When I went to Thailand to see my friend Laura, we headed right up to Khao Yai National Park, three hours northeast of Bangkok. We stayed at a place called the Greenleaf that's well known for its wildlife tours.
In the morning we piled into a covered pickup truck with some other hikers. A spotter stood on the tailgate to scan for wildlife on the way to the trailhead.
These guys are pretty amazing. From a moving vehicle, they can pick out monitor lizards way off in the jungle that I could only see with the help of high-powered lenses (and sometimes not even then).
After several stops to ogle wildlife, we got to the trailhead and set out. The forest was dense, beautiful and
clean -- there wasn't a candy wrapper or cigarette butt to be found. It reminded me a bit of Borneo, with its thick foliage and slightly wet, clay-y soil.
The hike leader, Mr. Nine, carried a new camera he'd just gotten that nearly killed me with camera envy. He also carried his cellphone -- not so he could call people and shout "Hey! I'm hiking in this awesome place and it's so peaceful and quiet," as some people do. Instead, he used it to play bird calls. He did attract some birds, but they remained fleeting, flitting presences in the canopy.
Mr. Nine used to be an accountant. Then the Asian financial crisis of 1997-98 hit, and his work dried up. He was hanging out in the countryside one day when someone handed him a pair of binoculars and said "Look at that bird." It was love at first sight. Ten years later, despite leading hikes into the woods every day for a living, he still spends his free time tromping along the trails looking for wildlife. He is still delighted when he can show you a new bird or animal.
The lizards and hornbills were great, but the undisputed stars of the day were the gibbons. They were swinging through the trees in groups and calling to each other in a range of sounds -- from hoots, to something like a siren, to a low mournful keening.
Gibbon calls are often compared to songs. They are even believed to
contain some of the elements of human speech.
Their faces are definitely eloquent too.
In case the ice cream isn't sugary enough, they add a dollop of sweetened condensed milk, a favorite dessert ingredient.
A child's outfit with a cartoon of US Army bears calling in bomb attacks. This doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
We got off to a strong start with these fried rice-starch cakes (on the left) stuffed with a dark green vegetable similar to kale. They came with a salty-tart-sweet-hot dipping sauce. When you factor in the crispy-chewiness of the exterior, the soft blandness of the interior, and the bitter greens, you've got most of your major food characteristics covered. Somehow all of those qualities were held in balance. It was a food symphony.
The big bowls of stir-fries and curries were a little disappointing, though. Certainly not terrible, but lacking the complexity I was hoping for.
Plus they skimped on the sauce a bit; why make a big vat of curry sauce if you're not going to ladle it out with abandon?
Dessert came from the sticky-rice family again: sweetened blobs of gooey rice starch. They were making big piles of them, stacked in pairs with the tops together so they wouldn't slime all over each other. I find things like this a bit bland, but the sticky-chewy texture is surprising and funny, in a good way. It's a texture that will always remind me of Southeast Asia.
The show, however, did not cut any corners.There were tons of big production numbers with fluffy, slinky, feathery, tiny or sparkly costumes. They were designed to appeal to the different national origins of the audience members: Chinese, Thai, Japanese, Arabic, Korean, Western.
China got particular attention. Laura figured that was a good job of targeted marketing. "The whole two front rows are Chinese," she whispered. "I can tell because they're not clapping." (Apparently, applause is Just Not Done in China.)
Some of the women were a bit mannish, but some were real knockouts.
"It's not fair!" Laura and I complained afterwards. "They're more woman than I'll ever be!" But since I don't even own a hairbrush, never mind makeup and definitely never mind having any kind of cosmetic surgery, I can't really complain.
When I went to Thailand to see my friend Laura, we headed right up to Khao Yai National Park, three hours northeast of Bangkok. We stayed at a place called the Greenleaf that's well known for its wildlife tours.
These guys are pretty amazing. From a moving vehicle, they can pick out monitor lizards way off in the jungle that I could only see with the help of high-powered lenses (and sometimes not even then).
After several stops to ogle wildlife, we got to the trailhead and set out. The forest was dense, beautiful and clean -- there wasn't a candy wrapper or cigarette butt to be found. It reminded me a bit of Borneo, with its thick foliage and slightly wet, clay-y soil.
The hike leader, Mr. Nine, carried a new camera he'd just gotten that nearly killed me with camera envy. He also carried his cellphone -- not so he could call people and shout "Hey! I'm hiking in this awesome place and it's so peaceful and quiet," as some people do. Instead, he used it to play bird calls. He did attract some birds, but they remained fleeting, flitting presences in the canopy.
The lizards and hornbills were great, but the undisputed stars of the day were the gibbons. They were swinging through the trees in groups and calling to each other in a range of sounds -- from hoots, to something like a siren, to a low mournful keening.
Their faces are definitely eloquent too.
Me and Haviva at Ancol for the pole-climbing 
