Day 59: Doi Inthanon National Park
Trip Start
Sep 21, 2006
1
60
228
Trip End
Jun 01, 2007
I've booked a three-day trekking trip into the nearby Doi Inthanon National Park. First stop is a local market, and, thankfully, not an early chance for souvenir shopping, but for supplies. Slingshots are one curious item on sale. It turns out these are there to satisfy the locals' craving for teasing or firing at wildlife. I buy some tamarind and rose apples to share with the small group before we head offroad.
The trek does not prove arduous (especially to someone who has just returned from the Himalaya). The path across streams and through bamboo is clear and not steep, and the guide insists on many breaks. The noise of the chattering group and the crunch of dry leaves beneath our feet alert any fauna to our presence so we see little apart from butterflies.
We're soon at our camp for the night, a small Karen village. The Karen are people of Burmese descent. We're not treated to a contrived local dance and weaving demonstration. (Phew!) It's a small, working farm, with pigs and chickens roaming free. (These would keep us awake later.) A TV aerial discreetly hidden in the trees and a nearby motorbike track mean we're not in some remote hamlet cut off from the world.
Over dinner our guide, 'Tarzan', regales us with toilet tales from previous treks and announces it is his birthday tomorrow (something he tells every group, we learn later). He's an amiable kid who amuses us with his constant cries of "Oh, my Buddha!"
The trek does not prove arduous (especially to someone who has just returned from the Himalaya). The path across streams and through bamboo is clear and not steep, and the guide insists on many breaks. The noise of the chattering group and the crunch of dry leaves beneath our feet alert any fauna to our presence so we see little apart from butterflies.
We're soon at our camp for the night, a small Karen village. The Karen are people of Burmese descent. We're not treated to a contrived local dance and weaving demonstration. (Phew!) It's a small, working farm, with pigs and chickens roaming free. (These would keep us awake later.) A TV aerial discreetly hidden in the trees and a nearby motorbike track mean we're not in some remote hamlet cut off from the world.
Over dinner our guide, 'Tarzan', regales us with toilet tales from previous treks and announces it is his birthday tomorrow (something he tells every group, we learn later). He's an amiable kid who amuses us with his constant cries of "Oh, my Buddha!"

