Lim Li Min, IHT
May 7, 2007

Today, a small group of architects, with help from the government of Chiang Mai - about a 10-hour drive north of Bangkok - is working to preserve the existing Lanna-era temples and revive the style in modern buildings that serve as upmarket hotels and resorts. But these efforts, while well-intentioned, are facing the twin threats of rocketing land prices and rampant construction that demand cheap, utilitarian designs that can be thrown up quickly.

"There's very little sense among city officials of how the city's heritage should be done up for tourists," said Ong-Ard Satrabhandhu, an architect and Lanna hotelier. "But pride and awareness of Lanna culture are happening in spite of this."

Lanna temples are characterized by steeply pitched, multi-tiered roofs. Windows and doors are small, allowing little light in, as befits a people who originally migrated from colder climes. Lanna houses have low-pitched roofs that are unadorned, save for a V-shaped cross carved onto the houses of the rich.

"Lanna is a concept of simplicity and humility, coming from nature," said Jullatat Kitibud, who designs modern Lanna buildings.

The Lanna way of life and its architecture were intertwined for hundreds of years, keeping the spatial proportions and rhythms of a people who live close to the earth. Originally called "Lan Na Thai," the name means "a million rice fields."

In Chiang Mai, there are hundreds of royal palaces, traditional houses and gilded temples that attest to this fact. But many have fallen into disuse and disrepair, suffering from years of municipal neglect. While laws exist to protect heritage monuments, they are poorly enforced. As a result, more than half of Chiang Mai's historic buildings have come under the wrecking ball, say some preservationists.

As the early 20th-century leaders of modern Thailand began building a unified Thai identity, Lanna culture gradually became sidelined. But that process started to reverse somewhat about 10 years ago as the central government began to relax its grip. How Thailand's military coup last September, which overthrew the five-year-old government of Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, will affect that trend remains to be seen, but so far the people involved in reviving Lanna architecture say their efforts have not been hindered.

The nascent renaissance is spearheaded by a small group of preservationists, largely from Chiang Mai University and the government's Office of Fine Arts who are carrying out restoration and research work, in addition to private architects designing modern buildings that echo the Lanna style. In tandem with the architectural revival, a cultural awareness is growing too: Many street signs are now in both central Thai and Kam Muang, the dialect of the Lanna kingdom, which is also being taught in some schools.

Lanna religious architecture was heavily influenced by the Mon and Khmer peoples, but later absorbed styles from China, Burma and Laos, as migrants poured into the region, beginning in the 13th century.

The Lanna style can be beguilingly simple: stark white pavilions, stupas with octagonal bases, teak doors topped with floral wooden screens. The more ornate structures include wats with carved gold leaf motifs, detailed lacquering and Burmese-style stacked roofs with metal trims. The layout of temples reflects the Buddhist cosmology.

Overall, tourism has been a force for good in helping preserve Chiang Mai's past. Two years ago, Ong-Ard built Chiang Mai's Rachamankha, a 23-room hotel with monasterial ice-white porticos, its austerity broken up by salvaged dark wood Burmese shutters. He followed that up with Tamarind Village, which used stucco, brickwork and wooden beams constructed with traditional methods. These hotels have proved popular with tourists; a clutch of hoteliers in the area have followed his example, creating intimate Lanna-style boutique hotels. But some purists were appalled: Ong-Ard's buildings clearly mimicked temple architecture, contravening popular beliefs that Buddhist elements could only be viewed within a religious setting.

Elsewhere, other architects are producing contemporary versions of Lanna architecture, injecting new life into its ancient forms. Jullatat Kitibud bought old rice barns for a song, and converted them into double-story houses, with large columns, partially open to the elements. He has also built a new Lanna-style wat, without walls. Jullatat's ideas have won him fame abroad: He is now building an Asian village in Las Vegas.

Still, preservationists face enormous obstacles. The concept of heritage conservation is a relatively recent import, and the Ministry of Culture's Office of Fine Arts, responsible for looking after Chiang Mai's 110 listed buildings, is severely understaffed and underfunded.

At Lok Molee temple, Kraisin Ounjaijin, an archaeologist in the Office of Fine Arts, pointed to an offending green sign. "See that? It's a gas station," he said indignantly. The temple's monks have leased a corner of the land out to an oil company. Of Chiang Mai's 60 or so temples within the old city walls, 70 percent are rented out to the poor or have been put to commercial use, he said.

"There are laws protecting buildings, but sometimes the law is not enough," admitted Khemchat Thepchai, director of the Office of Archaeology. The law only protects buildings older than 100 years, or of historical importance; poor enforcement ensures that offenders often get away with renovating important buildings or even knocking them down completely to make room for supermarkets and vehicle repair shops.

Debate rages about whether, and to what extent, Chiang Mai should be modernized and how much of the past should be preserved.

"This is our identity; we have to conserve it, otherwise we will have nothing to be proud of," said Vitul Lieorungruang, a Chiang Mai native and an architecture professor at Chiang Mai University. "A place that becomes completely modern doesn't know who it is anymore."

Please direct media inquiries to:
GHF Press press@globalheritagefund.org or (650) 325 7520