Kierkegaard’s Elephant

I’m at Starbucks at 7:30 in the morning.

I arrived in Chang Mai with a wicked cold. We unpacked, walked around a bit, and then I went to bed. I thought it was going away, but I’m still hacking and sniffling like I was a suspicious addict. Today’s Friday, and there are no signs of clarity on the horizon.

Kristie and I both like this city in northern Thailand much better than Bangkok. It has a university-city feel. Lots of great restaurants and shopping. I had three pairs of pants and a sports coat tailor-made here. I felt like such a big shot. I greased his palm with a 100. The commoners stared in awe.

Yesterday, we went hiking, rafting, and elephant riding. The first two activities were fun, although the rafting was a bit cold. Elephant riding, however, took a few years of life from me. Not only was it a circus atmosphere with the “trainers” beating the animals and throwing rocks at them, but it also felt quite dangerous. Our elephant had a mental problem, we believe, considering that he kept banging his head into the wall and that he tried to walk off a cliff with us attached. Unpleasant. He was experiencing, as Kierkegaard calls it, the “sense of dread.” He was steering his life into the freedom that death brings. I sympathize with this animal, I really do, but I do not want to be perched on him while he is caught in this existential dilemma.

Our friends thought it was great fun, along with a group of Brits who acted like high school boys. They were in awe at the feces dropping from the elephant, and couldn’t seem to enjoy anything else. These were the same boys snapping photos of one of their mates using the outhouse. I suppose it was a circus in more than one way. It was like being in an episode of The Osbournes, only much less interesting.

The books warned about these touristy elephant camps, but we didn’t listen. I mean, who doesn’t want to ride an elephant?