Elephant adventures at Anantara

Tramping off through the mud at the elephant camp at Anantara. Photos by David Lansing.

Americans have so many consumer protection laws that, I think, we are more susceptible to disaster than other nationalities. We ride roller-coasters that travel upside down at 80 mph because we assume the ride has been tested and deemed safe. We go white water river rafting on Class III rapids, smiling and taking pictures, sure that our river guide has been thoroughly trained to make sure our craft doesn’t flip. And we climb on the backs of wild elephants because someone says we can.

Early in our elephant adventure, Linda got hurt. She probably shouldn’t have even been participating (she’s of a certain age and certain body type that would suggest climbing atop an elephant was crazy) but what the hell, right? The mahout told her it was okay. He told her to try and lift her leg high enough to use the elephant’s bent knee as a step. And when she couldn’t pull herself up and over the elephant’s neck, three mahouts got behind her and pushed and shoved her from behind until she had enough momentum that she was able to get a leg up. And that’s when she screamed.

“Get me off…Get me off now!”

The mahouts smiled and nodded.

“I’m hurt! I’ve done something to my leg! Get me off!”

She was white. She was obviously in a lot of pain. But nobody seemed to know what to do about it. Once you’re on top of an elephant, it’s not like you can just hop off. Particularly if you’ve pulled a hamstring or something, which is what I suspected she had done.

Eventually it was decided to force the elephant to first kneel, and then when it became apparent that it would still be impossible for Linda to get off her pachyderm, the mahouts forced her elephant to lay down on its side. Watching this I kept thinking, the elephant is going to roll over her. Linda was panicking a bit at this point, yelling at everyone, gripping tight to the elephant’s ears, thrashing about (Rule 11 of the Golden Safety Rules for a New Mahout: Avoid sudden movements and loud noises close to your elephant). But the elephant did well. The elephant slowly lay on its side and the mahouts were able to pluck Linda off its back. Linda was immediately taken back off to a local clinic while the rest of us stood around looking at each other, as one does in these circumstances, as if we weren’t sure what, exactly, had just happened.

Nonetheless, the show went on. The others, still on their elephants, paraded down the muddy road towards a large, latte-colored pond in the forest, where the mahouts directed the elephants in to the water. Liz, surprised, said, “Wait…where are we going?”

The elephants continued in to the water. At first Liz was smiling. Then she gasped as her elie dipped his large head under the water and she began to slide off the front (I was wondering at the time if she remembered Rule 10: In the water, stay away from the legs and the trunk—if you fall off into deep water, swim away from your elephant).

“Okay, I want off now!” Liz yelled. The mahout, who spoke no English, smiled and nodded. The elephant completely submerged himself. Liz screamed and threw her hands up. I waited for her to go under the water as well. But she didn’t. Somehow she managed to hold on. Or at least stay on. Probably the worst thing would have been if she’d panicked and tried to jump off (Rule 6: Never jump off your elephant while they are moving).

Then the elephant came back up. Liz screamed again. No doubt she was thinking, The mahouts allowed the elephants to go in to the water with us on their backs—it has to be okay, right?

And it was. Nobody was injured (we’ll have to wait and see about Linda) though some were certainly shaken up. A good learning experience for all. Rule 14: Always trust your instincts. This isn’t one of the mahout rules on the board at the elephant camp—it’s mine.