I was especially happy to have an accessory to help me in my lifelong quest to look cool. The obstacles to this quest started with the drooling. More drool than any other three children in the room, I pretty much (according to my parents) was in a bib all of the time to protect my shirts. Then, just as I seemed to be ridding myself of the drooling phase, I became obsessed with Peter Pan in particular and green tights in general. It's hard to look cool in green tights. Then between bedwetting (prohibiting me from sleeping over at anyone's house until age 9 or so) and the clothes I wore (hello, TJ Maxx!) things did not improve very much. My mom cut my hair throughout middle school (and didn't have much to work with). I went through an awful "if I put enough of this women's hair product in my hair it won't stick up but it looks wet all the time" phase. Huge gap between my very large front teeth. The astoundingly large noggin. It's very hard for me to look cool. That's where I thought the motorcycle would be useful. Unfortunately, I failed to remember that I would need a helmet. This is a bad thing for two main reasons. One, anything making my head look even bigger than it already is should be kept far away from me. It borders on cruelty to make this melon look any more massive. Second, due to its titanic size, my choices when selecting a helmet are very limited. Meaning, I pretty much have to take the largest helmet the shop offers. Inevitably, everyone in the store laughs as I make my way down the row of helmets, trying to jam each one over my gigantic dome, generally unable to do it. Just like our trip to a Colorado dude ranch with Ma Tante. Rob and Drew with their normal sized heads, happily trying on all of the cowboy hats, able to pick the one they liked the best. We had to go to a big and tall store for mine. And at 11, I was neither big nor tall. So I always end up with the biggest helmet in the store, and it always looks ridiculous. My aspirations of cool thwarted again.
So with helmet attached, we set out to ride the Samoeng loop, a 130 kilometer trek along the mountain roads west of Chiang Mai. Samoeng marks the farthest point of the loop, a quiet but friendly village 
that sees few tourists. We had a glorious ride that day, the road was winding but wider than the little roads up Doi Suthep, and the seats on our Phantom proved far more comfortable than the narrower varieties on the scooters. The road lazily rolled over hills, through forests, and along breathtaking mountain peaks. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like blasting down beautiful mountain roads on a motorcycle with the sun shining down. Don't be surprised when Rebecca and I are sporting leather Hell's Angels jackets when we return. I hear Ashe County is a hell of a place to ride a bike. We stopped several times, we had a nice lunch at a little roadside stand in Samoeng. The villagers reacted with great curiosity when we rolled into town, clearly not accustomed to seeing two grinning, white, helmeted faces standing out in their little town. We also stopped at an Eden-like Bed and Breakfast place on the way back that Reba assured me her mother would love. It was closed for the off-season, but the plants were pretty amazing. We found a lake on the way back that had a restaurant by the water. The "tables" were actually bamboo huts out in the water requiring a short trip over a bridge to reach. Pretty freaking cool, having a beer while the sun goes down, sitting in a bamboo hut in the lake. We love Thailand. Love it.
That night we happened across Carolyn and Matthew, a couple with North Carolina roots that I had met on the train a few days earlier. We spent a nice evening drinking beer and eating with their family. They are in Thailand to find a material to more efficiently manufacture their brainchild, a toilet training device for young children. It sounded very interesting, and, seeing as how they have four, we figured they knew what they were doing. Necessity is the mother of invention and all that. We had a blast with them, and hope they are doing well.
The next day, we went to meet Noi. Noi is from Thailand, and made friends with Lillie when she was here. She was a devoted and daily visitor to Lillie when my sister was stuck in the Chiang Mai hospital for a week while her eye recovered from the infection. They have kept in contact, and we were excited to meet Noi, who we heard many wonderful things about from Lillie. We motored over to Bo Sang, a little town about 10 kilometers east of Chiang Mai. Bo Sang is famous for umbrella making, and now is home to Noi's brand new coffee shop, "Coffee Time." We had a wonderful cup of coffee, and planned out a trek to Doi Inthanon, the highest peak in Thailand, leaving the next morning. We would spend two days and one night with Noi up in the mountains, and had no idea what to expect. It would prove to be an amazing experience, great beyond our wildest dreams, and a definite standout of the entire trip. The large van picked us up at 9:00 the next morning. We met Lars and Iki on the drive up, two wonderful Dutch guys who were coming on the trek with us (though they felt a little rough that morning). We really had no idea what to expect. Treks in Thailand are very popular, and usually involve several days of hiking, camping, boating, elephants or some other combination of activities. Lars and Iki also had no idea what we had in store, but we were in the van and headed to the hills, nonetheless. We stopped at a market on the way up, which was good for us. Noi was able to point out and explain many of the food items that we had been seeing over the past few weeks.
"These are quail eggs. That is liver, that is spleen. Those are the feet of ducks. That is the head of a pig."
You get the picture. We also tried some kind of egg (Reba and I are still debating what it was) that was gelatinous on the inside but surprisingly delicious. We would later use all of the ingredients we bought in the market to help prepare lunch for ourselves a few hours later. When we reached a little village near Doi Inthanon, Noi told us we had arrived. We climbed out of the van and surveyed the small village, farmlands, and bamboo hut where we would be sleeping on bamboo mats stretched across the floor. Our guide for the weekend, along with Noi, was Charlie, who owned the home and farmed the land. Charlie is awesome, and we had a blast with him and his wife Bussi, who opened their home (and many, many bottles of rice whiskey) to the 5 of us very graciously. As soon as we arrived Charlie grabbed a basket and machete and we followed him to the terraced farms stretching up the hillside. We walked slowly through the fields, admiring the beauty of the place and picking vegetables along the way. Rebecca quickly grabbed the basket and machete and took over the chore from Charlie. I think we have farming in our future. My wife does have a way with the plants.
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| Thai umbrellas |
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| Note Rebecca's hole in the floor |
That afternoon, we were dropped off in the woods and made our way to one of the glorious waterfalls surrounding Doi Inthanon. A far cry from the "waterfalls" we had seen down south (don't get me wrong, the islands are stunning- as I've described, the jungle, mountains and cliffs are gorgeous- the waterfalls, not so much). On our way down the little winding path to the top of the waterfall, we met a group of three western girls and one local guide. The girls, wet and looking quite put out, were huffing their way back up the hill. Charlie spoke briefly to the local, laughed, and we continued down the path. Later, we would find out that the local did not feel safe taking the girls down the trail to the bottom of the falls because of downed bridges and a high water level. So they had turned back up. Charlie, as we would soon find out, was not in the least bit worried about downed bridges, water level, shuffling along wet, mossy rocks, or any other seemingly dangerous activity that seemed less so when following the sure-footed and thoroughly awesome Charlie. Later around dinner, he would tell us, somewhat dismissively, that the guide didn't know what to do because he was from Chiang Mai.
Charlie knew what to do. The four of us, Charlie, and his 9? year old son Vico soon found ourselves at the top of a beautiful, powerful waterfall the likes of which I have seldom seen. It was breathtaking, and so much water thundered through the valley that one had to shout in order to be heard. The trail down to the bottom was precariously fantastic. We lowered ourselves down rocks, we climbed down a makeshift bamboo ladder. We traversed bridges formed by lashing bamboo together; bridges that looked like they may or may not hold up under the weight (remarkably strong, that bamboo. Note the floors in the cabin are all made of bamboo that has been flattened, looking like it will break through at any minute, but almost always holding up. At lunch Rebecca found out the hard way that the bamboo right by the sink that is somewhat rotted may give way if a foot hits it from the wrong angle). We did, indeed, reach a point where the bridge had collapsed. Charlie braced himself in the rushing waters and helped us across one by one. Vico practically skipped down the trail the whole way, needing less time or guidance than anyone else. After two stops in the midst of the rushing water, we popped out of the woods and into the rice paddies to wind along a meandering trail to the very bottom, where Charlie assured me (through a series of hand gestures) that I could swim. He had told me it was dangerous up top. It was unnecessary. I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid.
Walking through the rice paddies with Charlie and Vico, who have obviously spent their entire lives doing it, was a humbling experience. The paddies formed terraces across the face of the valley, and in between terraces would be a 6-10 inch wide mound of earth. I watched with admiration as Charlie and Vico would walk quickly along the tops of the paddies, seemingly never looking down, feet slightly turned outwards for balance. The rest of us slowly tiptoed our way across, just trying not to fall the 5 feet or so into the wet muck of the paddy below. That valley was so beautiful. We could not see another living soul, and we silently strolled single file through the paddies, listening to the breeze, enjoying the sunshine, and soaking in the scenery.
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| Vico!! |
When we reached the bottom of the set of falls, Charlie turned to me, smiled, and said:
"Now you swim. It's not dangerous."
We immediately jumped in, and Lars and I tried to swim right up to the base of the falls (colossal fail). The water was quite cold, but it felt great after our hike. We propped ourselves up as close to the falls as we could, letting the waters rush by us, feeling the strength of the Thai wet season unleashed. Feeling the lifeblood of the little villages, the rice paddies, and northern Thailand in general: the great rains that sustain the people throughout the dry months, rushing all around us.
Rebecca and I were thrilled about getting the opportunity to cook a little. Not only do we miss having a kitchen (which we haven't had since we have left), but we wanted to learn more about cooking Thai food and had already contemplated joining one of the very popular Thai cooking courses in Chiang Mai. We received a much better one from Noi that night. We all pitched in, cutting up vegetables, cleaning fish, drinking rice whiskey, doing the dishes, drinking more rice whiskey (that Charlie made himself, of course). I, armed with mortar and pestle, spent the majority of the time making a mash to go into the stew: lime, garlic, onion, dried shrimp, chilies, lemongrass, and probably some other things I'm not remembering. Every time I would turn to Noi and ask if it was crushed enough, she would tell me no. Then, as soon as she was ready for whatever I was working at the time, the mash was suddenly perfect.
"Oh, that looks great Michael. Hand it over."
We had a wonderful dinner: fish stew (the head WAS really good), rice, a salad of a dozen different vegetables (most of which I had never seen before), and a tofu/tomato based "spaghetti sauce" that seemed to be Noi's special creation. All washed down with Charlie's rice whiskey. The best part, everything except the fish and the tofu came from the farm, and most of it we had picked ourselves that day. It's a wonderful feeling, realizing that life can be simplified like that and still be so wonderful. Sitting on a floor made of bamboo, cooking on an open fire in the middle of the hut, eating a feast of foods that we picked ourselves, sharing homemade rice whiskey and toasting the Gods of Northern Thailand. All in an open hut with a clear moon, a cool breeze, and a sky full of stars. It was, quite simply, one of the best nights of our entire trip. The company was spectacular (by the way, the Dutch people are awesome. We have not met one Dutch person on this trip that we haven't loved. Just saying.), the food was great, the drinks were great, and we had that satisfied feel you get after a day of hiking and gathering.
That night, we stayed up way too late and drank way too much rice whiskey. Hey, it happens. We had a blast, we all exchanged our boring pharang clothing for the beautiful and comfortable garments made by Bussi. Charlie gave us a lesson in making whiskey from rice. We drank, we sang, we laughed, and we wore skirts. We learned that, while somewhat quiet in the daytime, Lars is an animal when the sun goes down and the whiskey comes out. Just another night in the hills. At the end of the night, we climbed up into our hut, and spread out on the bamboo floor. We hadn't known what to expect from our trek, but the experience blew us away. Hiking, homestay, and cooking class rolled into a glorious day in the hills of northern Thailand.
And we had more to come...
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| Fermenting rice whiskey |
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| The headlamp: my donation for rice whiskey |
P.S.: Sorry about the inactivity lately. We have been having major computer issues (hard drive), which is frustrating, to say the least. When we reach Cleveland this weekend, we are going to buy one of the netbook/mini-laptops for South America. Anyone have any suggestions? (looking at you, big man).
Hope all is well, much love.
