Intermission

Michelle’s travel journal
Chang Mai, Thailand

Don’t let anyone tell you that 22 hours on a plane is something to shuck off lightly.  It is daunting to think of seeing 3 or more airline movies and consuming 3 chicken dinners in the space of one day.  Tom, he of iron constitution, insists that this is power lunching at its best and has renamed the IDL , the International Dinner Line, with this in mind.

We are enchanted by Thailand.  The colors; the bustle; the food; the people.  The elephants!

It was on a day trip out of Chang Mai that we had our elephant adventures.  The first part of the day included an elephants-at-work kind of show with logs being moved around and lots of water being sprayed.   We then went into the jungle for an up close and personal elephant ride.

First you find yourself climbing up a fifteen-foot high platform to mount your elephant.
The standard arrangement is mahout (driver) at the head and tourists on the seat mounted on the elephant’s back.  It feels inherently unstable despite the rope that substitutes for a seatbelt.  There is a lot of rolling motion.  Dramamine would be a wise precaution.  The mahout seems much more at ease sitting there with his legs dangling casually over the elephant’s neck.

And so we begin our walk.  We have been advised to bring treats for the tour—sugar cane and bananas.  The treats are not for us.  As we lumber down the jungle trail, we are gently reminded, with a gray-pink prod, that we are there at the elephant’s pleasure.  His trunk arcs gracefully back in our direction, and we cautiously offer a two-foot length of sugar cane.  Our pachyderm makes quick work of this and he probes again.  We repeat our offering, cane-by-cane, banana-by-banana, until there is none.

Once more there is a probing.  Gentle at first, then more insistent.  Our elephant is unhappy.  There is a snuffling trunk pointed our midsection.  We are starting to think that we either need to hand over our camera as a security deposit for our promise to provide more food, or dismount right there and then.  The mahout takes charge, and we continue.

We ask if one of us can take the mahout’s place—just for the sake of pictures you understand.  And so, the smaller of us is volunteered.

You would think it was like riding a horse–bareback.  You use your thighs to try to get a grip on your mount, but we are pointing downhill and there is no bridle, so your legs and balance are very important.  There is a wet muddy trail that is churned up by size 200 flat-footed feet down below. 

And so we progress for the next hour.  I am so sore!  By the end, I have been beaten rhythmically by the two large sheets of leather that are mounted on either side of the elephant’s head.  Ears.  No one mentioned the ear hazard of elephant riding. 

The next stop in our Thai tour takes us to the beaches of Phuket.  While I have every reason to need a massage, Tom participates in a pick-up volleyball game and promptly throws his back out. 

The poor guy is a wreck. We get HIM a Thai massage to relieve his suffering.  A tiny woman works her magic.  She is not satisfied and calls in the heavy hitter.  Papa will come the next day.

After major manipulation, Tom is contorted back into good-natured adventurer he is at heart, and off we go to explore.

We travel by boat to a remarkable village.  Sticking straight out of the water is a small island—one of the karst towers that are found in the South China Seas.  We dock at an elevated walkway built around this formation and enter a lovely restaurant.

A large brass washstand greets us and we rinse the grime of the trip off our hands as we enter the restaurant.  The seafood lunch is incredible.  It is no surprise, given our present location suspended over the water, that it was fresh and delicious.

We go off to explore the town.  As we exit the other side of the restaurant, we are shaken from our sated reverie.  WE ARE GOING TO DIE.  We have just consumed shellfish at a restaurant built in a town with no sanitation.  Waste runs directly into the ocean below.  A rickety catwalk built over the ocean with boards loose and missing substitutes for a main road with a maze of side “streets” branching off it.  The village-born move swiftly and surely—we walk it as you would a tightrope—not looking down more than we have to.  This is partially a compensation mechanism so we won’t stress about the missing planks here and there.

Thailand has convinced me that I would make a very poor circus performer.  I am neither at home on an elephant, or on a tightrope, and so I plan to return home.