After finally leaving Chiang Mai, the beautiful/artsy college town of the north. We took a Thai Government Bus to Pai. The distance was about 135km's but the trip took around 5 hours. We had frequent stops and the bus was over flowing with travelers, locals bags of rice and boxes. The Thai locals, who can be found sleeping in the most bizarre places at best of times, have no qualms about falling asleep on your shoulder or your lap. Several Farangs exchanged confused and bemused looks at each other and their new snuggle buddies when their "Church Nods" turned into "Sleep Ons". 4 hours later we find ourselves in the lovely little mountain town of Pai. Where people are friendly and livings easy. Where the foot of the Himalayan mountains greets you every morn' with beautiful and deep fog, dancing on te mountain tops, Where a receding hairline is no excuse not to have Dreadlocks. The Dreadlock Mullet or Drullet, if I may, was proudly displayed on the backs of Men's, Women's, and (Oh yes) even children's heads. So many heads donned this hair fashion that I gave it the status of the "Official Haircut of Pai."
We checked out the hot springs which are highly recommended and can pump out some heat. Many of the pools can be sat in but some of them reach a whopping 80degrees Celsius. Christine and I thought it would be cool to go have a dip under the full moon so took off on our motorcycle and got there just in time for the moonrise. The night was gorgeous but the park was closed. We ended up sitting at a hot pool outside of the park. The water was too hot to sit in so we sat around it until a security guard came around and started to ask us questions. The first being, "Are you Catholic?. " My first answer was "no". Given the amount of Muslims around and the Burma border this was a safe answer. I had heard about the riots over a cartoon of the Prophet Mohamed and I was a little apprehensive about his intentions. He immediately seemed disappointed that we were not Catholic. He happily admitted to being one and seemed to glad to see some white people who were most likely Catholic. In Thailand the dominant religion is Buddhist at about 95%. The rest of the religious spread would probably be contain about 3% Muslim and the rest would be Christian or Animist (ancestor worship). We chatted for a while and when he found out that I was Canadian he got excited again. He is studying French and wanted to practice his vocabulary. He struggled to remember a couple words and came up short. He remembered his cheat sheet someone prepared for him. Deep into his bag he reached to pull out a Japanese word sheet. The story ends with me somehow translating his Japanese into English, then French, and back into Thai for him. It was a really enlightening experience.
My original plan for going to the north was to do some Trekking. I pounded the pavement and found what I believed to be the most "Eco", the most rugged, the most untouristy of all the Treks in Pai. After 4 days of, "OK. We definitely leave tomorrow." 's from our guide Lert, we finally got on a trek into some hill top villages to see some of the local Thai indigenous cultures preserved in all of their rugged, rural, and undiscovered glory. Maybe we could go see some of the long necked Karen or the ancient Chinese lost Hmong tribe. What about the Lisu or the Akha's? That would be fun. Maybe we could learn some of their ancient wisdom and see how life is lived high in the mountains of northern Thailand.
The following morning we most definitely left. On the road at last. We met the cast and characters of our trip. They were: Lainie the Photographer from T.O. , Greg "Why wait til I retire to travel" from Ontario, and
Christine a classmate from Mount Royal in Calgary and Prisca and Nina the Swiss Germans. Nina, who is 5 years old understood little english and got Mama to translate by asking, "Mama, was ischt?" She was quite a cute little redhead who was already growing quite tall for a five year old. We reached the first village at around noon, ate some lunch, and watched the school children play and colour during their lunch break. We gave the teachers gifts of school books and pencil crayons. She said, "Thank you" but was seemingly unimpressed by our act of generosity. The people of the village were candid and they carried about their lives despite our little intrusion. The children played the dogs growled and the cocks crowed.That afternoon had some more difficult hiking, so Nina and Prisca took a motorcycle to the next village where we would spend the night.
We arrived at the Lisu village around 5:00 and were greeted by a local lady. She was most certainly mute and quite possibly deaf. She had lived a hard life in the fields. She was very intrigued with the the little paleskinned redhaired Falang we brought into the village and followed them around staring from 2 feet away. Our guides cooked up a feast while we slugged back some Lao Khao, a local rice wisky, watched the vilage boys play Ta-Kraw, and then enjoyed a beautiful mountain sunset.We laughed and told a stories by the fire after dinner with the village boys. Someone suggested we play some campfire songs. How perfect would that be? Some traditional Thai Folk songs in a Lisu Hill tribe village. Maybe the village boys has a guitar! In my best Tinglish I asked them for a guitar. I am pretty much certain he understood me as he immediately said no but said something quickly to his friend who started occupying himself with something else. Moments later, he was gracing us with music. In fact his cellphone which was capable of playing not only rocking beats but, videos as well as. We jammed out with the niether primitive, nor pristinely preserved Lisu Villagers late into the night with our Traditional Lao Khao wisky.
Sleep that night, against all odds, did not come easily. With a belly full of Lao Khao and a days worth of trekking in the northern Jungles of Thailand, we laid ourselves down. At around 1:00 in the morning we were awoken by a large rooster tied up behind our hut. It had this distinctive crow, you see, kind of a: "Cock-a-Doodle..." It never really finished it's sentence. But that never stopped all of the roosters in all of our Village (and the surrounding villages) to join in on the rooster circuit. The full moon must have set them off. Somewhat confused by the excess of bright light. All of old MacDonald's Farm was singing us a beautiful chorus of Ee-I-Ee-I-O.
Every one of us laid awake listening to pigs running past our heads "oinking", dogs "barking" and starting fights with the pigs, roosters "crowing" and cows "mooing" all the way home. The stinkin' Rooster ruined our sleep. He's the one who started it all and just when there was ten minutes of silence he'd do it all over again, "Cock-a-doodle..." I laid awake. Seething. Furious. Vowing to get revenge. I was so tired. I pictured myself actually punching this rooster in the face. Right in the beak. Just the thought of it made me giddy with joy.
The following morning I saw what could only have been a gift from the mountain spirits, who most certainly have a sense of humour. There he sat, perched on his little mount. The Half Cocked Rooster that started the whole thing was tied up. My heart lifted. I walked up to it and with Greg as my witness I did the unspeakable, what I so longed to do, what my better judgement and the look of fear on the faces of the onlooking villagers told me not to do. I raised my tightly clenched fist and I punched the the little bugger. I punched it in the face. And with a 'Cluck,' it was airborne.In a daze, I recoiled. I saw the rooster flying in circles on its little tether and we giggled a hysterically as the tether bird tethered about. I was shocked and delighted all at once. Shocked at my ability to stoop so low. I actually punched it. I struggled with the duality of my emotions as I giggled uncontrollably and shook with fear of the creature that was unleashed inside of me. One that was capable of animal rage. What was next, Slap a Seal, Headlock a Hamster, Wrestle with a Walrus... The possibilities were limitless.
As the day went on we hiked higher and higher, my list grew longer, and remorse started to set in. I punched a creature that I outweighed by about 30 weight categories. I didn't punch it hard really, more of just a poke with a closed fist. I kinda just pushed it abruptly. It couldn't feel anything. Surely it wouldn't remember anything. Would it? I went through a short period of self hatred before quietly reminding myself never to sign up for PETA. We returned home that night and celebrated our successful trek with a couple Singha's and a bottle of Sang Som although our expectations of primitive were no where near reached. We saw some beautiful scenery, learned to appreciate what happens to a small tribal village when Tourists come to their town 3 nights a week and what is like sleep high in the mountains with the Lisu's. When I asked my friend Greg how he liked it, he said, "Well, I've slept on the farm before, but this was the first time I've slept in the manger."
