An ethical elephant experience in Thailand

No rides, no tricks, no baths – just elephants

You know that moment when you’re looking at an itinerary and think, “I’d love to see elephants—but it has to be an ethical elephant experience. I’m not riding one, bathing one, or making it perform for me”? That was me. I didn’t find this sanctuary by accident; I asked the travel agency to find an ethical elephant experience in Thailand that met these criteria. What I wanted was simple: to be near elephants and watch them be elephants.

At the risk of sounding preachy (everyone travels differently), I just can’t ignore the reality behind those “elephant ride” experiences. The tricks, rides, and performances may look fun in photos, but they often come at a heavy cost to the animals—and they keep happening because people keep paying for them. As for bathing elephants? Entirely unnecessary. Elephants come equipped with excellent built-in shower systems, and if they’re muddy, it’s because they’ve chosen to be.

What the agency came back with was The Elephants of Chang Chill, tucked into the mountains about an hour from Chiang Mai. Chiang Mai is a great base for exploring northern Thailand by the way. (I’ve shared a full 2-week itinerary)

The elephants here aren’t wild—they’re rescued. And “no tricks, no rides, no baths” isn’t a catchy slogan; it’s the house rule. Which suited me just fine. I didn’t come to Thailand to boss an elephant around—I came to watch it live its best elephant life.

Not sure about a sanctuary?

I’ll tell you all about our day with the elephants in a moment, but first—let’s make sure you know how to spot a sanctuary that’s truly ethical, rather than just tourist-friendly. This handy infographic will help you decide before you book.

Now that you know what to look for, it’s time to see what an ethical elephant experience in Thailand actually feels like.

No tricks, just elephants: our day at Chang Chill

Checklist done, ethics confirmed, we finally got to see the elephants in action. No rides, no tricks, no awkward selfies, no bathing them—just enormous animals doing whatever elephants do best. Spoiler: it involves a lot of mud and staggering amounts of food.

First impressions: into the mountains and arriving at the sanctuary

We were picked up at our hotel early and herded into the back of a minivan. Joined by a bunch of twenty-something backpackers, we drove an hour and a half out of the city. The final half hour took us up into the mountains, along hair-raising hairpins and past spectacular views. We arrived at a parking lot on a hill and walked the last stretch down through rice fields and across streams. Beautiful—but watch your step.

A guide met us at the sanctuary, showed us to a seating area, offered drinks, and told us about the sanctuary’s four Asian elephants. All had been raised in captivity—used for rides or to work on the land—but now they could roam freely, always accompanied by their mahout. A mahout is an elephant’s caretaker and guide, someone who spends years with the elephants so they know and trust them. At Chang Chill, the mahouts are the only ones allowed to interact with the elephants.

We learned the difference between Asian and African elephants, then slathered on sunscreen and insect repellent before following the guide into the jungle.

Meeting the elephants

Now, maybe you remember my introduction—stuck on a muddy hill in Thailand, overtaken by annoyingly fit backpackers? That was here. The path into the jungle was steep, slippery, and rough. I took the bamboo poles provided for support, and they saved me from face-planting into the mud—or sliding down the hill more than once. Take them. Also, wear better shoes than I did. For reasons unknown to me, I tried this in sandals. Bad idea. Sturdy shoes with grip all the way.

All that was forgotten once I finally reached the top, and the first elephant came into view. I was awestruck. I’d been close to elephants on safari in Africa, but being this close on foot—hearing her breathe, watching her munch—is something else entirely. We kept a respectful distance; they’re still wild(ish) animals.

After that, we spotted the other three elephants—or, more accurately, one of the three spotted us. I was watching two of them drink and have a shower (built-in equipment, remember?) when I heard a thump behind me. Turning, I saw elephant number four walking straight at me. I quickly stepped aside—she didn’t look like she was letting a puny tourist get in the way of her drink. She was astonishingly close. And astonishingly big. After this highlight, it was time to head back to the main camp.

Snacks for the elephants, lunch for us

Upon returning, we were marched down the hill toward the river, handed a machete, and instructed to chop sugarcanes into pieces. Harder than it looked, but strangely therapeutic. We tossed the pieces into a basket and carried them to the feeding spot by the river—where, as if on cue, the elephants appeared. The mahouts distributed the sugarcanes, and once they were gone, the elephants vanished again. Makes you wonder if they know the routine better than we do.

After watching the elephants enjoy their snack, it was feeding time for the humans. We had a fantastic lunch of fried rice, eggs, fresh fruit, and curry, washed down with copious amounts of water—necessary, because it was hot enough to fry an egg on the trail.

A cooking course: for elephants this time

After lunch, it turned out there was another job for us. The sugarcanes we’d chopped were just a snack—now it was time to prepare the elephants’ main course. We sat on the viewing platform near the river, our guide providing a huge mortar and pestle to each group of four. Soon we were happily (ish) mashing tamarind seeds, bananas, more sugar cane, and salt. It was surprisingly hard work, so we took turns. My turns were slightly shorter than Marc’s, if I’m being totally honest. Only later did I realise it’s actually a brilliant business strategy: let the tourists do the hard work—and pay for the privilege. Nobody minded, but it did make me chuckle.

Once everything was mashed, we rolled it into rather unappetising-looking “meatballs.” The mahouts placed them in the feeding troughs, and as if summoned by magic, the elephants appeared again. They didn’t seem to think the meatballs were unappetising at all—everything was gone in minutes.

After the meal, two of the elephants stayed for a bath near the waterfall. Once they’d decided they’d regaled us with enough of their presence, they disappeared back into the bush. That was our cue to take the path back to the parking lot (uphill this time) and drive back to Chiang Mai.

Tired, muddy, and above all happy, I left Chang Chill reminded why ethical elephant experiences matter—no tricks, no rides, just elephants being elephants.

What You Really Want to Know Before Visiting

If you’re planning a trip, consider spending a few days in northern Thailand—our Thailand travel hub has tips, and our 2-week itinerary shows how to fit it all in