We did choose to travel to Thailand during the rainy season. For the most part, we were lucky and unaffected by the rain. Four days after we left Chiang Mai, we heard the Night Bazaar (nestled squarely in the middle of town, several blocks from any river) was under a foot and a half of water. Obviously, a week or two later, Bangkok was hit the hardest. We watched the footage of the Thai flooding from Laos, feeling fortunate for ourselves but sympathizing with the friendliest people of the friendliest country we have ever been to. In Pai, the rain caught up to us. We saw flooding our first morning. The next morning, we arose with plans of hitting the road on the pair of fuel injected 125 cc Hondas we had rented. The rain was falling, lightly, but threateningly. Through experience and the wisdom of locals, we knew that the cloud, the rains, and the storms would come and go as they pleased, with little predictability. We also knew that, just because rain falls in this valley, does not mean it falls in the next. We were not about to let the rain keep us from the open road, the highway between Pai and Mae Hong Son, one of the most famous stretches of road in Thailand. Before we left, we secured our passage out of the country. We would brave a minivan to the Thai-Laos border, cross the border and board a boat for Luang Prabang, the largest city in Central Laos, and the obvious jumping off point for our travels there.
“Would you like to take the slow boat or the fast boat,” the woman asked.
“What is the difference?”
“The slow boat goes slow. It takes 2 days. The fast boat is fast. You get there in one day.”
“We’ll take the fast boat. See you tomorrow night.”
We put rain-jackets on ourselves, wrapped our overnight packs in a poncho, strapped them to the back of the bikes, and hit the road. Motorbiking in the rain (as long as the rain is reasonably light) is really not too bad, we had realized. The only sketchy part is braking on downhills. I try not to use my brakes too much anyway, so when on level ground or headed uphill, it’s no problem. Take the curves a little slower, and brake as little as possible. We got lucky, and the skies held to a light drizzle most of the ride over, with the main impediment being the obscuring of the spectacular views the road usually afforded. We took it easy over the pass, hoping the visibility would be better on our return trip. The way down the western face of the pass was steep and winding, but we took it slowly, respecting the rainfall and the slick roads it produced. We arrived at Cave Lodge that afternoon. We had debated whether or not to keep going to Mae Hong Son or stay the night at Cave Lodge. As soon as we saw the place, we knew we weren’t going anywhere.John Spies left his native Australia to travel the world as a young man in his early twenties. He never made it past Northern Thailand. He met a young Thai woman, fell in love with her and the country, and made Thailand home. He lived in Chiang Mai during the height of the opium wars in the late 70s and early 80s, even traveling to many of the violence-ridden villages at the forefront of the heroin trade. He watched from a front-row seat as people from all over the world came to northern Thailand for one thing and one thing only. And when the money ran out and the needles were dry, dope fiends would smuggle as much as they could back to their own country, sell it off, and repeat the process. At some point along the way, both fulfilling his own desire for adventure and frustrated with the waste he saw in the veins of those around him, Spies began seeking out and discovering caves all over the area. He enjoyed the caving, but also wanted to create a market and atmosphere that did not revolve around the poppy plant. He has discovered thousands of caves, many with traces of past civilizations: be it human remains, drawings on the walls, or other remnants of ancient communal living. He wrote about many of his adventures in a fascinating memoir Rebecca and I passed back and forth for a few weeks after leaving Cave Lodge. Spies still lives at the camp, still leads guided tours of the caves, and, as we would find out, will even sit around the common area and share a few stories with guests after hours. He truly is a legend of Northern Thailand.
We walked down the small path and turned the corner, not knowing what to expect. What we saw was an enormous communal area, all wooden, separated into several levels. The bottom level was for relaxing: sporting hammocks and benches. The middle level was for eating, featuring tables and a large fire pit, the top level boasted a ping-pong table and bar. We could envision a couple of dozen backpackers, all tired and dirty from exploring caves all day, reliving the adventures over a beer and listening to the music coming through the speakers. We also noticed the many trashcans filled with water that were posted every 20 feet or so throughout the lodge, protection against fires like the one years ago that burnt down the entire place. Spies has since been, understandably, very wary of a recurrence, and extinguishers, buckets, and no smoking signs are a constant reminder. The upper area, walled off from the rest, was a kitchen open all day long, serving everything from wine and beer to hamburgers to pizza to Thai favorites. We loved it. We secured a bed in the “dorm” area (we paid half price for a room with eight beds instead of two. We were the only people in the room), and, after a long discussion with John’s wife about how best to spend our two days in the area, set out to see one of the caves that evening on our own. We would do a proper tour the next day.
We hopped on the bikes and headed to “Cave 1,” the easily accessed opening cavern of the larger Tham Lod cave network. I worried we were pushing it to get there by dusk, before realizing it probably didn’t matter 
what time it was once inside the cave. With our guide and gas powered lantern in tow, we made the short hike to the gaping entrance of the cave, where our guide ushered us onto a flat bamboo raft. With a long bamboo pole, our guide slid us around and through the maze of boulders and into the cave itself, beaching the raft and leading us back into total darkness. Our guide knew a handful of English words, the most utilized of which was “hello.” He would use the word to mean any number of things: “watch out,” “look at this,” “this way,” “steep steps,” “slippery floor,” “that stalactite looks like teeth.” He said it as two words, increasing the pitch of his voice as he pronounced the first syllable, and a soft drawn out second syllable: “Heh-lllooooooo.” Often, when looking at rock formations, the “hello” would precede another word: elephant, frog, bison, monk. Whatever the particular stalagmite looked like. He was incredibly friendly, and looked proud to show us around. Being the last tour of the day, after circuiting through Cave 1 we paused in the mouth of the cave to watch the Pacific Swifts begin their daily routine: awaking from their daytime slumber to begin feeding. Tens of thousands of birds flew around the opening of the cave, in, out, and around. It was quite a spectacle, and a good first day in the cave had us looking forward to day 2. As we mounted our bikes and headed up into town and back to Cave Lodge, I pulled up beside our guide, beginning the walk up the hill. Through a series of gestures and pointing, I was able to offer motorbike services. He gratefully jumped on the back of the bike, and gave us an enormous grin when we dropped him off at home.  |
| Rebecca liked her outfit way more than I liked mine |
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| Heh-loooooo. Tooth! |
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| Pacific Swifts |
When we arrived back at Cave Lodge, the communal area was buzzing with guests. The large open area drew everyone out of their respective bungalows. An Australian couple drank beer and surveyed pictures taken that day, a French family knelt around one of the large wooden tables, enjoying the spread of food prepared in the half-open kitchen a few meters away. A pair of American girls lounged with coffees and a copy of Spies’ book. Soft reggae-dub drifted through the speakers, only slightly louder than the sounds of the jungle still discernible over all of it. It was a far cry from the tattoo parlors, yoga outposts, and 21st century video bars we had left 70 kilometers behind, over the mountain pass and back in Pai. After grabbing a couple of cold beers and placing an order for curry and sticky rice, Rebecca and I chose a table next to the Australian couple, who we had seen several times around Pai. We soon found them to be wrestling over the same decision we were, debating over the various guided tours Cave Lodge offered, deciding what combination of kayaking and caving to sign up for. The walls of the common area were plastered with information about caves, rivers, treks, and other activities, no doubt saving Spies and his staff from repeating the same information a dozen times a day. We decided that the four of us would do the half-day kayaking and caving combination. 2 caves, and a 2 hour kayak ride down the mighty (and unusually high) Khong-Pai River. We went to bed eager to begin our adventures, though tired from after staying up a bit too late (the 6 of us, along with the American girls, made the mistake of getting into the philosophical, moral and pragmatic dynamics of the ubiquitous “older white man and young Thai girl” phenomenon. It’s never a short conversation).
The next morning we arose and, after having two cups of When Rob and Aaron and I rafted the Arkansas 
River in Colorado many summers ago, the rapids were probably rated a bit higher. But there is something you get in a small kayak that you just don’t in a big raft. You really feel the river (literally and figuratively), you are much closer to the water and you have more control of the vessel. The trip was amazing, the speed and power of that river matched up against the impossibly graceful and effortless control of our guides.
River in Colorado many summers ago, the rapids were probably rated a bit higher. But there is something you get in a small kayak that you just don’t in a big raft. You really feel the river (literally and figuratively), you are much closer to the water and you have more control of the vessel. The trip was amazing, the speed and power of that river matched up against the impossibly graceful and effortless control of our guides.
We had kayaked for about ten minutes when we reached the mouth of Tham-Lod and Cave 1, which Reba and I had explored the day before. The river snaked around one final corner and then into the cave (I know. The rivers in Thailand go through caves. Cool, huh?). We paddled past Cave 1 and beached the little boats on the other side. One of the guides pulled out a waterproof bucket and fished out eight headlamps, handing one to each of us. Single file, we all ascended up into Cave 2, which was bigger and more spectacular than the first. Our guides knowingly led us through passageways, up onto large rocks, down into crevasses and back out again. Caves are truly unique places. The absence of light, acidity, and concentration of moisture create an environment unlike anything else. After making the large, winding loop through Cave 2, we headed back for the boats.
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| Supposedly, an ancient drawing. I couldn't see it either |
Kayaking out of that cave was one of the coolest moments of the trip down the Khong-Pai. After shoving off inside the cave, we rounded a corner and all of a sudden we see a yawning portal of light ahead, which grew larger and larger as we approached. I guess I knew rivers sometimes wound through caves, but it sure was an experience to see it myself. A few hundred meters after we exited the cave, we beached the boats again and headed for the “hair cave,” named for the tiny hair-like stalactites hanging from overhead. Unlike Cave 2 which was huge and open, and, dare I say, cavernous, the hair cave required us to lower ourselves through a tiny opening in the rock face, essentially slithering down into the cave itself. Once inside, the cave opened up into magnificent chambers that felt far more remote and off the beaten track than the prior cave. We plundered our way back into the cave, feeling the walls closing in around us as the space steadily grew smaller. The formations in the hair cave were smaller, yet more intricate than Cave 2. It was beautiful, and it was with shining and thoroughly muddied faces that we crawled our way out of the cave and marched back down to the boats.
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| Crawling into the hair cave |
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| The hair, in the hair cave. Obviously. |
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| "AAAARRGGGH. No more caves!!" |
The last part of the ride was spectacular, as we navigated the biggest rapids on the river. I loved every single minute of it, and found myself unable to wipe the huge grin off of my face. As soon as our boat (the lead one) would finish a section (in which you would get completely drenched), I would fish the dry bag out of my life jacket and whip out the camera to turn around and get pictures of the rest of them. Then, approaching another rapid, I would hurriedly replace the camera in the sack, roll the bag up, snap it, and stuff it back down between my chest and life jacket. My guide thought it was hilarious.
The highlight of the last stretch was the small dam we went over. We came in sight of it and slowed while one of the other guides beached his boat and walked over on the shore to inspect the other side, making sure no tree trunks, limbs, bamboo rafts or anything else had become lodged at the bottom. Which would have certainly been bad for us. My guide then looked at me as if to say, are you down for this?
“Oh hell yeah,” I said, nodding and grinning like an idiot.
He said not another word, but pointed us towards the ledge and took off. It was fantastic, that moment when just the front of the boat is peering over and you look down and see the water drop out from beneath you, tumbling down to the river several meters below. When the front of the boat hit the bottom of the drop the boat bent nearly in two, and I felt the helmet of my guide graze my back before the boat snapped back into place, and we were on the bottom. I turned around and snapped a good one of Rebecca as she dropped. We had another 20 minutes or so of great rapids (though nothing quite as exciting).
We pulled the boats out right before another drop about twice as big. One of the guides said he had done it before, but there was probably too much water right now. I couldn’t talk him into it (but I tried my damndest).
Spies drove us back to Cave Lodge in the songthaew (open-backed passenger pick-up truck), as the rest of us sat in the back, laughing and loving the Thai-Burmese border: the caves, the rivers, the mountains. We could see why John Spies could never bring himself to leave. But it was time for us to go. We had to get back to Pai to get on the van, which would leave at 8:00 that night.
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| We did NOT want to leave Cave Lodge. |
Spies walked up to say goodbye, asking our next stop.
“Laos. Catch the van tonight to the border.”
“And then the slow boat down?” He asked.
“No, the fast one.”
“Uh-oh.”
He then proceeded to tell us the horrors of taking the fast boat down the Mekong River in Laos. He said he had done it one time, years earlier, and would never do it again. This a man that climbs through slippery, steep, muddy caves, kayaks down raging rivers, and befriends drug lords during the late 70s. He described the trip, made aboard a narrow, 8 seat speed boat with a car engine in the back, hurtling down the river at speeds up to 100 km/h. Every passenger was required to wear a full-on motorcycle helmet throughout the trip, because the ride was so rough. Although, he said, you want the helmet anyway to muffle the noise of the car engine, which is sitting, uncovered, a few feet from your head. If, he told us, you make it without hitting any of the flotsam, which there was a lot of due to the rains, you will hate every minute of that trip: the noise, the whiplash, the stomach churning.
“Although, if you hit the flotsam, the boat will explode and you will have a very short trip.”
Thanks man. We gave heartfelt goodbyes to everyone at the lodge and jumped back on our bikes, scared to death of the “fast boat” waiting for us at the border. I spent most of the two hour ride back scheming on how to change our reservation, and wondering if we should just eat the cost and take the slow boat anyway if we couldn’t change it.
We had a fantastic ride back to Pai, the weather was incredible. After descending the eastern face of the spectacular pass (even more scenic on sunny days), the road leveled out a bit and stopped winding quite so much, and we just hit the gas. I was flying, and I kept turning around, expecting Rebecca to have lagged behind, and there she would be, right behind me, cutting through the warm mountain air at 60 mph, leaning into the curves and grinning as wide as I was. We made it back in record time, even having time to stop off in the Yunnanese village outside town for a bite of Southern Chinese food before we had to go.
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| Top of the pass |
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| Reba swerving around a random pit in the road |
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| Yunnanese Village |
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| Yunnanese Ferris Wheel |
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| Our last evening in Thailand. Fitting scene. |
When I approached the woman at the counter where we had booked our trip, I was prepared to give all sorts of reasons why we couldn’t take the fast boat. Rebecca was ready to cry, fake illness, anything. The woman at the counter seemed like she had seen this play out before, though. I told her we wanted the slow boat and she took my receipt, marked over it, and handed me the difference in cash.
“Wow, that was easy, and we didn’t even have to beg.”
Relieved, we walked over to the same bench we had sat on days earlier, when that awful minivan had dropped us off. We looked at each other, each of us excited, sad, and a little nervous. We had spent a month in the country. We had walked down white sand beaches, boated between limestone islands, snorkeled in the Andaman, trekked through a rainforest, gathered our lunch on an organic farm, hiked to waterfalls large and small, motorcycled down roads cut into the side of lush green hills, thrown ourselves down a roaring river on a rubber boat, swung off every rope we could find, and crawled into caves in the side of mountains. We had grown to love the country and the scenery, the mountains and the coast. We appreciated the ease of travel, the fantastic menu of food, and, most of all, the people. The kindest, warmest, friendliest people one could hope to meet. The sun-soaked land of smiles.
It was time to say goodbye to Thailand...
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