Once upon a THAI~mmm

I’m going to do my best to unravel the last two days of my life here.

Early one morning, we were picked up from our Airbnb and driven out to meet two men who are now so fondly known in our family as Lah and MuMu. They greeted us with warm handshakes—something we’ve since learned isn’t always customary here. Most Thai people greet each other with a bow. This was their way of meeting us where we are, and it felt like the quiet essence of Thailand itself: kindness, gentleness, and respect woven into everyday moments. Repeated again and again, in almost every interaction.

Anyway—back to Lah and MuMu.

As we were greeting each other, two giant elephants casually wandered past us. Totally caught us off guard. Lah smiled and said, “Oh yes, they roam free here. They do what they want. You can say hi.”

We stood there, sharing a moment with these gentle giants, completely in awe. Then we piled into their vehicles and headed deep into the jungle.

We stopped along the roadside, grabbed our packs, machetes, and water (the boys in flip-flops), and began our trek after meeting Lah’s wife at the trail entrance. She waited with the warmest smile and handed each of us a small offering—rice wrapped beautifully in a banana leaf—for well wishes on our journey.

Only moments into the hike, Lah began teaching us—through broken English—how his people live off the land. He showed us plants that hold water, leaves used as bandages, trees whose bark becomes medicine, and bugs we’d never seen before. Everything had purpose. Everything had a story.

Side note: I’d had a canker sore for days, so when we came across a tree that bled paracetamol, I was all in. He pressed the white paste onto my gums and the pain instantly disappeared. I didn’t even realize until the next day that the sore was completely gone.

Wild. And so cool.

They led us to their favorite watering hole, where we ran into Lah’s youngest child and his friends. They were bursting with excitement, practicing their English—“Hello!!!”—taking pictures, sharing food. Together we prepared the most incredible soup using ingredients from their farms, cooked over fire, served in bamboo and banana leaves.

It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had.

After cleaning up, we swam in waterfalls, then continued on toward their home village. We walked for kilometers through stunning rice fields dotted with cows, chickens, cats, and dogs wandering peacefully through the land.

The little kids in the village were completely in awe of Sloane. They just wanted to stare and talk, even though we didn’t share a language. So it became smiles and giggles, high-fives and fist bumps. Pure joy.

We explored their farms, played with tiny puppies, saw coffee bean plants and watering systems, asked questions about how it all worked—and about their dreams for the future.

When we arrived at Lah’s home, we learned MuMu was actually Lah’s older son’s best friend. He’s learning the ropes because his dream is to become a guide—so he can teach others how they live.

The kids cooked for us again as we lay in hammocks, soaking in the scenery and settling into our accommodations. This place was magic.

My heart tightens when I think about the broken conversations—trying to explain our lives to each other with limited words. But I learned that some things don’t need language at all.

Kindness.
Generosity.
Cooking with love.
Wanting to provide.
Dreaming.
Gratitude for learning.
Helping one another.
Smiles.
Hugs.
Music.
And staring up at the stars in awe.

That shit is universal.

That’s what it’s all about.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude, to know my family experienced this together.

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