call home” he told me. He also had a row of tents set up for people who couldn’t find – or afford – a room on the island.

All was going well until COVID came along and totally killed the island’s tourism industry. Home Bar closed in March 2020 and so disillusioned was Phanor that he hadn’t cleaned or maintained it since, as he was worried that his efforts to do so might be wasted if tourists didn’t return. He’d simply been living in the bar for the last year with his dogs Daeng and Tarzan, and his ancient cat Thong Kaew.

Thankfully our visit, and the sight of an increasing number of tourists turning up looking for a drink, seemed to remotivate him and when I returned the following day to take pictures, he’d already started cleaning up. “I see more tourists, and now I have power!” he said with a toothy grin, as he wielded his broom and began sweeping up a year’s worth of debris.

Let’s hope that Phanor gets his bar up and running again soon, and that the tourists he relies on for a living start to return. As destinations like Lipe become more developed and homogenised, places like this are increasingly rare and a lifeline for those of us who prefer to drink somewhere a little different from the norm. Good luck Khun Phanor, and hope to have a drink with you next time we come to Lipe!

Big thanks to Khun Phanor for talking to us and letting me photograph him and his bar. You can find Home Bar on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/phanor.homebar .

Encounters: The Urak Lawoi Sea Gypsies of Koh Lipe

While researching our recent holiday to the stunning Andaman Sea island of Koh Lipe, I discovered that it was home to a sizeable number of Urak Lawoi sea gypsies (or chao lay in Thai), so I got in touch with a few locals and eventually hooked up with Bao, an Urak Lawoi tour guide and boat captain who agreed to spend the day taking me around the various Urak Lawoi villages on Koh Lipe and neighbouring Koh Adang.

You can read an excellent account of the history of the Urak Lawoi here. To summarise, it is thought that they arrived in the Adang Archipelago in the early 1900s, and spent 75 years living peacefully on its tropical beaches, moving from beach to beach as the winds changed and the fish spawned and moved. In 1974, the Thai government turned the area into a marine park, and the Urak Lawoi were forcibly relocated to Koh Lipe, where they already had a substantial settlement. Over the last 20 years, Lipe itself has become a tourism hotspot (somewhat ironically, the island’s first resort, a small collection of bamboo huts, was established by the Urak Lawoi in 1984) and the Urak Lawoi have gradually been pushed off the beaches and relocated inland, where they now live in metal shacks in cramped villages, often paid for by the resorts who displaced them (“The resort built my house” one villager poignantly told me, “but I would prefer to live on the beach.”)

These days, the Urak Lawoi live cheek by jowl with the tourists who have taken over the beaches, their tin shacks often rubbing right up against new resort developments. Bao tells me that they welcome the financial benefits tourism brings, with many of them working in resorts and restaurants or using their fishing boats to take visitors snorkelling and island hopping, though there is concern that their vital access to the beaches that sustain them is diminishing. Many have moved to nearby Koh Adang, some permanently where they live on utterly idyllic palm-fringed beaches, others just for the fishing season; one beach we visited was lined with makeshift shelters and tents occupied by cage fishers, who will move back to Lipe once the season is over. “I think you’re the first tourist who’s ever been here” Bao whispers to me as we get off the boat.

Most tourists pass through the Urak Lawoi settlements without stopping or even looking around – my resort backed onto the biggest village of them all – and the locals themselves are generally shy of visitors. Indeed, I was glad of Bao’s company was we wandered around, as I would’ve felt somewhat intrusive and unwelcome photographing them by myself, and Bao’s presence certainly opened a few doors that might otherwise have remained closed to me, as did his teaching me the standard Urak Lawoi language greeting of “Where are you going?” (sorry Bao – I’ve forgotten it already!).

My day with Bao was a fascinating and occasionally unsettling introduction to one of Thailand’s lesser known ethnic minority groups, and an interesting insight into how traditional lifestyles can still (just about) survive alongside modern tourism, despite the two often being seen in Thailand and elsewhere as mutually exclusive.

Big thanks to Khun Bao for introducing me to his fellow Urak Lawoi. If you want to hire Bao and his boat, check out his Facebook page.