I'll take that one!

After much to do getting through Bangkok, I arrived in Damnoen Saduak, home of Thailand’s infamous floating market, in the evening. I stayed at a place called The Little Bird Hotel. It seemed that I was the only traveler staying there and between the deserted feeling and the 1950’s look, it reminded me of the hotel from the movie “The Shining.” It was a comfortable, air-conditioned mosquito-free sleep, however, so I was well-rested for my market tour the following morning.

I arranged to hire a boat through the hotel to ferry me through the market place. Captain C, as he introduced himself, greeted me at my hotel at 6:45am and walked me to his boat. We started our tour through the market at 7 am which seemed a very good time. By 8:30, most boats passing through canals were filled with tourists instead of vendors so it was definitely best to get there early.

The market was a series of narrow canals lined on either side with vendors selling food, souvenirs and clothes from fixed dock platforms. By 8:30, many vendors in their long, narrow boats had essentially moored up in front of these fixed platforms, making the already narrow canals even more narrow. At 7 am, however, many of the boats on their way to moor up were still paddling through the canals. The boatsmen and women all greeted each other and me as well. The feeling was one of camaraderie, locals chatting among friends. There was a palpable shift in this mood as the morning drew on. Even as early as 8:30, it seemed that the vendors moods transformed from a state of relaxation to one of virtually hunkering down to weather the tourist storm. Clearly, I much preferred the early morning atmosphere.  

not quite ready to start the day

The long narrow boats used by many vendors were clearly the “star attraction” at the market. At least that was clear to me. Although friendly, “Captain C” had a horrible sense of what I wanted to see. In areas of the market where there were many vendors selling fruits, veggies and flowers where I could spend hours snapping away, he zipped our boat on through. The tough thing about photographing under those conditions is that all your subjects are constantly moving. Not only are the people moving which is always tricky to shoot, but the boats themselves are moving so fantastic compositions come and go in fractions of a second. I didn’t expect Captain C to be aware of the “rule of thirds,” but I had hoped that he would recognize my interest in photographing people and not shopping given the plethora of photo gear strapped around my waist and slung over my shoulders. Alas, he wasn’t attuned to these details so we dawdled by tacky souvenir shops and whizzed through the spectacular stuff until I told him I didn’t want to buy anything. The whizzing still continued but we resolved that toward the end the more I motioned with my hand “slow down, slow down.”

watching the morning pass by

The people were very friendly and easily impressed with my simple ability to say “Hello. How are you?” in Thai. Often they would mistake that for an ability to speak Thai fluently and would chatter away at me until I told them (also in Thai) “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I only speak a little Thai.” The fact that I said even that in Thai affirmed their conviction that I spoke Thai fluently so they praised me more in Thai and chatted even faster. Nonetheless, that little bit of language seemed to provide an inroads with these people and garnered additional smiles and feelings of welcome which I appreciated.

The markets themselves were fantastic. Although there were a number of vendors selling plastic tchotchskies for tourists to take home to the dog sitter, there were an equal number of vendors whose market was primarily the local Thais. These sold fruit, flowers, soup, fish and breakfast items.

Some of the vendors were mobile all morning long, making their rounds to sell their food and flowers. I admired the talented and graceful way the Thai vendors manuevered their boats through the water. One old man who was selling hot coconut pancakes even cooked as he paddled. An even older grandmotherly-looking woman paddled a much smaller boat than the vendors. It closely resembled the tiny white water kayaks used for playboating, only made of old wood. Granny was the Thai canal version of the Little Old Lady from Pasadena as she zipped in and out among the larger boats. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see her do a cartwheel with her boat. They were all truly most impressive.

flipping pancakes while paddling through the market

The floating markets are all about the pictures … and the food. I enjoyed some delicious food. Tiny dollar size coconut pancakes, sweet melt-in-your-mouth mango and sticky rice, some spicy tom yam noodle soup, and many more munchies than I can possibly remember. As more boats moored up on the sides of the canals, I noticed several of the vendors whose boats were caught in between others would pass their wares out to customers via buckets on long poles and collected their money the same way.

All in all, It was a lovely day and well worth the hassle of traveling through Bangkok to experience this unique event.

monk collecting alms and giving a blessing

Unfortunately, there’s not nearly enough room here for all the photos I took so I invite you to see some more in my photo gallery page of this blog.To see a video of my floating market experience, click here.

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If you want to visit the market, I would suggest getting to Damnoen Saduak the evening before as most morning buses from Bangkok don’t arrive until 8:30 when the best action has passed. Stay at either Little Bird Hotel (just tell your bus driver “Nuc Noy Hotel” and he’ll practically drop you at their door. Prices are 250 Baht fan/ 350 Baht aircon) or the very scenic P Guesthouse which is actually on the main canal (from the main bridge, walk down the left side of the canal about 200 meters) Rooms there are 300 Baht per person).

If you make it a very early morning and start walking to the market at 6 am, you’ll be rewarded by seeing monks in their tiny wooden boats collecting morning alms at the houses that line the canals. Turn left at the main canal in the market area (it will be obvious) and have a little breakfast canalside while you watch the market start to wake up. You can hire a boat to paddle you around the neighborhood of canals that make up the market for 200-300 baht per hour. I would recommend waiting until 7 am or even 7:30 to actually start your boat tour, however, as there’s not much action outside the main canal until that time.

I hate Bangkok.  Well, that’s not quite fair.  That’s an overly broad statement and I’ve really not even spent time in Bangkok.  To be more accurate, I hate navigating through Bangkok on the public transportation system.  The train stations do not “intersect” with the bus stations.  Nor do the skytrain or subway stations.  None of them cover the whole city, yet they don’t connect with each other.  

Twice now in cavorting around the country, I’ve been forced to go through Bangkok to connect to my ultimate destination.  In general, traveling by bus in Thailand is easy, safe, relatively quick (except for that Chiang Mai to Bangkok stint which I will avoid like the plague in the future), pleasant and cheap.  A tour hour trip on an airconditioned bus costs less than $2.  Even the ten hour bus trip from hell (which was only hellish because of the length and the overnight aspect) cost only $20.  When you pull into a station, if you’re connecting to another place, you simply look for the sign of your destination, walk up to that line and buy a ticket. Easy as pie.  Except when you hit Bangkok.

Worse than the heat which smacks you in the face as you emerge from your connecting bus are taxi and tuk tuk drivers who assault you with the ubiquitous seemingly helpful question “Where you go now?”  The first time, I assumed they WERE trying to help me and TOLD them where I wanted to go.  In that situation, Bangkok was only a connecting point for me with my destination at least two hours away.  Without batting an eye, they tried to convince me to take a taxi all the way there.  “What? Are you kidding? Do you think I’m made of money?” I would think each time.  Then quickly answered myself “Oh yes, you actually DO.”

Bangkok has three bus terminals, each serving different parts of the country. It’s not uncommon (in fact, it seems to occur frequently) for the “leg 1” bus to arrive in one station while the connecting bus leaves from another station.  The stations are not close to each other (certainly not walking distance) and they’re not linked by subway, train or  skytrain.  Even if you’re lucky enough that your connecting bus departs from the station at which you were actually deposited, the obvious lines to buy tickets that are ever-present in other smaller stations don’t stand out in Bangkok … BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT THERE!  Neither is an information stand so an unwitting, ignorant traveler like myself is left at the mercy of the piranha taxi and tuk tuk drivers.  

In order to survive the Bangkok transit system … well, I should limit this comment to just the bus system since I haven’t actually tried to negotiate the others yet … I can’t get to them!  In order to survive the Bangkok bus system, you have to be tough AND know what you’re doing.  I can visualize myself breezing by the taxi drivers, ignoring all their “Where you go now?” questions that are merely bait.  But to do this, I have to know where to breeze to … and in that department, I’m at a loss.  

My Lonely Planet guidebook is no help.  They’ve written a mere paragraph basically advising you that there are three bus stations, but don’t provide essential helpful tips which I learned on my own … painfully.  The Bangkok transportation system and how to navigate between the various branches requires more than a paragraph!  I’ve written a whole page on it already … and I’ve only bitched about it (which needs to be done), but you still don’t know how to navigate it!

So, due to my lack of experience and my crappy guidebook, I alighted from my Ayuthaya bus at Bangkok’s Northern bus terminal, Mochit, with little clue what my next step was.  In another section of my guidebook that could also use a bit more roughing out, the writers indicated that I could buy a ticket at Mochit to go to Damnoen Saduak, home of the famous floating markets and my next destination.  I knew for certain that these tickets were sold at the Southern bus terminal, but was hoping I could just depart from this station and save the hassle and unwanted education of transferring between stations.  I was looking first for the ticket booths and when I couldn’t find them, for an information booth.  Both proved elusive. 

The sharks saw that I didn’t have a clue and circled.  “Where you go lady?” they chorused together.  From my previous experience, I knew better than to tell them.  I asked what I thought was a safe question, “Where do they sell the bus tickets?”  “You want to take a taxi? I take you.” They each vied.  “No, I don’t want taxi. (I find when I travel that my English becomes as bad as the person’s I’m speaking with. I now drop articles on a regular basis). Where do they sell bus tickets?”  

“Depends where you go. Where you go lady?”  Damn. If it depended where I went, then I had to tell them … or drag my heavy bags around trying to figure it out on my own.  Note: although I’m still traveling with only carryon luggage, that luggage contains my heavy 17” laptop, photo gear and, quite regrettably, my tripod which I’ve used all of two times.  So my bags are compact, but they still rip my shoulders apart.  Shoulder ripping leads to bad decision making in my experience.

“I’m going to Damnoen Saduak,” I finally relented.  As expected, “I drive you there lady.  Only 2000 baht.” “I take you for 1500.”  Thanks for the discount, buddy. The bus ticket cost 85 baht.  “No, I don’t want you to drive me 250 km. Can you please just point me to where I buy a bus ticket?”  

“You have to go to South bus terminal. No Damnoen Saduak here.”  “But my guidebook says …” I trailed off pathetically.  If I could just figure out where to buy the tickets, I could see for myself whether this transfer was necessary.  But the ticket sales posts weren’t obvious to me; even the direction in which I should walk in order to look for them seemed hidden.  Ripping shoulders and persistant piranha were winning out.  

“Ok. How much to drive me to the Southern terminal?” I asked.  Still not convinced they couldn’t get a windfall out of this wide-eyed traveler, the guys kept lobbying for the long distance trip.  I was in no mood for this.  “South terminal or I’m going to find another taxi,” I threatened.  “Ok lady. I have meter taxi.  Should be about 150 baht by meter.”  In Bangkok, all taxis have meters.  The drivers prefer not to use them, however, usually overcharging by two to three times what the metered rate would be.  

“Fine. Metered taxi ok. Let’s go.” I surrendered.  I dragged my bags for about a block and arrived in front of the man’s tuk tuk. Now a tuk tuk is not the same as a taxi.  It has no meter and the drivers typically make unscheduled stops at “my friend’s jewelry shop for a fabulous one day sale.”  This tuk tuk driver now upped the charge to 300 baht to drive me to the South terminal. I was tired, my shoulders ached and I was pissed.  I hate being lied to.  I turned on my heel and walked away back in the direction from which I had come.  

Finally, I saw a chink in the armor of one of the drivers who apparently had witnessed it all.  “Lady, I’ll show you how you can buy a 40 baht ticket to the Southern bus terminal if you’ll give me 20 baht for showing you.”  Ok, maybe not a chink.  Maybe just a teensy weensy thought of a dent in the armor.  I probably didn’t sound as grateful as I felt.  I likely would have if he hadn’t insisted that I pay him for the knowledge … and would likely have given him more than 20 baht for his kindness.  But I suppose however you get it, knowledge is knowledge.  We struck a deal.  

He grabbed one of my bags (ah! now THAT was worth 200 baht!) and walked me to a spot ten feet from where I initially stood before the lying tuk tuk driver had lured me away.  There was a stand where a lady sold tickets for 35 baht.  Delivery to the Southern bus terminal was available via minivan.  (Note to Lonely Planet: this would have been REALLY HELPFUL TO KNOW!!!!)  

The pseudo-sympathetic man had taught me to fish.  Now I knew how to do it on my own for any future trips that required station transfers.  My energy surged again slightly.  I would now be able to glide past the oppressive taxi and tuk tuk drivers and sail effortlessly between stations.  Hmmm … but what would I do if I was actually ever “lucky” enough to  connect out of the station I arrived at?  Well, hopefully (and doubtfully) that will ever happen.  But if it does, maybe I can just pay someone 20 baht for that piece of knowledge as well.

the chedi at Wat Ratburana

In the morning on my second day in Ayuthaya, I rented a bicycle from the Baan Lotus Guesthouse (time for a little exercise) and struck out to tour the city.  The bicycle felt flimsy underneath me after having driven motorbikes the past three months.  

Because of the heat, my plan was to visit a couple of temple ruins in the morning, return to the guesthouse around lunchtime for a cold refreshing shower and a nap, spend the afternoon writing and then go temple hopping again around sunset.  But plans are made to be changed and that’s exactly what I did.   

The day was gorgeous. The skies were bright blue, the first I’d seen of those in a while, I guess because of the rainy season being so drawn out.  I had read about a temple, Wat Phra Mahathat, where a statue of Buddha had been enveloped over time by the roots of a tree such that the tree appeared to be cradling Buddha’s head.  That temple was closest to Baan Lotus so I headed for that one first.  On my way, I got distracted by some fabulous looking ruins at another temple and ended up spending an hour at Wat Ratburana, a temple not even in my list of “wats to see.”  

Wat Ratburana was built in the 15th century by a king on the cremation site of his two elder brothers who died fighting each other for rights to assume the throne.  I found the architecture fascinating, the colorful history was icing on the proverbial cake.  The initial thing that caught my eye was a tall, corncob shaped tower made of multicolored bricks.  I later learned that the tower is called a prang and is a style used by the Khmer throughout Cambodia.  I saw the prang through the door of a crumbling wall … inviting my curiosity to peek behind the door and find other forgotten treasures.  

cubist Buddha

Through the door and behind the wall, I found blocks of stone that formed very abstract bodies reminiscent of Picassos cubist people.  At first, I mistook the block people for armies.  Upon reflection, I think perhaps they were intended to be Buddhas.

Next on the list was Wat Phra Mahathat.  I had read that Thais view the intermingling of sacred images with nature to be very auspicious, making this particular temple very popular with merit makers.  This particular Sunday was no exception. It seemed that every Thai in Bangkok had made a day trip to Ayuthaya just to see Buddha embraced by a tree.   Five large tour buses were parked in the temple’s lot and two more were pulling in when I arrived. From a distance, I could see at least thirty people thronging around what I figured had to be the infamous Buddha statue.  I turned my bike around and headed out, deciding I would visit the temple later rather than compete with the merit makers for views of the Buddha.

that's got to make for one slobbery head

On my way to the third temple on my list, I came across an elephant show.  I was so glad I was not traveling in an organized tour and had the freedom to stop and watch.  Changing plans on a moment’s notice appeals to some side of me that must have ADHD.  So I stopped and watched the elephant circus and then walked across the street and grabbed some lunch at the local market.  

So many books on travel health warn travelers not to eat from street stalls.  Clearly those authors have never been to Thailand. Food stalls in the street are a way of life for the locals here.  Not only is the food delicious, it’s incredibly cheap.  For some reason, most Thai people do not have kitchens in their homes so they eat every meal out.  The street stalls, which usually conglomerate together to form a sort of outdoor food court, seem to be the preferred dining destinations for many Thais.  Generally the food is fresh and cooked right in front of you.  In 6 weeks of eating this way, I’ve only had a couple of incidents of upset tummy and I get those at home on occasion as well so I figure … mai pen rai. 

This day, I met a sweet couple who were making rotis and matabas.  Rotis are a fried dough-based dessert that can be served plain (which means with chocolate sauce and sweetened condensed milk), stuffed with egg or stuffed with banana (in either case, you still get chocolate sauce and sweetened condensed milk). Matabas start with the same crepe-like base and are filled with meat, veggies or a combination.  Anyway you serve them, they are delicious.  The couple was very amused when I told them so in Thai.  I guess Thais aren’t accumstomed to foreigners (farang) speaking any Thai because when I say the smallest thing (delicious, how are you, nice to meet you), they giggle, give me the thumbs up and tell me I speak Thai very well.  We both end up amused at the other so it’s good entertainment all around.

the roti maker

After my mataba/roti lunch, I visited Wat Chaiwatthanarum, the temple that made me salivate for sunset shots the previous day but which was off limits from the river side because of the high water.  I rode my rickety bike across the island and over the bridge to the other side of the river to get there.  I noticed on my way there how much the temperature had risen.  The sun which had turned the skies blue was beating down on my shoulders.  Just this wat, I promised myself.  Then you can go home and cool off until sunset. (Traveling alone as I do, it’s a common occurrence that I find myself talking to myself. Mai pen rai.) 

I could tell this was a popular wat for tourists to visit, not because of the tour buses which were thankfully absent, but because of the number of souvenir stalls.  When I mention tourists, I should clarify that I primarily mean Thai tourists.  There are a decent number of farang that make it to Ayuthaya and of course they hit the major tourist spots, but the Thai tourists outnumber the farang visitors by far.

Wat Chaiwattanarum

Although Wat C was not exactly swarming with tourists of any flavor, there were enough that for almost every photograph I wanted to take, I had to wait about five minutes for the various tourists to get out of the way. Definitely an exercise in patience. But it was worth it.  Of all the temples I visited that day and the previous, Wat C definitely tops my list.  In the previous temples, it had appeared merely that the Buddha statues that were dismembered may have become so in the fires that I understand burned through all wats.  In Wat C, it became quite clear that the dismemberment was not accidental or the result of fire.  These statues had all been deliberately decapitated.  Only about five of the hundred plus Buddhas retained their heads.  Strangely, even without their heads, (and perhaps even BECAUSE they were without heads) these statues compelled my attention. They felt alive as if they were not made out of stone.  I can’t explain the feeling I had, but if the Burmese intended to kill the spirit of Buddha when they beheaded the statues, they failed miserably.  

I spent over an hour wandering among the ruins.  I was mesmerized by the statues and photographed them over and over, coming close to filling my 8GB memory card (that’s about 500 photos for you non-shutter-geeks).  But the heat finally got to me and it was time to go.  

Wat C headless Buddhas

As I rode my bike back toward Baan Lotus, I passed a store that had hundreds of brightly colored rooster statues outside ranging from 5 inches to twenty feet tall.  I chuckled to myself and tried to recall some funny story I had read at some point about a Thai king redeeming his reputation by winning a cock fight, but it was too hot for my brain to work.  I supposed though that the story was behind all the rooster souvenirs although I couldn’t imagine someone being a big enough fan of that king or that story to want a one story rooster sitting in their front yard.  I was too hot to think, but not to photograph so I snapped a couple shots of the giant chickens.  

I was about to hop back on my bike when I noticed that the shop next door to the rooster store sold religious supplies (starter kits for monks-in-training as well as various statues for people to put around their homes and in their spirit houses).  I had seen some small plastic characters from the Ramayana narrative at some temples and spirit houses and was on the lookout to buy some to incorporate in my artwork.  I was already stopped so … why not?  

one of many headless Buddhas at Wat C

Before I could just browse for myself, the woman running the store stepped in my path, smiling, and tried to be helpful.  I’ve found of course that very few Thais speak English unless they’re somehow engaged in the tourist industry.  In such a case, it’s easier if I just look for myself rather than try to convey what I want.  But she wanted to play the game … and she had an oscillating floor fan!  So I enjoyed the nice breeze while asking her (first in English, just in case, then in my own invented brand of sign language) if she had any Ramayana characters.  

Ramayana is a classic Indian epic that I understand is a major thread in the Hindu religion.  I don’t know exactly how Hinduism and Buddhism relate to each other, but I do know that the Thai form of Buddhism has retold the tale of Ramayana and incorporated it into their religion.  So although the word “character” might not translate directly, I figured Ramayana would, particularly to a woman running a shop selling religious articles and figures.  Of course, I would also have thought someone running a hotel who saw a farang pull a motorbike full of luggage into their parking lot would also figure that the farang might be interested in a hotel room.  In both cases, I was wrong.  

The woman called her teenage son to help.  Apparently he was the English speaking expert in the family.  Ramayana didn’t translate to him either.  Maybe I was saying it wrong.  So I just browsed and found some of the characters myself.  “Ramayana,” I said.  “Oh! Ramayana!” he exclaimed, pronouncing it exactly the same way I did.  With a good sense of humor, travel and cultural exchanges can be constantly entertaining.  

the world's largest souvenir

These figures were much larger than what I was looking for so I said the word for little and shrunk my fingers down.  “You want smaller,” he said.  “How big you want?”  I showed him with my fingers: about 2 inches tall.  He disappeared.  I guessed he went to the back to check their stock.  A couple minutes later he returned, looked me in the eye and flashed his motorbike keys at me.  He gave no indication how long he would be gone, but I took that communication to mean “Wait here. I’m going to get them for you.” 

The figures really weren’t all that important to me. I had just come into the store on a whim since my bike was already stopped right in front of it.  The son left in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to tell him, no, never mind. So I waited.  And waited. And waited.  I waited for 30 minutes.  During that time, I bought a cold water from his mother and drank it.  She had brought out a little stool and placed it in front of the fan for me.  For the remaining 25 minutes, she and I just smiled at each other.  I was thoroughly refreshed, but I couldn’t stand waiting there any longer.  I tried to ask whether her son was coming back in about ten different ways, but just managed to confuse the poor woman.  Finally, a smile and “mai pen rai” was all I could offer.  “Ok, bye” she said casually as if she wasn’t sure why I had been sitting in her store all this time anyway.  I laughed to myself as I walked back to my bike.  Had I misinterpreted? Had I really been waiting for nothing or had her son gone to fetch some small Ramayana characters for me?  I’ll never know. I had to giggle trying to imagine what the mother must have thought of this apparently insane white woman plopped in the middle of her store for half an hour.  Either way, she had been very kind to me.  If her son hadn’t implied I should wait, then the woman was a saint.

Before invading the woman’s store, I had been headed for a cool shower at my guesthouse.  After sitting in front of the fan for 30 minutes and drinking some water, I wasn’t quite so wilted so when I saw a sign for Wat Phra Mahathat, the one with Buddha in the tree, I made a detour and followed it.  The heat was so bad that even the short ride to the Wat made me question whether I’d made the right call.  But I was there so I went in.  On my way I passed an ice cream vendor and immediately promised myself (and the pushy vendor) a sweet reward when I finished viewing the temple.

Buddha enshrined

I have to admit that Buddha entertwined with the tree roots was very cool.  Unfortunately, the heat made everything else pass by in a blur. Or perhaps I was “watted out.”   For whatever reason, after seeing the interaction of nature and religion, I became a very lazy photographer.  Time to go. 

When I was at the elephant camp back in Pai, I noticed that the elephants trudged along  for most of the elephant ride (or “elephant carry” from their perspective) but that toward the end of the ride/carry, as we approached the river, they almost began to trot.  I felt like those elephants as I hurried back toward the pushy ice cream vendor.  We were both about to be very happy.  

I had her in my sight, but she started wheeling her cart out of the parking lot.  No, wait! I shouted inside my head. I told you I would come back!  I trotted faster and caught her halfway out the parking lot.  Now I REALLY wanted that ice cream.  She dished me up some delicious looking coconut ice cream in a cup. It was the homemade kind that has a little more ice mixed in.  She sprinkled peanuts on the top (I think Thais love peanuts on everything) and handed me a spoon.  I paid her, found the nearest trash can and scraped the peanuts off.  Not in the mood for them that day.

Now that I could see the ice cream, I was surprised to find what looked like a kernel of corn in my treat.  I picked it out with the spoon.  Yep, corn.  Hmmmm… that’s a first.  And then I spotted some diced up green vegetables in my creamy dessert as well. I nibbled on a few.  There was little flavor to them because they were frozen so they didn’t interfere with the taste of the ice cream.  So of course I ate the whole thing, corn, green veggies and all and concluded that I had stumbled on the most brilliant way for parents to get their kids to eat their veggies:  simply take them sightseeing in the hot sun all day and then treat them to ice cream laced with this nutritional goodness.  They’ll be so hot and thankful for the treat, the veggies will go down without the slightest complaint.  At least that’s how I, as a naive non-parent, viewed the situation.

There were more temples on my list of sights to see, but I was hot, tired and “watted out” so i biked “home.”  Back at the guesthouse, I took a refreshing cold shower and relaxed.  That evening, I hit the night market for a meal.  I always find it interesting to go to places that exist for the local population rather than for the farang.  Not only do I meet more locals this way, I get a better taste of what life is really like in their country.  

This particular evening was no exception.  After I finished my dinner, I wandered through the market and came across some strange version of a snake show.  Naturally, the man was speaking entirely in Thai so I was relying completely on his showmanship to understand what was going on.  At first he was really good, demonstrating a big box and acting really scared to open it. He had a mini Buddhist shrine set up on top of the box to which he directed a dramatic prayer before opening the box.  When he did open the box, he pulled out a big snake and set it on the ground. One of the food vendors was sitting next to me watching the show.  When I was engrossed in the snakeman’s show, she tickled the back of my leg with my saraong trying to scare me.  We both got a good chuckle out of it.  

live fish vendor

But from that point, the snake man’s show dragged on and on.  I told my prankster friend “more snakes, less talk” to which she giggled although I don’t think she understood what I was saying.  For all I know, it was a sales presentation for healing snake oil but the man just talked and talked and talked and we didn’t see many more snakes.  So I headed home.  

That night, I read an interesting article.  According to the article, on the road toward one of the local wats, vendors sold live fish, eels and other critters that devout Buddhists would buy to release into the river for good luck and to make merit.  It sounded like an interesting experience and opportunity.  And doesn’t everyone always need a little good luck?

Before I left town the next day, I hired mini-songteoaw (kind of a cross between a tuk tuk and a song-teaow) and headed toward  Wat Phananchoeng (aka “Buddha Visits Las Vegas”)  to release some fish for good luck.  Sure enough, I came across a vendor selling plastic bags with eels, several kinds of fish, turtles, snails.  The turtles and snails looked content in their bags and buckets and eels weren’t really my thing that day.  So I chose three bags of fish that looked the most frantic to get out and paid the lady 100 baht (about $3) for my future good luck.  Both the fish seller and my songteaow driver were amused as I made the purchase.  The vendor gave me a prayer card along with fish.  Of course it was written entirely in beautiful Thai squiggles which were illegible to my untaught eye.  

releasing fish for good luck

When we got to the Wat, I walked to the river, fish in hand, and stood with what I’m sure was a “what now?” look on my face.  A chubby Thai man must have seen that I had no idea what I was doing and stepped up to assist.  He introduced himself to me as Ot (which I knew to mean “little frog” because that was the name of “my” elephant in Pai) and authoritatively grabbed me by the hand and led me and my fish to a boat.  He told me that if released the fish by the dock, big fish were there waiting and would just eat them.  “No good luck for you!” he cautioned.  So with Ot’s guidance, I hopped on a boat and headed upstream away from the docks to the middle of the river.  Ot read the prayer card that the fish vendor had given to me in Thai and had me repeat each line. Even with his coaching, I doubt I got it all right, but I figured Buddha would understand.  

I asked Ot to photograph “the release.”  He’s apparently as much of a shutter bug as I am.  Once I turned the camera over to him, it was difficult to get back.  He not only  photographed all three releases of the happy fish (I did one bag at a time), he snapped away as I prepared to release each bag of fish and then shot about twenty photos of me (no kidding!) on the way back to the dock.  

As the sun warmed my shoulders and I smiled for camera-loving Ot, I felt very lucky indeed.

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

Wat Chaiwatthanarum, Ayuthaya

Ayuthaya Thailand (population 90,000), the royal capitol of Siam from 1350 to 1767, has a fascinating history.  It’s located an hour and a half north of Bangkok.  It’s a cheerful little modern city built in an around a beautiful but sad old city.  In its day, Ayuthaya had a population of 1,000,000 and had a reputation for being one of the most amazing cities in the world … and the most “glittery.”  According to Kosoom, the well-traveled Thai lady who owns the lovely 100 year old teak Baan Lotus Guesthouse where I stayed, all of the Buddha statues in the city (we’re talking tens of thousands) and many of the temple stupas (again, the numbers are quite high) were covered in pure gold.  Many of the smaller statues were made entirely of gold.  When the sun glinted off of them, I can imagine that the city must have looked like a giant disco ball.

Burma, historically never on fabulous terms with its Siamese neighbor, invaded Ayuthaya in 1767 and utterly sacked the city. Except for the one temple in which the invading army was staying, the Burmese burned the entire city and destroyed all of the temples. They looted the smaller golden statues and melted the gilded outer layer from the rest.  Kosoom tells me that the gold Shwedagong pagoda in Rangoon (now Yangon) in modern day Burma/Myanmar was manufactured almost entirely from the gold melted by the Burmese in Ayuthaya and taken back to Burma.  

In addition to burning and looting the city and doing unimaginable things to its conquests, the Burmese army did the unthinkable.  Despite also being Buddhist, they melted golden Buddhas and decapitated the majority of the remaining stone ones.  Kosoom contends that this act of utmost disrespect is the reason for all the sorrow and bad luck currently experienced by that most unfortunate country.  The temple ruins in Ayuthaya still house the headless Buddhas.  Oddly, despite being headless, the statues still seemed to me to retain a curious life force. They continually drew my eye (and that of my camera) even after seeing hundreds.  

decapitated Buddha statues

Ayuthaya is surrounded on all sides by water and for this reason was selected to be the then capitol.  The king believed that the moat-like rivers provided strategic protection, making the city was undefeatable (in fact, that’s what the name Ayuthaya means).  Obviously, and very unfortunately for the Thais, he was wrong. 

The water did allow me to take a boat tour of the island city, however, on the first evening I was in town.  Due to global warming, Thailand’s rainy season, which normally ends in September, has drawn on into early November.  The excessiveness of the rains was very evident as our quaint, low-ceilinged boat made its way through the swift brown current.  The waters had already invaded some of the low lying riverside houses, but apparently unsatisfied, was greedily licking its chops over others, already creeping inches onto steps and patios.  It seemed to me that this town was just a few rains away from a serious flood problem.  Sadly, more rain is in the forecast.  Yet, none of the the families seemed to be taking any visible precautions against the waters.  I saw no sandbags, save at Wat Chaiwatthanarum, one important temple ruin site.  Instead, the families of these houses waved and smiled cheerfully at our boat as we puttered past.  As children will, many were making great use of the river’s proximity to their door treating the waters like personal right-in-your-backyard swimming pools.  

kids swimming in the river

Besides getting a voyeuristic peek into the lives of the Thai families who lived on the river, the tour itself was quite interesting. More precisely, the stops were interesting.  Our guide spoke very little English so we didn’t get much in the way of explanation for the three temples we visited. The guide would only quip, “Twenty minutes here” before turning us loose to plunder with our cameras. 

Each of our three stops was on the non-island side of the river.  The first stop on the tour was Wat Phananchoeng, a very active and modern temple.  Before entering the temple, we amused ourselves watching about ten young monks attempting to retrieve a gangplank that normally connected one of the docks to the mainland but which had been submerged by the waters in all the heavy rains.  

the bright lights and "over the top" feel of this "shrine" made me feel like I was in a casino

I wandered around the temple which had at least six different rooms.  As best I could tell, one had nothing to do with another (pretty much “pick your worship spot”) although I noticed that each seemed to get more glittery as they progressed.  The last couple of rooms seemed to me downright gaudy and I immediately dubbed the temple “Buddha visits Las Vegas.” With all the noise and flashing lights, I expected to see slot machines.  The machines were missing, but the opportunity to put money in little slots was not.  

The temple was filled with Thais. All that I spoke with were from Bangkok there to make merit.  I observed them doing so by ringing bells, placing flowers in vases, lighting candles and incense, depositing money in slots and into little note holders that stuck out of a bamboo tree, even placing strands of flowers on and applying gold leaf to many of the thousands of Buddha statues around the temple.  Oh yes, and praying.  In between all the merit making, the dutiful Thais posed for photos in front of the various Buddhas.  The “shhhh, you’re in a church” approach we’re accustomed to in the West doesn’t come into play here. Thais easily and naturally intermingle merit making with merry making.  In the background of all the merit making in one room was the constant sound similar to mariachis shaking.  The source of the percussion was a group of sticks being shaken together in a container.  I’m told that these sticks somehow reveal the week’s winning lottery ticket number.  Undoubtedly, the magic number seeker had made merit in some way before consulting the sticks. 

100 Buddha statues at Wat Putthaisawan

Twenty minutes wasn’t nearly enough in this religious carnival.  Although I didn’t understand most of what I saw and heard, I was still fascinated and could easily have spent an hour or more photographing and chuckling with amusement.  But alas, that’s the pitfall of group tours.  Twenty minutes was up.  Time to move on.  

The second stop was Wat Putthaisawan.  Although it wasn’t more quiet than Wat Phananchoeng, it was less bustling and the sounds were of a different sort.  We had arrived at prayer time and a multitude of monks were cloistered away inside one of the buildings chanting.  I’m not sure how long the chants went on, but they were still audibly perfuming the air when we left twenty minutes after we arrived. 

This temple contained ruins from Ayuthaya’s golden age and the monks’ chants provided a lovely, peaceful backdrop as I took in the sights.  At least it would have if I had been leisurely making my way through the sights. The first stop had given me a reality check on how quickly twenty minutes zips by, so I didn’t linger.  Rather, I practically ran (respectfully of course)  through the vast temple grounds which contained even more camera candy than the first Wat, trying to collect as many visual memories as possible and still be back at the dock on time.  I’m not used to being pressured by time when I photograph.  Although I’m a prolific photographer and naturally shoot fairly quickly, I also like to take time to look around and contemplate what I’m shooting.  Because I didn’t want to keep others waiting, the contemplation element was missing at this venue, but such is life.

head of the large reclining Buddha

I didn’t have time to count and confirm, but I was told that a newer section of this Wat shaped in a square with an open air courtyard contained 100 Buddha statues.  I noticed that each of them had a string tied to one of Buddha’s fingers and running up to the ceiling. I’m not sure what this symbolized, but there was no one around to ask … and I didn’t have time anyway.  Such a shame to be in a hurry.  

I scrambled through the courtyard area (snap, snap, snap with my camera) to my main goal - some old ruins that I had seen from the river.  There I found a number of lovely surprises.  Remnants of an old brick wall stood in a grassy courtyard. Peeking through some windows in the wall were a very large reclining stone Buddha kept company by four smaller seated Buddhas all of which were decked out in the traditional orange yellow robes.    

Beethoven Buddha

I peeked around the wall and saw that I could walk back to the Buddha statues. I wasn’t sure if it was required here, but just in case out of respect I ditched my shoes and visited the Buddhas up close.  Most of the visitors to the temple seemed to be concentrating on the first courtyard so I had this area all to myself.  Although I was hurrying, the absence of other people did make me feel like I could be a bit more contemplative as I clicked away.  

In another part of the ruins, sitting rather unceremoniously in front of a pile of rubble and  behind what looked like a trash bucket (but was actually a sandfilled clay pot in which worshippers could place incense) was an armless, legless statue that looked more like a quadruple amputeed Beethoven than Buddha.  But he had the orange robe on so I had to show respect to the poor chap.  

Once again, twenty minutes flew by and it was time to get back to the dock.  Just as I was headed that way, I noticed a rainbow in the sky right behind one of the old stupa ruins.  I couldn’t resist.  Click, click.  Our boat puttered away to the sounds of the monks’ lovely chants.

Wat Chaiwatthanarum should have been our final stop on the tour but it was inaccessible due to a wall of sandbags placed there because of the threat of flooding.  These temple ruins are probably the most fabulous in all of Ayuthaya and are a favorite sunset destination for many Thais and tourists.  The views from the boat were lovely, but unfortunately we had to settle for just that.

Wat Chaiwatthanarum from the river as we floated by

Wat Kasatthirat became the sunset substitute.  A small, modern temple with no obvious outstanding features (other than it was the temple in closest proximity to Wat Chaiwatthanarum), it clearly paled in comparison to Wat C.  When I have my camera in hand though, I can almost always find some point of at least minor interest to enjoy and photograph.  Sure enough, a collection of orange and silver umbrellas caught my eye; more so a group of ceramic roof tiles on which things had been written (prayers perhaps) before being used.  

Sunsets don’t last long in Southeast Asia (at least not at this time of year).  We went from daylight to dark within fifteen minutes.  So the rest of the boat tour was by the light of lamps at various riverside houses.  Not being able to see much or photograph at all, I think we were all ready to wrap up the tour which ended at the night market.  My fellow tour and guesthouse-mates were a lovely young Swiss couple and delightfuly sweet and energetic Canadian family (Mom, Dad and their three extremely polite little girls).  We’d all spent most of the tour wide-eyed or noses in cameras so it wasn’t until we docked at the market that we actually introduced ourselves and began to socialize.  We all managed to find different things to eat at the market and I commenced a progressive dinner party, joining the Swiss couple first and then migrating to the family table.  

ceramic tiles with prayers written on them

We all shared food with each other so that we got to experience different tastes.  I experimented with a beautiful looking steamed “something” wrapped in a banana leaf.  I was never sure what it was exactly but the it had the texture of a hotdog so I’m assuming ground meat of some kind molded into the leaf.  Probably it was hot at some point but was “room temperature” by the time I got to it.  I finished it (“If it doesn’t kill the Thais to eat it, it won’t kill me” is my current motto.) but didn’t inflict it on anyone.  

Back at Baan Lotus Guesthouse, I got an interesting history lesson from Kosoom about Ayuthaya, Thailand, her neighbors (Thailand’s; not Kosoom’s) and her family (Kosoom’s; not Thailand’s).  When she learned that I used to be an attorney, she excitedly told me that her father had also been a lawyer as well as a judge.  The house that she now used a hotel had been in her family for many generations.  She even pointed out to me the room in which she had been born.  Her name meant Lotus after the gorgeous lotus pond behind the house.  

Baan Lotus lotus pond

Kosoom was very well traveled and spoke excellent English.  She had been all over Southeast Asia and had visited Europe and the United States on several occasions.  She currently has two brothers living in the US, both of whom are generals in the US military.   

She was a font of information regarding travel in Southeast Asia had definite opinions about Thailand’s various neighbors as well as their former colunizers.  She admired the English in part because they left great roads in Burma.  She did not trust the French, frequently describing them as “tricky,” primarily stemming from the current land dispute between Thailand and Cambodia that has the two countries almost at war.  Kosoom told me that when the French occupied Cambodia, they also wanted the Eastern half of Thailand.  “My very clever king,” she called him, “gave France four towns so that the whole of Thailand could stay in one piece.” Yet the French wanted more and drew their maps to reflect Cambodian ownership of a particular temple, Preah Vihear, and the land surrounding it.  Although the French no longer occupy Cambodia, their actions are having present day repurcussions.  Based on maps drawn by the French during the colonial era, the International Court of Justice declared the lands to be Cambodian in 1962.

“This is ridiculous!” Kosoom exclaimed. “The only door and path to enter the temple is on soil that everyone agrees belongs to Thailand.  If the international court had come here and seen this, they would have known that the temple and the land it sits on also belongs to Thailand and that the French maps were misdrawn.”  She got pretty excited and angry discussing the matter.  For a minute, I thought that this fine, well-bred lady was going to spit if either of us said “France” one more time.

Her distaste for the French was excerbated by the fact that Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam have bad roads which she blames on their former “landlord.”  Although I was delighted to let another country take the fall for once, in all fairness, I pointed out that my country probably had a bit to do with the holes in the roads as well.  Kosoom would hear none of it and ended the conversation, bringing it full circle shaking her head and saying “the French are tricky.”    I had done my duty in making my previous observation.  Fine with me to let another country take the hit for a change.

I headed to my room and settled in with my laptop.  I had enjoyed a lovely day in Ayuthaya, but, on reflection, decided I hadn’t seen enough of this charming city.  In particular, I wanted to see the temple that had been off limits due to flooding (there was an entrance on the road side of the temple).  As I drifted off to sleep, I was happy that I would be around a day longer than originally planned.

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

I was motorbiking back from Thong Pha Phum to Kanchanaburi where I rented the motorbike and began my tour of the province when the engine suddenly cut out and I coasted to a complete stop.  It had sputtered at times before but this was the first time that it completely died.  And it wouldn’t start again.  

Within minutes, a very nice young Thai couple pulled over in their pickup truck.  Through miming and my limited Thai, I conveyed the problem to them.  After trying a few different tricks with the bike, the young man also concluded I needed a mechanic.  We loaded the bike and my stuff in the bed of the truck. I was prepared to jump in the cab with them (an unusual opportunity to make new Thai friends, I thought), but they managed to convey to me that they didn’t have any straps to tie down the bike so I had to sit on the bike in the bed and just hold the brakes down to keep it from toppling out.  Basically, I was “riding” the motorbike in the bed of a pickup truck!  THAT was a little scary!  

About five minutes into our trip, my rescuers pulled over to a Buddhist shrine/spirit house on the side of the road and asked me to wait while they prayed. I took the opportunity to say a few of my own prayers … and to put on my helmet “just in case” (although I’m not sure that it would have made much difference).  

Murphy’s Law apparently works in full force all over the world because a mechanic was no where near and within a few minutes of us hitting the road again, it started to rain … hard.  The drops were pelting me as though they were small rocks, stinging my arms and face.  I was more worried about my laptop and camera gear exposed as they were in the truck bed.  I tapped on the back of the cab and shortly my bags were stored safely away and I had donned my not-so-stylish aqua blue rain poncho.  The poncho was semi-effective in shielding me from the driving rain, but we were cruising so fast that the wind whipped the oversized plastic cloak around, choking my neck and threatening to pretend it was a kite, carrying me away.  (My rescuer was probably driving slower than normal, but it still felt fast to me, exposed as I was standing on a motorbike in the truck bed).  

What a sight we must have been  to all the people we passed who stopped what they were doing and stared at the sleek new truck zipping past with a motorbike-riding foreigner in the back donning a windblown aqua cape, like some physically and stylishly challenged superhero-wanna-be.  A glance at my reflection in the rear view window of the cab sparked the realization that the color of my poncho matched my bike perfectly.  Great.  Thwarted superhero analogy complete.  It was an odd thing to notice at the time, given my need to stay constantly focused on balance, but one doesn’t get to choose the timing for most humorous moments.  Murphy was definitely laughing at me.  I was able to join in once I was safely on the ground.  

After thirty minutes of our circus act, we finally reached a mechanic.  My rescuers would not accept any money for their trouble, even though I noticed they drove away in the direction from which we had come so this stop was obviously not en route for them.  I don’t know what village they deposited me in; only that it was about 100 km from my destination of Kanchanaburi.  At the shop, we piled my bags against a pole and I went next door to buy sodas for myself and each of the mechanics (never underestimate a well-timed bribe!).  I sat and watched for 45 minutes as they took my bike apart, trying one thing after another to get it to start.  

They finally diagnosed the problem, but no one in the shop spoke a word of English.  All I could understand was 800 Baht (about $25).  Although this doesn’t sound like much by western standards (oh how I wish ANY of my trips to the mechanic with my car or trailer back in the States were $25!), by Asian standards, it was a very expensive repair. To put it into context, repairing a punctured tire cost $3; cleaning the carburetor $0.50 (probably a serious undercharge) and diagnosing and replacing a spark plug (including the cost of the new plug) $4.  I’m no stranger to motorbike repairs.  So an 800 Baht fix is probably on par with about a $500 one back home.  To justify the expense, the mechanics imported an English-speaking friend who explained that the owner either hadn’t put oil in for a while or hadn’t changed it or whatever you do with motorbikes.  Bottom line, “Oil all gone. Piston stuck.  Won’t move. Bike no start.” 

Although the bike still needed repairing, I was a bit relieved.  If lack of oil was the problem, then the owner was at fault as I had only been driving the bike for 4 days. I had explicitly told the English-speaking owner, Gail (a young, 30-something tiny Thai woman), that I planned to drive the bike over 500 km and asked if the oil was okay for the trip.  She had assured me it was no problem.  So whatever the costs, I should be reimbursed.  

The lawyer in me reared its head and I decided to call Gail before any repairs commenced to explain the situation and confirm that she would reimburse me.  I called both numbers I had for her and kept getting non-English-speaking people who would not put Gail on the phone (maybe she wasn’t there?) and would hang up on me.  So I handed the phone to the mechanic who called.  Eventually, we got Gail on the phone who agreed to reimburse me for the repair charges.  

The mechanic’s shop got very busy all of a sudden.  About five people came in with motorbike problems and my bike just sat there, like a sad exposed skeleton with all its pieces strewn on the floor waiting for some attention.  None came.  After 30 minutes of watching everyone’s bike get serviced but mine, I finally took some action.  After all, it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. The repair looked like it would take a while (it had taken them 45 minutes just to take the bike apart) and I still had to drive about 1.5 -2 hours back to Kanchanaburi and I had planned to stop at an interesting place called “The Tiger Temple” on the way. (The monks at the Tiger Temple began adopting orphaned tiger cubs in the early 90’s, and now had quite a collection of adult tigers on the grounds).  All this, AND I was trying to get back to Kanch before dark as I try not to drive my motorbike at night except in town.  

Somehow the mechanic managed to convey to me that “the company” told them to wait until someone from “the company” called back to authorize repairs (at least this is what I think they were saying.  I’ve discovered in my travels that language barriers often create interesting understandings and misunderstandings).  I had already been at the shop about 3 hours and was starting to feel a bit of time pressure so I handed them a 1000 Baht note hoping they would understand me to be saying  “I’ll pay for it. Just fix it please.”  They refused.  I guess authorization, rather than payment, was the issue at that point.  Who knows.  

So I called Gail back and explained the situation as I understood it and asked her to explain to the mechanics that she was from “the company,” that she authorized the repairs, that I would pay (with the understanding she would reimburse me) and that we needed to get this project moving as soon as possible.  No problem, she told me.  I handed the phone to the mechanic, who after talking to Gail for a while, handed the phone back to me.  

“We have a new plan,” Gail told me.  “The repairs will take a full day so I think you should take a taxi back to Kanchanaburi.  The mechanic has said he will find a pickup truck taxi for you that can also carry the bike and I will pay for it when you get here.”  “You’ll pay for the taxi?” I confirmed.  “Yes, I’ll pay for the taxi.”  

Well, Tiger Temple was definitely out of the picture now (bummer) but I had already gotten to play with tigers in Chiang Mai.  At least now, I’ll get back to Kanchanaburi and can continue with my other plans, I thought.  So we loaded the bike which was pretty much a skeletal frame and many (many many many) pieces at that point in the back of the truck taxi and took off for Kanchanburi. 

Gail runs her motorbike rental operation in front of a massage parlor (the legit kind, not the porn kind … in Thailand you have to specify) run by an old woman.  When I rented the bike, my recollection is that the two women were working together to seal the deal.  To the extent that I thought about it, I would have said the two were mother and daughter.   

When the taxi pulled up, Mom was upset when she saw the bike in pieces.  Gail was nowhere in sight.  At first, Mom and the other ladies (More family? Girls who work in the massage shop? Or maybe it’s all the same thing?) thought I had been in an accident with the bike and I had to slowly walk them through the situation so they realized a mechanic had taken the bike apart.  I showed them my hands and knees so they could see the absence of scrapes … i.e. no accident.

Finally, Gail showed up. The taxi driver was waiting to be paid.  Gail told me that her mother didn’t want to pay for the taxi because she didn’t understand the situation.  She told me that her own money was in her room which was not close.  “Would you please pay for the taxi and I will pay you back?” she asked me.  

My instincts told me not to pay.  After all, Gail already had 2000 Baht of my money that I had given her for a deposit when I rented the bike.  If I paid for the taxi (800 Baht) then she would now owe me about $100 US.  She didn’t seem to be making any attempts to explain the situation to Mom and it all felt very wrong.  

“Let’s have the taxi driver drive us to your room and you can get both his money and my money at the same time,” I suggested.  “He already told me that he won’t take us anywhere until he gets paid for this trip,”  she replied.  Now, the driver was a sweet-seeming 20 year old boy who didn’t seem the type to take such a stand, but Gail had a trustworthy looking face.  She was the only person on sight who spoke English so I didn’t have another interpretation of what the driver had said.  Still, my instincts told me not to pay so, for a while, I refused.  “Mai dai ka,” I said repeatedly (which is a very polite form of saying “I can’t” (which is the way confrontation-avoiding Thais say “I won’t”).  

With no one paying the taxi driver, we all just stood around very awkwardly for about 20 minutes.  I had decided on the drive back to Kanch that, without a motorbike to continue  my trip, I would just take a bus to Damnoen Saduak, positioning myself perfectly to go see the floating markets early the next morning.  The last bus left Kanch at 6:00 pm and it was already 4:30.  Based on the time pressure, I was the first one to cave in. “You promise you’ll pay me back?” I asked Gail stupidly. “Yes, yes. The money is in my room.  I’ll go get it as soon as the taxi is gone.”  I cringe to admit that I didn’t say “Get on your motorbike and go get it now.”  But I didn’t.  I paid the taxi driver and then waited for Gail to return with the money.  

The clock ticked away and it was 5:15 when she returned.  “I loaned the money to my friend and he’s bringing it at 6:00,” was all she said.  I’ve learned from watching others that losing your temper gets you nowhere in Thailand.  Thais won’t yell back if you show your anger. They just slow down if you’re in a hurry or ignore you altogether.  So, although I wanted to give Gail a piece of my mind (she had to have known that she didn’t have the money), I swallowed that reaction, smiled (I was raised in the South of the US after all which was excellent training for Thailand in this regard) and said, “That doesn’t work for me Gail. I would like to take a bus to Damnoen Saduak and the last one leaves at 6:00.  I need the money now. How about if we go to an ATM and you can get the money there?”   “Sure. Let’s go,” she replied, not exactly enthusiastically. 

We hopped on her motorbike and stopped at an ATM on the way to the bus station.  Really? I thought.  Was I REALLY going to get my money back?  I had very serious doubts.  Sure enough, “Not enough money.” Gail told me.  “I could only get 500 Baht.”  Again, in hindsight, I’m not sure why I didn’t insist she give me that amount then as a start.  “I’ll call my sister and she can bring the money.  She can meet us at the bus station,” was her next ploy.  

Hoping that a bus that was about to leave would provide a little extra pressure, I agreed.  We sat and waited by the bus until 5:55 with Gail on the phone every 30 seconds and looking around frantically.  Finally, she told me “My sister misunderstood and is in her room looking for the money.  Wait here and I’ll go get it. I’ll be back in 2 minutes.”  “Whatever” was my attitude at this point.  Actually, that was my attitude on the surface.  Seething anger that this woman was such a con-artist was my attitude underneath the smiling veneer I had learned from the Thais (and my fellow Southerners).  

At 6:15, the bus pulled away … and Gail had obviously stranded me at the bus station as she never reappeared.  Nor did she answer her phone any of the 7 times I tried to call her.  I caught a taxi back to Gail’s shop.  She was very surprised to see me get out, clearly thinking I would get on the bus without my money.  While waiting for Gail earlier in the day, I had befriended some girls who worked in the travel agency next door so I stashed my bags there and recruited one of them to interpret for me.  Although Gail spoke excellent English, her mother and the other women standing around outside the shop did not.  I was not above tarnishing Gail’s reputation at this point to get my money.  

So I told my story which was translated by the sympathetic travel agent.  In addition to outlining all the ways and times Gail had lied to me, I also tallied Gail’s expense list, adding to it some small items I had previously been willing to overlook (the money I paid the mechanic for his time and diagnosis, extra days on my bike contract that I had paid for but couldn’t use because the bike was broken and the taxi fee for returning to Gail’s once she stranded me).  At this point, I was furious (but managed to suppress it) and I was determined to squeeze every baht from this deceitful woman.  All told, she owed me 3300 Baht.  Although everyone else seemed to be sympathetic and Gail didn’t deny that she owed me any of what I outlined, she was also not affected by the pressure I was applying.  Not surprisingly, her reputation was already so low that this little bit didn’t matter at all.  “My friend will come at 9:00 with the money,” she said nonchalantly.  

That was the last straw.  “Gail, I am smiling, but I am not happy. In fact, I am very angry.  You have lied to me, left me at the bus station and now you are trying to steal from me.  I am smiling, but I am also calling the tourist police.”  Finally, some action.  But not from Gail.  Everything I said had been translated by the travel agent and Mom jumped to her feet.      

It turned out, according to the travel agent, Gail’s motorbike rental business wasn’t legit (what a surprise!), but because she operates it in front of/out of Mom’s shop, Mom would get in huge trouble and have her legitimate business shut down for allowing Gail’s illegitimate activities.  They told me that Gail is basically a liar who uses the family and doesn’t care what happens to them. You know the kind.  And “Mom” is actually “Mom-in-law.”  She despises Gail, but loves her son who’s married to Gail.  So I had managed to wander into a little Thai soap opera.

At that point, Gail had just wandered off to someplace.  She didn’t seem to care whether or not I called the police. Mom, on the other hand, was scrambling hysterically. She offered me 2000 baht of her own money as a settlement payment if I would just not call the police.  When I saw how panicked the old woman was, I made up my mind that I would not involve the authorities.  She seemed to be a decent woman who was caught up in a bad, co-dependant family entanglement and I felt sorry for her.  Who of us hasn’t known something similar?  But it irked me that Gail would walk away not paying a penny (or whatever the Thai version of a penny is).  So I countered by saying I would accept Mom’s 2000 baht if I could also have the 500 baht I saw Gail get out of the ATM only an hour earlier.  It was more about Gail contributing something than about the extra money itself although I also wanted to be swindled out of as little as possible.  

“She’s already spent the money on food,” someone said.  “FOOD?!” I exclaimed!  “What in the world could she have possibly bought for 500 baht?! Five hundred baht will feed me for more than five days here!  And she only took it out of the ATM an hour ago.  Get her down here.  She should be part of this.”  Well, it just wasn’t going to happen.  Whether Gail had already spent the money (doubtful) or Mom was just protecting her or had no control over her (likely), I’ll never know.  Mom borrowed an extra 500 baht from the travel agent and I agreed to accept 2500 in lieu of 3300.  Mom was clearly very upset over the ordeal (as was I) and expressed her appreciation for my willingness to work with her and her apologies that I had had such trouble.

Now that I was stuck in town for an extra night, I went to find a hotel while the travel agency gals watched my bags.  When I came back from booking a room, I found Mom sobbing in travel agency office, lamenting to the travel agents that Gail was such trouble.  Mom was upset because she had worked so hard for all that money. (At least that’s what I gathered between what I could understand and what the travel agent told me. Mom spoke very very little English.)  I gave the old woman a hug and she squeezed my hand … and broke my heart.  At that moment I decided that the money, although important to me, meant much much more to this old woman.  

I got out one of the 1000 Baht notes she had given to me earlier and handed it back to her.  She refused it, so I folded it and pressed it into her hand. She didn’t resist this time, but cried even harder and hugged me close.  After a minute, she wiped her tears away, stood up and took my hands.  “Foot massage,” she announced. “No charge. I give,” and she lead me by the hand back to her shop.   

At first, I found it hard to relax and enjoy the foot massage which is normally my favorite kind of massage.  My mind was racing trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.  Were Mom’s tears a scam? Would she really have been shut down or was she just protecting Gail from police involvement?  Why didn’t I think to insist that Gail give me the 500 Baht from the ATM? How could I have handled this entire situation differently so that I got all my money back but from Gail instead of Mom?  

Finally, I gave up.  I thought of my own mother who’s always so sensitive and compassionate toward others.  Although she and Dad would always insist that my brother and I take responsibility for our own actions, they have thankfully never been faced with needing to shield us from the police, although they’ve bailed us both out of sticky financial situations that we were dumb enough to get ourselves into when we were younger.  So I chose to look at the situation from that point and was glad I gave Mom the money.  I continued to think about my Mom as I relaxed into the foot massage (also her favorite kind of massage) and willed the yummy sensations to her feet in Kentucky.  So Mom, if your feet were feeling really good yesterday morning, that was a foot massage courtesy of me and “Mom” all the way from Thailand.  

As I let myself become completely relaxed, I realized that “Mom” and I had each shared with each other what we were able in order to ease our stresses caused by Gail’s bad character.  Although I wouldn’t knowingly walk into the same situation again, some good (and good lessons) came out of it.

———

If you’re traveling in Kanchanaburi and want to get a foot massage from Mom, have a taxi take you to Sugar Cane Guesthouse.  The guesthouse is tucked away down a little alley (and I would give it a 6 out of 10. Nice people. Good price. Needs some refurbishing.) and Mom’s shop (Fah Thai massage) is on the main street right on the corner at the alley entranceway.  The old woman there is … “Mom” … duh (I never got her real name, nor did she get mine).  

Avoid like the plague, however, renting one of the motorbikes out front though and spread the word.  Maybe this way Gail’s business will be adversely affected, without hurting Mom’s.  And if you see a skinny pretty looking girl named Gail, you don’t need to stick out your tongue at her for me or tell her “Shame, shame.”  Undoubtedly, given her bad character, she will have done something recently to warrant it so you can if you want to.  It’s enough for me to know that in her next life she’ll come back as a cockroach.

morning fisherman

When I peeked out my front door the next morning, mist was rising off the lake, partly shrouding a fisherman leaning out of his boat to collect the morning’s catch.  In the thirty minutes I took to shower and dress, the mist was gone, leaving the fisherman fully exposed to my voyeuristic lens.  I grabbed my camera and headed up the road, anxious to start my boat tour of the moody looking waters.  

Lek, my boatman, lead me to a long, narrow, wooden boat with a small engine in back.  Three well-worn woven mats were lying in the middle of the boat, inviting me to settle in and take a ride.  I eagerly accepted the invitation.

Kheuan Khao Lake was formed when three converging rivers were dammed.  In the process, an old Mon village that resided at the confluence of those rivers was flooded and submerged by the lake, a sort of mystical Mon Atlantis.  (The Mon are an ancient ethnic group in Southeast Asia whose territories in years past covered portions of Burma and Thailand.) I had heard that parts of an old temple peeked out of the lake and my imagination ran wild with the imagery I anticipated seeing and capturing with my camera.  

Thailand's longest wooden bridge

First, Lek and I headed for the long wooden bridge that Katrina and I had walked over the previous evening and then we motored out to find the underwater temple remains.   As we motored along the perimeter of the lake, I got a glimpse of families yawning and starting their day: women scrubbed clothes, little boys brushed their teeth.  All were perched at the water’s edge from their floating houses; the lake was deeply interwoven into their lives.  An enormous and elaborate golden chedi gleamed in the background.

The sky was dark and dramatic that morning.  The threat of rain was imminent.  Yet life continued.  Fishermen fished.  A grandfather and grandson made a beautiful team, each seated at extreme ends of a long narrow boat, rowing past rolling green hills dotted with what appeared to be tea plants.  The grandfather noticed me watching them and stopped rowing for an instant to wave and smile. 

As we traveled into deeper water, we passed a strange looking contraption made entirely of wood and ropes.  The floating bamboo platform supported log poles arranged so erratically to my eye that it could have been an abstract art installation.  To the contrary, Lek said it was used to catch fish. 

the "spirit house" looking pagoda protruding from the lake

I was surprised when we reached the underwater temple, which looked nothing like I had anticipated.  What appeared to be a white spirit house with a bright, golden pagoda was lifted out of the water by stone pillars and the wooden framework of something resembling a portico.  Had this once been the entry point to the temple compound?  About one hundred feet from the “spirit house” structure, crumbling stone remains of the temple walls emerged approximately ten feet high from the watery grave above the rest of the temple.  The roof had long since either decayed or been washed away.  The waters were dark on this particular day so my view of the temple consisted exclusively of the stone that managed to escape the lake.  As we puttered around to what had obviously been the front of the temple, the rounded top of a doorway emerged and beside it, a mosaic stone relief that resembled a pagoda. 

Something prompted me to leave my camera gear in the boat, dive into the water and through the door to explore the temple interior and parts of the temple that were currently out my sight.  Maybe it was the gloomy day that cast a foreboding shadow on the idea of such a bold move.  Maybe it was a remnant of my former fear of water that was born after a near drowning experience five years earlier.  Maybe it was the look of fear on Lek’s face when I bounced the idea off of him in charade format.  For whatever reason, I suppressed the instinct and remained in the boat, my imagination still churning with the imagery of crumbling stone Buddhas receiving kisses from multitudes of fish and lake creatures.     

Before heading back to the dock, Lek showed me some limestone cliffs that had been whittled away into beautiful formations by the water over the years.  One cave that had formed was now used as a natural temple. A bamboo ladder lead up to it allowing people to climb up, leave offerings for Buddha and pray.  In this area, there was a fisherman quietly pulling up his nets and stashing a fish or two in his boat.  I love watching the fisherman work.  At some point before my trip is over, perhaps I can convince one to take me with him one morning to either help or at least watch and photograph.  

successful fisherman

After Lek and I docked, I decided to go explore some of the local wats.  I was interested in trying to chat with the monks and learn a little bit more about Buddhism as it is practiced in Thailand. The first temple I went to seemed to be brand new and still under construction.  The door was blocked with plywood. Decorative concrete embellishments to be added to elaborate stone structures were set out to dry on the side of the temple. 

The monks at this particular temple, as in many others, varied in age from about fifteen to seventy.  I saw lots of them moving around in one area of the temple compound so I headed over to say hello. Several of the young monks were brushing their teeth and another seemed to be putting on his robes so I figured this was their living area.  I walked away so I wouldn’t accidentally catch one of them dressing and embarrass us both. 

Adjacent to the “living area,” an older monk seemed to be holding a small ceremony with a woman and her baby.  I waited for them to finish and approached to say hello.  The old monk immediately started indicating that his knees hurt (arthritis perhaps?) and then abruptly turned his back and walked away.  So I hopped on my motorbike and headed over to the other temple that had caused my jaw to drop when I arrived in town the previous day … the one with the very large reclining Buddha.  

man brushing dust from newly cemented pagoda before painting it

I stopped first to admire the nine larger than life (literally) Buddhas seated across the street.  Next to the gravel lot in front of those Buddhas, three new stupas were under construction in various stages, each of them surrounded with bamboo scaffolding.  One stupa received the attention of three workers who were covering the brick structure with concrete, smoothing the concrete and painting it.  The man painting at the top worked in his bare feet which seemed to mold to the concrete that had already been placed and dried.  The workers were friendly and we exchanged hellos and smiles. 

I walked across the street to the temple/monastery itself and found several older monks sitting on benches watching one monk weave some sort of basket onto a bamboo pole.    At first, they were shy but they warmed up after I spoke to the in the limited Thai that I know and invited me to sit with them.  Some younger monks joined us then too and a few began practicing their English with me.  

One asked me if I had seen the monkey and motioned for me to follow him.  Sure enough, I had not misunderstood.  Near the monks’ quarters were two monkeys, a baby and an adult.  Neither my Thai nor their English was good enough for me to understand how they happened to have acquired the monkeys.  Both monkeys wore belts around their wastes onto which a chain about fifteen feet long was clipped.  The baby monkey immediately sprang into action and climbed my leg and then my hair.  He sat on my head and tried to take my glasses off my face.  The monks clearly spent a lot of time playing with this little guy but he still had energy to spare.  He was cute but a handful.  

one of the monks with the baby monkey

The adult monkey didn’t take to me so much.  He was lying on his back enjoying a tummy rub from one of the monks when he spotted me.  His peaceful demeanor was gone in a flash as he jumped up, growled and started to charge me.  I stepped back beyond the length of his chain.  Recalling the monkey bite I sustained in Bali, I was thankful when his chain grew taut and forced a distance between us.  

Many of the monks had gathered around now.  Most kept a little distance from me and smiled shyly, but seemed to watch everything I did.  One of the young monks brought me a puppy to hold and play with.  Another had me write my name and address in one of his books.  He introduced himself to me as Somsit and handed me an envelope that he had pre-addressed to himself, care of the monastery.  He didn’t give me any instructions about what he wanted me to mail to him so I told him I would send copies of the photos I had taken at the monastery that day.  He seemed pleased and offered to give me a tour of the temple and monastery.  

Before we set off on our tour, Somsit unclipped the baby monkey from his chain.  “Don’t worry. He won’t run away. He’ll take the tour with us,” he told me.  Sure enough, the baby monkey stayed with us for most of the tour.  He would sometimes lag behind, distracted with a bug or a piece of string and sometimes he would run ahead and jump up and down on a railing as if to say, “Hurry up!”  So lead by a monk and a monkey, I got a personal tour of Wat Somoet.  Throughout our tour, several monks invited me to take their photos.  That was certainly new … and welcome!  

an older monk posing for his first portrait in twenty years

Seeing that they didn’t mind having their photograph taken, I asked an older monk who was lounging on raised platform whether I could take his picture.  He smiled and stepped into his room.  I took that to mean that he was shy and would rather not, but he re-emerged a minute later with a bright orange robe that he was wrapping around his upper-body.   He didn’t mind having his photo made. He had merely wanted to appear more modest in his portrait. 

He stood very formally next to the platform he had been lounging on just minutes before and posed with a very solemn look.  Another older monk walked up and the first monk grabbed him by the elbow and walked him over to a table where they both posed for me.  To look at the expression on the first monk’s face in the photos, you would think he was an unwilling participant.  He looks so serious, almost slightly scowling.  I thought it a very humorous contrast to know that he not only was willing, but initiated the second portrait with the two monks.  I never captured the first candid composition that had caught my eye when he was lounging on the platform.  In a way though, these portraits were just as good if not better because of our interaction.  

The older monk smiled when I showed him his portaits on my digital camera.  Somsit translated for me that it had been twenty years since this monk had had his photograph made.  It seemed to bring back pleasant memories for him.  

Somsit with the adult monkey

After thanking the monks for their hospitality, especially Somsit, I said goodbye and headed back to my hotel for a bite to eat.  On the way, I passed a group of brightly dressed Muslim children who were happy to pose for a photograph.  Back at the Burmese Inn while enjoying some delicious curry, I noticed some fabulous wooden puppets.  The owner told me they had been made in Burma and advised me to look at the Mon market held every day beneath the enormous gold chedi.  I was smitten with the puppets and was now on a mission to have some of my own.  

The next morning, before heading to the Mon market, I made a quick road trip on my motorbike up to Three Pagodas Pass located right on the border between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar.  On the way, I got a chuckle out of some cattle that walking alongside the road.  One of the cows had picked up a piece of blue cardboard and was carrying it in its mouth; not chewing or trying to eat it, just carrying it.  The other cows were trying to take it away but the cow in possession was defending its treasure.  Weird … and very funny.  

I arrived in Three Pagodas Pass and was surprised to see how small and understated everything there was, including the three pagodas for which the town was named.  Contrary to the information in my guidebook, the immigration officer advised me that the Burmese border was closed and that foreigners were not permitted to cross.  About fifty feet beyond the immigration office were some red and white barricades that stood only about three to four feet high.  No one seemed to stand guard around them.  Beyond the barricades, motorbike and car traffic passed within feet on Burmese soil.  As I was watching, three men simply walked around the back of a building that sat on the border, crossing without incident or notice from the Burmese side of the border into Thailand.  Interesting. 

the unintimidating albeit "closed" border crossing between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar

I walked closer to the barricades and noticed a sign that said “1. ALL FOREIGNERS  2.  WELCOME TO MYANMAR 3. NO VIDEO CAMERAS ARE ALLOWED.”  Of course, I took a photo.  Convinced I would somehow get across the border, I decided to put my rebellious thoughts on the back burner for the moment and did some souvenir shopping.    

I found a number of beautiful sculptures made from sandalwood amid the tacky plastic chotchkies that outnumbered them.  In the process of doing my shopping, I found my way to cross the border.

I noticed that many of the vendors’ stalls opened at the back as well as the front.  Although there were metal gates in the back, these gates looked easy to jump. Immediately on the other side was Burmese soil.  I began talking to one of the vendors who had such a gate in the back of his stall.  As we talked about the border situation, a Thai tourist from Bangkok named Darwed happened up and was also interested in crossing the border.  The vendor told us that Thai people were permitted to go across but foreigners were not.  He himself lived in Burma, but crossed the border each day to work in his souvenir stand.  He seemed to like my rebellious streak and suggested that Darwed and I pose by the gate in the back of his stall while he hopped the fence with my camera and took our picture from Burmese soil.  We happily agreed.  

yours truly on Burmese soil ... for 30 seconds

After he took our photo, he told Darwed, “You know, you can cross if you want to because you’re Thai.”  Darwed was a little nervous and reluctant, but finally did so and I took his picture with Burma as his backdrop.  The vendor then looked to the left and the right and told me, “If you hurry, you can cross too just long enough to have your picture taken.”  I didn’t need a second invitation.  I jumped the gate, had my picture made and crossed back.  Although I don’t have a visa stamp in my passport, I do have a photo to prove that I went to Burma/ Myanmar … at least for 30 seconds.

Darwed and I both thanked the vendor and hopped on our motorbikes back to Sangkhlaburi.  I had to hurry to check out of my hotel.  Darwed was obviously in a bigger hurry because he roared past me and waved.  I passed him when I got the security checkpoint where his bike was being searched.  I was waved through.  “Good luck” I called to him.

Back in Sangkhlaburi, I packed my bags and stored them with the hotel clerk while I ventured to the Mon market in search of the wooden Burmese puppets.  I looked for thirty minutes before I spotted them.  I picked out three that I liked and braced myself for the price.  I had seen some slightly larger the week before at a market in Bangkok where the seller was asking 3000 baht each (about $100). My jaw hit the floor when this vendor offered to sell me all three puppets for 1000 baht total.  “Wrap them up,” was all I said.  I was thrilled with my bargain.  

rustic Burmese puppet

While my puppets were being wrapped, I explored Chedi Luang Phaw Uttama, the temple connected with the golden chedi that loomed over the Sangkhlaburi landscape.  I marveled at the architecture and photographed the variety of sculptures of oversized Buddhas in the temple parking lot.  

Thirty minutes later, I was on the road waving goodbye to Sangkhlaburi and headed back to Thong Pha Phum.  Between the friendly people, interesting history, shared border and culture with Burma and stunning landscape, Sangkhlaburi is the kind of town I could easily live in for a year or so.  It was with great regret that I left after only two and a half days, but I was meeting a friend in Bangkok and had a few more stops to make on the way so it was time to move on.  The road was calling my name.

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

At long last, I now have video uploaded from my time at Thom’s Elephant Camp in Pai.  If you’d like to see it, click here.

Kanchanaburi Province (and beyond) motorbike trip plan

Kanchanburi province in Thailand lies west of Bangkok and butts up against the Burmese border. The province (similar to a state) gets few tourists compared with the rest of the country, but reputedly had beautiful mountains, rivers and waterfalls and, the further west one travels, a “wild west” kind of feel. So I rented a motorbike (what else?!) to explore. A quick note of gratitude is in order to Couchsurfer Melly-Mel who gave me the idea to take this fabulous trip. Thanks Mel!

The city of Kanchanburi (not to be confused with the province of the same name) is known worldwide for its famous Kwai River and even more famous bridge that crosses it. The town was the hellish home for a number of Allied POWs and conscripted Southeast Asians during World War II. From this base, thousands of prisoners built the railroad known as the Death Railway linking Thailand to Burma/Myanmar to provide an alternate supply route for the Japanese. More than 100,000 of those prisoners died because of the cruel, brutal treatment they received at the hands of their captors. A small number of those are buried at the Allied War Cemetary also located in Kanchanburi.

The day I arrived in the town of Kanchanburi (Kanch for short), it was raining so I didn’t get to see much of anything. I had given a temporary home to a woman I met on the bus who’s wallet turned up missing (she thought she left it at her hotel back in Bangkok). She was quite sweet … but snored so I didn’t get much rest that night. The next morning, after seeing her to the bus station, I caught a quick nap so I wouldn’t snooze on my motorbike. When I woke up, I was more in the mood to get moving than to do much museum-type sightseeing so, other than stopping to take photos of the infamous Bridge over the River Kwai, I postponed the War Memorial sightseeing for my return to Kanch the next week and took off for Thong Pha Phum.

TPP is about 150 km from Kanch with many opportunities between the two to pull off to see waterfalls, hotsprings and tigers. Well, actually, there’s only one opportunity to see tigers. In the early 1990’s, monks at Wat Luang Ta Bua Yanna Sampanno (aka Tiger Temple) began taking in tiger cubs orphaned by poachers who killed their mothers. Word spread about the monk’s unusual collection and now they have many adult tigers (babies do grow up!) roaming the property … supervised, of course.

THE Bridge over the River Kwai

I had enjoyed playing with the tigers in Chiang Mai last month and was curious to visit the Tiger Temple. I remembered the severe allergies I had to those tigers, however, and decided it was best to visit on my way back as the Tiger Temple is just on the outskirts of Kanch. Better to have a sneezing fit 30 minutes from my hotel rather than 2.5 hours away was my way of thinking.

I did plan to stop at some of the waterfalls though but the rain must have followed me from Kanch. It caught up with me about an hour into my drive and stayed with me for a full hour as well. My growling stomach made me finally call “Uncle” and I pulled over to an open-air roadside restaurant. The owner hospitably let me pull my bike under the covered area by the tables so that I didn’t have to unload all my gear which had previously been covered by my oversized, stylishly-challenged rain poncho.

My jeans and tennis shoes were completely soaked. I was famished. I was cold and feeling pretty miserable. A family already seated at one of the two tables took pity and invited me to join them. I waited and waited but no menus were brought. The owner, since inviting me to keep my bike dry, had disappeared. “Gin?” I asked. I forget if that means food or eat, but my tablemates got the point. They shouted something (to the invisible restaurant owner?) and held up their hands, signaling me to be patient.

I tried to be patient, but I had skipped breakfast that morning and needed something in my cold, wet tummy at that moment. As many Thai restaurants do, this one also had snacks in handy packages so I grabbed a few and passed them around the table. That took the edge off while we waited for who knew what. Well, to be accurate, my dining companions knew what we were waiting for but because of the language barrier, I had no idea.  It was pouring out and I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

Four kids were sitting at the next table watching what appeared to be a knockoff version of “Little Mermaid” in Thai. Or maybe it was a sequel. In this version, it seemed that instead of being a mermaid who wanted to be human, Ariel was a human wanting to be a mermaid. A skinny version of the underwater octupus witch was busy trying to capture her soul. It was amusing. Since none of us adults could communicate with each other beyond smiling and sharing some snacks, we were engrossed in the shoddy cartoon as much as the kids were.

Finally, out of the blue, the restaurant owner appeared again with two bowls of hot steaming broth-based soup which she handed to the couple sharing my table. The woman kindly passed hers to me. I guess this soup was all that was on the menu for the day as the owner immediately returned with another bowl for the woman. The kids all got the same thing too. Fine with me. Hot soup is just what I would have ordered anyway.

They all watched in eager anticipation as I took my first bite, concerned it would be too spicy for me and ready to fall out of their seats laughing if indeed that was the case. But I love spicy food. So far, nothing I’ve eaten in Thailand has been too spicy for me, which has surprised and delighted me. So the soup was fabulous. Although my feet and legs were still cold and wet (why hadn’t I worn my quick dry clothes that day?) I was warm and toasty inside. Before Little Mermaid’s Thai sister was over, the rain stopped. The family and I all took that opportunity to leave. We hadn’t shared conversation, but we had shared food, shelter in a storm and bad cartoons so hugs were exchanged before we each motored on in opposite directions.

I passed a very tempting hot springs 30 km before Thong Pha Phum but knew I would only want to fall asleep after getting out. It was safer to drive on and spend the money for a hotel with a hot shower in town. I had a good imagination. A hot enough shower could easily be a hot spring.

view of the mountains driving into Thong Pha Phum

Between Kanch and TPP, the road was not curvy and mountainous as I had anticipated. It was straight and flat. The scenery was nice but nothing out of the ordinary either. All that changed when I arrived in TPP. TPP is a tiny town nestled in among some limestone mountains with jagged edges on top. There’s a lovely brown river (you’d have to see it to believe it) that flows through town, a golden pagoda sits on top of the mountain and the whole thing is just gorgeous.

Given my late start and the rain delay, I didn’t pull into TPP until 4pm. Although late October in Thailand generally feels more like August back home with its heat and humidity, the overcast skies and my still freezing feet reminded me of cold fall days when I just want to crawl under the covers. So that’s what I did. I found a hotel with hot water and tried to pretend I was in a hot spring while I showered. Unfortunately, the water didn’t get quite hot enough and the pressure left much to be desired so I toweled off, climbed into some clean dry clothes and burrowed under the covers in my bed. I napped a bit and journaled a bit until my stomach advised me it was time to stop being a hermit.

I headed for the night market anxious to meet some people and fill my tummy. I was successful in the latter but not the former. TPP doesn’t get many non-Thai tourists. One hotel owner was apparently so stunned to see me that she couldn’t comprehend that I wanted a room. I literally had to walk to a bungalow, point at myself, mime sleeping and point at the bungalow door before she caught on and opened the door for me to see. Alas, cold water. Mai pen rai.

border crossings and waterfalls ... all enroute to TPP

The folks of TPP, who I’m sure are lovely people, were no less stunned to see me. I was able to purchase food, but no one seemed to want to have anything to do with me otherwise. They didn’t even stare as often happens in less touristy places. They just looked away and ignored me. I didn’t get my feelings hurt, but neither did I have the energy that evening to try to break through this invisible barrier so I took my chicken back to my room and ate it there. Don’t feel bad for me! In the privacy of my room, I was able to lick my fingers and gnaw on the bone.  Yummy!

The next day, I was looking for internet access before heading out of town. It had been several days since I had checked in and I like to keep my family informed of my whereabouts and let them know I’m safe. The last they’d heard from me was that I was traveling by motorbike toward Burma in an area where few tourists go. Definitely needed to check in.

this view was about 1000 times more beautiful than I've managed to capture

I stopped at the Department of Tourism to ask about internet access. Here’s where the shiny happy people of TPP lived! They told me that the only internet cafe in town had closed, but that I was welcome to use their office computer to send email. When they discovered I had a laptop, they fixed me up with comfy space in their lobby and helped me tap into their WiFi. I had been there fifteen minutes happily downloading and reading the 600+ emails that had accumulated since I was last online when one of the employees turned on the fan behind me to make me more comfortable. Another fifteen minutes passed and a woman brought me a glass of ice water. Holy cow! These people were fabulous! They wanted to practice their English with me so between sending and receiving emails, I chatted with several of them. By the time I left, I felt I had a town full of friends. Since there was only one main road to the Burmese border and back, I knew I would have to pass through TPP again and looked forward to it.

The drive and views between TPP and Sangkhlaburi were stunning. Just outside of Sang, I stopped at a  “viewpoint overlook.” I accidentally walked up on a man using the overlook as a reststop so the view didn’t start out so great. After he was gone, however, the views took my breath away. They were nothing short of epic. There was a massive lake with many many bright green islands spread throughout. Mountains upon layers of mountains served as a steadily fading backdrop. For some reason, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings came to mind. I still can’t explain why because they didn’t show this kind of scenery there. I just keep coming back to the word epic. It’s a strange word to use to describe landscape and yet that’s what seems to fit. I did my best to photograph it and I’ll share that with you, but will also tell you up front that I utterly failed to capture the gloriousness of what I saw.

the valley just outside of Sangkhlaburi

The eye candy just kept getting better and better as I got closer to Sang. Further down the road on the same massive lake were floating villages. Further beyond that I came to the edge of the lake where it seemed to turn to rivers or smaller lakes running through a lush green valley that reminded me of photos I’d seen of Ireland. It was certainly green enough to be the home of leprechauns. I was moved to say “Wow!” out loud more than ten times during that drive. I was so glad I was on a motorbike and could stop and enjoy it all at my own pace. 

All of this was merely a prelude to the giant photo opp that was Sangkhlaburi. As I pulled into town, I was greeted by a reclining Buddha that was at least one hundred feet long. Across the road from him were nine more very large seated Buddhas with different hand positions. The temple next to the reclining Buddha was the most beautiful I’ve seen to date in Thailand. The style was different than others I’d seen. Perhaps this is the Burmese influence being so close to the border, I thought.

Buddhist cemetery

Things like this are like a magnet for me and my camera. I easily get lost in them for hours. I forcibly tore myself away to go look for a hotel before it got dark. The Burmese Inn had reasonably priced bungalows right on the lake with a pretty view of bridge spanning the water. Sold. After dumping my bags at the Burmese Inn, I motored off to explore. I found another temple with beautiful structures I mistook for spirit houses and later learned they are a kind of Buddhist headstone holding the ashes of a deceased person. I had wandered into a Buddhist cemetery!

 While I was photographing the cemetery, a western woman walked past on the road and we waved hello to each other. On my way back down the hill, I came upon her and offered her a ride. Her name was Katrina and she was from Cleveland, Ohio. She was a nurse volunteering her time in the area for ten weeks. We immediately clicked.

We drove to the bridge viewable from my lakeside bungalow. From there, I could see more floating villages and also the longest wooden bridge in Thailand. I was inclined to stop and photograph, but was enjoying Katrina’s company so I kept my camera in my bag. That bridge isn’t going anywhere, I thought. After crossing the first bridge, we headed onto the second, longer wooden one. It was lovely in a quaint rustic way, but was also a twisted ankle waiting to happen. Each time I was tempted to look at the sights around me or at Katrina as we talked, I would be reminded by an ill-spaced board that my eyes needed to be fixed downward.

front view of the stunning temple

When we arrived on the other side of the bridge, men with solid color vests kept asking us “motorbike?” I thought they were offering to rent us a bike and started to decline since I already had one. Katrina knew better. She told me that these guys were moto-taxi drivers and were offering to take us to the top of the hill to see a temple. “We should do it,” she encouraged. “Sure! Let’s go!” I was happy to have some company after my last few days of solo travel.

We each hopped on the back of a motorbike and zipped off. The drivers took us to a different temple than the one Katrina had been expecting so it was a nice surprise for her too. The temple compound was huge and fantastic. Again, I noticed a different architectural style than I’d seen elsewhere in Thailand. We both snapped away with our cameras comparing notes about what we’d seen as we did.

At some point we wandered in different directions and I found a monk with a dozen or so temple boys. I chatted with the monk for a bit and then the boys asked me to take their photo. Sangkhlaburi, I love you! Their laughter caught Katrina’s attention who tickled them by also taking their photo.

energetic temple boys

The temple complex was so big there were actually three different temples in it. We made our way into the second temple which was still open. One man was praying so we looked around quietly. I was interested to find the tusk of a wooly mammoth on display. First, you just don’t see one of those every day. Secondly, why had they displayed it in a temple? Some of things I find in Buddhist temples amaze me … like large, plastic-wrapped Hello Kitty dolls sitting right up on the alter/shrine with Buddha. Strange. Comical.

Apparently the man praying was the temple custodian and was ready to retire for the evening so he chased us out and closed the doors. No problem. We found our way to the third temple where we both got tickled at a monk talking on his cell phone. After making the temple rounds for who knows how long, we were ready to head home but discovered our taxis were apparently only one-way as the guys had gone. On the walk back, we saw a number of taxis driving the many monks back to the monastery. We flagged one down as he came back down the hill and asked if he would take us to the bridge. He spoke no English, but motioned for us to climb aboard. It was the first time I’d seen a motorbike with a makeshift sidecar other than ones used by food vendors. Katrina and I hopped aboard.

I didn’t know my way around as I’d just arrived. Katrina felt that the taxi was heading in the wrong direction and kept trying to redirect him. We weren’t sure whether he understood that we wanted to go back to the bridge and at one point almost got off to find our way on our own rather than try to direct in a language that we didn’t speak or one that the driver didn’t understand. Out of nowhere, the bridge appeared. We cheered happily which pleased the driver. When we asked how much we owed him for the lift, he refused payment. Turns out, he wasn’t a taxi driver afterall; just a nice man who had said yes when two travelers had flagged him down and asked for a ride. Sangkhlaburi, you’re my kind of place!

Katrina and the "non taxi driver"

Katrina was about to finish up her 10 week stint shortly and was on the hunt for gifts to take back home. While she shopped, I chatted with one of the souvenir vendors who was closing up shop. I helped her put her things away and she gave me a cute little plastic ring. Good feelings were rolling all around.

I invited Katrina to join me for dinner and she in turn invited me to join her and her friend Kathy cook dinner at the team office where Kathy stayed. Girls’ night in! Excellent! Kathy pretty much had all the food cooked by the time we got there. Karma was definitely working in my favor. I had been craving roasted chicken (one of the flavors I miss from home) and that’s exactly what she was serving.

We made fruit shakes for dessert and then Katrina broke out some sweets from home. Her family had recently sent her a care package with flavors from the States that she had been missing. Apparently we think alike because she had a box of unopened Nutty Bars. That generous, generous woman sent me home that night with THREE of them, among other things (they didn’t make it through lunch the next day) justifying her gift by telling me that she would be enjoying those tastes a lot sooner than I would. What a gal!

We had a fun visit and I looked forward to my next day in Sangkhlaburi.

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

quintessential Pai

Pai was a particularly magical place and I thoroughly enjoyed the two weeks I spent there. It’s such a small friendly town that after only staying two weeks, I felt like I had lived there for years. Everywhere I went, I saw someone I knew, both locals and fellow travelers alike. Pai and the people I met during my stay there awakened Thailand for me. Before I left town, Daniela, my German traveling companion, and I decided to launch some “wish lanterns” as I had seen people doing on the night I arrived in Pai.

As I understand it, wish lanterns originated in China, but are widely used in the northern parts of Thailand which are strongly influenced by the Chinese. The lantern is made of tissue paper which is wrapped around the sides and top of a wire frame. A flammable wax circle is attached to the bottom of the frame. When the wax is lit, it basically works like a hot air balloon capturing the hot air inside the lantern causing it to fly up, up and away. When it does, the fire inside creates a warm, mystical orange glow. People who use the lanterns believe that you can make a wish on them and send your wish to heaven or, alternately, you can put all your bad luck on them and send it far away from you.  To see video of Daniela and I launch our wish lanterns along with our friend Nook’s help, click here.

On the whole, I’ve been feeling pretty lucky lately (it’s not every girl who gets to take seven months to travel around Southeast Asia) so I made a wish on my lantern. It was enchanting to watch it fill with hot air and float away, high into the sky.

Soi One Grand Opening

My last night in Pai before heading to the elephant camp, I attended a party. A new boutique of shops was holding their Grand Opening two doors down from The Good Life (home of campucha!). Daniela had lent her graphic design expertise and designed the invitations which were distributed all over town. Not surprisingly, the hosts presented guests with delicious food, great music and exceptionally stylish ambiance. When the power went out (which happens frequently in Pai) the party continued by candlelight. So many of my favorite people that I had met in Pai were there, including a few of the guys from my Muay Thai boxing class who surprised me and showed up.

I thought it was especially fitting as I walked home that night (I had turned in my motorbike earlier in the afternoon) that a woman who had given me a massage a few days earlier stopped as she passed me on her motorbike and gave me a lift home. On the way, we passed people on the bridge sending off their own wish lanterns. It was all quintessential Pai.

open 7pm ... a fun sign found in Pai

Of course, not every moment in life is magical and I’m not always lucky. That evening began a series of seven sleepless nights which will drive even the sanest person a bit crazy. Among the funniest reasons for my insomnia (if you can find humor in not being able to sleep) … torrents of rain poured down starting around midnight my last night in Pai. Remember that charming thatched roof I had? Well, I discovered they’re not so charming when it rains that hard. Minutes after the rain started, drops of rain splashed intermittently on my forehead and cheeks. This continued torturously for the rest of the night. (And yes, it did the same on my feet as well so turning the other direction in my little twin bed was not an option).

Despite that incident, I was very sorry to leave Pai. I left on October 22 and headed to Mae Taeng to attend the birthday party of a lovely Thai woman, Yao, whom I had met and clicked with the previous week at my Pai guesthouse. She and her husband operate an organic cooking school and coffee shop (You Sabai) next to an organic farm where they frequently volunteer their time (Pun Pun). I took the bus from Pai to Mae Malai, a small town where Crit, Joe and Nate (Yao’s husband, Pun Pun owner and Joe’s brother-in-law respectively) picked me up and gave me a lift to the You Sabai/ Pun Pun farms. The gusy were in Mae Malai running errands for both birthday party supplies and materials to build a solar water heater at Pun Pun. In the course these errands, (which ended up filling the back of Crit’s truck to almost overflowing) we stopped at two of my favorite places … a food market and a hardware store.

While Crit placed his orders at the food market, I wandered, munched and photographed. Although I had eaten lychees before, I discovered what they look like in their “shell” … beautiful and exotic. To date, on this trip I have eaten six new types of fruit that I never tried or (many) never knew existed: salak, durian, jackfruit, mangosteen, pomello, and dragonfruit. Of course I’ve also delighted in many fruits that I already knew and loved; mangoes, passion fruit and pineapple being my favorites.

lychees in the Mae Malai market

At the hardware store, while Joe and Nate were measuring and debating on the water heater supplies, I browsed and found some delightful pieces of metal cut from recycled aluminum that are somehow used in roofing here. I loved both the shapes and designs on the cans from which they were cut … and bought all that the hardware store had! These will be perfect to use in some of my mixed media art pieces!

Several hours later, after the guys had finished all their errands (and they think we girls spend a long time shopping!), we finally headed for the farm. Due to space limitations at You Sabai, my home away from home was at Pun Pun. Joe and his wife Peggy who run Pun Pun have really put a lot of effort into making everything on their farm natural in every respect.

my adobe home for the night at Pun Pun organic farm

The bungalow that I stayed in was made of adobe and had a thatched roof. They built shelves into the adobe - some were hollowed out of the walls and others were built to extend out from the wall. Even my bed was made of adobe … with a mattress pad and mosquito net. They had cleverly installed old glass soda bottles in parts of the adobe walls that guests could use for hooks to hang towels, etc. In keeping with their “back to nature” mentality, the hut had no electricity. A hemp hammock hung from two posts outside for guest enjoyment. I found some quiet time to laze away in it and read a book. It was all very charming … and one step above camping. 

On the walk to the party, we had to pass through an orange farm that, interestingly, operated in a manner completely opposite to that endorsed and practiced by the two organic operations on either side of it. They planted crops in such a way that erosion was a big problem. Rather than planting a variety of crops to reduce pests, this farm utilized only one type of crop (mono planting) and, as a result, used pesticides heavily. The orange trees grown there were a new hybrid type that grew more fruit than the tree could support on its own and depleted the soil of its nutrients so that the land would be rendered relatively useless within a few years. Listening to the discussion among these people who were well educated about self-sustanance was certainly an education for me.  

with Michelle (my "bungalow mate") and Yao

The party for Yao that evening was lovely. Many very interesting and eclectic people from all over the world were there and I enjoyed visiting with so many of them. One of the guys, Justin, from Yao and Crit’s cooking school whipped up all the food for the evening so, no surprise, it was AMAZING!!! People had also brought red wine (which I hadn’t tasted in a while and had missed) and then someone broke out some homemade rice wine … wow! One of the guests presented Yao with a homemade passion fruit cake which was passed around and seemingly inhaled by the group. Could this get any better? This was easily one of the best meals I’d had in the past three months. It was a fabulous evening, but my previous sleepless nights were taking their toll so I decided to turn in early. It was dark and raining when I left the party, but someone loaned me a flashlight (which they call a torch here) and I was convinced I could find my way back to my hut.

Remember that erosion problem the middle farm was having? Well, I can tell you first hand that they have serious issues. The rain, which was steady but not pelting, had formed small rivers that were cutting deep ruts into the dirt road that was the path back to Pun Pun. I slipped and fell in the mud and water several times as I walked/slid down the steep hill. At the bottom of the hill, I came to a dead end which I hadn’t expected and, in the dark, I couldn’t find the path to my hut. Rather than risk getting lost, I headed back to the party a little frightened, but mainly frustrated.

A thoughful guy named Zach, whom I had met the previous week in Pai, escorted me home. The rain had gotten worse and we both slipped and fell in the mud even worse than I had done on my way down the first time. I concluded that falling almost face first in the mud is much more fun when someone else does it with you. Nonetheless, my jeans, shoes, hands and arms were caked by the time I got home. Somehow my one-of-a kind shirt that I had bought just before leaving Pai managed to escape unscathed.

I showered off, changed into my pajamas (ah, fresh and clean again!) and crawled under the mosquito net onto my adobe bed for what I hoped was a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, the adobe beds, though quite natural, didn’t produce a very natural sleep for me. The mosquitoes that managed to invade my net didn’t help either. (I discovered in the morning light that there was a large hole in the net rendering it pretty ineffective). So, sleepless night number three. 

the breakfast gang in You Sabai cafe

The next morning, I headed back up the eroded dirt road which had dried considerably in the short time since I had made it my personal slide. Several of us gathered with Yao at her cafe for a leisurely breakfast and coffee. Yao reminded me that she had forty monks coming the following day for a class making soap, shampoo and other items by hand. As a result, they would need my room. Although I had been looking forward to visiting with Yao longer, I can’t say that I was sorry to give up the adobe bed.

A charming lady, Jah (far right in the “breakfast gang” picture), and her friend Mike (third from the right in the same photo) offered me a ride back to Chiang Mai … after they got their truck unstuck from the storm’s greedy mud. I had visited a bit with Jah and Mike the night before, but of course got to know them better on the ride back to the city. They are both teachers at Chiang Mai University. Jah is a full time tenured professor who teaches Thai to foreigners and English to Thai students. Mike, who’s British, is a part-time English teacher for Thais. Although we had just met, Jah generously invited me to stay at her apartment while I made my next travel plans. Her parents were visiting from out of town so she basically turned over the keys to her apartment to me during my stay. I greatly appreciated her trust and her generosity. We did have a chance to have some delightful visits before I left Chiang Mai and, in a short time, found a kindred soul and made a friend for life in this tremendously bright, independent and spirited woman.  

beautiful offerings for sale in the Chiang Mai flower market

On October 24, I took an overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. Ten hours. Illadvisable. The flight between the two cities takes an hour and costs only about $40-50. I’m not sure why I didn’t do that … trying something new I guess. Chalk up sleepless night number five (the night before was my own fault … I intended to go to bed early but lost track of time catching up with friends and family on the internet). I blame sleepless night number six (Bangkok) on the karaoke blaring from the first floor of my hotel. Sleepless night number seven (Kanchanaburi) was due to my roommate … a girl I met on the bus to Kanch lost her wallet and didn’t have money for a hotel. Unfortunately, she snored. No good deed goes unpunished, eh?

But finally in Thong Pha Phum, my week-long streak of sleep-deprived zombie-dom came to an end. It also began my interesting week-long motorbike ride around the Kanchanaburi Province….

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

a curious trunk explores for bananas

Some kids go to summer camp.  Some go to Spanish, Bible or Hebrew camp.  This kid went to elephant camp.  

I spent the majority of two days last week at Thom’s Pai Elephant Camp riding and playing with elephants.  Although the big guys (or gals in this case) were cool, I’m afraid I can only give elephant camp a 5 out of 10.  

Along with six other people, I kicked off the first morning feeding bananas to a group of four elephants, all girls.  The elephants go absolutely nuts for bananas and to get them, they performed many tricks, some orchestrated, some not.  One elephant would play the harmonica.  Another would stick out her tongue.  Anything for a banana.  I was trying to solicit a hug from one (just hold the banana behind your back and she’ll wrap her trunk around you in an elephant version of a bear hug) when her neighbor decided to get in on the action.  In a matter of seconds I had trunks swirling all around me, tickling and playing tug of war with me trying to get at the bananas.  Unlike the Balinese monkeys and despite the size difference, however, it was all in good fun.  I sustained no bites or stomped toes.

Then we climbed aboard and went for a two hour elephant ride.  To get on their back, some of the elephants permit you to stand on their trunk and they hoist you up over their heads.  Others extend a leg as your route to their back.  My elephant, Ot (which ironically means “Little Frog” preferred the former.  Ot earned her bananas that day giving 3 of us a lift for the tour.  Except for a blanket, we basically rode bareback.  

Ot gives me a quick lift to my room ... and a photo opp

Some things surprised me about the elephants. Their trunks, which they use playfully as well as to snatch food, are not soft as I’d thought they would be.  In fact, there’s nothing soft about an elephant (except for their tongues).  They are rough and scratchy with 3 inch long prickly hairs that feel surprisingly close to a toilet brush.  Imagine two hours of this toilet brush abrading your calves as every two seconds a rock hard spine bangs against one side of your tail bone and then the other … and you’ve got yourself an elephant ride.  Oh, I forgot the roller coaster portion where we headed down a steep slope with nothing to hold on to.  Although Ot was incredibly careful with her footing, gravity just didn’t permit we three riders to remain in our original positions.  We all slid down toward the head and ended up piled on poor Ot’s neck. I was convinced that we would all topple down her trunk at any second - it was really quite frightening.  Sweet Ot  was gracious about the whole thing allowing us to re-situate when we did finally make it to the bottom of the hill.  Although, later at the river, she was following orders when she repeatedly hosed us down with water and then shook us off her back, dumping us in the water, I’m not convinced that she didn’t do so happily as a little bit of payback.  

So I have to conclude that in general, elephant riding isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.  As I reflect on all the photos I’ve seen of Asian kings being carried in regal style on a pachyderm, I find it hard to believe that monarchs would allow themselves to be so abused.  Needless to say, although the exorbitant funds I paid to attend elephant camp included as much riding as I wanted, the first experience was more than enough and I passed on the rest.  

banana tree snacks

As a result, playing with the elephants became the highlight of elephant camp.  I soon discovered, however, that in the absence of bananas, the elephants are generally uninterested in much interaction … and it wasn’t long before the camp ran out of bananas.  Looking for something to do, I was happy to accompany some of the camp employees who said they were going to chop down bananas.  That should be interesting, I thought. Turns out, they chopped down entire banana trees!  No surprise if I really thought about it - elephants eat EVERYTHING afterall.  I was interested to see that banana trees are really more of a large plant than a tree.  Their stems have large cells with lots of water; not woody at all.  I counted 27 banana trees that were loaded into the pickup truck.  The driver told me that what seemed like a large number of trees to me would only last the camp’s four elephants one day! 

Later in the day, I went with the mahouts (elephant handlers) to “put the elephants to bed in the jungle” (this is phrasing from the camp advertisement).  The girls were walking single file down a narrow path and I was walking behind them talking with one of the mahouts when I had the once in a lifetime (I hope!) experience of being farted on by the last elephant.  NOT one of the camp highlights!  I can tell you from first hand experience that elephant farts are WAY stinkier than dog farts … and we all know how bad those can be!  

Thom's Pai Elephant Camp

Smelly wind instruments aside, the elephants and the mahouts were great and I give them two thumbs up.  Thom’s Elephant Camp doesn’t fare so well.  I never got the “elephant training” instruction that I paid for and repeatedly asked for.  Additionally, the camp was amazingly stingy with their resources.  My fees included 3 meals a day.  By my choice, I only ate one of those each day, but was hunted down like a thief for 15 baht (about $0.40) when I took a soda from the fridge.  Also, despite there being many empty bunglalows available, Thom insisted I share her bungalow since a shared bungalow was what I had paid for.  Two other “long-timers” at the camp also expressed some displeasure toward the end of their stay regarding similar issues.  Bottom line … if you’re in the area, stop by and feed the elephants bananas (which you can do for free), go for a ride if the above description appeals to you but otherwise, save your money and skip the camp. 

Now that I’ve checked monkeys, tigers and elephants off the list, I guess I need to seek out some bears … or maybe the elusive Irawaddy dolphin.

Videos from elephant camp coming soon … I hope!

fried worms/caterpillars

Have you ever considered how gracious you could/would be if someone hosted you for dinner and presented a big plate of fried grub worms as the premier dish?  Believe it or not, I did consider that a number of years ago when I was reading an article about food in Africa … and I was dying to go to Africa.  I concluded at the time that I would not be able to stomach it and would have to find a way to politely refuse.  I found out first hand tonight that I was wrong. 

I went out for another of my beloved “windy mountain road” drives today, this time headed toward Chiang Mai.  Thirty minutes out of Pai, I came across one of the ubiquitous armed guard checkpoints.  This time I was determined to charm the scary men with guns.  We had some initial confusion. I misunderstood the question “Where are you coming from?” to mean where I was literally coming from, not my country of origin, so that warranted a passport inspection.  

While the one guard was checking my papers, another was inquiring whether I was a Christian.  Rather than get into a discussion about spirituality which I was certain would be misinterpreted, I answered with a simple “Yes. Are you Buddhist?”  “Yes, Buddhist.”  For some reason, intuition told me I should wear my string “Buddha protection” necklace given to me by the monk from my previous road trip.  I pulled it out from under my shirt and showed the guard. “Look! Buddha!” I said hoping to make a connection.  He smiled and pulled three large amulets on a chain from under his shirt.  “More Buddhas,” he laughed.  When I asked whether I could take his picture with his Buddha amulets, all the guards cracked up.  I got my passport back … and a great photo.  

Thai checkpoint guard showing off his Buddha amulets

I continued on my way, anxious to find all the roadside stands that I remembered from my bus trip to Pai on this very road.  Like the road to Mae Hong Son, this one was incredibly twisting with many hairpin curves.  I have definitely improved my motorbike skills since driving in Bali.  Unlike those amazing Balinese mountain roads that were wasted on me a month ago (I tooled along at a pathetic 5-10 kpm), I embraced these curves with gusto.  Safe gusto (so don’t worry, Mom and Dad!) … but gusto nonetheless.  In fact for the first hour of the trip, it was all about the driving because there were no roadside stands in sight.  

Another thirty minutes of driving and my gas tank was just a little below half full. Someone had told me that there was a gas station 50 km out of Pai.  Where was it?  I still had a way to drive and wanted to make sure I’d have plenty of gas to get back.  I was, of course, looking for a full sized station (the gas-in-a-bottle roadside stands that were so prevalent in Bali are few and far between in Thailand).  I got a chuckle out of the gas station when I finally found it.  If not for the faded “GASOLINE” sign, I would easily have mistaken the gas “pumps” for soda fountains or different flavored syrups to pour on shaved ice.  The attendant literally had to pump the gas into the clear dispenser which pushed it into a hose.  She held the hose up and gravity caused it to flow into my tank.  Interesting.

gasoline "station"

 Soon I came across some roadside stands selling fruit.  There was some kind of fruit in front that I didn’t recognized.  I inquired about it and the friendly  people running the stand offered me some of the fruit they were eating.  Excellent!  They first fed me pomello which is similar to a grapefruit but larger and less juicy.  I love grapefruit and pomello as well.  They were pleased when I pronounced it delicious in Thai (aroi) and offered me some nuts to try.  The kept feeding me and I kept saying “aroi.”  I was beginning to feel like a stray dog that had wandered up and successfully begged for food … not exactly the impression I was going for.  So I bought a pomello from them and invited them to share it with me.  Soon, I was also sharing the floor of their fruit stand and we were exchanging stories and laughs (the son, ironically called Pop, spoke very good English and facilitated the discussion).  In addition to fruit, the family also sold orchids which Pop told me they had “liberated” from the jungle.  I kept thinking how much I would like bring some home to my Mom and her friend Shirley (both Master Gardeners), but figured I’d have a tough time getting it through customs.  

Pop with a pomello

At Pop’s suggestion, I drove down the road another 15km toward a waterfall he’d described as especially beautiful.  On the way, I came across an interesting temple that had 26 fairy figurines guarding the steps to the top. The artwork inside was stupendous.   

After also stopping for a quick lunch at a roadside restaurant (some of the best Phad Thai I’ve eaten for 20 Baht - about $.60), I made it to the waterfall … which was gorgeous.  I also marveled at an amazing stand of bamboo trees (which always make me think of sweet Kem Alexander who has her own impressive bamboo forest right in the heart of lovely Chattanooga, Tennessee). Even more than the waterfall, I enjoyed the Thais that I met there.  One group was having a picnic and invited me to join them.  While one of the guys serenaded the group with his guitar and two other group members took turns reading each others’ palms, I had a chat with Sao, a lovely young woman who was a Sociology professor at Chiang Mai University.  We discussed art, religion, sociology and travel.  Definitely my kind of gal!  Sao told me she was moving to Bangkok next week to start work with an NGO helping people from neighboring countries immigrate to Thailand and find jobs.  We exchanged phone numbers and made plan to get together in Bangkok when I travel there in a couple weeks. 

the lovely Mak Fa waterfall and the friendly Thais who welcomed me

At this point it was 2:00 and time to head back to ensure that I arrived in Pai before dark (curvy mountainous roads in the darkness would definitely ruin my beautiful day).  About twenty minutes north of the waterfall, I spotted an older Lisu (hilltribe) woman in traditional Lisu clothing walking in the same direction I was driving and carrying a large, heavy looking pomello.  I had been wanting to meet some hilltribe people but the treks to their villages seemed less than authentic so I had passed on those opportunities.  This opportunity, however, rang of authenticity.  

I pulled over and asked her if she wanted a ride.  I thought she said she was going to Pai, but many of the villages nearby have two to three word names, most of which include Pai or Pae so I figured it was probably one of those and couldn’t be more than 15 to 20 minutes away.  “Sure, I’m headed in that direction,” I told her.  She hopped on.  My first hitchhiker!

“Chan chuu Beverly ka. Kun chuu arai ka?” (My name is Beverly. What is your name?) was my attempt to start a conversation.  She didn’t seem to understand.  “Sabaidee mai ka?” (How are you?) I tried again. Still only embarrassed laughter.  I concluded that either my Thai accent was really bad (although other people all day had understood those very phrases) or she spoke a Lisu dialect and not Thai.  Either way, we rode in silence.  

The night before, I had invited a Thai friend to join me for the day’s motorbike trip.  When discussing the possibility, I told her we would have to go on separate bikes because, although I could drive double, I didn’t dare do so on the curvy mountain roads of Highway 1095.  After 30 minutes of driving the Lisu woman with no stop at a nearby village, I concluded that when she said Pai, she indeed meant Pai … so driving double on 1095’s curvy mountain roads was exactly what I ended up doing … for two hours!  I must say that my confidence in my motorbike skills is rapidly increasing.  We made it back to Pai safely and in good time.  And although the checkpoint guards gave us a curious look, there was no passport inspection this time.

Since we were driving in silence, I had plenty of time to think.  As I came to realize that I was taking this woman all the way to Pai, I began to hope that perhaps she would invite me to meet the other Lisu people in her village; maybe even invite me for dinner.  I could just envision it … my new Lisu friends.  You have to be careful what you wish for…

When we arrived in Pai, she directed me to her home.  As I had hoped, she invited me in and mimed eating and drinking.  Excellent!  I was already imagining the new Lisu friends I would add to my list of interesting people I’d met through my journeys.  She indicated I should sit on the floor next to another older woman who was just finishing a bowl of rice.  Although sitting was the last thing my poor bum wanted to do after having ridden on a motorbike all day, I complied and pulled up a piece of floor.  

I could hear her rumbling around the kitchen.  The other woman who also seemed not to speak Thai fixed a bowl of rice for me, but motioned that I should wait to eat it.  In Thailand, it’s typical at family meals for each person to have their own bowl of rice and to share several different dishes that they spoon on top of the rice.  Sure enough, in a few moments my hitchhiker returned and proudly set down four bowls of toppings to share:  a bowl of boiled vegetables that looked fabulous, a bowl that had two brown hard boiled eggs and some juice (interesting), a bowl of champagne colored gelatin (dessert?) and, the kicker … a bowl of fried caterpillar/grub worms (Oh my God! You’ve got to be kidding!).  

“Please, please” my hitcher gestured.  I happily helped myself to a serving of the vegetables.  When I only took a small spoonful of the worms and jelly, my host took matters into her own hands.  The worms were obviously the most prized delicacy and she mounded them on my plate, making sure I got a larger portion than anyone else.  Mmmm-hmmm…

Luckily, two days before, my friend Daniela and I had decided to be somewhat adventurous eaters and we split a bag of fried crickets.  Once we got over imagining what we were placing in our mouths, they were actually quite good.  The gooey insides that you see when you step on one apparently get all fried away and they taste kind of like a chicken-flavored potato chip, only less crispy.  Although I had a harder time mentally with the mounds of caterpillars on my plate (somehow one at a time is a lot easier to swallow than a mouthful - pardon the pun), I just made up my mind not to offend my host … and down the hatch they went.  Like the crickets, the gooey insides seemed to have been fried away … and they were actually pretty good.  I would never have guessed that I’d be telling you this, but I even went back for seconds. 

Tomorrow I start training at an elephant camp.  It’s never boring in Thailand ….

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

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.

The signs were all there that Pai was a place I would love. On the drive from Chiang Mai, the flat to rolling terrain I’d seen through much of Thailand thus far was replaced by winding, mountainous roads thickly lined with banana trees which are by far my favorite tree in Southeast Asia.  As we got closer and closer to Pai, the switch-backs become shorter and more frequent.  This stretch of road is reputed to be the curviest in all of Thailand. I’ve seen a statistic on a t-shirt here that there are 762 curves in the 125 km of road between Chiang Mai and Pai and having ridden it, I don’t doubt it. That’s basically a curve every 500 feet.  The bus driver was definitely in second gear for the vast majority of the trip.

tea for sale in Pai

In addition to the banana trees, many houses and roadside stands edged up to the road and tucked behind them were gorgeous green rice fields.  The best thing, however, was that people at the stands smiled and waved to us as we drove by!  I couldn’t wait to get on a motorbike and ride through the switchbacks, stopping at the stands to practice my new Thai with these friendly smiling people.  

The only regular size bus from Chiang Mai to Pai is unairconditioned and I’m told makes frequent stops turning the three hour trip into a seven hour one so I opted for the air conditioned mini-bus option which is basically a large passenger van.  I befriended the Thai couple, Lew and Che, sitting next to me who were going to Pai for a week long vacation.  

At a mid-way stop, three Israeli guys who were sitting behind us in the van assembled a hookah at a roadside table and began to smoke.  One of them, obviously sensitive to others’ perceptions, was quick to tell all the curious onlookers, “Not drugs.  Only tobacco.”  My friend Mordy from South Florida had been telling me before my departure about the delights of smoking a hookah.  He is planning on opening a hookah bar in either Mexico City or in Argentina and was anxious to share his passion for it with me.  I was disappointed that we were never able to coordinate a hookah trial in the busy days before I left Fort Lauderdale.  So when the Israeli guys invited me to join them, I didn’t hesitate for a second.  The tobacco comes in many flavors, most of them fruit.  Mordy had also told me that a chocolate flavor existed although he liked to mix flavors to create fruity or fruit and chocolate concoctions.  The hookah I tried was apple flavored.  I enjoyed it and the conversation with the Israelis. They were all engineering students about to begin their requisite six year military service in the Israeli army.  When I told them I was an artist, one of them wisely commented that doing what you love is a privilege.  I heartily agreed.

a typical boutique of items for sale in Pai

Pai is a small village of about 2,500 people that sits in a valley surrounded on three sides with mountains.  It’s located in northwest Thailand near the Myanmar border.  When our bus pulled into Pai at 5:30, the afternoon light was painting magic colors on the surrounding country landscape.  We rolled into town and I immediately felt at home. 

a Lisu hilltribe street vendor

Pai’s “downtown” consists of four main streets that form a square.  The resemblance to the town featured in the TV series Northern Exposure is uncanny.  In place of snow, food stalls, restaurants and vendors of hilltribe handicrafts line the streets and in lieu of a big moose wandering down Main Street, Pai’s thoroughfare is filled with friendly dogs who shake paws and lift well-practiced sad eyes to beg food from dining tourists.  These dogs are well groomed and well fed - clearly quite popular with the tourist crowd. I’ve been convinced by several to share my dinner and still can’t get over how gently they took the food from my hand, not snapping the way many dogs do. 

The energy on the streets reminds me of the shakedown before a Grateful Dead show … laid back, friendly, hippie’ish, artsy, funky.  Pai is the kind of place where restaurant and coffee shop owners instinctively know that couches and swings are more inviting and fun than regular chairs and incorporate them into their shops. Pai is known to be a center of liberalism, in great contrast to the otherwise fairly conservative Thai culture. I wouldn’t say that Pai feels very Thai.  It’s just a fabulously weird and magical little corner of the world that happens to be in Thailand. Getting into the funky Pai spirit, I wrote part of this entry from a beauty salon chair while two Thai women put hundreds of tiny braids in my hair.  

my new braids

There is great diversity among the people living and visiting in Pai.  It’s a place where you can see a local Muslim woman covered from head to toe except her eyes talking animatedly with dreadlocked tourist wearing a skimpy tank top and short shorts.  On my second day in town, I was introduced to a Catholic priest by his good friend, Lek, a self-proclaimed gay pagan witch who owns the Witching Well Coffee Shop, a gathering point in Pai. This morning while I ate my rice soup breakfast, I watched three monks on their daily pilgrimage collecting food from locals seeking to make merit.  There are the local Thais who work hard running their tourist-driven businesses, expats from around the world who’ve been permanently charmed by Pai’s magic and more Israelis vacationing here than I’ve ever met in my life.  I’ve been offered three potential homes in Jerusalem should I ever come visit.  It’s such a small and friendly town, I’m constantly waving at locals and tourists I’ve met as I wander around, giving me the feeling that I’ve lived here for years instead of only visiting for a couple weeks.

same bathroom from a different angle

my cool bathroom at Pai Chan Guesthouse

I’m staying in a little bungalow at the Pai Chan Guesthouse (www.paichan.com) which is located in the countryside overlooking rice fields just outside of town.  This guesthouse is spectacular.  Each “room” is a separate bungalow set in the midst of an amazingly landscaped mini-jungle.  I am greeted each morning by a fully loaded Japanese melon tree right outside my front door.  The entire guesthouse is fashionably designed, but my bathroom is one of my favorite features.  Those of you who saw my art gallery when I had it know that I love to design a funky bathroom (you can still see the photos at www.angledart.com) I’m sure that my current bathroom is going to offer inspiration to the next house I get my hands on.  The shower is open air with lovely blue tile floor and the rest of the room is covered with thatch roof.  The designers have used concrete creatively incorporating it into decoratively designed walls.   

Pai Chan has a gorgeous blue-tiled pool with open-air thatch hut buildings all around.  I’ve spent much of my time in Pai, lazing away in a poolside hammock that swings from one of the open sided thatch hut “buildings.”  Facing in one direction, I can observe the pool.  If I turn the other way, I have a lovely view of bright green rice fields which of course reminds me of Bali so it brings a smile.  Again, the designers have made creative use of concrete combining it and green grass to create beautiful and interesting designs on the guesthouse grounds.  For all this fabulousness, I’m paying a whopping 250 baht which is about $7 per night.  In low season, the price drops to $5.  

one of the cool concrete and grass designs at Pai Chan

The spirit in Pai encourages me to try new and different things; to broaden my horizons.  In an effort to stay fit on the road, I’ve started taking Muay Thai (Thai kick boxing) classes at the True Bee Gym (www.true-bee.com).  During the heaviest rains last month, the bridge that connected the gym to central Pai washed away so the first few days, the only way to the gym was to motorbike down a steep and  deeply gullied dirt path (reminiscent of my tour with Jong) and then to hike through a hilltribe village.  I can’t believe I found the place!  Since then, a new bamboo bridge has been built across the river so now I park my motorbike on one side of the bridge and hike across (constantly in awe of the Thais’ use of natural resources as building materials) then through some tall grassy fields to get to the gym. 

the new bamboo bridge leading to True-Bee Muay Thai gym

The gym is a small, open-air (isn’t everything in Southeast Asia?) boxing ring with a metal roof covering. There are 5 trainers and about 7-8 other students from all over the world; all guys except for one other girl, Yanna.  Yanna is beautiful, Swedish and much younger than I am.  She’s either incredibly shy or simply uninterested in my efforts to make friendly conversation.  She’s been training for eighteen months and I suspect is having a relationship with one of the trainers. I’ve heard that her parents own a Muay Thai gym in Krabi, a southern island in Thailand.  The trainers are all locals while the guy students are from Chile, Germany, Australia, New Zealand, France and Virginia.  Although a couple of them are just trying to stay in shape as I am, most of them have serious intentions of fighting professionally.  Most of the trainers have fought professionally including Mr. Bee who seems to be something of a celebrity.  Some of the students take great delight in teaching each other the choicest curse words in their various languages along with their English meanings.  If I ever wondered what went on in the boys’ locker room….  Sometimes they apologize to me later, saying “I forgot a lady was present.”  I’ve never known what to say to that statement so I just smile and nod.  It’s definitely sweat-and-spit kind of gym.    

The training is interesting.  We start our training by running 6-10 km.  So far, I’ve done this on my own due to miscommunications about where and when to meet for the group runs. When we arrive at the gym, we skip rope for about ten minutes (or in my case, as long as I can) and do various other warm-ups.  This is not the easy feat it used to be when I was ten years old.  As I finish, I have visions of Rocky slapping his rope on the ground after a particularly grueling, but successful workout.  Yeah, not quite there.  

Muay Thai (kickboxing) at True-Bee Gym

As the trainers tape up my hands and I don boxing gloves, my visions switch from Rocky to Million Dollar Baby.  Somehow when I signed up for this, I was picturing the kickboxing classes I used to take back at my American gym where a girl could still be a girl and get a good workout.  Decked out as I am here, surrounded by the smell of sweat and testosterone (yes, here I believe you can actually smell testosterone … or maybe I’m just confusing that with body odor), I’m feeling less feminine than I’m comfortable feeling.  But I believe a little discomfort is good for expanding boundries … and I only paid for a week of training.  I don’t really think I’ll grow hair on my chest before then, so what the heck?  I’m getting a great workout … and interesting language lessons!  

We don’t spar with each other during the lessons.  We actually review various offensive and defensive techniques and then put them to the test against a trainer who’s wearing pads and calls out the kicks or punches we should use.  Between each session, another trainer poors water in our mouths (our hands are still in the boxing gloves) and then gives us a mini-muscle massage.  

Besides being bathed in sweat at the end of the session, the other gym highlights for me are the four-week old puppies who live on sight and the fabulous array of Thai food brought in from the market that we share family style after the workout.   

enjoying campucha with Daniela

Another new experience for me in Pai is campucha, a tea made from mushrooms that tastes like apple cider with a kick.  The owner of The Good Life, where my friends and I enjoy campucha, swears there’s no alcohol in it, but we know we get a buzz after drinking only a little.  Must be the mushrooms.  My daily routine in Pai has evolved into a morning Muay Thai workout, snoozing or emailing from the poolside hammock at the guesthouse or taking my motorbike out into the Pai countryside. Most evenings, you’ll find me, my German friend Daniela and a few other assorted travelers hanging out at The Good Life sharing campucha and discussing the philosophy of life.  We’ve concluded it’s good (life … but campucha too).

The night I arrived in Pai, after settling into my guesthouse, I drove my motorbike toward town.  As I got closer, I saw some beautiful and mysterious glowing orange lanterns floating about thirty feet off the ground and rising into the air.  Mesmerized, I stopped to watch for a moment. In a few minutes, I came to the bridge to town where people were lighting the lanterns and releasing them.  The hot air from the mini fires created the warm glow and also carried the lanterns up into the air.  I’ve since learned that these Chinese lanterns are used only in the northern part of Thailand.  People use them to deliver their wishes and prayers to the skies or alternatively to carry their bad luck far away.  Either way, it was a lovely and magical welcome to this unusual little crossroads in the world.

Would YOU settle for just a slice of this Pai?

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

Before I get into this entry, I want to acknowledge the economic crisis that’s affecting so many people in the US and around the world. I must admit that I feel a bit whiny talking about how I’m not connecting to Thailand when so many people have lost so much in the recent stock market crashes and bank failures. It certainly puts all of this in perspective for me. My sincere sympathies to each of you who have been affected. In particular, my thoughts and well wishes go to my many artist friends in the midst of the fall art show circuit. Best of luck to you guys. I hope that some people are still able to open their wallets and give homes to your amazing art work.

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Maybe I’ve given a mis-impression of Thailand. It’s not that the people here are mean or ugly; not at all (except for that knife-vending woman who WAS rather abrupt.) I just haven’t experienced that “Welcome to Thailand! We’re so glad you’re here!” kind of magic that I did when I was in Bali … or Mexico, Brazil, Morocco or many other places I’ve traveled to. But I notice that one common denominator among all of those countries is that I at least spoke a little of the local language and people really seemed to appreciate me making the effort. Perhaps it’s just trying that opens doors in these countries. Think of all the times Americans get upset when people come to our country and never attempt to learn English. I figure it’s the same thing so hopefully by learning some Thai, I’ll open some doors here in Thailand.

from Chiang Rai to Chiang Mai and on to Pai (there are no direct buses from Chiang Rai to Pai)

I’m currently on a bus on my way to Pai, a small village in Northwest Thailand that has a reputation for being funky, artsy with a sorty of hippie subculture. Should be interesting!

I finished my final Thai language lesson last night - eight hours of lessons in a 36 hour period. My teacher told me that normally she would stretch this course out over 6 - 8 days, longer if the student had the time, but I was in a hurry so we crammed it into two. Crammed is exactly what it felt like too.  If Thai language and lessons were tangible objects, you’d see them oozing out of my ears and nose right now, I’m sure!  I definitely didn’t come close to retaining it all … or even 50%.  But on my way back to my hotel last night, I passed through the night bazaar and sought out a one-of-a-kind hand-embroidered skirt that I’d had my eye on for the past three days. I was proud and excited that I managed to negotiate for and buy the skirt … entirely in Thai!  (My end of the conversation was basically:  ”Hi. How are you? Can I try this on? How much is it? Can you give me a discount? [note that bargaining is standard practice throughout Southeast Asia. I would never ask an artist for a discount back home!] Can you give me a bigger discount?  How about 300 baht? No? OK, 500 baht (about $15) is fine. Thank you. Goodnight.”)  Not bad for two days of Thai lessons.  

All my commentary about not yet finding a real connection to Thailand doesn’t mean that I haven’t been out adventuring and filling my time trying to find one, although it was a bit slow getting things going in Chiang Rai. On the bus trip up here, my friend Steve (from the cooking class) came down with a fever, body aches and general flu-like symptoms. My Canadian friend Lindsay who I met in Bali and have hung out with a bit in Thailand too recently contracted dengue fever, a mosquito-borne illness also known as “breakbone illness” because of the severe muscle and bone aches suffered by the victim. Other than that, the symptoms for dengue (and malaria) are very similar to the flu although the outcome is much more serious (malaria can be deadly within a 48 hour period if untreated).

Wat Rong Kuhn - the White Temple

I just spent several days of the past week with Lindsay at the hospital in Chiang Mai getting her diagnosis, shopping for movies to keep her occupied and checking up on her after she was admitted to the hospital. It’s currently the tail end of rainy season here in Thailand … prime mosquito conditions; a fact I hadn’t even considered in scheduling my visit during this time. Needless to say, after Lindsay’s bad experience (she had a fever of 105 which didn’t break for days, couldn’t eat, began fainting and was suffering severe muscle aches), I immediately started taking my malaria pills and coating myself with 50% DEET mosquito repellant (the strongest I could find here).

So when Steve began complaining of headaches, fever and general flu-like symptoms on the bus on the way up to Chiang Rai, I was fearful that he might have dengue as well (which lasts for about three weeks and, other than taking medicine to keep the fever down, there’s not much you can do for it but suffer through it). Luckily, it turns out it was only a 24 hour virus, but that pretty much kept us close to the hotel for a couple days while he recovered. I, of course, used the time to catch up on journaling and emails.

Two days after we arrived, though, we were ready to get out and start adventuring so we hired a local guide, Jong, who works out of the hotel at which we were staying. A random, comical and interesting day ensued.

Buddha floating on a lotus blossum at the White Temple

 

In negotiating our tour, Jong explained that part of the deal was that we had to take him on our motorbike to get his motorbike and then we would follow him to the various places on our tour for the rest of the day. To do this, Jong told us, we would need to ride with three people on the motorbike until we got his bike. We assumed (and we all know NEVER to assume!) that his bike was about 5 to 10 minutes away. No problem, we thought. We’d driven with three people on the bike a few times around Chiang Mai … and I’d seen the Thai and Balinese load up to five people on a bike. Sure, let’s do it!

We piled on the bike - Jong driving, me in the middle (because Steve didn’t want to put his hands around Jong’s waist - silly macho boys!) and Steve in the back. Jong drove us through town … to the outskirts of town … and right out of town. “We have to go to my village to get my bike,” Jong said. Still not learning our lesson about assuming, we assumed (again incorrectly) that his village must be the next one over. We drove another 20 minutes … still no village. “We’ll stop to see the White Temple first because it’s on the way to my village.” Jong told us. Ok, no problem. Mai pen rai (a catch-all Thai phrase which can mean whatever, it’s all good, no problem, it doesn’t matter and even you’re welcome).

We stopped at the White Temple. Rather than telling us about the temple, Jong excused himself to go visit with a friend. Excellent tour guide, we thought. Mai pen rai. The first thing we noticed on our approach was the “moat monster” … some kind of scary stone creature emerging from the moat surrounding the temple, presumably there to scare away any evil spirits. Even under construction and surrounded by scaffolding, the moat monster was doing his duty, bearing his teeth and claws even while about to eat a fish that was almost as scary looking as the moat monster himself. 

the "moat monster" guarding the temple

The White Temple was a beautifully constructed wat that was entirely white in color and adorned with thousands of little silver mirrors in contrast to the standard gold temples that might also have smatterings of red trim. It was pretty to look out, but the white colors and silver mirrors reminded me of ice. I got chilly just looking at it. I was immediately a big fan though of the

Sans guide, Steve and I roamed around the grounds and finally inside the temple itself where we came across a very surreal Dali-esque sci-fi type mural on the back wall. One portion of the mural featured the infamous second plane about to strike the Twin Towers on 9/11. A giant, hellish looking two-headed snake emerged from the fires of the already burning first tower. Keanu Reeves in his black Matrix coat made an appearance in another section of the mural. There was no literature to explain the mural and we couldn’t find any sort of temple guide to tell us about it. So we left and met Jong outside. When we asked about the mural, he had no idea what we were talking about.

The three of us piled back on the motorbike still headed for Jong’s village. Slow learners, Steve and I decided that Jong must live just around the corner.

the White Temple's sci-fi mural of hell features the Twin Towers on 9.11

even Keanu Reeves makes an appearance in the White Temple's fascinating sci-fi mural

We raised our eyebrows at each other twenty minutes later when we turned off the small country road and onto a gravel road. Our mouths dropped when, after another twenty minutes, we exchanged the gravel road for a dirt road. “Jong, how much farther to your village?” we asked, with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. This was insane!

“Five kilometers up the mountain. In one kilometer you’ll see views from the mountain. And I live in a Karen village so you’ll get to see that too,” he answered excitedly, oblivious to our amazement at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Jong can’t measure. His five kilometers was actually about twenty-five. Luckily, Steve and I are both fans of random experiences … and this was climbing the charts of random … so we both laughed when Jong finally pulled the bike over at a tiny crossroads and announced that this was his home. Only 1.5 hours from our hotel. Oh well, we chuckled. At least we’d seen some interesting Thai countryside. I was amazed at the density and the height of the lush green-ness that surrounded us on these tiny roads. Some of the thick grasses soared fifteen feet in the air. I would intimidated on a large scale if I had to clear any sort of path through this jungle of growth.

Karen house in Jong's neighborhood

Jong asked us to wait by the motorbike and a few minutes later came back with his own. “I need you to give me 200 baht and wait here for twenty minutes. My bike needs some repairs,” he announced. His front tire was completely flat. Steve and I started laughing out loud as the situation grew more and more absurd. Of course Jong had not only known how far his bike was from the hotel, but also knew that it would need work when we finally got to it. These kinds of things are why he’s still in “tour guide school,” Steve and I laughed with each other. Enjoying the pure comedy of the situation (what else could we do) we paid Jong for the whole day so he didn’t need to ask for any more money and we wandered around his “neighborhood” while we waited for him to come back.

As Jong drove away on his flat tire, I not only wondered about whether he was ruining his rim but whether we were naive to pay him all we owed him stranded out in the middle of God knows where. But we were camped out in front of his house. He had to come home at some point. So, mai pen rai. Let’s just see what’s around the corner.

We wandered for twenty minutes through the Karen village (Karen are another hilltribe) that was his neighborhood. We came to what was clearly a dead-end: the concrete road ended and turned into a muddy slippery steep hill that didn’t look very inviting. We turned around, walked back to Jong’s house and then waited by the bike for another fifteen minutes. Although I was enjoying watching the pigs, chickens and dogs that were all around us, I was beginning to rethink my earlier conclusion. Just then, Jong motored up. “Let’s go get some lunch!” he said excitedly. The first good idea he’d had all day.

dog napping in a Karen house across the street from Jong's house

We were glad to have a little more “bum room” on our bike as we followed Jong … right to that muddy slippery steep uninviting hill that we had earlier concluded was a dead end. Given the day’s previous absurdities, I knew immediately that Jong was not joking with us. We were going off-road into serious motor-cross country. Never mind that our motorbike was just a little automatic 125 cc scooter and not a real off-road bike. Never mind that Jong had neglected to ask us if we were experienced drivers … or nervy ones. Never mind … well anything. Steve and I looked at each other and shrugged. Mai pen rai. We had wanted an interesting adventure. Here it was. Let’s go for it.

Turns out, Steve’s a good off-road driver. I’ve learned how to drive double on a motorbike, but he’s much better than I am so I let him do the honors. Boys will always be boys … he was delighted to take the wheel and get dirty.

I was starting to feel comfortable with our muddy off-road adventure when we rounded a corner to find Jong stopped at the bottom of the steepest, muddiest hill we’d faced. Small rivers of water from the recent rainy season (we’re still in the end of it) had carved many large gullies in the “road.” “Can you walk?” Jong asked. I’m so thrilled that I actually got this exchange on video! “Walk?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s too heavy for two of you to go up this hill. You need to get off,” Jong explained. Oh, NOW he’s concerned about safety!

“Where are we going and do we have much farther to get there?” I was re-evaluating the situation, ready to turn back at this point. “We’re going to a Lahu village for lunch,” Jong said matter-of-factly. The Lahu are one of the Thai hill tribes. “Yes, it’s still far.” He clearly saw nothing abnormal about the situation.

I wanted to meet the Lahu, but was beginning to doubt we’d get there in one piece. I had lost all confidence in Jong as a guide and wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if he asked us next to cross a deep canyon that had as its only “bridge” a single rope that we should dangle from by our hands, Indiana Jones style. Steve was determined, however. We’d already come this far. He was not about to turn back without “defeating” this road. So I got off the bike and video’d both guys heading up this tricky stretch. Jong slipped a few times but made it. Steve wasn’t so lucky. I stopped my video short to hurry up the hill and assist him pulling the bike out of one of the large gullies. We pushed the bike up the hill together to comparatively safer ground and both hopped back on.

Lahu village

We fell over on our motorbike a few more times on our way to the Lahu village. Jong crashed a couple times more than we did. Steve burned his foot really badly on the exhaust during one of our spills and immediately got an ugly blister that plagued him for our remaining time in Chiang Rai. I nicked the exhaust once, but apparently reacted quickly enough that it didn’t really burn my leg too badly. Cowardly cross-roader that I am, I learned how to launch myself off the back of the bike quickly so that I could easily bail in the face of danger. So much for solidarity.

We faced several more hills that I had to climb on foot. A couple times I rode small stretches on the back of Jong’s bike … who crashed with me too. Amazingly, only Jong got really hurt that day. He fell hard against a tree trunk during one of his crashes and really banged his neck, aggravating a previous injury.

Relieved doesn’t begin to describe how I felt when we finally reached the Lahu village. I was awed by the views, and by the small size of the village (probably no more than 100 people lived there) although not so much by the people. We sat in the open air “living room” of what we learned was the village chief’s hut and tried to engage with the villagers gathered there. Other than trying to sell us their wares (hand embroidered bags and water bottle holders), the Lahus pretty much ignored us. One even declined Jong’s request to guide us on foot for pay to a nearby waterfall. Very disappointing.

the chief's "clothesline"

Many of the hilltribes dress in modern clothes these days. We were told at the Hilltribe Museum in Chiang Rai that many of their traditional costumes, which can take up to a year to make, have been bought by visiting tourists as souvenirs. Rather than replace them, the hill tribe people just buy modern ready-made clothes. This was true of this particular village whose members were decked out in stained t-shirts and sweat pants. The chief’s wife was dressed up more than most though. She wandered around in a lace bra, an item that I’m sure was considered by all the villagers to be a rare and coveted commodity. 

There wasn’t a restaurant in the Lahu village. Jong just went to the village shop and bought some packaged ramen noodles and eggs and cooked them for us. Inside the chief’s two-room bamboo house, a small area in the floor about 3 feet square had been segregated as the kitchen. On the little spot in the floor, there was a fire burning where Jong boiled water to cook our noodles. Our eggs were “cooked” in our soup.

Steve enjoying a warm beer

Drink choices were warm beer or Coke. After the nerve-frying drive up, we both went for the warm beer option. We paid twice as much for our warm-beer-and-packaged-ramen-noodle lunch as we would have back in town, but weren’t bothered as we figured we had probably just fed the entire village with our $5.  We would have felt even better if they’d had more to do with us.

We enjoyed playing with a tiny cat and her kitten - the only village members who would engage with us - as we kicked back and took in the views. I was astounded to see the “grocery man” arrive on a motorbike delivering the weekly food supplies to the villagers. He had a large styrofoam cooler strapped to the back of his motorbike and two beyond-bulging bags of produce on either side of his bike. Despite the incredible cargo, his bike wasn’t covered in mud as ours and Jong’s were from the many slips and spills. Had he really made it all the way to the top of this mountain over those tricky, muddy, wet slippery roads without falling once? Incredible! 

 Too soon, Jong announced it was time to go if we wanted to see a waterfall and hot springs on the way home. I was really hoping that there was a paved road lurking on the other side of the village and that our motorcross ride up was just a cruel joke, but I knew better. Down the mountain on muddy slippery slopes scared me more than up. Had these villagers been more friendly, I might have been tempted to trade the chief’s wife a bra to let me stay until rainy season ended completely and the “roads” dried up. Nothing doing.

The "grocery guy" beat us down the mountain so I had a chance to photograph him loading up again.

I’ve read that one definition of adventure is an experience gone terribly awry that you manage to survive to tell about afterwards. This was that kind of adventure. I gritted my teeth, hopped on the back of our bike, said another of many prayers offered during the day and renewed my “propel off quickly” position. I was pleasantly surprised to find that going down the mountain was actually much easier than going up. Both bikes were accident free all the way.

view of a tea plantation

On the way to the waterfall, we drove up mountain passes so steep that, even though they were paved, several times I had to get off the bike and walk up … it just couldn’t carry two of us. We also drove through some lovely tea plantations. Just before we arrived at the waterfall, Jong stopped us on a dirt road and excused himself to go visit another friend for five minutes. Steve and I are obviously laid back tourists. Mai pen rai. Jong’s random moment gave me the opportunity to photograph some of the gorgeous hillside tea plantations and to observe and video some local boys practicing their kickboxing and other martial arts on each other. 

When he returned, Jong guided us to the base of the forest trail up to the waterfall, but for some reason didn’t go any farther. We’d become accustomed to guiding ourselves through the day so we trekked on up alone. We laughed to ourselves as we passed a park employee sweeping the leaves off of the dirt path in the middle of the jungle forest leading to the waterfall. Only in Thailand.  

Jong struck gold with the waterfalls which were stunning

The falls were gorgeous and well worth the climb. Jong had told us we could swim at the waterfall but to be careful because the rocks were very slippery. He didn’t say anything about the ladder. Steve was halfway down the bamboo ladder leading to the pool of the falls when it broke and he was dumped unceremoniously at the bottom. Bummer. It was at least a fifteen foot climb back up with no obvious toe holds. We both figured he might as well as least enjoy the water while he was down there.

The pool was small and there didn’t appear to be anything that would keep him from getting washed down the mountain at the pool’s edge so he wisely decided to forego a swim and just rinse the mud off his feet from the earlier motor-cross adventure. I don’t think he could have gotten back up on his own. I grabbed onto a tree to keep from falling and pulled him up with my free hand.

We were surprised to run into two other people coming down the mountain. They told us there were two more falls above and advised us that the trail to the top one was “dodgy” and hadn’t been climbed in a while. We continued our climb up to the second falls. Also very pretty. We carefully crossed the somewhat rickety bamboo bridge, remembering the broken ladder, ready to head up to the third falls. The bridge ended at a sheer cliff wall. Without rock climbing gear, we couldn’t imagine how anyone could climb it. Dodgy? It seemed to us to be completely impassable. We decided to quit while we were ahead in the day’s adventures.

personal hotsprings tub

We met up with Jong again and motored on. It was kind of a shock when we pulled back onto real paved roads. It felt like we were driving on velvet compared to the bumpy treacherous muddy paths we’d spent most of the day on. We arrived at the hot springs five minutes before they closed. Apparently the rule was that as long as you were there by 5:00 closing time, you could stay until 6:00. My body was bruised (not as bad as the guys’) and my nerves a bit frazzled so I was really looking forward to a hot soak. This being Jong’s tour, however, it was probably destiny that the large public pool was being drained for cleaning. Luckily, they had some private rooms that basically had personal hot tubs with water from the hot springs. It wasn’t exactly the same as swimming around, but I really appreciated the nice, hot relaxing soak. 

Before we left the hot springs grounds, Jong began lobbying to take us on a different tour the next day. We just laughed and smiled. “I think we’ll do our own thing tomorrow, Jong” we told him, not remotely interested in another one of his misadventures. One day of “random” was enough.

To see a video of our off-road adventures and other aspects of our crazy day, click here.

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

Fourteen days into my alotted six weeks in Thailand and it has yet to become the “Land of Smiles” for me.  I feel I need to take some responsibility for this, however, so I have decided to do two things:  cease the constant comparisons to Bali and learn to speak some Thai.  This morning, rather than leaving Chiang Rai for Pai as I had planned, I did a complete about-face and enrolled in an intensive two-day/ eight hour Thai language course.  I’m studying with a woman named Wanlapa who promises I can speak Thai after 6 hours of lessons.  Of course we both know that I won’t be speaking fluently … that’s what the extra two hours are for.  Kidding.

I realize that I can’t make Thailand into Bali … nor should I try.  Thailand has its own charms and unique personality that I look forward to knowing.  But I think a big part of the reason Bali opened up to me and showed me her magic is that I took the time to learn some Indonesian before I arrived and made the effort to use it once I was there.  I’m hoping that Thailand is the same and that being able to say sewatdee ka (hello) with all the right tones will be the equivalent of saying “open sesame.” 

The Thai language has 44 consonents and fifteen vowels that can be combined in 32 different ways.  Additionally, one can say the same word with five different tones and have five different meanings.  For example, “mai” can mean “no,” “mile,” “new,” “silk,” or “correct?” depending on whether your tone is rising, falling, flat or a combination of rising/falling (marked with ˆ) or falling/rising (marked with ˇ).  If you’re not careful with your tones, while attempting to tell someone “come here,” you can instead call them a horse or a dog.  I couldn’t imagine how Wanlapa could have me speaking this incredibly complex language in six hours, yet after two, I can say, “Hello, my name is Beverly.  I am American. How are you? I am fine. Nice to meet you. This is a book. Is that a pen?  Excuse me.  Thank you.  You’re welcome.”  I also learned to count to one hundred.  Granted, I can’t do the majority of this without a lot of pauses and thinking at this point. However, I’m optimistic … and determined. Open sesame, Thailand.