jacnl2000

+1 🛕 Wat Phra That Phanom (Nakhon Phanom) is said to be the spiritual heart of Isaan. Visiting once in a lifetime is believed to bring blessings of peace and good health. It's not just a temple — it's a moment of stillness on your road trip. Time your visit for sunset, when golden light touches the stupa and incense trails drift in the breeze. 🌿 Behind the temple lies a kind of living pharmacy — over 1,000 species of Thai medicinal herbs, including rare and endangered varieties. Each plant is labeled with its name and traditional uses, from fever relief to digestion to spiritual cleansing. The garden also serves as a learning center for monks and students of Thai traditional medicine. 🧘‍♂️ But it’s more than a classroom. It’s designed for quiet walks and reflection — shaded paths, butterflies, and the scent of lemongrass, turmeric, and holy basil rising through the air. If only there were more time to linger. 🍽️ For a peaceful lunch nearby, head to Lomyen Garden Restaurant (ลมเย็น การ์เด้น) — just 3–5 minutes from the temple, offering gentle Thai-Isaan flavors and garden seating. Or wander a little farther south to The Moon Café, a riverside spot perfect for a slow sandwich, local dessert, and a view across the Mekong. 🔍 Since true philosophers of science do not tend to trust their own writings, please check reviews on major platforms before believing what I’ve written here above. It could be more than poetry — or it could just be good business talk.

Promising signs for the people of Isaan—stability at the border is always welcome. Yesterday I had to head out to customs near the border in Nakhon Phanom. I found a moment of calm watching the water buffalo do what they do best—grazing peacefully, while their owners stood quietly under their umbrellas, keeping an eye on them. That said, we’ve seen diplomatic gestures before that didn’t lead to real change. The reality on the ground tends to get shakier once international courts get involved. Let’s hope this stays at the level of quiet talks—and doesn’t end up like one of those buffaloes, stuck knee-deep and waiting for someone else to move first.

Important Notes on Getting a Medical Certificate for Thai Visa Application (from the Netherlands) Use the blank Thai-English version of the medical certificate form—this is the most straightforward option. In the Netherlands, your own GP is not allowed to fill in the form. Instead, you'll be referred to another GP in the area. Making an appointment may take time, and initial costs are around €50. After obtaining the certificate, the doctor’s signature must be legalized in the following order: Ministry of Health Ministry of Foreign Affairs Thai Embassy in The Hague Only then will it be accepted for your visa application. Be aware: getting an appointment at the Thai embassy can be difficult, so start early. Alternatively, consider using an agent located near the ministries—they can often handle the process much faster. ⚠️ If you use a non-Thai version of the certificate, you may need to hire a certified translator, whose signature must then be verified by a court, adding even more steps. Although the medical certificate looks simple, it must go through multiple official channels before it's accepted. Always check the latest rules with your local Thai embassy. Good luck!

Currently, we are connected to Triple T Broadband Public Company Limited (3BB), which is now owned and operated by AIS. I’m also aware that a TRUE cable reaches our home, but during the last visit, the 3BB engineer—clearly a true believer in his mission—cut the TRUE cable, claiming we no longer needed it. He did it so quickly I didn’t even have the chance to say no. In our village, cable damage is rare and usually happens only during construction work—like just a few days ago. 3BB resolved that issue almost the same day. Occasionally, the internet may also go down during power outages when the rain starts. I’m well prepared for such situations, with a heavy-duty UPS and several mobile phones—each equipped with unlimited SIM cards from different providers—set up as mobile Wi-Fi hotspots.

Thus far, only one member has mentioned street dogs. Great article, but worth adding — Thai drivers often give a gentle honk to alert street dogs on the road. It’s not aggression, just a soft warning — a quiet way of sharing space, even with animals. Very Thai. 🐕🚗 In Bangkok, however, drivers often don’t honk because it’s ineffective — like shouting in a crowded room: you’re heard, but not understood.

Just stayed at Charoen Hotel in Udon Thani – quick thoughts after 15 years. Charoen Hotel is still going strong in the same spot. Every taxi driver from the airport knows where it is, and booking online with prepayment was smooth. If you want the free airport shuttle, don’t forget to send them your flight number—makes things easier. It’s not fancy, but for the price (about one-sixth of what you'd pay near Schiphol), it’s solid value. The room was simple but comfortable—two single beds, decent aircon, and I actually slept really well (though I was pretty tired from traveling). Nothing high-tech, but it all worked. Each room seems to have its own Wi-Fi router near the bed. Internet was free and worked well enough for video calls. That was a nice surprise. I didn’t try the pool, but the room came with the usual Thai books on local tourism and religion—nothing fancy, but a nice local touch. Breakfast was basic. Limited Thai dishes, but they did have heart-shaped baked eggs, which was kind of cute. To be honest, the whole place feels a bit stuck in time. Everything you need is there, but it hasn’t really been updated to modern hotel standards. Still, it runs well. Kind of like an old house that hasn’t been renovated, but is still functional and familiar. If you’re looking for comfort over style, it does the job—and you can’t beat the price.

Websites sometimes change domains or restructure URLs, and if artificial intelligence don’t get timely updates, outdated links keep circulating. That’s why https://www.tdac.go.th/ is likely no longer active, while https://tdac.immigration.go.th/ is the current correct one.

While packaging up my old DVDs—MASH* among them—I heard of the passing of Loretta Swit, our beloved Major Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan. She died yesterday at the age of 87. Her portrayal of Hot Lips was unforgettable. What started as a caricature in early episodes grew into a sharp, compassionate, and complex woman—one of the few holding the line in a camp full of chaos. Swit didn’t just play the part; she became the soul of that show for many of us. Here’s a photo of her at 17—full of promise, long before most of us knew her name. Rest in peace, Major Hot Lips. The tent is quieter without you.

I’ve learned that investing in expensive, high-end smartphones doesn’t always pay off in the long run. Here are some key challenges I’ve encountered: Short software support lifespan: Even premium phones become outdated after 3–4 years, with critical apps (like banking) no longer working due to lack of updates. Limited repair support for imported devices: Many local repair shops refuse to service phones purchased abroad, complicating what should be straightforward fixes. Battery replacement challenges: Despite improvements, most high-end phones have sealed batteries that are difficult and costly to replace, limiting device longevity. If you look more closely one of the available brands had to solve serious battery problems. Shift to eSIM-only: New requirements make older phones unusable if they lack eSIM support. Accessory availability: Screen protectors and cases for specialized models are often hard to find or only temporarily available. I want to replace my screen protectors while visiting local markets. Environmental factors: It’s crucial to choose a phone that can withstand Thailand’s heat—overheating shortens device life. Beyond these technical and practical issues, an important factor is institutional preference. For example, Udon Thani Rajabhat University (UDRU) encourages students to use iPads, especially at their demonstration school, Satit UDRU. Their official student services app is designed for iOS devices, showing a clear tilt toward Apple’s ecosystem. This naturally influences what devices students realistically should use to stay aligned with their educational tools. So, who am I to offer my children an Android phone when their university environment clearly favors Apple products? My conclusion: For anyone living in Thailand, it often makes more sense to invest in affordable, locally supported, and mainstream devices. Aligning with institutional recommendations and considering real-world usability beats chasing the latest high-end specs. If you want to play it safe, stay mainstream and compatible. Look around your community and educational environment to see what actually works.

Apologies for my rather late reply. In my family, there are always a few who insist on having the last word. I do belong to this family (read slowly), but I’m not one of them. A lot unfolded in this thread during my return drive from my place of birth to The Hague. News tends to travel faster than my car these days. I followed Teslas on the highway, trusting their automatic speed controls—not eager to get flashed when in a hurry. Naturally, I appreciate and welcome new developments—and I give them the chance to grow. Alongside feeling slightly honored—and quite used to being addressed as Sir and San, not Son nor Sun, in most high-tech environments—my dear Sir, I know voices must be heard, raised, and earned—not bought. And these days, not-so-poor Thaksin is easier to sell than my old, characterful furniture on Dutch Marktplaats. Heavy, real-character furniture that lasts a hundred years or more and even carries my bronze name tag—a place where, quite impressively, you can sell things you don’t even need to own. Just like a headline. But I’m not trading trust in institutions for pitchfork politics—or for the thrill of pushing just another story. I know what a Dutch gaffel is—I used one as a boy feeding cows on our neighbor’s potato farm. And in plain buffalo language: not every tool made for lifting hay is fit for judging doctors—especially not just before they arrive at becoming one. I’ve read the letters, and I know tempers run high—especially when vetoes are cast like nets over troubled waters. But even when institutions wobble, or resolutions are overturned before the ink dries, I still believe reform must outpace rage. Medicine is no battlefield for regime change. And though accountability must be demanded, not every stethoscope should become a sword. Yes, I saw that fiery call to overthrow the “infeective” Paetongtarn Shinawatra—though I’m still not sure whether that was meant to question her effectiveness or diagnose her with a contagious typo. Either way, I don’t believe regime change should be driven by spelling errors or pitchfork enthusiasm. I know all too well that not every professor can be trusted. That’s why we invented science. I was trained by the best, asked hard questions, and had to answer even harder ones. Dutch politician Steenkamp comes to mind—when he visited my birthplace, he addressed people with his usual “Sir.” Radical change may stir hearts, but I’ve seen plenty of hammers swung in frustration—only to find they were needed later to build. So I’ll run off with this touch of folksy elegance—hopefully with a smile on both our faces. And if you wish to continue our conversation, you’re most welcome to do so. I didn’t reply immediately—I was on my way to The Hague. No, I’m not a war criminal. Last time I checked my VOG, I wasn’t one of them. I wasn't arrested and could finish my coffee—The Hague’s machine isn’t half bad these days:

No, I don’t know the details of the investigation involving Thaksin. I respect how complex the situation is and believe fairness and trust in medical institutions must come first.

I beg to differ. Causation hasn’t been proven, but influence is being inferred—and credibility is at stake. In moments like these, it’s better to protect the integrity of the system than to yield to appearances. The minister has my full support. After all, what else is a minister supposed to do? Unless there is clear and demonstrable deviation from established medical standards, healthcare professionals must be shielded from political fallout. We owe them not blind protection, but informed trust. This isn’t about defending individuals—it’s about preserving the backbone of professional institutions from erosion under political pressure.

To sum it up: It’s not just about having money—It’s about what you do with it, how clearly you communicate, and how transparent your intentions appear in a world where systems are watching more closely than ever. That’s the new currency of trust—and it’s not limited to Thailand. Even in your home country, shifts in spending patterns can trigger scrutiny, whether you notice it or not. If a red flag is raised, don’t panic. Communicate clearly, stay calm, and be open about your intentions. Bank directors may try to explain this to you, each in their own style—so don’t take them too literally. Instead, listen between the lines. And above all: choose your bank wisely.

After working with agents for a while, you get pretty good at spotting and chasing down the dishonest ones. Honestly, I haven’t met any yet—once they mess up, they’re out of business faster than you can say “visa denied.” I know reading and understanding all those written texts here on Asean Now can be tricky too—maybe I should get a bot agent to do that for me. By the way, some visa types actually require the use of an approved agent. I haven’t tried those agencies yet. I’m not Australian, but I’ve gone through the visa process many times. Once, I had to hire a very expensive agent because I made a mistake—I was in a hurry and didn’t fully explore the official websites. I also didn’t have time to visit all the ministries for legalization in The Hague—unaware they must be visited in a specific order, and clueless about their exact locations or opening hours. What I realized: An agent doesn’t just handle paperwork—they buy you time. While they chase documents, you can focus on preparing, learning, and managing what matters most. The real delays come from rigid planning systems. When time is tight, it’s not the visa itself that slows you down—it’s the chain of appointments, legalizations, stamps, and tight deadlines. You quickly learn that planning ahead isn’t a luxury—it’s a survival skill. It would be much easier if every applicant had a unique ID number—but even then, operators can still press the wrong buttons. A good agent, if managed well, makes you sharper. Stay involved, ask questions, and you’ll walk away confident and ready to handle it yourself next time. And when legalized Thai translators are involved—like those near Leiden University, in Udon Thani, or by Victory Monument in Bangkok—I don’t mind paying a bit extra. It supports their families, and I respect the care and detail they bring to a process often hinging on a single word or stamp. Speaking of which… I have four Catholic surnames. After 25 years of forms, I’ve seen them spelled every possible way by legalized Thai translators. I’ve learned to closely interact with them, laugh, and live with it.

Rarely does a newspaper article carry such an emotional weight and mention the names of (grand)parents so openly. There must have been a very good reason for that. Alfred Nobel may have invented dynamite, but I’ll admit I was the one who lit your fuse—my apologies for that. As a father myself, I receive your breath of perspective with warmth.

Two years ago, I was given a month and a half to explore the area around Sakon Nakhon Hospital. I didn’t ask for it. It wasn’t a planned holiday. Most people who find themselves headed to Sakon Nakhon under such circumstances aren’t going to celebrate—they’re facing the very real possibility of saying goodbye to someone they love. During that time, I came to know the place—and the ICU—intimately. I spoke with other visitors in nearby rooms, all gathered near an enormous parking lot lit at night by solar-powered lights. A strange stillness settles over it after dark, a quiet that speaks louder than words. I loved the two buffalo that wandered freely through the lot—calm, slow-moving reminders that life doesn’t stop, even when yours feels like it’s been put on hold. From what I saw and felt during those weeks, I believe the absence of Phum’s grandparents at his bedside in his final days was not a sign of neglect or indifference. More likely, it reflected the harsh realities of rural poverty. It’s easy to misread absence as a lack of care, but in places like this, absence often hides a deeper kind of love—one weighed down by distance, by cost, by the sheer burden of survival. Where life and hardship intersect, compassion requires more than a glance. It calls for understanding.

Life’s rhythms are like coconuts falling in their own time—it’s not absolute or predictable down to the second, but there’s a natural rhythm or pattern. Just like coconuts, things happen when they’re ready, not always when we want them to. Holding on to this mindset helps with patience and letting go. I’m aware other mindsets exist too, but personally, I find those less favorable. I don’t want to force the flow of life into a neat box—I prefer to choose one that feels most nourishing. Riding the usual waves rather than fighting them brought me underneath the coconut tree. Until my time comes, I prefer to go coconuts.

Showy

How do you become a champion at guessing locations? Tucked inside the ellipsis on the left is a little hint—one that pairs with the Thai-Lao scribble on the sign to the right. Only the locals can truly read it, since it describes exactly what their eyes already know. A smile? Same kind of magic.

It’s fascinating how the word “flasher” connects to several very different realities: one deeply personal and unsettling, another coldly bureaucratic and impersonal, and yet another tied to lasting impressions. The speeding fine I received near Schiphol was a clear-cut case—no consent, no negotiation, just an unavoidable penalty handed down. Yesterday, I was invited to visit an escape room. I must have been quite popular somewhere in the south of the Netherlands—someone who recognized me even asked to take a selfie with me in the background. Today, I find myself imagining a far bleaker kind of escape room: one containing nothing but a bare table, a single knife, and no food. That stark image captures the feeling of being trapped by impossible choices—an unforgiving test of endurance and will. It brings to mind a person I met in Nepal, educated at Wageningen University—someone who learned to appreciate the existence of seeds and watched the steady growth of his own belt—who once advised me always to offer others a way out. That wisdom feels more important than ever—a reminder that in life, compassion and humane options are essential, rather than forcing ourselves or others into cruel dilemmas with no escape.

Maybe this helps? Toddler logic is pure, uncompromising, and hilariously charming: “I belong here. So why am I not where I deserve to be?” When my oldest son, at just three years old, entered our local theatre next door, he became very angry upon discovering all the front seats were taken by people much larger than him. Without hesitation, he shouted: “I’m Thai!” In that moment, his proud declaration wasn’t just about seating—it was a bold claim to belonging, identity, and a rightful place in the world.

The political draft rose slow and steady from the mud, like a village path laid with good intentions — not quite headed for trouble, but winding gently toward a possible yearly escape across the border, as noted before, where our spirits melt like warm chocolate or cold ice on our tongues, and time itself forgets to hurry, choosing instead to rest. Expect the price and number of required stamps to go up, and bloody government agency calendars to get overbooked. Pfff. When it comes to bureaucracy, “fast” is just a setting on the microwave. Aren’t we all just forced to learn how to live in a modern escape room?

I’m about to leave my library behind, to begin the autumn of my life. It’s painful to let go of the books—the pages filled with distant worlds and quiet thoughts. But who needs pages, when life speaks first? Here in my village, I’ve learned to sleep beneath the loudspeakers of our phu yaa baan—the village headman. (ผู้ใหญ่บ้าน) Every morning, before the first light settles on the rice fields, his voice fills the air. Lost cattle, community announcements, wedding invitations, and warnings roll through the tin roof above my head. And before the announcements begin, there’s always his favorite morlam—the soulful traditional Isaan folk music, echoing through the village like a heartbeat. It’s not the silence of a library, but a living story—raw, loud, and unfiltered allowing my tired eyes to get their deserved rest. Life reads itself aloud here, in a language older than words on paper. No bookmark needed.

As an enthusiastic Honda Jazz owner myself—I especially love its wide front view—I'm aware that fire-related issues have occurred with these vehicles in the past. However, this particular incident doesn’t seem to fall into that category. It does make me wonder how regularly the car was serviced at the Honda dealership—interestingly located along Phetkasem Road. Another important consideration is where the vehicle was typically parked. Whenever possible, it's best to park in a garage, carport, or at least away from dense vegetation or open fields. If using a garage, make sure there are no gaps or entry points where rodents or lizards could sneak in to chew on hoses or wiring—or worse, nest under the hood.

He hurled a piece of wood at the drone with his one good arm. Missed, but made his point.