Last night we enjoyed a final supper at our favorite village restaurant and said goodbye to the very nice man who owns it as our time in the Chiang Mai area of Thailand draws to a close. The first time we went there two weeks ago, we brought our own bottled water and looked around nervously for health-code violations as we swatted mosquitoes and waited for our dinner, which turned out to be delicious. We’ve since been back many times, and the proprietor and his young daughter know our order: two beef and rice with egg and two pork with noodles in broth. We serve ourselves water in tin cups filling them with ice from an old, dingy cooler and water from pink plastic pitchers. The owner/chef turns on the big overhead fans to keep the mosquitos at bay, and we enjoy a relaxing meal talking to each other and eating this amazing local cuisine, and we’ve grown bold enough to sprinkle our food with the finely ground peppers that give the food just the right amount of heat. We’ll miss this place.
Most of the business owners in the village have a small apartment beside the space set aside for commerce, and both areas are covered by roll-up metal doors at night. The meat and produce market stretches an entire block from the crossroads, and there’s a small Tesco Lotus grocery store across the street where we’ve bought most of our supplies for the past two weeks. 7-Eleven stores are everywhere in Thailand. This village has one just down the street from the grocery store, and it’s a popular gathering spot for the young people in the neighborhood. My favorite coffee vendor practices his trade on the curb next to a long line of scooters and songthaew pickup trucks, and I’m gonna miss this guy too. The Ban Pa Lan school is on the corner of our street just down from the village crossroads, and we’ve enjoyed watching the children play soccer in the courtyard while kicking up a cloud of dust. Their uniforms are similar to the white shirts and khakis our children wore in elementary school.
Every morning there is a competition between several camps of roosters around our villa compound to claim the title of Loudest, Proudest Birds in Chiang Mai, and the other species of warbling birds in the field outside our wall give the roosters a run for their money. The 6:30 am cacophony was disconcerting the first couple of mornings we were here, but now I’m used to it, and I know I’ll miss the sounds of the birds once we’re gone, but I’m sure there’s a rooster or two in Vietnam. Our routine here has been slow and easy with late breakfasts, midday school sessions, afternoon coffee, and Thai cooking practice, and we’ve continued our study of basic economics in the evenings while adding an analysis of the differences in the major world religions. We’ve also managed to sprinkle in a few other activities to fight cabin fever, and one of our favorites was the pursuit of the wild and wily Mekong Cat.
The Bosang Fishing Pond is located about thirty minutes from our house, and we secured an Uber to take us there on a hot afternoon a couple of days ago. The pond spans several acres and is surrounded by coconut palms and thick forest beyond the edges. A two-story building with bright blue clapboard siding sits at the entrance to the pond, and there’s a small cafe inside with a bar and a cashier stand where we rented a pole, bait, and help from a guide for the afternoon. Our guide’s name was Chang, and he performed his duties shirtless with a big smile on his face and a plastic cup full of Leo beer on ice. The bait was old bread and chocolate doughnuts mashed up and applied to the rig in a manner that would stay secure during a long cast into the pond. Chang showed us how to adjust the drag when we got a strike and set the hook in a violent, arcing motion with the rod. We shared a shelter along the bank with a young man from Tennessee, a retired cherry farmer from Washington, and a couple from Australia on holiday with their elementary-age daughter, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but the Bosang Fishing Pond.
As the sun dipped down lower in the afternoon, the fish started biting, and we hauled in Mekong catfish the size of German shepherds, and believe me, they did not give up easily. The thrill of catching these monsters was addictive, and we all got in on the action as we ducked and dodged the other fisherman on the bank as our prey dragged us left and right. It was exhausting work, but the prospect of catching “just one more” kept us fishing intensely along with the guy from Washington, who was on his fourth day in a row at the pond. He was wearing a wedding ring, but I didn’t inquire about his wife who I assumed must be at the spa back in the hotel while her fish-crazed husband stalked the Bosang banks. Closing time came much too quickly, and Chang collected the bait and rods, and I gave him a nice tip so he could buy more Leo beer to help him perform this dream occupation. We sat in the cafe and ordered a cheap dinner of spicy chicken and noodles with vegetables and told fish stories until our driver showed up to take us away from the place where all of our wildest fish dreams came true.
Chiang Mai is surrounded by jungle-covered mountain ranges, and we hired a driver to take us high in the hills one day so we could take in another perspective of Thailand. Our driver was Mr. Nut, a great guy who kept us engaged all day with his stories about life outside the big cities. We drove into the Lanna region, also aptly named the land of a million rice fields, and headed for the mountains on roads bordered by rice paddies and thousands of acres planted with sugar cane, corn, and tobacco. There are many areas with hot springs bubbling to the surface outside Chiang Mai, and we stopped for a while at one of these places where the springs are harnessed by large tanks and piped through a network of decorative concrete channels. We joined in with the other visitors and soaked our feet in the hot water and attempted to cook some eggs near the source of the spring where the water is close to boiling temperature. Properly relaxed, we boarded the van and began the ascent to the village of Mae Kampong nestled in the green alcoves of the mountains at 1300 meters.
Boiling eggs in the hot spring
The jungle canopy became intensely thick and green the higher we drove, and the twisting road was flanked by huge banana and teak trees draped with vines the size of fire hoses. The cool, mountain slopes of northern Thailand are well suited for growing world-class coffee beans, and we could see thick stands of coffee plants stretching back into the jungle with thin rays of sunlight barely touching their jagged, deep green leaves. Many of the small farms along the mountain road dry and roast their product, and we saw long, low troughs full of cream-colored coffee beans drying in the sun. I had seen this process previously only in documentaries. We arrived in Mae Kampong around lunchtime, and Mr. Nut took us to his favorite restaurant, where we enjoyed fried chicken and spicy sausage with sticky rice while listening to a stream rush by the window next to our table. The air at this altitude was cool and dry and perfect for hiking, and after lunch, we enjoyed a stroll through the jungle to a waterfall beside a small Buddhist temple set back in the thick vegetation. Most of the homes and businesses in the small village are built into the rocky terrain beside the streams and waterfalls giving the mountain hamlet the look of a large, rambling tree house constructed by elves.
After hiking and exploring for a while, Mr. Nut took us to his favorite place in the village for coffee, which had a food and beverage station near the road and multiple seating areas built onto the boulders lining the stream and connected by thick-planked walkways. Deena and the kids enjoyed some baked goods while Mr. Nut and I eagerly watched the barista patiently prepare our americano beverages. She took some black, oily beans provided by one of the local farms and finely ground them filling the air with an intense nutty aroma. She then packed the grounds into an espresso machine, which yielded a strong thick brew topped with rich crema. She added hot water to the espresso and served us the coffee in clear glass cups, which we took back to our table beside the stream. The coffee was strong, smooth, and aromatic with sweet floral hints, and it was some of the best I’ve had on our trip. At some point, I’ll compile a list of my favorite cups of coffee around the world and rank them accordingly—the Mae Kampong cup will place highly.
Nice spot for coffee
After a full afternoon in the cool mountains, we descended to the valley floor and headed to our village, trying to fight sleep so we wouldn’t miss any of the views along the way, but Joseph and Deveny finally zonked out in the back of the van. Mr Nut wanted to show Deena and me a rice paddy up close, so he found a place to pull over on a road bordering a huge farm, and we ventured out along the rows. “Be careful,” advised Mr. Nut as he pointed to a muddy depression along one of the furrows, “hole for rat.” We stood beside him looking furtively over our shoulder for man-eating rodents as he explained the process for growing rice in large quantities, and we were amazed to learn that most of the work is still done by hand by laborers earning about ten dollars a day. We purchased a watermelon from a lady operating a stand by the side of the road, and Mr. Nut delivered us safely home after this long fun day in the mountains.
We hired another driver to take us on a final excursion before leaving Chiang Mai, and this time, our destinations were the nearby village of the Karen Long Neck Tribe and the sticky waterfall about an hour north of the city. The Karen Long Necks are indigenous to the hills of Myanmar, but most have relocated in Thailand to escape warfare and persecution in their homeland. Deena and I remembered seeing the women of the tribe with their extended necks wrapped by brass coils gracing the cover of National Geographic magazine in the 1970’s, and this international exposure brought them notoriety back in the day. We pulled up to the village, and our driver mentioned that there was a steep admission fee of which we were unaware and wiped me out of most of the cash in my pocket. Once inside, our driver showed us the residential section of the village which consisted of about twenty-five poorly constructed tin-roofed shacks circled around a large privy. There were bins between the shacks overflowing with trash, and little kids ran around the privy in bare feet while scrawny chickens pecked around the rubbish piles.
The main path surrounding the residences were lined with booths packed with crafts supposedly made by the women of the tribe who dutifully sat among their wares beckoning the tourists to have a look. Although all of the women we met were wearing coils around their necks, most were younger and didn’t have the extension exhibited by the two older ladies we encountered. We were told that the coils honor the gods and offer protection from tigers who tend to sneak into villages and go for the jugular while the men of the tribe are off hunting or farming. Deena noted that the coils don’t actually extend the neck but rather force the clavicles down giving the neck an extended appearance. I bought Deveny a bracelet to justify taking a few pictures of the ladies, and as we left, we all agreed that it was more fun watching a chicken scratch the ground for her chicks in the jungle than gawking at the Long Necks in this strange and slightly sad setting, which we were told benefits the tribe through fees and goods purchased. As I’ve looked through my American, manicured-lawn tinted glasses, I’ve been reminded over and over on this trip that most people choose to live the way they do and don’t need my pity. With that thought in mind, Joseph and I felt good about supporting the tribe by paying to shoot wooden arrows into a target from an awesome crossbow that was surely used to take down monkeys and tigers in the jungles of Myanmar.
Lord have mercy on me, a tourist
We left the Karen Long Neck Tribe and headed north to the jungle and the location of one of many sticky waterfalls in the area which are hugely popular with Thais and tourists alike. In my corner of North Carolina, stepping on a dark, algae-covered rock in the middle of a waterfall is the gateway to an instant plunge into an icy mountain stream. In the Bua Tong area of northern Thailand, there are pristine waterfalls cascading down rocks covered by centuries of mineral deposits to which no algae will attach. The result is a slightly spongy surface with incredible traction that allows an intrepid jungle explorer to scale the waterfalls feeling like spiderman. Our driver took us to an area which thankfully had no admission fee and a large picnic area near the walkway down to the falls. We spent all afternoon playing in the cool water feeling the absolute joy of climbing straight up the falls with no fear of sliding down and being carried away into the jungle beyond. There was a jovial mix of people there including Thais, a group of guys from New Zealand, and some girls from the United States who recruited me to photograph them scaling the sticky rocks. We were reluctant to leave this natural playground, but hunger forced us back to the breezy picnic area where we enjoyed peanut butter and jelly sammiches under tall trees with leaves the size of placemats.
The drive home went by quickly, and we tried our best to commit the sight of the Thai countryside to memory as since we won’t see it again on this trip. Our plan is to return to Thailand in early April to explore the famous southern beaches, which have a completely different look from the valley that we’ve called home for the last two weeks. The small village on the outskirts of Chiang Mai has been a place of welcome, discovery, and refreshment as we’ve come from lands of vastly different looks and attitudes such as Europe and the Middle East. We’re heading off to worship at the Chiang Mai Community Church this afternoon followed by an evening of cleaning and packing as we prepare for a long day of travel to Hanoi, Vietnam, and another adventure together.
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