Chiang Mai - Part Four

I wake up instinctively as the car rolls to a stand still in a small arid clearing not far from the main road. The sun is unforgiving as I try to find a quiet corner of shade to change my shoes. I speculate on what Mr. Cher will be like, picturing an intimidating native with a stern face and an obvious disdain for intrusive 'farang'. Instead however, I hear the approaching sound of a light trot and from around the corner comes a bounding Peter Pan. Mr. Cher is entirely different to the begrudging local of my imagination, and endears me to him immediately with his gentle boyish charm. Tong explains that he'll meet us in the village at the end of the day, so we bid him farewell and dissolve into the wilderness.

It doesn't take long to discover that although Mr. Cher speaks very little English, he's more than a little proficient in the art of mime. He's also diligently learnt the foreign words for everything that might be interesting to a bumbling tourist like myself, and I find his efforts incredibly sweet. Before we enter the forest he stops at the edge of the clearing to fashion me a hat from a giant leaf. I'm certain he realizes it will make me look ridiculous, but I happily accept the challenge which makes him belly laugh down to his sandals. Instantly bonded, he hands me a long reed of grass which he demonstrates how to transform into a whistle. And so we begin our trek through the countryside like the Pied Piper, disturbing Mother Nature with our glorious racket.

The beauty is mesmerizing and we explore secret pathways with ease as Mr. Cher warmly greets the few people we come across. Everyone here is self-sufficient and the diversity of plant life is baffling. We soon establish a 'guess what it is game', and I'm excited to discover plants for soap and antiseptic alongside tobacco and cinnamon. We amble through flower farms, vegetable patches and tiered crops, across jungle, bridges and waterfalls. Mr. Cher delights in making propellers from leaves and guns from bamboo, and our intrepid adventure is interspersed with the magnificence of comfortable silence.

I feel peaceful and uninhibited as the sun sets and we arrive at the village. Greeted by a cheerful Tong, there's not a soul to be seen except for one man and his three-year-old sidekick. He invites us to drink at what they've affectionately named their 'Hillside Starbucks', and I eagerly sample the home brewed coffee made from beans grown in the village. Resting ahead of the long drive home, we casually chew the fat in a communal area proudly decorated with newspaper clippings documenting the community. I feel grateful to have tasted the kindness of the Sko Karen people, and happily accept the invitation to stay with the tribe if I ever return to Chiang Mai.

As the village comes to life with the return of its occupants, Tong folds me into the car along with the gift of coffee and a homemade strainer. I wind down the window to wave goodbye to Mr. Cher, and with that, close the door to another unforgettable experience.

Mr. Cher

Flower farm

Waterfalls, bridges, fishermen

Tiered farmland

Mr. Cher's bamboo gun

The Sko Karen village

Hillside Starbucks

Chiang Mai - Part Three

After two days of negotiating crowds, I head to the Chiang Mai hills in search of a more spiritual experience. I hire a local guide from the Sko Karen Tribe and a chirpy middleman named Tong. I warm to Tong immediately and his enthusiasm is a tonic, nothing is too much trouble and he skips breakfast to arrive half an hour early making sure I "wouldn't have to wait."

We head to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep better known to Westerners as the Temple on the Hill. It's about 15km from the city and during the drive, I'm totally consumed by Tong's stories of a life too full to match the youthfulness of his face. He tells me that before he began working in tourism, he was a soldier patrolling the refugee camps on the Myanmar border. He was also in complete contrast, a monk. I discover that temporary ordination amongst Thai Buddhists is extremely common. So much so that young men who haven't spent a period of time as a monk are euphemistically referred to as 'unripe'. Tong spent three months in rural Chiang Mai practicing meditation and studying the scriptures. Multiples of three being a significant time period for Thai men entering into the monastic community, and three months being the time it takes to read the scriptures from cover to cover.

As we arrive at the temple I'm immediately disappointed by the hoards of people loitering around the entrance, and it's difficult to appreciate it's beauty underneath a facade of commercial tat. It's a far cry from my romantic expectations and a million miles from the serenity my mother described when she visited the same temple back in 1967. Still, I try to ignore the panic of being trapped in Buddha's Disney and climb the three hundred and nine steps up to the top.

The view is nothing short of spectacular and I feel suspended in time as the crowds dissipate into irrelevance and a feeling of calm rescues me. Tong invites me to meet the Abbot, a kindly looking man who agrees to bestow a Buddhist blessing on me at Tong's request. Tong guides me through the ceremony and I nervously follow his instructions terrified of making a massive faux pas. Offerings made, disasters avoided, the Abbot concludes by dropping a tiny rope into my palm that I'm instructed to tie around my wrist. He of course is unable to do this as touching a woman is breaking one the staggering 253 precepts (or vows) a fully ordained monk must adhere to.

After a curious tour of the temple we jump in the car and head deeper into the hills stopping off at Tong's favourite restaurant where he's keen for me to try traditional Northern cuisine. He orders me Khoa Soi, a famous dish made with yellow noodles and a rich, milky curry broth which is so outrageously spicy, not even the fresh coconut I hastily order manages to calm my mouth from what can only be described as a third degree burn.

Still hungry but too British to say, we wind our way through the countryside where we finally manage to lose civilization to hundreds of paddy fields. We're on our way to a designated meeting point where Tong will introduce me to a mysterious Mr. Cher. This is the man who knows every inch of the hills and will be responsible for guiding me to the village of the Sko Karen tribe. With thoughts of Bangkok and a belated concern that no one actually knows where I am, a post lunch fatigue takes hold of me and I drift into sleep ahead of the final chapter of my Chiang Mai adventure...

Tong

Monks blessing the Chiang Mai football team

Temple girl

The view from the hill - distant Chiang Mai

Colourful corridors

Paddy fields