Mud.

Today someone at the Partners staff meeting asked how the drive up to and back down from the camp was. This question greatly perplexed me, because I am not sure how to describe the drive.

Well, there's the first four hours from Chiang Mai to Pai, which are fine. Twisty but paved roads. Beautiful views. Fine really. Lovely even.

And then there's the last four hours, which apparently is only a 45 minute trip during the dry season. Only one word suffices here:

Mud.

Deep, deep red gooey mud. Not the kind of mud that feels nice to squeeze between your toes, but the kind of mud that if you step in, you will literally have strain your muscles to then pull your shoe (and foot) out of. Not the kind of mud that goes up to your ankle, but the kind of mud that swallows half your calf or more. Not the kind of mud that SUVs equipped with chains merely sink into and stop, but the kind of mud where you feel the truck slipping side to side as you get thrust around the back.

Mud on stunning mountain vistas.

Mud on slicing twists of road.

Totally obliterating mud sweeping across the road, reminding you of a recent mudslide.

Mud.