Riding High On An Elephant

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If you ever wonder what to add to your life’s bucket list, then make it a ride on an elephant. You won’t regret it.

It’s the best thing I have ever done. Twice. Well. Apart from having my daughter this year… and of course, racing off into the sunset with my husband in the first place (though the husband bit came later)…. which led us to the elephants anyway.

When actually faced with an elephant, and the challenge of climbing onto its back, I was a little scared. It wasn’t just the physical indignity of it all (wear trousers), but also the fact that this was such an amazing animal to get up close and personal with.

So, having climbed a ladder to reach a platform, from which to launch myself into a special seat on the elephant’s back, I was aloft. No seat belts, no front bars to hold onto. Just scooshed up on a little seat, legs akimbo.

Large grey shoulders, neck and ears ahead, the elephant’s trunk wavering gently towards me, welcoming us aboard.

And off we went. Through the jungle we set a slow, lumbering pace. This had me smiling like a loon, quietly revelling in my secret euphoria.

We waded through a river and then up and down narrow, hilly pathways until we reached a clearing on top of what seemed like a mountain. From the top of the elephant, I could see the whole rainforest undulating before me and further, the ocean beyond, strange jungle sounds echoing within the valley before us.

Going downhill on an elephant is a little anxious making to say the least. Steep downhill. As I said, no front bars to hold onto. But I managed to stay on, fearful of falling off but also enjoying every moment, hands out before me, almost hugging the elephant’s warm, dry, bristly neck. Comforted by a friendly trunk tip, which reached back to touch me as if to reassure me.

When we get back to camp, I was little short from wailing ‘Pleeeease, can we do it again!’

Elephants are amazing; one of my favourite animals. Vast, majestic, highly intelligent and gracefully ponderous. I am so glad I had the chance to ride one.

I should also add, that the elephants we met were very well cared for. They each had a name, like the aptly named “Lucky Boy” (the only male calf on Koh Phangan!), and a dedicated carer. And, apart from giving rides into the jungle, they help to work in the forests and mountains in the area.There is a rich history of elephants in Thailand, where they are revered. If you ever visit Thailand, and the temple at Doi Suthep in the North, you will get to see the famous white elephant at the top of 300 steps!

The story goes that when the temple was being planned, the buddha relics that were to be put inside the temple, were carried up the mountain by an elephant. At the spot where the elephant stopped, the temple was to be built. The elephant stopped at the spot where the temple has been built. This is not the top of the mountain, but about halfway up. Needless to say, I was exhausted at the end of my 300 step climb, it’s quite a challenge!

Here are a few links for opportunities to get close to elephants and to help with their continued conservation in Thailand.

http://www.elephantstay.com/

http://www.globalteer.com/projects/thailand-elephant-project.html

http://www.podvolunteer.org/Animals/elephant-care-thailand.html?gclid=COiLhcLo0qwCFQMPfAodqnfy6g

Yarn Bombing the Victorians

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I hope the Victorians had a playful side.

If not, they may well have been deeply unamused by the antics down at our local graveyard today.

But I was. With nothing more pressing to do on a grey day, we ventured down to the local cemetery. As you do.

To scramble (respectfully) amongst the graves of the mighty and good from Bristol, UK, who lived in the 1800s onwards. Arnos Vale Cemetery is a great place to visit though. Certainly for its impressive heritage, history and wildlife (and rather nice cafe which sells cake). But also due to its very eery aspect. Of hidden, ancient graves, sunken and broken, deep within a 45 acre woodland.

Perfect for leaping out behind a headstone making ghoulish noises with a torch under your chin. If you felt the urge.

Terrifying to think of all those cracked stone lids and the old bones that lie underneath.

But the interesting fact is that there was no wood when these graves were originally dug and its worthy occupants buried. In fact it was a rather lovely rolling hill of green fields.

Apparently it was one sycamore tree that started it; its little seedlings on a mission, flying on the wind and trampled underfoot, that got that little forest going.

The place is a positive tourist attraction. Albeit, not quite Pere Lachaise in Paris (which is amazing!); there is no Jim Morrison grave here with its accompanying ‘gifts’, but is certainly fascinating. There is a note worthy Rajah buried here though.


And today, there was even more fun to be had graveside. Attracting car loads of healthy families and ruddy-cheeked children scooting from one yarn to another, was a yarn-bombed graveyard.

Some call it graffiti. But it’s not at all. It’s colourful, creative and playful. And of course, all done very sensitively on this occasion. Which is a shame in a way, I would have loved to have seen a few headstones all snuggled up in a woolly coat (it has been done), but perhaps the Victorians within weren’t taken to snuggling.If you are not familiar with yarn bombing already, here’s a quickie insight of what it is. Click this link to a cool site http://yarnbombing.com/