Ben Hopkins travels to northwest Thailand – rides the rapids and survives to tell the tale

Not so long ago the town of Pai – nestled away in a pastoral valley amongst the mountains of northwest Thailand – was a haven of tranquility. A bucolic idyll of teakwood houses where Karen, Shan, Lisu and Muslim families lived peacefully with the indigenous Thais. Then, around 2002, Time Magazine and a number of other international publications decided to run a feature extolling its virtues and Pai quickly became the place to tick off on the backpacker  itinerary. Guest houses, open air restaurants, music venues, massage, tattoo, and  beauty parlors sprouted up like mushrooms and the tourists came flooding in.

There goes the neighborhood”, may have been a common refrain, but somehow Pai managed to keep its soul and is today the ideal starting  point for those seeking adventure. Travel shops tempting farangs into  the wild sit amongst a myriad of businesses offering everything from courses in fower arranging to kick boxing.

When I arrive on a late November evening I know a few days of adventure lie ahead. The only problem is choosing –  should it be a course in jungle survival skills followed by a trek into the wild, a rock climbing excursion or a mountain bike tour along the forestry tracks.

Checking into my guesthouse at dusk the sound of Muslim prayer blends with reggae from a bar opposite. Spiritually bereft I’m magnetically drawn to the reggae. Three young women from England are emptying out a bucket of Red Bull and Sang Som.

“Awesome, awesome,” one of them keeps repeating. “Yeah, like, I was sort of
holding on for my life when that guy, what’s his name, anyway, you know, sent the dingy down the rapids.” One more Sang Som and I’m off to an ad­venture shop to book myself on a two day trip down the rapids.

The morning sun is low as we labor the dingy down a narrow track and clumsily climb aboard. The heat rises along with the sun while diamonds dance in the water and dragonflies the size of sparrows hover overhead. “Hold on,” someone shouts as we hit the first set of rapids. Breakfast is the first thing to go overboard as the boat is thrown over white water crests.

Within seconds we’re through the first test and the waters are swift but calm. There are eight of us on board. An Irish couple who are experiencing leaving home for the first time, a couple of thrill seeking Canadians and a motley crew of three tour guides who introduce themselves as Ray, Banana Man and Chili Man.

There are only a few rapids on the first day which suits us fine. All the travel­ers on board are novices and the scenery is spectacular. Trees like sky scrap­ers draped in vegetation veil the mountainous landscape. The sound of bird-song and the screeching of cicadas fill the air on the rare moments when Banana Man and Ray, our raconteurs of wit take a break from making jokes about how farangs have heads the size of cabbages and how Chili man man­aged to acquire such an unfortunate nickname.

Puffing away on a green cigar Banana Man leans over and hands me a plas­through my system and singes my nasal hairs. It’s rice whisky. Banana Man has a plastic barrel full of the stuff and everyone on this boat wants some. Any plans I had for an alcohol free weekend are thrown overboard.

As we approach our lunch stop Ray raves on about how we’re going to see some wild monkeys in the jungle, swinging from the trees. There are mon­keys and they’re wild – wild with rage because they’re swinging from chains. Convenient for taking photo’s but when the Irish guy whips out his lens and starts snapping away the monkey flips, tears at his shirt, rips out a container of mosquito repellent and proceeds to drink it. Perhaps he thought it was moonshine but as we leave the scene all that’s left is the horrible screeching of a monkey puking up and Banana Man’s ongoing monologue about how he managed to acquire such a fortunate nickname.

Night falls fast in the forest where our accommodation is a few bamboo poles draped in mosquito netting. The mosquitoes in this region of north­west Thailand are known to carry one of the most virulent strains of ma­laria in the world. Danger hides in hidden places but when Ray produces an antique rifle from a make do shed, loads it with gunpowder and starts shooting bullets into the sky the danger of being mauled by wild animals disappears pretty quickly. Gun shots echo off the mountains sending a bolt of fear through every living creature from here to Chiang Mai.

Spike Milligan once wrote, “There are holes in the sky where rain gets in. The holes are small, that’s why rain is thin.” Tonight the holes are letting in beams of light from a thousand stars, forming a theatrical dome overhead within which hundreds of glow worms are putting on a show for my benefit. Perhaps it’s the moonshine but I’m almost tempted to applaud as I doze off to sleep.

At breakfast a creature with the body of a stick insect and the face of a dried up grape emerges from the woods and sits himself down next to Ray. “Eve­rybody, this is Mau.” Exiled from the town he grew up in Mau is a wanted man, a renegade who lives in the woods far from town. His only contact with the outside world is Ray who’ll supply his old friend with moonshine and tobacco. “Mau can’t go home,” Ray explains. “They’ll put him in prison; if he stays here they’ll leave him alone.” When I ask what his crime was Ray just says, “Mai pen rai” (never-mind).

Today we hit the rapids. The boat bounces over the tumbling water and crashes off the rocks to set everyone onboard whooping and wailing and screaming obscenities. For Banana Man and his cohorts it’s all in a day’s work but for us it’s a moment to overdose on our cravings for thrill seeking adventure.

I’m not sure the moonshine would be wise at such moments and I’m relieved to see Banana Man saves the grog for after the rapids – whether that’s because it’s less likely to spill or for safety reasons I’m not sure. In Thailand, as with most of Asia when accidents happen you alone take responsibility. Raising the bar for safety would also mean raising the cost considerably so we make our choices, pay western prices and be looked after or fling caution to the wind save the money for more adventures.

It’s late in the afternoon when we reach the final challenge of this tour, a ten meter high slab of rock jutting out from the river bank. The challenge isn’t to climb it but to jump off of it. My immediate instinct is to scramble to the top and jump. Then I pause to figure, “hang on. Here I am, a brittle boned middle aged has been plummeting ten meters into a river that’s cursed with limb shattering boulders.”

So I nominate my Irish friend as a sort of crash test dummy. He’s half my weight and young enough to still have bones like rubber. Just as I’m about to suggest he should think twice it’s too late.

With a loud “Jayssusss” he hits the water at full pelt, disappears for no more than a second and immediately springs up again, as if his scalp were at­tached to a bungee jump. When he crawls out of the water we’re all relieved to discover nothing has snapped, which means I was right – the water was too shallow and his limbs were made of rubber.

Banana Man just chuckles, lights another Burmese cigar and hands out the moonshine.

Later that night I’m back in the reggae bar, sharing a bucket of Sang Som and Coke with a new group of backpackers, telling them about my awesome ad­venture and finally convincing them to follow Banana Man and his cohorts into the heart of darkness.

There are numerous outfts offering rafting  trips  in Pai. Here is a couple to get you going.
Northern Green Pai Adventure Tours  Tel: 053 699 385
Email: pairafting@hotmail.com

Thai Adventure Rafting Tel: +66 (0) 53 699 111
www.thairafting.com