Waterfalls

The rocks were the size of apples first. As we got higher they became the size of potatoes. They got bigger and bigger. Twice the rear wheel of the motorcycle lost traction and slipped and Tata and my feet raced down to prevent a fall. But the views were stunning. Behind us was the straight separating Mindanao from Camiguin Island. To the left was the cinder cone of Mt. Mambajao, we were climbing Mt. Timpoong, and a treeless older volcano was to the right. Above us clouds would come and engulf, curl, or slide down the cinder cones. Every now and then the white baby blue blue beaches wrapping small Mantique Island would flash out. We were mountain climbing with a 125cc motor.

I'd get off and walk and let Tata, my driver, go up a steep cliff, we'd drive together for another minute, and separate again until he wouldn't take his bike anymore. And then we walked. My 25 cent hotel map was bad. Real bad. It showed the falls being behind us, but we hadn't even crossed a river. We could hear water streaming below us though. We walked up a path for ten minutes before abandoning it, assuming it was only a path to the top of the mountain. Later I found it began an hour hike going to our cloud-forest falls. He knew another waterfall so we went there.

The road was easier getting there, the hike scarier. At one point the trail drops about 20 feet. The trekker holds on to a metal pipe running away from the cliff while using stones to descend. Boulder hopping across the river was also a bit tricker than I'm used to and at least twice my right foot landed in the water. Two local children acted as our tour guides, taking us through the trail to the falls.

Tomorrow: Cock fighting.

Tuawasan Falls


Tuawasan Falls


The 70m Katibawasan Falls

Chiang Mai

The train to Chiang Mai was an all-night party. It was exactly unlike the Chinese train in that our car was filled with foreigners and the Thai crew were partying with us on the way up. We sat next to an exceedingly cheerful bald Amsterdamian in his late thirties who was to trek through the jungles with his father. His father, a good man with a mustache curled at both ends, gave me a small pouch of quality Dutch tobacco. He had been to the Indonesian jungles eight times and is exactly what you'd expect an 18th century colonial safari sojourner to look like.

We arrived at around ten in the morning and tuk-tuk'ed to the Banana Guest House. It's the first time I've never had to pay up front for a room. Even my lunch was put on a tab. We spent the first part of the morning wandering around looking at Buddhist temples. We struck gold with Wat Chedi Luang, a 700 year old temple half ruined 500 hundred years ago by an earthquake. A sign to side read "Monk Chat," so we spent the next hour with a 21 year old monk talking about infinity, faith, science, and Buddhist rituals. I bought a book from him, exchanged email addresses [he also had a cell phone {to call his mother}], and I intend to keep the conversation alive.

I upped adventure up a notch after that. I rented a motorcycle for roughly $3. I've never ridden a motorcycle before, or even ridden on for that matter. I thought it was a moped. It was not. I spent the next hour struggling to keep on the left side of the road, shift gears, and figure out where the hell I was. Luckily the core of Chiang Mai is walled in making it truly difficult to get meaningfully lost. My legs are still shaking from that little party. I'm not sure if I have the testicular fortitude to continue learning this particular craft. It feels as dangerous as it is. I've never wanted a seat belt more.

Don't know where we're going now. There's a lot of "trekking" near here... to village tribes, to elephant riding through the jungles, to white water rafting, downhill mountain biking, even cross-border visa runs to Myanmar and Laos. My gut is telling me to take the three hour bus ride through the mountains to Pai, a hippie hide-out on the Burmese border.

It's an object of curiosity what exactly all these hippies are doing here. We're not talking young dread-locked experimentalists you'd catch a String Cheese Incident show. We're talking mid to late twenties, sometimes older, guys and gals with dreads and very free flowing clothes. They're dressed more native than the Thai's. Sometimes I feel like I'm back at a Rainbow Gathering.

It's also of curiosity my reaction towards them. In America I have a bit of admiration for the legitimate counter-culturalist. But these guys are in Asia. My new neck of the woods. I place where I try my best everyday to adopt to cultural norms. I'm not so appreciate of white counter-culture here, but that could change if I knew how the Thai's felt about it. I think there's a strong chance that this is, indeed, not China and the Thai's really are as non-judgmental as they appear. This is the land of the "girl-boys", the only thing a Chinese person can tell you about Thailand.



UPDATE: The hippies are kind of real, kind of fake. The wear the light, flowing clothes because two pairs can last you until they fall apart. They're comfortable, dry quickly, and pack tight. You can get around with just a normal backpack if you pack light enough. I don't think it's about trying to make a fashion statement.