Journey into a Unknown Culture

'Oh my Big Buddha!' our Thai guide exclaims gleefully, regarding us with an enormous grin more gum than tooth. His amusement is understandable: two hours into the trek and we are grubby and panting while his only concession has been to remove his t-shirt and tuck it down his baggy shorts. I perch on a rock rubbed smooth by those that have rested here before, steadying my breath and listening to a gurgling river below. The air is tinged with scents churned up by sudden rainfall; grassy, earthy and moist. An abundance of life must lurk and skitter amongst these bushes but for now, the jungle is still.

Our guide's yelping laugh signals we have rested enough. He leads us on a steep ascent through matted foliage denser than fog until we emerge, clammy and breathless, on the outskirts of a village. Bamboo huts on stilts jut out from red-brown soil. An old woman with wrinkles even deeper than her tan smokes a pungent marijuana cigarette and kicks out at two mongrels snapping at each other in the dirt. I climb the ladder to my hut barefooted and settle on the balcony with a tepid Chang beer. Through gaps in the slats I watch children play; a little boy climbs the stone well, circling it's perimeter until scolded by a passing girl. She looks too young to be his mother; the children here belong to everyone.

As dusk falls, we clamber into place on wooden benches, digging steaming ladles of spicy curry and perfumed rice from communal bowls. Empty water bottles are cut in half, transformed into makeshift cups. My fingers get sticky with dark rum, the mark of over-enthusiastic toasts to our journey, our hosts, this beautiful country. As the evening begins to blur around the edges, the village children cluster together on our balcony, filling the night with their tiny voices. Candlelight flickers on their faces, dark eyes following a plastic bowl we load with coins. Staged as it might be, I am honoured to share their simple tune.

We play cards in the moonlight, learning magic tricks from a deaf man who delights in flexing his muscles and miming stories with frantic gestures. I make clumsy narrations in a language he doesn't understand and we giggle together in a language we both do. One child stays long after the others are in bed, fascinated by his own image trapped inside a digital camera screen, while his older brother produces a battered guitar. We echo the earlier chorus with our own tipsy renditions of Wonderwall and Tiny Dancer. Between songs the guitar player talks of his desire to learn English, become a guide and save enough money to travel. And although I can't imagine anywhere more perfect than this remote village under the vast, still sky, I smile and tell him to chase after those dreams with every ounce of energy he can summon. After all, they are the same ones that brought me here.