Low Grade Failure, High Grade Success

Whenever we travel, we tend to try to optimize every opportunity, to see and do as many things as possible in one go. We don’t fly to the Thai embassy in Denver or LA, we make a roadtrip loop through the Southwestern US. If we are leaving a region, we fly out of a different country than the one we entered through. Having a layover, why not make it a three-day mini-vacation? 

So when we go on day and weekend excursions in and around Chiang Rai province, of course we do the same thing. Why drive to Phu Chi Fah on any old weekend when you can go there during their annual flower festival?

Phu Chi Fah Forest Park is renowned for its stunning morning and evening views across Thailand and into Laos, offering hikers the chance to witness sunrise from high above a sea of mist and cloud. Once a year, the Dok Sieo Flower Festival takes place within the park. Boasting blooming trees of white and pink flowers, hill tribe handicrafts and beauty pageants, and the general Thai carnival assortment of food and music, this seemed like an ideal way to make the most of a five-hour roundtrip drive.

After two and a half hours on our motorbike, from the low-lying lands around Chiang Rai, over hills and valleys, finally climbing up one of Thailand’s highest mountains, we hit the turnoff to the Forest Park. And ran smack into the flower festival traffic.

Filling a two-lane mountain road with three lanes of traffic, cars were trying to move in both directions simultaneously. All the while, motorbikes weaved and snaked between the cars, narrowly missing bumpers and mirrors. The car-packed road wound around and off into the distance, disappearing around a curve, assuring us that this was not a mere bottleneck but a gridlock lasting for miles.

All this over some flowers.

Defeated and deflated, sore and tired, we turned around to head home. After refueling our poor bodies on soup, applying more sunscreen, and consulting our handy roadmap, we were on our way to loop back to Chiang Rai. Rather than simply doubling back, we figured a nice jaunt through some Thai countryside was in order.

Now, if you ever find yourself driving through the mountains and think to yourself, “boy, isn’t that mountain in our way?” one of two outcomes will probably come about. Option one, the road you are following will ascend gently back and forth to summit the mountain, possibly even circumnavigating it entirely. Option two, the road will go straight up and over said mountain. As an American, I tend to assume the first option will come to fruition.

But in Thailand, up and over you go. So up we went. And up. And up.

 

Interesting thing about Thailand: apparently, if you ascend at such a steep angle, hairpin-turning in first gear consistently for what feels like ages, you might end up at high enough elevation to be driving through a pine forest along the crest of said mountain. Didn't see that one coming.

Of course, the post-pine descent was just as abrupt, straight down the other side, back to the familiar terrain of completely flat corn fields, billowing banana leaves, towering palms, and blindingly-green rice paddies dotted with jutting limestone monoliths.

Very odd feeling, that is. To do something so brief, surreal, and intense, so unlike what you had initially intended to do at all, only to find yourself suddenly back in your regular environs. A bit like waking from a dream. 

Though not quite the optimized two days in the mountains at a flower festival I envisioned, such an experience, so out-of-the-blue, is never for naught. I suppose that sometimes optimization is for fools and the universe will remind you that it's the journey that counts more than the destination. And every now and then, your destination ends up being purely journey, followed by some intense napping. 

Mae Salong: Chinese and Cherry Blossoms

Northern Thailand is full of tiny, out-of-the-way towns and villages, sprinkled with various minority groups and hilltribes. Among these groups of not-quite-Thai Thais, the mountain-top town of Mae Salong, tucked away on winding, hilly roads, has its own unique story.

In addition to the standard fare, Mae Salong is home to a population of former soldiers from the Yunnan area of China. As Nationalists refusing to surrender to the Communist Chinese, these soldiers fled overland through Burma. Various shifts in politics led to thousands entering Thailand in the early 1960s. Eventually, as they stood at the ready to defend themselves against a potential attack by Chinese communists, the soldiers were granted Thai citizenship in exchange for agreeing to fight Thailand’s communist insurgencies of the 1970s and to forego opium production for growing oolong tea.  

These days, the remaining population of resettled Yunnanese is small, certainly smaller than the population of Thais and Akha. Most of the Chinese influence can be seen in the numerous shops peddling tea and various herbs, the restaurants claiming authentic Yunnanese cuisine, and the Chinese Martyrs’ Museum on the outskirts of town.  

The town hosts a Cherry Blossom Festival each winter, with flowers blooming during late December and early January. Unfortunately, we managed to miss the majority of the blooms by about a week, finding only sprinklings of pink and white still clinging to some trees.

Like much of the world, what was once unique is now mostly a tourist trap. Vendors all sell similar wares – teas, jewelry, paintings, handbags, shoes, herbs – each stall mirroring the previous. The Yunnanese food was overpriced by Thai standards (and similar dishes can be found sold in many Chinese-run restaurants within Chiang Rai city).

There were several redeeming factors, of course. The drive, though a grueling three and a half hours roundtrip on a motorbike, was made up of breathtaking views. And the town itself, despite any flaws, sits on top of the world, serene. 

Big is Beautiful

With no stems, leaves, or roots, the world’s largest flower is a bit of an oddball in the botanical world. Native to Borneo and Sumatra, the Rafflesia Arnoldi is actually a parasite living off the nutrients found in jungle vines, rather than through the traditional soil-and-sun routine.

The Rafflesia is also unique in its pollination tactics; rather than producing the sweet smells that attract bees, butterflies, and the like, this flower smells of rotting flesh and meat, thus earning it the name “corpse flower” among locals. The pungent odor attracts flies and other scavenger insects, which transfer the pollen.

Since the flowers take six to nine months to bloom and begin to decompose after two or three days, the opportunity to spot them can be rare. We were lucky enough to get just such an opportunity, even luckier that it didn’t cost us an arm and a leg (unless your limbs cost under $3 apiece) and only took about 30 minutes of jungle walking.  

Technically, we had missed the typical blooming time by only a matter of weeks, but our final stop in Sumatra allowed us easy access to a village where, by some fluke, the flowers bloom sporadically throughout the year, almost guaranteeing visitors the chance to see one.

Bizarre and bizarrely lovely, the rafflesia was a bucket list item I didn’t know I had until I saw it. A highlight among a trip chockfull of highlights, the flower was certainly worth the short, but slippery, mini-trek on our final day in Sumatra.

Simple, Serene

Working evenings and Saturdays, our travel opportunities while in Rwanda have been quite limited. We managed to escape from Kigali’s hustle and bustle (if its road traffic and churches blaring hymns can be considered as such) for roughly an 18-hour getaway to the country’s beautiful Lake Kivu. So, we headed to Kibuye, the cheaper of the two destination options on the shores of the lake, to soak up some R&R.

Not being ones to pass up some exploration outside of Kibuye’s tiny tourist sector, we did amble through the town. We passed those at work and play, local eateries and shops, all as they languished in the mid-morning heat. Children repeatedly approached us, wondering who we were and where we were going. They were heading to markets and churches, uncertain why in the world we were just walking without destination.  

Unintended though it was, we eventually came to a destination of sorts, stumbling upon Kivu's more open, and less scenic, shore.  From this vantage point we were able to catch a glimpse of neighboring Congo (DRC) across the water, hazy and distant. 

We checked out the large lakeside Catholic church and its adjoining genocide memorial. The church itself was so full of a Sunday morning that worshipers were perched along the church walls in an attempt to catch the service, and more seemed to be pouring in by the minute.

But, the town offered little to compete with the tranquility of the town’s smaller stretch of lake. Laced between towering hills, topped with an array of hotels, this sliver of Kivu is a paradise unto itself, and the reason tourists venture to this area.

If Colorado were home to a vast array of tropical plants, it would be Kibuye. From pines with long, drooping needles to massive cactus-esque flora to trees bursting with yellow flowers and eucalyptus filling the air with their fragrances. Birds flit among the trees, lizards precariously climb flower stalks, cows low in the distance, all perfectly accompanying an early morning breakfast with a spectacular view. 

Not a bad escape, no matter how brief. 

From Rich Soil

El Valle de Antón, a quiet town just off Panama’s well-worn tourist track, has unique geological roots: a volcanic caldera, which filled over time to form a lake, which sprung a leak and drained, leaving behind a valley full of nutrient-rich volcanic soil.

In addition to the soil, a horticulturalist’s dream sold as ‘tierra negra’, the area surrounding El Valle is home to a wealth of flora and fauna, making it a vital piece of Panama’s ecological bounty, as well as a lovely stopover for several days of conservation-related activities.

El Valle’s Orchid Nursery is essential in maintaining the more than 1300 species of orchids, some 200 of which are endangered, native to the area around the valley. Thanks to concerted efforts from volunteers, funding from Panamanian and Japanese orchid growers, and helping hands from local farms and residents, the Nursery is able to propagate, relocate, and protect the local orchids.

When I think of orchids, I typically think of the two or three varieties I am used to: white or purple, sometimes pink. And even if the color varies, the shape is typically similar. I had absolutely no idea of the plethora of shapes and size, the sheer variety that’s possible in the world of orchids.

From as big as the palm of your hand to tiny as the head of a pin, in colors vibrant and muted, the orchids provided visitors with a visual feast. Sprouting from mossy trees, growing nestled in the earth, or being cultivated and tended in pots, El Valle’s orchids displayed deep, flamboyantly-colored throats and lush petals with a dramatic flair. Well worth the donation to see to it that these bold actors of the floral world flourish.

Hopeful Orchiding

Thailand is full of orchids of every shape, color and variety. I am constantly amazed by the seemingly endless possibilities when it comes to orchids. Rich purple stripes, yellows that fade to violet, vibrant blues, majestic magentas. The way the face of an orchid falls open in such unique patterns, thick petals twisting and curling. They have a light, citrusy scent that doesn’t overpower. Gorgeous.

I have been lured into buying these exquisite plants from several vendors at street and flower markets in Chiang Rai, and I have learned one thing: orchids are hard to keep alive. This must be why they charge so much for them in America.

My first attempt at keeping orchids alive was a miserable failure. I purchased three plants, meant to be hung, long roots akimbo in the air. Within a week, I was flowerless. The roots were dry, the leaves stiff, and the flowers dead. The plants haven’t given up completely; I have kept them alive, albeit in a vegetative state, but without hope of once again having flowers.

Second time around, I got a small orchid for fifty baht from the local flower market. Its little flowers, heads about the size of a quarter, yellow and spotted, seemed slightly neglected and covered in spiderwebs, but struck me as resilient. In a ceramic pot, rather than plastic or a wooden box, moisture seemed to last longer. Roots and flowers seemed happier. And, as time passed, new flowers replaced old, even as many as five at a time.

This has given me great confidence in my orchid-tending abilities. And then an amazing thing happened: I discovered a stall at the flow market where some lovely Thai ladies were selling full-sized, living orchids for 40 baht apiece. That’s right, less than $1.50. So, I bought three, potted and boxed them as best I could (they get very top-heavy), and I am hoping for the best. 

I might be overly ambitious due to my recent orchid success. I know virtually nothing about tending to orchids. But at that price, I can afford to fail. So, I will just keep doing what I did with my successful little guy and hope for the best. And, in the meantime, our porch is brimming with big, beautiful orchids. 

Green Thumbin’ It

The gardening process has begun. Though, admittedly, most of the planting has been done by Win. His thumb is just greener than mine. He also has more tolerance for the dirt and heat that go hand-in-hand with gardening. However, I do help with picking out the plants, so that’s something. 

Last weekend’s night market visit was dedicated primarily to buying things that we need around the house, namely, plants. Ranging in price from 10 – 100 baht, we found plants of all shapes and sizes, as well as baggies of seeds (we think). And we have the beginnings of a collection of clay garden creatures, mandatory to any Thai garden.

We perused the flower market around the corner from our school to supplement our weekend purchases, and ended up with a tiny snail escapee.  Plants are being bought in small bundles because we can only carry so much on a motorbike, but every little bit brings more life to our yard. 

The seed bags have been dumped and watered, and then re-watered by the almost daily downpours as rainy season begins. There’s a chance that we bought fertilizer instead of seeds, only time will tell. To be on the safe side, we used two different bags in the hopes that at least one of them will grow into something. 

While Win’s goal is to dig holes and spread growth all over the yard and transplant little plants into bigger spaces, I am basically trying to make the porch pretty. I have the beginnings of a hanging flower collection composed of a number of orchid varieties. Now, when you walk out our front door, the light, citrusy scent of orchids greets you. 

It’s a small start, but a promising one. And between the abandoned student plants from science class (of which Win has already hijacked a few) and the flower market on the way home from school, we have ample leafy resources. Plus, orchids are far cheaper here than they are back home, which will come in handy when they prove difficult to maintain.

Oh, How Things Grow

One of the most delightful aspects of living in southeast Asia is the greenery. Although the word greenery is far too monochromatic to be apt. Flowering trees and tropical plants are everywhere. And moving to northern Thailand has only increased my delight. It even smells better up here.

Half of the trees are dotted with orange, white or pink, raining petals on pedestrians. Walking down the street, the scent of one flamboyant tropical flower after another ambushes your senses, light and ephemeral. 

Even when surrounded by city pavement, the Thais go out of their way to fill their lives with plants. Hanging, potted, and nurtured, they fill every bare space unreachable by nature alone.

And, in no way lacking for water, the plants are ruthless in their growth. Vines spiral and climb. Leaves reach out, soaking up life-giving sun. Water lilies awake to greet the sun. Banana leaves tower over fences, stretching their massive leafy limbs. Morning glories embroider themselves over heaps of garbage, a living camouflage.

In a tropical climate, variety and creativity have no bounds. Flowers bigger than my outstretched hand and as delicate as tissue paper abound. Magenta, yellow, and ruby as bright as if they were dyed, synthetic. Others, more solid, erupt in orange and scarlet, announcing their presence. The versatility, colors and complexities nature creates constantly amaze me.