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For all of you searching for a jungle adventure, but who are perhaps not up to wrestling 12-foot alligators and giant pythons in the Amazon, head to Thailand. Although relatively free of threatening animals (I heard that most of them have been eaten for their supposed aphrodisiac-like powers), the flora, slippery mountain slopes, heat and humidity provide more than enough challenge for non-Thais. And as you're panting up yet another hill, remember, you asked for it!

My adventure began before I'd even set foot in the jungle. Almost as formidable as the jungle itself is the mob of trekking company "pushers" that ambush the tourists at the Chiang Mai train station. As soon as I stepped off the train, Thais surrounded our group and began strongly "recommending" this or that hotel or trekking company. I'd already read in my Lonely Planet guide that in the North competition for tourist dollars is fierce, but the depressed economy has made it even worse. Although I'm sure that many other hotels provide comfortable accommodations at a lower price, we'd already set our hearts on Top North's swimming pool, and we were more than ready to wash away the sweat from the overnight train trip. Now that I look back on it, that first day paddling in the cool waters of the pool was almost like our swim through the jungle air�only much more refreshing.

After cruising by a few a trekking companies, we decided on Panda Tour & Trekking for their seemingly open frankness and offer of a "non-touristy" 3-day jungle trek. After all, I hadn't traveled over 1200 km northward from Bangkok only to have anything less than a "real" jungle experience�and that's exactly what I got. Little did I know how literal "non-touristy" was to be defined and fulfilled in the days following. Panda provided us with simple backpacks (a bag with two straps) in which to carry only necessary belongings. We left the rest of our luggage, money and passports in storage with Panda for the duration of our trek (and it was all returned to us without a problem).

My group's (7 tourists and 2 guides) journey began with a 3-hour truck ride up winding mountain roads into the Pai Region. The continual left-right-left-right movements caused a few of us to soon suffer from motion sickness, mine being the worst. As much as I love a good rollercoaster ride, the combination of diesel exhaust, shifting of gears and snaking road was too much. Thank you Tiger Balm! Although I wasn't too crazy about the extreme burning sensations as it was smeared on my forehead, under my nose and around my temples, it did the trick. After our lunch pit-stop, which I used to recover, I was finally able to enjoy the spectacular scenery. As far as I could see, only lush green jungle covered rolling mountains and deep valleys. The quaint little huts we passed on the way up the mountain were just as I'd pictured them�except for the satellite dishes. Hmmm, funny, I hadn't expected MTV in a bamboo hut with a squat toilet. Well, I guess you've gotta have priorities.

Entering the Huey Nam Dang National Park, we were soon driving along red-mud trails deep into the jungle itself. It being monsoon season, our truck slipped and slid along the swamp of a road, which the guys sitting near the back of the truck didn't appreciate too much. I couldn't see what they were complaining about�they'd gotten a free mud bath to boot! We unloaded, engulfed ourselves in clouds of mosquito spray, donned even more potent and toxic chemical repellant on our shoes and clothes, geared up and headed off into the wild green yonder. Our spirits were still naively high; however, after about 3 hours of hard hiking up and down the slippery hills, our energy was dashed a bit�and our hopes of reaching the Lisu village before dark. Apparently, we were way behind schedule. I'd like to think that our delay wasn't because of me, but my knees were accommodating the unaccustomed strain less than optimally and causing me to proceed at a much slower pace. Maybe it was the high-tech hiking shoes I'd bought for the trip? Our wacky, ever-singing guide Mr. Dee seemed to be having no problem running up and down the slopes in a pair of plastic flip-flops�and I'm talking the 99-cent kind. How so very "lazy white American" I felt in comparison, but I bravely pushed on despite my mounting suspicions that I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

We eventually stopped for a quick, refreshing dip in the cool wetness of a waterfall, but as it was already 5:30 pm and starting to get dark, our pause was brief. Night soon fell and all those who had brought flashlights suddenly became the most popular of the group. The blackness was "in-a-cavern-150-feet-below-the-surface-of-the-earth black" due to the absence of moonlight. By this time, three of us had been given bamboo walking sticks, and we were hobbling and stumbling in the darkness. As we walked down tiny paths through fields of high grass, I couldn't help but think of the scene from Jurassic Park. Maybe the Thais hadn't eaten quite everything yet. With that thought, I hastened along in the dim halo shining from my flashlight. Never have I been so thankful for a Mag Light.

Friendly Lisu villagers greeted us upon our arrival. I'm sure we must have looked preposterous to them, our beet-red faces smeared with sweat and grime, dirty clothes and half-functioning legs, but I have a feeling most tourists arrive that way. After entering our large sleeping room, I flopped my bedraggled body onto the wooden platform and mat combo that was to be my bed for the night. I eventually mustered enough energy to take a "shower" from a barrel located in the outhouse up the hill. Feeling much refreshed, I joined the others outside at the table where we were served a rather sumptuous meal, especially considering our location. We feasted on jasmine rice, stir-fried vegetables, a spicy chicken curry soup, saut�ed pumpkin and fresh green tea served in the bamboo cups that Mr. Dee had made for us that afternoon. I'd sure worked up a big appetite, but not quite big enough to indulge in the fried larvae served for desert. A few of my English "mates" were brave enough to try them, and I shouldn't have been such a pansy-the larvae are very clean, high in protein and supposedly taste like potato chips-but I had to decline. "I'm just so full, I couldn't eat another bite, really."

After dinner the villagers demonstrated several of their traditional dances. One man energetically played a recorder-like instrument while stomping his feet on the ground in dance. Song after song was played, but I must have missed the subtle variation of notes, for all the songs sounded the same to me, and the Lisu have apparently 108 different songs. And although they repeated nearly the same dance steps for all the songs, our group never seemed to be able to get it right. The villagers encouraged us to keep trying, even though I'm sure our flailing limbs made us look like characters from a movie titled White Folks Can't Dance. All in all it was very entertaining and the tribespeople were wonderful hosts.

Oh, how I was looking forward to a peaceful sleep deep in the heart of the jungle�away from the traffic, blaring music and the loud, drunk tourists of Bangkok. I closed the mosquito net around my "bed" and snuggled down under the blankets. The jungle mountains can get surprisingly cold at night and you can't exactly ask your hosts to crank up the thermostat. Err-err-err-errr-errrrrr-ack! At 3:30 am a sick, abbreviated rooster crow rudely awakened my much-needed sleep. Then the peep-peep of baby chicks and clucking of hens started. "My, God!" I thought, "Don't these animals notice that it's still dark?!" The raucous continued, occasionally punctuated by the screaming of roosters as the dogs chased them in the yard outside (I secretly prayed that they would catch those sleep-robbing birds). Lying in bed any longer was of no use, so I arose, grabbed my journal and camera and made my way outside into the breaking dawn. Although it was still gray outside, the Lisu were already up and about attending to their daily activities. Some were cleaning their huts, washing clothes or preparing breakfast. Even the children were awake. I sat outside on a bench quietly observing. To me this was a sacred moment-a window into the real lives of these jungle inhabitants. A great feeling of serenity washed over me as I watched the mists swirl in the slowly warming morning air. How awe-inspiring it must be to live in the heart of nature, miles away from anything electrical or technical and so in-tune with the earth. At that moment I envied the Lisu living so simply each day for the day that was. All too soon were my philosophical monologues interrupted as my fellow adventurers awoke and broke the spell that the jungle had cast upon me that morning.

After a breakfast of banana and pineapple pancakes and A LOT of coffee, we were treated to a riflery demonstration. The gun looked like a carry-over from the 1800's but was apparently only a couple of years old. The charge was tremendously loud and echoed against the surrounding hills. The man demonstrating his hunting techniques just smiled his kind black-toothed smile as I covered my ears�and, yes, I said black-toothed smile. Whitening toothpaste would meet its match here! The Lisu chew on "beetle nut" to keep their teeth strong and healthy but which also stains them an obsidian black. It is much the style amongst the Lisu, I was told, and despite the shocking color, I noticed that the elderly villagers had almost all of their teeth. Is the western world missing out on something? I guess I wouldn't have to worry about coffee stains anymore�

I sadly left the village. I had only briefly glimpsed a flash of the "other" kind of lifestyle I'd come to Thailand to experience. But I also left thankful that I'd made it there at all. I was having the time of my life, and it wasn't over yet. We still had two more days to go.

So, off we went, back into the jungle and up and over numerous hills with the Lisu children following us. Our group quickly became divided into three smaller sub-groups as the injured lagged behind and the still-fit forged ahead. I ended up in the middle group with a British girl named Claire. We walked ahead looking for the turn to head towards the elephant camp, but somehow we missed the tiny trail hidden in the bushes and kept marching along a wide, red-mud road. After about 30 minutes, it occurred to us that we might have passed our turn-off. As the rain poured down from the cloud-covered skies on us two lost souls, I couldn't help but laugh at our situation. Two beet-red faced white women covered in red mud and wearing hats made out of leaves (Peter Pan style) standing in the pouring monsoon rains in the middle of the Thai jungle. What a picture! Although alone and lost, I felt perfectly safe and sure that someone would come to find us. Thank God, I was right. Kung, our other guide, soon came running up to us. He wasn't too pleased that we had made him run 20 minutes looking for us. Luckily, he is a very patient and forgiving man and didn't hold the grudge for long.

When we arrived at the place where we should have turned off, we discovered that a group of Lisu children had joined us. I guess they found it most entertaining to watch us foreigners struggle on hills that they scurry easily up and down in their plastic flip-flops. The children's friendly faces and laughter cheered me and gave me the necessary energy to press on towards the elephant camp.

We eventually arrived at a group of buildings built alongside a rushing, brown river. Four huge elephants strapped with passenger seats (for the tourists only, I suspect) stood to one side. After a short break the elephant caretakers, two boys, escorted us to the elephant "loading docks," which consisted of a ramp made of tied-together bamboo shoots. Climbing the ramp and getting onto the elephant proved challenging, but as Claire and I were to soon find out, staying on the elephant would be an exercise in strength. Somehow we were lucky enough to get the largest elephant with "slide seat," as I have dubbed it. As I looked around, I noticed that all of the other passenger seats had a wooden board in front that acted as a kind of "stopper" if one should start to slide forward off the seat. Our seat, however, was made of slick metal and tilted forward-a virtual slide pointing off the elephant-the significance of which becomes even more profound when the elephant walks down a steep hill. Off we went, tourists in the seats and caretakers sitting effortlessly upon the heads of the elephants. Our seat rocked back and forth with each of the elephant's giant strides. I was enjoying the scenery, noticing the lushness of the jungle and the power of the river we were traveling alongside, when I noticed that we were headed for a hill, over which I only saw the narrowest of trails passing through the trees. "We're going to fit through there?!" I thought, but amazingly, we did. It seems that the elephants must have taken some lessons from fashion runway models because their feet land almost directly one in front of the other, thus creating only a narrow path when a much wider one would be expected. Suddenly, the elephant took a gigantic, lurching step upwards, and Claire and I were forced to lean forward in order to stay in the seat. And, what goes up must come down, right? A terrible realization when one is perched so precariously high upon a wild animal. I quickly grabbed the back of the seat and tried to brace my feet on the elephant's moving neck. Where were the @%#!! seat belts, for God's sake?! Then came the huge step down and the our ensuing struggle to stay atop the gray beast. We clutched to the sides of the seat for dear life. A hint to future elephant-riders: make sure your seat comes with a security rope or at least a "slide stop", and go for a wooden seat-they aren't as slick in the rain. Or maybe we should've joined the boy atop the elephant's head-he seemed to be having no trouble at all�except in directing the elephant.

Being the largest land mammal does have its advantages, one being that a small, bouncing, grunting boy sitting on your head issuing commands is more of an annoyance than a threat, and our elephant knew it. She was much more interested in eating than taking us across the river or anywhere else. When our "elephant boy" tried to coerce her into heading in the correct direction using his excited bouncing movements, kicking of his legs and grunting noises, she just grabbed a branch with her trunk and gave him a few whacks. Who's the boss now? She sure showed him! We did eventually make our way across the rushing waters and back. The ride was cut short by a rainstorm and ensuing thunder, which, as we were told, the elephants don't particularly like. I could just imagine being in my "slide seat" when the elephants decided to stampede through the jungle and me becoming no more than a greasy spot on the foot of a two-ton behemoth. Luckily, that didn't happen, and we all returned safely, enjoyed a swim in the river, and then spent the rest of the night drinking beer (yes, they have beer in the jungle) and singing old Eagles songs like "Take It Easy." How appropriate!

Our last day began with a breakfast of pancakes loaded with fresh pineapple, sugar and lime juice. If you've never tried this, it's a luscious change from syrup! We packed up all our things, most of them dirty and wet, and situated them upon the bamboo rafts, which our camp's host had built. They consisted of many large shoots of bamboo tied together with vines or palm fronds. Bamboo grows in sections, which hold enough air inside to allow them to float quite well�assuming the raft's passengers aren't too heavy. That seemed to be the case on our raft, which for the entire journey floated several inches below the surface of the water. Most of our river adventure was spent standing on the raft, using bamboo poles to push and steer the raft down the river. "Oh, my Buddha!" was the phrase of choice for the day, especially when going through rapids, during which we lost sight of our raft below the churning, muddy waters. But, succeed we did! We ever so deftly steered away from the shore's thorny vines, avoided trees, and passed through dangerous rapids-all without falling off the raft. We were proud of ourselves and were rightfully enjoying a pause on a calm stretch of river when our raft abruptly halted, tossing all of us overboard. It had apparently collided with an underwater stump or stone and was firmly lodged somewhere below the surface of the water. Two of our group got washed downstream and I was left clinging to the raft with our guide. Thank Buddha for the life jackets! The river was surprisingly strong and we couldn't upright our raft on our own. As fate would have it, two boys on an elephant were passing by and came to our aid. The raft was soon once again floating at the surface and almost undamaged-but minus our steering poles and some of our belongings. We completed the remainder of the journey and arrived at our pick-up point exhilarated, if not also a bit injured and exhausted.

I had gotten what I'd wanted and more. I'd experienced what I feel to be a more genuine jungle experience than the average easy "cater-and-pose-for-the-tourists" treks that many companies offer. True, my body was spent, and I was covered in scrapes and bruises, but I wore them like badges of accomplishment. To realize that many peoples of the earth successfully live and survive in such surroundings, and with much more ease than our group managed, is awe-inspiring. The jungle certainly has a way of humbling a person yet at the same time lifting the spirit. Had I known everything beforehand, maybe I wouldn't have gone. Maybe I would've opted for a more comfortable tourist version, but I also would've cheated myself out of a once-in-a-lifetime, real-adventure experience. Would I do it again? In an instant.

Photographs property of Christine Parma

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