Dairy notes from Thailand

rain seasons vagary

A few days ago my three helpers, Ellen, Patrick, Jannie and I rented a small Suzuki four-wheel drive vehicle, so we had the chance to go up in the hills around 'The Golden Triangle' in northern Thailand.

Backpacks, the 20 liters of extra water and the manual wheelchair fills well up in the boot of Suzie, as the car quickly has been named. I have been mounted in the rear seat with a pair of rope to keep me fairly in the seat. A couple of pillows behind my back helps to absorb the jolts when we drive over the holes in the road. My biggest problem is my head. Not because I believe that there is something wrong with it, but it is extremely difficult to keep it up in the air on the bumpy roads - especially now that the rainy season has started.

We are moving at a snail's pace into the mountains. At the foot of the mountains there is a clear blue sky, which underlines all the other colors we see. Hillsides that are not cultivated are dark green, filled with banana trees, rubber trees, bamboo and other woods from the rainforest. Sometimes we see the most colorful flowers that we can imagine.

We pass many hillsides, that has been transformed into terraces by human labour force has been transformed into terraces, in which rice are intensively cultivated. On the terraces, which are irrigated with water, we see water buffaloes walking and pulling the plow, while the peasant is steering. The newly planted rice has the same life-giving color as the first leaves in springtime on a Danish beech.

A water buffalo is relaxing after work in the rice fields

We pass several small villages, which consists of 10-15 wooden huts with roofs made of bamboo and dried grass. Many of Thailand's tribal people are living in this area. There are Lisu, Akha and Yao people among others, easily recognizable in their own special attire. Almost the same as spotting a Dane because of his Fjällräven backpack.

As we move further into the mountains, we also begin to feel the rainy vagary. Heaven has opened its gates and the sun has disappeared behind a dark, thick rain curtain. The road looks more like muddy pool than a connection to the outside world. From time to time the car skids on the greasy road, and to our great fear, we see that even the precipice is disappearing in the rainy mist.

Now I really notice how my neck and my head ache. The pain is greater than the hangovers some days ago, where I got plenty of Mekong whiskey, the local brandy. Sometimes I doubt that the head still stays on the body. I have a helper on each side, fighting a brave battle to support me in the best way.

The rain increased in strength. In some places the outside of the road is washed away. Patrick almost pushing our little Suzie up against the hillside so we don’t get too close to the gulf. In some areas the rivers have burst their banks and washed the road away. We are happy that we chose Suzie with a strong pull on all four wheels. It manifests itself as a true fighter, who can climb rivers that goes up to the knees of Jannie. She has now been appointed as our depth gauge.

Gradients get less, the road begins to be more solid and broad, and we are starting to breathe in a quieter pace and our pulse falls correspondingly.

Our next 'enemy' arises - the darkness.

The rain has become a quiet drumming on the roof. We now and then see some people who walk along the road. A few huts appear. We approach light that emanates from several houses and suddenly we see a Coca Cola sign hanging on the gable of 'Mae Salong Guesthouse'. We're back in 'civilization'.

We park Suzie for a well-earned rest.

I thank the Goddess of Fortune; there are vacant rooms in the hostel. So I can rest and be filled with energy for the next morning's new experiences.

My aching joints and muscles begin to relax, while I, to the sound of hundreds of cicadas, stare out over the valleys and mountains, which are illuminated by a full moon, which has displaced the dark clouds. At this moment I feel, that I am the world's luckiest man, and have completely forgotten all the worries I had before going to Thailand, and have completely repressed the many hardships there has been on the journey.

MORNING AIR IN MOUNTAINS

It is still dark when I wake up after a well-deserved, but all too brief night's sleep. The time is around five, when we begin to get ready to go to the local market.

Before leaving Denmark for over a month ago, I had been worried about how I would do without the daily comforts, such as my electric wheelchair, seating toilets, bathing facilities with hot water and my good mattress. On this trip, I have often missed the freedom that the electric wheelchair gives me at home. To be able to turn around, when people talk to me, without having to ask a helper to do it. Be able to explore on my own without having an attendant at my side constantly. Or just to sit more comfortably. But this morning I realize, how many great experiences it gives me to travel the way I've chosen - without all the hardware from daily life at home.

In order to travel with as little baggage as possible, my manual wheelchair, both function as a toilet seat, bathing chair, combined wheelchair and baggage car, and sometimes as a sedan chair.

We are at 1.700 meters altitude. The nights and especially the mornings are pretty cold; something I clearly sense when the cold water from the shower hits my still half sleeping body.

Akha people on the market in Doi Mae Salong.

An hour has passed since I opened my eyes, and now the light is beginning to displace the darkness. We walk around at the various stalls set out. Women and children from the Akha tribes in the area have already arrived. They put out their goods on blankets or just banana palm leaves on the ground. It is mainly vegetables, as egg plants, spring onions, chili peppers, cabbage, sweet potato and ginger. But also homemade hoes, knives, other field gear and wicker baskets can be purchased at booths. Some chickens and also a single black pig is for sale.

Maybe we are a magnet on the market, but hardly any profit for the traders. Every time we stop in front of a blanket or some banana leaves to look at the goods, everything stops. People simply do not believe in what they see. Apparently there are not many here, if there are some at all, who have seen a wheelchair, and especially not with a disabled person from Europe.

Further down the street is a real shop, with a few tables and chairs. We have not had breakfast and sit at one of the tables. English is not very useful here, and we have long time ago abandoned to decipher the signs, which probably tells us what we can get to eat. So by pointing out a few pots, we explained that we would like to buy something to eat. Soon after, we have four bowls with a steaming soup made of vegetables with several hot peppers, noodles and something indefinable meat and four glasses with very sweet tea. It is nice to sit here under the corrugated iron roof and look at the everyday life in front us while my body is starting to wake and be heated by the strong soup. It's also nice to be anonymous, not being in the center all the time, as I usually am out on the street.

TIME IS AN ODD DIMENSION

Well satiated, we walk out of town along a small road. We stop and see the morning become day. Haze lies like a thick white duvet over the valley. There is a few spots where ray of sunshine breaks through the fog and we get a fantastic view of the forest-clad mountains, we are surrounded by. While we enjoy the silence and let the tranquility come to our souls, traders begin to break up from the market and go back to their villages.

Suddenly it's as if I'm in a movie. Every time I hear a group of Akha-women come walking toward me they are very talkative. But as soon as they catch eye on me - this strange creature – their voices slowly silence. Everything is in slow motion. Even their pace becomes slower and slower until they get right up to me, then the movie is set on still picture. Everything stops. We stare at each other, and are apparently fascinated by each other's peculiarity. This frozen image stays on for 15-20 minutes. By an invisible signal, the movie starts again. The women slowly walks away, the voices gaining strength until they again disappear behind the mountain, and I am once more surrounded by nature's own peace. The movie is repeated every time a new group passes me.

A small group of two women and a child stops in front of me and stays even longer than the previous. I'm trying to say one of the few words I've learned in Thai – ‘beautiful’! Whether it is the word, or their kindness or just a misunderstanding, I do not know. But I understand their gestures as a sign that we are welcome to follow them. So we do.

The road soon stops being a road, and instead takes the form of as a narrow path that meanders up and down constantly with the hillside to the left and the valley to the right. More Akha women join our company. Many are older women wearing large wicker baskets on their backs. All bear a headwear of woven fabric with small metal plates sewn into it. One of the distinctive clothing parts for these Akha women.

Hard working is going on behind the wheelchair. A mountain trail that has been exposed to yesterday's rain is not the most suitable for a wheelchair. Everyone helps in their own way. When the gradient are excessive steep, and the helpers are almost horizontal by pushing me and the chair a few hundred meters more, the elder women are using all their strengths by pushing at the helpers bum. A strange spectacle. I feel like an explorer from the last century.

The pace is apparently too slow for our companions, and they disappear out of the path. We are once again alone.

We continue along the path. We see some pigs go on the hillside and are aware that the village must be close. And indeed is. Around the next corner we see about 15 wooden huts, surrounded by a low wooden fence.

We enter the village, and are immediately greeted by about fifteen men and some young children. There are also some chickens, dogs and pigs around us. The men are obviously surprised by the visit, but very interested in looking at the strangers who have come to town. The helpers sit on something that looks like a bench. We try to communicate in English, without result. Several of the men are feeling on my arms and legs, to feel the muscles that are not there. A few of the elderly are more technically interested. They carefully study the wheelchair. Suddenly their faces lit up in admiration when they discover how the brakes on the chair work. Then a major discussion takes the form among several of the men.

In a fraction of a second, I hear the sound of a high crack and three Danes lie on the ground - the bench is bursting under their total weight. There is totally silence. We can hear a grain of rice falling to the ground. I am afraid that we have destroyed one of their shrines, and the men are obviously worried about whether there are some who have been injured. It is as if time has stopped. Seconds feels like eons. Then I hear laughter of relief from Jannie. In no time, we all sit and guffaw. Now children and women are running out of the cottages to look at the strangers.

We walk around the village with a tail of smiling people. We're playing with the kids, looking at the dogs chasing cats and watch chickens stalk around among pigs. Although it is impossible to talk to our friends, it is irrelevant, because words could never describe and convey this ambiance correctly.

Time is again an odd dimension. It feels like we just arrived to the village, but actually we have been here some hours, and we have a long way back.

Here on the way back to our Guest House, I cannot help thinking how happy I am, completely without all my gear from Denmark.


The beautiful and vigorous mountains on our way to an Akha village.