While Nazma and I work really well together, almost four months of constant togetherness can take its toll. We, of course, have diverging interests: Nazma seems to like painting her toenails every so often, and I hate feet. So when I found a one-day tour unlike any of the hundreds of cookie-cutter “treks” in Chiang Mai, the lightbulbs went off over both our heads. She could have her salon and shopping day, while I traipsed around the wilderness doing manly things.

The grand-day-out was a Thai-army “survival course” which had just started up a few weeks before. The upshot of this is by the time you read this, my ugly mug will likely be plastered all over the freshly printed brochures. The tour was run by Jane, the brutally honest lady whose internet cafe we would always end up at. “Brutally honest” as demonstrated one time I was there, when she tried to sell the tour to these two Brits. When they declined and left, she told me, without a hint of cattiness, “Probably because one of them is too fat”. Sure thing, Jane.

Jane’s brothers are in the Thai army, and to supplement their income apparently they have some kind of arrangement to let yokels like me into their jungle training compound on the weekends to do a bit of a hike and some other sanitised (i.e. less psychologically debilitating) but still interesting activities.

So five others and myself were whisked off in the back of a pickup early in the morning to the compound. First off we were shown snakes, and how to handle them. Things didn’t bode well when the first snake they pulled out of the bag bit the handler dude, but he seemed to take it pretty well. If it’s got its fangs in you, the trick apparently is not to move suddenly, and he won’t venom you. Thanks for the advice. The two girls in our troupe were already pretty squeamish, and took this opportunity to hide behind the truck.

Language barriers being what they are, I couldn’t identify for you which snakes we saw. We got to hold pythons, though, and he pulled a cobra out of a rice-sack and showed us how to suppress it. Then I had to pee and while I was gone they pulled out one that was even worse than the cobra; not even the handlers went near it. Pics were taken but the photos are somewhere in the Pacific right now, en route by slow boat back to Vancouver along with all the booty we picked up in Bangkok/Chiang Mai.

Next they showed us some useful jungle plants. Lemongrass apparently repels mosquitoes. Another one, when chewed, tasted like lemon but apparently stops thirst. One was some kind of iodine plant for cuts. There were a few different kinds that were for “man power”, if you know what I mean. The Thais seem to be obsessed with this. “Well, I won’t be needing that, haha”, we all said to each other, manly men that we were.

Then they set up some fruit on stands and we had a little crossbow tutorial and tournie. This is tougher than it looks, and the equipment was pretty shoddy (yeah, that’s it). I hit an apple on my second practice shot (the only one to do so) but when it came time for the actual contest I went 0 for 5. Mind you, I watched the army guys go afterwards and they weren’t much better, so that’s why I can blame the equipment.

We set off on our little hike, up for about an hour to the top of the waterfall. The plan was to do a 3-stage abseil down, with the last stage in the waterfall. My harness looked like something had been at the loop where the main-line/belay device attaches. When I pointed this out, Jane gave me another one, but took the gnawed one herself. “I’m lighter. No problem.” Sure thing, Jane.

On the first stage, down a little crevasse in the rock, I got a taste of the iodine plant firsthand when I cut a knuckle on the rock face. They found a nearby bush, crushed up some leaves, and rubbed it into the wound.

Second stage was a bit freakier but still dry, at least. This was on a sheer face down the side of the waterfall, and the splash pool below looked pretty tiny. Still, no problem, and I arrived at a little lip right beside the rushing water. I was third up and watched everyone before me go, but when I traversed into the water, I completely blacked out.

I’ve never liked water, but I’d never known what a phobia was like until now. I started hyperventilating and while my conscious brain remembers everything, this primitive hindbrain reflex kicked in and all I wanted to do was get out as soon as possible. I scrambled back to the lip, but as soon as I was out I’d already forgotten why I was so afraid. Honest Jane was very sympathetic – “No problem, maybe you try again, but don’t worry.” I stood by while everyone cycled through and went, but I was totally lucid: part of my mind was thinking about how I’d explain a failure on the blog. I was determined to try again.

Second time around I think I lasted longer in the water, but I wasn’t moving. My mind was screaming you can’t breathe, and I just stood there in the waterfall, gulping air and mountain stream, while Jane screamed for me to come back to the ledge. In the end, the height wasn’t the problem: it was this uncontrollable fear of drowning. They pulled my sodden, quivering wreck of a body out of the water and I slumped down the side, around the waterfall through the forest and down to where everyone was already waiting. One of the girls handed me a shot of something and commiserated. It turned out to be sangsom (Thai whisky); a few refills later, I’d calmed down pretty well, and the abseil became a very abstract memory.

One of the army guys had been doing the entire trek in his flip-flops, including abseils. He did the waterfall portion backwards (face down). Nice. By now, all the army guys were down and were prepping lunch. Here they showed us all the techniques they’d had to come up with to cook food in the jungle. They had hollow bamboo segments filled with soup and rice, double-boiler plastic bags full of sticky rice hanging from a bamboo tripod over the fire, and chicken/beef/pork sides roasting. Then they dug up the fire and underneath they’d buried bundles of rice, steaming in underwear, wrapped in banana leaves. Whatever it takes, I guess, but let me tell you, that, washed down with water and sangsom, was the best lunch I’d had in a long time.

Afterwards we hiked back down to the truck for the short drive to our last stop, a 35ft-high tower and zipline where they do basic parachute training for the troops. After the water, this was nothing; we strapped on our helmets and harnesses and I was the first one up.

Bravado aside, there’s still a quiver that runs through you when you’re tramping up the stairs. Two guys strap you onto the zipline, and there’s probably only a 2-3 meter drop before the harness takes you. Still, the ground is pretty far away, and it is Thailand, even if they have insurance. Feet placed here, stare straight ahead, no clutching onto the side of the tower (I imagine all kinds of fingernail marks there but I was a bit busy to check). On the count of three, you’re supposed to jump well clear of the tower on your own, but I could swear I felt a knee in my back at two-and-a-half. Out I went and the world spun out of control until the harness went yank. Then I was rushing down the zipline toward the far end, where another line clotheslines your harness and you swing up 90° before swinging to a halt. This was by far the worst part: that final downswing + harness + manly loins = bruised peaches.

The stepladders were brought out, someone grabbed my leg, and I was unhooked and sent on my way. It was so good they let me go twice. Jane felt badly about the abseil, and I had something to prove. The second time was just as much fun, if a bit scarier, only because I was dreading that downswing at the end.

Part of the deal is you get awarded “wings” by a 5-star general once you’ve made your jump. As deplorably cheesy as this sounds, after the day we’d had, damned right we’d better get our wings. There was a palpable sense of accomplishment and we were all pretty pensive on the drive back into town, the wind rushing and the sun setting in the nearby mountains.

Nazma, toenails still drying, was there at the guesthouse to greet me as I returned, flushed with triumph, completely unaware of my manky jungle-stained clothes and parachute-helmet-hair. Clutching my wings and bundle of lemongrass, for a long time afterward I couldn’t stop grinning, like a little boy who’d just done something really cool.