"Singha," our hilltribe guide very suddenly darted back from lead position to amongst the group. The expression on his face revealed that something was wrong. He pointed to something ahead. It lay still, jet-black and half-coiled on the dusty, red clay road. The group froze.
Our pre-trek briefing memorably outlined the dangers posed by the various indigenous spiders, scorpions and snakes in this part of northern Thailand. One of the snakes was the King Cobra, an aggressive reptile capable of killing an elephant with its huge sacks of venom.
I manouevered myself behind Singha, a 27 year old man, tanned and slender, perhaps no bigger than a 14 year old British boy as I focussed on the object. Several meters ahead a motionless form waited, its head trained on us. Just as Singha cried, "snake," one of the group, a suicidal young Dutchman walked towards it, stepping on it as he continued to walk.
It was of course part of an bicycle inner tube but realistic all the same. Our heart valves had momentarily fluttered like one of the spectacularly coloured butterflies that live here.
Singha was delighted by his humourous deception which was to re-occur again and again throughout our trip. We were, however, to see real tarantulas, lizards and insects on our journey through the densely wooded hills.
Trekking has easily been the best activity so far on my world trip. Far from expecting a "Ray Mears experience," and aware of Thailands popularity now, I anticipated well-worn trails, hasseling hill tribes and sattelite dishes. I was pleasantly surprised.
Although elephant riding (which I passed on - for reasons I'll explain later) and bamboo rafting were touristy, the trekking itself was far more visceral.
In temperatures which might have stir fried vegetables without a flame, we ascended narrow, crumbly paths into thick, lush vegetation. "If I was unable to handle this, how would I cope in the Amazon," I pondered, as Singha moved effortlessly up near vertical slopes to the next level.
Singha came from the Karen tribe, the most prolific of the hilltribes specialising in farming and with origins in Myannmar. His English was good and we talked at length about his community, the elders, passing down of traditional methods such as hunting and clothes making. As we walked he stopped to show us differnt types of plants, some with medicinal qualities which his father passed to him. He understood his environment and we felt safe, despite his love of cruel jokes.
After 2 hours walking in an increasing heat it was a relief to arrive at a waterfall where bathing (and diving) was possible. My chalk white body was first in and I was soon following the other overly-eager guide, Suki up the slippy rocks to different pools.
In my typical misadventurous style, I lay flat on to some stones for several minutes allowing the cool water to flow over my back, only to emerge with a a multitude of writhing black leeches clinging to my nipples, stomach and legs. aaargggggghhhhhhhhh "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here," I yelled surprising animals high in the trees. Suki calmly showed me how to brush them off gently and to wash in a different pool.
We walked again, encountering even steeper slopes and passing groups of tarantula nests every so often. Different smells emerged at various stages. First liqourice from burnt wood then yeasty beer as we passed certain plants then dry cork and bamboo. Deeper inside the cover of the trees it became very quiet except for the rustle of parched, elipse-shaped leaves beneath our feet.
A long winding path from a high hill opened out momentarily to expose plateaus of neatly terraced rice paddies carved into the side of the hills. Women and children in clothes that looked too warm for the weather worked in a dusty field with long hoes, indicating that a village was near.
When we arrived at the first small village there were only 6-7 huts, each one with a black pig tethered beneath the house. I enquired jokingly about having one for dinner and was given an estimate of cost if we'd like to eat a whole pig roasted on a spit. This was getting a lot of fun. It was not half as sanitised as I thought.
I met a lone hunter, maybe 50 years of age, stubbly and smoking tobacco (at least I thought thats what it was) through a lime green, banana leaf tube. He was on his way out looking for flying squirrels, wild pigs and deer. His gun was, like all the tribespeople, made by himself, a weapon similar in shape to a rifle, single barrelled with copper parts on a rough wooden holt. They use gunpowder and pellets to fell their prey and attune to the seasons hunt select species at different times of the year.
We reached the village where we were to stay at a rapidly darkening 6.30pm. Our accommodation was a stilted home made of bamboo with ten matresses on the floor, each with its own mozzie net.
As the stars appeared it became surprisingly cold especially for me in a T-shirt. Dinner was a simple rice and aniseedy green curry eaten under candle light. The village had been provided with solar panels by the King so there was some electricity. (although we had none).
Dinner allowed time to engage further with the others in the group and amongst the story telling, (mainly by myself) Singha was keen to let us try Thai whisky and start a drinking game.
The game is called, "Kung, Kung, Chil, Pbang." Singha was adamant that it was a famous Thai game but Korean people may beg to differ here. Translated it means, "007" so effectively a game about being shot by an agent. This was a great way of involving some of those who weren't able to speak good English like the Japanese chap - who incidentlky ended up drinking much of the whisky.
The stars became even brighter with the emergence of Orion and insect noises became as audible as our voices. Unlike the silence I had foolishly imagined, the whole night air was filled with the tap-tap, crick-crick and hiss of a multitude of exotic insects. What an amzing first day of the trek!
As we retired to the bamboo hut with our torches, I thought back to the elephant ride which I abstained from due to their height (and bad experience with horses) However, others complained of that the elephants were like a moving factory style conveyor belt for tourists. I found out later that they had been saved from logging but they continued to lack the freedom of the jungle and its wild inhabitants.
I photographed 4 animals tethered by one foot with a thick metal chain. They seemed always to wear the saddle - even when off duty - even a horses saddle comes off after a ride.
I preferred the wild and wished that the elephants were free - like me, on the day I became a traveller.
