View from inside our hut on the first morning.

I awake under the soft green light filtering through our mosquito net. My nose and cheeks are numb. My neck and arm throb with the pain of sleeping awkwardly all night on a thin mattress and tightly woven mat. Karen sleeps in the bed next to me, amongst 8 others in our group, some half asleep, some like myself, blinking uncomprehendingly, attempting to discern the reality of where we are.

The bamboo floor creaks as I crawl out of bed and step outside, into the early morning silence that can only arise in a Karen village, a Thai hilltribe in the jungles of northern Chiang Mai. We’re on the last day of our 3 day trek through the region; crossing steep pine encrusted plateaus, through dense, vine choked valleys, to finally reach here, our second village.

Last night, it was late evening when we arrived, though crowds of children were playing soccer in an open field, and tethered mountain buffalos eyed us lazily from underneath their owner’s huts. A number of locals passed us on our way, some offering a sly smile, others barely noticing us at all. Some were dressed in colourful, handwoven garb, while others, especially the children, wore regular T-shirts and pants that you’d easily find in any number of Thai nightmarket stalls.

Karen and I sitting atop our steed – 19 year old Sambu.

Darkness had fallen quickly, so our guide “Sunshine” urged us toward our sleeping hut for the night, and soon whipped up a batch of rice and pumpkin curry. Sunshine was a member of the Karen tribe, though not originally from this particular village. He liked to nickname ‘jungle’ anything we found or did during the trek; for example, we’d point to an interesting fruit and he’d say, “Oh, that’s jungle fruit.” Then he’d hack up a bamboo tree into a number of bowls and chopsticks, and he’d call it “jungle lunch.” We learned a few years before becoming a tour guide, he’d spent a year working at a Burmese refugee camp on the Thai border.

Now it was morning on our last day, and I found Sean sitting by the modest campfire. We’d met up in Bangkok a week earlier, and had taken the train up to Chiang Mai soon after. “I just got up to go to the bathroom and realized it was warmer out here,” he says. I nod my head, wondering when Sunshine will bring out the kettle and instant coffee. Karen emerges from the hut and makes her way down to the river to stretch and wash her face. Hard to believe it’s only been 72 hours since she’d spent an evening in the hospital for food poisoning.

Karen’s team navigating the water.

After a modest breakfast of toast and boiled eggs, our group is split up for the last leg of our trek – bamboo rafting down the river. Sean, myself, 3 others and our other guide, “Noogie” (also a Karen tribemember), climb onto our raft. It sinks a few inches until our toes are completely submerged. Noogie reshuffles us until he’s satisfied, and hands Sean and I bamboo poles to aid in navigation. Karen is on the other raft with Sunshine and the rest of our group. Before long, we shove off and the current grabs us with its persistent, icy fingers.

The river starts out calm and the journey is pleasant. During the rainy season, the water level is much higher, and the current much faster. Today, Noogie, Sean and I push the raft along, digging our poles into the river mud, stray rocks, or whatever else offers satisfying resistance. The jungle slides past us on both sides, rays of sun mingling with thick banana leaves, stray vines, and the odd remnants of clothing washed away in the flood a few weeks earlier.

“Okay, please sit down now,” says Noogie to the middle members in our raft. They don’t believe him at first, since Noogie has told a number of jokes during the 3 days of our trek. “No really, need to sit for balance,” he urges. Sean and I glance further down the river and watch the white tips of tell-tale rapids appear from around the bend. The girls sit down.

Gazing out at the river from our raft.

We engage the rapids amidst Noogie’s direction, who yells the commands at the top of his lungs like we’re approaching the edge of the largest waterfall known to man. “LEFT! LEFT!” he bellows, digging his bamboo pole into the frothing water. Sean and I thrust our own poles into the deep. Events suddenly careen faster than Noogie can command. Our raft butts against a rock and we’re thrown to our knees. Noogie jumps down into the water, hoarsely shouting at us to join him and lift the raft, away from its perch, before our bags, perilously strung from their bamboo teepee, flip into the water and disappear into the churning river. The raft is momentarily freed, and for a second, we experience glorious momentum.

Yet again, we crash into another rock and are forced to our knees. Noogie is somewhere at the front of the bamboo raft. Sean and I struggle to our feet and jam our poles into the water. Sunlight, jungle, waves and sound collide until suddenly, we’re breathing again and the raft is adrift, all of us intact, the rapids behind us. Humbled, Sean and I steel ourselves for the next bout around the river bend. We knock our poles together and steady our feet on the bamboo.

I wave to Karen on the other raft. It’s hard, if not impossible to grasp the beauty and simplicity of the moment.

Created by, Banilb on December 30th, 2009