Pai sooooooooo cold...

The road from Chiang Mai to Pai is reputed to have 762 curves, and I certainly didn't envy the girl behind me who was recovering from food poisoning. An hour outside the city and the road ascends into the mountains, winding, steadily uphill through the countryside. The hills are alive with rich green vegetation, and as the road climbs higher the jungle grows thicker. Several hours into the journey and we were looking back across the range of fertile mountains, and into the deep valleys that plunge from the peaks to the rivers below. It was a shock to cross the mountain range and look across the parched landscape of Mae Hong Son Province. The mountains are a barrier, trapping the moisture on their south side, presenting an arid, brown face to the north, while the slopes to the south are verdant and rich with tropical vegetation.

Pai sits in a plain, reached by roads that sweep up into the mountains. The river that runs through the town is shallow at the moment, and the gentle waterfalls along the streams that feed it are mostly feeble now, though the water-carved rock suggests that they are mighty and powerful when the mountains above are washed in the monsoon rains. The town itself has a tourist economy: Thais and westerners come here in large numbers, and there is a laid-back vibe, despite the bars that offer free tequila and sambucca shots. Most of the tourist tat is locally made, and some of it is quite tasteful, particularly when compared to the mass-produced, generic garbage sold in Bangkok and Chiang Mai. As you walk around the town during the day you see hill-tribe women and children who've come to bring their shopping back to their mountain villa

My friend Sam and I took a ride into the mountain range to the north-west of Pai, looking across the rich, verdant jungle to the south, and the brown, parched lands towards Pai. On the way back we stopped where a sign showed the way towards a waterfall. There was no clearly-discernible path through the fields of garlic, and as we began to trudge uncertainly through a gap in the elephant grass a farmer called to us, indicating that we shouldn't go any further. We had no idea why. Further down the mountain we saw a sign for Huay Khew Waterfall and stopped the motorbike. It seemed an unlikely place to find a waterfall, but after walking down a rough path we saw a surging white cascade falling into the cool green river. We returned later but the sun was sinking and it was too cool to swim. The night before we had seen how the setting of the sun had preceded a sharp fall in the temperature, and the swift onset of the cool mountain evening. We had watched the sun set from the mountain temple that sits to the south-west of Pai, and been surprised by the sudden bite of the chill night-time air as we rode down the mountain.

The following day we rode to Tha Pai Hotsprings to warm ourselves in the bathing pools. They're fed by a spring higher on the hillside that reaches temperatures of 80 °C. When we arrived a young woman was boiling eggs in the sulphurous water. The bathing pools are are cooled by mountain stream, and the warm water and radiant sunshine are a wonderful, balmy combination that leaves one almost intoxicated with relaxation. After a lunch of papaya salad with pickled crab, and lovely suki yaki noodle soup, we rode back to Huay Khew Waterfall and swam in the green, cool water until the sun fell. 

The next day, after a breakfast of pork and blood sausage curry, dry Pla Goong, and fried morning glory in a rich oyster and honey sauce, we drove up into the mountains. There was a dense blanket of cloud over Pai, and the tops of the mountains were obscured in a rolling mist. It was cool and wet at the top of the mountain, and the dense jungle glistened with freshly-fallen rain. The emerald green of the hills was flashing intermittently as the clouds parted and the sun momentarily warmed the air. On the way back to Pai we stopped at a Karen tribe village called Huay Khew, where the local men and women looked questioningly at us until we bowed our heads in greeting and they responded with warm smiles and a sharp nod of their own heads. A village woman with a young boy in a papoose walked past while we stood on a bridge overlooking the wide, thirsty river, and she told her child to wave at us. He stared uncomprehendingly at the strange, pale-faced people, mechanically waving his hand in greeting, his eyes wide.

Walking through the streets of Pai in the evening was magical. The electicity hadn't been working all day, and the shops and market stalls were lit with candles, the restaurants quiet and warm with small dancing flames, the streets silver under a full moon as the clouds drifted away. It was a disappointment when the lights suddenly flickered on, but the girls at the table next to us rejoiced at the prospect of eating again, now that the ATMs would be functioning once more.

Sitting down to a meal of garlic prawns and a spectacularly large red snapper, a small black cat jumped on to the bench where I sat, and waited patiently for a share of the spoils. We left him munching happily on the crispy fin bones as we walked down the deserted streets towards the motorbike and home.