Waterfalls

We went back to Pai because we liked it, but I guess we also went back because we didn’t really have a plan. The WWOOFing that we had hoped to do—volunteering on organic farms—wasn’t working out. Every place we contacted had no space for us. This was the point of our trip where I realized that we were basically on a long vacation.

The bus from Soppong back to Pai was crowded. Malone was lucky enough to get a seat… lucky, that is, until the seat in front of her collapsed into her lap, and she spent the rest of the ride holding it up with her knees. I was stuck standing in the aisle the whole time, with a tiny Thai girl in her parents’ laps to my left, and two novice monks, about ten years old, standing in front of me. The smaller of the two monks was leaning his head on the other’s shoulder. It looked as if he were sleeping, though he was standing up. When the two got off the bus, I saw one of the monks take out his cell phone and make a call. It was such a startling image: a ten-year-old boy—bedecked in orange robes, hair shaved close to his head—talking on a cell phone in northern Thailand.


We settled back in at the Darling View Guest House. This time, we got our own private room, which was actually cheaper than renting beds in the dorm room. Our room had its own porch, overlooking the valley, with a hammock and benches and lots of pink flowers. We stayed in Pai for five nights, simply because we were content there. It was quiet, peaceful, and beautiful, and it was a safe place to explore on our own.


On our second day, we rented a motorbike and drove along some dirt roads past farmland, small bungalows, stray dogs, and banana trees. We parked at the trailhead that led to Mae Sen Waterfall. What we thought would be a short stroll to the falls turned out to be an all day hike—too bad we hadn’t packed food and only had half a bottle of water between us! It took us about two and a half hours to get to the falls, and two and a half hours to get back. I confess that Malone could have completed the hike much more quickly, but then again, her legs are twice as long as mine. My difficulties hiking were compounded by the fact that sand from the riverbanks was getting stuck beneath the straps of my sandals, rubbing my skin raw and giving me blisters. Despite these complaints, the hike was beautiful, with banana trees, pale purple flowers, and vines that twisted between the trees. We had to cross the cold creek several times—back and forth, back and forth—to stay on the trail, which could not remain on one side of the water because of the rock faces that emerged. We scrambled over some boulders as we got closer to the falls. When we arrived, the falls greeted us in three long curves of white water sliding down the rock face. Water collected in a small pool at the base, and pale blue butterflies clustered above the sandy beach. Walking back to the motorbike, the afternoon sunlight was golden through the forest, and the cold water was soothing on my hot feet. Cold water, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a dish of pad Thai never tasted so good as when we returned from our hike!



The next morning, we took the motorbike to the Pai Hot Springs. It was cool on the bike in the morning, especially in the shade, but the scenery was wonderful: a patch of dry, autumn-like forest, with dry leaves on the ground and leaves browning in the trees; one tree with orange blossoms, the color of monks’ robes; a cattle pasture and small farms; two straw huts in a field; a tall, straight eucalyptus tree on the side of the road; small plantations of tall, skinny trees with sparse, dry leaves the size of dinner plates; stray dogs; old women walking; lots of green; views of the mountains; sunshine and shade. We saw our first elephants at Pai’s elephant camp; some were walking along the road, and we had to move into the opposite lane to pass them!

We weren’t prepared to go inside the hot springs—I guess we didn’t really know it was allowed—so we just dipped our feet in for a while. The park itself was very quaint, with stone walls and a walking path. We walked past some of the hotter springs that sent steam into the cool morning air. The hottest spring had a sign—“No boil egg”—which was even funnier than seeing the bag of eggs boiling in the one before it.




After the hot springs, we drove to Pam Bok Waterfall, which wasn’t as impressive as the falls we saw the day before. The good thing about this waterfall, though, was that we didn’t have to hike the entire day to get there—it was only a 150 meter walk. The falls were a bit dry, but the short walk was nice. The path squeezed between boulders and cliffs, and smaller pools of water created short water falls. A rickety bridge crossed the stream of water. The drive back to Pai showed us more of the beautiful countryside: mountain, valley, and farmland. After returning the motor bike, we put on some sunscreen and went down to the Pai Riverside to have a drink and read and relax. I dipped my feet in the water while Malone borrowed somebody’s tube to float down the river. Though the afternoon sun was hot, we had to be sure to shower before the sun went down, because the evenings and nights in Pai were quite crisp!



Watching the sunset that evening in Pai, I wrote in my journal: “I could have this view forever.”

Butterflies in Thailand

When we woke up in the morning, it was cold out, and mist shrouded the mountains. We sat by a small fire, where water for lemongrass tea was boiling in a large black kettle. We ate chunks of pineapple, papaya, mango, and watermelon, then rice with milk and honey. Albert ate with us, though Susanan didn’t.



Once breakfast was finished, Albert’s neighbor came over to give us a traditional weaving lesson. I never got the woman’s name, and she didn’t speak any English; she just showed us what to do with hand motions and shaking of her head. She set up the backstrap loom for us. I could never recreate the maze of strings she set up for the loom, but once it was ready, we sat on the kitchen porch for at least two hours, weaving colorful belts. It was fun and a cool project to do, but my back was killing me as I sat there, strapped into my project. I couldn’t get up until it was finished, because Albert’s neighbor was there to help and supervise, and I couldn’t explain to her that my back hurt. So it was a painful couple of hours until I finished my weaving. When it was finished, lunch was a welcome and delicious break: rice, scrambled eggs, and mixed vegetables. That description doesn’t do the food justice. If I knew the spices involved in this meal, I would be an amazing cook.


Knowing that we didn’t want to spend another afternoon sitting around, Malone and I took a walk to the river. We walked all the way down the steep hill that the motorbike taxis had taken us up, to the main road, then down to the river. The water was cold, so I wasn’t tempted to go in, but it was nice to sit on the sandy beach to absorb some sunlight. There were a few Lisu women in the river, fully-clothed, catching crawfish. I read amidst the many butterflies fluttering around my head—the whole time I was in northern Thailand, I was always thinking about Andrew Bird’s song “Skin is, My,” which has a line about butterflies in Thailand. Eventually, when I got hot enough, I went in the water. It was difficult to make the final plunge under the water because it was so cold, but it was certainly refreshing, especially since the running water at Albert’s had stopped working. It was a peaceful afternoon with flowers, the buzzing of insects, bright sunlight, cold water, and cool shade. It was a long, hot walk back up the hill to Albert’s, but a dinner of dill soup and mashed potatoes with chilis was filling (and spicy).



As it got dark, we walked back down the hill with another guest from India to look for an open bar or anything else to do, but we found nothing. Walking back up the steep hill in the cool night was much easier, and we were treated with a dessert of black beans and rice with coconut milk before bed. An older Australian couple had arrived to stay at Albert’s, and their guide was entertaining. In the morning, we all had breakfast together before walking back down the hill for the last time to catch the bus from Soppong back to Pai. The homestay wasn’t everything we had hoped; it mainly consisted of good food and some peaceful down-time—not quite the cultural experience we were looking for—so we were ready to return to Pai, that magical place that stole our hearts. If I could choose any place in Thailand to return to, it would be Pai.

Dust and Celebration

The bus ride to Soppong was incredibly crowded, and Malone and I couldn’t sit together. I sat behind the driver, right next to the engine, which felt like it was going to burn my feet off, it was so hot. We drove up and down winding mountain roads for about an hour. A Coke bottle was rolling up and down the aisle, and the driver asked somebody to pick it up. I was surprised to see the woman who picked it up throw it straight out the window onto the roadside. This was the first example of littering, the effects of which I would see nearly every day for the rest of the trip. Traditionally, people in Southeast Asia used natural materials, such as banana leaf, to wrap their food or package their goods. It would make sense to simply toss the banana leaf back into the forest, where it came from. The problem is that people there do the same thing with all of the plastic they use—they just throw it out the window. And they use plastic bags for everything. For example, if I bought a can of soda, they would put it in a mini plastic bag and throw a plastic straw in for good measure. I tried to avoid collecting so many plastic bags, knowing they might end up on the roadsides eventually.

When we got to Soppong, it didn’t really look like we had arrived anywhere. The street was dusty. There was something like a flea market along the side of the road, but it didn’t really seem like anyone was around. We spent a few frustrated minutes trying to figure out how the pay phone worked. Finally, it did, and we called Albert, the man in charge of the Lisu Hill Tribe homestay we had arranged. He directed us to the motor taxis that were parked a little ways down the road. If you’ve ever ridden on the back of a motorbike with a 45 pound pack on your back up a very steep hill, then I don’t need to tell you how terrifying it was. For those of you who haven’t—it was terrifying. But we made it to the top and were dropped off at a wooden gate. We tentatively walked inside the fenced area. There was nobody around. All we could see were roosters and chickens, a pig pen, and a lot of dirt. We hesitantly walked around until Albert finally emerged and gave us a tour of the place. Albert was a tall, hunched over man in his fifties or sixties. He was a former psychologist from Chicago. He had moved to Thailand about seven years ago and married Susanan, a Lisu woman. What I found most strange about this relationship was that Albert had been living in this community for several years and had learned barely a word of Lisu or Thai. Susanan spoke some English, but the whole thing seemed very strange from the beginning.


In any case, we dropped our bags off in our room. There were shutters on the windows, but they didn’t keep out any bugs. There was nothing but a mattress on the floor. We went with Albert up the street, where the community was gathered for the last day of the week-long New Year’s festival. The Lisu women were dressed in traditional costume, as they dressed most days, but the men, who typically didn’t dress in their traditional clothing, were also festively dressed. We sat around a long table, and women who had been cooking all day served us food. Most of it had meat in it, so I couldn’t eat much other than some rice and cabbage. People from five neighboring villages were there, and Albert explained that it was “courting time” for the young men and women and that they were all looking their best. He also told us that the women wearing black hats were already married. A hundred feet or so from where people were gathered to eat was the dancing floor. Albert explained that some tribes only dance in a circle, while others only dance in a wheel-spoke formation. The man leading the dance was in the center, playing a string instrument and choosing the footwork. We watched the dance for a while before going back to our accommodations, where I took a nap, then sat on our porch and read.


Our first afternoon in Soppong was a little disorienting. We soon realized that we were not there to be entertained in any way and that we had to find things to do for ourselves. The community received us with what seemed to be indifference. After a somewhat boring afternoon sitting up on our porch, Albert invited us down to cook dinner. The kitchen was a separate structure with dirt floors and tarps hanging for walls. We sat on small stools on the floor, cutting up vegetables to make a soup: onion, tomato, mushrooms, cauliflower, aubergines, cilantro, parsley, dill, garlic, soy sauce, and coconut milk. We ate it with rice, and it was actually delicious. If nothing else knocked my socks off about Soppong, the food we ate was wonderful and filling. Despite the cold mountain air and numerous wake-up calls by roosters, we managed to sleep through the night.

I Heart Pai

It’s been just over a year since the next part of my story. On February 7, 2011, we left early in the morning and boarded a bus from Chiang Mai to Pai. This bus trip was nothing like the last—this was no double-decker coach bus with snacks included. The bus was sort of like an old school bus in the US. Instead of AC, actual fans hung from the ceiling, and they were much needed—it was hot! The seats were hard and uncomfortable and the bus was crowded. Since we were heading further north and a little bit to the west, close to the Myanmar border, the bus stopped at a checkpoint and Thai military officials came on board to check passports. I was nervous at first, but they barely even looked at ours—it was enough that we were white and clearly tourists. They weren’t concerned about us.

When we arrived in Pai, I didn’t immediately recognize its charm. It was a very small town—the bus station was merely a parking lot squeezed between two buildings. It wasn’t clear where our hostel was, and some men on motor-taxis were busy trying to convince us that it was too far away to walk. Eventually, we figured it out, and headed across a rickety bamboo bridge and up a hill to the Darling View Guesthouse. Looking back on the trip, this was one of my favorite places. The Guesthouse was amazing. Up on a hill, it overlooked the valley and mountains beyond. It was facing the west, and each evening we were privy to amazing sunsets. As hot as it was during the day, it cooled down beautifully at night—it was one of the only times that we needed long pants and sweatshirts.



Our first night in Pai, we stayed in a dorm-style bedroom, with large, comfy mattresses on the floor. It felt so good to sleep in those beds, with the cool mountain air coming in through the window. The porch outside of our room was filled with hammocks and lounge chairs. We sat on the porch in the afternoon sun, relaxing and reading, and eating lunch. We took time to explore the town, then raced back up the hill to watch the sunset from the porch, and in the darkening night, headed back down the hill to town to eat dinner at what would become our favorite restaurant. I ordered the same meal nearly every time we went there: a Mango Delight fruit shake—made from mango, the reddest strawberries you’ve ever seen, and lime—and a sandwich of roasted eggplant, red peppers, and other vegetables with fresh greens and feta cheese. I would go back to Pai just to eat at that restaurant again!


Pai was a very hippie, very touristy town, and I’m not surprised that people traveled there to stay for long periods of time. There were many white people around, and many local businesses catered to tourists, which probably helped me ease into the completely different culture. That night, we walked around the night market, where Lisu Hill Tribe women sold handmade change purses and a local artist sold hand-painted postcards. Of course, there were also the cheap, touristy souvenirs, but there were certainly some beautiful handcrafted items.

Our first visit to Pai was brief, but we soon realized that we wanted to return. We left Pai the next morning after a breakfast of crepes with honey, watermelon, scrambled eggs, tomato, and pineapple juice. (I really ate big breakfasts while I was in Asia—it definitely gave me the energy I needed for a full day of traveling/touring/trekking.) Before we caught our bus to Soppong, I walked a mile to the post office to mail my first letter to Scott and a birthday present to my mother. The people at the post office were very helpful, but it was a new experience—I actually tied my package shut with a piece of string! It was my first of many visits to post offices in Asia so that my love letters could travel all the way to Culver Lake, New Jersey…