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Published: March 29th 2006
Written March 21, 2006, 10:07 pm
We were picked up early on the morning Friday for our hill trek by a pick-up truck. We settled in to the bed of the truck and were soon joined by Lukas and Valeska, a pair of German students also joining the trek. Our final trekker, Amnon, an Israeli on sabbatical from his life in the software industry, made our group of five significantly smaller than the “6 to 12 people” we were told to expect and we were very happy about that. This was our first interaction with others and we seemed to luck out on the people based on our initial discussions. Thankfully before departing Chiang Mai we hopped into the back of a songthaew, a covered pick-up bed lined with benches. It is important to note that the back end of the truck bed was open, providing a wide view of the road and scenery behind the truck and an opportunity for a backpack or rolling water bottle to escape should it choose to do so.
We drove approximately two hours, the first just getting us out of the greater Chiang Mai area, to a market where we met our
guide whose name, phonetically, is Chod. We were turned loose on the market, a far more rural and less touristy collection of food vendors and small shops, while Chod shopped for the food items he would turn into our meals while trekking. Numerous vendors selling perishable meats and dairy products would hang damp cloth on a rotating fan above the food, apparently to keep them cool. Aside from water and a few cookies none of our group purchased much before we piled back in the truck.
A series of twists, turns, and impossibly large potholes later we found ourselves at a roadside stand that was essentially dust, a roof, a picnic table, three dogs, a patch of cabbage, and three Thai men selling warm Coke to the few people who may chance by. We ate the fried rice Chod had packed for us under the watchful eye of several water buffalo on the other side of the dirt road. Shortly after departing the stand we headed up into the Thai mountains. The drive was notable for three things: the extremely bumpy road, the thin cloth Chod tied over the back of the truck to prevent dust from kicking up
on us as we rode, and the cobra that slithered in front of our truck as we ascended the mountains. Roger was closest to the rear opening of the truck and caught a great view of the snake darting into the brush. Roger is bad with judging the size of such things, but this was definitely an adult.
It is during the hot season, we were told, that the cobras make their way down the mountain to the river. For those who do not know the cobra, it is a large, venomous, black snake often harassed by Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter, on Animal Planet. It is also a commuter you prefer not to share a mountain side with as you begin a three day hike up the very hills the snakes are descending. (Descending? They were migrating for crying out loud.) Chod assured us that, despite Steve Irwin’s testimony that the cobra is a somewhat fearless critter, they avoid the local human population which is keen to eat the little rascals (we think that’s what he meant - he rubbed his stomach and made a slurping sound). We cannot convey how comforting it is to know that the
stealthy, seven-foot long, hooded poison stick is more afraid of you than you are of it.
Cobra safely behind us we journeyed to the top of Thailand’s highest mountain to visit two pagodas. The pagodas, one dedicated to the Queen of Thailand, the other to the King (Napamaytanidol Chedi), were beautifully situated overlooking layers of mountainous Thai forests. The Queen’s pagoda features a stunning golden lotus blossom at the top. The King’s pagoda, situated across from the Queen’s and just slightly higher, is more stark but majestic in its simplicity. Each pagoda is surrounded by ornate flower gardens and stone relief murals depicting Thai history and the life of Buddha. From the mountain top we were driven down to a Hmong village that was until recently a part of the hill trekking tour. The Hmong, the second largest ethnic group among the northern hill tribes, have apparently become a little too modern to rate a backwoods experience. Chod explained to us that the Hmong have embraced motorized bicycles and several other modern trappings that did not fit with the kinds of tours his company liked to offer. These trappings were not evident to us as we unloaded from the
truck amidst the roaming chickens and pigs. The village was busy with activity but we were largely ignored by the adults and viewed with some trepidation by the kids. It is here that we departed from the truck, about two hours before dark, to hike to a village populated by the Karen people, the largest ethnic group among the hill tribe people in Thailand.
Walking out of the village we passed several dozen cultivated rows of plants, many covered in plastic to protect from the bugs. Most of the rows were flowers, though there appeared to be some food crops as well, all designated as more desirable than the opium grown by the previous generation of Hmong. As we walked further downhill and away from the village the crop area gave way to wild lemon grass and banana trees and then dry rice paddies. The view of the terraced and vacant paddies was amazing and we hope our photos can properly capture the sight, both desolate and completely man-made all at once.
As we hopped across the dry paddies and wound into the forest we came across several young Thai villagers familiar to Chod at a large open
hut in a clearing near a waterfall. Chod and Amnon disrobed and went for a swim and a slide down the waterfall while we sprayed on the mosquito repellent and drank in the feeling of remoteness that had descended when we lost sight of the Hmong village. While we sat on a rock watching the fun, one of the Thai offered us some “special water” from his plastic bottle. We discovered later the special water was locally produced rice whiskey. It smelled similar to tequila, tasted like kerosene, and burned going down. The locals got a good laugh from our expressions as we sampled it.
We walked a good distance before joining a paved stretch of road that led us to a river full of villagers washing themselves and doing laundry. True to the word from the Tribal Museum the female bathers were washing while under cover of sarong. We hiked up a very steep dirt trail and entered the Karen village. The Karen are ethnically Burmese but speak an evolved dialect that is part Thai. Their huts are on stilts and all made of dark wood. We were shown our quarters, a single open room with blankets on
the wooden slats and covering the windows. We had access to a bathroom which consisted of a squat toilet that you “flushed” by pouring water down after you made your business. The line bringing water in for a shower was temporarily disabled as it had been crushed by an elephant in recent days.
Chod went to work preparing our dinner while we tentatively explored the village as the sun set. Most of the village homes were the same with pigs, cows, dogs, cats, and chickens scurrying below, family above. There were several motorbikes parked near the huts and most residences seemed to have electricity. Near the village center we saw a large satellite dish that provides some cellular service and television for a few homes.
As the light faded we began to see vivid orange and red streaks in the hills. During this time of year the hill tribes clear the land for cultivation, most often using controlled burns. We had seen plenty of smoke in the mountains hinting at the fires but seeing them as night fell was stunning.
We were provided a rather bland Thai dinner and bought some water and beer from the woman
designated as our hostess. Aside from a few villagers who came by to bum a cigarette from Chod, one of whom had provided us with “special water” back on the trail, we were left alone and thus had little opportunity to interact with the villagers. The designated headman of the village stopped by briefly but there was little exchange of information. We did learn that the village consisted of some 34 families and that the kids of age would attend some schooling provided by the government during the week.
We all turned in to discover the various discomforts of tribal guest homes to include drafts from all directions, four inch spiders, and the constant cawing and pawing of the village animals. Contrary to life on The Ponderosa, roosters begin crowing at about 4am and do not stop until you get up, get dressed, have coffee, and chase the little bastards down. Not one of us slept well. We ate our breakfast at the table outside the hut. The table, as it turns out, sits right in the middle of the daily travel pattern of some of the village cows, and twice we were surrounded by mooing, shuffling bovines while
eating out toast and butter.
Around 9am we heard a tremendous trumpeting from the woods which was followed a few minutes later by a pair of elephants. We were to take the elephants, “jungle tuk-tuks” Chod said, down the trail to the next point of departure. We climbed up a ladder to a ten foot platform where we stepped on to the head of the elephant before sitting down on a wooden bench positioned above the animal’s shoulders. Just getting on to the elephant was awkward and a little scary (particularly for Amy). We were dispatched first with our three fellow trekkers behind us on the second elephant. Chod elected to walk behind, a decision we quickly grew to envy. An elephant’s shoulders tend to do a good deal of maneuvering in the course of a walk. To make matters worse, aside from the iron frame around our wooden perch there was nothing but sheer will to keep you from sliding onto the head of the elephant and then ten feet to the ground as we made our way down hill. We were astonished by the workout our arms got clinging to that saddle.
The pathway from the
village was very narrow and often dropped off significantly to one side. The rolling movement of our host became manageable but the pull of gravity with each descent was difficult at best. Our procession, with us in front, the second elephant behind, and the elephant wrangler and Chod bringing up the rear, covered terrain we would not have guessed suitable for such a ride. It was not until we changed positions and had the opportunity to watch the other elephant in front of ours that we realized how careful and surefooted the animals are. Also impressive was the control the elephant handler had over the animals. He’d bark a command and the elephant would turn right, left, stop, or even back up. On the occasion when the elephant was determined not to obey, the handler would snag a rock from the trail and fire it at the elephant’s ass with a slingshot, a tool that proved entirely effective. The one time the handler was immediately behind a self-minded elephant he grabbed the animal’s tail and plucked a single hair from it, also putting the beast right back on course.
Elephant riding sounds fun but going downhill without a bar
to hold us on was terrifying. At certain points on the ride Amy was going to demand to get off the elephant but she stuck it out mainly because she wasn’t sure how she would get down without a platform. We had to hold on to the seat to keep from sliding off with each downhill step. Going up on the other hand was almost enjoyable because you didn’t have to hold on and so you could just focus on whether the elephant was going to miss the trail and go tumbling. After trying it once Amy is confident she will never do it again. We disembarked on a rock about an hour after starting out, the elephant standing patiently in the stream below as we climbed off. Once we were off and the handler removed the saddles the elephants began to use their trunks for a shower in the stream and proceeded to indulge in a mud bath a few yards from where we stood. The sound of an elephant belly-landing in mud is one we hope not to forget.
This particular pair of elephants works each day for a few hours before being set loose on the
land. The handler awakes each day at 4am and heads in to the jungle to find them, delivering them to their daily task by 9am and turning them loose again by 11am. The elephants, we were told, were safe to wander the jungle alone and that anyone approaching them who did not know their names or their unique commands would face several tons of unwelcome hostility.
Following the elephant ride we hiked for about five hours that day, the first two or three hours of which were mostly straight uphill and punctuated with a few smoke breaks for Chod (and opportunities for the westerners to rest their pounding hearts). Lunch, which we ate near the summit, consisted of noodles wrapped in banana leaves - an entirely biodegradable lunch box. The mountain we had to transpire to get to the next village, also of Karen people, was one of Thailand’s highest. Amy proved very adept at scrambling up and down the steep slopes, often having to drag Roger and his chest cold a few feet with her. The views were magnificent and increased in their power the higher we climbed. The only sounds we could hear were the sounds of
the jungle. Aside from the flies and the odd large spider here and there we were totally alone. At no point between villages did we see a hint of another trekking party or the trace of another person.
Around 3 pm we began our descent (we are told that hiking in this area either involves straight up or straight down and this was our experience) and were encouraged to see our destination carved in to the trees of a hillside in the distance. We arrived around 4pm choked with dust, nearly out of water, and dreaming of bathing in the river Chod had talked up all day. The village, obviously more remote and more isolated than our previous stop, was more densely settled and appeared to be much larger (it was, in fact, only larger by about a dozen families). We made our way to a guest hut similar to the previous night’s accommodations, though this time we were in fact closer to a pig sty, and were welcomed by the old man who would host us. Above our hut was a small wooden shack with a rusty but familiar “7-11” sign nailed to it. When the old man
learned we needed water he walked in, opened the window, and sold our group several bottles of water, some soy crackers, and a shot of whiskey for Chod - essentially three-fifths of this 7-11’s entire inventory.
The old man, and we regret that we have no other way to refer to him, did not prefer to have us walk the village alone and he took us down to the river so that we could survey our promised oasis. The “river” was essentially a wet stripe dividing the village from the rice paddies. The scenery was again spectacular, but we left resigned to whatever shower we may have access to for the removal of 36 hours worth of sweat, bug spray, dust and dirt. The outhouse was similar to the previous village’s facilities, though the cold running shower did indeed work and we all shuffled through before our potato curry dinner.
The village had no electricity and little plumbing. The huts were adorned with drying laundry and surrounded by animals as in our previous stops. We appeared to be regarded as little more than a strange sight here but for the pair of women who offered to sell our
group some of their hand-made textiles (scarves and shirts and some beaded necklaces). The Karen, like the other Thai hill tribes, have a unique weaving style and their own recognizable patterns. In addition to our group of five there was one other village guest, a young Japanese woman, who was there to learn the particular weaving style of the Karen.
Our evening was, sadly, again without much interaction with our hosts. Due to the previous night’s lack of sleep our party turned in rather early. Unlike our first night’s sleep on blankets placed on the wooden planks of the home, our second night’s sleep was on mattresses laid on the wooden planks of the home. We covered the mattress with every available blanket plus our sleeping bags because we wouldn’t have been surprised if the mattresses contained an army of insects. It was at this point that we had one of our more surprising and enjoyable experiences of the trek as we sat and talked with Chod.
He’s about five foot three and has a wilder version of a Moe haircut that lends him a youthfulness that you can’t escape. Chod is thirty-eight years old and recently married
to a Karen woman. They have a son who will be two years old this summer. Chod and his family live in a hut much like the ones we slept in with his wife’s family in a village about 100 kilometers from the market where we met him (a distance he drives on his motor-scooter without the aid of goggles or helmet, much like the vast majority of motor-bikers we’ve seen). The village has just over 100 families and has some power and television. Chod has no formal education but he speaks Thai and a little Karen. He learned English as a porter on treks like this where he practiced his English with tourists and studied the English dictionary he purchased. He is now a registered tour guide and enjoys the work more than the heavy lifting, carrying a basket on his back, in the fields.
For the entirety of our trip Chod wore the same pair of baggy blue jeans, a t-shirt several sizes too large for his frame, and a pair of old sneakers without socks. He carried an old and rather small school backpack that could not have held much more than the ingredients for our
dinner. He appeared to carry no water and would say he was waiting for the next stream when we offered him some. He smoked liberally and seemed to drink at every opportunity. For those of us in our wicking synthetic fabrics, wool socks, hiking boots, mosquito spray, and sunglasses, watching Chod tackle the hills, dust, bugs, and heat was humbling.
Because we had such high hopes for our time in the hill villages we were a little dismayed that Chod did not make introductions or facilitate any cultural experiences. Speaking with him provided us with some of the insight we craved. It is hard when you come from a place where tours are structured and tour guides are trained and wear uniforms to not expect the same when you travel. We have no way of knowing whether Chod was a typical tour guide for this area or whether this trek was less informative and structured than most.
We went to sleep the second night wondering what Chod must think of us and whether we’d sleep for more than a few minutes before sun-up when the critters come alive. One in our group apparently read the packing list wrong
and elected to bring along a portable DVD player that he shared with Chod the second night of our trip (the trekker in question - the boob who took a TV on a hill trek? - called Amy spoiled when she mentioned that she would not be able to wash her hair). Chod appeared less impressed with the technology than he did with the fight scenes of the Jet Li movie on the player and even as we dozed off we would hear him exclaim “boom!” and giggle. The price tag of the player left an impression on all of us and we were embarrassed to hear the exchange when Chod asked the cost. If our math is at all accurate it is half a year’s pay for Chod.
Instead of the ongoing clatter of the previous night the village seemed to come alive gradually and in concert with no individual sound causing a disturbance. We slept peacefully and even missed the church service we had hoped to attend with the villagers at dawn, but awoke and departed by mid-morning. As much a treat as the trek had been it took very little walking the third day to bring
about a general disagreeable attitude about the whole thing. Our trek that day featured a stop at a large pool below a waterfall where we rested on the rocks while Chod and two others took a swim. We hiked another hour or so before entering another hill tribe village, this one apparently right on a state road and full of day-trippers and litter. We were relieved to see our truck and driver and to get a few fresh bottles of water.
Our final stop was to be lunch and a 90 minute bamboo rafting trip that inspired nobody. We asked to cut the trip short so that we could return to Chiang Mai and as it turned out 45 minutes was plenty. Apparently bamboo rafting is a popular way to pass a Sunday for the locals as the river was lined with rafts carrying teens and young adults who would paddle, splash, and pull over to drink and chatter about (and splash) the doughy white people passing by. We wish we had more pictures to show you of bamboo rafting but because our cameras would get wet, Chod took all of our cameras in order to capture the experience
for us. After looking at our camera when we were back in Chiang Mai we realized he had taken one picture of the group (while Roger was in the restroom) before we even started rafting.
Our party split among two rafts, the two of us alone with a guide and the other three sharing another. The river was mostly tranquil, which is the only way you could sail a slippery raft three feet wide but forty feet long made entirely of bamboo. The river was also rather shallow and Roger and the guide used bamboo poles to push and steer our way down stream. Amy sat in the middle of the boat which meant that the lower half of her body was partially submerged and that she finished the ride completely wet which is always fun before a long drive back to the city. The two guides piloting our boats played an odd game of tag with a dog that followed us downstream despite the guide’s many attempts to scare him away. The dog would paddle desperately, run along the shore, and even climb aboard the rafts now and then. The guides treated him alternately with affection, helping him
aboard, and with disdain, dunking him as he swam to catch up, splashing at him, or even rafting right over his head as he swam. The rafting trip and our time in the villages, watching the dogs in particular, tells us that the Thai tend to treat their animals like animals and not like members of the family. A sharp contrast to the gourmet doggie treats and rain jackets we saw adorning some of Japan’s coddled pooches.
There will probably not be many showers in life as wonderful as the one back at Gap’s House after the trek. We were sore and dry and tired from our trek and still a little disappointed that our expectations had not been met. While we did not expect painted natives hooting to see their first white person, we also did not expect the satellite dish, motorbikes, and other various modern trappings. It is clear to us, however, that no matter how quaint a rural tribal experience we may have desired, we can’t overly lament the modernization of the villages. How could we say that for our sake people should not have power or television? We’d have had a very different experience ten years ago, and people ten years from now will have a different experience. Our disappointment centers chiefly on our lack of interaction with the villagers and the lack of information conveyed to us, all of which we felt had been the selling point of the trek. If we had not gone to the Tribal Museum before our trek we would not have learned or noticed anything on the trek. Our co-travelers said they expected nothing more than a hike and a stay in a lodge, and we did have a particularly eventful one of those. After the trek we decided that was something we would probably not do again but with time we may yet decide to try it in Vietnam.
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Andrea
non-member comment
You better not be petting any of the barnyard creatures, you hear me!