On a recent weekend excursion around Chiang Rai, we chanced to see something slightly different on the map. Along the route we had planned for the day, there was a tiny red star indicating the Wana Ostrich Farm. Wana Ostrich Farm? You bet we wanna.
With the twenty-foot tall ostrich statues standing guard over its entrance, Wana Farm would be hard to miss. We entered through the gift shop – purses and lamps made from monstrously large eggs – and walked back to the “farm.”
Ostriches aside, the farm itself was a bit on the average side. A handful of sheep, some very large and very sleepy rabbits, a couple of horses. But of course, then there were the ostriches. Probably a dozen, ranging in size, trotted awkwardly around a couple of pens, gangly and befuddled.
Now, I can say without hesitation, ostriches have to be some of the goofiest creatures on the face of the earth. Dr. Seuss characters come to life; they have wings, but cannot fly. They have a long, awkward neck, but none of the grace or fluidity of a giraffe. They loll their heads about on their stringy necks, and try to eat everything within mouth-range. And, while we didn’t see it in real life, cartoons tell me that they are dumb enough to try to hide by sticking only their head underground, giant ass in full view. Their huge, curious eyes would be lovely if not for the expression of pure stupidity. Their feathers lack any color or beauty, nothing more than floppy brown tassels. Their feet are easily three times the logical size, perhaps to keep them from keeling over, and have to be lifted all the way up to their stomach and then flung forward in order to induce forward momentum. Never have I seen such an awkward creature.
But then, Win was offered the opportunity to ride an ostrich, and all awkwardness increased exponentially.
The understandably reluctant ostrich was cornered and a burlap sack tossed over its head, like putting blinders on a horse. Before having Win climb up, the Thais gave a full demonstration on the proper technique: climb from a stool onto the beast’s back, wrap your legs around it, grab the wings (as they are useless anyhow), lean back, and hold on for dear life.
When they removed the bag, the ostrich began trotting around the pen. The ringleader of the whole setup, standing safely outside the pen with me, leaned over and said to me, “It can go faster. You wan to go fast?” Of course I want to go fast, I’m sitting on the sidelines rather than on the ostrich. Everytime I would say “fast” he would yell to the Thais inside. Apparently the way to make an ostrich go faster is to chase it with a stick. Think reverse rodeo clown. So, around went the Thai with a stick, around went the ostrich with Win, and around went the second, riderless ostrich. Faster and faster, at my behest.
“Run” is probably not the word for the movement of an ostrich. Horses gallop. Gazelles bound. Giraffes lope in slow motion. Ostriches … garlumph. Yes, that has the right ring to it. Their big floppy feet are pulled all the way up to their chest, their legs swing wildly, and their whole body plops from side to side, their head bobbing and swaying atop their spaghetti neck in opposite rhythm. Ostriches garlumph along at relatively high speeds.
And there was Win perched atop this swaying bobbing, swinging mass running away from a stick. Except, Win’s legs, being much longer than those of Asians, didn’t exactly wrap snuggly around the chest of an ostrich.
Shoes were lost, mud was flying, feathers were sticking to his sweaty palms in clumps. It was the best hundred baht we have spent in Thailand.
