Our second day in the north Thailand hills was wonderful. We woke up (slightly hungover) and slipped out after a quick breakfast, heading back up to the farm. We would see some parts of the farm we hadn't the day before, pick some more vegetables, make a lunch to take with us, and head for another waterfall. As we set out into the fields, we passed a school and watched Charlie get that same twinkle in his eye. The same way he looked the night before every time he would disappear and come back with another bottle. The same way he looked when we passed the other guide the day before, leading his charges out and away from the waterfall, as we proceeded down into the thick of it. Come with me, he said, and yelled something in Thai as we approached the school house gate. Immediately, a dozen or so young Thai children came running excitedly out of the schoolhouse, all joyfully trying to speak to us at once. I swear, Thai children are all heartbreakingly cute, and it was a matter of seconds before Rebecca was tearing down the gate to immerse herself in young children (I don't want to hear any comments from anyone. We're on our honeymoon dammit).
It was great fun hanging out with the children (once we got past the high pitched screams, somewhat piercing that early in the morning, only a few hours after, mercifully, we finished off all of the rice whiskey in the village). We taught the kids the old standby, "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes," which, to our surprise, is a song that is forced upon Dutch children just as it is on Americans. We, in turn, passed along that lilting and irritatingly melodic tune to the Thai people. I'm sorry, parents of those kids. It was all we could think of to sing. If your unbearably cute children are tainted forever by that godawful song...well...it was all Rebecca's idea. And to all of those reading. Do yourself a favor: don't start singing that song. Just don't. It could be days before...well, don't say I didn't warn you.
They loved us and our "music," but not as much as they loved Uncle Charlie when we came back in (from a quick trip back to his house) with a large plastic bag filled with flip flops of every size and color. Charlie, Noi, and Rebecca sat down and, to the delight of every child in the room, spread the shoes across the floor and began to receive each child, one by one. The kids, as the waited in line, were so excited they could hardly contain themselves, and for a moment forgot about the oddly large and strange sounding white people that had invaded their schoolhouse. Each one, as they reached the front of the line, would slip on a brand new pair of flip-flops of various colors and most with small designs or characters gracing the bottoms. They loved it. We then talked a little about letters and numbers, Lars ran around the schoolhouse, I juggled a bit, and Reba sat and tried to talk to them for a few minutes before we all gathered and took a picture before saying our goodbyes. Every last kid in that room (including us and the teacher) was absolutely beaming as we excitedly waved our goodbyes. And man, those kids love their Uncle Charlie.
We took a slow stroll around the farm, gathering more food for lunch and just having a good time hanging out with Charlie, who would stay behind to attend his duties while we went to visit another waterfall and river before heading back to Chiang Mai. Even after one day, we were all sad to leave Charlie behind. He is just that kind of man, the kind of person you know you love within 15 minutes, regardless of age, background or language. And he was a whole lot of fun to drink rice whiskey with.
As we gathered our belongings, packed our lunch, and said our goodbyes to Charlie and Bussi, we picked through her beautiful handbags, skirts, shirts, and pants to have something to take home with us. I’m pretty sure Rebecca bought more clothing from Bussi than she usually sells in a month, but the stuff is amazing. Thank you Mom and Dad, again, for carting it all home with you. I don’t think Bussi was ready for the long lanky white men throwing their arms around her, but hug her we did. It wasn’t the first person I’ve made uncomfortable with a bear hug. After very heartfelt goodbyes, we hopped in the van and were off.
I swear, every waterfall we visited was more spectacular than the one before it. The one Noi took us to that morning was the most amazing of all. Loads of water tumbling over the cliff, green all around us, the velocity of the water kicking up so much spray that getting within 100 meters of the falls was like jumping in. We marvelled at the beauty, Noi looked on with pride for her beautiful country, and Lars sucked down bottles of water, cursing the gods of the rice whiskey. We loaded up in the van. Noi told us she had one more surprise for us before our return journey home.
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| Lars attempts to quiet the rice hammers in his head |
The van pulled off at a nondescript exit off the little road we had been winding down for an hour or so. We gathered our packed lunch, mostly wrapped in palm leaves and rubber bands, and half walked, half slid down the embankment to the banks of the river below. We found our way to a huge, flat rock beside the river and ate our lunch, basking in the warm sunshine and reflecting on a wonderful two days. The river was fast, cool, and felt wonderful to our sore, tired bodies, and that refreshment mixed with our lunch-salad, rice, eggs, and fried bananas-had us all feeling brand new. I tried, to no avail, to get someone else to shoot the rapids (shoot the flume!!) with me on our bellies, but, alas, I would go at it alone.
Thai rivers humbled me again, as the final time I shot one section I got going a bit too fast and ended up about 10 feet shy of a small waterfall, a little too close for comfort. I managed to wedge my feet on a rock, leaning all of my weight back upriver to resist the strong current’s urge to carry me onward. The water rushed around me as my neck and shoulders formed a rapid of their own. I sat, rather scared for about two or three minutes, actually debating whether I needed someone to throw me a rope, vine, or something else, scared to move from my solid but precarious foothold. Slowly, an inch at a time, and over 10 minutes, I worked my way over to the shore, incredibly grateful when the current let up and I could stand up and walk out of the rushing waters. I walked, my whole body shaking with adrenaline, back up to our picnic site. I would have made it over the waterfall and out of the other side okay, but it would not have felt very good, and I was sure I would have had some bruises, cuts, and probably worse to show for my troubles. I didn’t try to talk anyone else into bodysurfing the rapids that day.
We had a quiet, contented ride back down the mountain into Chiang Mai. We were all superbly satisfied, fulfilled by a wonderful two days that gave us such a remarkable slice of Thai life. Noi was an amazing tour guide, and we would miss her matronly presence immediately. Charlie and Bussi had been so kind to let us into their home, their kitchen, their liquor “cabinet.” That night, Rebecca and I met up with Lars and Iki to reflect on the trip over a few beers and games of pool.
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| He didn't know where he got the shirt |
The next day, we would head for Pai, and they to Bangkok. The eternal dilemma of the backpacker: you meet such amazing people, you develop relationships and stories and friendships in such an accelerated time frame, and then you go on your separate ways. It is one of the joys and difficulties of what we are blessed to be doing right now. We hope they are well, and send our love. But it was time to move on, we had elephants to tame.
And I told you not to start singing that song...
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