Thailand Where Are We?

Hornbill Eating a Rice Ball

Thailand Where Are We?

February 12, 1999

Waking up in a strange bed, I wonder where we are.  “Oh yes, somewhere in Thailand.”  Pat is still asleep, but after this semi-heroic struggle to wake, I turn on the bedside lamp hoping not to wake her.  I slip on my running shorts and T-shirt and remember that my running shoes are still in the trunk of the car.  I try to open the hotel door quietly, but instead, this uncooperative door emits a loud screech.  Pat is now awake!  After a brief disagreement about where to leave the key, I slip out into the cool, but humid predawn air of Khao Yai National Park.  Street lights illuminate the entry road which circles the lake by the hotel.  The “put, put, put” of the omnipresent motor-scooter greets me at the first turn in the driveway.  Between the street lights, it is still a little dark.  I stumble over something – a big pile of elephant dung.  Fortunately, it is well-dried.  Another scooter passes.  Apparently, the hotel workers are coming to work.  

The sky has cleared during the night and a quarter moon shines over Khao Yai mountain range in the east.  It is positioned in the shape of a cup.  Remembering something I heard somewhere: a cup-shaped moon holds water, so it must be the dry season.  Yes, it is the dry season.  Yesterday, as we drove through the rice-growing areas, farmers were busy burning the rice stubble.  Smoke from these burns fills the air at Pattaya, where my brother, Pete and his wife, Anne live.  The monsoon season will begin next month and the burning will cease.

When we arrived yesterday afternoon, we decided that we would get a feel for the park even though we had only a couple of hours before the park closed.  The guard at the gate used maybe his entire English vocabulary when he requested 80 Baht for the entry fee.  He could provide no other information in English.  My entire Thai vocabulary consists of two words -- “suwaddi cop” which means “hello”-- or something like that, so neither of us was prepared for any long conversation.

Although most of the roads in Thailand are in excellent condition, the roads in this park were not.  The potholes in the pavement were so deep that traffic had been driving much of the way on the shoulder of the road.  The danger is those passing cars may both swerve simultaneously to avoid a pothole and have a collision.  Although the driving habits of the Thais seem chaotic, we have not yet seen a single accident.

Although road signs are in the Thai language, many also have an English translation at the bottom.  One announced a waterfall about one kilometer (brother Peter call them klicks) down a steep trail through the heavy rain forest.  We decided that we would have enough time -- so with a new book on the birds of Southeast Asia and binoculars in hand we plunged into the wild unknown.  We could hear birds, frogs, and other assorted animal sounds, but could see nothing.  We got only a little dizzy from looking up at such a steep angle into the tall, tropical Yang trees.  After a while, we finally saw a tree squirrel.  Then Pat said, “Did you hear that!”  

“No,” I replied.

“I think I heard the growl of a tiger,” she said.  We quickly reviewed our defensive strategies should we come face to face with a tiger.  We will stand side by side, as tall as we can and maybe the tiger will decide we are too dangerous to attack.  “Not to worry,” I thought to myself.  If he does attack, he will certainly choose Pat for food instead of me.  She would probably be a much easier prey to subdue and would taste much better than I would anyway.  To our relief (but a little disappointed) we found the source of the tiger noise.  It was a park ranger dipping water from the river with five-gallon buckets balanced on the ends of a shoulder pole.  According to the literature, there really are a few tigers in this park, so Pat’s interpretation of sounds was believable.

As we neared the waterfall, we came upon a fence made of very large cement posts.  Barbed wire encircled each post.  “Must be an elephant fence,” I guessed.  Maybe to keep the wild elephants from falling over the face of the waterfalls, where they would make a rather big mess about 100 feet below.  We climbed down some very steep, wooden steps that wound down to a viewing platform near the base of the waterfall.  A small stream tumbled down the rock face into a large pool below.  During the rainy season, these streams grow into such large rivers that elephants have been known to drown in them, so our guidebook claims.

Later, while walking around the grounds of the resort, a bird with a very exotic, long tail appeared.  It fit the description of the Greater Racket-tail Drongo.  Seems that almost every bird we see is a new species for us.  Then a very common bird of Texas flew by – a barn swallow. 

A sign by the restaurant of the resort where we stayed proclaimed, “No child sex tourism.” 

Later, while taking a noontime siesta under a large tree, Pat woke me.  A group of Thais were observing a large bird -- about the size of an adult chicken -- perched in a tree.  As we approached, the bird flew down and landed on a picnic table to beg for food.  It was obviously a Hornbill with a large, green throat pouch.  It had little appetite for the large, fried fish which occupied the center of the table.  But the fish was surrounded by various fruits and a large dish of white rice.  The bird refused a large mass of sticky rice that it was offered until it was rolled into small, compact balls that was just the right size to be swallowed whole.  It took the ball with the tip of its large, curved bill and deftly threw it back into its throat, where it could be swallowed.  The hornbill was so tame that it could be petted.  Signs in the park request that we not feed the wildlife, but few can see the harm.

Back on the potholed highway, we stopped to observe a long green snake in the middle of the road.  Hearing the sound of an approaching auto, I tried to roll down the electric window and motion the driver to stop.  Too late!  Without slowing, it honked its horn and roared by.  The “blap, blap” sound that the tires made as the BMW ran over the snake, was sickening.  Fearing that we might become the victims of the next BMW, we left the poor snake to be flattened more and more by each passing vehicle.

A side road took us up a very steep, rough climb to an observation point.  Soldiers manned a gate but allowed us to walk over to the edge of the mountain, where we watched a large hawk catch a thermal and circle higher and higher up out of the valley till it was out of sight.  A young soldier came over, apparently to test his English on us.  After the standard, “Where you from?” it was apparent that he understood the word “Texas.”  Then he said, “Beelclingtone.”  I looked at Pat to see if she understood.  She shook her head.  “Beelclingtone,” he repeated over and over.  Then he raised his arms as if firing a rifle and again said, “Beelclingtone.”  Finally, he spelled it out in halting English: “B-I-L-L-C-L-I-N-T-O-N.” 

Then I asked, “Are you saying that Bill Clinton should be shot?”  He nodded his head.  Knowing the difficulty of explaining that an impeachment does not mean Clinton must face a firing squad, we waved goodbye to the smiling Thai and drove back down the mountain. 

At a large, wildlife observation tower, we observed workers digging up the soil at an elephant salt lick.  Thinking that elephants have been able to obtain the minerals from eating this soil throughout their evolution without man’s help, we wondered what was going on.  The answer came back at the trailhead.  Sixteen open sacks with “Zoolite” written on the side, were opened and contained small, bamboo scoops.  The label on the sacks read SiO2, Al2O3, and Fe2O3.  Then several luxury buses arrived, led by a police car with flashing lights.  Well-dressed, elderly, Thai men and women emerged.  Apparently, these were wealthy benefactors of the Khao Yai National Park, who felt that it was important to sprinkle these salts to the red, clay soils at the elephant salt lick.

We try to avoid judging the actions of the Thai people by the standards of American “civilization.”  If they drive a little weird and feel the need to feed salt to wild elephants, that’s OK.  After all, it's their country and their culture.  They get their daily dosages of American culture through MTV, CNN, and the Internet.  Maybe they have learned about free enterprise too well.  Some will do almost anything for money, including selling themselves or their daughters into the business of sex.  

But, maybe there is much we can learn from these gentle, friendly folks.  We will try!

 

With Anne and Peter Sterling in Thailand

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