Phu Pha Man: It's Not Always About the Destination

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Sure, you can find beauty in the tourist traps, you can let Tripadvisor tell you about all the must-sees, but you’re limiting yourself to 30% of what there is to offer. The real beauty is found when you wander, when you let the whim of the moment direct you. And I’m fortunate here as a foreigner to have a great Thai friend that invites me along and opens up the local secrets of this beautiful land.

Two Americans with their faces drooling at the scenes out the window and our Thai beauty of a driver cruised in along the gravel road, with two guys and a guitar in the hutch. We’d arrived at our oasis: an eco-resort set in front of limestone mountain curtains, rickety wood bridges leading to our designated bungalows nestled upon purple lotus ponds. And surrounding the farm fields in front: endless young rice fields the color of Crayola Electric Lime, with Thai farmers lined in perfect formation pulling up old roots and exchanging them with new seeds like a natural, well-oiled machine. And silence. Silence that I’m evermore appreciative of because of my current urban existence.

Silence, with it’s rhythmic melody quiet, is a powerful sound on the planet that reminds us to breath into its naturalness.

Our first adventure of the day: a natural spring.
We turned along farm field after another. And if I told you I was beaming, I don’t think that accurately illustrates my expression. My smile was basically falling off my face. Eggplant. Sugar Cane. Dill? I could have died and gone to heaven, and I’d be happy.

 
Jick was waist-deep in the mud colored spring. I was doing my best not to slip on the rocks below. Melissa was close behind. Johnny was free jumping from boulder to boulder. And Nay was wandering through the forest snapping shots.

 Water is cool and all, but after getting a taste for it, my heart gravitated towards the soil. The touch. The feel.  Miss. Barefoot straying through the fields. Round eggplants, oblong eggplants, bushes of multi-colored peppers rows on end. Green mountains, edged and etched in their own individual way, lined the backdrop. I walked past a deserted farmer’s hut ornate with a dried grass hammock, cooking pot, and straw hat- elements of the simple life that I could easily adapt to. Just a little further I was zooming my camera into a field and focused on a farmer. My immediate instincts were to engage, but after saying hello, she flowed with Thai conversation and laughter. I quickly realized I could only communicate with my smile. She touched my skin, that holy white, and I was on my way. When I joined the rest of the crew we challenged each other for the most epic picture of a gargantuan tree.

Our next adventure: a waterfall.

             Twelve kilometers along the countryside on a bumpy, up-hill road, we were blessed to have a truck that handled the terrain. Farm fields upon farm fields. Hundreds of baby papaya trees filled my line of sight, and every so often I yelped pointing out adult jackfruit trees. Past an orchard of rubber trees, each with their own spouts to collect this precious material. I was constantly reminded where everything comes from- the Earth. With jaws dropped at the picturesque scenery of green mountains and rainstorms in the distance, we decided to take a group shot among the tapioca fields. It was one of those journeys where the beauty never ended. With no idea where this waterfall exactly was, and no road signs to provide direction, every so often we would check in with the locals to assure we were on the right path. And the first time Jick rolled down the window, they all just looked at us so puzzled. She thought, “they must not speak Thai.” But in reality they were just in shock of seeing their first farangs, foreigners.

And I can’t really describe what it’s like to be looked at with so much bewilderment, to be one of the first in your race to engage with a remote village. It’s like you’re this beautiful creature that’s been extinct and you’ve only been described from word of mouth. Slowly, we crept further up this mountain, given the constant assurance that yes, trong pai, keep going forward.

But as we checked the time, we realized it was getting late, that we’d have to turn back to catch the bat cave show. So we made a 3-point turn cliffside, and past our friends who were cleaning cilantro where the river met the mountain. We could sense we were so close to the main attraction of our journey, but for me, the journey of engaging with the locals and identifying plant life made the trip all worth it. 

The night adventure: the bat cave (tham khang khao)  

            Before I left on my weekend trip I called my brother. His advice: don’t eat the guano. Ace Ventura provides all of life’s lessons. And as we gathered underneath the cave, I couldn’t help but wonder when someone was going to offer me guano. Sadly, no offers of bat poop, although my friend who climbed into the cave said locals were rummaging about collecting something from the floor. Had to be the guano, man.

A little after their expected departure, as the sky was darkening, the sound of flapping wings activated the amazing spectacle. Millions of bats were flying in formation, creating an ebb and flow of black dots across the night. You could see them for kilometers into the distance. And some locals were there to gain good spirit, to possibly see a winning lottery ticket number in bat formation. I just looked up in awe; they just kept coming, with a straggler out to the side every once in a while.

After the great natural entertainment, we took to the road in search of dinner, feet dangling out the truck bed. But the street was all closed for the night. Before accepting 7/11 as our dinner option, Jick asked if there was anywhere open. Directions were given, and in the thai way, directions weren’t that helpful at all. But after some turning around, slowing down, asking for more directions, we finally happened upon a place. And although it was closed, with one table finishing, they let us eat.

          

We met a local farang, with feisty British humor. He was having fun getting cheeky with Johnny, surprised we were there, seeing how he’s only encountered five foreigners in the area. He invited us to check out his orchid farm the following day (or we invited ourselves, I don’t really remember).

A nightcap of live melodies from Nay and Johhny became an opportunity for us all to practice our musical talents. It was a night where everyone played and got involved. It didn’t matter how the harmonica sounded; we were all trying.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing about music, that anyone can give it a go.

The following day we took our time leaving the peaceful eco-resort. What’s the point in rushing with an atmosphere so calming? We made our way to the orchid farm, that weeks earlier had been destroyed by high winds.  But as I peaked through the greenhouse before we started our tour, it all looked so beautiful, and the tree hugger heartbeat started thumping.  Our British friend was very open about his life story. His main reason for leaving his homeland was the loss of his dog. He figured his angry soul would go wild in England, and so he started an adventure to Thailand. Now he’s got lots of animal friends, a Thai wife, a daughter, a booming orchid business that manifested a travel career, and the most beautiful backyard where he can see infinite mountain peaks. I’d say, a pretty satisfying life.

            I was consumed with purveying the infinite rows of sprouts that came from all over the world. And I felt so comfortable in the greenhouse. It’s my ultimate playground. No better of a reminder, among thousands of plants and great friends, to acknowledge a missing passion in my current lifestyle.

Before heading home, we ventured into the remote Phutalor Cave where we needed a guide to unlock the entrance. I’ve been to caves before and stalagmites still amaze me. But what I couldn’t get over was that this massive cavern was all to ourselves. There weren’t obnoxious tourists making far too much noise, or kids running around touching everything. There weren’t blocked passageways. It wasn’t an experience that thousands of people had walked before me. It was just us. Exploring its depths. Feeling the energy from the crystalized rocks. It was our own private experience, and the rocks were left undisturbed.

Even a stone, and more easily a flower or a bird, could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself. When you look at it or hold it, and let it be without imposing a mental label on it, a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you. Its essence silently communicates itself to you and reflects your own essence back to you. –Eckhart Tolle