As Jay and I sit here on the bed eating shrimp flavored cashew nuts and drinking the gourmet green tea we had taken with us from Phu ChaiSai resort, we reminisce about the adventures we just had in Chiang Rai. This roadtrip in the middle of February 2021 was for two reasons. Firstly, my father had recently passed away across the border in Cambodia, and before he died we had agreed we would have a roadtrip together... after Covid, when the borders opened back up. We had talked about either a motorcycle ride around Angkor Wat or one around Chiang Rai, and while I had wanted Cambodia he had seemed homesick for Thailand, so I think we would have traveled to Chiang Rai had he lived longer. So that was my first reason for going. Secondly, I needed to return to America for a few reasons, not the least of which was to return his ashes to the other place he had been homesick for; Chicago and Darrington. This meant I had to leave my beautiful wife, for whom I have never properly married, so for whom could not legally travel with me to America as she is a Thai national, and also because of Covid... Fucking borders. Anyway, we only had a few weeks left before we would be apart for an unknown length of time, so a camping trip escape seemed appropriate... necessary.
The trip began early on a Thursday morning, not as early as it could have began because we spent some time repacking our backpacks into our hardcase airline travel suitcase, the big ones equipped with four wheels and an extendable handle, designed for global city hopping. We did this because camping in Thailand isn\"t really camping in the American sense, it is definitely more a glamping activity and we weren\"t kidding ourselves as to what we were really doing. The new packing arrangement allowed us to pack the warmest and most comforting clothing we both had with us in this tropical climate, our Chewbacca and Fancy Otter onsies. So, with all the necessities packed, including some various planned activities accompaniments we were off, wheeling our suitcases down the hallway, into the elevator and out to the old Toyota wagon with the odometer permanently reading 299,999 and peeling sun crisp tape holding various bumper and trim pieces on moderately securely.
For Bangkok on a Thursday morning there was very little traffic on the roads; a good start to the trip. Even with a pointless yet short stop at the Ayutthaya immigration office we made decent time and arrived 8 hours north in a small quaint town of Phrae province just before dusk. The Gingerbread House bed and breakfast was small, friendly and very local as small towns usually are. The pace was slower, relaxed and even with our room facing out to one of the main intersections, and even with the police station directly across the street we found it quiet and soothing. The building itself was built in a traditional style of full wooden beam supports and roof, and rough cut lumber walls with polished wooden floors. It was a comfortable two rooms with chic décor. The bathroom, although also a traditional wooden design was equipped with modern plumbing connected to ceramic and glass fixtures and, of all things a circular shower on one side and... wait for it... a square toilet on the other. It seemed such a little thing, and yet, so contradictory to common design that it stood out blatantly against the traditional design and allowed us a 15 minute conversation starting with bathroom design juxtaposition and ultimately leading to the conclusion that if a person eats squagels they must also poop squagels. Science. David Cross knows what I mean.
The Thai government was giving incentives to the population to encourage economic stimulus, and true to form had the brilliant idea of encouraging travel during Covid by offering 40% discounts on lodging and $30 dollars worth of food if you booked at an eligible hotel, or in our case, bed and breakfast. Not a couple to pass up money it seemed necessary for us to go spend some money on delicious northern Thai food. In fact we didn’t want to waste any of the $30 dollar economic stimulus, so we decided to spend all the money. $30 is quite a large sum of money for two people for Thai food in Thailand so we ordered a few dishes. In fact, since we had been so excited and overwhelmed by the diverse new foods on the menu, and as the dishes turned out to be much bigger than average, well, we ordered a few too many dishes. As we were ordering the frog legs the waitress suggested that perhaps what we had ordered so far would be enough for the two of us. We laughed her off. I really wanted to try the frog legs. Didn’t she know we had the poor townspeople struggling in economic hardship to think of, and it was our duty to “trickle-down” that government incentive. The theory really only works if people spend and keep spending, even if wastefully so. So, we decided that the “trickle-down” theory was a shit idea and according to the proof of concept test case known as the American Downfall we couldn’t justify contributing to the wastefulness of frog legs. Of course, the American theory had counted on the corporations and persons of independent wealth to trickle down their own funds on their own accord and this situation was government incentive money so perhaps the Covid incentive wasn’t the same at all. And, I really wanted the frog legs. The waitress patiently stood there and waited for us to weigh the pro’s and con’s of our gastronomic choices in relation to the entire Thai economic strategy. She eventually smiled in satisfaction as we took her advice, if for entirely different reasons than the simple logic of portion size considerations.
So, our meal at Mai Mueng (the restaurant name, if you ever happen to be in that small town in Phrae province and fancy eating some amazing food), so our meal was curry with special mushrooms, an appetizer plate of northern specialties and the best damn fried fish, phenomenal fried river fish, ask for the one with catfish style whiskers, and it was topped with fresh and crispy herbs and a shredded deliciousness for which I have no explanation. We barely managed to finish the curry and, despite the wondrous taste of the fish could only take the rest to go. The car smelled like fried fish for the rest of the trip and it made me smile every time I got behind the wheel. Anyway, while packing the food to go, with a nod of “I told you the portions were big” we got the bill and discovered that we had misunderstood the government incentive. It wasn’t $30 worth food with eligible hotel stay, but “up to $30” discount of 40% off meals. A bit of a difference, but I still wish I would have tried the frog legs, let me know how they are if you ever visit that small quaint town in the Phrae province.
Upon returning from dinner we sat outside on the common area patio overlooking the police station and played cards and shared some of grandpa’s cough medicine. It was Chinese New Years and all around people were celebrating, just quietly and separately. The streets were quiet. Where were the firecrackers? Maybe they were waiting for 5am as they always did when we lived in Phuket, and when I say always I mean for any and every holiday, and sometimes just for the helluva it, a birthday, a new car purchase, a bowel movement. Ah, I don’t miss Phuket so much. We really only heard one set of firecrackers fire off just after dark and then all was quiet again.
The next morning, following a fancy breakfast set of fresh greens garnished with boiled eggs, waffles garnished with gooseberry, a side of fried eggs, a fruit platter of watermelon and guava, a bowl of kanom ping, and for some unknown reason only one single small perfectly moist gingerbread cookie, we drove off up into the mountains. The road up to Chiang Rai was smooth, mostly, but due to the age and condition of our wagon in direct proportion to the degree of incline, chugging up the windy road took a bit longer than planned. Still, we arrived at our village campsite destination at the base of Phu Chi Fa after only a few hours.
An outcropping of mountain top cliff that drops precariously off the Thai border into Laos at an elevation of over 1400 meters, nestled in a range of mountains varying in elevation up to 1600. On the sloping side about 100 meters below sat our campground. We saw it as we crested a peak on the other side of the valley, and wound our way along the lower ridgeline. The whole area had terraced sections with rows of fancy white geodesic cabins, cream colored teepees, and a multitude of multicolored dome tents spattered all over each campground plot. The styles and designs varied with some having communal bathrooms at the main reception building, some with their own, and others near cement outhouse-shower combinations. As we drove up we noticed some were simply a few tents perched on bamboo platforms precariously sitting on the edge of a precipice with a sign next to them telling potential renters what phone number to call for reservation and for the bedding delivered. Although convenient with beautiful views we decided against staying there, not for the possible danger of falling to the abyss but because they were on the shoulder of the highway, on the apex of a corner, and I really haven’t been impressed with the driving skills in Thailand.
We arrived at the campground we had previewed online, but hadn’t reserved because they had been less than enthusiastic over the phone in assuring us of good condition tents. We had asked about the possible smell of mold, which is of course a common issue in the tropics and a reasonable question before putting a deposit on a tent you haven’t seen, or smelled, but they just said come out and look at them in a dismissive way. The condition of tent question is especially valid when, in the middle of Covid, the lack of tourists ensures little turnover and that the campgrounds won’t be booked up, even on Chinese New Year. After parking and being ignored by the guy sitting in the main ‘office’ building and then being squaked at by whatever bird was also in there in the shadows we started wandering around on our own checking out the tents. They didn’t smell of mold but they were more expensive than had been stated and when I requested to drive the car down to be next to a tent they refused for aesthetic reasons. Apparently either the car really is that ugly or they just thought I would drive off the side of the hill, as they explained has happened in the past. Since we had packed everything into the big world traveler roller bags not parking next to the tent wasn’t really an option. So we decided to hike over to the adjacent campground, and along the way met a couple of cheerful local girls selling perfectly ripe strawberries. Let me emphasize Perfectly.
The adjacent campground was named “Luck Phu Chi Fa” and had a teepee-safari style tent on a solid steel platform with a large balcony and clean cement washroom under the platform. The washroom had a partition separating the toilet area from the sink and a great high pressure shower connected to a propane water heater, which is important after the sun goes down! It is chilly at +1200 meters in February. The tent was big enough to stand comfortable in the center couple square meters and was fully equipped with a queen size mattress covered in bright white crisp linens, a small wooden bookshelf with a bright orange lama stuffie, a coffee table with snacks, tea, and coffee, and the an especially obnoxious 3000 lumens light bulb hanging from the center structural pillar. I fixed the light by wrapping three cheap blue useless (against Covid) dental masks around the lower part of the bulb… and all was right in the world. Outside on the platform balcony was a view directly down into the valley and a row of soft yellow decorative lights strung from our tent down to the next tents. There was only a single other camper that Friday and he was three tents down on another platform, on a different strand of decorative lights.
Before booking it, as we waited in front for the owner to arrive to take payment, we heard jingles of metal and joyful little children conversational voices. Excited and curious, and yet somehow also bored. Five little performers in head-to-toe bright red hill tribe regalia turn a corner up above and make their winding way down the staircase from the restaurant and cabins on the top terrace by the road. They meandered in an indirect yet purposeful mission, walking and jingling and giggling from one terrace to the other, stopping to examine a flower, or bug, or whatever, and then splitting off into two groups to merge back at the next, lower terrace. The distraction and wandering away and lack of focus, and of them generally looking like of a flock of red ducks playing a hundred mini tambourines moving toward us is understandable as they were between the ages of 5 to 10 and had obviously been performing for money for most of their lives already. Their mission, as we were to find out later, was to overload unsuspecting tourists with the unbearable cuteness of a song and dance performance and then revert to being normal children until you pay them to leave. That’s not quite true, even after you pay them they sort of just waddle around being cute. It is definitely value for the money because they aren’t pushy, they are just curious, more cute than annoying so it isn’t so bad having them around for a few minutes. In the end though, they are still children and the annoying percentage increases until you ask them to leave. We didn’t find all this out until later however because just as they walked up to us the owner rode up and so we told them to come back for a performance later. After we turned the kids away the owner chatted with us, agreed to a deal for a two night stay, said it was absolutely no problem to drive the car down to park next to the tent, and then took our money are rode away up the hill. As we followed to get the car we saw the hill kids (possibly Hmong)hadn’t gone very far and were pulling out poor small banana trees on the side of the road, creating mini whirlpools of bored kid havoc, and continuing their jingling, clinking journey of directionless wandering we saw them travel on their way. The reason we didn’t pass them up the hill is because we got distracted by the largest butterfly either of us had ever seen. It had landed on a tall banana tree and the wingspan must have been wider than Jays face. It was a bit unsettling how big that butterfly was.
Once we’d driven the car down to the tent, and were all settled in, we sat out on the balcony and let early evening deepen the blue of the western sky, looked out over the valleys and mountains with their mixture of strawberry, coffee, tea, and banana plantations spread out on the less steep plots of land and the forest and jungle and exposed rock cliffs of the more intimidating and harder to cultivate areas and listened to the jingles coming slowly back our way. We recorded the song and dance because they just walked up, right onto the tent platform, and really they didn’t seem to mind I was recording. They danced, they sang, they wandered around and threw some random paper off the side of the balcony, and then we paid them, and they hung around milling about, and then we asked them to leave.
As the jingling died away, we settled in again and relaxed as the sunset began in earnest behind the nearest peak to the west, and we smoked, and it felt as though we had the whole valley to ourselves. Well, it was us and about 8 or 25 different bird species all trying to sing over each other. I thought maybe we could distinguish all the calls and we began focusing on each call, each chirp or tweet or the “Weet wew wew wew” as Jay heard it, and the “Peew-pew-pew-pew-machine-gun” as I called it. A very strange thing happened then. The bird call stopped. Well, that isn’t so strange, just coincidence. But the next bird call I named the Bent Wobblies because they sounded like a bicycle wheel that had been bent but someone kept riding it… and then that bird call stopped. Okay, two in a row, still coincidence. We laughed and joked about it and Jay said, name another, so I did, and this phenomenon happened a couple more times, not just the calls stopped a minute after I named them, but within seconds. We laughed still, but a bit uncomfortably. It was as if the birds were offended by the names I was giving them. At last one of the bird calls that had ended began again and both of us let our shoulders down and breathed a little easier.
Once the sun went down and the temperature dropped, quite rapidly, we happily put on our cold weather gear, not the onesies, just some sweats and socks and pullovers and went up to the restaurant for some dinner. At dinner we met Bob, a 70 year old New Zealander vacationing with his Thai wife. They lived in a village about 40k away and were up there for a local tribe festival taking place over the weekend. We chatted and he told us of his childhood growing up on a ranch, his Covid troubles while stuck in Australia and the tasks needed to get back to Thailand, and most interestingly to me his life in a Jewish commune in ‘73 just across from the Syrian border. He had been the only non-jew in the commune and had only been granted stay as they had needed someone to milk goats and when they asked if he had the skills, he simply replied, “I’m from New Zealand, I know how to milk anything.” We all laughed at this and then it got serious as he told us about the rockets flying into Israel over their farm and how another New Zealander on a commune a few kilometers away had been killed in the fighting… he said it got real then and he left. Bob happily recounted his stories, eager to have met fellow English speakers, and his wife seemed fine enough to watch world news on her phone. He mentioned he was staying in the cabin, not the tents, and commented how they were big enough for two couples, which both Jay and I acted as though that was a mildly interesting fact and ignored the possibility it might have been a proposition. After awhile we said our goodnights, went back to the tent, had a wonderfully hot shower, played a few games of cards, tucked ourselves under the thick comforter and blanket, and drifted off into blissful sleep listening to the crickets, the frogs, and faint downtempo music drifting across the night air from the only other resident glamper.
The next morning we both awoke more than warm as the tent, combined with both thick blankets on top of us, felt like a sauna in a greenhouse. We took a cool shower, wandered down the road to the flea market setup for the hill tribe festival. Multiple tribes of mountain people (Chao Khao) travelled to Phu Chi Fa for a usually massive festival, however we were told it was a bit smaller this year. We walked around, purchased colorful traditional handmade clothing and some more strawberries. There was a stage with a terrible sound system that young women stood on nervously and sang, or, mostly because of the sound system hollered. While wandering around we decide it would be a good time to hike up Phu Chi Fa, forget about being prepared lets just hike up the nearby trail. So, we went exploring. It was definitely the trail less travelled but, as I told Jay, if you are trying to get to the top of a mountain it is easy, just always go uphill. It is the way down when you will get lost. After 30 minutes of steep yogging and walking we came to the ridgeline marking the border of Thailand and Laos. After a break and another 30 minutes and we were at the peak of Phu Chi Fa. A large family of tribe people with lots of kids were milling about and taking photos and enjoying the view, but they were not obnoxious at all, which surprised me because the ratio of children to adults was about 6 to 1. Well trained humble mini humans.
The view overlooking Laos was breathtaking, not just because of the steep hike and altitude, but it truly was a picturebook scene. It was so quiet, unspoiled by humanity, like I said even the children were humbled. We hiked back down to a lower plateau and then before dark all the way back to our tent where we watched the orange sunset behind a hilly horizon. We cuddled as it got cold and drifted off to sleep... no, wait, no we didn\"t. The tribe had found an edge of road big enough to park a few trucks and they had also found a large amount of alcohol and a karaoke system. We know this because we listened to terrible music combined with terrible singing for about, I don\"t know, the entire night. No, wait, no around midnight the computer running the karaoke system shut down... I know this because the telltale Windows, DeeDouDou sound echoed loudly before it went silent. The night wasn\"t silent, just the karaoke. We could still clearly hear drunken debates as they tried to get the systems working again. Eventually they gave up and got out a guitar and sang slightly quieter than previously with the loudspeaker system.
Next morning, up bright and early, Valentines Day. Time enough for me to make some romance, then off to the nature resort of Phu Chai Sai where we had booked the Romantic Suite a.k.a. “The Love Nest”... you know, for a couple love birds. Ugh, Valentines Day always makes me throw-up in my mouth a little bit. But, I’m not so much a VDay Grinch that I didn’t wear the matching BIG DILL / lil dill shirts from Pickle Day in New York City. Jay picked the flatest route on google maps to help the old wagon and we set off. As it turned out she picked the opposite of the flatest route. We ended up driving through the Phaya PiPak National Park on roads that had repeated 18% warning signs, although I think the 18% was the average for long sections and there were significantly higher grades for some sections of the route. Significant enough that I was worried about losing traction (on cement) of the FWD wagon. If you can’t visualize 18% and higher, the road was comparable in degree of slope to the steepest of Seattle, San Francisco, Pittsburg, or Los Angeles… basically a self-directed roller-coaster without the safety rails. The road also narrowed to a single lane with cliff edges on occasion. I had fun, Jay had white knuckles. Luckily not many people were crazy enough to be on that road so we only saw a few motorbikes and a pickup truck that was clearly the local public transportation between mountain villages. As we drove through some of the villages it was clear they didn’t get a lot of vehicles coming through and I had to be extra cautious of children and dogs. As we approached civilization again we took a quick detour into a random roadside Pineapple plantation. A mini-pineapple plantation.
We also wandered by some Papaya plantations after that appeared to have full size fruit but midget trees. This led to a long speculation as to… Why? We came up with several theories. In order of probable reasoning:
- They were a different species than the regular papaya trees.
- They were simply younger, and so, less tall.
- It was just an illusion as we passed them from the raised road.
- The farmers filled in dirt around the base so they didn’t have to reach so high to harvest.
Hours of discussion weighing the benefits and disadvantages of each theory led to a final google search that informed us none of our theories were correct. On the way to that google search we saw a pick-your-own strawberry patch decorated with hearts and flowers and with an outdoor strawberry wine bar… so, I indulged Jay’s desire to be a migrant worker for a day and suffer in the midday sun for… almost perfect strawberries that are sold at twice the price as the perfect Phu Chai Sai strawberries. The value added being the experience of picking them yourself while romantic music plays in the background. Jay bounced around excitedly with her scissors squealing little excited joys when she found any bright red berry, which was every 15 seconds. I entertained myself by yelling “Spider” on occasions when she would reach for a hard-to-pick berry. I also teased her about paying some to do manual labor FOR THEM. It was a lot of fun and we left with a lot of strawberries and no wine. Strawberry wine is not a recommendation I will give.
Just as I passed a sign stating “Waterfall 800m” my right flip flop strap broke in half. We walked on, a little slower, and presently reached the falls. An impressive 70m high plummeting stream of water created a windy mist about a 10m radius from the pool at the base. We stripped nekked, precariously stepped into the pool avoiding the sharpest rocks as best we could and shrieked as our bodies rejected the unusual temperature of the water compared to the tropical Thailand air temperature. We didn’t proper swim because the pool was knee-deep shallow until almost directly under the waterfall and neither of us had the marbles to go under it. We got out slipping and sliding and shivering back to our clothes that we’d hung on a tree branch. As we were leaving we passed a European solo tourist who was acting awkward, and whom we speculated had walked up the path to the viewpoint on the hillside of the waterfall… and had subsequently seen us in our birthday suits. Ah, conservatives. Jay giggled a lot and we began hiking back, refreshed and rejuvenated, but still slowly as I had the flip-flat. Walking slow was nice at first, but the evening had begun and the mosquitos came out in force as a lion on a hobbled gazelle. I took the flops off and bare-footed back to the car with speed.
Last stop. Phrae again. We immediately drove to the restaurant we had stopped in before, because when you find a local culinary gem you don’t gamble on some random noodle house. We arrived just as they were closing. It was worth the waterfall though, life is full of trades. We discovered that the town hotels were mostly full-up. So, for the night we skipped the uptight dorm backpacker hostel and ended up in the only place with a vacancy... a cheap but still boutique hotel, however, with only twin bed rooms available. We fell asleep cuddled on one of the twin beds, and much like Strawberry Wine, I wouldn’t give it my recommendation. It did allow us to wake up at sunrise, stiff and uncomfortable and with only a cursory nap in the other bed we were off to an early start back to Bangkok. Jay found us one last amazing restaurant to finish off our roadtrip, and although I was dubious about the food considering the over-the-top decorations, it ended up being quite good, not quite as good as that first place in Phrae, but what can you do? We got back that evening with smiles and dust and stinking camping clothes, and I can say with confidence it was easily in my top three roadtrips of all time.
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