Off To The Salt Mines...

Yesterday afternoon ended with my boss rushing into the Nan Hospital, expecting to find me in the Emergency Room, after receiving a panicked phone call to the school about a foreign teacher being in a traffic accident.

Taking the "Air Blade" out for a first ride

Luckily, I wasn't there. In fact, I hadn't been in an accident, nor had I been injured in any way; neither had any of the other foreign teachers I'd just spent the weekend with. (Not to mention there isn't traffic in Nan Province anyway). The panicked phone call to Prakop was in response to a flat back tire on my rented motorbike - which I'd rented for the long holiday weekend to drive up into the mountains on an epic end-of-year camping trip with the rest of the Nan Farang Bicycle Club. Yep, this past weekend I went "camping" AND drove a motorbike in Asia... There's a first time for everything.

Our unofficial motley social club set off early Friday morning: 3 Americans, 1 Brit, 4 Flemish-speaking Belgians, 1 Dane, and 1 South African on 6 motorbikes, headed toward Pua, a small town an hour northeast of Muang (City) Nan. The drive out of the city was instantly gorgeous; we coasted through fields and fields of green rice paddies, climbed hills of lush banana-trees, and at the top, gazed out an incredible mountaintop views. As our friend Kristoffer, who lives in and we picked up in Pua, later said: "I was just having a Julie Andrews moment the whole away..." Literally, the hills were alive with the sound of music.

After grabbing lunch in Pua (at a roadside shack that served the BIGGEST and most delicious pad-see-ew noodles I've ever had), we powered onward toward Doi Phu Kha, a large national forest in Nan with the highest mountain in the region. Many hilltribe communities - who make up some 10 percent of Nan's population, and who live very remote and traditional lifestyles - live in and around Doi Phu Kha, and their villages and bamboo huts line the roads that cut up through the mountain. We stopped occasionally to hike a path or see a viewpoint.

View from Doi Phu Kha mountain

By sunset, we finally reached the Boklua View Resort in Bo Klua, a town even further outside Doi Phu Kha Park,  whose name literally means "salt mine" (a staple the town is known for). The resort is built into the side of a mountain, and the views were spectacular. Unable to secure (or afford) one of the resort cabins, we asked about the "tent" option, and within moments we were taken to the hillside in front of the cabins where 5 camping tents were neatly pitched in a row. We shoved our backpacks into the tents, sat down at the resort patio bar, ordered a few beers.... and stayed there until about 12 a.m.

Luxurious resort accomodation

The next morning, battling mild sunburn and Blend 285 Thai whisky hangovers, we piled onto our motorbikes and headed for some sightseeing around the town. Further up the mountain, we found a cheap homestay to sleep in, and after setting down our stuff and convincing the owner that, of course, we could fit more than 2 people into those small bamboo box on stilts, we set off for the namesake Bo Klua salt mines. After following a series of wrong directions - (unfortunately, it's very Thai to just affirmatively point off in one direction and give an arbitrary number of kilometers instead of saying "I don't understand you") - we found them. "Them" being a single mud hut room full of wells of salt and as steamy as a sauna. We checked out the gift shop, trying to understand how this place became so well advertised, but soon decided that the waterfalls would be a more satisfying sight.

This time, our directions were slightly more clear. Our only misstep was following a sign up a steep rocky dirt hill instead of the normal road after it... but within minutes a Thai man in a cowboy hat was bumper-butting my motorbike with his, yelling "Hey! You! You! Welcome! Nam dtok, over there!" With his helpful guidance, we reached the entrance to the waterfall.

A short hike later, our group reached the falls themselves - along with a big open swimming hole. The water was absolutely frigid, but the idea of coming all that way and being at a waterfall in Thailand and conveniently having my swimsuit handy meant that I had to dive in. We swam until the pins and needles turned to numbness; then dried off in the still-hot afternoon sun and spent the rest of the time sitting and talking on surrounding rocks. 3 of our 9 club members were technically guest members: a Belgian couple who were visitor friends of our friend Benjamin, and Helen, a girl we'd met at the bus station the day before who was traveling through Nan and wanted in on our adventure. It was fun to have new additions to the gang, and I have to say, the group chemistry was dy-nam-ic all weekend long.

When the sun started to set, we made our way back to the homestay, where the host family was setting up the front yard with large speakers, light strands, and a long table set with the standard Thai blue plastic patio chairs. One of the (presumably) daughters, Ning, came over to us to offer food, and to ask us if we liked music and if it was alright if they had a party going on until 10 or so. Ohh Ning, you have no idea how alright it was.

It didn't take long after sunset for the old Thai men to arrive at the house with their whisky... the spicy pork and fried rice platters to come out.... the outdated-but-never-tiresome American pop songs to play on repeat over the speakers. It also wasn't long before we'd all been asked to join the party - and join we did. We started a full on dance party in the middle of the lawn, twirling around old Thai men and small Thai kids alike - the men giving us shots of whisky, the kids challenging us to hula-hoop contests (and always winning). When I grew exhausted from our increasingly intense and hilarious dance party, I sat down with some of the Thai woman and rambled off every word or phrase I knew in Thai, which inevitably makes you besties-4-life with your audience, regardless of whether you make any real communicative sense. The women were soon were putting babies on my lap, photographing me with extended relatives, and feeding me. Standard.

Six peas in a pod

The next morning, we downed our 'free breakfast' of instant coffee, hot water, and boiled peppered rice, and left the salt-mined Bo Klua for Nan city. We took the opposite way down the mountain as we'd come. The drive was again stunning, but also long, hot, and full of steep construction zones when we'd have to drive several kilometers over loose gravel and guardrail-less winding dirt roads. It wasn't so bad, especially for my first weekend ever driving a motorbike - but it took a serious toll on my bike tires. By the time we reached the flat ground of Nan city, my inner back tire had completely blown and was drooping out of my deflated outer tire.

We pulled over to the side of a road, and although it was in a quiet back area of town, within 30 seconds two women were at our side pointing to my back tire and looking around for help. They were followed by a third man on motorbike who gestured for me to follow him on my broken bike to a nearby garage. There was a lot of back and forth at the first garage, which couldn't fix my tire; so a fourth man took me on his motorbike to fetch a mechanic from a different garage. As the mechanic assessed the damage, two more sunhat-clad ladies had come out of their houses, to offer us food and ask us endless questions in broken Thai-English. They confirmed that we were American and worked at Bandon Sriserm School, then called yet another woman out to meet (or just stare at) us. While we sat on a house stoop dodging all the Thai questions we couldn't understand, one of my 6th graders biked by and shouted, "Hello Ajaan Caitlin!" The whole gang shouted after the poor kid and made him turn around, yelling in Thai, "Speak English to your teacher! Speak English!" Sadly, said student is possibly the worst English speaker in all of 6th grade... so he just stopped, smiled, and was of no help to the women.

When I eventually got back to my room and charged and turned on my cell phone, I saw I had a missed call from Aj. Prakop and called back. She said the school had received a phone call earlier saying a Sriserm foreign teacher was in an accident. Unable to get ahold of me, she went to the site where the caller had said the accident was - a temple right near, but behind a wall from where we were then sitting waiting for a standard tire replacement. Seeing nothing at the site, she and Aj. Anne had rushed to the hospital to ask about an injured foreigner. The hospital staff assured her that no foreigners had been to the hospital that day, and so Prakop returned home until I called and straightened our stories out.

All in all, it was a weekend that epitomized everything I love about Nan: stunning scenery, friendly people, delicious food, and a gossip highway more efficient than any you'd ever find in a big, salt-mine-less city. I'm lucky to call it home - for just another 8 days, then not until I'm back in June!

Into the Wild

Bathed in a bucket? Check. Slept in a hill tribe village where chickens outnumber humans? Yep. Hiked the jungle-laden mountains of Nan in both rain and hot sun? Indeed.

This past weekend, taking advantage of the holiday, the ajaans and I set out for a 3-day, 2-night trekking trip organized by a small agency in Nan called Fhu Travel. 72 hours up in the mountains turned out to be a pretty epic adventure, and by far the coolest thing I've experienced since arriving in Thailand. (And who knew? All just outside the city limits of our home-sweet-home). I feel like the best way to begin telling the weekend's tale is to give you the low-down on the characters who made it so memorable. 

Meet...

Mr. Fhu: a short squat Cambodian man who wears Hawaiian shirts (unbuttoned at the top), heavy silver chain necklaces and yellow-tinted glasses. He's been running Fhu Travel for over 20 years with his wife, Mrs. Fhu. Will give free bananas to anyone who visits his shop. 

Mrs. Fhu: If I could have an Asian grandmother, I would want it to be her. Drives a pickup truck. Runs a tight ship at Fhu Travel, giving orders to all of her various male employees in her brisk stern voice. She's friends with Aj. Prakop, so we know she's legit.  

Nong: our Thai trekking guide for days 1 and 2. Loves to use his limited English to crack jokes about bar-b-queing various animals (cat, dog, tarantula). Nong has a permanent grin on his face and interacts with people - assorted rice farmers we came across, old Hmong ladies, little kids fishing on the side of the road - in a way that makes you think he's known them all his life. Nong is only 30 years old, but already has a pretty cool life history behind him: he was a monk for 12 years (from high school on he was educated at the temple), then worked as a school teacher, and apparently at some point became a certified Pocahuntas. Did you know you can turn a particular plant stem into a bubble wand, and blow bubbles made out of the plant's own sap? Ever made a spider puppet from a type of grassy weed? Fashion a toy gun and stick horse from a banana tree stem? Make sling shot darts out of bamboo leaves? Me either.

Cho: our Hmong trekking guide for day 3. Cho is 65 years old but looks no older than 40 (his secret: "I do something happy every day"). Served in the Lao army during the Vietnam War before returning to Thailand - which may sound like hardened and tough credentials, but this man has the cool demeanor of the iridescent beetle he carried around on his hat brim for most of our Sunday trek. Will talk your ear off if you let him, even though he says he's only studied English for all of 6 months (he also speaks Thai, Lao, French, and of course, Hmong). Cho was always eager to compare his understanding of the world with ours (..."The women are always fighting the men for their boyfriend. You have like that? In America? Maybe sometimes like that."). His father was a shaman, a spritual healer, in his village -- the most prestigious position one can hold in a Hmong tribe -- but Cho claims doesn't have the powers his father had. Refers to his endearing potbelly as "my baby" ("No one wants this last wafer?... I'll feed it for my baby. What a crazy baby.") 

Day Nueng

Friday morning, we set out by foot for Fhu Travel, where we were greeted (with bananas) by Mr. and Mrs. Fhu. Mrs. Fhu excitedly asked if we were excited, before making a last-minute trip to the market to ensure we had enough "sa-pa-rot" (pineapple) for the weekend - though from the looks of her prepared bags of food, we already had plenty. We were introduced to Nong and our driver, and a few moments later were ushered into the back of the Fhu-Mobile and hit the road. 

Our destination - the mountainous hill tribe region of Nan - is only about 1 hour outside Nan city. Along the drive, however, Nong made several stops. He showed us a pottery "studio" where traditional clay stoves are made and exported to Laos; a rubber tree farm; a traditional weaving factory where we observed an elderly woman work on a textile designed in the "pattern" of Nan River; and rice paddies where we waded out into the fields to watch two farmers, knee-deep in water, push rice plant bundles into the flooded soil.

Forging the river

After lunch, the truck dropped us off at the edge of a hillside and we began our 4-hour trek to the village. We crossed through several streams, passed the occasional cow herder and group of farmers at the top of a neighboring hill, hiked up steep hillsides slathered in lush green rice and corn fields (the Hmong's two central crops), and ducked through muddy bamboo-covered (and mosquito-INFESTED) forests. I was the first to slip and fall on my ass, so I owe everyone a beer ("the rules!" according to Nong)... but I did win when we made mini boats out of leaves and raced them down a stream. Maybe it evens out.

Our last climb - 400 meters - took us to what felt like the very top of the mountain, and in every direction we could only see green rolling hills. Once my sorely out-of-shape lungs caught their breath... the views were absolutely stellar. 

Around 6 pm, we arrived at the Hmong village. It was made up of a main gravel road cutting up through the mountain, with smaller dirt roads leading out to clusters of wooden hut buildings. The "homestay" we were sleeping in was a thatched hut with two rooms, each with two floor pads and a mosquito net set up on the ground. We had a little gate in the front to keep the chickens out, and a table to eat at. The village appeared to have about one lightbulb per building cluster - none at all in our hut. 

Nong took us on a walk and showed us the school grounds, where we garnered an entourage of young Hmong children who trailed behind us the whole afternoon, cackling with laughter. Almost every kid had a chicken - sometimes two - tucked into the crook of his arm. Nong explained that many Hmong raise roosters and chickens for cockfighting, which can earn about 500,000 baht for a victorious bird owner. 

Hmong children find us irresistibly hilarious

After our walk, we showered (well, poured cold water over our head inside the "bath room"), and a Hmong woman and Nong cooked us a dinner of rice, stewed vegetables, tofu, and tea. We went to bed around 8 pm... partly because we were dead tired, and partly because our one candle had burned out.

Day Sawng

A Mlabri tribe family

The next morning we woke with the roosters, and set out for Day 2 of hiking. This time, a young Hmong guy named Som led the way and Nong trailed in back. Som didn't speak any English, so he didn't stop much - or at all - for chit chat. We powered through several hours of hiking through the corn and rice field hills - with some marijuana plants thrown into the mix! (I don't think we were supposed to see that, Nong) - and then into the jungle, where we came across a Mlabri tribe family. On an embankment, in a skillfully-made tent of banana leaves and bamboo stalks, sat an older men in loincloths, two woman, and 6 young kids wearing grungy t-shirts. Each of them were skin-and-bones.

Nong spoke a few words to them, opened his knapsack, and pulled out 4 or 5 individually wrapped cakes and a slab of pork fat - apparently a customary food gift for visitors to bring. He tossed the cakes to the kids, while the man took the slab of fat. He began cutting it up, bracing a machete between his two feet and dexterously sliding the thick slick pieces up through the knife's sharp edge. He put the pieces into a bamboo shoot and stuck it into a fire pit in front of them. A few moments later, it was ready and removed... the man cut the cooked fat into smaller pieces, which were shared and quickly devoured by each family member. 

Saturday evening Nong left us and we were introduced to Cho. He brought us dinner and later, told us a "bedtime story" (at our request) about how the hill tribe people were created. The story went on for a long time (Cho is a thorough storyteller), and I may have tuned out for a good chunk of it... but from what a I recall it involved high spirits, a brother and sister mating and giving birth to a piece of "soft meat," and cutting up the meat so it could become the future population of the Hmong tribe.  

Day Saam

Cho wore slacks, a button up shirt, and a leather hat on our 13 km hike on Sunday, but only needed to pause his quick sure pace whenever he wanted to show us plants that can be used as potent body deodorant or teach us some new Thai phrases (both would happen sporadically throughout our trek). He took us in a different direction than we had gone the two previous days - a direction that involved a lot fewer clear-cut paths and a lot more fallen tree branches that required us to toss our backpacks over them, get on the ground, and crawl through the mud to get to the other side. It was our longest of the three days of trekking, and I felt mentally exhausted for most of it (not to mention physically), but Cho kept us entertained. He even carved us homemade chopsticks to eat our lunch with. 

We reached the end of our trek at a roadside where Mrs. Fhu would pick us up around 2 pm, and we parted ways with dear old Cho. Mrs. Fhu picked us up, banana sticky-rice snacks for us in tow, and took us back to Nan city. I stumbled through the front door of my apartment Sunday afternoon caked in mud, my t-shirt so wet with sweat that you might have thought I fell into a pool on my way up the stairs. We had promised one of Emily's first graders, Om, that we would attend his 7th birthday party Sunday night - (he calls her Ajaan Barbie - how could we not go???!) - so we scrubbed ourselves clean, fought the fatigue, and changed into our finest party attire. Despite the 4 very tired ajaans in attendance, Om seemed to have had a blast.