Rapture Downstream

Water pools around my feet as they step cautiously onto the roughly bound poles of bamboo. Remarkably we do not sink. The raft is steered by two trainee guides. They manipulate the current with their giant bamboo rods, maneuvering us through rapids, between rocks and away from disaster. Lazy smiles echo around me as we speed downstream. Days of trekking and sleepless nights have left an unspoken exhaustion hanging over all the travellers onboard. Initially I am thrilled not to be spending another day on foot, but after the novelty and between the dangers, my legs ache from standing and my stomach yearns to be back at camp, laughing through mouthfuls of banana pancake.

We stop to eat boiled eggs at a small village of Karen people. Whilst I stretch, a young boy swims in the river with a bunch of colourful balloons. Their artificial brightness looks bizarre in the otherwise natural environment. I watch the boy smother each balloon until they have all burst. A gap-toothed girl is selling bracelets made of braided thread. I ask to pat the emaciated tabby cat at her ankles and she nods happily. A few minutes later she shows me a litter of nursing puppies. One bites its mother and I am given him to hold. The little dog’s sweet milk belly feels tight and ready to burst in my hands like one of the boy’s balloons.

The water ahead looks violently white. “Sit,” a guide advises. I squat carefully, trying to avoid the damp floor and sudden splashes. As we crash through the water and scrape against rocks, I claw to the bamboo with desperation. Everything goes quiet. I open my eyes. “Swim now,” the youngest guide instructs. He must be joking. We are approaching an eerily still part of the river. The water looks dark and uninviting on such a cloudy day. For hesitating I am splashed mercilessly until I have no choice but to dive in. The fresh current lifts the tired glaze that covered my surroundings. My eyes and ears wash open, I can now properly see the giant tree trunks and hear the sounds of the Thai jungle. I am no longer worried about falling in, I am in and it is beautiful.

When the water becomes too shallow to swim, I flop lazily on the edge of the raft, letting the dull afternoon sun absorb what it can from my soaked clothes. We overtake other tourists wading slowly on elephants. Our guides keep steering, straining their muscles with each stroke. Occasionally they point out vibrant plants, camouflaged animals or flooded ruins. I moan in awe, letting the scenes wash over me. By the time we arrive at the next village, where pick up trucks wait to take us to Chang Mai, the raft has crumbled. It is not long before all that is left from the journey is a pile of soggy bamboo and the knowledge that Thailand has sunk inside me forever.