Hill Tribes of Thailand
Hiking Through the Rain
Forest
July 1992
This story is a continuation from yesterday.
Day Three- Crossing
The Bridge
Rae
and the guide had a discussion about a bridge. It was obvious that Rae didn’t
want us to hear the details. Her avoidance of the issue peaked my interest. Why
did she whisper to the guide whenever he mentions the bridge?
Finally,
mid afternoon, we got to the bridge. It crossed the ravine that dropped over
200 feet and it’s been about 30 feet long. Underneath were rapids that could
sweep an elephant away in an instance. Thank God for the bridge. But the only
problem: the bridge was nothing more than a wide fallen tree that had
conveniently fallen into a perfect location across the ravine. This good
fortune opened up all new accesses for the locals. But there was no flat surface,
no guardrails, no safety net, nothing, just a damn fallen tree that fallen to
The other side.
Our porters went first. Carrying our heavy
loads, wearing flip-flops, they walked across with an ease that was admirable.
It looked so easy and it was obvious that, unlike me, they didn’t waste any
emotion on that one thought of slipping on a slug and falling and dying
instantly. They did not focus on the thought of sneezing halfway across and
breaking their concentration and losing their balance and falling and dying
instantly. They didn’t think about the potential of a rotten soft spot in the
middle that was just on the verge of cracking when the next bit of pressure
touched it, causing the tree to collapse and fall into the raging water and
then dying instantly.
They
just walked across as if they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Several them
cross together. No one stopped. No one stammered. they quickly got to the other
side, ready to continue our journey.
Things
slow down dramatically when we, the tourists, were up to cross over the bridge.
We came to a complete stop and my comrades join me in my unhealthy
free-floating anxiety. none of us felt comfortable with this bridge. none of us
wanted to cross. We wanted to throw up. The others didn’t speak up about their
fears. They didn’t have to. They knew they could count on me to be in a panic
and to be very vocal about the whole thing.
So
when I went on and on about dying and falling and drowning and smashing my head
on the River rock, of floating away to uncharted waters, they shook their heads
in agreement. Nothing more needed to be said by them. I had spudded all of
their fears.
“Okay”, says Ray, “here are your choices. One,
you can turn back but it’s a two-day walk back by yourself. Two, you can stay
here and become part of the vegetation. Three, you can climb down the ravine,
cross the rapids and climbed back up. But the sun is going to set in two hours.
You don’t want to have to cross the river in the dark. But really I don’t think
you’ll make it across the river. The waters just too wild. You’ll drown. Or
four, you can cross the bridge and move forward and you’ve already crossed the
bridge like this. And that bridge wasn’t as wide. You’re just thrown off by the
height”.
“And the raging river underneath”, I added as
if that point of emphasis was even necessary.
“We’ll
take it slow and I’ll walk with each of you individually. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll
walk sideways. We’ll walk as slow as you want. We’ll walk at your pace.
Rae
wanted me to go first. I think she thought if she could get me across first,
the others would see that even I could make it across. If I could make it, they
could too. A porter came back over and
took my backpack. The other porters stood silently, watching with a disbelief
that we were so afraid. But the same time they welcomed this unscheduled break.
They sat quietly on our stock and shared cigarettes.
Rae
stood to my right and grabbed my elbow and forearm. There was no space between
us. We stood sideways on the tree trunk. I could hear my labored breathing. I
felt my heart pounding heavy against the wall of my chest. I stood with a
tension that raced through my entire body.
“Now
remember”, she said “if you drop your walking stick don’t lean over to retrieve
it. Let it fall. We’ll just get your another stick on the other side”. I
detected a hint of panic in her voice. She realized that my good judgment or my
knee-jerk reaction could and would be the difference between life and death for
both of us. I dropped my walking stick down the ravine and watch to disappear
in the rapids. I surrendered myself to whatever Rae wanted me to do. I just had
to trust her.
We
walked sideways on the tree and took baby steps. Rae cheered me on and I closed
my eyes so I wouldn’t look down and couldn’t see what little progress we’re
making. It seemed like hours to get across the log. At one point my eyes
started to burn. They really hurt and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong.
“Something’s
really wrong with my eyes. They’re
burning up,” I blurted out.
“It’s the salt”, Rae commented.
“Salt, what salt,” I wanted to know.
“You’re
sweating profusely. You’re sweating like a pig,” she says this with a tone that
indicated I was right on the brink of exceeding my limit of her good care. So I
just shut up and sucked it up. I focused on the fact that this was probably the
first time in my life I ever sweated so much.
We
made it to the end and I collapsed on the ground. Rae clapped for me but I
wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my shameful, scary moment. I just laid there,
exhausted from the adrenaline rush. I
wanted to go home.
She
went back and got Helen who came across in a panic but not quite as needy as I
was. Dave and Amy came over together, arms locked. I guess they decided they
were going to cross together or go down together.
Once
we were all across, we sat together in silence, in a moment of solidarity. The
four of us had pushed our limits and we have survived. But we also reflected on
how easy this was for our porters. Our moment of victory was overshadowed by
moments of shame.
We
moved on. As we walked along the river I watched people bathing in this water.
They were washing their clothes and their dishes and themselves. They soaked
themselves, soaped up, held their noses and submerge their entire bodies in the
water. Women squatted along the banks of the river and pounded their laundry
with rocks and then they rubbed the clothes together with the vigor that
could’ve ripped the clothes apart.
Children played in the water. And teenagers brought
their cows and other livestock right into the water and wash them, cooling them
down from the heat of this afternoon sun. A few men were out in their handmade
dugout boats, fishing. Small girls were gathered buckets of water to take back
to the kitchen. Dogs chased boys into the river. And large water buffaloes
defecated in this water. Piles of saturated dung floated around them.
I
hadn’t thought much about their dependency on water. I hadn’t thought much
about my dependency on water. But here it was right in front of me. This river
was the life of the entire village. Without access to this water this village
wouldn’t survive. Yet the water was dirty by my standards. And who baths in a
river? But I got a whiff of my body odor. It had been three days since I
showered. I shower every day and I pride myself on never showing more than that
because that’s wasteful, so American.
And
now it’s been three days and I smell and I haven’t washed my face or hands
during this time. I feel really dirty, filthy but I long for a nice hot bath,
an ice cold Coke and a good magazine. Soaking in a hot tub is a great way to
spend the evening. But the only bathing option for me right now for the next
two days is in this cold river with floating water buffalo dung. No thanks.
I’ll wait two more days to get back to the city. Taking a bath in this river
was just too repulsive for me.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW.
