1989年3月5日星期天，我們上午的時光消磨在旅館舒適宜人的游泳池邊。圍著池子，有在躺椅上閉目養神的、有披著浴巾坐在大岩石上看報的、有在太陽傘下喝著清涼飲料的、還有兩三個在水裡。
下午，我們加入了一個由當地人導遊的短期旅遊小組。連導遊算進大約一行十六七個人。背著必帶行李，頂著火辣辣的烈日，我們沿著崎嶇的山路，向著深山老林徒步挺進。
一連幾個小時的遠足，加上南國旱季的炎熱，著實累壞了我們這些養尊處優慣了的遊人。個個汗流浹背，氣喘吁吁，臉龐通紅。途中遇到一個小瀑布，下面有個積水潭，幾乎所有人疲憊的臉上都樂開了花，「撲通」「撲通」前仆後繼，都跳了進去，我當時也是熱的不行，但不巧的是「老朋友」來了不方便，就坐在岸邊的樹叢後面，眼睜睜地看著他們一個個遇到水的瞬間所流露出的那種難以形容的喜悅。歇夠了的人們繼續上路。
午後我們來到了一個遠離現代化的古老村落。青翠的熱帶密林中竹樓掩映，夕陽的餘暉閃耀在樓頂、樹尖上。各家竹樓頂上，取代瓦片的是碩大無比的熱帶植物的葉子。微風習習，炊煙裊裊，小溪汨汨，泉水叮咚，煞是迷人。
據說這個部落來自遙遠的蒙古。他們在這塊風水寶地上落腳隆生、自食其力、世代繁衍。拒絕政府向他們提供的現代化設施，就連電線桿子也被拒之千里。他們日出而作、日落而歸、族泰民安。
在村子的中央有個小賣部。久經風吹雨打的無漆木門窗對著街敞開著。陽光從門外大刺刺地探進去，幽暗的屋子裡裡外外堆放著些香煙肥皂，日用雜貨。一個飽滿的少婦坐在門檻兒上，開著懷正給她的嬰兒喂奶。小傢伙嘟囔著小嘴，閉著眼睛，邊吃邊睡不時地揮動一下他那藕節似的小手。好一派恬靜的田園風光。
那街道是自然形成的泥地，屬於那種走的人多了也便成了路的。人們隨處可見放養著的雞鴨豬狗。看來村子裡世世代代的人、畜都對鋪這條街道盡了不少力。
吃了飯，天就黑了。深山老林中變得伸手不見五指，除了溪水奔流的聲響，整個村子都靜了下來。散步歸來，只見我們投宿的草屋裡燭光閃爍，談笑風生。這屋子很大，門兩側是兩個竹床一通到底。過道中放著兩張木桌子。
不知是怎麼開始的，滿屋子的人分成了兩組。一組人圍著桌子笑得前仰後合。另一組人坐在床沿上雲裡霧裡合著眼自不做聲。還沒弄清是怎麼回事，我便被慫恿著推倒在床上。Try it！ Try it！人們笑著對我說。原來床上躺著一個不知是導遊還是村民，他在那兒給遊客們燒煙槍。No！ No！ No！我推躲著。但還是扭不過眾人一再慫恿，吸了一口那曾經使我們祖先成為東亞病夫的鴉片。
他們又推著組裡的一位日本年輕人嘗嘗，這小組裡就我和他是東方人。不像西方人，不論是什麼身份一見這些毒品都踴躍嘗試，那日本青年也在百般推辭之後上了床。奇怪的是那些金髮碧眼的西方人吸了一口就趁勢迷醉搖頭晃腦的，我們東方人根本就沒有反應。也許是我們都不會吸菸吧，他們就爭著做示範、教我們怎樣把煙吸入胸中。於是我又被迫吸了三口，二十泰銖一口，結果還是什麼感覺也沒有。J只一口就掉到雲霧裡去了。
多年後美國前總統柯林頓被譴責吸過毒時答辯的那句名言：「I didn't inhale.」(我沒有吸入)提醒了我，也許我當時也根本沒有inhale~~
後來才知道那些圍著桌子笑得前仰後合的吸的是大麻。大麻與鴉片不能混著吸，明晚這批人會換著嘗試。當夜男女一席沙丁魚似地排在那兩隻大通床上，各自做著一枕黃粱。
3月6日清晨一覺醒來，已是大天亮。今天的活動先是山洞探險。人手一個松枝火把，點一半留著一半。待燃盡了第一批，接著點第二批，方能穿過那山洞。洞裡奇石凸凹，鐘乳交接，時寬時窄，時驚時險，迂回蜿蜒。我們高舉火把，小聲提醒，上攀下跳，左穿右插。途中還驚喜地遇到了一隻迷途的狗。兩個小時裡人們你推我拉，相互攙扶，抱著那隻狗一起走出了黑暗的洞。
洞外明媚的陽光刺痛了我的眼睛。當我能夠再次睜開時，意外地發現那兒已有七頭大象正在等著我們去完成下一段旅程。經過幾個小時的艱難險阻，疲憊不堪的遊客們高高興興地爬上了象背。坐上大象之前大家互換照相機，這樣就可以將照片留在自己的相機裡。我們拿著的是那個日本人的相機。
一對瑞士夫婦去年來時坐過大象，這次選擇了徒步，分開時那位夫人還特地跑過來把一條在廟裡許願得到的紅繩綁在了我的右腳踝上。待眾人坐定後象隊就出發了。每個大象載三個人，象脖子上坐著的是管象人。象背上綁著一個簡陋的用樹幹和木板子做成的供兩人坐的靠背椅子。
上面兩張照片來自網路，和我們當年坐在大象上看到的是同樣的景色，興許也是同一條路呢，都在清邁。我們坐的大象跟底下那個淺色兒的相似，也是那種粗糙的木質靠背椅子。J拍了許多風土人情照片，我只拿了很少一部分，多數是有我在裡面的照片。真笨死了！後悔～～
我們這象脖子上坐著的是個皮膚黝黑精明瘦小的半大孩子。見他把兩條光溜溜的小腿放在那比蒲扇還大的象耳朵後面，手裡拿著一根柳條，熟練地駕馭著胯下的龐然大物。
象隊前前後後地拉開了距離。大象們悠哉游哉，走得穩穩當當。遊人們喜笑顏開，拍照留影，心曠神怡。放眼遠眺，遠山近林紫霧青煙。環顧四周，棕櫚花草爭奇鬥豔。燦爛的陽光跳躍閃爍在熱帶變幻的萬物之上。和風舔著我們的臉頰吹著我們的髮，我們漫遊在童話世界裡。想必大詩人杜牧筆下的牧童也未必享受過如此美妙的意境吧。
大象們時不時地停下來用那長長的鼻子，從樹上卷幾片葉子送進嘴裡。熱了便煽動牠的大耳朵納涼。憋得緊時就又停下來隨地小解放鬆，接著又若無其事地邁牠那悠閒的步子。趟小溪過山谷走羊腸小道，大象們載著遊人走得如履平地。
有一段在半山腰上的崎嶇險道，山的坡度大於45度，往下只看了一眼頭就暈了。山坡下面又陡又深，這條蜿蜒小路給我的感覺不到一米寬，且望不到頭。坐在大象背上重心太高，緊挨著路就是坡，無擋無欄，只要大象的腳一滑，或是打個噴嚏，隨時有掉下去粉身碎骨的可能。儘管是風光無限美好，我還是閉上了眼睛，把這條小命託付給了大象。等J告訴我過了險道才睜開眼睛。
兩個多小時後我們來到了一個開闊地帶，一條寬寬的波光粼粼的大河蜿蜒地橫躺在腳下。河對岸隱約可見我們當晚寄宿的村落。象隊靠攏準備過河。正興奮地揣度著怎麼過這十多米寬的大河。
突然間，有一種異樣的感覺襲來！不用回頭，我的左眼角就瞥見了一個東西正從後面在我和J的肩膀之間靈巧地伸過來！是一個粗兮兮、皺巴巴、毛刺刺的大象鼻子！黑洞洞的鼻孔大張著的、潮烘烘、濕答答噴著熱氣。「Wow! 象鼻子！」話音未落，鼻子就給了我一個「銼」措手不及。那粗糙的鼻子對我擱在椅背上的左手臂，輕輕地從上臂內側一直擄到手腕，那感覺就跟給銼刀銼了似的！J還全然不知。
「怎麼跟銼刀似的！」這句話還沒來得及說完，我已被彈了或是被擄了出去，下一秒居然發覺我坐在了大象右側的後腿邊。那半大孩子也摔在地上距我前方一步之遙。只見他機靈地往外滾開了，我也趕緊依葫蘆畫瓢，滾出了大象可能撂蹶子的勢力範圍才鬆了口氣。這才知道J也被拋出幾丈遠。
頓時人群騷動、紛紛跳下坐騎圍攏過來。管象的管象，救人的救人，大呼小叫，亂成一團。
我坐在草地上，在眾目睽睽之下儘量顯得從容。在遠處的草叢中，J的臉上血跡斑斑，神色緊張，邊在草地上摸索著找他的眼鏡，邊扭過頭來喊道，「Are you OK fen？」「I'm OK！」我鎮靜地回答。
有人尋回了我們散落了的東西，其中包括一架摔壞了的那個日本青年價格不菲的照相機。坐上大象之前，我們與其他的遊客互相交換相機，以便自己的身影留在自己的相機上。
我試著站起來，但我的左腿卻用不上勁兒。眾人攙扶著我站了起來，兩邊被人架著，我只能憑藉右腳跳著走。沒蹦幾步到了河岸邊。好在那河寬卻不深。本應該是坐著大象過的河，現在只能由一個當地人，豬八戒背媳婦似地將我馱著，在齊腰深的水裡趟著過河。好在J能在別人攙扶下自己行走。否則的話沒有一個當地人能背起一米八六、一百八十磅的他來。
那背我的人時不時地彎下身去顛一下將我往背上挪一挪，這一剎那我的左大腿胯骨關節處便發出鑽心的疼痛。
過了河，人們把我們安置在一張竹床上。估計我的大腿骨脫了臼，想必按摩一下會好。先是我們的導遊帥哥幫我按摩，感覺按摩不到點子上，大腿與胯骨交接處還是酸疼難忍。隨後又找來了一個村裡有經驗的老人，估計是當地的郎中。老人一看這情景，說不是脫臼得趕快送醫院。當我聽說去醫院唯一的交通工具還是大象時，「嗡~」的一聲腦子漲大了。一直強作鎮靜的我，淚水便奪眶而出。「別擔心，我們會叫一頭性情溫和的老象帶你們去的。」他們說。這時候不論是老象還是小象，溫和還是暴躁，我無法想像我會有那膽量與能力去接近牠，身子便不由自主地哆嗦起來。
好在這次不是坐在象背上去，而是躺在竹筏上由那頭據說是頭溫順的老象拖著走水路。很快大象和筏子準備就緒，眾人七手八腳地將我們抬上了浮在水邊的竹筏上，又蓋了兩層毯子在我們身上。激動地與遊客、村民們致謝道別，我們就出發了。
一頭老象、五個當地人、我和J、再加上一個德國姑娘I，八人一畜踏上了漫漫水路。出於人性同情與關愛的本能，I自願放棄了下半程竹筏漂流、牛車遊歷、和長脖子村探訪等遊山玩水計劃，一步跳到筏子上，加入了護送隊伍。
再也沒情緒欣賞兩岸如詩如畫的景色了，有的是擔心害怕與對未來的憂慮。
由三個當地人管著的那頭大象，在前面離我們有四、五公米遠；順從地在深深淺淺的河水中拖著沉沉的筏子，邁著重重的步子。筏子上，我們兩個躺著，I坐在我的左邊，另外兩個當地人各自手持一根長長的竹竿，分別站在竹筏的右頭、左尾處撐著篙，五個人把一個竹筏子佔得滿滿的。
二十七八歲的I相當獨立、成熟，她點了一枝煙給J，儘管J平時不太抽菸，但頗為感激地接過煙吸幾口。I跟我們講了一兩個輕鬆詼諧的旅途逸事，以緩解一下我們緊張消沉的情緒與氣氛。
天漸漸地黑了，深山峽谷中不見星星月亮，只一盞馬燈如豆，忽明忽暗鬼火似地在前頭引路。順著那時寬時窄，時急時緩，左迂右回的河道漂流，時間也好像被老象破筏拖著~
風呼水嘯、空谷回音，筏子上的五個人都累得沉默無語。身子底下的衣服全濕透了，我的腦海裡滿佈著恐懼。
忽然間前方斷斷續續地傳來，「注意......抓緊......要過險......」話音未落，只聽「砰！」的一聲巨響，我們的筏子撞上了暗礁。一個巨浪劈頭蓋臉打將下來，頓時連人帶筏被掀到半空。
說時遲，那時快！I和另外兩個人一齊撲在我和J的身上死命地抱住我倆，同時抓住筏上一切可以抓的地方，我們才避免滑進水裡從而被黑夜裡的急流吞沒。
筏子又被重重地摔回水裡，我們都被嗆得喘不過氣來。濕透了的我們在寒風裡簌簌顫抖，無可奈何地繼續漂流~
四個小時的水路終於靠了岸。我們個個精疲力竭。據說有個村子就在半山腰上，他們擁有現代化運輸工具，已有人跑去求援了。
不到一袋煙的工夫，村子裡下來了些人。連背帶推，一步一滑在泥濘無路、荊棘叢生的陡峭山坡上登爬。背我的人用盡全力步履艱難，在後邊推的人沒有把力氣用在我的屁股蛋上，卻把手放在了兩腿之間。我渾身濕透冰涼，腿疼痛難忍，加上「老朋友」在身上，真的很慘。終於我小聲對邊上背著我們行李的德國姑娘說了，那男人的手沒放對位置。只見疲憊不堪的她，憤怒地一把將那人推開，自己用手推著我的臀部，大大地減輕了背我的人的負擔。
進了村，小小的村子男女老少全村出動，唯一的現代化運輸工具是一輛小皮卡，已經在等我們了。德國姑娘坐在駕駛室裡，我倆舒服地躺在後車斗裡。只要是躺著，我的腿就不疼，熱心的村民似乎家家戶戶都抱著毯子被子過來，把車斗墊得厚厚的將我們蓋得實實的。含著感激的淚揮手告別了這不知名村子裡的男女老少。
躺在車斗裡腿不疼，望著天空擔心未知。半路上發覺司機倒車，我們被告知前面有山火，要繞道。於是經過了四個小時的山路，將近凌晨一點我們終於到達了清邁唯一的一家私人醫院 Lanna Hospital。在我們一再勸說下德國姑娘回旅店休息去了。我們又髒又緊張還憋著尿，值班護士看了看後說，醫生明天早上九點上班。她拿來了一個便盆就離開了，留下我倆躺在空空的大病房裡。
次日上午九點，醫生 Dr. Paiboon 來了，診斷拍片，決定馬上動手術。原來我的左大腿骨靠近胯骨三公分處斷裂，醫生說要是再晚一點，斷開的那一小塊骨頭會壞死。聽說要開刀我心裡慌了。我忐忑不安地問醫生能不能不开刀，因為我過去在國內聽到的骨折病人都是上石膏治療的。醫生說不行，我立刻被推進了手術室，醫生用了三根三寸長的鋼釘固定。好在J只傷了皮肉，否則我們都得臥床不起。
有的時候真的是很納悶兒，這佛或神或稱上帝，不由得你不信，否則，這萬事哪能都是出隨機的呢？最近一連串的事情都是巧合嗎？前幾天傍晚誤入一個陰森破敗荒蕪的廟宇和那隻被放生後又「自殺」了的鳥都說明了什麼？
昨天在清邁寺廟裡轉悠時我忙著拍照，瞥見J給廟裡捐獻了錢並和一個老和尚攀談。又見那老和尚給了J一個黃銅牌兒掛件，用大紅線線給串著掛在了J的脖子上。
今天出山洞騎象出發前，那對去年坐過象這次選擇 hiking (遠足)的瑞士夫婦。在與他們揮手「See you later!」後，那女的還特意跑過來，拿著一根紅線友好地系在了我的右腳脖子上，這紅線兒還真保住了我的右腿。更別提J了，那老和尚給的，用紅線串著掛在脖子上的銅牌兒，保佑了他在此次事故中沒傷到筋骨。
手術第二天，從小受的思想教育在作怪了。那英雄人物戰勝病魔，克服困難的光輝形象，走馬燈似地，浮現在腦海裡。乘著沒人我就悄悄起了床，心想，怎麼也不能讓病魔給征服了！我咬緊牙關邁開了第一步。只這一步就把我從精神摔到肉體，從理想摔到了現實。原來我真的是那麼的無知！那英雄精神並不符合我的實際情況！
恰好 Dr. Paiboon 路過病房，急忙將我扶起，隨即拍片檢查，看我的愚蠢行動是否有損於手術結果。Dr. Paiboon 既和藹又幽默詼諧，他是在美國受的教育。他給我細心解釋骨骼癒合原理，提醒我不得魯莽行動。
我們住在醫院二樓朝南有陽台的最好的病房裡，寬敞明亮，窗外景色旖旎，陽光充足價錢也非常合理。在護士的精心照料下，我在病床上老老實實地躺了十多天。我不忍心讓J弓著腰躺在小沙發上，所以我讓他睡在床上我睡沙發。沙發是仿皮的在炎熱的夏天又熱又黏。
J每天不是在陽台上看書曬日光浴，便是出去逛逛。每次回來總時給我帶來各種各樣的風味小吃，外加一件泰國銀製小首飾。3月16日拄著拐杖去一家裁縫鋪子訂做了一套絲質的西裝套裙。
19日拆線，我數了數，半尺來長的傷口上縫了十五針。出院。告別了清邁坐火車返回曼谷。20日去英領館辦簽證。在一家在鬧市街拐角的高級皮鞋專賣店的門口，我望著那高高的台階生畏止步，便柱著拐杖低著頭站在路邊等J買東西出來。天氣很悶熱，行人匆匆，忽然一隻手伸進了我的視線，手裡還拿著一張十元泰銖。
抬頭一看，一個夾著公文包、相當有學者風度的中年西方男子正憐憫地看著我，把錢塞在我手中，就走開了。「No！No！No！」我一瘸一拐地追上去，試圖把錢還給他。我一急也就說不出別的話來。他帶著疑惑的目光回過頭來，沒有接我還的錢，就加快了離去的腳步。也許他想我是嫌少吧？怎麼連一句「Thank you！」都不會說呢？！
J正好買了雙鱷魚皮的男式涼鞋走出來，看見我眼圈裡含著委屈的淚，問清緣由便哈哈大笑起來：「他把你當成沿街要飯的乞丐了！」我有那麼寒磣嗎？！當時我穿的是一套全棉淺咖啡色無袖衣裙，不難看呀。也許是我一米七的身高，柱著兩根拐杖就必然含胸駝背、披髮低頭。這麼悶熱的當午，誰會一個人呆在街頭呀？！更何況個瘸子，也難怪人家把我當成乞丐了~
22日飛回香港。也許是受傷了，泰國方面沒有計較我的過境簽證。23日下午2點起飛，晚上11點多回到在日本的家。
I一人在泰國又呆了一段時間，她從泰國還給我寄來一個用黃銅、紫銅、銀子做的工藝手鐲，是通過普通信件寄的，硬硬的手鐲把普通信封都頂破了，呵呵~欣賞她的灑脫~~
遺憾的是，當我們從照相館裡取回這次旅遊的照片看時，卻沒有一張我們坐在大象上遊山玩水的照片！也許J的相機操作複雜，拿著我們機子的那個人沒給拍成。欣慰的是沒有摔壞機子，因為它不在我們手裡。
我們住院期間，幾個同組旅遊者、導遊等也都前來醫院探望。我們讓他們帶話給那日本青年，我們打算賠償他的相機。他們說短期旅行已經結束，沒留下地址，就再也無法找到他的蹤跡了。心中很是過意不去了好長一段時間。
 |
| 1989年8月，在日本的家門口過道上 August 1989, in Japan, on the corridor outside my home. |
 |
| 1990年11月27日，日本醫生在手術前幫我打針 On November 27, 1990, a Japanese doctor gave me an injection before the surgery. |
拐杖柱了一年多，經日本醫生再次手術，在原傷口縫合處劃開一小口取出鋼釘；幾乎沒留一線痕跡。出遊前在日本買的旅遊保險起了作用，得到了保險合同所規定的賠償。
一晃這已經是上個世紀的事了，但當時的情景依舊歷歷在目，就像發生在昨天。
**********************************
Adventure in the Deep Forests of Chiang Mai: The Red String, an Old Elephant, and Three Steel Pins of 1989
On Sunday, March 5, 1989, we spent our morning whiling away the time by the hotel’s comfortable and pleasant swimming pool. Around the pool, some were resting with their eyes closed on lounge chairs, some were wrapped in towels reading newspapers on large rocks, others were sipping cool drinks under sun umbrellas, and two or three were in the water.
In the afternoon, we joined a short-term tour group led by a local guide. Counting the guide, there were about sixteen or seventeen of us in total. Carrying our essential luggage and braving the scorching sun, we trekked along a rugged mountain path into the deep, ancient forest. Hours of hiking, combined with the heat of the southern dry season, utterly exhausted us tourists who were so used to comfort. Everyone was dripping with sweat, panting, and flushed in the face. Along the way, we came across a small waterfall with a plunge pool beneath it. The joy literally bloomed on almost every tired face. One after another, they plunged in with loud splashes. I was incredibly hot myself at the time, but as luck would have it, my "monthly friend" had arrived, making it inconvenient. So I just sat behind the bushes on the shore, watching with wide eyes the indescribable joy that washed over each of them the moment they hit the water. Once everyone had rested enough, we continued our journey.
Later in the afternoon, we arrived at an ancient village far removed from modernization. Bamboo stilt houses were nestled within the lush tropical jungle, with the golden glow of the setting sun shimmering on the roofs and treetops. On top of each bamboo house, instead of tiles, there were immensely large leaves of tropical plants. A gentle breeze blew, cooking smoke curled upward, the creek murmured, and the spring water tinkled—it was utterly enchanting.
It was said that this tribe originated from distant Mongolia. They had settled and thrived on this auspicious land, living self-sufficiently and multiplying from generation to generation. They refused the modern amenities offered by the government, keeping even utility poles miles away. They worked at sunrise and rested at sunset, living in peace and harmony.
In the center of the village stood a small grocery store. Its unpainted wooden doors and windows, weathered by years of wind and rain, stood wide open to the street. Sunlight poked audaciously inside from the doorway, illuminating a dim room stacked inside and out with cigarettes, soap, and daily sundries. A voluptuous young woman sat on the threshold, her blouse open, breastfeeding her infant. The little fellow puckered his tiny mouth, eyes closed, nursing and sleeping at the same time, occasionally waving his little arm that looked like a segment of a lotus root. What a peaceful, idyllic scene.
The street was a naturally formed dirt path, the kind that becomes a road simply because many people have walked upon it. Free-roaming chickens, ducks, pigs, and dogs could be seen everywhere. It seemed that generations of humans and livestock in the village had all contributed their fair share to paving this street.
After dinner, night fell. The deep forest became pitch black. Except for the sound of the rushing creek, the entire village fell completely silent. Returning from a stroll, we saw candlelight flickering inside the thatched hut where we were staying, filled with the sound of talking and laughing. The hut was very large, with two bamboo beds stretching from end to end on both sides of the door. Two wooden tables were placed in the hallway.
Unsure of how it began, the people in the room split into two groups. One group gathered around the tables, laughing uncontrollably. The other group sat on the edges of the beds, eyes shut in total silence, seemingly lost in the clouds. Before I could figure out what was happening, I was urged and pushed down onto a bed. "Try it! Try it!" people laughed and said to me. As it turned out, someone—either the guide or a villager—was lying on the bed, preparing a pipe for the tourists. "No! No! No!" I pushed them away and tried to dodge. Yet, unable to withstand their repeated coaxing, I took a single puff of the very opium that had once turned our ancestors into the "Sick Man of East Asia."
They then urged a young Japanese man in our group to try it; he and I were the only East Asians in the group. Unlike the Westerners, who eagerly tried these drugs regardless of their background, the Japanese youth finally got onto the bed after repeatedly declining. Inexplicably, while those blonde, blue-eyed Westerners took a single puff and immediately succumbed to a dizzy, head-bobbing euphoria, we East Asians felt absolutely nothing. Perhaps it was because neither of us knew how to smoke. They eagerly demonstrated, teaching us how to draw the smoke deep into our chests. Consequently, I was forced to take three more puffs—twenty Baht a puff—and still felt nothing at all. J, on the other hand, drifted straight into the clouds after just one hit.
Years later, when former U.S. President Bill Clinton was accused of using marijuana, his famous defense line, “I didn’t inhale,” reminded me that perhaps I hadn’t actually inhaled back then either.
I later learned that the group laughing uncontrollably around the table had been smoking marijuana. Marijuana and opium cannot be mixed; that group would switch to try the other the following night. That night, men and women were lined up like sardines across those two large communal bamboo beds, each dreaming their own fleeting dreams.
Waking up early on the morning of March 6, it was already broad daylight. Our first activity of the day was cave exploration. cave exploration. Inside, strange rocks jutted out, stalactites and stalagmites met, and the path twisted and turned, alternately widening and narrowing, thrilling and perilous. We held our torches high, calling out soft warnings, climbing up, leaping down, weaving left and right. Along the way, we were surprised to encounter a lost dog. For two hours, pushing, pulling, and supporting one another through the struggle, we walked out of the dark cave together, bringing that dog along with us.
The bright sunlight outside stung my eyes. When I could finally open them again, I was surprised to find seven elephants waiting to take us on the next leg of our journey. After hours of hardships and obstacles, the exhausted tourists happily climbed onto the elephants' backs. Before mounting, everyone exchanged cameras so that our own photos would be left on our own devices. We ended up holding the Japanese man's camera. A Swiss couple who had ridden the elephants last year chose to hike this time; upon parting, the wife specially ran over and tied a red string, which she had obtained from a temple vow, around my right ankle. Once everyone settled, the elephant caravan set off. Each elephant carried three people, with the mahout sitting on the neck. Strapped to the elephant's back was a crude bench made of tree trunks and wooden planks, providing a backrest for two passengers.
The two photos above are from the internet, showing the exact same scenery we saw from the elephant’s back all those years ago—perhaps it was even the same trail, all located in Chiang Mai. The elephant we rode resembled the lighter-colored one below, complete with that same rough wooden backrest chair. J took many photos of the local customs and people, but I only kept a very small portion of his collection, mostly picking out the ones that had me in them. How foolish of me! I regret it so much...
Sitting on our elephant’s neck was a dark-skinned, sharp, and slender adolescent boy. I watched as he tucked his bare calves behind those elephant ears, which were larger than cattail fans, holding a willow branch in his hand, skillfully maneuvering the mammoth beast beneath him.
The caravan began to stretch out. The elephants ambled along, stepping steadily. The tourists were beaming, snapping photos, completely relaxed and happy. Looking into the distance, misty purple haze and green smoke drifted over the distant mountains and nearby forests. Looking around, palm trees and exotic flowers vied for brilliance. The brilliant sunlight leaped and shimmered over the bizarre tropical flora and fauna. A gentle breeze licked our cheeks and stirred our hair; we were wandering through a fairy tale world. Surely, even the herdboy from the famous lines of the great poet Du Mu never enjoyed such a wondrous realm.
Every now and then, the elephants would halt to use their long trunks to pluck a few leaves from the trees and toss them into their mouths. When they grew hot, they would flap their large ears to cool down. When the urge struck, they would stop to relieve themselves right on the spot, then nonchalantly resume their leisurely pace. Crossing creeks, traversing valleys, and walking along narrow paths, the elephants carried the tourists as if walking on flat ground.
There was a stretch of rugged, treacherous trail midway up the mountain where the slope exceeded 45 degrees. A single glance downward made my head spin. Below the slope was a steep and deep abyss, and the winding path felt less than a meter wide with no end in sight. Sitting on the elephant's back made our center of gravity too high, and right next to the path was the drop-off—with no barriers or railings. If the elephant slipped or even sneezed, we could fall and be smashed to pieces at any moment. Despite the infinitely beautiful scenery, I shut my eyes tight and entrusted my little life to the elephant. I only opened them when J told me we had cleared the dangerous pass.
Over two hours later, we arrived at an open area where a wide, shimmering river lay winding before us. On the opposite bank, the village where we were to stay that night was faintly visible. The caravan gathered, preparing to cross. Just as I was excitedly speculating how we would cross this river, which was over ten meters wide, a bizarre sensation suddenly struck! Without even turning around, my left eye caught sight of something deftly extending from behind, right between J’s shoulder and mine! It was a thick, wrinkled, bristly elephant trunk! Its dark nostrils were wide open, blowing warm, damp, humid air. "Wow! An elephant trunk!" Before the words fully left my mouth, the trunk caught me completely off guard. That rough trunk gently scraped along my left arm resting on the back of the chair, moving from the inside of my upper arm all the way down to my wrist—it felt exactly like being scraped by a metal file! J was still completely oblivious.
"It feels just like a file!!" Before I could even finish saying this, I was flipped or dragged right out. The next second, I found myself sitting on the ground next to the elephant’s right hind leg. The adolescent boy had also thrown to the ground, just a step ahead of me. I watched him cleverly roll away, so I immediately followed suit, rolling out of range of where the elephant might kick before finally breathing a sigh of relief. Only then did I realize J had been thrown several yards away as well.
Instantly, the crowd erupted into chaos. People jumped off their mounts and gathered around. Mahouts tended to the elephant, others rescued the injured, shouting and crying out in total confusion.
I sat on the grass, trying my best to look composed under everyone's gaze. In the distant brush, J’s face was covered in blood. Looking tense, he scrambled around the grass groping for his glasses while turning his head to shout, "Are you OK fen?" "I'm OK!" I replied calmly.
Someone retrieved our scattered belongings, which included the broken, expensive camera belonging to that young Japanese man. Before riding the elephants, we had exchanged cameras with other tourists so our own figures would be captured on our own devices.
I tried to stand, but my left leg could bear no weight. Supported by others, I was helped to my feet. Flanked and held up on both sides, I could only hop along using my right foot. After a few hops, I reached the riverbank. Fortunately, the river was wide but shallow. What should have been a crossing on elephant-back now had to be done with a local carrying me Pigsy-style (carrying his bride), wading through waist-deep water. Luckily, J could walk on his own with some support. Otherwise, no single local could have carried his 1.86-meter, 180-pound frame.
The man carrying me would occasionally bend down to jolt and hoist me higher up his back; at each of those moments, a piercing, agonizing pain shot through my left hip joint.
After crossing the river, they placed us on a bamboo bed. Judging that my thigh bone was dislocated, I figured a massage might help. First, our handsome tour guide tried massaging it, but it didn't feel like he was hitting the right spot; the joint where my thigh met my hip remained agonizingly sore and unbearable. Later, they brought over an experienced elder from the village, presumably the local doctor. The old man took one look at the situation and said it wasn't a dislocation—I needed to be sent to a hospital immediately. When I heard that the only transportation to the hospital was still an elephant, my head swelled with a loud buzzing sound. Having forced myself to stay calm all this time, tears finally burst from my eyes. "Don't worry, we will have a gentle old elephant take you," they said. At that moment, whether it was an old elephant or a young one, gentle or fierce, I couldn't imagine having the courage or ability to go near one again, and my body began to tremble involuntarily.
Fortunately, this time we weren't sitting on the elephant's back; instead, we lay on a bamboo raft towed through the water by that supposedly gentle old elephant. Soon, the elephant and raft were ready. Everyone pitched in to lift us onto the raft floating by the water’s edge and covered us with two layers of blankets. Eagerly thanking and bidding farewell to the tourists and villagers, we set off.
One old elephant, five locals, J and I, plus a German girl named I—eight people and one beast embarked on the long journey by water. Out of a natural instinct for human sympathy and care, I voluntarily abandoned the rest of her sightseeing plans—which included bamboo rafting, ox-cart rides, and a visit to the Long-neck village—and hopped straight onto the raft to join the escort team.
I was no longer in any mood to appreciate the picturesque scenery on both banks; my mind was consumed with fear, dread, and anxiety about the future.
The elephant, managed by three of the locals, was about four or five meters ahead of us, obediently towing the heavy raft through the varying depths of the river with heavy steps. On the raft, the two of us lay flat, I sat to my left, and the other two locals each held a long bamboo pole, punting from the front right and rear left of the raft respectively. The five of us packed the bamboo raft completely.
I, who was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, was remarkably independent and mature. She lit a cigarette for J; though J didn't usually smoke, he accepted it with deep gratitude and took a few puffs. I shared one or two lighthearted, humorous travel anecdotes with us to alleviate our tense, deflated mood and atmosphere.
Gradually, darkness fell. Not a single star or moon was visible in the deep mountain canyons; only a single kerosene lamp, faint as a bean and flickering like a ghost fire, led the way ahead. Drifting down that riverway—sometimes wide, sometimes narrow, sometimes rushing, sometimes slow, twisting left and turning right—time itself felt as though it were being dragged along by the old elephant and the broken raft.
The wind howled and the water roared, echoing through the empty valley. All five people on the raft fell into weary silence. The clothes beneath our bodies were completely soaked through, and my mind was utterly flooded with terror.
Suddenly, from up ahead came fragmented cries: "Watch out... hold tight... about to cross rapids..." Before the words could finish, a resounding "BANG!" echoed as our raft struck a submerged reef. A massive wave came crashing right over us, instantly lifting both people and raft into mid-air.
In the blink of an eye, I and the other two people threw themselves over J and me, holding onto us for dear life while grabbing onto anything secure on the raft. Thanks to them, we avoided sliding into the water and being swallowed by the raging torrent in the dead of night.
The raft slammed heavily back into the water, leaving us all choking and gasping for air. Drenched to the bone, we shivered uncontrollably in the freezing wind, floating helplessly onward.
After a four-hour journey by water, we finally docked. Every single one of us was utterly exhausted. It was said that there was a village midway up the mountain that possessed modern transportation, and someone had already run ahead to seek help.
In less time than it takes to smoke a pipe, some people came down from the village. Carrying and pushing us, slipping with every step, they climbed up the steep mountain slope, which was muddy, pathless, and overgrown with thorns. The man carrying me used every ounce of his strength, struggling with his steps. The person pushing from behind, however, didn't apply his strength to my buttocks, but instead placed his hand right between my legs. Drenched and freezing cold, with my leg in excruciating pain, and on top of that, having my "monthly friend" with me, it was truly miserable. Finally, I whispered to the German girl next to us who was carrying our luggage, telling her that the man’s hand was in the wrong place. Exhausted as she was, she furiously shoved the man away and used her own hands to push my hips, greatly easing the burden on the man carrying me.
Upon entering the village, the entire population—men, women, young, and old—turned out. Their sole modern transport was a small pickup truck, which was already waiting for us. The German girl sat in the cab, while the two of us lay comfortably in the truck bed. As long as I was lying down, my leg didn't hurt. The warm-hearted villagers seemed to come from every household carrying blankets and quilts, padding the truck bed thickly and covering us snugly. With tears of gratitude in our eyes, we waved goodbye to the men, women, young, and old of this nameless village.
Lying in the truck bed, my leg free of pain, I stared up at the sky, worrying about the unknown. Midway through, we noticed the driver reversing; we were told there was a forest fire ahead and we had to take a detour. Thus, after four hours of mountain roads, we finally arrived at Lanna Hospital around 1:00 AM—the only private hospital in Chiang Mai. At our repeated urging, the German girl went back to her hotel to rest. We were filthy, anxious, and bursting with the need to urinate. After taking a look at us, the night nurse on duty said the doctor would come in at 9:00 AM tomorrow morning. She brought over a bedpan and left, leaving the two of us lying in the vast, empty ward.
At 9:00 AM the next morning, Dr. Paiboon arrived. After diagnosing and taking X-rays, he decided to operate immediately. As it turned out, my left femur had fractured just three centimeters from the hip joint. The doctor said if it had been any later, that small broken piece of bone would have suffered necrosis. Hearing that surgery was required, my heart went into a panic. Anguished, I asked the doctor if we could avoid surgery, because back in China, I had always heard of fracture patients being treated with casts. The doctor said no, and I was immediately wheeled into the operating room, where the doctor secured it with three three-inch steel pins. Fortunately, J had only sustained flesh wounds; otherwise, both of us would have been bedridden.
Sometimes, one really wonders—whether it's Buddha, a god, or God, you can't help but believe. Otherwise, how could everything happen so randomly? Was this recent string of events all just a coincidence? What did our accidental entry into that eerie, dilapidated, abandoned temple a few days ago, and that bird that "committed suicide" after being released, actually signify?
Yesterday, while wandering around the Chiang Mai temple, I was busy taking photos when I caught sight of J donating money to the temple and chatting with an old monk. I also saw the old monk give J a brass medallion pendant, strung on a thick red thread, which was hung around J’s neck.
Today, before leaving the cave and setting off on the elephants, that Swiss couple who had ridden elephants last year chose to hike this time. After waving "See you later!" to them, the woman specially ran over, holding a piece of red thread, and amiably tied it around my right ankle. That red thread truly saved my right leg. Not to mention J—the medallion given by the old monk and hung around his neck on a red thread protected him from injuring his tendons or bones in this accident.
The second day after the surgery, the ideological education I had received since childhood began to play tricks on me. The glorious images of heroic figures conquering illnesses and overcoming difficulties flashed through my mind like a lantern show. Taking advantage of a moment when no one was around, I quietly got out of bed, thinking to myself that I absolutely could not let the illness conquer me! I gritted my teeth and took my very first step. That single step dashed me from spirit to flesh, from ideal to reality. It turned out I was truly that ignorant! That heroic spirit simply did not fit my actual situation!
As luck would have it, Dr. Paiboon happened to pass by the ward. He hurriedly helped me up and immediately ordered X-rays to check if my foolish action had compromised the surgical results. Dr. Paiboon was both amiable and humorous; he had been educated in the United States. He carefully explained the principles of bone healing to me and warned me against reckless actions.
We stayed in the best ward on the second floor facing south with a balcony. It was spacious, bright, with beautiful views outside and plenty of sunlight, and the price was very reasonable. Under the meticulous care of the nurses, I stayed bedridden properly for over ten days. I couldn’t bear to see J lying curled up on the small sofa, so I let him sleep in the bed while I took the sofa instead. The sofa was made of faux leather, which felt hot and sticky in the scorching summer heat.
Every day, J was either on the balcony reading and sunbathing, or out exploring. Every time he returned, he always brought me various local snacks along with a piece of Thai silver jewelry. On March 16, relying on crutches, I went to a tailor shop to order a silk western-style skirt suit.
On the 19th, the stitches were removed. I counted them—fifteen stitches across a wound half a foot long. I was discharged. Bidding farewell to Chiang Mai, we took the train back to Bangkok. On the 20th, we went to the British Embassy to apply for visas. At the entrance of a luxury shoe boutique on a busy downtown street corner, I looked at the high steps with dread and stopped. Leaning on my crutches, I stood by the roadside with my head down, waiting for J to finish shopping. The weather was very muggy and pedestrians were hurrying by. Suddenly, a hand entered my line of vision, holding a ten-Baht note.
Looking up, a middle-aged Western man carrying a briefcase and possessing quite a scholarly demeanor was looking at me with pity. He shoved the money into my hand and walked away. "No! No! No!" I hobbled after him, trying to return the money. In my anxiety, I couldn't say anything else. He turned his head with a bewildered look, refused to take back the money, and quickened his pace to leave. Perhaps he thought I felt it was too little? How could I not even know how to say "Thank you!"?!
J happened to walk out holding a pair of crocodile-skin men's sandals he had just bought. Seeing my eyes filled with tears of grievance, he burst into laughter after learning the reason: "He mistook you for a beggar on the street!" Was I really that wretched?! At the time, I was wearing a 100% cotton, light-brown sleeveless dress—it didn't look bad at all. Perhaps at a height of 1.7 meters, leaning on two crutches inevitably made me slouch, hang my head, and let my hair fall. On such a muggy midday, who would stand alone on the street?! What's more, a cripple. No wonder people mistook me for a beggar~
On the 22nd, we flew back to Hong Kong. Perhaps because I was injured, the Thai authorities did not make an issue out of my transit visa. At 2:00 PM on the 23rd, our flight took off, and we arrived back at our home in Japan around 11:00 PM.
I stayed in Thailand alone for a bit longer. She even sent me a handcrafted bracelet made of brass, copper, and silver from Thailand. It was sent via regular mail, and the hard bracelet actually tore through the ordinary envelope, haha~ I truly admire her carefree and uninhibited nature~~
Regrettably, when we retrieved the photos from this trip from the photo studio, there wasn't a single photo of us riding the elephants and enjoying the scenery! Perhaps J’s camera was too complex to operate, and the person holding our machine failed to capture it. On the bright side, the camera wasn't broken, since it wasn't in our hands.
During our hospitalization, several tourists from our same group, along with the guide, came to the hospital to visit us. We asked them to pass a message to that young Japanese man, stating that we intended to compensate him for his camera. They said the short-term tour had ended, no address had been left, and it was impossible to track his whereabouts anymore. We felt quite bad about it for a long time.
I used crutches for over a year. After a second surgery by a Japanese doctor, a small incision was made along the original scar to remove the steel pins; it left almost no trace of a line. The travel insurance we bought in Japan before the trip came in handy, and we received the compensation stipulated in the insurance contract.
In a flash, this is already something from the last century, but the scenes back then remain vivid in my mind, as if they happened just yesterday.
特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第四百三十五篇
