Chiang Mai 2

It's me again. This post is going to be a bit long, since I haven't written in so long. I'm not even going to apologize for the lack of posts this time; anyone who expected an elephant home in the mountains of northern Thailand to have internet deserves to be disillusioned. Said elephant home is a very interesting place. It's owned by the leader (I hesitate to say "chief") of the district, which is populated mostly by Karen people. The manager and mastermind is a guy named Joe, an extremely friendly guy with an excellent ponytail. Joe has a one-and-a-half-year old son, nicknamed O-ishi, who is as adorable as you might expect. He loves my guitar, and has tried to play it several times, despite the fact that it's larger than him. The staff of the home is a collection of locals who work as mahouts for the ten elephants living there. They are friendly, but for the most part speak very limited English. One of my principal roles at the home is teaching English to some of the younger mahouts. This is as frustrating but rewarding as one might expect; I'm struggling with never having taught before, but ultimately i think I'm doing an alright job of getting some language skills across to them. The reforestation work is less rewarding. So far, it's essentially consisted of me clearing the ground around the bases of saplings, in preparation for fertilizer. This itself isn't so bad; what's bad is the heat, which, although mild by local standards, is still pretty overwhelming for a polar bear like me. My effective working time is limited to the morning and late afternoon, and I spend a lot of time laying around in my room, too hot to really accomplish anything. I've been swimming in the river a few times, but the combination of the heat and the decidedly un-spectacular setting (hills and trees, whoopee!) had begun to wear on me by the time my Chiang Mai leave rolled around. Compounding the malaise is the Thai version of planning, also known as "not planning", or at least "not telling anyone about plans". I don't really have a clear idea of what I'm supposed to be accomplishing on the reforestation project. Joe has mentioned an irrigation line, but he hasn't given me any sort of timeline, so I essentially have to try and set my own schedule. This is also pretty wearing, as I generally feel like I'm not doing a) enough work and b) anything right. Hopefully, I'll be able to get some clarity from David over dinner this evening...
A brief word on elephants: they're not horses. This might seem pretty obvious, but I didn't realize how important that distinction was until I went elephant riding. Riding a good horse is like driving a nice car, except with feelings. It's pretty comfortable, you have a high degree of control, the speed can be thrilling, and you feel like you're working with the horse. Riding an elephant, on the other hand, is in many ways more like being in an uncomfortable, almost broken-down bus. You don't really have any control, your ass hurts, snails are passing you on the trail, and after a while you start to wonder "are we there yet?" Of course, there's also the really cool fact that you're mounted on a huge, ancient creature, who would have no problem dispatching you if it felt like it. One of the unique elements of the Elephant Home is the fact that customers ride bareback, straddling the elephant's neck; on most elephant tours, the customer sits on a metal seat mounted on the elephant's back. The former method is much better for the elephant, and much more fun; it's especially wild going down steep hills, or crossing a river. Swimming around with the elephants is also encouraged, and that truly is an awesome experience. The elephants dip under the water, disappearing almost completely, then rear back up, glistening, and lumber through the water towards you like primal sea monsters. The mahouts and I love climbing around on the elephants while they're in the water; Supon, Joe's "lieutenant", as i think of him, does backflips off elephants' heads. I've only been on one ride; I may take another before I go, but I'm still not sure if it's worth the tedium. I prefer the time I've spent down at the elephant enclosure, petting elephants and trying to keep them from eating my arm (seriously, they must think I'm bamboo, the amount they try to drag my hand into their mouths). As for smaller animals, I have been adopted by a dog named Bacon, who follows me almost everywhere. He had some sort of disease that causes him to twitch incessantly and stink; his loyalty is heartbreaking, as is his "happy special kid" demeanor. All in all, the home is an interesting place. However, I was pretty stoked to get out of the valley and head back to Chiang Mai for the weekend. I arrived last night, in time for my second Thai lesson (I've already forgotten it all). Following the lesson, I went over to the Sunday night market, a block away from my hostel, and wandered for a while. Now, I should explain my relationship with markets. I generally walk through them as fast as possible, afraid to stop for fear that a vendor might try to sell something to me. Even if I see something that I like, I generally keep moving; occasionally, I do a series of tortuous double-takes, trying to take a closer look at an item, but not wanting to betray any interest that might cause the merchant to start talking with me. The only thing I habitually buy is snacks; these I buy constantly, in such volume that I would probably have put on several pounds by now, if I weren't always walking so fast to avoid buying anything. I haven't always been like this; when I went to China, at age 12, I was a brilliant market shopper. Of course, in China I had my grandmother and her bottomless wallet to cover any purchases I made, but it's been disheartening to find myself bereft of my former confidence as a consumer. So last night I decided to force myself to buy something, preferably some clothes. Eventually, I settled on some fisherman pants; I walked past the stall three or four times, then, finally, approached, looked through the rack, and bought a pair. I was pathetically proud of myself. Today, I almost wore them out sightseeing, but after walking about a block away from the hostel I realized that I looked sort of like i was wearing a sari, and walked back to my room to change into shorts. Incidentally, I didn't manage to see much today; I had about four false starts, constantly having to come back to my room to change wardrobe, get directions, etc. I'm kind of a pathetic person. Whatever; all I was looking to see were temples, and I'll be seeing plenty of those tomorrow, when, for my cultural activity, I spend the night as a monk. Wow, this is gonna be weird...LYA