All Summer Long

Doi Inthanon is sacred. It’s one of three national parks in the vicinity of Chiang Mai and a perfect escape from the walled city and its arterial streets. No scrambling up against walls to dodge speeding bikers, tuk tuks and songthaews. In fact, we’re the ones being dodged as the enigmatic Mr Singh thrashes us through the alleys in a minivan named Pegasus. Our seats are set so straight it feels like we’re in a torture rack and with this madman at the wheel, we’re sure to leave the bus in a different shape. When we reach the final hotel, Singh apologies for the slalom ride and says he has to make every pickup before 7:30am or his boss will get cross. “Don’t worry, though,” he says. “We drive fast now, but to the rainforest it will be slow”.

Every country road, side street or cul-de-sac becomes a fast lane for Singh. He bludgeons the horn at every blind corner. The songthaews can slide off the valley to either side for all he cares; he’s like Moses parting waves in the sea. He bullies his way into a parking space at the second most worthwhile-to-visit waterfall in Thailand. There’s a dull sign forbidding us to swim, but there can’t be anyone daft enough to dive into these brutal currents. We take photos of the cascade, walk a short way up the hill, then cocoon ourselves in deet; there could be anything floating on this breeze. Then it’s back to the bus.

We drive a little higher and pull over at the start of our two hour trek. We walk through cinnamon forests and climb across bamboo bridges. They say it’s an easy walk, as it’s mainly downhill, but we have to be careful where we’re putting our feet because the steps are uneven. At home we’d be making this walk in fell-grade walking boots, but here we are the whole group of us in pumps, skipping through the mud. At one point we’re walking on a bridge of sandbags through a coffee plantation. There’s talk of the thriving opium scene in Thailand. When the views open up, we take pictures of the stunning fields and mountains.

Eventually we arrive at the village of the Karen People. We drink their arabica coffee, watch them weave scarves. A foreigner drives his saloon car into the village and shaves off an inch of the bumper because everything is mud and naked rock. We’re invited up to the bamboo home of a Karen and sit cross-legged ourselves in a room filled with practically nothing. The one space is everything – a bed, a kitchen, a lounge. The toilet is the rainforest. She smiles at us with black teeth and poses for photographs. She clearly loves the company and blesses us before we leave. “It doesn’t matter what your face is,” she says. “Love doesn’t know a face.”

There’s a market. It seems to be the same stall repeated again and again for a mile. We jump back in Pegasus and Singh is playing party tunes now. We’re in the party bus until we arrive at the buffet, which is a celebration of all the standards in Thai cooking. We eat.

The last leg of the tour is to the highest point in Thailand, which surprisingly has no view. It’s basically a plaque isolated in trees with an adjoining museum and places to pray. We go on another small nature walk through some interesting trees and then drive, yet again, up to the two pagodas – one built for the King, and one built for the Queen. Here we get the best views of the valley which looks sacred in the mist. The murals outside the temples are violent: pictures of bamboo through the mouth and bum. The temples themselves get a new coat of paint every five years or so to keep them tidy. The architecture and interiors are beautiful. This is the climax of our tour. Then Mr Singh straps us back in, builds up to an insane speed and rolls us out almost immediately, back inside the walls.