a life in words: a day in the hills

2nd - 4th January 2012

The Mae Teng foothills surrounding Chiang Mai, Thailand

After leaving Ernie and his band of merry men at the elephant camp we all picked up our bags and headed off on our first day of trekking in the Mae Tang valley. We were told by our guide, the ever-grinning Toy, that the finishing line for that day would be a hill tribe village which rested 6km up the valley. Reaching it would require making our way through thick bamboo forest, traversing steep dirt trails and skirting the narrow streams which run throughout the dense jungle undergrowth like arteries - one element in a much larger life force. Toy was relentless in his energy as he was constantly cracking jokes, chaining cigs and running on ahead like a madman. At first I attributed this boundless vitality to the fact that he did this everyday as it was his job but a little into the trek the true source of his endurance presented itself when he stopped to glug down an M150 - the concentrated red bull rocket fuel which is rumored to contain Methamphetamine. I'm sure this, like many other stories you hear on the road, is just a myth but you can never be too sure out here! Another example of this kind of 'on the road' folklore in Thailand is the infamous 'Chang Lottery' as it's said by many that the Thai beer Chang apparently has an average alcohol content of around 6.5%, so that percentages can range from a measly 4% to a deadly 10% meaning that in one night you can have three bottles and be fine whereas another night the same would put you to bed. Once again I don't know if this is actually true but either way you're getting a Changover...

Leaving the elephant camp, tarmac road soon merged into dusty pathways and shortly afterwards we were consumed by the vivid green shoots of the bamboo jungle which created an archway over our heads as we entered; the raging sun left to stamp it's feet at the doorway, unable to enter through the thick ceiling of vines overhead. As the hours passed the group moved in single file through the dense undergrowth having to occasionally cross small streams using fallen tree trunks and scramble up dusty foot paths. What started as enthusiastic chatting soon gave way to gritted determination and I think a few within the group had underestimated how taxing that first day would be. Occasionally the narrow dirt trails would break into a clearing allowing us to catch a glimpse of the hill which we were gradually climbing and resulted in Toy saying 'only 29 minutes 'till the waterfall' or 'we stop for rest in 49 minutes' - clearly round numbers made him nervous. These clearings brought into focus the immense trees which stood above us like giants, displaying their dominance over their smaller brothers below by their soaring height and thick trunks. An opening in the vines also allowed the sun to glimpse down once again upon the verdure of life growing on the jungle floor. As it's reflective rays hit the bright green hue of the bushes and thickets of bamboo, the colour was reflected and intensified a million times; blinding in it's magnificence. At the chime of 49 minutes, Toy stopped the group by a small waterfall to take a break to replenish lost fluids and it was at this point that the French Spider man revealed his true nature to the rest of the group. Foq, the French mad-hatter, stripped down to his boxer shorts, ran off into the water and started to climb up one side of the plunge pool, through the cascading water which tore down upon his body. The base of the fall was lined with viciously sharp rocks and we all watched in awe (our guide in frantic horror, made worse by the M150 racing around his sped up body) as this nutter hauled himself up to the smaller plunge pool which rested just above the main waterfall. With his ascent complete, he turns to the group giving it the 'AVIN IT!' arm gestures like some lunatic Scouse, sits back and howls like a wolf, resplendent in his victory over sanity. With the spectacle over, I took a seat on a large boulder and noticed that next to the waterfall a man had set up a small wooden shack to sell some drinks and snacks to the groups of trekkers who passed by everyday. In a stroke of marketing genius he had erected a plank of wood and branded it with 7-11 and by doing so had set up the first jungle branch (no pun intended..) of a store you see on EVERY street corner in Thailand. Leaving the waterfall, the severity of the incline increased but this time we could make out a small settlement of huts perched at the top of the steep slope a Km or so away which were to be our lodgings for the night. Just before the final ascent we made our way through a dense banana plantation, the expansive leaves curling over our heads and clumps of unripened bananas could be seen still clinging like frightened infants to the mother tree. After the banana plantation, the incline increased even further and the final stretch had us scrambling up a dirt path which zigzagged through a large paddy field that spread across the face of the mountain. By this time a divide had forged itself within the group, as some had pulled ahead leaving the others panting away at the back of the pack. Finally after what felt like climbing for a few miles - although in actuality it was probably only a few hundred yards - we reached the top of the peak victorious. Using my cap to rub the sweat from my brow, I turned around to inspect the path just traveled and the whole valley spread out before me presenting some truly breathtaking views. A scorched black tree trunk which had been felled by lightning rested along the way and acted as a natural bench to sit upon and marvel at the fine views complimented by the glow of a radiant afternoon sun. A short walk away sat the tribe village and our arrival marked the end of a hard day's walking. The village itself consisted of several huts each raised on wooden stilts with a thatched roof and we were led to our hut to dump our stuff and grab a cold drink. A balcony outside our lodgings gave more impressive views of the valley and we arrived just as the sun was setting. As the sun broke through a patch of clouds which had been concealing it, the vast green blanket of trees which rolled over the hills was lit up by the dazzling orange light to project a golden hue across the valley. As the sun said it's final farewell to the day and the moon cut it's first incision in the early evening sky, the coolness of night washed over the small hilltop village and we all retreated inside to eat our meals around a long rectangular wooden table. Evening entertainment came in the form of the local children singing a traditional song -cue the wave of paparazzi shots; their small faces lit up by the flashes of the group- and our drunk guide showing us some card tricks. Turning in for the night, a rolled up mat served as a makeshift bed and had I been less shattered it may have kept me up but luckily I was fast asleep as soon as my weary head hit the pillow; only to be roused from my slumber at dawn by the cry of a rooster as he sang his sun salutations to a new day in the valley of light.