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There really is no graceful way to mount an elephant. And to make matters worse, there are cameras poised ready to capture me in all my lumbering inelegance. But here goes … first the command – ‘song soong’ meaning lift – and three-metre tall Tong Khun obediently raises her right leg to create a natural ladder. Grabbing her leathery right ear, I place my left foot on her waving fetlock, which she immediately raises higher while I shriek like a girl. Then, groping for the rope tied to her back, I haul myself up, arse waving in the air.

Made it, and thankfully facing the right direction. Perched in the driver’s seat, thighs spreadeagled at an unnatural 180 degrees, I soon realise my first mistake – wearing shorts. Elephants may look like comfy leather armchairs, all soft folds and wrinkles, but those spiky black hairs are razor sharp, creating the worst calf gravel-rash imaginable!

Regardless, I’m chuffed to be finally riding an elephant, and sweet-natured Tong Khun plods obediently in response to my basic Thai commands – pai for ‘forward’, how for ‘stop’, and baen for ‘turn’. A little nudge behind the left ear, and she veers right; tap her prickly back, and she sits down, as obedient as a large Labrador, lowering her bulk so I can slide back down to terra-firma.

This lesson in jumbo-control is all part of a three-day mahout training school offered by the Anantara Resort at Chiang Saen, 70 kilometres north of Chiang Rai in the notorious Golden Triangle region of northern Thailand. This is border country, with the mighty Mekong River providing a volatile and often violated barrier between Thailand, Laos and Myanmar, where the opium trade is still rife. However, it’s also incredibly beautiful, lush and unspoilt, with misty mountains providing a soft and evocative backdrop to the languid brown river.

Formerly the domain of backpackers keen to trek into the jungle to commune with the region’s ethnic minority hill tribes, this border region has recently undergone a renaissance in tourism, with two new luxury resorts attracting a more upmarket clientele – the Anantara, and the Four Seasons Tented Camp, a five-star luxury campsite nestled into a riverside hill overlooking the poppy fields of Burma. Both these resorts have a strong eco-focus, with elephant sanctuaries featuring at both.

Anantara’s elephant camp, designed as a traditional hill tribe mahout village, works closely with the Thai Elephant Conservation Centre in Lampang to help rescue and rehabilitate Thailand’s sad, city-bound elephants and their trainers. Since the banning of commercial logging in 1989, many elephants and their owners faced unemployment, forcing them into either illegal logging facilities where they suffer abuse or overwork, or into big cities to beg change from camera-snapping tourists. The sanctuary provides an opportunity for a fresh start for both the elephants and their mahouts, helping them to break the cycle of poverty and put their skills to a useful end.

The camp also provides a wonderful opportunity for resort guests to get up close and personal with the gentle giants, creating a memorable bond and experiencing a vanishing way of life. Guests are encouraged to immerse themselves in the daily care of the elephants, which includes collecting them from the jungle at 6.30 am, feeding them their average daily consumption of 250 kilograms of bananas, bamboo and sugarcane, and joining in the daily bathing rituals.

It’s hot, sweaty and filthy work – but the joy of being embraced by a tactile exploring trunk, or staring deep into those wise, beady eyes makes the mud and grime all worthwhile. An unbeatable experience for me was playing with Lychee, a five-month-old baby jumbo, who, like any toddler, relishes treats, cuddles and games of hide and seek!

But elephants are not the only thing you can get hooked on in the Golden Triangle! Strangely enough, the other main focus for tourists is the region’s drug-tainted past - and more importantly, its drug-free present. In 1988, Her Royal Highness Princess Srinagarinda, the late Princess Mother of the King of Thailand, took a stand against the debilitating opium trade, initiating the Doi Tung Development Project deep in the border highlands 55 kilometres north of Chiang Saen. The project’s focus was not only to reforest an area denuded by logging and poppy fields, but also to give new direction to the hill tribes living in the area, ending their dependence on opium growing and use by encouraging sustainable development. The project was personally overseen by the Princess Mother, who even moved to the area to take a hands-on role; her villa, and the surrounding botanic gardens are now open to the public, and are the most popular tourist attraction in the region.

The other highlight of a visit to Doi Tung is the opportunity to purchase local handicrafts made from raw materials grown in the surrounding area. The resulting products – such as gorgeous hand-woven fabrics, paper made from mulberries and local pottery – carry a United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime label, ascertaining their authenticity.

Another project initiated by the much-loved Princess Mother was the Hall of Opium Museum, conveniently located across the road from the Anantara Resort. This imposing, multi-million dollar complex is not as grim as it sounds – instead, it takes visitors on a fascinating and informative journey through the history of narcotics production, trade and abuse. It’s a sobering look at how the demands of the west have impacted on eastern nations; but the ultimate message is one of hope and a positive, bright and drug-free future.

Addiction, however, seems to be part and parcel of this very seductive border region – and I was about to discover a new one, one that would put my newfound mahout skills to the test. Elephant polo. Yes, you heard right – polo on elephants, contested during the Kings Cup Elephant Polo Tournament, the greatest event on the pachyderm calendar.

Previously contested in the Royal southern seaside resort of Hua Hin, this year the annual event ventured north, providing an opportunity to showcase the attractions of the Golden Triangle to 12 teams from around the world, their entourages, curious tourists and a contingent of international media. I was a member of the latter – and for the first time, the media was invited not only to cover the event, but also to play.

Elephant polo is arguably the silliest sport on the planet, invented over cocktails in a Swiss bar 25 years ago by two eccentric British horse polo enthusiasts. What started as a joke, however, soon grew into an earnest undertaking, with three annual international tournaments contested by a curious mix of professional horse polo players, loopy British and Indian aristocrats, enthusiastic amateurs and the odd celebrity. Anyone can play, though it helps if you have some spare change or a generous corporate sponsor – with an entry fee of US$12,000 per team, this is not a sport for paupers. However, it’s all for a good cause – in six years, the Thai tournament alone has raised over US$200,000 for the country’s National Elephant Institute.

The rules of the game are simple. There are three elephants a side, playing on a marked pitch of 100 metres by 60 metres. There are two seven-minute chukkas per game, with time out for slipping saddles, buried balls and broken sticks. Only one elephant from each side is allowed in the D, the scoring area of each half.

If an elephant lies down in front of the goal, it constitutes a foul. An elephant may not pick up the ball with its trunk during play; it can, however, pick up a dropped polo mallet and hand it back to its mahout. Gentlemen may only use one hand to hit the ball; ladies, as I was grateful to discover, may use both hands.

The main point of difference with horse polo, apart from the speed, energy and size of the mounts, is that each elephant carries a player, velcroed onto a cloth saddle with rope stirrups, and a mahout who sits behind the head, steering with his knees, feet and voice. These locals are the real stars of the show, enduring with quiet grace the tugs, shouts and cusses of their often frustrated colonial passengers as they attempt to get closer to the coveted little white ball, which inevitably disappears beneath a forest of lumpy grey flesh and a sea of mud.

Apart from familiarising me with the extreme height and breadth of my mount, my mahout training didn’t really come into play during my seven minutes of elephant polo fame. What would have been more useful was to know how to actually hit the ball – it’s harder than it looks! As the competition progressed, it became obvious that the real contenders were the professional polo players, those with the ability to give the ball a decent whack. Only then would the game open up, with the elephants charging off down the pitch at a trot, trunks and tails held high, often trumpeting with glee.

As for the rag-tag media team – well, the organisers were kindly calling our game an ‘exhibition match’, but it soon became apparent that we were the novelty act staged for the amusement of the crowd and our ultimate humiliation. Undeterred, two scrawny Pommy press journos and yours truly clumsily mounted our large grey steeds in pouring rain to face our opponents – former All Black rugby players, giants of men sitting astride three tonne beasts holding very large sticks. Somewhat of an intimidating sight!

Having taken on the role of defence, it was obvious I’d be seeing quite a bit of action in front of the goal. The pressure was on as the All Blacks immediately exerted their physical superiority with some fine attacking shots – but the Wallaby goalie rose to the occasion, with dogged determination and some handy high-school hockey manoeuvres, hacking wildly at the ball and clashing mallets in what undoubtedly constituted illegal play!

Finally, the little white ball emerged from the mud and I managed to make contact, thwacking it a good two metres in what is clearly the shot of the day. The crowd goes wild, and the commentator praises my efforts effusively over the PA. Chuffed, I do a little elephant-back victory dance, playing to my fans and begging a photo opportunity. Then the inevitable occurs…

Goal to the All Blacks. How the hell did that happen?

I should have known that showing off doesn’t pay. I had committed the cardinal sin of any sport, taking my eye off the ball. Despite my newfound skills, I had been thwarted by my own ego, and a damn fine shot by former star All Black loose head prop, Steve McDowell.

And so the Media team concedes defeat to the All Blacks 1-0, certainly not a whitewash and a pretty good result for a bunch of virgin players. And despite my lapse in concentration, I am awarded the ‘Player of the Match’ award, which constitutes a pat on the back and a well-deserved beer. I couldn’t be more thrilled, and with the adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I retire to the VIP tent to watch how the rest of the competition unfolds.

After a week of matches under increasingly inclement weather conditions, the competition is eventually narrowed to two teams of professional horse polo players – Germany’s Mercedes Benz, and Scotland’s Thisisthelife.com team, led by the Duke of Argyll. In a nail-biting penalty shoot out, held before a capacity crowd and a representative of the King of Thailand, the Duke’s men finally take out the honours, giving Scotland its only world championship in any sport. A fine achievement indeed!

But don’t rest on your laurels, Duke – having honed my mahout skills this year, and with a score to settle against those pesky All Blacks, I’m already planning for the next elephant polo tournament. Only this time I’m coming back with long pants, some polo-playing skills and a humble attitude. Unbeatable!

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