Criticism Requested 1: LIVING WITH THE THAI HILL TRIBES

Ken suggested we trial putting up pieces of work on the site to offer a forum for a higher level of feedback. Judy has bravely volunteered to be the first ... Let's see how this goes ...

So here it is ...

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LIVING WITH THE THAI HILL TRIBES by Judy Clements

Any mention of Thailand usually conjures pictures of Bangkok’s sumptuous temples, mouth-watering street food and risqué Lady-Boys; or maybe white sand beaches, coral reefs and the sparkling green Andaman Sea. Rarely do we consider trekking along mountainous jungle trails while learning that eating Tarantula spiders or scraps of porcupine hair cure kidney and urinary disorders, or that a particular small green fruit cures a cough. I spent three days living with northern Thailand’s remote, semi-nomadic hill tribes. No electricity, sanitation or running water certainly ensured a holiday with a difference.



There are estimated to be over twenty different hill tribes living in northern Thailand, most migrating from Tibet, Laos and southern China via Myanmar over the past two hundred years. Even today, these groups have maintained their distinct languages, patterns of dress and strong sense of ethno-consciousness; their way of life preserved with little change over one thousand years. The Thai government recognizes six major groups of hill tribes, with the six divided into dozens of sub-tribes. The Golden Triangle region was my destination and there I was to encounter two separate tribes - the Karen and the Lisu.

The Karen is Thailand’s largest hill tribe with numerous settlements. Living in the mountainous north as well as the plains, they are peaceful, honest, and hardworking, using sound methods of agriculture. The majority of Karen people live in Myanmar but as many as 28,000 live in Thailand. Their women are superb weavers, using back strap looms. Despite the Lisu tribe originating in Eastern Tibet they became Thailand’s premium opium poppy cultivators and the most culturally modern of all hill tribes, with approximately 21,000 now living in Thailand. These days many have given up growing opium poppies, instead supplementing their income through crafts. They are an outgoing, friendly and economically successful race.

Our hill trek started in the busy northern town of Chiang Mai where it’s easy to feel at home surrounded by the trappings of modern day living. Large hotels, a Hard Rock Café and plentiful internet outlets set you wondering about the probability of there being nearby wilderness. Despite the buzz of Chiang Mai, our adventure began close to a village called Pai after being ignominiously turfed out of a 4x4 clutching water bottles and day packs stuffed with the necessities for a couple of days rough living - toothpaste, tooth brush, insect repellent and a bar of soap. With temperatures in the 90’s, I trudged with my small group along jungle trails; fleeces incongruously tied around our waists after warnings of plummeting night-time temperatures. With sweat coursing down our bodies that seemed hard to believe. A rented sleeping bag bumped against the small of my back and I longed to jettison it, certain that it would be surplus to requirements when I lay down to sleep in the long hut.

Five months after the end of wet season the jungle was tinder dry and fallen leaves made the going slippery; so, on particularly steep gradients, I ‘tobogganed’ down on my bottom. Somboon, our guide, was born and raised among the hill tribe people and he filled our trek with excitement by pointing out medicinal trees, animals and insects along the way. He explained that villagers use all the resources of the forest for medicinal purposes as well as food. Men used to take roosters to the forest in the early morning, tying them to a tree to attract wild chickens which were shot for breakfast. A gentle, softly spoken young man, Somboon has taught himself to speak Thai and English, as well as to play the guitar. Not content with those skills he is now learning Japanese.

Enormous spiders hung suspended from trees in intricate webs, and occasional bird and ape calls rang through the forest canopy until, after a couple of hours walking, we arrived at a Karen village built on a steep hillside beside a shallow, flowing river. After removing my shoes I was directed to a palm thatched long hut constructed of wood and bamboo. It perched on stilts some five or six feet above the ground and, once inside, I stretched out my sleeping bag on the wooden floor and organized my belongings in the hope of locating them in the forthcoming darkness. With no electricity to light the way I would rely on my trusty Maglite and a couple of candles. A small bamboo hut some way off contained a hole in the ground, standpipe, and large water container that provided the sanitary needs for the entire village.

Karen villagers carried on their daily tasks taking little notice of their Western guests; yet acknowledged our smiles with nods and grins of their own. It was a busy village with barefoot children tumbling up and down the tracks, and black pigs and piglets rooting around the barren earth, grunting contentedly to each other. Traditionally, in Karen villages all pigs have a ribbon attached to a rope tied around their middles, the rope is tied to a nearby tree allowing them a large circle to roam in, but no escape. Brown, horned cows wandered the dirt trails feeding on whatever tufts of vegetation might survive; while half bald hens pecked the dust, and huge water buffalo swished their tails to rid themselves of flies. All the animals wandered beneath the dwellings at will and took up residence there as soon as night fell.

A star filled night came early so, after supper and a few songs sung in the darkness accompanied by a borrowed, broken guitar, I turned into my sleeping bag for a restless nights sleep. The evening had been spent wrapped in my fleece for protection against the night chill, so snuggling into my sleeping bag to fantasize about hot water bottles and bed socks was no hardship. They were right, it is cold in the hills at night… and even colder at dawn. By then the village was up and moving; babies cried while breakfast fires struggled into life, but there was no question of waiting for it to warm up as the surrounding cockerel population crowed their determination to get me out of bed. After rudimentary attempts to wash at the standpipe I drank some coffee - hands wrapped around the cup for warmth - and prepared to set off along the trail.

Within an hour my fleece was off again, and by the time we reached a second Karen village sweat ran down my body in rivulets. A gnarled-faced old lady, her head wrapped in a scarf, squatted in the dust to watch us present a piglet to her village. Bought from the previous village, it had been carried contentedly along the trail in an old sack. Once freed, it ran off squealing and grunting to root about in the dust. A young woman painstakingly wove a length of colourful fabric on a hand loom while her tiny daughter sat to one side, quietly watching. Children held out bead bracelets and anklets in the hope of making a sale.

In sweltering temperatures we encountered punishing hills and steep descents. The longest hill was almost more than I could endure, and I began to wonder what I was doing there as my heart pounded and ears sang with the concerted effort. After fording two fast flowing rivers we arrived at an elephant camp where I sank to the ground and gulped water to re-hydrate my body and rest my aching thighs. The guides took it all in their stride - their small frames and muscular bodies accustomed to the punishing terrain. In the river handlers bathed their elephants. Revelling in having their rough hides scrubbed with bristle brooms, the elephants sucked water into their trunks and sprayed it across their leathery backs. The agile handlers rode them back to the river bank and proceeded to strap seats across their backs while the elephants attempted to cover themselves with yet another layer of dust.

After two hours of swaying on an elephant’s back we arrived at a Lisu tribal village where there were only a handful of pigs but far more children, dogs, cats and hens. Excited at our arrival the children were eager to play, and were particularly interested in our digital camera where they could see their own images on the screen. Inside the long hut I was delighted to find a touch of luxury in the shape of mosquito nets and thin mattresses on the floor. There was a dedicated area for showering with a huge water container and shallow bowls to pour water over your body, the residue falling through the bamboo slats onto the sloping ground below. All the water had to be carried from the river far beneath, so, hopefully, most people were frugal with their water consumption.

At dawn a tiny, pregnant ginger cat climbed under the mosquito net and, purring, snuggled against me for warmth. Outside, two black dogs and a pig curled together in the ashes of last night’s fire - even the hens seemed to struggle against the cold. Down at the river guides and villagers hacked at thick lengths of bamboo to construct basic rafts on which we would head down the river which flowed between steeply rising, jungle clad hills. On the down river trip we occasionally passed fishing families living in simple huts on the bank, spreading their nets into the fast flowing water. Huge, colourful butterflies gracefully flapped among the foliage or basked on a leaf in a small patch of sunlight, while colourful birds flitted through the trees as we glided past. The men guiding the rafts skilfully negotiated their way through narrow gaps between rocks and along the rapids that forged their way through the gorge. It made for an exciting two and a half hour journey. Standing ankle deep in water all the way kept me deliciously cool in the midday heat.

At the small enclave of Mai Taeng my hill tribe visit was all but over. A short trek to a dirt road - yes, uphill and in the midday heat again - and I was returned to the rush and noise of Chiang Mai in a modern 4x4. Back at the hotel I washed away three days of sweat and grime under an abundant shower. Yet my memories of the Thai hill tribe people, their animals and ancient way of life can never be erased. Certainly, it was a gruelling experience and not for the unfit or faint hearted, and I certainly would not want to make the trip during the wet season when trails and villages would be treacherously awash. But my brief encounter with hill tribe existence emphasised how simply it is possible to live; uncomplicated by instant communication, travel and consumer purchasing life is brought back to basics, and life’s values take on a different meaning.

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So lets get this debate going ... and I guess crucial to this exercise is to say how the piece can be taken to the next level ... good luck everyone...