Going to visit a hill tribe was something we discussed quite a lot before we made our decision. The popular places are these “tribal villages” where members of six different tribes all live together – a one stop shop for the tourists, if you will. Reviewers said that they were driven or walked through the middle of town, and just stared at the tribe members. The uncomfortable term “human zoo” was tossed around quite a bit. That sounded miserable, for both us as tourists and the tribal members themselves.
Instead we began at the hill tribe museum, run by a non-profit that wants to change the way tourism affects hill tribes.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the harm and disservice that can sometimes come from tourism, and this museum only confirmed some of my negative feelings. In addition to the practice of grouping all the tribes together for convenience, I was dismayed to hear that the Karen tribe, or the long-necks, actually stopped the practice of placing the rings around their daughters’ necks – that is, until tourism sloped off. They realized they had to keep this ancient form of mutilation going if they wanted to keep attracting tourists. The long-neck Karens aren’t even from Thailand – they’re basically a tourist import.
The museum also explained the history of the opium trade, hade replicas of traditional garb and tools, and went in to detail about some the various tribes’ traditions. We watched a short video about each of the tribes, and decided to book a tour through the museum for that afternoon. “We don’t support human zoos” is one of their slogans, I was glad to see.
It began to rain pretty hard while we were waiting to be picked up by a driver and a guide after a hearty lunch of potato chips and bananas. We drove to one tribal village that was a little more modernized – and really, why wouldn’t you modernize if you got the chance? We got on an elephant to take a tour of that village, a little 20 minute ride that felt much bouncier than the last one. I guess we got one with worn out shocks! :) Luckily, it cleared off for that part.
We drove to another village, where it started to rain again. This place was a little more traditional style. There were little kids playing, chickens, dogs and hogs roaming the streets, and old ladies gossiping (according to our guide).
Then we drove to a waterfall, but it was raining so we didn’t really want to hike up very far. We actually told the guys we could skip the whole thing, but they insisted we at least stop for a photo.
At almost every stop, the driver Mr. Come (which is like calling him ‘Mr. Go’ in Thai, we were told) had a pineapple juice box waiting for us. We liked Mr. Come.
I can’t even remember the guide’s name, he told us so many things! He talked. And talked. And talked. He gave us philosophy lectures, capitalist musings and soliloquies on life and love, among many other subjects. At one point, we were reading an informational sign and he was standing behind us, just talking away at our backs. Mom and I looked at each other and just started laughing – I had no idea what he was saying, and my mom confirmed that she was in the same boat: “He just sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown right now.”
The third village we visited was an Akha tribal village. To get there, we had to drive up a steep, rutted out dirt road. While we were up there, it began to rain really hard – so hard, that we had to wait it out. This village was equipped with a ‘home stay’ set-up, where tourists can spend the night with a family, have dinner cooked (or help!) for them, and theoretically see first hand how villagers live. The home stay building itself was on stilts, and we sat at a long picnic table underneath the house with another touring family that were waiting out the rain and their tour guide. We were served strong hot tea, freshly sliced baby pineapples and rambutan (all yum!). Over the rain, I could hear an old masculine voice belting out the Beatles from somewhere. There was a small room that I believe was the kitchen underneath with us, but the stove was outside next to our table. There was a hammock or two strung up on the house stilts. Although we did not go upstairs, the part where we were did not feel like somebody’s home – more like a place for backpackers to spend the night. Still, it was a nice place to hang out for an hour.
There was a small covered platform where an elderly Akha woman spread her blanket and had her goods displayed for sale. While we were snacking, there was a group of girls sitting in there, I guessed shopping – due to the weather, it was kind dark in there. After about ten or fifteen minutes, we were invited up on to the platform to do a little shopping ourselves. It turns out two of the girls sitting there were a translator and a guide, but the other group of girls were a group of French twenty something year olds and weren’t shopping – just sitting and staring. It was a small platform, and they just would not get out of the way, yall! It got to the point where even the elderly woman was trying to shoo them out of the way! Mom finally stepped over one, but to see goods closer she bent down and stuck her butt in one of the chick’s face – still not a move! It was downright ridiculous. They just stared at us the whole time, never said a word. It was so crazy, Mom took a picture:
Mom, the elderly lady (who could read the room, a skill those French girl have yet to master) and I were still giggling about it all when we finally made some purchases. We bought some small embroidered bags and each got a bracelet, which the woman tied on us and bowed over our wrists, I’m pretty sure in thanks (or saying: take these other chicks with you!). It was a cool moment of wordless human connection, driven by a moment of wordless communication breakdown.
The weather cleared off and we took our leave of the Akha village. The way back to town, we had Mr. Come drop us at the weekend night market, which to our pleasant surprise was more like a street fair. There were various vendors everywhere, spread out over a couple of blocks that were closed down to traffic. We got some skewered mystery meats, some coconut candy thing wrapped in banana leaves, and a lollipop of buttered and browned sticky rice.
There was a whole row of massage tents set up, and we had a long day so we chose to get one hour rubs from the Massage School for the Blind. Mom had a pretty good massage, but I got a lady who was also head-hawker and money taker, so when she wasn’t being interrupted taking payments from everybody, she was hollering at people on the streets to come get a massage. And she wasn’t even blind. She pretty much only did one half of my body, like she was distracted because she was chatting constantly. The last fifteen minutes were good though, because she had some other random guy come take over. He kneaded the crud out of my shoulders and back. It was worth the $5 just for that last bit.
As soon as we left, it started to POUR. The massage places just pulled down some plastic and kept rubbing, and we were waiting under a tree right next to where we had just been, so my crazy lady masseuse invited us back under the tarp and had us sit down to wait it out. Then she randomly gave one of my arms a good massaging while she chattered away to us in Thai. It was…odd. But it felt good!
We decided to see the special clock tower, as it was light up at night. So we trekked through the rain to look at… a clock tower. That was lit up. which is NOT a light show. Not really worth the wet walk, in my opinion!
We slogged back to our hotel, the water reaching our shins in some places. What a day full of crazy.
Trip Massage Total: 6 hours
Meredith R. Allen 