Panchana Vatanasathien: A New Role in Shaping Khao Yai's Future

1.

In Thailand’s tourism circles, few would be unfamiliar with the name "Teté – Panchana Vatanasathien"—a courageous, big-hearted woman, now 55, who serves as President of the Khao Yai Tourism Association. She has been both the driving force behind the scenes and the face of the movement that is steadily turning Khao Yai into a must-visit destination.

Over the past four to five years, in her role as association president, Panchana has poured her heart and soul into advancing policies that support the region’s growth. At the same time, she has worked tirelessly to prepare and empower the local community to move forward alongside the wave of sustainable tourism.

“We love this place. It feels like our final home. So if this is the city we want to live in, shouldn’t we help design it ourselves?” she said with steady eyes and a resolute voice, expressing her deep-rooted bond with Khao Yai.

For those who have yet to meet her, Panchana Vatanasathien’s life story is one of constant transformation—a woman who often declares her belief in “the power of small people.” Her journey has been full of sharp turns, and each phase is as compelling as the last.

From practicing law to running a hydroponic vegetable farm, she later joined the Amata Foundation as Director of Arts, Culture, and Publishing. Then came another bold pivot—into the restaurant business—where she founded Penlaos, now recognized as one of Khao Yai’s standout Isaan (Northeastern Thai) restaurants. The restaurant earned Bib Gourmand distinction from the Michelin Guide for two consecutive years.

Today, in addition to her continued leadership role in local tourism development, Panchana is building her own media platform: Khaoyai Connect. Its vision? To weave together the many threads of life in Khao Yai into a vibrant, unified portrait of a “Happy Valley”—ready to be shared with the world.

2.

Sitting across from us is a poised, short-haired woman in her mid-fifties. Her confident, energetic demeanor masks a life shaped by profound changes that began when she was just three years old.

Among six siblings, young Panchana was the one chosen to be raised in another home—by Khun Ying Kusuma Phrompholin, a royal lady-in-waiting, and Dr. Nantawan, a prominent physician. This early shift would quietly lay the foundation for her lifelong adaptability.

“I was born in Bangkok, and when I was little, I was sent to live with Khun Ying Kusuma and Dr. Nantawan. That meant I was constantly moving—always adjusting to new environments. I learned early on how to get along with anyone, to adapt. And I created my own world,” she said.

“As a child, I started keeping a diary. I loved reading—began with one-baht comic books. Any time I had money, I’d spend it on books, nothing else. My parents didn’t really raise us themselves. At the time, my father was serving as chief judge in Songkhla.”

When she reached secondary school, Panchana moved back to live at home and occasionally with her aunt. Around that same time, her parents divorced.

It was during her early secondary school years, when Panchana moved back home, that she began to grow close to her father. The time they spent together revealed a striking similarity between them. In temperament and in principle, she truly was her father’s daughter.

Panchana’s father was born in 1932, the year of Thailand’s transition to constitutional monarchy. He was the first from the remote Ban Lueam district of Nakhon Ratchasima to pursue legal studies at Thammasat University. His journey took him through Khao Yai—then a wild and treacherous terrain—by ox cart, crossing the infamous Dong Phaya Fai (now known as Dong Phaya Yen), a rugged natural barrier once feared by travelers that separates Saraburi, Nakhon Ratchasima, and Lopburi.

A gifted student, he received government scholarships from the Ministry of Justice and went on to earn multiple master’s degrees—first from the University of Michigan, then from the University of Wisconsin, and finally from Harvard Law School. Upon returning to Thailand, he fulfilled his scholarship obligations before resigning to establish a private law college, Vitayalai Nititham. Unfortunately, the venture failed due to limited funding, leading to personal bankruptcy.

Yet he remained a tireless force. In addition to being a legal scholar, guest lecturer, and judge, he was also a columnist for Matichon newspaper, where he wrote a regular column titled Stories from Harvard.

“Back then, I actually served as his ghostwriter,” Panchana said, smiling. “I grew up helping my father edit drafts. I typed quickly—that’s a skill I still take pride in today. I also followed him to Ramkhamhaeng University when he taught. I was raised in that atmosphere. I watched him work, and it taught me the value of doing.”

“Since my father studied in the U.S., he encouraged open debate at home. Everyone had one voice, one opinion. And because he was also a student of Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, he often quoted a line from the monk: ‘Work is duty, duty is Dhamma, Dhamma is nature.’ That means performing your duties is a form of practicing Dhamma. If you believe in your work, it becomes a kind of spiritual practice—a discipline in itself.”

“That idea stayed with me. I’ve grown into someone who believes that work is simply a part of nature.”

3.

Panchana completed both her lower and upper secondary education at the Ramkhamhaeng University Demonstration School before earning her bachelor’s degree in law from Chulalongkorn University. Her career began as an independent attorney, navigating Thailand’s legal world by training at various law firms. Her final post was with the law office of Viroj Poonsuwan, a Chulalongkorn senior and alumnus of one of the world’s leading international law firms.

“I chose to become a litigator because I knew I wasn’t cut out for government service,” she recalled with a laugh. “I’ve never been good at holding my tongue—I’m just one of those people who’s straightforward. If I had gone into the civil service, I probably wouldn’t have lasted long.”

For five years, this idealistic young woman dedicated herself wholeheartedly to practicing law, fighting on behalf of others. But the emotional toll eventually grew too heavy, affecting her well-being and daily life. In the end, she made the difficult decision to walk away from the legal profession.

“As a lawyer, I took on both civil and criminal cases—everything from petty theft to assault and robbery,” Panchana recalled. “The only kind of case I absolutely couldn’t handle was rape. I also wasn’t fond of family court cases.”

“Being a lawyer exposed me to so many things, but eventually, I realized I wasn’t cut out for it. I didn’t have the spine for it. To be a lawyer, you need to feel like a fighter, a protector. You’re constantly battling on behalf of others. And back then, I was still very young—I internalized everything. Other people’s problems became my own. I couldn’t separate myself emotionally. It became overwhelming. I just stopped enjoying it.”

Then came the moment that crystallized everything.

“One day, I was in court and saw an older female lawyer—she was probably only in her 50s, but to me, she looked ancient,” she said, laughing. “And I thought, ‘Is that going to be me when I’m older? That doesn’t look very cool.’”

“It just didn’t match the image I had in my head, like Jodie Foster in The Silence of the Lambs,” she smiled. “I went home and cried. I knew then that I had to change careers. When I told my dad, he was furious. But I did it anyway.”

As fate would have it, at the exact moment she was looking to pivot, a foreign client approached her with a new opportunity. He was planning to start a hydroponic vegetable farm in Suwinthawong—GT Technology—and offered her the role of project manager.

“I told him I’d do it if the salary matched what I was making in law. He agreed. So I jumped in.”

“I was 25 years old,” she said. “Looking back, I think I was completely reckless. But it was the era of Prime Minister Chatichai, when foreign investment was booming, joint ventures were everywhere, and the economy was thriving. The money was good, and I saw it as a new opportunity.”

“And deep down, I’d always been interested in agriculture. My father was from Ban Lueam in Isaan—an extremely dry and impoverished area. Every time I visited my grandmother’s house, I saw the harshness of the land and wondered why Thai farmers had to suffer so much.”

“So I decided to take a leap and try building something in agriculture.”

4.

Leaving Law Behind: A Daughter’s Bold Leap—and a Father’s Silence

Leaving behind the legal profession to become a project manager at a hydroponic vegetable farm was a bold new chapter for Panchana—but one that came at a personal cost. Her decision deeply disappointed her father, who had long envisioned his only daughter following in his footsteps as a legal professional. His response was severe: he stopped speaking to her for five years.

“I’ve never been the kind of person who’s concerned about what others say. If I want to do something, I’ll do it,” she said. “I’m like a pig or a dog unafraid of boiling water,” she added with a laugh. “My life never really had a solid foundation. I grew up in a family that was always going through something—my parents divorced, my father went bankrupt. It was constant instability. I’ve probably moved house 20 or 30 times. That’s why I don’t get too attached to anything. And I’m not afraid of change. So taking on the farm was just another way to keep learning.”

The hydroponic farm she managed was among the most advanced in Thailand at the time. It was the first to receive investment privileges from the Board of Investment (BOI). Funded by a Hong Kong-based lawyer, the project received nearly $3 million USD—close to 100 million baht—an investment many considered excessive. But it wasn’t a commercial farm. It was designed as a research model, with the goal of expanding sustainable agriculture practices across Southeast Asia.

Panchana stayed with the project for five years. But once again, her career path came to a crossroads—this time because of the stress that came with rapid professional growth.

“By the fourth year at the farm—about nine years after I’d graduated—I realized I was on the verge of a breakdown,” she admitted. “It was like I was a bean sprout growing too fast. I was overwhelmed. I started seeing a psychiatrist, started taking medication, and became emotionally unstable. The foreign investor told me, ‘You need to see a doctor.’ Back then, going to a psychiatrist wasn’t seen as normal. But I went. I took the medication. Still, I kept looping back into the same stress. So I finally decided to walk away.”

Finding Stillness at Suan Mokkh

Beyond professional help, one of the most healing experiences Panchana recalls came shortly after she graduated from university. She had the rare opportunity to visit Suan Mokkh, a forest monastery in southern Thailand, and meet the revered monk Buddhadasa Bhikkhu—just one year before his passing. That encounter offered her a profound glimpse into what true inner peace feels like.

“To this day, I still think going to Suan Mokkh was one of the best things I’ve ever done in my life,” she said. “You don’t really know what coolness is until you’ve felt the heat—only then do you gain a benchmark for comparison. It’s like suffering and happiness; one gives meaning to the other.”

“When I was managing the farm, the stress from running operations really got to me. I was still inexperienced, still green. I had to do everything—selling, managing, decision-making. And I began to realize I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“The tipping point came when I noticed my temperament changing. I became irritable, quick to anger—something I’d never been before. That’s when I knew I had to step back.”

5.

A New Chapter with the Amata Foundation

As one door closed, another quietly opened. Just as Panchana was preparing to step away from the high-stress world of agriculture, she crossed paths with Vikrom Kromadit—the billionaire founder of the Amata industrial empire.

As the old Chinese proverb goes, “A meeting is destiny.” And so it was with this fateful encounter. Vikrom had started a personal writing project—a book titled I Will Be a Good Person—but had left it unfinished. He was searching for someone to carry it forward.

Although Panchana had never officially worked in publishing, her lifelong relationship with books—nurtured since childhood—was enough to convince the business magnate that she was the right person to help complete the manuscript. And so, the former lawyer stepped into the world of writing and editing, beginning an entirely new chapter of her life.

“I worked on the manuscript of I Will Be a Good Person for three years,” Panchana recalled. “At the time, Mr. Vikrom had just turned 50, and we launched the book at Plaza Athénée. During that period, I got to know many established writers—like Uncle Praphassorn Sevikul and Auntie Wimon Sainimnuan—who helped read and refine the drafts.”

It was also during the writing process that Vikrom began visiting Khao Yai more frequently, building a house in the area. Panchana often accompanied him—and it was during those trips that the idea of opening Penlaos, her now-iconic Isaan restaurant, first took shape.

At that point, she had already transitioned into the role of manager at the Amata Foundation. Her frequent time in Khao Yai—just recently declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site—sparked a growing interest in environmental issues and wildlife conservation. Vikrom, too, had ambitions to elevate Khao Yai onto the world stage. This aligned mission gave rise to a stream of new and meaningful work.

One of the most unforgettable chapters from her time at the Amata Foundation was participating in the Amata Transcontinental Caravan between 2011 and 2013. Each journey spanned over a year and covered vast, demanding routes: the first year through the GMS (Greater Mekong Subregion), the second across Mongolia, and the third into the remote wilderness of Siberia.

The Siberian leg was particularly brutal. The extreme conditions took such a toll on Panchana’s health that she had to be rushed back to Thailand for emergency treatment. But once she recovered, she rejoined the caravan and completed the journey—true to her nature of never backing down from a challenge.

By the fourth year of her time with the Amata Foundation, a new caravan journey was being planned—this time to the islands of the Philippines and Indonesia. The expedition would take a full year. For Panchana, who was then managing the foundation, it was a moment of reckoning. She had to ask herself a difficult question—and the answer was clear: she couldn’t go on.

Around the same time, Penlaos, the restaurant she had opened as a trial venture in 2009, was beginning to face a host of operational challenges. It became clear that she could no longer juggle both roles. And so, she made the bold decision to resign from the Amata Foundation in order to focus entirely on making Penlaos a success.

With that, a 17-year journey with the foundation came to an end. Panchana turned her full attention toward building Penlaos—determined to bring her vision to life and firmly establish the restaurant as a rising culinary force.

6.

Full Steam Ahead with Penlaos

The first and foremost reason Panchana opened Penlaos was simple: to create jobs.

While working at the Amata Foundation, the hydroponic farm she had once managed shut down, leaving many of her former staff in distress. Some even came to see her in Khao Yai—crying and pleading for help. She searched for a way to employ several people at once, and only one answer came to mind: open a restaurant. And so, in 2009, Penlaos was born.

“At the time, Khao Yai was starting to fill up with Italian-style architecture,” she recalled. “But I thought, if this is the gateway to Isaan, you should be able to eat Isaan food. That’s how I settled on opening an Isaan restaurant.”

As for the name Penlaos—which loosely translates to “Being Lao”—Panchana explained its origin with a smile. During her time at the Amata Foundation, she had the chance to work with Ajarn Sujit Wongthes, as Amata supported the establishment of the Suvarnabhumi Institute. “I considered myself one of Ajarn Sujit’s students—his thinking around the ‘power of Lao’ and the Isaan identity really stuck with me,” she said.

“While reading Silpa Wattanatham magazine, I remembered something my father once told me—that my great-grandmother came from Vientiane. I thought, ‘Well then, I really am Lao!’ That’s how the name came about. At the time, it was a bold move. Nowadays, it wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.”

Another reason for opening the restaurant was her long-term view of aging. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow a boss around forever. Thailand was already talking about becoming an aging society. I thought—maybe I should start something I can do for the rest of my life. I wasn’t trying to be successful. I just wanted to create jobs for my former staff, help the local community, and give myself something meaningful to do as I got older.”

“I’ve never been driven by the idea of getting rich,” she added. “What I love is working. I’m always energetic. And I’m the kind of person who doesn’t overthink things—whether that’s a blessing or a curse, I’m not sure. I make decisions quickly. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But it just so happened that in 2009, right as the S-curve began to rise, Penlaos caught people’s attention—especially after we appeared on the show SME Tee-Tak.”

But the early success of Penlaos proved to be short-lived. Back then, Khao Yai had yet to boom like Thailand’s major tourist hotspots. The reality was brutal—Penlaos had only about 30 profitable days in an entire 365-day year.

“In 2014, we hit a financial storm,” Panchana recalled. “There was a legal dispute with a business partner, and my life fell apart. I was under so much stress I was practically bipolar—laughing in the morning, crying by evening. That was also when I finally resigned from the Amata Foundation. It was a major turning point in my life.”

But with encouragement from friends who stepped in with financial support—and the thought of her more than 40 employees who relied on her—Panchana found the will to fight back. This time, the business turned around. The restaurant began generating steady daily cash flow, and what had once felt hopeless began to fill her with renewed confidence.

By 2015, Penlaos was doing well. It was time to formalize. Panchana registered a company called On The Plateau, a name given to her by renowned Thai writer Ajarn Suddan Wisutlikit. The name held dual meaning—both “highland” and “on a plate.”

The business soon expanded. A new brand, Unyangkordai by Penlaos (“Anything Goes”), was launched and received overwhelming public support. The franchise quickly spread—not only across Thailand but internationally, with branches in Laos, Singapore, and most recently, Jakarta, Indonesia in 2024.

“Today, Penlaos has been running for 16 years, and we’re still growing,” she said proudly. “We’ve opened branches on Rama 2 and in Hua Hin. This year, we’re planning to launch a new location in Ratchapruek, and we’re eyeing Chiang Mai as well. The goal is sustainable expansion.”

In addition to Penlaos, Panchana is also growing her personal ventures: a vegetable farm, a home-style restaurant called Baan Thoe, and her latest eco-conscious project, So Good & Green.

7.

One Word: People

When asked what the key to Penlaos’ enduring success has been, Panchana answered with a single word:

“People.”

“We give everything back to the people who helped build Penlaos alongside us,” she said. “They’re everyday people—small players, really—who may not even know whether their goals align with mine. But if they’re happy here, that’s all that matters. That’s probably why we’ve barely had any staff turnover—unless someone passes away,” she added with a soft smile.

In an era where AI is replacing human roles in almost every industry, Panchana remains unwavering in her people-first approach.

“Here’s what I always say: whenever you start to doubt, get tired, or feel overwhelmed—go back to your original reason. Why did you start doing it in the first place?” she said. “With Penlaos, I’ve never had to question that. I know exactly why I built it—so it could be a place that creates jobs for others and for myself.”

“It’s not easy. I’m 55 now. If I live to 80, that’s another 25 years. How much money do I need to make it through? The answer is—none,” she laughed. “I’ve spent it all—on travel, on new investments, on crazy ideas related to the environment and society. So I have to do something I can keep doing for the rest of my life.”

“And one of those things is food. I’ve said it before—I don’t know how to cook. But I believe the food business is meaningful. It creates jobs. It gives people purpose. And it gives me purpose too.”

For Panchana, Penlaos is not just a restaurant—it’s a form of media. It’s a platform, a voice, an outlet.

“It’s how we tell the world what we believe in,” she explained. “If you believe in the power of small people, in the act of giving—you don’t have to wait. You build it. We believe that a strong country is built on a strong base of small, resilient SMEs—not on letting the big players keep getting bigger. In that sense, I guess I’m a bit of a rebel. I believe in the small.”

Her worldview has been deeply shaped by philosophy and literature. “I’ve always loved reading thinkers like Rabindranath Tagore, Amartya Sen, and Kahlil Gibran. That’s probably why I’ve always had this urge to be part of social change—to become a politician, even. I want to help develop and transform society.”

“I guess I’ve always been a contrarian,” she added. “I grew up reading Mor Muang Phrao and feeling like the system isn’t built for small people to thrive. It’s full of risks. There’s no safety net, no social welfare. So we have to ask: how can we generate social gain?”

“I’m not cut out to be a traditional investor. And let’s be honest—investors wouldn’t be interested in something that grows at a snail’s pace. Banks would never give us a loan. I’ve lived it. I know how hard it’s been for Penlaos to grow.”

“But I’ve been lucky. We have good shareholders—friends, mentors, siblings—people who understand why Penlaos exists. Even now, as we bring in new partners for different branches, I still believe that our DNA, our company culture, is something we must protect. It’s our job to make sure they understand us.”

“At the same time, we have to remain adaptable and grow with the world,” she said. “Because change is the only constant.”

8.

A New Chapter: Launching Khaoyai Connect to Put Khao Yai on the World Map

Most recently, Panchana launched her own media platform, Khaoyai Connect, with the ambition of promoting Khao Yai as a world-class travel destination.

“Khaoyai Connect didn’t come to me in a dream or divine vision,” she laughed. “It started from my volunteer work in city initiatives like Korat Expo. Then I became president of the Khao Yai Tourism Association, and from there I saw a critical gap—global communication. There was no bridge between this region and the world.”

“I’ve always liked working on small things with small people—things that may seem small, but are full of meaning. And I realized, life is short. I’ve been through so many close calls—illness, accidents... I even got caught in quicksand once. Life’s been intense.”

“So I called on a close friend to help me start a publishing project. We felt Khao Yai was missing something—art, knowledge, storytelling. Somewhere along the way, we found ourselves in flow, and that’s how Khaoyai Connect was born. We wanted to build a bilingual website. Yes, it’s a crazy idea, especially when people keep saying, ‘That won’t survive.’ But we’re doing it anyway.”

Panchana elaborated that Khaoyai Connect aims first and foremost to present Khao Yai to the world.

“Foreigners still don’t know about Khao Yai,” she said. “So planting Khao Yai on the global map—that’s the dream.”

“In terms of percentage, the number of tourists who actually visit Khao Yai is minimal compared to the overall number of tourists in Thailand,” Panchana explained. “Of the two million who enter the national park, only around 5%—just 100,000 people—go on to explore other parts of the Khao Yai area. When you compare that to the 40 million foreign tourists who visit Thailand annually, it’s a drop in the ocean.”

“If our country seriously promoted the Isaan region to international visitors, we wouldn’t even need to push hard—the economy would automatically improve. It’s a true ‘quick win.’ Right now, over-tourism is a problem in many parts of Thailand—but not in Isaan. We’ve said this on every platform: there’s not a single directional sign or advertisement for Isaan at Suvarnabhumi Airport. None. Sure, we’ve exported Isaan culture through fermented fish sauce and food, and now molam music is gaining traction—but beyond that, we’ve contributed little to the global tourism product.”

“We’re not even part of the scene when it comes to Thailand’s tourism and hospitality branding. And yet, as the world shifts focus toward climate change and environmental issues, we must remember: Khao Yai is a UNESCO World Heritage site. But we haven’t fully leveraged that status.”

That’s why she sees Khaoyai Connect not just as a business, but as a mission-driven social enterprise. “It may not yield obvious commercial benefits,” she said. “But I see a kind of ‘social pain’ that we need to transform into ‘social gain.’”

“Yes, it takes capital. But I’ve long admired the mindset of Muhammad Yunus, the banker to the poor. I think it’s a viable path forward. That’s why I decided to take a chance. Because I believe the time has come for Khao Yai to step onto the world stage.”

9.

What Makes Khao Yai Special?

“Khao Yai’s strength lies in its people,” Panchana said. “You have to understand that the people of Pak Chong come from everywhere. Except for maybe a few families who’ve been here for over a century, most people migrated from different parts of the country. That’s because this area used to be a major livestock hub. In that sense, Pak Chong is like New York—a true melting pot. It’s a giant bowl where people from all walks of life, with their unique skills and passions, converge.”

And how would she define Khao Yai as a city?

“If we’re speaking just about Khao Yai, I’d call it a Happy Valley—a valley of happiness. It’s a place of diversity. The beauty is that it’s not far from Bangkok, and yet it’s still so green. You live here and you don’t want to leave. Even when it gets hot, it doesn’t last long. When it rains, it turns green almost instantly. That’s why we have to do everything we can to develop this area responsibly and protect its environment. Because in the end, if the town is thriving, the environment will be healthy, and business will follow. Good food, good air, good moods—good business. That leads to happy people.”

With the time and energy she still has, Panchana feels compelled to give back.

“If we can help develop Khao Yai, we should,” she said. “The entrepreneurs who’ve come to live here should feel the same way. Because if Khao Yai suffers, we all suffer. We’re interconnected. Everyone must take part—one way or another.”

“We’re not the center of the universe—don’t worry,” Panchana said with a smile. “We’re just a tiny fragment of it. But becoming a city volunteer, pushing for MICE initiatives, supporting events like Korat Expo—it all stems from a desire to see sustainable and well-directed development. I believe that as long as I still have the strength to contribute, I should. And I genuinely feel happy every day I live in Khao Yai.”

She reflects on the lives of her employees and their families: “To see their children grow up, to see them own homes, have cars, earn money, and build stable lives—there’s a level of trust there. They trust me, and that’s mutual. So even though I wasn’t born here, I think I might die here. If I don’t die along the way somewhere else, then maybe it will be here. That’s how I feel.”

As the conversation draws to a close, a heavy stillness of hope lingers in the humid air after the June rain. Soon, the valley will cool again with the arrival of dusk. And like the people of Khao Yai—no matter how difficult the journey—dreams and hopes may one day come true… right here, in this Happy Valley.

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