The Four Seasons Tented Camp, situated to the north of Chiang Rai in the heart of the Golden Triangle where Thailand, Laos and Burma converge, has to be one of the top romantic adventure getaways in Asia.

By Verne Maree
Issue 88 - November 2009

There you are, 60 kilograms of frail woman on the ground, and there she is towering above you: four tons of solid elephant. And you’re supposed to somehow get yourself seated on her neck? And then ride her? It’s a moment of truth.

The Four Seasons Tented Camp, situated to the north of Chiang Rai in the heart of the Golden Triangle where Thailand, Laos and Burma converge, has to be one of the top romantic adventure getaways in Asia. What, then, am I doing there with my friend Geri Archer instead of my husband? The answer is that she’s keen on riding elephants and similar sweaty, jungle-bashing activities, and he most certainly is not.

Before being allowed to eat our own breakfast each morning, we have the initially dubious pleasure of feeding a pile of bananas to a trio or more of elephants. I’m not much of a googly-eyed animal lover, but there’s something immensely attractive about these leathery beasts, and after the first nervous encounter I rather enjoy placing the fruit directly onto a thick, pink tongue or having it snuffled from me by the business end of an eager, spitty trunk. Bottles of sanitiser and piles of those cool, lemongrass-scented towels are available to clean up before breakfast, germophobes will be glad to know.

While there is plenty to do in the area, our elephant experience is undoubtedly the highlight of our three days. Kitted out in the denim mahout gear, checked sash and sandals set out for us in out tent – you didn’t think I chose that gear, did you? (though I do admit responsibility for the hat) – we’re taken by mahout guide Wee in a long-tailed boat to the working elephant camp nearby.
 

High Anxiety
After briefing us on how to interact safely with these affectionate and intelligent beasts, he introduces Geri and me to “our” elephants for the day. It’s important to use their names a lot, apparently, and as with most creatures, the way to a pachyderm’s heart is through its stomach. Feeding my prospective mount short lengths of sugarcane while hoarsely crying (in my case) “Boun Ma! Boun Ma! Nice elephant!” seems to do the trick.

Social niceties dealt with, it’s time to mount. Not sideways from the scaffolding, as I’d hoped, but from the ground. A right-foot step onto Boun Ma’s briefly bent knee, a quick bum-push from Wee, a bit of nervous scrambling and I’m up here, on her neck! Mahout Ded is right behind me, and I realise that the checked sash is not there for its sartorial virtues alone: it’s for him to grab onto if I show any signs of making a precipitous return to terra firma.

Once up here, and as we amble up to the nearby training patch, I feel on top of the world. The elephants understand a fairly large vocabulary, but we have to master only the main ones:

• “Pai!” means “Go, get a move on.”
• “Baen!” means “Turn!”, and is accompanied by a kick behind the ear on the opposite side of the hoped-for direction.
• “How!” means “Stop!”, and requires you to clench your knees together.
• “Soke!” means “Go backwards!”

After a few rounds of the slalom course, and trying a variety of increasingly inelegant methods of mounting and dismounting, I’m most amazed that Boun Ma actually seems to be listening to and understanding me. She doesn’t even mind when I slide down her poor face, scarred from her years of hard work in the logging industry. Then it’s “Pai, Boun Ma, pai!” to the nearby watering hole, where I have the honour of splashing the lovely beast down with cool water, using a big ladle.

High Camp
The approach to the Four Seasons Tented Camp at Chiang Rai is great. Deposited by our transfer Landrover at a picturesque jetty on the Ruak (meaning “bamboo”) River, we’re plied with cool, aromatic towels for the umpteenth time and escorted to the long-tail boat that will whizz us off to the camp’s landing stage, five minutes away. After a fresh coconut juice and chat with manager Michael Volk and his wife Gisleine in the Burma Bar – so-called because of its view directly across the river into Burma – we can’t wait to see our accommodation.

I decided long ago that my camping days were over, but this is something else completely. It is a tent of sorts, yes, albeit a very large one. It has canvas sides complete with mosquito-netted tent-flaps that you can roll up and down and fasten with Velcro. This structure is to tents what Angkor Wat is to temples, what the Taj Mahal is to tombs, what Harrods is to department stores.

Its Superking bed – or the smaller twin beds that we requested in advance, not being that close friends – are festooned with romantic mosquito nets. These are purely for show, given the sophisticated air-conditioning system and the fact that you’ll keep the flaps zipped if you have any sense. Pride of indoor place is given to a huge bath made of an ivory look-alike material and surrounded by a beaten copper frame. Off to one side is an outdoor shower and next to it an indoor toilet.

Leather cords and trims put the finishing touches to a look that screams Great White Hunter. On the tent’s spacious front deck we lounge with a massive whiskey and soda (me) and a suitably colonial gin and tonic (Geri) from the well-stocked bar, and gaze imperiously across the lazy river to Burma.

As twilight deepens, the sounds of nature gather into an incredible cacophony. Thousands of birds twitter, shriek and gabble; armies of geckos bark madly; elephants at the nearby camp trumpet for their dinner. These sounds of nature are marvellous, but we feel righteously indignant when the ear-splitting sound of a noisy electric chainsaw starts up. What is the management doing, for pity’s sake? Michael tells us after dinner, stifling his laughter, that what we heard was in fact the sound of a single, inch-long buzz-saw cicada somewhere in the valley.

Out and About
After breakfast on the first day, we set off in a long-tail boat with our delightful guide, Somkid. Geri compliments him on his English and he retorts with an impish grin, “Thank you. You speak English well, too!”

On the Burma side is a small jetty and an impromptu-looking shelter staffed with Burmese immigration officials. It’s linked to the big new casino nearby, says Somkid, built by the government for the sole purpose of relieving the comparatively wealthy Thai people of their baht. Later, he points out the construction of a new casino on Lao territory and chortles, “They call that one Laos Vegas!”

Ten minutes later, we join the mighty Mekong, of which the Ruak is a tributary. Perched in our tiny vessel in the midst of a vast expanse of water, Somkid points out Thailand behind us; here’s Burma, and those nearby hills are Laos. Three days on a slow boat up this watery thoroughfare takes you all the way to China, he declares; or you can do it in just seven hours in a tooth-jarring speedboat, as his friend once did.

Dutifully we admire the giant statue atop the Temple of the Golden Buddha, built five years ago in honour of the Thai Queen, and then disembark for a tuk-tuk tour taking in a local street market and the most intact of the many pagodas of the ancient town of Chiang Sean. This venerable structure dates back to 1291. We’re concerned about the profusion of foliage that covers it – surely the roots are damaging the structure?

“It’s only like this now, during the wet, green season,” replies Somkid. “No plants grow on it for the rest of the year.”

We’re running out of time, but I could spend at least half a day at the huge Opium Hall, a high-tech museum on three levels. It traces the drug’s history over the past five millennia, and particularly its exploitation by the British imperialist government. A highlight is the display of early over-the-counter opium-based medicines, such as laudanum and paregoric. “Your little boy has a nasty cough? Give him heroin!” Yes, really.

Having cost a cool US$10 million to build, this museum forms part of the successful Doitung Development Project, which was initiated by the late mother of the King to help the people of the area give up opium-farming in favour of a variety of sustainable farming and craft activities such as manufacturing silk and ceramic products.
   
 

Getting There
There are a variety of ways to get to the Four Seasons Tented Camp, which is an hour’s drive north of Chiang Rai. We took a three-hour morning flight on SilkAir to Chiang Mai airport, where a Four Seasons Landrover and driver met us. The drive takes four hours, and costs about $400 each way. Our obliging driver, Sun, was happy to stop for rest breaks or lunch, and offered to take us to various sites such as Chiang Mai factory outlets for silk, jewellery or wood-carving; a hot spring; the famous White Temple; or the Karen Hill Tribe Village, which we visited on the way back to Chiang Mai – but of course that makes the trip longer. If possible, stop for lunch or a snack at Cabbages and Condoms, halfway between Chiang Rai and Chiang Mai. The food is both cheap and good, all profits go to charity, and the menu promises: “Our food guaranteed not to make you pregnant”.

The Dusit D2 is a bright, energetic, contemporary urban hotel decorated in hues of funky orange and white. It buzzes with good-looking, energetic staff, some so cute that you wish you could adopt them, depending on your age and proclivity. We arrive in time for their evening welcome dance performance (yes, really) in the lobby, where we’re served lemongrass and ginger martinis in glasses that wobble on purpose. The dance is followed by an enthusiastic demonstration of bottle-juggling, fortunately – given the marble floors – using plastic versions of the real thing.

At the far side of the lobby is Moxie’s, usually à la carte but tonight a buffet for a visiting group from Nike. (No, they don’t look any fitter than the average Asian corporate type.) A good spread, and charming service from a ravishing waiter.

Another good reason to stay at the Dusit D2 – and the reason I wanted to stay overnight in Chiang Mai – is that it’s right next to the excellent night market. On a previous visit, it was heaving; this being the quiet season, custom was down to a trickle. I tend not to buy much at markets, but I like this one for its sheer variety: fake watches, China-made shoes and knock-off designer bags jostle with woven silk and other textiles, Thai lamps and handmade silver-and-bead jewellery. You can stop for a beer, a snack or a foot massage and there’s a generally relaxed bonhomie.

At 11pm closing time, it’s a short stroll back to our hotel. I’d like to stay longer to try out the secluded pool on the third level, the stunning gym on the top floor, and the Nirwana spa, which has superb facilities. Both the deluxe rooms and the suites (of course) are spacious, decorated in a neutral palette with the same brilliant orange accents and contrasting textures as you find in the public areas.

The D2 has worked hard to make itself the very opposite of a bland chain hotel. It even has its own catchy lingo: for example, the hotel GM is called the Guru, the Deputy GM is Guru 2, the public relations officer is the PR Whizz, wait-staff are Drink and Dine Agents, the pool attendant is the Dip Agent, the concierge the Trip Agent, and so on. Anywhere else, this might turn the stomach a bit – but in Northern Thailand they manage to make it all utterly delightful.

www.fourseasons.com
www.dusit.com