After a 30-year elephant infatuation, newsreader Sacha McNeil travels to Thailand to finally get up close to these lumbering giants. At the Elephant Nature Park she discovers why the elephant, despite decades of suffering and neglect, remains Thailand’s national icon
Photos: Sacha McNeil and Dean Easterbrook
When I was four years old I asked Father Christmas for a baby elephant, and couldn’t understand why I received only a stuffed toy. After 30 years of fascination with the grey giants, I finally came face to face with the magical creatures that I’d always wanted to meet.
On arriving in Bangkok, it’s immediately clear that elephants hold celebrity status in Thailand—their image adorns countless toys, temples, restaurants and hotel lobbies. At the city’s night markets another image confronts us: elephants begging with their owners. On rural roads we see them lumbering along, carrying people or heavy loads on their backs.
Most of the 60 million Thais are Buddhists. Although Buddhism holds the elephant in high esteem as a symbol of the strength of the mind, reverence for Thailand’s national symbol contrasts curiously with the treatment of these endangered animals. Elephants have the same rights as farm animals—none.
And the future looks bleak. At the start of last century there were 100,000 Asian elephants in Thailand. That number has dwindled to around 4,000 because of hunting, encroachment on their grazing land by the increasing human population, and the lack of work for domestic elephants after the country’s 1989 logging ban. Those that survive lead a grim life.
If you’re prepared to ditch the usual travel guides, visitors can enjoy a humane Thai elephant experience at the Elephant Nature Park. It’s an hour-and-a-half north of Chiang Mai, but don’t expect the locals to have heard of this magical place. Here a courageous local woman is making a huge impact on the lives of a few Thai elephants—and any visitors to the sanctuary.
This fix of do-good travel—voluntourism as it’s increasingly called—begins at the local market, where we eagerly help load two trucks with yesterday’s over-ripe, leftover fruit and veggies. A quick ride through Thailand’s rich green countryside delivers us to the Elephant Nature Park: over 300 hectares of land nestled at the foot of lush, forested hills, sliced in half by a wide brown river.
On our arrival, the slow-moving, gentle-looking giants lope into view, tails swatting flies, Dumbo ears drooping in the heat. They emerge from behind trees, lumber down dirt tracks and trundle across paddocks to greet the keen foreigners who have come to watch, feed and bathe them.
There are close to 30 elephants in total, and each one has a story. Maximus is a four-metre-high bull who started life hauling logs. He later begged on the streets of Bangkok for his owner until he was hit by a truck, and now has trouble walking. Malai Tong’s back left foot was blown off by a landmine, while Jokia, who worked in the logging trade near the Burma border for years, was stabbed in the eyes and blinded. Hope arrived as a one-year-old orphan on the verge of death. Now aged five, he’s one of the confident locals.
Others have been rescued from torture by former owners, some carry scars from chainsaw attacks by ivory hunters, others have spine damage resulting from their labours in the logging industry.
Salvation for each grey pachyderm came in the form of Sangduen Chailert, introduced to us simply as Lek. Tiny in stature, she’s dwarfed by her grateful herd, but radiates kindness and empathy.
Lek opened the Elephant Nature Park after meeting a Texan businessman who was so impressed with her that he immediately agreed to bankroll the park. More than a decade and 30 elephants later, the park has developed into a successful eco-tourism destination. For her activities as an animal activist, Lek has faced death threats, attacks and has even had guns pulled on her. In 2005, Time magazine named her Asian Hero of the Year, and Paul McCartney, Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt and Meg Ryan all endorse her work. Despite these impressive achievements her humility is striking.
Lek now travels on a regular basis to rural villages to teach and listen—always keeping an eye out for a new four-legged friend. She understands the all-important relationship between elephant and mahout (the elephant’s constant companion and carer) but teaches new ways of treating and training elephants, rather than the ancient ritual of ‘breaking in’—an ordeal that most trekking, performing or street-working elephants in Thailand undergo early in life.
This 500-year-old rite of passage sees elephants strapped into wooden structures, then hit, poked with sticks and stabbed with hooks for days on end, until their spirit is broken and they supposedly know their human owners are in charge.
During bath time at the park, it’s hard to believe these great beasts have gone through such ordeals. It seems only fair that they should enjoy a little pampering, submerged in the yellow water while we throw water over their backs and scrub their creased skin with brushes. It’s an experience they clearly adore.
We’re surrounded by the towering animals. Nearby, little Aura clumsily runs through the water, splashing everyone around her as she searches for her mum. Aura’s been playful all day, cheekily pointing her small trunk at sweet bananas and tossing aside corn cobs at feeding time. Her mother came from a trekking camp and a life that Aura will thankfully never have to endure. There’s something about this three-year-old that reminds me of why I wanted an elephant like her from Father Christmas. Her love of life is infectious—all elephants should have the opportunity to live like this.
