I've seen the grim reality of Thailand without tourists – and it isn't pretty
“Welcome, you’re our first guest this morning,” a waiter at Chiang Mai’s Woo Cafe sheepishly tells me. It’s 10.20, and I’m here for the first breakfast of my first post-lockdown holiday away from my home in Bangkok.
On my previous visits, the tables at this popular brunch spot in the leafy Wat Ket district were packed. Today, only two other seats fill up before I finish my coffee.
With borders sealed off for most international travellers since early April, and domestic tourism practically at a standstill until July, Thailand’s tourist hot spots have had a rough few months. While I see friends in Europe slowly venturing out for holidays abroad again, it’s hard to be optimistic about the situation here.
Chairat Trirattanajarasporn, president of the Tourism Council of Thailand, warns that the country is unlikely to open its borders to international tourists this year. After early Covid scares already slashed visitor numbers in the first half of 2020, missing out on another high season (roughly from October to March) might be the final chop for almost 30 per cent of tourism-related business around the country, he says.
A stroll through Chiang Mai’s usually tourist-thronged Old City makes this impact painfully clear. As a popular destination for Chinese tourists, the city has been bearing the brunt since the virus started spreading around China and cancellations began flooded in.
Now, eight months later, most of its hotels and guesthouses remain dark. Whole blocks of shops and massage parlours have shut their gates, many with ‘for sale’ signs in front. Most food stands and restaurants are boarded up or swathed in tarpaulins, so Google Maps proved to be worthless: directions to recommended lunch spots lead me to closed doors on multiple occasions. Those that have reopened are largely empty, save for a few Western retirees or a lone bored waitress with no diners to attend to.
My hotel’s restaurant remains closed – there’s no point in staffing the kitchen for me as their only guest – so I opt for dinner at a nearby riverside bistro. A good part of the menu is crossed out, and I have to change my order three times before I pick something that’s available. A full menu is simply not viable, I’m told. Despite having only a few tables occupied, the restaurant has made the effort to liven things up with a guitarist busting out rock ballads. While it offers a welcome distraction from the dire scenes around town, I can’t help but see parallels with the orchestra on the Titanic.
The outlook is not much rosier in southern Thailand, where I spend the next few days. Driving from Phuket Airport, the giant billboards lining the road no longer advertise cabaret shows and safari parks. Their empty metallic surfaces now reflect a grey sky, with the surrounding jungle slowly reclaiming its space – a fitting metaphor for the current state of affairs. At the ferry terminal to Koh Yao Noi, my destination for the night, cheeky macaques outnumber the waiting passengers. With no tourists to feed them, they have made the local corner shops the target of their looting.
Ko Yao Noi is quiet, like it always has been. But this time in an eerie way. From my villa at Koyao Island Resort, one of the first (and few) resorts to reopen on the island in mid-July, I look out over the dramatic karst formations sinking into Phang Nga Bay. The water is usually speckled with yachts and tour boats, now I only spot a few fishing boats sputtering by.
The Thai government aims to boost domestic tourism with subsidized hotel and transportation discounts, a move which has offered some temporary relief in destinations popular with Thai travellers, such as Hua Hin and Pattaya. Rumours of international tourism bubble schemes burst as quickly as they appear, and without solid plans to let new tourists into the country, the suffering will continue.
“It’s just a slower death,” says Jean-Michael Germing, co-owner of Koyao Island Resort and 9 Hornbills tented camp. Only 15 per cent of his rooms are booked, a steep decline from the 70 per cent occupancy he normally sees during these low-season months. “Time is running out, and I’m not sure if we’ll make it this way. I predict that over the next couple of months, depending on the type and location of the property, 30 to 50 per cent of hotels will go into bankruptcy or hibernation.”
I finish my trip in Khao Lak, a Euro-centric resort town north of Phuket. My chauffeur, Mr Pong, tells me he hasn’t had a customer for almost a month and spends most of his time working at a banana plantation to make ends meet. Like elsewhere, only a few resorts have reopened, but the streets leading to Khao Lak’s honey-hued beaches feel desolate. With no upkeep, the many open-air restaurants have been overtaken by weeds and littered with rubbish. The only sign of life comes from a neon-lit streetside bar setting up for what will likely be another quiet evening.
After having been cooped up at home in Bangkok since March, I was in dire need of a holiday. But instead of the recharge I was hoping to find, I witnessed the harsh reality of a Thailand without its tourists – and it wasn’t pretty. The idea of having its glittering temples and powdery beaches all to myself was alluring, but with the desperation so palpable, the actuality was bittersweet.
