Why you should spend your next weekend break in Ubon Ratchathani

Traveling in Isan is always an adventure into the unknown, a surprise-filled journey through a version of Thailand not overly fussed with tourism. The Thailand of our grandparents’ generation where heat follows harvest, followed by rains, then the cycle repeats. And the delight of discovering something new at unexpected moments is a big part of Isan’s allure.

Guidebook in hand, I sit, close my eyes, and listen to the music of a traditional wooden loom. The flight of a shuttle — loaded with a bobbin of thread — skittering from side to side, accompanied by the rhythmic thumping of a beater, carefully tamping down each weft row of beautiful mutmee (ikat) silk. Thump, thump, thump. This pulsing beat can be heard anywhere in Asia, but here in Ubon Ratchathani, it carries even more significance. It’s the marching drumbeat of millennia of history.

Sitting in Ban Khampun, the elegant workshop of national artists Meechai Taesujariya and Khampun Srisai, I look around at the beautiful Lanna, Lao, Siamese, and Chinese styles fused into the low-slung buildings that encircle the long grassy courtyard. Their popular year-round textile museum and café occupy the plot next door, but Ban Khampun only opens to the public for three days each year. Here, I watch intricate traditional patterns reimagined onto heirloom-quality textiles which are highly sought-after and fetch high prices in Bangkok and beyond. The sound of the weavers’ pulsing toil allows me pause to meditate on this area and my journey thus far.

Take a look back at Ubon Ratchathani’s history

Ubon Ratchathani is a living pastiche; a crossroads of cultures. The province is nestled in the southeast corner of Thailand’s northeastern Isan region, flanked by Laos to the east and Cambodia to the south. An ancient civilization settled this area thousands of years ago, leaving behind impressive petroglyphs at Pha Taem National Park.

Fast forward to the late 1700s and an aristocratic quarrel with the King of Vientiane caused several Lao nobles to move their entourages to an area on the Mun River, which became Ubon Ratchathani. The 20th century saw skirmishes with the French, waves of migrants fleeing turmoil in Vietnam, as well as an American air force base that poured money and cement into the city. These influences harmonize, swirl and fuse together into an identity that is truly unique — a sum greater than its parts — like the intricate and unique fibers woven into stunning textiles.

Save time for the temples

Among all of these threads, Buddhism remains a constant undertone. The warp threads of the tapestry. So, I did what the guidebook instructed me to; I visited several key temples which illuminated the importance of this faith here.

I stood barefoot in the wooden library that hovers on stilts over a pond at Wat Thung Sri Muang. It resembles a 25-legged hen and is probably one of the most recognizable landmarks in the province. This ancient library is a novel solution to the common problem of insect infestation — inside the library, valuable Buddhist palm leaf manuscripts are protected from ants and termites, their access to the manuscripts restricted by a pond of water. These structures were more common in the past, but now only a handful remain.

I prayed at a replica of the giant stupa found in Bodhgaya, India, built to mark the Buddha’s enlightenment. This obelisk at Wat Phra That Nong Bua actually envelopes a smaller older version, all gleaming and gilded, surrounded by the fragrant smell of incense and the mumbled prayers of the devout.

Taste how neighbors have heavily influenced Isan’s cuisine

But the most delicious legacies of the city’s cultural mélange are discovered with each meal. My stomach rumbled as I unraveled the memory of all I had eaten here.

Isan and Lao food, popular throughout Thailand and of rising interest around the world, is everywhere here. Succulent chunks of duck stirred with mint, herbs, ground rice, and fiery chilis in laap pet. Or strips of green papaya pounded in a mortar with fish sauce, palm sugar, tomatoes, long beans, and that favorite, more chilis, become zesty somtum. All of this eaten with a ball of freshly steamed sticky rice.

The Vietnamese also tailored their food for the local palate. In Vietnam, bò né is a sizzling breakfast hot plate of steak, eggs, and onions eaten with a baguette. In Isan, this transforms into kai ga ta, eggs fried in their own pan topped with slivers of moo yor Vietnamese pork sausage and ground pork. The side dish of baguette metamorphoses into kanom pang yat sai, a small oblong baguette sliced open, buttered, and filled with moo yor and sweet Chinese sausage. Thanks to a substantial Vietnamese population, this sumptuous breakfast is ubiquitous in Isan. Vietnamese tapioca noodle soup, bánh canh, was reborn as guay jap yuan, with chunks of savory meat dancing in a warm broth over thick chewy noodles and fried garlic.

Suddenly my rumbling stomach returns me to the present, back to the rhythmic thumping of the looms. The silk textile nearest to me has grown mere centimeters. The spool has now run empty and I, too, have reached the end of this journey. Hungry and laden with purchases, I step out into the blinking sun for one last meal.

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