Khao Kho, a National Park in Petchabun Province
The drive to Petchabun should take 5h 40m from our house according to Google Maps, but last year it took seven hours. A bit of traffic and a bit of lunch, and no particular hurry this year combined to make it 7h 40m. When you get past Bangkok there is a major fork in the motorway – straight ahead lies Hatfield and the North (Chiang Mai), and to the north-east lies Newcastle, demons and dragons (Isaan). Half of Thailand, or more correctly, the half that does all the work, comes from Isaan, so you can expect to crawl along as you approach Saraburi just after the fork. Tedious, but there’s no way round it – a bit like the M25 being the only option for your journey to work. Petchabun on a Saturday night is known the world over I’m sure, but this particular one coincided with local elections which always create a 24h alcohol ban. Thus, did I have to scratch my diary entry: ‘Drink six pints, get sloshed and go and pull faces at the election booth’. Spoilsports, but neatly out-flanked by a canny nation who buy their bottles before the 6pm deadline – cunning, eh!
Khao Kho is a national park known for other-worldly views where you get up very early and gaze out over a sea of clouds. There are a lot of these viewpoints where you can look down on a veiled landscape, but the conditions have to be right. We were not so lucky as it is very windy at the moment, and clouds tend to scoot along in the face of wind - it’s what they do. No matter, the wind farms were whirring gracefully with that powerful hum that fills the air. It sounds like electricity being made, if there is such a sound. The farmers up there have hit on the clever idea of growing rows of pretty flowers and charging 20 baht to go into the field and take pics. Being a Sunday, hordes were doing just that. Nowadays, with slick cameras on phones, everybody and their dog is a photographer. In my day you had to wait till your 21st birthday to get a Zenith B in order to be a photographer, hence the paucity of photos of our good selves growing up. Not like that now with each childhood year being catalogued by 500 photos of every stage of the way. Quite right too. Times change of course. In olden times everybody owned a horse and only rich people owned a car. Now everybody owns a car and only rich people own a horse. Photography is like that.
Khao Kho is a national park known for other-worldly views where you get up very early and gaze out over a sea of clouds. There are a lot of these viewpoints where you can look down on a veiled landscape, but the conditions have to be right. We were not so lucky as it is very windy at the moment, and clouds tend to scoot along in the face of wind - it’s what they do. No matter, the wind farms were whirring gracefully with that powerful hum that fills the air. It sounds like electricity being made, if there is such a sound. The farmers up there have hit on the clever idea of growing rows of pretty flowers and charging 20 baht to go into the field and take pics. Being a Sunday, hordes were doing just that. Nowadays, with slick cameras on phones, everybody and their dog is a photographer. In my day you had to wait till your 21st birthday to get a Zenith B in order to be a photographer, hence the paucity of photos of our good selves growing up. Not like that now with each childhood year being catalogued by 500 photos of every stage of the way. Quite right too. Times change of course. In olden times everybody owned a horse and only rich people owned a car. Now everybody owns a car and only rich people own a horse. Photography is like that.
Khao Kho has sylvanian backdrops of dinky houses and Mary-Mary-quite-contrary gardens. When we reached the road turn-off to our lodge we stopped abruptly and phoned the place. The drop at the junction was like the gradient of a ski-jump and I didn’t fancy taking the car down. The front desk (is there ever a back desk?) assured us that it was the only way in, so just get on with it. And so there we were in our little yellow lodge called Finnland (found on Booking.com amazingly). Holiday lets are dotted about the valley which is suitably silent, pitch-black and starry at night (handy for Saturn and Jupiter’s alignment, a once-every-400-years event). Early morning was a fresh 12C, so just as well we packed a jumper each and track-suit bottoms. Coffee and toast as the sun came up saw us looking at our garden at home on the security cameras which connect to our phones. They are speaker-connected too so, watching live as granny was watering the garden, we were able to shout, ‘Oi, you missed the roses.’ Much to her consternation of course. Let’s face it, there are few things worse than being spoken to by a privet hedge whilst doing the garden. A burning bush is right up there, mind you.
December 21st, as you are no doubt very much aware, is the Hmong nation’s New Year’s Day. We had been tipped off so were able to watch them cavorting in the nearby Hmong village of Khek Noi. The Hmong were allies of the CIA and the USA in the Vietnam war and the Laotian war against the Pathet Lao. When it was all over, the US departed leaving most of the Hmong to suffer reprisals or try and make it over the border to Thailand. There are Hmong communities all over northern Thailand and also in the USA (check out the Clint Eastwood film Gran Torino, about baddie Hmongs and stuff). Much more peaceful now and colourful. Everyone was decked out in their finery and able to play the traditional game where you throw a soft ball back and forth to each other. Like line dancing but throwing a ball. I think it is a ‘getting to know you’ ploy. Hmong sounds like ‘Hong’ which is Thai for ‘woof’. The Hong Hong Café is a dog café, by the way.
December 21st, as you are no doubt very much aware, is the Hmong nation’s New Year’s Day. We had been tipped off so were able to watch them cavorting in the nearby Hmong village of Khek Noi. The Hmong were allies of the CIA and the USA in the Vietnam war and the Laotian war against the Pathet Lao. When it was all over, the US departed leaving most of the Hmong to suffer reprisals or try and make it over the border to Thailand. There are Hmong communities all over northern Thailand and also in the USA (check out the Clint Eastwood film Gran Torino, about baddie Hmongs and stuff). Much more peaceful now and colourful. Everyone was decked out in their finery and able to play the traditional game where you throw a soft ball back and forth to each other. Like line dancing but throwing a ball. I think it is a ‘getting to know you’ ploy. Hmong sounds like ‘Hong’ which is Thai for ‘woof’. The Hong Hong Café is a dog café, by the way.