Our exotic lunch, unsurprisingly, did not sit well with my stomach. I was already carsick from the incessant veers in the mountain pass, but now it was taking the full force of my will to hold it together. I stuck with the views from the front and took deep, centering breaths all the way to Tham Lot.
Once there, we hired a guide and lantern; visitors are not allowed to wander the three caverns of Tham Lot on their own. We also bought a small bag of fish food, because Poom and Moi told us to, and they had yet to steer us wrong. A very short trail led to the mouth of the cave, from which a large shallow river emerged. A roan pony was picturesquely grazing the grass just in front of the stream. We crossed the wooden bridge taking us over the water and into the caverns, and on the way we fed the fish. They were colossal and frankly, hostile, black koi. Every time we’d throw a small handful of the food, the surface of the water would instantly erupt where it landed, with fish being shoved around by dozens of their brethren. It was a full-on frenzy. I was terrified of them, so we moved on and entered the cave, stepping onto the cool, damp rocks of the cavern floor. Sand bags were stacked everywhere, holding back the small flood which wanted to cover the cavern in shallow pools of water. Our guide spoke almost no English. I don’t know what we would have done without Poom and Moi. I watched her footing carefully and tried to copy it; I learned my lesson early when I almost stepped in a hole on one rattan bridge. The cave itself was immense and deep; at over 1600 meters, it is one of the largest caves in Thailand. While there, we saw a prehistoric painting, some ancient teak log coffins, and roughly a gajillion rock formations that looked like other things, which is about as much information as our guide could share. She would stop somewhere, point her flashlight at a stalagmite formation, and say a word in Thai. Poom would then lean towards Aaron and me, and translate “alligator,” or “Buddha statue,” or, once, “tit.” They really did look like whatever she said they looked like, especially the tit.
To reach the third cavern, we rode in a long bamboo raft, down the river with the violent koi. Aaron intentionally threw some fish food right next to me just to freak me out. Editor’s note: this was only in retaliation. Anna struck the first blow. Author’s note: unintentionally! I’m just bad at throwing. Above us were swarms of bats and starlings. In order to reach the cavern we had to climb some precipitous wooden stairs; the railings were covered in guano, but not holding them would have been much more dangerous than getting some dried bat doo on your hands. “We have hand sanitizer” was the mantra I mentally repeated to myself as we climbed them.
After the cave, Poom and Moi took us back to Pai. They wanted to walk around the night market and get street food, but I told them I needed something simple. I needed– I hate to admit it– a cheeseburger. So we had dinner at Maya Burger Queen, the premiere burger joint in a town weirdly full of burger joints. The cheeseburger was almost too flavorful for what I needed, but the french fries with garlic mayo really hit the spot. We did end up walking the street market afterwards for a bit, and that’s when we noticed something strange– something that explained why Pai had so many places to get a burger. The population was mostly white people. Pai had the feel of an American beach town. Even the signs were mostly in English, without a Thai translation. Poom asked us how we thought she felt, to see this Thai mountain town taken over by American tourists. “You tell me. How do you feel?” Aaron asked. “I don’t know,” she replied, a bit sadly. The daytrip took a full 12 hours, all told, and we were bushed. Aaron and I took dreamless naps on the way back, now that the sky was too dark to enjoy the views.
The next morning, a car came to pick us up for our Northern Thai cooking class at Small House Chiang Mai Thai Cooking School. Arm, the car’s driver, was also our instructor for the day. We picked up another couple from Washington, then made our way to the south gate market. Arm gave us a tour of the market as he picked out ingredients for the day’s recipes. He showed us a wide variety of Thai fruits and vegetables, some of which he either did not know the English name for, or there wasn’t one. “What’s this?” we’d ask, holding up some caper-like branches. “Thai vegetable,” he’d respond. “What’s it taste like?” I’d ask, seeing if I could figure out it’s western equivalent. “Taste like vegetable,” he’d say. Arm had a wonderfully deadpan sense of humor– so deadpan, in fact, that I was never really sure when he was kidding. We picked out a basket of Thai fruit, and Arm told us how to tell if each one was ripe.
Back at his charming, very Thai home, we got to work. First, though, there was a snafu with a floor pillow that I wasn’t sure about. Did it go on the ground and we faced the bench? Did it stay on the bench and we sat sideways to face the cutting board? Arm came over to help. “Ok,” he said, straight-faced, “I teach you how to sit.”
In addition to lessons on sitting, we were also taught how to make our own Thai curry paste, milk coconut meat, wrap banana leaves, and open a mangosteen. We made green mango salad (papaya salad relies on lime juice to make it sour, but green mango is sour all on it’s own), khao soi, hor nung moo (pork chili paste steamed in banana leaves with glass noodles), pork laap, straw mushroom soup, and sweet sticky rice steamed with banana. Arm was patient with us, and very knowledgeable, though he did keep insisting we weren’t adding enough chili. “More chili?” we teased him when he tasted our dessert.
We returned to the hotel to rest after our all-day cooking class, happy to have made another Thai acquaintance.
Hanoimoon 