Mrs. Jumbo and I

I love elephants.

I made this point vehemently to our Thai taxi driver, Ben, who was ferrying us about the Khao Kheow Open Zoo, 40 miles outside of Pattaya. Ben was intent on making sure we missed nothing, but I can do without aviaries. We have exotic birds in Florida.  Elephants, not so much.

"Mai nok. Chop chang!" I insisted. This means, basically, "Screw the birds. I like elephants," and Ben understood and obliged us.

I've seen elephants up close before, petted a bristly little baby in Chiang Mai, and watched them wield paintbrushes to create astounding drawings of flowers and trees. I've read Water for Elephants, the basic theme of which is the old saw that an elephant never forgets. I've watched Dumbo so many times with my kids that I can sing a mama elephant's lullaby to her baby. I suspect they might be smarter than us, and they have good hearts.  At least Asian elephants do.

How can one not love such a sweet, albeit large, doe-eyed creature?

So, I approached the elephant enclosure at Khao Kheow with a bagful of bananas and a joyful heart. I'd fed an elephant only sugarcane before, but I figured if they have a sweet tooth they must like bananas, too. I offered a whole banana to one adolescent, who promptly threw it on the ground and scared the hell out of Bill by giving him a kiss instead.

Then its mother strode forward to set me straight. She nibbled some leaves from a branch inside the enclosure and turned to me.

This time, I peeled a banana. She took it delicately with her snout and popped it into her fuzzy mouth. I followed up with the peel, which she liked as well. Meanwhile, her children wandered off.

When I stopped feeding bananas to her for a moment, she seized the branch, threw it over the log fence, and then struggled to get a grip on it, to haul it back inside. I handed it back to her, and she returned it to its place at her feet.

We were bonding.

At this point, it seemed appropriate to show her a sign of respect and gratitude for our interaction. I stepped back, placed my hands together in a prayerful and deep Thai wai, and bowed to her, saying, "Kap kun kah, chang" ("Thank you, Mrs. Elephant.")  Then something astonishing happened. She raised her trunk in her own wai and bowed her head in solemn response. I couldn't believe my eyes. Neither could Bill, who was snapping photos like mad.

                         

Then she politely requested another banana.

We both enjoyed this so much that we continued the same exchange of gestures until the bag of bananas was empty.

Long ago, a mahout probably taught her this trick for an elephant show, and she in turn taught it to me. I consider myself lucky that the trick didn't also involve her seizing the trainer and placing him on her back.