On August 19th 1981 I was in Fang in Northern Thailand. I was travelling with Mary: we had visited Bangkok and Chiang Mai and were hoping that we would find places that were more rural and less modernised.
|Road near Fang: Our Picture|
We took a long afternoon walk towards the hills on the western side. We began slowly through open rice paddies, seeing some birds almost for the first time in Thailand. Eventually the threatened downpour came, just as we were beside the only house we saw with cold drinks, and we were invited in for the storm. Snaps of young children kept things amusing and the owner played us Santana. The drizzle kept on but we persevered, getting a little wet sometimes and sheltering, but it seemed worth while to get through a string of villages, albeit pleasant and the houses mainly wooden, and get a little bit into the hills. At the first hill there was a temple and a market and a whole lot of hill-tribe people, and for the next few miles it kept much more rural and more tribal. The hills themselves were green and grass topped, bright in the sun, but forbidding in the dark black clouds of the earlier part of the walk. All the houses had flowers and gardens, the people smiling and friendly, curious, especially a group of schoolchildren who walked with us for a while. On the way back we stopped for a drink in the first village in the plain and soon got a lift back in a driver in a pickup who took us a scenic back way and charged us an exorbitant fee.
|Mae Kok River: Our Picture|
|Wooden buildings in village: Our picture|
|Village people near Fang: Our picture|
View Fang in a larger map