Park life

Thai people love getting close to nature and there are National Parks all over northern Thailand with soaring peaks, cascading waterfalls and enough rare birdlife to fill a twitcher's notebook. I can imagine my dad being very taken with the set-up. They're easily accessible and most have little bungalows or larger lodges that can be booked for overnight stays, and usually a restaurant and shop on site. Just don't try asking for a trail map – I visit five Parks in all and even in the Park HQs, with Clare speaking Thai, they look at us as if we've asked them to dance a jig.

Khun Tan National Park is our first excursion and we take the train from Chiang Mai, passing beautiful little country stations like this one. There's a little old lady opposite who seems to be enjoying the journey too.

The train stops right by the National Park entrance at Khun Tan station. Clare and I trek up through teak trees and bamboo groves to the office – beautifully landscaped with flowers in bloom, sprinklers on full flow and this statue of a poe-faced girl scout – who tell us that yes, we can have a bungalow, for 150 Baht each (about £3), but the shop and the restaurant are both closed today. We've got a sesame bar and two apples and plan to do a 14km trek to the top of the mountain. The lady on duty takes pity on us and says she'll be our takeaway driver and bring us a meal from the village at 6pm.

Off we go up the marked trail. The rainforest is cool so the walk is not too taxing. The only person we meet is a man sawing timber in a hamlet half way up. He gravitates towards us for a chat but insists he's never lonely. We sing a Bulgarian song at the top, naturally. 

Here's a teak leaf. They're so stiff they make brilliant cooling fans. 

Back in our bungalow we devour the food and prepare to bed down (after we've chased out the giant spider and a cockroach, and sealed up the plughole in the bathroom where red ants are marching in). Good job I'm not averse to the odd insect, as I am woken up in the night and have to brush ants off my face and hands).

The next day the restaurant is open but there is nothing I want to eat so I have a wafer and a cake in a packet – all the rage in the 7 Elevens here – and some coffee that tastes of earth and sugar. Ugh. 

The train back is two hours late, two hours we spend at the station, a very beautiful one mind you, singing, playing cards and watching the lady food hawkers jumping on and off southbound trains. A bunch of uniformed men arrive, seemingly to make an inspection of the premises with clipboards and a camera. The best-kept station awards, perhaps.

Here's our train at last, emerging from the tunnel that was completed in 1920 and built migrant workers, many of whom died in the process. The entrance to the Park is just on the left of the tracks. Oh, and the station seemed to be home to several dozen roaming dogs. This one is not the guard's pet. Back on the train, I love that they're open to the elements – with no air-con they have to be – but back west the health-and-safety brigade would have a field day.