Dave finds out that chicken fillets are a poor replacement for his Oakleys
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
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