Going Native in Thailand

0 Comments | Insight on the News, Sept 6, 1999 | by Eva Harnik

When packaged tours turn out to be dull, intrepid travelers strike out on their own.

Much has been written about the tribes of the Golden Triangle and the political and economic pressures that swelled this mixed population from a few thousand to today's half-million. None of the six main tribes speaks Thai and neither do many of the smaller tribes; they are not Buddhists but have retained their animist spirit religion.

Their outward appearances are staged carefully and contribute much to the Thai tourist industry. The women are dressed in handwoven cloth and wear a profusion of handmade silver jewelry. These ancient traditions serve well their current economic needs. Most of the articles are for sale along the tourist path -- a practice, I confess, I found more sad than charming. The fact is, when the harvest is finished and the last silver trinket sold, some of the women move to Bangkok's infamous red-light district. The result is the devastating spread of AIDS even in this rural place.

Despite this somber situation, I spent a wonderful day and night in an isolated Paolong village, Baan Pang Daeng, on the border of Burma. Originally I was on a group tour that included the usual sightseeing spots along the main roads between Bangkok and Chiang Mai -- we gawked at showcased villages. I decided to take three days with a private guide and have a go off the beaten tourist path.

In the jungle and among the hills, the tribes of the Golden Triangle are dispersed in small groups, often no more than 25 to 35 households. They grow sticky rice, soybeans, squash and corn. Some of the tribes are involved in ongoing conflicts with the Thai government. While poppy cultivation has been successfully eradicated within the Thai borders, the Hmong and Akha tribes continue to smuggle opium from Burma. Other tribes are busy cutting down stands of ancient teak to clear land for farming, another practice opposed by the government. As the population increases, so does the pressure for survival in the hills.

As for safety, I was more alarmed by the means of transportation than anything else. We traveled by narrow, flat-bottomed speedboat which charged up the Mekong River, generating nothing less than sheer terror as it bumped along the uneven shallow bottom. But the scenery was magnificent, the higher mountains of Burma and Laos framing the broad river.

My travel adviser suggested an elephant ride through the jungle to reach our destination. Elephants lack certain amenities and comforts. The constant lumbering, wobbly motion is conducive to nausea and generates yet another cause for terror: falling off on the narrow and steep trails. And you are exposed to the full blast of jungle heat and swarms of mosquitoes where the jungle canopy is low. I opted, instead, to take a five-hour hike on the jungle path to the village, which otherwise is only accessible by a four-wheeler through a much longer road.

My guide, Achi, was a delightful young man from the Yao tribe. He spoke better English than most people in Bangkok and proved to be a pleasant companion and a reasonable source of information. We took the leisurely trek going around one of the local mountains, no higher than about 1,500 feet. Achi told me about the gradual loss of the teak forests and I saw the crude stumps left behind where the clearing was not complete. On the trail, we encountered a somewhat frightening apparition in the shape of a thin old man, his clothing in tatters, armed with a shotgun. Achi explained that he was a harmless opium addict who makes his living by chasing stray water buffaloes back to their village.

We arrived by midafternoon in the small village, which is surrounded by arable land. The houses are built on wooden stilts to protect them from floods, simple affairs with thatched roofs and bamboo walls with gaps to let out the smoke from cooking.

My host owned a second hut that he designated as my sleeping quarters, which consisted of a straw mat on a dais, topped by a quilted fabric pad, several old wool blankets and a pillow in a clean cover. There was neither soap nor a towel. Achi gave me the former and I used T-shirts for drying up. My host sent a large bucket of sun-warmed water with the suggestion that I wash myself in the hut and let the used water run away through the cracks.

The village was clean, however, which could not be said of some other, more affluent (smugglers') villages where the trash is thrown out into the streets. Here the red soil showed deep ruts from past rainfalls, but otherwise it was hard-packed and swept every day. The typical Asian-style outhouse was surprisingly clean.

Dinner was excellent. Achi prepared a delicious vegetable soup in chicken broth, hard-boiled eggs, stirfried vegetables and fresh pineapples. I ate separate from the villagers. The tribal women keep a distance from the men; they do not walk or eat together.

At night, as I sank into my mattress anxiously awaiting the brigade of mosquitoes that never came, the evening's entertainment began. First came a howling contest between the resident dogs. Then the village roosters started crowing before 1 a.m. -- and thereafter hourly, on the dot, until sunrise.