Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [59]
As we leave the hospital, Vithi says, “You should see the ambulance that brings in the patients.”
Bill laughs. “Maybe we have. Is that where you got our van?”
At the nearby training school a morning class is just ending. Professional instructors called mahouts teach the elephants vocational skills for working in the logging industry, and in some cases, also how to paint like an artist and play musical instruments. One talented fellow is just finishing a drawing of flowers, handling the brush expertly with his trunk. The center sells the paintings to raise money for its other activities.
Vithi asks if any of us want to ride an elephant, and Cheryl volunteers eagerly for herself and Stanley. Apparently the mahout allows the elephant to take charge of the trek rather than keeping him on the usual course. The four go galumphing into the jungle, wading through a river at one point and then splashing across the center of a lake. Cheryl raves about her romp, which she enjoys much more than Bill does his upcoming surprise.
As a last stop before leaving, our leader suggests seeing how the center recycles some of its elephant dung, dumped at the rate of fifty pounds per day for an average animal. He introduces us to the lady in charge of the dung-paper studio, where the staff produces stationery, note cards, and other items to sell in a nearby shop and online. Looking as honest and innocent as a holy man, Vithi tells the woman, “Bill here would like a hands-on lesson in the process.” Feeling sandbagged, Bill gamely follows her instructions, breaking up a massive dried turd into smaller pieces, kneading and whisking the bits around in water to dissolve clumps, smearing the liquid evenly over a screen, and then setting the screen in the sun to dry. While Bill washes his hands vigorously for five or ten minutes, everyone else looks at examples of the finished product, which resemble textured rice paper.
On the outskirts of Lampang, Vithi asks the driver to pull over at the popular Jungle Market. Much of the food here is harvested or captured wild in the hills, a respected tradition that goes back to the earliest settlement of the area. Locals shop here for snakes, lizards, insects, exotic mushrooms and other fungi, whole honeycombs, and more common groceries such as pig parts of every kind, dozens of leaves and herbs, and fried bamboo worms, which, we find with trepidation, taste like hollow French fries. When Pheng gets some sticky rice for his one meal of the day, Vithi grabs a bag of the worms for himself and hospitably shares them with us in a way that seems impolite to refuse.
Much better is the khao soi, sold at a roadside stand-cum-café a couple of miles farther toward town. The most famous dish of the region, it’s a hearty noodle soup created, according to Vithi, by a Muslim Chinese street-food cook in Lampang in the 1920s. This small family-run place, he says, makes the best version in northern Thailand, and to us it’s as good as anything we try in the country. Vithi directs us through a kitchen and takeaway area, near the entrance, to reach a back porch with picnic-style tables. Despite the utter simplicity of the building and furnishings, a scenic river flows directly below the dining room and twenty or so pots of flowering orchids hang at eye level from the eaves of the roof.
The khao soi comes with chicken, pork, or beef. The two of us opt for the latter and order lemongrass juice to drink. The husband of the cook brings out big, steaming bowls loaded with linguinelike wheat