After a day of rest yesterday, visiting... What exactly?...
More temples... I just can’t help myself...
Today’s the big day—the getaway I’ve been waiting for over six months... The waterfalls of Doi Inthanon National Park.
They were recommended by a traveler who wants to stay anonymous... He kept telling me over and over that he only wanted to share his secret with me...
So, to respect his wishes, I’ll stay vague about the route and the name of these “secret” waterfalls. Not so secret after all, really. 😉
From what I understood, the secret lies in how you approach them, in a very specific order. Since we agreed, I’d carefully explained the route to the driver—the names of the waterfalls and the direction I wanted to explore them...
We’d arranged to meet at 7 a.m.
This time, not only was he on time, but he showed up fifteen minutes early...
- The day will be long... he warned me.
And sure enough, we set off at 7:05...
I’d set up my camera to take photos along the way. By choosing a fast shutter priority—1/2000th or even 1/2500th—I could snap away with the window down...
Another thing drivers don’t like—most prefer to blast the AC, roll up the windows, and speed along as fast as the road allows...
I wasn’t sure how my Thai driver would react, but Indian drivers, for example, love to just drive, drive, drive without stopping for a photo every kilometer. And I get it. Unfortunately, when the road is stunning and breathtaking the whole way, and you see a new view with every turn, it’s frustrating for a photographer not to be able to stop.
That’s why I adjusted my settings this way. A lot of photos end up being tossed, but many turn out extraordinary. Sometimes you get a shot with a big power line, a rock, or a tree right in the middle. But other times, you stumble upon something magical—like a shepherd, an old villager, or a child—whose face appears in your lens without you even trying, beautiful and alive, just as remarkable as a portrait you’d spend ages setting up, yet without capturing the truth of a glance, a smile, or a wrinkle on their forehead...
If it were up to me, my travel journals would only have text, maybe the occasional photo... But while a *Dolma* might love that kind of journal, many people prefer lots of photos—sometimes with barely any text, or just a word or two. In that case, it’s more of a photo album than a journal... Personally, I’d rather send my readers to check out my personal albums... Especially since they’ll find even more beautiful images there than mine. So, since photos are what they’re after, they might as well enjoy them to their heart’s content.
I’d imagined discovering, as we drove, the unusual and enchanting landscapes of a “postcard Thailand.” Nope! We took some kind of highway with no interest, monotonous and depressingly dull, and that’s how it was practically until we entered the park...
Then we began a long climb up a road lined on both sides by what looked like walls of trees. When the curtains of vegetation parted now and then, I couldn’t help but think of the Himalayas—the Himachal Pradesh, Kashmir, Ladakh, Zanskar—so much more spectacular.
Plus, it’s currently the season for deciduous leaves, like autumn back home. All you see are eerie forests filled with skeletal trees, no leaves in sight.
No views. Disappointing.
We reached the first checkpoint... No payment required.
- You pay at the second checkpoint, a little further... 300 baht, the driver tells me...
I appreciate that the price is the same for locals and foreigners. I can’t stand discrimination in any form... After paying, we drove on and passed a barrier, but no one checked us...
- What’s the point of paying if they don’t even check?...
- They’ll verify a few kilometers further when we reach the summit...
2565m
It’s really cold. I’m glad I brought my down jacket. The weather is beautiful, the sky an intense blue—almost Ladakh-blue. Unfortunately, a kind of haze floats on the horizon below the mountain. You can tell the panorama must be amazing, a 360° view of the valley, but today it’s completely swallowed by a thick sea of mist.
My disappointment doesn’t end there...
When we arrive at the parking lot, I’m stunned by the number of cars already there, despite the early hour. I imagine it’s going to be a nightmare with all those people...
I suddenly feel like I’ve walked through the gates of a public park!
I was expecting a place more like in India, in the Himalayas, or elsewhere in the mountains—a big parking lot, sure, with signs showing the altitude, maybe a food stand or two, but wide-open spaces, nature all around, trails leading off in every direction. Instead, it feels like we’ve arrived at a public garden. Not a blade of grass! Paved or asphalt paths through manicured spaces, artificial flowerbeds, and even a fake lake with a fake “old” bridge. It’s pretty, no denying that, but it’s artificial, overdone—just like the Thai tendency to go overboard with appearances. You’d never guess you’re in the middle of nature at the top of a mountain. No matter where you look, it’s nothing but chedis and modern buildings, monumental staircases—all so exaggerated for a mountaintop.
I even spot an... escalator! To reach the final summit, where the Astronomical Observatory is.
How could my friend, who knows my love for nature, recommend such a sophisticated, grandiose, and artificial place?...
All that way, for... this! I could’ve cried in frustration.
The flowerbeds are gorgeous, but I didn’t come to Thailand to end up in a public park like any big French or European city, with everything perfectly lined up...
Now, as I write these lines, looking back at my photos and rereading my notes and messages to loved ones, I wonder if I was under some kind of spell—how else could I have kept saying I loved Thailand? So far, I’ve only found places that don’t satisfy me, that disorient me with their polished, sterile banality. It’s so far from the chaotic but natural, picturesque, and authentic India I love so much!
In the end, I’m not sure where all those car occupants are—there doesn’t seem to be a crowd, but maybe they’re in the religious buildings they love so much or in the little eateries and restaurants. Not everyone’s in the same place at the same time. I notice there are very few Western tourists—you could count them on one hand. Most visitors are Thai or possibly other Asian tourists.
Even though I take some beautiful photos of the flowerbeds, I don’t see the point in staying here. I’m eager to get to the waterfalls in nature, but first, I stop at one of the places the driver suggests for breakfast—mostly because he knows I’m desperate for a bathroom break in the mornings...
I order a coffee—Nescafé instant, honestly terrible—and a plate of rice with pork that’s really not good. It’s not even spicy and has no flavor at all.
It’s already past 10:30 when we get back to the car.
As we start descending, I see several signs pointing to waterfalls that remind me of the names my friend mentioned. The driver skips one or two—or at least, I get the impression he’s not following the route or the order of the waterfalls I’d given him based on my friend’s advice. The latter had recommended a very specific order. But since I don’t have my notes handy and can’t remember any of these Thai names, I say nothing. I don’t want to start arguing with him. I’ll have to ask my friend later why he’d planned such a particular route.
We reach the first waterfall—not the first on my list—at almost 12:30. You have to pay 200 baht. I don’t like natural places being taken over by some administrative service just to charge an entrance fee.
That said, the fee seems justified because a guide is mandatory, and they lend you a sturdy bamboo stick for the hike. 😉 Now I get it. The driver is told I’ll be doing a 1.5-hour circuit and that he should pick me up further downstream.
This trek through the jungle is finally a real pleasure. Here, at last, we’re in nature, and I appreciate having a guide through this lush tropical forest—here, all the trees are in leaf. The young woman doesn’t speak English because she’s a local villager, and that’s fine by me. She’s very patient, letting me take photos. She points out and explains things I already know—trees, plants, flowers, and fruits that also exist in India, especially in Kerala. But at one point, she taps her bamboo stick toward “something” above my head while I’m photographing the surrounding vegetation. At first, I don’t see anything, and no matter how much she insists or how wide I open my eyes, I don’t understand what she’s trying to show me. I’m about to humor her by pretending to see it when, coiled around a branch just above my head, I recognize it from one of Joël’s (Jojoone1) travel journals—the orange eye, the sleek, elegant, and stunning body in its acrobatic emerald costume: the Asian lancehead, scientifically known as Trimeresurus albolabris
https://www.nationalgeographic.fr/animaux/les-attaques-de-serpents-les-plus-spectaculaires#:~:text=LE%20FER%20DE%20LANCE%20ASIATIQUE, peu%20dangereux%20»—obviously wrong.
A beautiful green snake with strange orange eyes, extremely aggressive, highly venomous, but not deadly since there’s a specific antivenom. However, experts who’ve been bitten say it’s the most horribly painful bite imaginable.
It blends right into the foliage. You’d think if a snake like that fell on you, you’d be done for.
Further on, the waterfall comes into view through the lush vegetation. It’s very beautiful, but completely in full sun with extreme brightness, the water so white from the strong current that I can’t get the settings right—shutter speed, aperture, ISO... Even with exposure compensation. I would’ve needed an ND filter, which I don’t have on my new camera. Luckily, its passage through the shade just before the drop lets me take a few nice shots. But the photos of the falls themselves are all ruined.
A little further, a surprise awaits me. The waterfall is even more spectacular, crashing down with such force that it creates a real cloud of water droplets that envelops and sprays you as you pass. The sight is impressive. It’s even riskier to take a photo without damaging the camera, especially since the bridge below is extremely slippery.
I’ll settle for a photo etched in my memory—one that will surely grow even more beautiful as I get older...
Since the walk is beautiful overall, I’m not disappointed. I make up for it with landscape photos. The guide vaguely points out the village—whose name I’ve forgotten. We were supposed to visit it, according to my plan. But that would’ve required following the directions my friend gave me, and I realize that despite his honeyed smile and constant “my friend”s, the driver isn’t sticking to my itinerary. He’s doing whatever he wants, and it’s ruining my enjoyment a bit. Still, I bite my tongue to avoid making a scene or being unpleasant.
I’d been told the circuit would take about 1.5 hours. In reality, it took us nearly two. Especially since, toward the end, we stop at a little stall nestled in the vegetation by the path, where village women sell handwoven items. They’re very friendly and cheerful, not pushy at all—they just show me their work. I’d love to buy something, but I left my wallet in my bag in the car.
As if reading my mind—or my body—they offer to let me use the bathroom. Like you’d ask a child: “Don’t you need to pee?” I appreciate the offer, especially since my bladder is about to burst.
Our circuit didn’t include a “bathroom spot,” and I really needed to go but didn’t dare ask the woman, so I held it in until we got back. The driver had made it clear that you can’t just relieve yourself in nature in Thailand, even in the middle of the forest. I can’t imagine Thais never pee outside of official restrooms. 😉😉😉
We set off again for about another kilometer and arrive at the meeting point. They offer me an excellent coffee—such a change from this morning’s awful Nescafé. I meet up with the driver again and ask if I can get my bag from the car. I’d like to tip this kind guide. But by the time the driver brings my bag, the young woman has slipped away without me noticing, and I didn’t get to give her a little tip...
The driver—whose name I never learned, he’d introduced himself as Mr. Bird!—takes me to another big waterfall you can drive right up to. There’s a large parking lot and restaurants scattered all around. And a lot of people too. We have a decent lunch there. I order a delicious plate of stir-fried noodles with shrimp and coconut water. I get that same bad coconut water taste I’ve sometimes hated in Bangkok. I don’t know why, but sometimes coconuts just taste off. At least to me. The nut seems fresh, the water is clear, but the taste is weird. I’ve never had this unpleasant experience before in India or any other tropical place... I don’t think it’s an old coconut, even though I once saw a sign at a stall that said: NEW! Is it a Thai coconut variety?
After our meal, I approach the waterfall—also beautiful, though more “tamed”—but there are just too many people. I don’t linger.
It’s now 3:15 p.m., and as we get back to the car, the driver suddenly announces:
- We’re going back, but on the way, I’ll take you to one last waterfall.
At first, I say nothing, then I hear my little voice:
- What? Seriously? You’re not going to just swallow that, are you? You’re not going to let this sit just to avoid making a scene?
- What do you mean, the last one? I say. There are five planned. This one—where we’re leaving from—is only the second...
- We have to hurry because it’s going to close. There... We’ll go to the third...
He more or less dodges what I just said and continues:
- After that, we’ll go see the temple you mentioned.
And we drive, drive, drive, drive... Once again, he doesn’t seem to know this waterfall or where it is but doesn’t dare say so to avoid “losing face.” 😉 We finally find it. It’s a bit uphill, and we have to climb a little... We see a kind of control hut, but we don’t have to pay. He talks to the woman in the booth for a moment and tells me:
- We have to hurry because it’s already 3:40 p.m., and she says it’s going to close.
But what’s he talking about? We’re in nature, on a path—there’s no barrier, no rope blocking the way... How can “it” close?...
The waterfall isn’t far, and it’s not impressive but very pretty. This time, the lighting is perfect, and I can take some nice shots.
On the way back from this third waterfall, he starts again:
- Now, we’re going back...
I feel my temper rising, and he must see it because he argues:
- The old lady said it was closed, that it closes at 4 p.m., and it’s 3:50. It’ll close in ten minutes, so we don’t have time to go to the last one you mentioned. And he shows me a piece of paper with his “schedule” for the day.
I’m even more annoyed because he skipped one—when I check my own notes, there are indeed five waterfalls on the day’s circuit, but we wasted precious time at that stupid “Public Garden” at the top of Doi Inthanon, which I had no interest in. And I’ve been biting my tongue all morning, thinking we wouldn’t have time to see them all...
A little angry, I retort:
- Show me the paper I gave you from the first day of our agreement.
He thinks I want to check the number of waterfalls we’d planned together... He stammers:
- Yeah, okay, we’ll go to the fourth, but when we get there, it’ll be closed...
- Well, we’ll see. How can it be closed? It’s nature, not a temple, not a museum, not a building... It’s not paid entry, no tickets to hand out, so there’s no barrier... Nature doesn’t close...
But he insists:
- It’ll close in 20 minutes—should we take the chance?
- Yeah, of course we’ll take the chance! We’ll see if it’s closed, if there’s a barrier... But I want to check for myself. I’m pretty sure it won’t be closed. You can’t block access to a waterfall in nature.
So he starts searching on his GPS... And once again, we drive, drive, drive, drive, drive... Sure enough, my friend had mentioned it was a bit further than the others. I’d told the driver too, but he’d pretended not to see.
While driving, he tells me about Makha Bucha Day, which marks the anniversary of the Great Assembly around the Buddha in the Veluvana garden. He’s in a hurry to get back because tonight they’re celebrating. A big meal, I think—whether it’s a family dinner or a community gathering, I’m not sure... He just says they’ll eat well, drink well, and have a good laugh, adding that they’ll be drinking a lot too...
He keeps checking his GPS, which tells him to turn left or right... We cover I don’t know how many kilometers, and at one point, the GPS says we’ve arrived. There’s nothing. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in front of a tiny path. No parking lot—pretty surprising. No vehicles! Even though the whole way, we’d seen big signs with the name of the waterfall in question.
- Why do you keep relying on your GPS when you just have to follow the signs? They’re clear enough.
He finally admits:
- I’m like you—I’ve never been here, so I’m looking, I need the GPS because there’s no one to ask...
- Maybe we haven’t gone far enough since the signs say we’re going the right way...
So he drives a little further. Still nothing, even though the GPS keeps telling him to get back on the route where it said we’d arrived. So we turn back.
Then, luckily, a guy passes by on a moped. He flags him down, and the guy says we haven’t gone far enough—that the waterfall is 2 km further than where the GPS claims we’ve arrived.
I laugh to myself because he wouldn’t listen when I told him the same thing.
We finally arrive at the waterfall, and it’s almost 5 p.m.!
I’m amazed! Of course, it’s not the best season, but there’s still enough water flowing to realize it’s the most beautiful one of the day. It’s magnificent! In the right season, it must be stunning!
The place is lively, but it’s not crowded—just locals. No tourists. The atmosphere is absolutely friendly and warm. Families, a group of young boys and girls—we chat with them, mostly him, since they don’t speak English.
Our stress is gone, my frustration has vanished, and so have his regrets. He even calls his wife to show her the waterfall live. He’s downright euphoric, thanking me over and over:
- It’s wonderful! I’ve never been here in my life! You’re the one who showed me this place. Thank goodness you insisted we come and kept going even when we couldn’t find it. It’s the most beautiful one of the day! And I almost missed it if I’d listened to you...
He’s not sulking anymore. He chats with the young people. He’s not in a hurry to get back... If anything, it’s me who has to tell him it’ll be getting dark soon and we need to leave if he wants to make it to his big feast on time...
It’s after 6 p.m. We get to my hotel at 7:30...
I’ll realize much later, when I tell my friend, that he never would’ve imagined the driver would take me to the top of Doi Inthanon—a place he himself finds uninteresting.
Once again, the driver did whatever he wanted, based on his own tastes and interests.
I spent the whole day digging through my notes, my memory, and photos to piece together the places and times. And now I’m exhausted—I just want to go to bed... I’ll add a few more photos tomorrow...
A little sneak peek?
Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...
I’m inviting you on a stroll through my drawings—a completely subjective, far from exhaustive, and totally personal take, since it’s based on my own sketches. I put this travel journal together after returning in late 2024, mostly using felt-tip pens and pencils, with a few collages thrown in. I worked from our personal photos.
And in Kyoto, Nishiki Market:
Since Albania isn’t part of Europe when it comes to phone service (at least not yet! :-)), we had to buy a physical SIM card—otherwise, the bill would’ve been sky-high if we’d used our French plan! We got one from Vodafone AL at the airport. You can buy online before leaving with a virtual SIM (e-SIM) for compatible phones, so you don’t have to swap cards. But given the uncertainty about choosing a plan online, we preferred buying one directly at Tirana Airport. Cost: 31 € for 100 GB. That’s way too much—100 GB is overkill. For 40 GB, it’s 27 €, and the plan lasts 21 days. The price difference isn’t huge, and it was cheaper than online. This plan covers all the countries along the Balkan range.
Money tip: All guesthouses and accommodations accept euros. The local currency in Albania is the LEK. In Montenegro, it’s the euro. Bank fees for withdrawing money from an ATM in Albania are pretty steep: 8 € for a withdrawal of 600–700 LEK (about 200 €)! So it’s better to withdraw cash (euros) in France. Oh, and we booked all our accommodations before leaving, but payment is always in cash. Budget around 400–500 € for 9 days of trekking.
I really liked Shköder, especially its pedestrian street lined with restaurants and lit up at night. It’s a great place to stroll and eat. The food isn’t expensive—two big salads and two beers: 14 € :-) . Fruit prices are also very reasonable: 3 € for a kilo of cherries, compared to 9–10 € in France.
Religions coexist peacefully in these countries—Catholics and Muslims. From our balcony, my friend heard the call to prayer for the first time, coming from one of the city’s mosques.
We slept in the heights of Theth at a new guesthouse, "Mountain Vista Shkafi," with an amazing view.
But Bologna’s real charm lies in its porticoes, which were added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2021: 62 km of arcades running along buildings, letting you walk sheltered from the sun or rain. Back in 1288, the city required houses to include private arcades for public use. In the city center, you can stroll under 32 km of porticoes in all sorts of styles—some plain, some ornate—with a strong presence of red tones.
