Hiking on the Edge of Town

About the only thing better than having nature on the doorstep here in Chiang Mai is having a hiking club to enjoy it with. So far I’ve taken four outings with a revolving group of nice folks who enjoy perspiring up the many steep trails on the edge of town.

The people who come out early in the morning for half-day treks on Wednesdays and Sundays generally were born outside Thailand, or at least in other parts of the country. A few qualify as Chiang Mai veterans—twenty years or more.

They bring interesting stories with them. “I’m here to train Muay Thai” [Thai kick boxing] said both an Indian-American from New Jersey and an Irish dude, on separate occasions. “I fly helicopters for Shell Oil out of Borneo,” explained another guy. “I work six weeks on, six weeks off. Chiang Mai is the closest nice place to build myself a house.”

We saunter past colors and critters that are new to most of us—mushrooms, millipedes, berries, anthills, and orchids. Now and then somebody takes a stab at identification, but mostly we just enjoy the open forests and the occasional views back toward the city. Along one section of trail the route is marked by cloth that might once have been orange monks’ robes. Are we being told that the path leads to a temple? That we’re passing through a meditation zone? Nobody is sure.

Sometimes several tree trunks end up growing together into goofy shapes that would be equally at home in an amusement park. We half expect to hear Jack coming down the beanstalk. In that spirit, we notice monstrous snails everywhere. Somebody said they’re native to Africa—in Thailand thanks to yet another pest-control scheme gone badly wrong.

We arrive back at the parking lot before lunch, giving us plenty of time to fritter away the afternoon on the Internet.

Seeing Anew

Someone who knows what she’s talking about happened to cross my path, and together we visited a gorgeous old wooden temple near my place on the outskirts of Chiang Mai. It was empty. Yellow petals had fallen from a large flowering tree and covered the parking lot like snow.

My friend pointed out the unusual layout of the wat, and indeed once she said it, the arrangement of the various buildings did strike me as a little different. I might not have noticed otherwise. It struck me that I had a chance to move beyond my usual seen-one-seen-’em-all approach to temple touring.

I determined to be extra observant, in hopes that just maybe I would learn to tell my viharn from my ubosot. We started inside the main structure, pausing to admire carving meant to mimic the shape of the Buddha’s eyebrows (who knew?). I stared at the sloping ceilings as if I’d never been inside a wat before. Do the multiple tiers always telescope that way? I wasn’t sure.

There was still nobody else around. My friend seemed to be x-raying the eaves and gables, concentrating on how well the 20-year-old restoration was holding up. I tried to soften my eyes and pretend I was looking at a song or tasting a massage. Slowly the red lacquered columns holding up the roof began to glow brighter than I thought the limited interior light would allow.

Back outside, we circled a handsome open-sided preaching hall laid out in the shape of a cross. She explained that a sala is normally rectangular. Somehow I knew that before she said it. Perhaps adopting a new worldview isn’t so hard after all.