Staring back at me was the glum face of Pikachu, the yellow Pokemon creature which had been spray-painted into the side of a jumbo jet.
But there was no cute smile, its cheeky wink replaced by one thick blackened eye as the other dripped with paint, a tear rolling down its sad face.
I noticed this chunk of plane was missing its head, tail and wings, as I stepped into the flung-open door that once-upon-a-time boarded excited passengers.
That was a while ago now, evidenced by the dry and dusty petrol gauge. On deck I peered through the missing cockpit into the next slab of jet, every window punched out of its frame.
Behind me, two wings lay flat on the foliage, as thick bracken tried to grow through them. A messy three-tiered structure sat above, with wires and cables dangling off it dangerously. I clambered up to the top to see a wide hollowed-out floor, with bits of the ceiling hanging loose, broken cabin lockers and a solitary trolley cart scattered across the ground.
This one had a cockpit, but had been pillaged with every lever, handle and switch ripped out. The inners of a steering wheel remained, sitting above brake pedal casings, a ghostly nod to its former life in aviation.
On the bottom deck orange cladding clung to the walls, but there was not a seat to be found. A smaller tube next door contained a large mattress, was discoloured blue and cut throughout. Surely no one used it. The entrance to a smaller hunk of debris nearby showed an arrow pointing the other way, away from this bizarre scene. Dusty life jackets hung from the sides. What was this place?
We made our way back to the dwellings at the gate entrance, where two men allowed us to enter in return for 250 baht (£5.50) each. This creative family had flipped two of the liners over and were using them for accommodation. With the windows now lined up just above the floor, they had boarded up the sides to make makeshift houses.
Outside wicker baskets contained small chickens and roosters, as others ran freely around the grounds. Clothes hung on trees while rice bubbled away on a stove in a corner. Two mopeds outlined where their boundary began. There was rubbish dumped at the far side.
An explanation for what we had witnessed was provided by a taxi driver outside. “A Thai businessman is said to have stripped the planes for parts to sell and just left the shells abandoned in this field,” he said.
“A family lives there now and charges tourists to look around. Did you like Pikachu?”
Looking back, tall residential estates jut into the sky surrounding the mysterious airplane graveyard, graffiti marked across all the cabins. No longer useful and unwanted, just a set of tree planks and a small sign bridge the gap between a two-lane highway and a collection of rusting cargo.
