Smiley monks, caves with coffins and free range cattle. These are things I’ve found along the road as I’ve taken my motorbike out for day trips around Thailand.  A couple of days ago I drove my motorbike toward the village of Mae Hong Son on the Burmese border.  I didn’t actually make it to Mae Hong Son.  That wasn’t the goal.  The point of the trip was to be out on those fabulous windy mountain roads (I think I’m addicted to motorbike riding) observing and exploring whatever came my way.  

The first thing that came my way was a curve in the road followed by many many more.  The road signs indicated this would be the case all day long.  Speaking of road signs, I have found most of the signage in Thailand to be straightforward and clear.  Like the picture of a squiggly line.  Got it.  “Curves up ahead all day long.”  Or the sign written in Thai but with the English “subtitle” “Sharp curve ahead.”  Also clear.  Other signs were a bit more confusing though.  I still haven’t figured out one with a picture of a tree falling, a fire and deer running.  My mind reads, “Danger, Will Robinson!  Danger!” but I doubt that’s what the Thai authorities had in mind when they printed that one up.  If anyone knows what this means (or wants to take some guesses for the sake of fun), please be my guest and leave a comment!

it's gonna be a curvy one, guys

this sign also makes sense

... but what the heck does this sign mean?

Another unique thing about driving in Thailand is that there are photos of the King posted everywhere (and I don’t mean Elvis).  The Thai people LOVE their King!  

King Bhumibol Adulyadej is a constitutional monarch, but because of his tremendous popularity with the Thai people, he has considerable influence in the county’s political matters.  He is thought to be one of the richest men in the world and has used much of his wealth to fund many development projects, particularly in rural areas of Thailand.   

roadside billboard of the King and Queen

 As a result, the Thai people love him and place photos of him everywhere.  They certainly all have a photo of the king in their home.  I even noticed photos of the king hanging on the walls of the bamboo huts in the very poor hilltribe village that I trekked through to get to the Muay Thai gym.  And on the roadside, there are billboard posters of the King everywhere. Although there are plenty in which he’s just posing and looking “royal,” many of these billboards portray him in “civil servant action mode” working with the people, signing some document, playing his saxophone.  

Passing by the King (or rather his billboards), the many curves and the signs warning me about the many curves, I came across a unique sign announcing an interesting attraction:  Coffin Caves.  I had read just the night before about a group of caves in North Thailand in which archeologists had recently discovered coffins that were over 1200 years old.  How many coffin caves could there be?  I decided to check it out.  

the guardian of the Coffin Caves?

I approached an official looking bamboo hut to pay the admission fee and was surprised to learn that there was no charge.  Strange.  Everything in Thailand has a charge; incidentally, it’s always higher for foreigners than for locals.  I followed their pointing hands to a path leading into the woods.  Not far in, sitting on the branch of a young bamboo tree was a small stuffed bear.  I have no idea what he was doing there.  Maybe a child had put her bear there and then forgot it when she left.  Or maybe someone placed the bear in the tree as a guardian for the Coffin Caves.  Either way, it made me smile and think of my friend Glen Billy who not only has an affinity for bears and rabbits, both stuffed and real, but who’s writing a sweet children’s book about them.  How’s that book coming, Glen?

bamboo ladder

I wandered farther up the path which became steeper the farther I went.  Someone had installed bamboo stairs and eventually, where it got really steep, a bamboo ladder.  I climbed the ladder, hiked up some more stairs and my eyes perked up at the sight of some interesting looking rock caves that appeared weathered, gnarled and twisted (there’s not enough room for all the photos here but I have photos of this in the “Photos of Her Adventure” section of the blog).  After I took my photos, I looked for an approach to continue on the path which seemed to disappear at this rock face.  As if on cue, a Thai man walked up carrying a small cup of paint in one hand and a paint brush in the other.   He introduced himself as Dom, a scientist working for an NGO in neighboring Sappong to study the caves and open them for tourist visits.  His plan for the day was to paint directional signs on the rocks because it wasn’t obvious where people should look to find the coffins.  I’ll say.

Dom put down his cup of paint and offered his guiding services.  I remain incredibly grateful because without him, I can assure you I not only would never have known where to look, I certainly wouldn’t have had the courage to climb the rocks to get to the coffins.  The first move that I was trying to figure out when Dom approached required us to essentially suction-cup ourselves to a rock and hope that gravity would suspend itself for 5-10 seconds while we hoisted ourselves from one rock to another three feet to the right.  Dom made this move look easy and gave me the confidence I needed.  It was impossible to do the contortionist-suction-cup maneuver with my backpack so I handed it and my camera up to Dom, sucked in every part of my body, imagined I was Spiderman (or Spiderwoman … at that moment gender was the last thing on my mind) and climbed the rock to safety.  Holy cow! I never would have figured that out on my own!  

the stunningly beautiful Coffin Caves

The next bit wasn’t bad.  Lots of climbing.  And contorting. At one point, Dom said “Only 10 more kilometers.”  I chalked it up to bad translation or a twisted sense of humor on Dom’s part and hoisted on.  Dom was anxious to show me the coffins, but I was amazed at the caves themselves and kept stopping to marvel … and of course to take photos.  

We finally got to the first cave with a coffin.  The coffin was a large tree that had been hollowed out to hold a body.  If the tree had any bark on it, it was entirely removed.  The tree trunk coffin was suspended in the air by three to four other similar hollowed out tree trunks.  Between the little English he knew and the little Thai I had learned, Dom was able to explain to me that the coffins were about 1,250 years old and that no one knew who was buried there or why they were buried in this manner. 

the main coffin at the Coffin Caves

The “room” of this particular cave didn’t get much light and the marine battery placed there to light the room wasn’t working.  No problem, I told Dom.  Although my “big” camera doesn’t have a flash (a definite downside to the Canon 5D), my little one does … that’s in the seat of my motorbike out in the parking lot!  Argh!  I couldn’t believe it!  There was NO WAY that I was going to hike all that way back to my bike to retrieve my Powershot that I thought I had put in my backpack.  Oh well.  I set my ISO to 1600 and opened my aperture as wide as it would go (sorry, getting into geeky camera speak there), I made my body into a tripod as best I could, a technique I learned in photo school, exhaled, stood as still as I possibly could and took the photo.  It’s amazing how much your body moves in 2.5 seconds even when you feel like you’re as solid as a rock.  I took four photos in this manner and the last one turned out ok.  Still fuzzy and not great, but here it is nonetheless.  Thankfully the other cave with a coffin was open to the sunlight and well lit so photographing it was easy.  Getting there was not.

The jeans I was wearing probably canceled out the fact that I’m pretty limber.  Dom, who was both limber and wearing athletic pants and had obviously clambered this route a time or two, would fly on ahead and then wait for me directing “Put your right foot there.  Now your left one on that rock.  Step there.  Turn around and go up/down backwards.” As I said before, without his direction, I wouldn’t have seen any of these magnificent caves.  

scrambling around in the caves

posing with a coffin (never thought I'd be writing THAT subtitle!)

After we made it to the second coffin cave and I took a few shots, Dom suggested I climb over to where the coffin was and he would take my photo with it.  Down. Up. Down. Up. I made it.  Dom directed me to cross to the opposite side of the coffin which required me to climb awkwardly through the two log poles that were holding it up.  I envisioned a Charlie Brown moment where I would lose my balance, instinctively grab one of the logs and send the 1250+ year old coffin crashing to the ground, probably crushing myself in the process as well as destroying this amazing architectural find.  I didn’t even want to consider how profoundly stupid I would appear in the headlines. I was kind of surprised that Dom was encouraging me to climb around over there and not envisioning the same headlines.  Such was his enthusiasm for sharing his passion I guess.

To protect us both, “Don’t touch the logs. Don’t touch the logs,” became my mantra as I limbo’d my way through them for the fabulous photo opp that Dom apparently envisioned.  Safe on the other side of the coffin supports, I finally looked in Dom’s direction.  I concluded that the wrong one of us was holding the camera.  While I had been twisting myself into a pretzel to avoid touching the log supports, Dom had morphed into a mountain goat and was now perched with one foot each on two pointy rocks that looked like they could impale someone (Technically the term might be stalagmites, but they didn’t appear to be formed from dripping so you scientist types can get off my back.  We’ll go with the term “pointy rocks” for the time being).  Standing this way, Dom seemed to be almost floating in midair.  

perched on the pointy rocks

“Dom! YOU are the tremendous photo opp here!” I shouted.  “Let me climb over there, get the camera from you, climb back and take your photo. This shot of you is incredible!”  Turns out, Dom’s camera shy.  He took my photo by the coffin instead (OK, I had earned that one with the limbo) and then insisted that we switch places so he could photograph me perched precariously on the two pointy rocks.  “Be the mountain goat. Be the mountain goat,” became my new mantra.   Once safely there, I only regret that I didn’t strike a more dramatic pose.  I guess at the time, I still wasn’t sure I was “safely there.”

There were more caves with coffins, but these were being researched by archeologists and were closed to tourists so after all the photo opps, Dom and I clambered (rather, Dom glided and I clambered) back to the “suction cup rock.”  He told me he was planning to build a bamboo ladder here.  I agreed, that would definitely make at least that portion of getting to the coffins easier.  He also shared with me his concerns that even if he clearly marked with paint how to get to the coffins, that many people would not be able to make it.  I agreed.  Given all the precarious climbing we’d done that day, I couldn’t imagine the caves as a viewing opportunity for the masses.  Dom definitely had his work cut out for him.  

After thanking him profusely, I left Dom with his cup of paint and slid down the suction cup rock (much easier than going up it).  As I hiked down, I marveled at the beautiful caves, the mysterious coffins and at this kind man who cheerfully donated a couple hours of his time to make sure I enjoyed both.  I paid more attention as I arrived back at the parking lot.  I noticed that the Coffin Caves sign, surrounded with bamboo scaffolding and kept company by a tiny cup and a paintbrush, was still a work in progress.  The bamboo triangle that pointed the way to the squat toilets that didn’t yet hold water was blank; no one had yet painted “toilet” on it.  I reflected back to the fact that no admission fee was charged to enter the caves.  I guess this is still an “up and coming” tourist attraction.  I’m grateful to have been able to visit it when I did.

the Coffin Cave sign under construction

I scarfed down my little picnic lunch I brought with me and motored on.  All along the road, I kept seeing signs for different hilltribe villages.  That could be quite interesting, I thought.  After passing through a drug checkpoint, I made a right turn and headed toward one such village.  Throughout North Thailand (and maybe the rest of it - I just haven’t been there to comment), there are drug checkpoints in the road, manned by Thai military personnel carrying machine guns.  It sounds scary, but they’ve always just waved the tourists through that I’ve seen.  The checkpoints are not mobile.  Their locations are even marked on the maps which makes me question the logic of them.  It seems that drug traffickers could just find alternate routes to avoid the checkpoints.  As I’m not a drug trafficker though, I just smiled, drove past and continued to enjoy my drive.

It was a slightly different situation when, only ten minutes later, I came to another checkpoint, this one not marked on my map.  This time, the armed men (Men is stretching it.  These boys appeared to be about twenty years old.) stopped me.  I donned my best sweet innocent tourist face (I was, afterall), smiled and said, “Sewatdee ka.  Sebaidee mai ka?” in my best Thai (“Hello. How are you?”)  The one with the gun smiled and returned my greeting.  The one without the gun remained serious.  At least I had favorably impressed the right one if you ask me.  “Where are you going?” the serious boy asked.  Still Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, “Just out for a drive.  I saw the sign for the hilltribe village and thought I’d take a look.”  Smile. Bat eyelashes.  

Serious Boy kept looking toward my backpack and that had me worried.  I didn’t have drugs or any sort of contraband but I had brought along $1300 in US cash.  A friend of mind had told me the night before that he didn’t know anyone who drove to Mae Hong Son without falling on their motorbike.  He stopped just shy of betting me that I wouldn’t break that statistic.  Although I figured I’d be fine, I brought the money along just in case I had a fall … and one serious enough to require a hospital visit.  I was concerned that if he searched my bag, he might find the money and take some portion of it as a bribe.  I hadn’t heard about that much in Thailand, but it happened in Bali with the police regularly so it didn’t seem out of the question.  Luckily, although his eyes passed over my pack several times, that was all and I was allowed to go on my way.  

monastery - monks living quarters

I made it to the hilltribe village, but, as seems to be the custom these days, no one was wearing any traditional clothing so they just looked like poor people living in bamboo houses on stilts.  They were friendly and waved as I drove by.  Not anxious to visit with Serious Boy again so soon, I continued on and came to another village.  Many of these houses were also on stilts. I’ve learned that this is typically a sign of a hilltribe, but I suppose anyone can put a house on stilts.  As I approached, I heard sharp loud sounds that conceivably could have been gunshots.  I didn’t see any people.  Surely no one was shooting at me, I thought and motored on, but a little slower.  I kept hearing the sounds, but saw no evidence of bullets flying anywhere near me.  Finally, I came upon a group of boys who were playing with a Thai version of firecrackers and laughed at my misperception.  

The village had lovely temple and monastery so I parked my bike and wandered over to some child monks hanging out on the steps.  I’m not sure if it was the sight of a foreigner or a woman or the combination that sent them running upstairs, but within minutes I was left alone, except for one of the temple boys who remained sitting on the steps studying me.  He smiled shyly as I took his picture and then ran upstairs with the other boys.  As I crossed back under the monastery (which was raised on concrete pillars), another firecracker exploded and I jumped.  Appparently, even the boy monks had been in on the firecracker mischief and had left some unexploded artillery behind in their haste to get away from me.  

religious artwork decorating the monastery interior

I was about to get on my bike and leave when a car pulled up with the head monk inside.  He waved to me and smiled.  That was all the invitation I needed.  I put my bike key away and headed over.  “Sewatdee ka.  Sebaidee mai ka?”  We exchanged greetings and he indicated that it was alright for me to go upstairs.  I removed my shoes (that’s the custom before entering a home or temple in Asia) and headed up. I looked around while I waited for him.  I hadn’t been in a monastery before.  This one seemed pretty modern although I had nothing with which to compare it. 

Shortly, the smiley monk came upstairs and invited me to sit with him.  I knew it was considered respectful in Thailand to keep your head lower than that of a monk’s, but I hadn’t spent any time around monks since my arrival in Thailand.  Accordingly, I was caught a little off guard when he indicated I should sit on the floor while he took a seat on some cushions one step above. I immediately began reviewing in my mind the other “monk rules” I had read so as to avoid giving offense to my happy host.  

I had read that women are not supposed to touch monks or even hand things or take things from them directly so I was surprised when the monk passed a cup of hot tea into my hands without setting it down first.  Maybe he’s a liberal monk, I thought.  I was out of my element here so I just followed his lead.  

He told me his name was Chun.  His English was only slightly better than my Thai, but we managed to communicate a little.  I told him that I was from the US and that I had arrived in his village on motorbike.  He told me that after a serious motorbike accident in Chiang Mai, he was afraid of motorbikes and only drove in cars.  He was concerned about my drive home on the winding roads so he presented me with a little red silk tassle that he said represented Buddha.  He strung it up for me on a piece of yarn, blessed it and indicated I should wear it around my neck “for safety and good luck from Buddha” on my way home.  

We quickly reached the limits of our foreign linguistic abilities so for five minutes or so, we just sat and smiled at each other and drank our tea.  I showed him the photos on my camera from the places I had been that day.  And then we sat in silence again. 

As a monk, I’m sure he’s much more comfortable with silence than I, a hyperactive Western woman.  So of course, after a bit I tried to fill the time with questions:  How many monks live here?   How old were you when you became a monk? What are your plans for the day?  Many of the answers were lost in translation.  What I understood him to say was that 23 monks lived there … but I only saw 5.  He said (or rather I understood) that he had been a monk for 23 years (this was a popular number) but he also told me that he became a monk when he was 18 and that now he was 33 so again maybe lost in translation.  “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” sent the poor monk to the back room where I heard him blow the dust off an English book.  He handed the book to me and I tried to find something close to what I was asking … or just something that we might talk about.  

The first phrase I saw was “Can you type fast and accurately?”  Hmmm… not really what I was going for.  I flipped through the book for a bit while the monk sat patiently waiting.  The book, written in the fifties, was clearly aimed at tourists, with the blatant exception of the question about typing.  Most of the conversations were about buying things and going on tours and arranging hotels.  I did find a short section discussing wats (temples) and monks that indicated that monks only eat two meals per day.  I pointed this out to the monk and asked him about it.  His short answer (yes) ended that conversation.  So he smiled some more.  And I smiled some more.  

Although I had failed to ascertain his plans for the day, I was sure that he had some and I didn’t want to keep him from them.  So I thanked him for the tea and his hospitality.  I asked him if I could photograph him with the young boy monks.  He either didn’t understand or didn’t want his photo taken because he indicated that I could photograph the boys but didn’t make a move to join them.  The boys clearly didn’t want their photos taken (just as well since I discovered I’d used all my battery in showing Chun my trip photos) so I told them all goodbye and hopped back on my motorbike.

free range Thai cattle enjoying the views

On my way back to the checkpoint, I came across a group of free range cattle (common in Thailand) two of which were laying in the road (also somewhat common).  It’s the little differences in life that I love about traveling!  Although Serious Boy was even more interested in my comings and goings this time, I made it through his checkpoint with no problems.  Later when I was looking at a map, I realized that if I had continued past the monk’s village, the road would have lead to the Burmese border.  Perhaps that’s why Serious Boy and his smilling, arms-toting croney were stationed there.  Interesting.

I made it safely past all the curves without falling and rolled into Pai just as a big rainstorm threatened to unleash itself on the tiny town.  I couldn’t resist stopping at the children’s fair that had just opened up.  A quick whirl on the ferris wheel and some fried fair food were a perfect ending to this interesting spontaneous day.  

the ferris wheel at the children's fair

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.