Ickle baby elephant...aaaaah
January 05, 2005
Guitar Bar
The final morning of our trek didn’t arrive a moment too soon…bright sunshine was just what we needed after a cold night. Anybody would think that, after 3½ months, I was finally acclimatising to Asia…but then again…probably not! More fresh fruit and eggs for breakfast – no complaints from me, although some of the fussier eaters hadn’t had the benefit of travelling through Cambodia’s gastronomic wilderness. The lack of sustenance was unlikely to be any obstacle to them on this day anyway: no more trekking – only elephant rides, rafting and sitting in trucks to endure.
We made our way to the elephant station, where as many as twenty were milling around including a couple of exceptionally cute calves. Just as my previous experience with Russ in Vietnam, the first thing to hit us was their strong, musky odour. Unlike the last time, however, we had comfortable seating with cushions.
Ultimately, the ride was a bit of an anti-climax – and even a little depressing. The elephants took us, in convoy, around a 2km circuit that was neither exciting nor aesthetically pleasing. The one moment of excitement came when our (Dave and me) mount took a liking to a juicy looking banana palm, which just happened to be 4-5 metres up a near-vertical slope. No amount of persuasion from our mahout was going to deter Nelly from her goal and, as Dave and I leant back in our seats like fighter pilots heading for the stratosphere, she swiftly reached her goal and nonchalantly tore the tree from the ground like a child picking a daisy. Other than this, the only noticeable benefits of being atop an elephant were the ability to wade through the rushing river and being 10ft or so above the steaming piles of fresh elephant dung that intermittently littered our path. The mahouts seemed particularly un-involved with their charges…and at points seemed downright cruel. I know a harsh prod with a stick doesn’t bear the same pain for these leviathans as it would for us, but the unwillingness of the elephants seemed to suggest that they were fed-up of toiling around in the heat with so little sympathy. There was one particularly steep rise where a number of the elephants openly voiced their displeasure and it occurred to me that these beautiful, intelligent creatures weren’t living much of a life, carrying the likes of us around and around on the same circuit day in, day out. When we returned to the mounting platform, we all chipped in a few Baht to buy them some big bunches of bananas to say thanks for the ride. Looking into their eyes, I felt a sense of recognition; some sense of a sentient consciousness evaluating me. I’m not sure what the verdict was but I hope they thought kindly of me.
After the elephants, the treadmill moved onto the ‘white-water rafting’ section. Dave and I joined Jez and Jo…and possibly the worst rafting guide in the world. The whole thing was certainly fun, although the water barely approached rapid or white. Despite this relatively unhurried pace, our guide still managed to beach us on virtually every rock going. If there was one rock in a weir twenty feet across, he unerringly managed to bring us to rest broadside upon it. This meant we had to work extra hard on the calm stretches to win the unofficial race between us and the other rafts. Of course, with three Englishmen aboard, there was never any doubt that our competitive spirit would win the day – even if nobody else knew there was a race on. ;-)
The final leg in our multi-event medley was bamboo rafting down the final, calmer stretches of the river. I maintain that the raft’s integrity was more to blame than my excess weight…whatever the cause, we spent the final ½ km ‘floating’ a few inches below the surface…and it caused no end of hilarity when, shortly before the end, our raft suddenly became a loose collection of bamboo poles and I disappeared up to my knees between two of them. I’d have found it just as amusing as everyone else, if the poles hadn’t then decided that they wanted to be together after all, thus holding me like some sort of mantrap. I eventually extricated myself without any serious injury and decided that wading the last few hundred metres was the safer option. After an uninspiring lunch, we piled back into the songthaew for transit back to town. Once back in Chiang Mai, we made plans to meet up for drinks in the evening and went our separate ways to clean up and get changed.
Dave and I returned to the Night Bazaar to find a meal at the food hall. The sheer array of cuisines on offer (from Sashimi to Vietnamese, northern Thai to Western junkfood) was enough to leave both of us prevaricating for ages before deciding on sate, noodles, soup and fresh coconuts. We ate until we were stuffed like Christmas turkeys and spent but $5 between us. Everything was freshly cooked and utterly delicious and we both vowed that we’d eat nothing but streetfood for the remainder of Dave’s stay.
Later we met up with the Scouse contingent and the Israelis in the Red Lion pub, before making our way to the Guitar Bar, via the Bunny Bar for a few deadly competitive frames of pool. By the end of the night, we were owning the Guitar Bar. Carl and Mark both took the stage in various guises as drummer, guitarist and singer and the whole place was singing along to and furiously applauding every song. The Singha flowed, the band played and everyone was in high spirits. Dave developed a personal mantra, which consisted of yelling ‘Brown Sugar!’ at every break between songs and eventually found peace in the form of a pair of chicken breasts (actually fake bra-fillers), which had been discovered tucked behind a plant pot in the loos. To the rest of the clientele’s dismay – or was it great relief? – we eventually staggered out and said goodbyes before heading our separate ways.
Dave, Lior, Eyal, Smadar and I ended up shooting some more pool at the bar Dave and I had found on Sunday. Later we staggered back to our lodgings after the mandatory pit-stop for the local equivalent of a kebab (chicken noodles) from a street stall.
We made our way to the elephant station, where as many as twenty were milling around including a couple of exceptionally cute calves. Just as my previous experience with Russ in Vietnam, the first thing to hit us was their strong, musky odour. Unlike the last time, however, we had comfortable seating with cushions.
Ultimately, the ride was a bit of an anti-climax – and even a little depressing. The elephants took us, in convoy, around a 2km circuit that was neither exciting nor aesthetically pleasing. The one moment of excitement came when our (Dave and me) mount took a liking to a juicy looking banana palm, which just happened to be 4-5 metres up a near-vertical slope. No amount of persuasion from our mahout was going to deter Nelly from her goal and, as Dave and I leant back in our seats like fighter pilots heading for the stratosphere, she swiftly reached her goal and nonchalantly tore the tree from the ground like a child picking a daisy. Other than this, the only noticeable benefits of being atop an elephant were the ability to wade through the rushing river and being 10ft or so above the steaming piles of fresh elephant dung that intermittently littered our path. The mahouts seemed particularly un-involved with their charges…and at points seemed downright cruel. I know a harsh prod with a stick doesn’t bear the same pain for these leviathans as it would for us, but the unwillingness of the elephants seemed to suggest that they were fed-up of toiling around in the heat with so little sympathy. There was one particularly steep rise where a number of the elephants openly voiced their displeasure and it occurred to me that these beautiful, intelligent creatures weren’t living much of a life, carrying the likes of us around and around on the same circuit day in, day out. When we returned to the mounting platform, we all chipped in a few Baht to buy them some big bunches of bananas to say thanks for the ride. Looking into their eyes, I felt a sense of recognition; some sense of a sentient consciousness evaluating me. I’m not sure what the verdict was but I hope they thought kindly of me.
After the elephants, the treadmill moved onto the ‘white-water rafting’ section. Dave and I joined Jez and Jo…and possibly the worst rafting guide in the world. The whole thing was certainly fun, although the water barely approached rapid or white. Despite this relatively unhurried pace, our guide still managed to beach us on virtually every rock going. If there was one rock in a weir twenty feet across, he unerringly managed to bring us to rest broadside upon it. This meant we had to work extra hard on the calm stretches to win the unofficial race between us and the other rafts. Of course, with three Englishmen aboard, there was never any doubt that our competitive spirit would win the day – even if nobody else knew there was a race on. ;-)
The final leg in our multi-event medley was bamboo rafting down the final, calmer stretches of the river. I maintain that the raft’s integrity was more to blame than my excess weight…whatever the cause, we spent the final ½ km ‘floating’ a few inches below the surface…and it caused no end of hilarity when, shortly before the end, our raft suddenly became a loose collection of bamboo poles and I disappeared up to my knees between two of them. I’d have found it just as amusing as everyone else, if the poles hadn’t then decided that they wanted to be together after all, thus holding me like some sort of mantrap. I eventually extricated myself without any serious injury and decided that wading the last few hundred metres was the safer option. After an uninspiring lunch, we piled back into the songthaew for transit back to town. Once back in Chiang Mai, we made plans to meet up for drinks in the evening and went our separate ways to clean up and get changed.
Dave and I returned to the Night Bazaar to find a meal at the food hall. The sheer array of cuisines on offer (from Sashimi to Vietnamese, northern Thai to Western junkfood) was enough to leave both of us prevaricating for ages before deciding on sate, noodles, soup and fresh coconuts. We ate until we were stuffed like Christmas turkeys and spent but $5 between us. Everything was freshly cooked and utterly delicious and we both vowed that we’d eat nothing but streetfood for the remainder of Dave’s stay.
Later we met up with the Scouse contingent and the Israelis in the Red Lion pub, before making our way to the Guitar Bar, via the Bunny Bar for a few deadly competitive frames of pool. By the end of the night, we were owning the Guitar Bar. Carl and Mark both took the stage in various guises as drummer, guitarist and singer and the whole place was singing along to and furiously applauding every song. The Singha flowed, the band played and everyone was in high spirits. Dave developed a personal mantra, which consisted of yelling ‘Brown Sugar!’ at every break between songs and eventually found peace in the form of a pair of chicken breasts (actually fake bra-fillers), which had been discovered tucked behind a plant pot in the loos. To the rest of the clientele’s dismay – or was it great relief? – we eventually staggered out and said goodbyes before heading our separate ways.
Dave, Lior, Eyal, Smadar and I ended up shooting some more pool at the bar Dave and I had found on Sunday. Later we staggered back to our lodgings after the mandatory pit-stop for the local equivalent of a kebab (chicken noodles) from a street stall.
January 04, 2005
Waterfalls and Campfires
An uncomfortable night on a thin mattress, placed on a creaky, knobbly floor, meant I was wide awake when the sunlight started to peer over the edge of the world. I quietly crawled outside with a camera and spent a blissful half hour watching the golden disc rise above the landscape, highlighting mist settled valleys and colouring the few scant clouds punctuating the, otherwise empty, sky. Nobody else was about and I really savoured the solitude – taking the chance to be alone with my thoughts for the first time in a week. Just scrolling through the pictures on my camera from Full Moon and New Year, it was nice to take in the memories and enjoy them a second time round. Dave and I had been enjoying ourselves in some style and it was the first chance I’d had to sit and appreciate it all.
I managed to get back into bed and pinch an extra couple of hours before the smell of food roused me in time for breakfast. Fresh fruit, bread and scrambled eggs filled a hole and we were soon ready to move out. While most of the previous day had been a steady ascent, we quickly found ourselves heading downhill into the cool shade of the canopy. Some sections were very steep and we were lucky that there hadn’t been any rain to turn these into high-speed mudslides. After just over an hour we arrived at our first pit-stop. A crystal clear waterfall was pounding its way into a swimming hole off a 30ft drop. It didn’t take us long to strip off and jump in to the refreshingly cold water, although the sun could have done with being a little further into the sky. Standing beneath the water was akin to having a giant using your head and neck as a timpani drum. Getting it just right, between the shoulder blades, was a blissful form of massage: stand too close and it felt like your head was being stoved in and your eyes were going to jump out of your head. After an hour of horsing around and relaxing in the ever-increasing sunshine, it was time for lunch…and then back on the trail.
For the rest of the day we hugged the valley of our waterfall stream as it descended to join the main river below. There were more waterfalls and stretches of secluded jungle, where the thick foliage had the dual effect of dampening sounds and blocking light. Although we saw other parties on the way, this sensory deprivation gave us a feeling of isolation and adventure and it was a surprise, just how warm and bright the sun felt as we broke cover onto the open mountainside.
We came to a halt at a longhouse overlooking the river with a sandy beach and the charred remains of a campfire. After the mandatory shower, I found myself in good company hitting the Chang and testing the local snack foods. It was interesting talking to the Israelis about their national service and it gave the rest of us an insight to the reason why there are so many Israeli travellers…and why they are so hell-bent on having a good time. Smadar and I also spent a long time talking about kibbutzim. I was really interested to hear of a society where Marxist ideals actually seemed to work. I’ve always said that Marxism was flawed because it failed to take account of Man’s greed. For the most part the kibbutzim appear to have avoided destruction through greed (although Smadar did tell me a tale of one couple caught leaving with a hold-all of cash and one-way plane tickets!), but the old system is dying out now due to a lack of popular support. The kibbutz had given Smadar a great sense of community and social responsibility. Both of which had been reinforced by her stint in the army. I think one of the common misconceptions about Israeli travellers is that they seem aloof and unfriendly to outsiders. I don’t think this is the case but that they form close relationships with other Israelis (with whom they all share common experiences) and find it difficult to relate to other travellers, who’ve matured in a very different environment. Another thing I learnt (which really surprised me) was just how few Israelis have a kosher diet.
We sat round the camp fire well into the night, drinking Chang, singing songs and chatting. Mark and Carl were star turns with their music and comedy acts, but we were all involved as the beer flowed and the fire blazed. It started getting a mite chilly as the night wore on and eventually we all retired to spend a cold night, shivering and tossing and turning on the thin mattresses.
I managed to get back into bed and pinch an extra couple of hours before the smell of food roused me in time for breakfast. Fresh fruit, bread and scrambled eggs filled a hole and we were soon ready to move out. While most of the previous day had been a steady ascent, we quickly found ourselves heading downhill into the cool shade of the canopy. Some sections were very steep and we were lucky that there hadn’t been any rain to turn these into high-speed mudslides. After just over an hour we arrived at our first pit-stop. A crystal clear waterfall was pounding its way into a swimming hole off a 30ft drop. It didn’t take us long to strip off and jump in to the refreshingly cold water, although the sun could have done with being a little further into the sky. Standing beneath the water was akin to having a giant using your head and neck as a timpani drum. Getting it just right, between the shoulder blades, was a blissful form of massage: stand too close and it felt like your head was being stoved in and your eyes were going to jump out of your head. After an hour of horsing around and relaxing in the ever-increasing sunshine, it was time for lunch…and then back on the trail.
For the rest of the day we hugged the valley of our waterfall stream as it descended to join the main river below. There were more waterfalls and stretches of secluded jungle, where the thick foliage had the dual effect of dampening sounds and blocking light. Although we saw other parties on the way, this sensory deprivation gave us a feeling of isolation and adventure and it was a surprise, just how warm and bright the sun felt as we broke cover onto the open mountainside.
We came to a halt at a longhouse overlooking the river with a sandy beach and the charred remains of a campfire. After the mandatory shower, I found myself in good company hitting the Chang and testing the local snack foods. It was interesting talking to the Israelis about their national service and it gave the rest of us an insight to the reason why there are so many Israeli travellers…and why they are so hell-bent on having a good time. Smadar and I also spent a long time talking about kibbutzim. I was really interested to hear of a society where Marxist ideals actually seemed to work. I’ve always said that Marxism was flawed because it failed to take account of Man’s greed. For the most part the kibbutzim appear to have avoided destruction through greed (although Smadar did tell me a tale of one couple caught leaving with a hold-all of cash and one-way plane tickets!), but the old system is dying out now due to a lack of popular support. The kibbutz had given Smadar a great sense of community and social responsibility. Both of which had been reinforced by her stint in the army. I think one of the common misconceptions about Israeli travellers is that they seem aloof and unfriendly to outsiders. I don’t think this is the case but that they form close relationships with other Israelis (with whom they all share common experiences) and find it difficult to relate to other travellers, who’ve matured in a very different environment. Another thing I learnt (which really surprised me) was just how few Israelis have a kosher diet.
We sat round the camp fire well into the night, drinking Chang, singing songs and chatting. Mark and Carl were star turns with their music and comedy acts, but we were all involved as the beer flowed and the fire blazed. It started getting a mite chilly as the night wore on and eventually we all retired to spend a cold night, shivering and tossing and turning on the thin mattresses.
January 03, 2005
Mersey Magic
After a filling breakfast and several delays, we eventually found ourselves ensconced in a songthaew with 2 quiet people and 5 energetic Israelis. I’d met a number of Israelis on my travels and, thus far, they hadn’t really left a great impression. Many other travellers I’d met discussed them with same contempt I hold for the French and, while I don’t like to make sweeping generalisations nor judge people without getting to know them, my heart was sinking as we set off. The Israelis were happily jabbering away in Hebrew (a language that seems to need speaking at high volume!) and I suspected they might remain a group apart from the rest of us. The quiet couple at the back seemed to be very into each other and I didn’t hold out much hope of getting really pally with them…although, in retrospect, they probably just didn’t fancy shouting over the engine noise and the Hebrew. However, the dynamics of the group hadn’t been finalised and, as we stopped at one last place, we gained a complement of three Scousers. As soon as I heard their accents trading irrepressible Scouse banter, I knew we were going to have a good time. Dave and I grinned at each other and introduced ourselves to Mark, Carl and Rachael. We spent the two hour journey to the start of the trek quizzing each other about our previous travels, future plans and lives back home. Once we’d stopped to have lunch, we found that the ‘quiet couple’ turned out to be Jo and Jez from Worcester – and they were perfectly sociable once they could make themselves heard.
Our trekking trail headed straight into lush jungle and wound its way up the side of a steep hill. Our guide Kai wasn’t exactly at the peak of physical fitness and we made mostly gentle progress on our ascent. At points where the path ahead was clear, one or other of the lads would force the pace a little up to the next rest-stop, so that soon enough, those that wanted to were showing signs of exertion and feeling like we’d done some proper trekking. Off in the distance we could hear elephants calling – along with unusual plant species, tropical insect and bird-calls the jungle was conspiring to remind us that weren’t in our accustomed space. Through breaks in the canopy we could see forested mountainsides and shady river valleys that looked like nothing you’d find in Britain’s open spaces and I think we all felt satisfyingly adventurous. Under the verdant canopy, the fierce afternoon heat was bearable, but as we neared the ridge and the vegetation thinned out, we soon found ourselves at the untender mercies of the sun.
Eventually, sticky and hot, we rolled into our night’s destination – a dusty, palm-shack village, in a beautiful location at the end of a ridge overlooking the jungle. I took first dibs on a cold shower, while I was still feeling overheated enough to enjoy it and eventually, we were leaning on the balcony of our longhouse, drinking refreshing Chang beer and salivating at the thought of dinner. The local kids were soon hanging around, asking for pens, sweets and even Baht. I have reservations about rotting kids’ teeth or encouraging a begging culture – but I’d come prepared for these little monkeys. The novelty balloons I’d bought at the market earlier in the day went down a treat and the air soon resounded with excited squeals as they chased each other round the place, jousting and bopping each other over the head.
We all witnessed a memorable sunset behind the seemingly endless mountains to the West and eventually settled in around the camp fire, drinking beer, telling stories and chowing down on some fine nosh, whipped up by Kai. We were entertained by magic shows and singing children and there was even a masseuse for those feeling the strain of the hills in their legs. All of this, of course, was a useful means of supplementing the meagre incomes of the villagers and, while you couldn’t help but see the impact Western trekkers had had on village culture, it was mediated by the fact that we were at least making it worth their while to continue to live in their traditional setting. I didn’t feel as ripped off as I had done in Vietnam because, while ostensibly they were there to try and make money, at least some of the villagers sat round the fire with us and smoked their banana-leaf cigarettes and we were able to converse with one or two who could speak some English. The other nice thing about our fireside meal was being able to get to know our Israeli companions. Lior, Smadar, Cfir, Aviv and Eyal all turned out to be really pleasant and I immediately regretted my uncharitable thoughts from earlier in the day. I felt that the outgoing amiability of our Liverpudlian companions was the key to a really good group dynamic and, by the end of the evening, we all felt comfortable talking to one another. There seemed no limit to Mark and Carl’s capacity for enjoying themselves and they wanted to ensure everyone was having as good a time as they were. I also really enjoyed talking to Rachael about her former job as a teacher and her current role with challenging kids.
Some time before midnight, I definitely felt too ‘Changed’ to hold conversation and snuck off to bed with thoughts of seeing a sunrise as glorious as the sunset.
Our trekking trail headed straight into lush jungle and wound its way up the side of a steep hill. Our guide Kai wasn’t exactly at the peak of physical fitness and we made mostly gentle progress on our ascent. At points where the path ahead was clear, one or other of the lads would force the pace a little up to the next rest-stop, so that soon enough, those that wanted to were showing signs of exertion and feeling like we’d done some proper trekking. Off in the distance we could hear elephants calling – along with unusual plant species, tropical insect and bird-calls the jungle was conspiring to remind us that weren’t in our accustomed space. Through breaks in the canopy we could see forested mountainsides and shady river valleys that looked like nothing you’d find in Britain’s open spaces and I think we all felt satisfyingly adventurous. Under the verdant canopy, the fierce afternoon heat was bearable, but as we neared the ridge and the vegetation thinned out, we soon found ourselves at the untender mercies of the sun.
Eventually, sticky and hot, we rolled into our night’s destination – a dusty, palm-shack village, in a beautiful location at the end of a ridge overlooking the jungle. I took first dibs on a cold shower, while I was still feeling overheated enough to enjoy it and eventually, we were leaning on the balcony of our longhouse, drinking refreshing Chang beer and salivating at the thought of dinner. The local kids were soon hanging around, asking for pens, sweets and even Baht. I have reservations about rotting kids’ teeth or encouraging a begging culture – but I’d come prepared for these little monkeys. The novelty balloons I’d bought at the market earlier in the day went down a treat and the air soon resounded with excited squeals as they chased each other round the place, jousting and bopping each other over the head.
We all witnessed a memorable sunset behind the seemingly endless mountains to the West and eventually settled in around the camp fire, drinking beer, telling stories and chowing down on some fine nosh, whipped up by Kai. We were entertained by magic shows and singing children and there was even a masseuse for those feeling the strain of the hills in their legs. All of this, of course, was a useful means of supplementing the meagre incomes of the villagers and, while you couldn’t help but see the impact Western trekkers had had on village culture, it was mediated by the fact that we were at least making it worth their while to continue to live in their traditional setting. I didn’t feel as ripped off as I had done in Vietnam because, while ostensibly they were there to try and make money, at least some of the villagers sat round the fire with us and smoked their banana-leaf cigarettes and we were able to converse with one or two who could speak some English. The other nice thing about our fireside meal was being able to get to know our Israeli companions. Lior, Smadar, Cfir, Aviv and Eyal all turned out to be really pleasant and I immediately regretted my uncharitable thoughts from earlier in the day. I felt that the outgoing amiability of our Liverpudlian companions was the key to a really good group dynamic and, by the end of the evening, we all felt comfortable talking to one another. There seemed no limit to Mark and Carl’s capacity for enjoying themselves and they wanted to ensure everyone was having as good a time as they were. I also really enjoyed talking to Rachael about her former job as a teacher and her current role with challenging kids.
Some time before midnight, I definitely felt too ‘Changed’ to hold conversation and snuck off to bed with thoughts of seeing a sunrise as glorious as the sunset.
January 02, 2005
Chiang Mai
After a week of beach-life, I was really keen to have Dave see a different side to Thailand and hopefully to experience the traveller vibe as opposed to the tourist. I had wanted to come trekking in Chiang Mai on the recommendations of fellow travellers. I also figured that we would likely meet a crowd of people whilst doing it…and meeting other travellers is a big part of the experience.
We got out of bed late in the afternoon and found a restaurant serving authentic northern Thai dishes with sticky rice. As well as many excellent forms of sausage and spicy pork, I also tucked into a spicy, yet refreshing, papaya salad. A little later, we took a browse round the stalls of the city’s famous night bazaar – hoping to find gifts to send home for friends and family. Inevitably, of course, we bought more things for ourselves than for anyone else. By the end of the evening Dave was just about getting the hang of the bartering thing and we were soon loaded up with fishermen’s pants and hippy shirts. After our long journey and exhausting partying, we ended up going for a massage before hitting the hay. The guy who did my massage was excellent – putting his knee in my back and even cracking my neck – Dave’s girl, however, was apparently useless – treating him far too gently. Nearer the end, my guy started asking suspicious questions like ‘Would you like lady come finish massage?’ and, rather than burst out laughing, I answered dead-pan that he was doing an excellent job and why change? He seemed to think I hadn’t understood him and continued to flog it like a dead horse with all kinds of winking, nudging and Roger Moore eyebrow stunts. Eventually, though, I think he realised that I actually just wanted a massage and he gave up.
We got back to our guesthouse and, after a nightcap on the balcony, we went to sleep like babies…or at least one of us did. Poor Dave was kept awake most of the night by my snoring and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for jumping out of bed when the bright sunshine started beating on our eyelids. I was inclined to explore the city while the day was young and the sun at its weakest, but Dave needed to catch up on the sleep I’d robbed him of and I ended up wading through a huge backlog of e-mails that had built up while we’d been incommunicado on Haad Yuan.
We eventually wondered into town around lunch time, looking first for the Red Cross station to give blood. There were signs up at the guesthouse, telling us we could find it at the Tha Phae Gate, but all we could find when we got there was the Sunday market. We asked several Westerners and even a policeman, but to no avail and in the end we presumed that it was closed for the market…or they’d already stopped needing blood supplies for the tourists that had been caught in the disaster.
(Apparently, the vast majority of Thais are Rhesus positive, where most tourists are negative – it could be the other way round but, whatever the technicalities, they were appealing for other westerners to give blood to help fellow tourists.)
Stymied by the disappearance of the Red Cross, we went to a café for another sampling of the local, northern cuisine. More sausages and tempura vegetables were the order of the day and several delicious sticks of satay washed down with cold Singha had us fortified for a little cultural sight-seeing.
We took a tour of some of the more prominent Wats and found the temple architecture similar to the modern-day wats in Cambodia, but more brightly adorned and richly gilded. Brightly coloured mosaics of glass and gold would seem gaudy and out of place back at home, but here amongst the bright clothes and colourful cuisine of Thailand, the temples seem to be the outward expression of the cheerful Thai spirit. One of the temples contained some basic history of Buddha and the growth of the religion, explaining the different Buddha poses and relating them to historical events in his life. It was fascinating to learn a little about this religion that seems to permeate the Thais’ very way of life and it was impossible not to feel a calming presence in the cool, quiet shade of the temple. The respectful peace that reigns in each wihan is a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of the streets.
We got sucked into a commission scam by a tuk-tuk driver (he gets paid a commission for bringing tourists to expensive shops), but I was mildly interested in investigating the Thai hard-sell method and quite happy to go along with the flow until I got bored and wanted to leave. First port of call was a Thai silk factory, showing everything from the production through silkworms, through collecting the thread and weaving the cloth. This was all fascinating but when it came to wandering through the shop at the end, the prices were so grossly inflated that we took to our heels before one of the sales assistants could latch on to us. I was trying to get the taxi-driver to take us back into town immediately but he started moaning about how much petrol he’d used and how we had to go to at least one more shop for him. I went to the carpet shop more out of interest than obligation though, as I felt he should have been more honest with us in the first place.
The carpet shop proved to be a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of woven treasures. Our gracious salesman, Salim, was hospitable and extremely skilled at his job. However, it was the sheer beauty and quality of his wares that had me entranced and it was only a matter of finding the right price before we made a deal. I don’t claim to be an expert on Kashmir woollen carpets, but my eventual purchase looked of the highest quality to me…and I’m sure I’ll get the official verdict from my parents when Dave has delivered it back home.
We headed back to the guesthouse to finalise our plans and ended up booking a 3 day / 2 night trek and purchasing 2nd class sleeper tickets for Thursday night’s train to Ayuthaya. That left us with a day and a night in Bangkok before Dave’s flight home on the Saturday evening.
We headed into town for dinner at an up-market restaurant with more of the heavily spiced local dishes on the menu. We then managed to find a bar with a pool table where the bar staff only served drinks as opposed to anything of a more intimate nature. This is a lot more difficult than it sounds in Chiang Mai…and we had to put up with several leery old men pawing at our waitress and generally making a nuisance of themselves before they sloped off to somewhere with more accommodating staff. Eventually – after sending the cue-ball off the table, into the street and, finally, into the canal, we decided to call it a night and headed back to get some sleep before our trek. This time I wore the amazing anti-snoring headband (another great Christmas present from home and, I suspect, one more for Dave’s benefit than mine) which, miraculously, seemed to work so we both had a good night’s kip.
We got out of bed late in the afternoon and found a restaurant serving authentic northern Thai dishes with sticky rice. As well as many excellent forms of sausage and spicy pork, I also tucked into a spicy, yet refreshing, papaya salad. A little later, we took a browse round the stalls of the city’s famous night bazaar – hoping to find gifts to send home for friends and family. Inevitably, of course, we bought more things for ourselves than for anyone else. By the end of the evening Dave was just about getting the hang of the bartering thing and we were soon loaded up with fishermen’s pants and hippy shirts. After our long journey and exhausting partying, we ended up going for a massage before hitting the hay. The guy who did my massage was excellent – putting his knee in my back and even cracking my neck – Dave’s girl, however, was apparently useless – treating him far too gently. Nearer the end, my guy started asking suspicious questions like ‘Would you like lady come finish massage?’ and, rather than burst out laughing, I answered dead-pan that he was doing an excellent job and why change? He seemed to think I hadn’t understood him and continued to flog it like a dead horse with all kinds of winking, nudging and Roger Moore eyebrow stunts. Eventually, though, I think he realised that I actually just wanted a massage and he gave up.
We got back to our guesthouse and, after a nightcap on the balcony, we went to sleep like babies…or at least one of us did. Poor Dave was kept awake most of the night by my snoring and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for jumping out of bed when the bright sunshine started beating on our eyelids. I was inclined to explore the city while the day was young and the sun at its weakest, but Dave needed to catch up on the sleep I’d robbed him of and I ended up wading through a huge backlog of e-mails that had built up while we’d been incommunicado on Haad Yuan.
We eventually wondered into town around lunch time, looking first for the Red Cross station to give blood. There were signs up at the guesthouse, telling us we could find it at the Tha Phae Gate, but all we could find when we got there was the Sunday market. We asked several Westerners and even a policeman, but to no avail and in the end we presumed that it was closed for the market…or they’d already stopped needing blood supplies for the tourists that had been caught in the disaster.
(Apparently, the vast majority of Thais are Rhesus positive, where most tourists are negative – it could be the other way round but, whatever the technicalities, they were appealing for other westerners to give blood to help fellow tourists.)
Stymied by the disappearance of the Red Cross, we went to a café for another sampling of the local, northern cuisine. More sausages and tempura vegetables were the order of the day and several delicious sticks of satay washed down with cold Singha had us fortified for a little cultural sight-seeing.
We took a tour of some of the more prominent Wats and found the temple architecture similar to the modern-day wats in Cambodia, but more brightly adorned and richly gilded. Brightly coloured mosaics of glass and gold would seem gaudy and out of place back at home, but here amongst the bright clothes and colourful cuisine of Thailand, the temples seem to be the outward expression of the cheerful Thai spirit. One of the temples contained some basic history of Buddha and the growth of the religion, explaining the different Buddha poses and relating them to historical events in his life. It was fascinating to learn a little about this religion that seems to permeate the Thais’ very way of life and it was impossible not to feel a calming presence in the cool, quiet shade of the temple. The respectful peace that reigns in each wihan is a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of the streets.
We got sucked into a commission scam by a tuk-tuk driver (he gets paid a commission for bringing tourists to expensive shops), but I was mildly interested in investigating the Thai hard-sell method and quite happy to go along with the flow until I got bored and wanted to leave. First port of call was a Thai silk factory, showing everything from the production through silkworms, through collecting the thread and weaving the cloth. This was all fascinating but when it came to wandering through the shop at the end, the prices were so grossly inflated that we took to our heels before one of the sales assistants could latch on to us. I was trying to get the taxi-driver to take us back into town immediately but he started moaning about how much petrol he’d used and how we had to go to at least one more shop for him. I went to the carpet shop more out of interest than obligation though, as I felt he should have been more honest with us in the first place.
The carpet shop proved to be a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of woven treasures. Our gracious salesman, Salim, was hospitable and extremely skilled at his job. However, it was the sheer beauty and quality of his wares that had me entranced and it was only a matter of finding the right price before we made a deal. I don’t claim to be an expert on Kashmir woollen carpets, but my eventual purchase looked of the highest quality to me…and I’m sure I’ll get the official verdict from my parents when Dave has delivered it back home.
We headed back to the guesthouse to finalise our plans and ended up booking a 3 day / 2 night trek and purchasing 2nd class sleeper tickets for Thursday night’s train to Ayuthaya. That left us with a day and a night in Bangkok before Dave’s flight home on the Saturday evening.
We headed into town for dinner at an up-market restaurant with more of the heavily spiced local dishes on the menu. We then managed to find a bar with a pool table where the bar staff only served drinks as opposed to anything of a more intimate nature. This is a lot more difficult than it sounds in Chiang Mai…and we had to put up with several leery old men pawing at our waitress and generally making a nuisance of themselves before they sloped off to somewhere with more accommodating staff. Eventually – after sending the cue-ball off the table, into the street and, finally, into the canal, we decided to call it a night and headed back to get some sleep before our trek. This time I wore the amazing anti-snoring headband (another great Christmas present from home and, I suspect, one more for Dave’s benefit than mine) which, miraculously, seemed to work so we both had a good night’s kip.
December 31, 2004
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