Mom took a trip to Thailand circa 2013. She wrote this story about the trip.

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Hey all you cynics out there. I want to issue you a warning. I want to let you know that you're never too old to fall in love.
Just when you think that your hormones are as quiescent as lizards sun bathing on a boulder, something can just happen to send you off on another trip to Loveland.

It happened to me when I was visiting the Mae Taeng Valley in Northern Thailand. This was the 13th day of the tour. Our tour group had spent the night in the Rydges Hotel in Chiang Mai and the scheduled event for the day was a visit to the Maetamann Rafting and Elephant Camp.

We were a small group of sixteen Americans and had a large air conditioned bus. Anyone who wanted a seat by the window had one. The Thai people, particularly the children, wave a lot at tour buses, so we were all happily occupied waving back and watching the passing scene.

When we arrived at the elephant camp we were handed a flyer as we descended from the bus. It contained "Useful Tips and Information". It read:
-To relax and enjoy an elephant ride, follow the motion and do not resist.
-Elephants prefer bananas by the comb as they have hefty appetites and are sometimes impatient and agitated when fed one banana at a time.
-Do not approach a lone elephant when the mahout is not around.

I glanced up from reading the useful tips and found myself  standing alone  next to  an elephant. I don't know where his mahout had gone, but I could see that my group was over by the wooden mounting platform. I gave  the  elephant  a  little  wave.  He  responded  by  opening  his mouth very wide. I smiled nervously at him and turned to run and catch up with my group for the next scheduled event which was a trek through the jungle on the back of an elephant.

My cousin, Jane, and I were tenderly, almost reverentially, helped from the platform and into the howdah that was strapped on to the top of the elephant's back. The howdah is a simple wooden seat with a bar across the front that clamps into place just like the one on roller coaster rides. So I grabbed it tightly with both hands, but then recalling helpful hint number one about relaxing, I moved one arm over to the wooden rail on the side of the howdah.

"Elephants are very sure footed," I said to Jane as ours made his way down the slimy slope to the Taeng River. Our driver, the mahout, who sat straddling the elephant's head certainly looked very relaxed. The elephants didn't follow head to tail but picked their root independently. They walked along in the river but stayed close to the bank so the water came up no further than their bellies.  They let their trunks trail in the water and occasionally swung them from side to side but resisted the temptation to spray the water up and over their backs and us.

Once we were out of the water and on flat ground I asked "You name?" The mahout answered, "Bean".

Pointing at the elephant I asked, "Elephant name?" "Booshoot," he said.

Jane and I were relaxed by now. It was a comfortable swaying motion, surprisingly smooth. It felt majestic. I was wishing for cheering crowds to nod regally at, and give a white gloved wave to. It was the days of the raj and I was the rajaress.

Knowing my cousin to be a big animal lover I asked, "Do you think of this as exploitive?" "Nope," she said. "Obviously they love it." And just as if Booshoot had been listening, he turned his big head around towards us and nodded.

After we dismounted and were back on solid ground, I bought a comb of bananas but handed them to Bean to give Booshoot. The sense of oneness was past and I felt too shy to feed him. And now it was time for the next attraction, the elephant show. We sat in makeshift bleachers and our guide explained that the mahoots are assigned their elephants shortly after the elephant is born. They are with them every day and they grow very fond of each other. The elephants who would be performing were three to five years old, adolescents who loved putting on a show.
They came out in a stately procession, circled round, then spread out in a single line and bowed to the audience. We clapped. They lifted their trunks and trumpeted a greeting. Then they went through their performance. They hauled and stacked logs, played harmonicas (no recognizable tune but a grand and sweet cacophony), kicked a football back and forth, and even shot a few baskets.  A few came forward and stood balanced on their front legs with their hind  legs kicking up into the air.
Then easels were set up, two of them, and pots of paint. The mahouts stood at their elephant's side, ready to offer the can of paint indicated  by the elephant or to assist in handing the artist a clean brush. The two elephants worked in totally different styles. One was a realist painter who moved his brush in a very controlled manner to fashion what looked like a Joshua tree with its thick main trunk and thinner, outward curving side branches. The elephant gave the trainer his green paint brush after he'd placed two plants side by side on his paper and picked up another that he dipped in red paint and with great care tipped each branch with a red stroke   which were shaped to be perfect blossoms.
The other artist, an impressionist, worked very rapidly in the style of de Kooning, but less messy. He changed colors and paint brushes often and was done and had stepped back long before the realist was finished. The two artists were the final act. But then the whole group came out to take their bows and then rearing up to trumpet their response to our enthusiastic applause. Each trumpet call had a distinctly individual  sound. They waved their trunks at us enthusiastically and even curtsied. We roared and waved both arms in the air in reply.
I realized that I'd fallen in love with the elephants, and had to have one of those paintings. It was the impressionist that I preferred, so I ran quickly to see if the painting, still tacked to the easel, was for sale. I guessed I'd imagined a whole gang of enthusiasts would show up, all vying with each other to buy it. But the easel and painting stood at the side of the performance area and there was no one around. I paced up and down alongside it, hoping someone would appear. And in a little while a lovely young Thai lady did. I pointed and said, "I want. How much?"
She said "Four hundred bhats," and smiled at me as if pleased to be talking to an art collector with such a shrewd eye.
Hah, I said to myself, that's all of ten dollars. I think I can afford that.

She took it down off the easel, rolled it up and put it in a cardboard carton. She then held up a  photo of the artist, the very same one, my artist, in the process of producing another  painting (quite similar, actually), and tucked it into the box with the painting. We shook hands. I wished that she spoke English because suddenly I wanted to know a lot more about the artist, his name, at least.
Back on the bus I showed my treasure to the guide. He laughed good naturedly. He said, "You know what paper made from?"
"No," I said, eager to learn more.

"Elephant dung," he said, smiling some more. I could see what he was thinking. These tourists will spend their money and buy any kind of crazy thing. And then I imagined his saying in prayer, "Thank you dear Buddha, for your wisdom, for your generosity and for your kindness to us, your humble followers, and please with the strength of your omnipotence, please try to see that all these crazy tourists will keep on coming here and spending their money. I bow to you, in thanks, oh greatest lord, dear Buddha."