The
elephants stopped half way across the river with water rushing around their
ankles. A motorbike rider had stripped and was washing himself in the river.
Deep noises came from their throats and they eyed the machine with suspicion.
It was not mean't to be there. The mahout used his stick to tap them on, and
with one more bellow they resumed their rolling gait, climbed the muddy bank
and went back into the jungle.
The trek I went
on was two days including elephant riding and bamboo rafting. They collected us
very early in the morning in a bemo and sped us west to the mountains
surrounding Chiang Mai. I was grouped with a bunch of four Scottish lads, a
Dutchman and an Israeli girl. Each of us had paid 1500 bahts (£16/$20.00) to
trek in the jungles and stay with the hill tribes. Our guide was the ebullient
Soppong, a short-haired chubby Thai whose English was excellent. He stopped off
at a market where he loaded up with supplies and cold drinking water. And after
an hours drive the bemo pulled up along a shallow river. A rickety bamboo
swaying bridge led across and we crossed in a chattering state of excitement as
we had seen what was on the other side - elephants!
These were
magnificent brutes. About four adults and youngsters were tethered in the shade
or reaching for nearby greenery. We had to climb steps to be seated on the
howdah which was about 12ft from the ground. The elephants would then plod for
two hours through the jungle. The great leathery head of the elephant was in
front of us and you had to keep your shins away from her flapping ears. We
watched butterflies and flying insects flit around in the heat and as the
jungle closed in on us the humidity got worse. We stopped every thirty seconds
as the elephant in front of us halted and reached for its trunk for fresh
vegetation. It would only move on when the mahout shouted at him or he had
fresh grass to chew.
After sloshing
through a river we returned to camp and went back to the bemo. And after an
hours more ride stopped at a roadside restaurant and looked around. We were
surrounded by towering mountains with jungle vegetation right up to their
summits. The hilltribe village was eight miles up this mountain. We met with
our Karen guide - a shirt wiry fellow who set an incredible pace. He led us through
emerald green paddy fields ringed by jungle. When we entered the jungle the
humidity nearly bowled you over and for miles we ascended a track following a
stream. The incline was very severe and the track was crossed by roots and
stones and was very hard on the feet. Soon all you cared about was putting one
foot after another - the humidity made our T-shirts and shorts wet rags.
The last two
miles of the trek were at a very severe incline and everyone was wheezing in
the heat especially Soppong who was carrying our supplies. The last part was
clambering over the stones near a waterfall - everyone was so hot they just
stripped off and stood under the rushing water. But soon we began to see
buffalo pastures and women in traditional costumes. Then we were there! A
palmroofed longhouse stood on the edge of a paddyfield. From its verandah were
views over the jungle and mountains. We were staying with a Karen family with
father, baby, and mother working on her loom. With their dogs,hens, cockerels
and tethered pig's - I thought I was in the middle of a BBC2 anthropology
documentary.
The wooden
longhouse was built on stilts and we would be sleeping on mats upstairs which
was only reachable via wooden ladder. Soppong cooked us a delicious meal of
curried potatoes and green beans and there was nothing else to do there but
talk and watch the sun set over the jungle. Night falls about 6.00pm up here
and the sound of cicada's was deafening. Most of us went to bed about 11.00pm
with a mixture of Coca-cola and hilltribe moonshine to aid our sleep. One of
the Scots asked for something stronger but the guide refused - saying the
police regularly raid to make sure they are not providing opium to trekkers. So
we let the sounds of the jungle send us to sleep.
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