Mr John's 7am breakfast call, and misty drizzly skies. Uh-oh. Not more rain. Our clothes are still wet. My boots still soaked but less mud (My fabulous waterproof boots were in the US, it is the dry season after all!). We ache in every muscle in our bodies. Even my hand is sore from the death grip I had on the bamboo stick. J & I decide we REALLY don't want another Day of Mud. Let's see the waterfall and then tell Mr John we want to cut this trek short and head back.
We tell Mr John our plan. He doesn't quite understand. We clarify "We can't handle more of yesterday!" He says "No problem. Today no mud! No rain." We look at the cool drizzly sky. Hrmmph. We consider our options:
1) Hike back the same way we came with the 500 TTT. Even if it the sun comes out, it's still going to be muddy.
2) Take the trail to the Karen Village, stay overnight, and take the elephants out by a different trail the next morning.
Mr John says trail is much better, "no mud. No TTT. Only farangs go to village. TTT not interested in the Karen village, only go to waterfall." (There's a certain amount of prejudice about the hill tribes.) So, only us, and we learn later, 4 other farangs.
Hmmm. Maybe he's right. The thought of getting anywhere near the mudpit road is too much to bear. Only option is number 2. Deep breath. Yes, it won't be so bad. Easy hike Mr John keeps saying.
First, to the Waterfall
Thii Lor Su – 1.5 km trek from camp, up a little trail. Good trail, but thanks to the rain the night before and the TTT, it's already muddy and difficult. It's cold and I have on my fleece (realise this is A Bad Idea: getting mud out of fleece...not so easy). A few close calls. Slip, slide, but more things to grab onto and we can see more clearly. Phew! Of course, we're walking up with the other 500 TTT and Mr John is trying to pass everyone. After the 3rd slip, slide, “grab that branch! Ouch!!! THORNS!" I decide I'm going SLOW. It's not like I'll lose the way. I _REALLY_ don't want to fall today.
Few more steps. Ack! No, not me, but the TTT in front of me falls, nearly knocking me over too. I brace myself. I'd rather avoid a role in the domino effect. Everyman for himself...
We make it – amazing spectacular waterfall. Loses a bit with 500 TTT jockeying round to take multiple group photos, but we did pick the busiest holiday weekend of the year (SMRU works on holidays, J is on permanent holiday, so easy to forget). Mr John knows the better trails, takes us up to a couple of spots higher up the falls. So far so good.
He starts to go across a pool, stepping on small rocks. It's rushing water. To the rocks below. Perhaps I'm getting more cautious in my old age? That youthful fearlessness has finally given way to self-preservation. I look at it, feel my aching, still incredibly unstable feet. You know the feeling after you've been skiing all day? or skating? or surfing? Your legs and feet still feel like they're not on solid ground? That was me. Every step was still wobbly.
"Ummm. Maybe not." Shout across the thunder of the waterfall to Mr John that it's no go. He remembers last night, smiles, nods. Takes us on a hidden trail to another pool, perfect. Seems like we're the only ones there. Ignore the little point that if we turn 'round and look down, we see 250 TTT (other 250 are somewhere higher up and out of view), but looking forward, is spectacular (that's the photo). And the thunder of the falls blocks out the noise of other humans.
Clean more of the mud still left over from the night before. Ah! Heaven! But TTT are beginning to scope out our secret path, so we head back. Mr John wants to take us to see more of the Falls, nah. It's stunning, but I'm pushing my luck.
Good time to hike back, all the TTT are at the falls, so trail is empty. No domino worries. Slide, Slip, ACK! Bamboo stick saves me again. Slide slip, ACK! Bamboo stick breaks in half, but still saves me. J gives me his. Made it 1.5km and back without falling!
Sun is out! Woohoo! Not a cloud in the sky. Mr John was right! No rain today!
Hang our clothes to dry, ponder the fate of my camera as I try to dry it out in the sun. Lunch. TTT start returning. Good incentive to move on (500 people kind of have an effect on that whole nature experience).
Sun does wonders to restore our moods (yes, I AM a California girl afterall).
First 50 m are on the dreaded MUD road. Take a deep breath. "Ahhh, ok, feet you can do this." Turn off onto a trail. Little bit muddy, but because 1) it's a real trail and not a road, 2) no TTT have gone before us that day, and 3) it's drying out, it's tolerable. J finds me another walking stick (last one taken by the clean up crew; along with the plastic bags we saved for our wet clothes). Mr John _was_ right. It's a beautiful jungle trail. Enough sun poking thru to warm us, but not so bright so it's not hot.
"Yes. This was a good decision." This is what the trek was supposed to be like!
Hike 30mins. Mr John starts saying something about "monkeys." Thought he was saying we'd see monkeys (we never saw any). Come to a 'bridge.' Ahhh, he said "We must BE like monkeys." Bridge is made of 3 bamboo logs. To get *to* the bridge, one must climb up into the tree that's supporting it. There's bamboo railing. Yeah, fat lot of good that did me last time.
Ummmmmmm. Surely there's another way? Mr John says "Watch me. Step only on 1&2." He of course goes in a flash. Says he'll take my pack for me. No arguments from me this time. He starts doing something on the other end while J and I consider our options. Throw a stone into the river to gauge it's depth, looks pretty deep, can't wade across. Not that this is an option, the river bank is about 3m (~10ft) from the river, steep and muddy on both sides; no way down. So I think "Hey, 3 meters! I used to dive from that all the time. The water's deep and not moving too fast. Mr John has my pack, so if I fall, oh well." Ok. Not quite. More like "I really DON'T want to fall, but I won't lose any expensive electronic equipment if I do."
I think about taking a picture of the 'bridge', remember my camera is non-functioning; J's is packed away. And there's no way I'd take a pic of him crossing, as that requires me to carry his camera across the bridge, and I have this track record with cameras…... We realise Mr John has been working at stablising the other end of the bamboo railing. Oh, good ole Mr John! I'm sure he's thinking "if this bloody woman falls again, I'm not going into the river!" He comes back to get my pack, shuffles across again.
Ok. Deep breath. I'm standing there trying to work up my courage to go for it. J decides to go first. Slowly, step over step. He makes it! Phew!!!
My turn. I have sandals on, much better than boots. They tell me where the weak spots are. Fearlessness? Hah! Sheer terror. Remember if I fall, it's only water (I'm pretty good at doing belly flops when necessary). Deep Breath. Again. "You can do it Cherise!" wasn't working very well to encourage me. Climb up the tree. Onto the bridge. Step. Step. Feel the railing, "ok. Pretty taut, but don't lean!" And yes, I was talking to myself OUT LOUD the entire time. In what seemed like hours but was probably 2 mins, I reached the other end, the weakest point, and jumped to the dirt, with both J and Mr John grabbing hold of me. I made it across! I didn't fall! Mr John has a huge smile on his face. Relief I guess. Or maybe pride. Feel like a helpless woman, but at this point, ego and pride were not issues.
I ask "Do we have any more of these?"
Mr John: "Oh, none like this, rest are easy."
Hike some more. Come to the next one. Ok, so it's not as bad as the first, but it's not like it's much better! Shorter, just as high, over mud. Saving grace – if I can get halfway across I can jump the rest. Yes, we both make it. ... Then another. And another. Some worse than others. Even the ones 1 ft off the ground with very wide logs scare me. Otto, the guide in the second group, said there were 19 in total. I didn't count, just know there were far too many! J tells me later I looked like I'd gained confidence and just took to them without hesitation. Clearly my shaking knees and deep breaths as we approached each one were not so obvious.
The day's oft repeated refrain: "I’m so glad we have elephants tomorrow! I'm knackered!"
We finally cross one big bridge – a real one, made for cars (tho where they'd go I don't know, as the road wasn't a road on either side), into some fields, and we're at the village. Hooray! A whole 3 hr hike and NO FALLING! I spot the AMI Malaria clinic, wonder if it's still active...I can chat with the AMI folks, make myself feel like this is actually a working trip (it's closed, AMI ran out of money).
Mr John leads us to the nicest house, introduces us to the man there – about 35 yrs old, lying very casually, wearing a longyi (male sarong) and flashing the tattoo across his rather impressive bare chest. He's the village chief, which is no doubt why he was lying there whilst the rest of the villagers were out working. He doesn't seem terribly interested in us.
Chief also has bad news "Maybe no elephants." Maybe? He's radioed the other village to bring them, not sure they have any today. Ok. Let's be hopeful. Always the optimist.
Mr John has been regaling us with tales of the waterfall at the village – some spots fed by hot springs, so one can actually take a hot shower! Of sorts. So, we head off to the waterfall. On the way he shows us the rice milling – each house has one. A woman stands on one end and pushes the lever down with her foot into the rice, another woman takes it and clears out the 'shelled' rice. Every day. Pigs running about, chickens and ducks. The way to have fresh meat in a place with no electricity: keep it alive til you want to eat it. The chiles are drying up on platforms, to keep them away from the animals.
The village is quite beautiful. I was worried about going – fearful it'd be a bit Disney-fied for tourists, with the villagers all decked out in their ceremonial clothes for a show (like the Masai at the Mara in Kenya). Not the case at all, they were going about their daily lives, welcoming and friendly, but otherwise going about their business. Dressed as they normally would, which is still very colourful, and the occasional football (soccer) jersey. (My red England T-shirt drew smiles – even without electricity, the villagers still knew Michael Owen and David Beckham.)
Come to a river crossing. No bridge this time but a bamboo raft, tied on one end to a rope over the river. Mr John very insistent "No Stand!" Not like I was going to! Squat, yes, I can do this position well now. The villagers in the house on the other side laugh at us as we come across, then invite us to join them for food. We thank and decline. The recent rains mean 1) falls flowing too fast to cross and 2) far too muddy. Ok, no shower. Water ok to at least wash off some more mud. Enjoy the peace there for a bit, til the bugs start biting.
Head back. Wait for the bamboo raft, do our stylish squatting manuever as the villagers laugh at us. We laugh with them, make it across w/o incident. Two of them get on. The man in the back does a squatting manuever and laughs hysterically, as does everyone else. He lights up his cheroot cigar as he floats across. The woman stands casually in the middle. They get to the log where we very awkwardly climbed off the raft. I think "Look at her, she'll just step off so gracefully. Why can't I do that?" SPLASH! She'd missed the log and slipped into the water. We all got a laugh. It's nice to not be the sole source of amusement for a change.
We head to the village. Someone else must have fallen because we heard another SPLASH! Stop by the village version of AM-PM. No refrigeration (no electricity in the village), but plenty of snacks and water and warm beer brought in by elephant. Meet the Danish Boys and the Dutch Couple who have just arrived with their guide, Otto.
Back to the chief's house. I don't recognise him with the shirt and shorts he's now put on, and he's quite jovial. Maybe we'd interrupted his nap earlier? The kids in the village all cluster around to check out the foreigners. This village is frequented by trekkers from Umphang, so such faces are a common enough occurrence, but kids being kids, were quite intrigued. I try to use what few Karen words I know to communicate. They laugh. We laugh. We all make friends.
Otto, Mr John, and Chit, the cook, put together a scrumptious meal, best I've had so far. Sit down on the straw mats in the chief's house to eat by candlelight. Learn about the Danish Boys' first 2 months of their year-long planned trip (Vietnam and Cambodia so far). Dutch couple talks about their plans to quit their jobs and start a diving school somewhere in the tropics. I've suddenly become a "malaria expert" so of course get asked a bazillion questions. They're the same ones J had asked me before arriving in Mae Sot, so I'd already found out the answers and could appear like I had a clue.
Kids still all watching us from the deck. Amused. I guess we're the ones on display afterall. Fair enough. Otto serves us "Happy water" (some sort of rice liquor; I decline more than one. Really). Otto is the jokester. In many languages. Fluent in English, Thai, Burmese, and Karen, was spouting off Dutch and Danish words recently acquired, threw in some Spanish here and there. Chief makes jokes and Otto translates. Everyone laughs. Mr John, the more fatherly figure, tells us stories and works hard on his English (which is already pretty good).
The one Karen word I know "Tableu!" (thank you) seems to appeal. Otto and the chief tell us to say "Tableu Aha Aha Aha!" which they claim means "thank you very much." I am not convinced about the last bit; they laughed hysterically when we said it. Also "gesu tembare" – Burmese for "Thank you". (Yes, my parents taught me well, the most important words in any language.) TRIED to say "Nagh la gie" ("Good night") but that was responded to with more peels of laughter (Karen can be more guttural than German, so make it sound like you're really gearing up to spit...other words sound almost French. Go figure.)
More radio to the other village. Bad news, no elephants. Well, maybe they’ll come in the morning. Please??? We all keep our hopes up, thanks to my optimism.
Otto tells us, "The Karen people, they get up very early. 4:30 in the morning." AHA! That explains it. The others are incredulous, I know what to expect....(ie no sleep from 4:30-6:30am: Whilst living in the room above the lab, I was awoken daily at 4:30am by our Karen night guard singing and the staff arriving and laughing. I wondered why on earth they got up so early. Now it all makes sense! Seems village life just got transferred to town.)
They show us our guesthouse, one of the nicer houses in the village. It's on stilts, open on one side, with a sort of 'porch' area on 2 sides, and a thatch roof. Ah, home!
Beautiful starlit night. There are some advantages to not having electricity. About now I'm thinking, no cell phones, no laptops, no indoor plumbing, it's not that bad! (indeed, the outdoor toilets were much nicer than many indoor ones in town... yes, whilst travelling, one pays close attention to such things.) Mr John talks about his daughters, his life in Burma and then in the refugee camp, his late wife, his trekking job. I sit fascinated – never want to ask too many questions for fear of causing offence, but curious as can be, desperate to learn all about his experiences.
9:30 we hear singing. About 15 villagers, probably all one extended family as they all went to the same house, are coming back from their farm. The singing really is lovely.
Oh, what a day! Despite the harrowing bridge experiences, what a difference it was to the previous day! Yes, we made the right decision in coming to the village. Not once was uttered "All part of the adventure!" I am quite happy to NOT have an adventure Thankyouverymuch!
Beds are straw mats with mosquito netting. And quite nice except the mozzie nets had enough holes that my little friends were buzzing around inside.
4:30 am. Village party.
Or so it seems. It's still dark. Everyone in the village is up and about getting their day started, singing. Loudly. Ok, then. Right. The singing isn't quite so lovely anymore. Someone apparently has a boom box w/batteries, as we get some other strange music too. One of the Danish Guys is snoring, the rest of us wonder how on earth he's still asleep and listen to his snoring with envy.
6:30am. Silent again.
8am. Otto comes by singing "Good Morning! Breakfast!"
As we're getting ourselves together, I see elephants!!!! Woohoo!!! Our elephants have arrived! We all run over to check them out.
Only there are 2 adults and 2 young ones (we need 3 adult elephants for the 6 of us). Hmmmm. Danish Guy #1 goes to check it out. There's a Danish family staying at the other end of the village. They get the elephants. Bummer. Start to dread the 3 hr hike – up the mountain then down again – to Malemu Junction where a truck will pick us up.
b'fast: Omelettes!!!! And coffee! Assuages the disappointment of no elephants. A little. It's also sunny. No rain!!! Ok, can't complain.
All 6 of us gear ourselves up for the trek. Maybe no mud? Ummmm....
Trail is the elephant trail. And elephants HAVE gone thru in the past day. Hiking on an elephant trail is NOT A Good Thing. Elephant trails = ditches. Giant potholes. Elephants + rain= Mud worse than a 4WD creates. Even tho it hadn't rained in 36 hours, all that meant was less mud than the first night. Degrees of muddiness: If the first night was a 10, this is a 6. And of course there are elephant droppings (which, if you’ve never seen them, are in proportion to the size of the animal).
Chit, the cook, and Mr John cut bamboo walking sticks for all of us. Back to gingerly walking up and down. Every step a cautious one. The Dutch couple walk behind Otto, making him slow the pace. I'm grateful to the rather tall Dutch man in front of me – too many rock crossings where one has to stretch one's legs or step in knee deep mud. I have the short legs. He very kindly notices that I might need some help, many times.
Make it to a place where the trail is a gash in a rock, worn smooth by water, that you have to jump down into. It's narrow enough to hold onto both sides, but rather deep. Again, the short factor comes in. Jump down but can't quite reach. It's a crevasse, so no place for 2 flat feet at a time... I'm hanging there for a second, trying to decide how next to jump so I *don't* twist my ankle. Dutch man comes to the rescue – I use him for an extension and jump to more solid ground. Lament my short legs.
More mud. My legs are a nice shade of mud, but that's just from it splashing up. By now, we don't even think twice about it. That's the bad part – path is easier so we're less cautious. Well, THEY were less cautious. I learned my lesson. Somehow Danish Guy # 1 has gotten up top with Otto, speed hiking again. Hits a slippery spot, SPLAT! Down on the ground. The ground which is on a slope and full of rocks. Blood gushes out of his elbow and knee. Otto does some first aid, we all take a break. Danish Guy # 1 is ok, just sore. Nothing broken.
Plunge along. By now we're pretty much well-decked out in mud – from the trees, from the spots where we need to put our hands on the ground to steady ourselves, from the puddles. But one good thing about this mud – it's "Dry", as dry as much can be. Funny how priorities change. We now have "good mud" and "bad mud." Degree of muddiness – maybe 7. But it's not 10!
3hrs...See some elephants, glare with envy (tho it turns out, the basket on one of the young ones fell off, and the girl riding in it was hurt. So we decide it was good karma afterall that we didn't have those elephants). Make it to the river. Another bamboo raft. J&I are old hands at this! Only the river is running faster, and to keep the raft moving, someone needs to paddle. Ok... I can barely balance. You want me to paddle? Fortunately, I get the middle spot, do my Squat River Crossing Technique, and Danish Guy #2 takes the paddling spot. Phew. We make it across. Getting off the raft is not so easy. No nice log to jump onto. Rather steep dropoff underwater with lots of reeds. Sandy bank, but due to the reeds/debris we can only get so close. Must jump. Arrrgh. Lament my short legs once again. I jump.
I make it. Barely, have to quickly run up the bank so I don't slide back in. Danish guy does the same, but the long legs help him. Otto goes back across, pick up 2 more. Jason gets to paddle this time. He has developed expert bamboo raft crossing skills, makes it look easy. Back across, pick up the last ones. Woohoo! We ALL made it! This is Malemu Junction, there's a car to pick us up and take us back to Umphang. Trek is over!
But the Adventure is not.
It's a Hi-lux truck. 6 of us pile in back with the bags. J's not feeeling well so we tell him to ride in the cab with the others. Mistake he says. He could SEE the driver narrowly miss that oncoming truck as we careen around the curve, those of us in back merely noticed a big swerve. Ah, ignorance is bliss. My stomach isn't doing too well on these winding mountain roads. Uh-oh. Remember we have a 4-6 hr Sangthaew ride back to Mae Sot.
Manage to make it back to Umphang Hill Resort in one piece. They give us lunch. And refund for the lack of elephants (which we then passed on to Mr John, in thanks for getting me out of the river). Arrange a Sangthaew "just for us." We go to gather the things we left "securely" in the office. They try to give us things in the safe not ours..."No No, I really just want MY wallet, no one else's." The other 4 get their stuff. J and I still looking for the plastic bag we left with my rain jacket, a Lonely Planet Thailand, some spare hiking socks, J's Thai phrase book, and another novel. Look Look Look. Nowhere. Look some more. About 45 mins of looking convinces me it's gone. For some reason I decide I'm not leaving empty handed, probably because Khun Police Chief who runs the place was being obnoxious; also trying to tell me the guy who kept our stuff "secure" had put it somewhere else, he didn't know where, the guy wasn't reachable as he was off on a trek, but would "send it to Mae Sot by bus tomorrow." Right! And I have some coastal property in Nevada to sell….. At least be honest and don't insult our intelligence. Besides, it was him who insisted I leave the rain jacket there. Do quick calculation in my head re:cost of books and rain jacket.
Very politely say "Khun Sombat, You insisted your place was secure and it was safe to leave things here. I'm afraid I can't leave here empty handed. The items total about 4000 bhat (~US$85)." Expecting a little negotiating and willing to settle for 2500-3000Bhat. Without a blink he opens his drawer and hands me 4000bhat. Oh, ok. That was a little too easy. Keeps telling me they'll arrive tomorrow. I say great! Send them along and I will send back the money. I want my jacket and good hiking socks more than the money. Now I'm out a rain jacket. And a guidebook. Oh well.
Pile into the Sangthaew. Just us 6. That lasts all of 10 mins. Stop. Pick up people. Thought the deal with the trekking company was No Stops??? (this means the 4.5 hr journey gets longer, the Danish guys have to make it back in time for the bus to BKK). Drive. Stop. Pick up more people. Drop people off. Twisting winding roads. Pick up more people. Try every position possible to ease my stomach. My bandana comes in handy as a sort of hook for my head, the Sangthaew Torture Chamber.
Couple of hours. Pass a refugee camp. Hit an immigration check. There are 3 Karen teens in the sangthaew with us. Two dressed rather hoodlum like, the other in his nicest shirt and slacks. Looking very student-y. Immigration officials look at everyone. Senior official comes over. Decides to ask one hoodlum looking teen for ID (Thai ID card, which everyone is supposed to carry). The rest of us hold our breath, as we figure the kid's illegal, and I know of more than one person who's been caught with fake ID cards. Officer checks it out thoroughly, walks around some more. Talks with his colleagues. Debates. Hands it back. We drive on. All breathe a collective sigh of relief, just that there was no hassle. Student-y looking kid breaks out his biggest smile, he has the biggest sigh of relief. Turns out he's the illegal one. Good ruse! His English is quite good, so he fills us in on all the details. He's from the refugee camp we just passed. Techincally he's not illegal as he had a pass to go to Dr Cynthia's refugee clinic in Mae Sot, but even with that they would have taken him from the truck and grilled him for a few hours, and there would be no more trucks that night. Ah, Life on the border!
Another hour. I'm telling the others about life in Mae Sot. How we're all thankful to the French mercenary who had a restaurant in town but had a falling out with some townsfolks, threatened some mercenary tactics, then sold his equipment (ovens are a rarity here!) and moved to Phuket. This is why the Bai Fern Restaurant serves pizzas, breads, cakes and pies, the only in Mae Sot. "PIE?????" Danish Guy # 2 says - eyes as big and bright as a kid at Christmas. "Someone told us you can get apple pie and ice cream in Mae Sot. Is that really TRUE?????" I assure him it is. Everyone else perks up at the mention of pie and ice cream, and before we know it Jason's tried out his Thai and asked the driver to drop us at Bai Fern instead of the station. The next 45 mins the others spend discussing the merits of pie and ice cream. I start thinking, "Ok, they *usually* have apple pie, what if they've run out or didn't make it today?" Uh-oh....I can't quite describe the look of anticipation on their faces. The Danish guys had been travelling for 2 months and were getting a little weary of rice and noodles. I pray they have it today! Driver takes us there. I know the waiter well, I walk in as the others were getting their bags down: "Please tell me you have apple pie today?!" He looks at my mud-covered clothes, mud covered pack and mud covered legs, laughs hysterically (I then remember that we're all still at >5 on the muddiness scale).
This story has a good ending – they had apple pie! This is A Very Big Deal. The others get the whole pie, dig in. Then order dinner. Then a second pie and ice cream. We all celebrate our "successful" adventure in Umphang. The boys go off to catch the night bus to Babgkok – still covered in mud. Funny how you don't even notice it after awhile. The Dutch couple and Jason stay at the Bai Fern, I cycle off for my room at SMRU (wishing I'd already moved into my flat...the next day).
It's raining.
Oh yeah. I don't have a rain jacket anymore.
Well, I needed a shower......
Later that night Matthieu, one of my co-workers, upon hearing the story said "Now all you need to top it off is to get malaria!" Gee, thanks. At least I can culture my blood sample. A working trip afterall.
post script: I go to Kung's Bar the next night. He says "So how 'bout Umphang?" Start to tell him the story, he bursts out laughing, "I already heard it all!" Everyone in town has already heard. And neither J nor I had been to the Bar yet.
post script two: Been back 9 days. I met a woman from New Zealand last night. Somehow the topic of Umphang came up. She laughed:"Oh yeah! I heard all about your muddy adventures!"
No doubt in another week's time the story will be that we wrestled crocodiles and got attacked by bandits. At least everyone is laughing.
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