Article August 9, 2004 Issue

The elephant's ears assured me I was safe

By Ginny Luedeman

At an elephant camp in Chiang Mai, in the north of Thailand, my adventuresome sister and I climbed aboard a female elephant. Along with a procession of other tourists, we headed into the jungle for a two-hour journey. Each elephant had a bamboo seat for two attached to its back. Because of changes in the forestation in Thailand, these elephant rides have become an essential source of income, providing food for these magnificent animals, and we were happy to support this effort. Our guide, a native Thai man, was clearly amused at our efforts to cling to the bamboo seat as we swayed from side to side—the familiar sights of buildings and people disappearing, and the heat and lush tropical foliage engulfing us.

With the guide's permission, I gingerly crawled forward to sit on the elephant's neck, as I had seen him do. I was determined to get the most out of this ride! Once on her neck—where the swaying was even more pronounced—I discovered there was nothing to hang on to except the rolls on the top of her big ears. But in the inspiration of the moment, I brushed my concerns away.

As we plodded deeper into the jungle, though, I started to get scared. Then, to top it off, the elephant plunged down a steep part of the trail and began to slip in the mud. And because it was so hot, all the elephants started fanning themselves with their ears. Finding it almost impossible to hold on to my elephant's ears, I tried to lean against her head. But going downhill and leaning forward made me feel as if I was going to fall, so instead I tried to lean back. A feeling of panic began to close in on me. And I launched into prayer.

Send a comment to the editors

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE

Article

The thought that saved my life