"Gola" Part 1 - Getting There

We are not driving.  We're zipping. 

That's the best word I can think of to describe the long ascent into the mountain, by truck, but with no longer than 30 seconds before the next hairpin turn.  The incline requires speed.  The blind curves require precision and skill.  Remaining upright calls on every core muscle you have, combined with arms and legs braced against whatever remains solid in the churning mass.  And it goes on.  For.  Five.  Hours.  

Looking outside is dizzying, or worse for some of us.  Contrary to what works for most people, I find reading helps with a visual focus and also provides a distraction.  Provided I can keep the book still.  Otherwise, the best word to describe this part of our trip - endurance.

One time coming around the corner, a large truck is well into our lane, and a skilled swerve on Suradet's part saves our lives.  Not exaggerating.  Another time coming around the corner a water buffalo with a death wish surprises us, standing there right in the middle of the road, out of sight until the last moment.  In that case the skilled swerve saves the life of the water buffalo, who lives to chew his cud another day.

We are headed to the remote hill tribe Karen village that was Suradet's childhood home, and where his parents and siblings still live.  I've been warned.  Sort of like how non-campers warn you about a camping weekend.  It's a long, hard drive.  Conditions are meager, sleeping will be a challenge, bathrooms are 'rustic', and the food may be 'different'.  I am warned to take a LOT of bug spray.  I see where Suradet points to on the map and realize I will need to take my malaria medicine.   Yup, this will be outside the box and another step deeper into the culture of these beautiful, fascinating people I've come to love. 

I'm eager to visit the village.  Suradet has repeatedly expressed his desire that I meet his parents, and I very much want to as well.  When he and Yupa were with us last winter, we made the drive (which I thought was harrowing, being January and going across the 401.  Ha!) to go see my Mom.  And the visit with her was for me a deep and sweet connection between two completely different childhoods.  I expect meeting Suradet's parents will be the same. 

But first we have to get there.

The zipping stops.  We have arrived at our first destination, where we will spend one night before continuing to the village.  

It is a well-known look out spot that boasts an explosion of large yellow daisies that only come out at this time of year.   And we've arrived enough before sunset to get out and stretch. 

And marvel.

Before this, in the car, I have only been able to catch glimpses of the mountain tops in the distance.   Roadside trees or my own need to close my eyes have prevented me from fully taking in what I imagine would be a breathtaking view if I wasn't already holding my breath.

But now.  Oh!

I find I can barely speak.  Suradet, Yupa and Bao are silent as well.  Then Suradet says simply, softly, "Prajao ying yai", the Thai for the chorus of the hymn "How Great Thou Art".  More literally, "God is so big."

We'd stay longer but we haven't yet secured a spot to set up camp for the night.  So we head back down to where we saw some A-frame huts and ask to see them.  

They are pretty basic.  Made of plywood with thatched leaf roofs.  A mattress and two pillows are provided on the floor, and basically fills the little space.  Bathrooms have that well used look about them, but not enough to be deal-breaking.  We are quoted a ridiculously low price which continues to come down the longer we hesitate, until I realize what is happening and tell him "we'll take two", before he goes so low my conscience wouldn't let me sleep anyways.


That won't end up being a problem.  After supper at the nearby shack that poses as a restaurant, we unload the truck, spread out our blankets and settle in.  It's not quite 7:00 p.m. and already dark.  With really no place to sit, and not quite sure what the plans are for spending the evening once I've got my own little hut ready, I leave Yupa to finish setting up for her own family.  Coming back to my 'room' I stretch out my shower-deprived body on the mattress, wondering how many other sweaty, dusty travelers have done so before me.  After all day in the truck, the cooler, fresher mountain air wins over my resolve to say a proper goodnight.  Still in my clothes I am only vaguely aware of Suradet's voice at my door, asking if I need any more blankets (since they are freezing and expect I must certainly be as well), but I can't seem to respond.  Later I will rouse enough to climb into some pajamas, fending off a bat-sized moth that has come to investigate my flashlight.  Even with that little bit of adrenaline (after some severe conflict, the moth and I eventually came to a mutual understanding), I am back in a mountain coma before I can even wonder what else might be able to make its way inside. 

I am awake before sunrise, strangely refreshed.  My first waking thought is one of gratitude that I made it all the way through the night without having to use the bathroom.  But now my need is urgent so there's nothing for it but to stumble out and bravely go where too many have gone before.

It doesn't take long for the morning to wash over the mountains.  Light and mist do a slow dance of dawn, teasing back the darkness and opening up the day to wonder and awe and curiosity, and a simple Thai breakfast shared on a mat in a hut together.  As Suradet offers the blessing I feel a sudden, quiet surge of the magnificence of this moment.  I am rich beyond imagining.  Mountain morning vista is my view.  Rice and chicken is my meal.  Unlikely inclusion and love and being 'just here' is my heart's home even so far from home. 

I wish my language skills would catch up with my heart.  In my pondering silence Suradet catches me and expresses concern.  "Oh.  Ahjahn Ruth.  Sa bai, di mai?"  Are you well?  Are you okay?  He offers something else to drink or eat, as if it's an unsatisfactory breakfast that might be causing my silence.  I use all I know to reassure him that the breakfast is 'aroy'  delicious.  But how do I say what I've been thinking, feeling?  I pause.  "Di jai, mahk."  Very happy.  I repeat it.  Very happy.  And then, "Thank you so much for bringing me here."

Breakfast is over.  Time to load up and get back in the truck.  

We stop back at last night's look out, and take yet another trail that leads a little higher.  It was one of those climbs that, if you knew in advance what you'd signed up for, you might not have taken that first step.  Before it's over my legs will be literally shaking from the exertion and I will need to sit down before they give out. 

But in the meantime, in the meantime.  Oh the view!  And there's a mountain waterfall!  And wild poinsettias growing by the side of the road.  And I find I'm glad I didn't know ahead of time that the climb would be hard, and I'm glad that in not knowing I just kept churning up that hill.  Because if I'd wimped out at the bottom, I would have missed all this.  And it seems like life is like that sometimes.

Coming back down is so much easier.  And at first so is the driving as we continue to the village. 

We stop at a makeshift roadside market and meet a vendor there, a woman, with whom Suradet, in typical fashion, quickly makes friends and discovers is a Christian.  So we pray there.  Right there.  We pray blessings over her business.  Ask for many travelers to stop here.  Ask for her to be encouraged and strengthened in her faith.  And because the elephant bag is so beautiful, I buy it, and quickly before she thinks I need to bargain it down in price.

Back in the truck.

And now the really hard driving begins.