Best intentions

“So where are you two now? Are you ever coming home?”

Uh oh… That’s the problem with starting a blog and not keeping at it! In Australia we had all the best intentions to catch up, and post frequently—but the days rolled on with other things to do…

As well, we discovered that some topics just don’t lend themselves to a blog—at least not the sort of blog we’d started.

We have been meeting new friends, and spending time with people socially in ways that were quite different than when we were “on the road”.

I have been taking lots of pictures, and we have both become quite involved in things we find interesting, so we have lots to tell—but in person rather than in the form of a blog.

We have told people that this year is one of taking stock, and trying to gain a perspective about how to retool for what we do next.

I suspect that blogging may still be part of do—but I now know that it won’t be quite what I’d expected when we left home.

Shameful behaviour

I’d been very impressed at the excellent interpretive signage panels near the Hopkins River mouth at Warrnambool. Several panels described the features of estuaries, and others had information about whales. We’d stopped to make use of the handy public toilets after looking for whales at nearby Logan’s Beach, and lingered to learn about estuaries until the late afternoon light became too dim.

Back in Warrnambool a week later, we made a point of returning. Sadly, some thoughtless person had obliterated the sign with grafitti.

I’m sure the city will replace the sign, but the community will now have to bear the cost of this idiot’s actions—and it probably means that some other community benefit will have to be cut.

I can only hope that this buffoon’s friends let him (or her) know that this was stupid. Even better, report him to the police so the whole community will know, and can publicly denounce such shameful behaviour.

Rorting and worms?

As we’d missed the televised leadership debate in the current Australian election campaign, I thought I would catch up on the issues by reading the newspapers the next day at the local Portland library.

I was puzzled by two undefined terms used in articles in both national newspapers.

By reading the article headed “Car subsidy scheme ‘open to rorting’” I deduced that “to rort” had something to do with cheating. The writer felt that someone might buy an old junk car just to qualify for the proposed rebate if they traded it in on a newer vehicle.

The second term—worms—was used in ways that offered no such contextual clues. The references seemed to imply one or more pundit’s opinion about debater performance, but “bloke worm” and “pink worm” made it confusing. Neither national newspaper had any obvious explanation of the term.

Luckily, the librarians were able to help—amidst laughter about how odd it must seem to someone unfamiliar with the terms.

“Did you watch the debate on TV?” one asked.

“No, I just caught a few clips later in the news.”

“Ah… well they probably didn’t have the worms active then.”

“Worms” turned out to be graphed responses from a selected audience group who reacted to the leaders performance by choosing a 1 to 5 rank on handheld devices (i.e. dislike a lot to like a lot, with neutral as 3). The consolidated feedback was displayed in real time on the screen as a constantly-moving graph under the leaders as they spoke—and the clips I’d seen no longer included it.

I guess I just don’t watch enough TV.

And “rorting”? The librarians thought my deduction was correct, but we did confirm it online: according to a Wikipedia definition, “rort” is a term used in Australia (and NZ) for “a financial impropriety, particularly relating to a government programme.”

Now if only I’d been reading the article online, perhaps the terms would have included a hyperlink definition…

You don’t want to be a hoon

Hoon charged. The headline caught my eye as we came through Customs after arriving in Perth, Australia, and I recall musing about it. “Hoon… that’s an odd name.”

But over the next weeks, it became clear that “hoon” was not a person’s name at all. According to a Wikipedia explanation, the term is “derogatory term used in Australia and New Zealand, to refer to a young person who engages in loutish, anti-social behaviour. In particular, it is used to refer to one who drives a car in a manner which is anti-social by the standards of contemporary society, that is, fast, noisily and/or dangerously.”

Another headline about hoons in the June 24 Midwest Times, Geraldton, WA.

Since April, I’ve seen and heard many references to hoons—all negative. What’s more, unlike many of the terms we are used to seeing for anti-social behaviour—vandals, hooligans—the term “hoon” seems to carry a much heavier weight of general social censure and ridicule here.

Evidence of hoon behaviour in Rockingham, WA

If someone is a hoon, the implication is that they are not just socially irresponsible, but also stupid, and unworthy of the attention of even their friends.

Anti-hoon laws in various jurisdictions have resulted in vehicle confiscations. Whether or not it has been a deterrent to the behaviour is not clear, but if you are an Australian with any aspirations of fitting into your community, you certainly do not want to be labelled a hoon.

Order and pay first

Fast food fans anywhere are used to paying for food before eating, but prepaying for a sit-down meal?

We were surprised the first time it happened, but have become used to it now as we’ve travelled within Australia. Pubs in hotels are a good place to have a full meal, and many offer a wide selection of well-prepared food. However, patrons are often expected to place their order and pay for it in full before being served.

Ditto with meals in specialty places like the Allansford Cheese World we visited recently. We ordered from the menu board—a ploughman’s lunch for two at A$27—and were given a table sign numbered 16 when we paid. We found a table, placed our sign on it, and read about cheese making in the area. A few minutes later, a heaping plate was brought to our table.

We lingered over our lunch, and when we realized we had only a couple of minutes to collect our things to attend the next scheduled cheese tasting, we were able to jump up and go.

No need to wait for a bill.

Great toilets everywhere

Australians are known for plain speaking, and don’t use wishy-washy terms for natural functions. No “washrooms” here—but plenty of public toilets!

Most towns have well-marked public toilets, and innovative water-free or composting toilets are common at parks and even roadside pull-offs. Sinks are usually included too—although taps may dispense just a trickle from rainwater collected in on-site tanks in dry area.

Having spent uncomfortable time searching desperately for a “washrooms” in Canadian towns and cities, we really appreciate this aspect of travel in Oz.

But in fairness to Canada, our winters provide an almost insurmountable barrier: no outdoor toilet would survive –20C temperatures. Too bad…

The cost of an unfriendly greeting

We’d really been looking forward to Exmouth, and had decided to make the all-day drive from Karijini National Park so we could spend three days on the coast. We pulled in to the Visitor Information Center about 10 minutes before it closed.

We approached the counter where “Chris” looked up at us while closing the cash without any greeting. We explained that we were booked into a nearby caravan park for the night, but hoped to be able to camp in Cape Range Park for subsequent nights, to be closer to the snorkelling beaches.

“There are no campsites available.”

We were taken aback by her brusque tone. “None at all?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Well, you can get to the ranger station at dawn and wait in line till they open at nine. If you’re lucky, you may get a space if someone books out.”

“Are there no alternatives? Can’t we book anywhere?”

“No. If there is no space you have to come back into town.”

We were stunned—and disappointed. “Okay… and what about swimming with whale sharks?” This was highly recommended by fellow travellers we’d met.

“Tours are $360 to $395 per person and we can book you here. Do you want to sign up for one?”

It was a bit strange to be just quoted a price—which was certainly considerably more than we’d expected—without any other details, and we declined. This was apparently more than Chris could take and she made moves to close up her binders in front of us with a shake of her head. When we then asked about the more detailed map mentioned in the tourism booklet, she rolled her eyes again and pointed at the general map we had open in the booklet. “You already have it.”

She was evidently not interested in helping us, so with some embarrassment, we moved to the brochure racks—and promptly found the very good detailed map. Since Chris had made it clear that at least she was eager to leave, we left—but not before leaving our negative feedback in the visitor’s guestbook.

We were very put off by such rude and off-hand behaviour as our “welcome” to Exmouth. We did stay at the caravan park we’d booked that night, but wondered if we’d made a mistake in making the effort to get to this popular destination.

The next morning, as we drove to Cape Range Park, we passed two caravan parks that Chris neglected to mention—both of which are much closer to the snorkelling beaches than where we’d stayed in town. Moreover, the helpful park ranger told us that while we could not book ahead, there generally wasn’t much problem getting a space. “Jamie” at the park visitor center not only confirmed this, but was also very friendly and helpful about the snorkelling we wanted to do.

Although we did enjoy a snorkel at Turquoise Bay, a second negative experience in Exmouth that day made us decide to leave. When the post office checkout declined Katharine’s Visa card PIN (a fairly common occurrence in our experience), the curt post office employee asked where we were staying. When she learned we were in a caravan park, she refused to let Katharine sign for it instead (as is widely allowed at stores and gas stations). The implication was that our card was probably not able to cover the $30 charge.

That sealed it, and we decided to leave early the next morning.

So what did these two individuals cost the Shire of Exmouth? We drove further south to Coral Bay where we were welcomed warmly by the volunteer visitor information staff, who put us in touch with a local dive operator. We booked a snorkel trip ($330), filled our gas ($55), booked two nights at a caravan park ($92), enjoyed some cool beers on a friendly deck bar ($30), had a great meal ($65)… And that was just the first day.

So the message to people serving the public in a tourism area should be very clear: even if it is close to closing, be pleasant, because there is a real cost of being rude.

We won’t be recommending Exmouth as we continue our travels.

Camels on the beach

Some sights are so cliché that you just have to see them.

Cable Beach is one of those beaches that seems almost too perfect: flat hard sand extending for miles, backed by large dunes and facing due west out into the warm Indian Ocean. By late afternoon most days, groups of people have driven vehicles onto the beach, and set up folding chairs to socialize as the sun sets.

But dramatic sunsets are not hard to find in this land of beaches: here most people are waiting to watch the nightly parade of camels taking riders along the shoreline.

Touristy? No doubt—but it sure is dramatic!

The grey nomad trail

Canadians like to go south in the winter, but doing so means leaving Canada. Australians are luckier: to escape the cold, they go north, but can do so without leaving their own country—or even their own state in the case of residents of Western Australia.

The other notable difference between Canada and Oz is that Australians can drive around their country—certainly not an option for Canadians!

And drive they do: as we’ve been making our way around much of Australia’s coastal perimeter we’re meeting dozens of Australians who have taken to the road to explore.

The term “grey nomads” is often used to describe the many mostly-retired couples driving robust 4WD vehicles and towing trailers as they tour from caravan parks to camp sites—and often well-equipped roadside stops.

Our little “chubby camper” van is tiny and limited in where it can go compared to the Toyota Land Cruisers towing luxurious trailers—some equipped with wide screen TVs and satellite dishes.

Caravan parks are widespread in Australia, and most offer laundry facilities, well-maintained “ablution blocks” (toilets, hot showers), camp kitchens (many with refrigerators, BBQs, washing facilities). A powered site is typically A$20-45; an unpowered site A$5-10 less.

One of the best sources for things to do along the way are these grey nomads. We’ve exchanged all sorts of tips and “must see” ideas as we’ve travelled, and seldom stop without having a conversation with someone about where they have been or are going.

We can also tell that we stand out a bit from the stereotype of people who rent our kind of vehicle. At one site, a neighbour commented “Aren’t you two a bit old for a van like that?”

I guess maybe I should start shaving my head or using Grecian Formula…

Why can’t Canada get more rapid transit?

Canadian urban dwellers should be envious of SE Asian rapid transit users. Both Bangkok and Singapore have extensive mass rapid transit (MRT) systems very much like Vancouver’s SkyTrain system, with connections to their airports.

Bangkok’s SkyTrain lines connect seamlessly to interurban rail systems and bus lines. Unlike Vancouver’s gateless system, both the Bangkok Transit System and Singapore MRT users go through turnstiles on both entry and exit. Payment is by distance: plastic cards are either loaded with specific fares at ATM-like fare machines; have credit that is debited for each trip; or acts as a fixed-time pass.

In Singapore, the fare at the machines includes a SGD$1 deposit for the card, and is refunded at an SMRT station. (The lack of used ticket stub litter would be reason enough to switch to this sort of system in Vancouver.)

The urban landscape reflects the value of the MRTs as well. In both cities, MRT stations are hubs for shopping, high-density housing and interconnected transportation services. In Singapore, the parks tend to be situated a bit further away from hubs so urbanites can walk away from where they live and shop to enjoy common green areas.

Granted, both Bangkok and Singapore are much larger than any Canadian cities. However, as we face more and more problems with urban transportation, Canadians should pay attention to such examples of what can be done with mass transit.

Postal service, Vietnamese style

We just sent off a big box of stuff we’d been collecting since Laos.

When we asked about getting a taxi to get our collection of bags to the post office, Anh at the front desk laughed. “Oh no, they will come here!” Sure enough, within half an hour, a woman from the post office arrived at our hotel with scales, tape, and a large cardboard box.

What we had wouldn’t fully fit in the box, but that didn’t deter her. She packed what she could into it, taking care to keep fragile items inside and well protected. Then she taped the remaining items—a bunch of silk lanterns—to the top so she could finish the job at the post office later.

The overflowing box weighed 17kg, and she estimated that it would need another kilo for packing material and an extension for the box. Forms were filled in and an amount for the postage, packaging and insurance calculated. We paid her, then offered to help her bring the box to her car.

“No car, just motorbike!” She laughed as we brought everything to her little motorbike outside. I’d have at least tied it on with bungee straps, but she just giggled as she put on her mouth mask and helmet.

With her box of equipment jammed in front of her, and our precious 17kg box balanced on the back, she drove away, holding the box with one hand behind her!

Can you imagine service like that from Canada Post?

High speed is not just a luxury

I was interested to see news about a Harvard University study panning Canadian Internet services a week ago or so. The Conservative policy wonks better wake up because Canada is at risk of sliding even further behind as Asia comes on-stream.

In northern Thailand we saw posters everywhere vying for mobile subscribers: 2mbps connections were being touted as passé, with 4mbps the new standard—and promises of 10mbps from some providers. This is for mobile networks, so these are speeds people are getting used to on their portable devices!

What bothers me is that people here in SE Asia seem to understand how they can take advantage of this capacity far more than Canadians do. Sure, we have slick web sites and no overt blocking of information, but how many Canadians are really changing their habits to take advantage of the technology?

My sense is that many Canadians are complacent, and have an erroneous view that we are still world leaders in this field. Most now have a sufficiently fast connection to see their friends on Facebook, and just grumble if a provider puts a cap on to make a downloaded “Desperate Housewives” show more expensive.

Mobile services are just as bad: how long will Canadians have to accept complicated plans, locked-in providers and a system incompatible with the rest of the world?

Here, people are integrating their mobile and Internet services to make things work.

Wherever we’ve been here, there are dozens of options for tourists to participate in tours and activities. Hotels get commissions for providing booking services for tours, yet keep guests happy because the prices are competitive and they pay attention to feedback. We told our Hanoi hotel in the evening that the Halong Bay trip they’d helped us book had been a disappointment. The next morning, they’d already talked to the operator—and told us that our USD20 taxi to the airport would be complimentary. They cooperate here, and use the Internet to facilitate it. It also means that attractions and services like regional airlines can run at near capacity because everyone is an agent; our one-hour flight in a 737-200 jet was only ~USD40 each, and we booked only 2 days before our departure via our hotel.

People here are using capacity to make things work more smoothly, and they will not just sit around and let the telecommunications infrastructure languish. The game is changing and I don’t think many Canadians are aware that it is even in play...

Luang Prabang’s laid-back beauty

The Spend Another Day in Laos booklet we discovered in our Chiang Mai guest hotel gave us the impression we would thoroughly enjoy this UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We did. First, its architecture is lovely: traditional heritage wooden homes (many set in oases of vegetation) contrast with ornate often yellow and white French Colonial public buildings. Throw in the 30+ usually spectacular Buddhist Wats – especially if the monks are chanting – and you have beautiful “bones” for a city.

Secondly, dappled sunlight in back lanes and alleys conspire to make Luang Prabang a walker’s paradise. We were well shaded and our senses delighted by draping bougainvillea, fragrant frangipani, and stiffly rustling banana trees while exploring these narrow thoroughfares.

Thirdly, there are many museums to explore. We were fascinated with the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre which explains Laos’ many tribal peoples. After watching videos of sacred Taoist initiation ceremonies and learning about the different typical clothes the Hill Tribe Peoples make, we purchased textiles and crafts at the museum’s shop. Knowledgeable staff informed us about the tribes, use of materials as well as how items had been hand dyed, woven, and embroidered. However, the pièce de résistance of the centre was the free library at its on-site cafe. We spent perhaps 1 1/2 hours reading: I enjoyed Grant Evan’s book, The Last Century of Lao Royalty (ISBN 978-994-9511-66-4).

The National Museum (formerly the Royal Palace) was equally fascinating, where we toured the Royal’s private home and living space, Buddhist temple, as well as gardens, complete with circular fish pond. (In Evan’s book, he quotes one of the princesses saying how she loved playing beside the pond – and how her mother cautioned her and her siblings not to get too close, lest they fall in.)

Laos’ last King and Queen’s disappearance is never explained here at the palace, other than by relating it directly to a Buddhist legend where the king supposedly left his people to follow the ascetic life of a monk. So it was fascinating to read in Evan’s book that King Savang Vatthana’s death occurred in the communist “re-education camp”, Sop Hao, in northern Laos. He, the Queen and one prince perished after being rounded up by the communists in 1977. Apparently the first admission of the Royals’ death was published in Bangkok World, January 1981.

Such is life here in Laos and Luang Prabang, where Buddhism, communism, and people’s daily lives weave a complex, textured pattern.

What happens when the water stops?

The Mekong River starts in the Tibetan plateau, and wends its way through deep gorges in China’s Yunnan region and into Burma to the Golden Triangle area where the borders of Burma, Thailand and Laos meet. After defining the border between Thailand and Laos, it veers east and then south to flow through Laos and Cambodia, spilling out into the South China Sea in Vietnam — some 4,350 kms from its source.

Our slow boat trip from Chiang Khong to Luang Prabang gave us a sobering insight into how important the water in this river is to the lives of the Laotian people who live along its banks.

The water was unusually low in February 2010 — the lowest levels in a generation — and navigation was limited to boats with a shallow draft. Our slow boat managed, but barely: the first mate used a bamboo pole to plumb the depth and show the captain as they navigated several rapids. We’d been warned that we would need to walk around one set of rapids and change boats.

Our boat pushed up onto a sandbar and we disembarked, bringing our packs with us to make our way along a path. As the rapids came into view, there was no doubt why this was necessary: a small boat might make it, but jagged rocks across the span would wreck any larger boat foolish enough to try.

Our guide told us that a few days before our cruise, a larger boat had hit a rock further downstream and capsized. Fortunately, nobody had been injured, but the boat was destroyed, and word had quickly spread to cause a steep decline in downriver cruise bookings.

We looked back more soberly at the rapids and rocks from the calmer water where a second boat was waiting, then boarded it for the journey to Pak Beng. Our original boat returned empty to Huay Xai. The low water levels would certainly have an impact on the fortunes of the Mekong boat operators.

Not all impacts are directly negative however. All along the banks we saw people panning for gold. Low water levels expose gravel and sand caught behind otherwise inaccessible underwater rocks — ideal locations for specs of gold to be hidden. Some bars must have been particularly promising because dozens of people were busy digging sand and panning. Our guide told us that river traders would buy gold from these people — mostly otherwise subsistence farmers — and sell it for a profit downstream.

The town of Pak Beng is the only place with accommodation, and depends on river traffic. As fewer boats bring fewer passengers downriver, business will decline for the local guesthouses and restaurants, and the local market will sell less produce from the nearby farms. Fewer boats mean reduced markets for the river fishermen, who sell their catch to passing boats.

By the time we reached Luang Prabang, tributaries had added more water to the Mekong. However, waterline marks on the rocky banks, and the lower extent of the many riverbank gardens along its shores showed that river levels were still below normal expectations.

Luang Prabang has an airport, and is connected by roads to other parts of Laos, but the Mekong River is a powerful draw. As we enjoyed a drink on one of the many terraces overlooking the river, we wondered about the ongoing debates about whether the problem is part of a natural cycle, another sign of global warming, or a result of new dams in China.

For many of the people in Laos, the reasons hardly matter. They rely on the Mekong River, and will certainly suffer if such low levels continue or repeat.

Akha Hill Tribe home stay

How do travellers locate an authentic, old-style Akha village in which to enjoy a home stay?

Enter an NGO called AFECT Asia, which kept on surfacing as a highly recommended outfit after we started our research on the Internet. Founded by the late Dutch anthropologist Dr. Leo von Gesaw, this organization is dedicated to helping the Akha maintain their traditional way of life, culture, language, and animist religion.

After browsing AFECT’s website, we booked a 7-day trip with them, which would involve a 4-day/3-night stay at Sai Jai Pattana village followed by a four-night stay at their Chiang Rai dorm, where we would travel with AFECT staff and visit other villages.

Our guide, interpreter and host for most of our stay was Athu Pochear, director of AFECT’s many Akha projects. After spending a week together, he would become a friend with whom we’ll stay in touch. He’ll help match our skills to volunteer projects when we return.

After booking our seven-day stay on the Internet, the stage was set: What would our home stay actually be like?

Our four days with Apae and Megah Pochear at Sae Jai Pattana village proved to be a moving, special opportunity to participate in and learn about the Akha hill tribe’s way of life prior to volunteering. We were warmly welcomed by our hosts who shyly stated they thought we may not be comfortable at their home. Surprised, we asked why.

After an exchange in Akha, Athu explained Apae and Megah’s concerns: “It’s the roosters. They’re so noisy! They crow at 1:00, 3:00, and 5:00. And then there are the dogs.” Gazing at the roosters, hens, chicks, and dogs in the yard, we thought to ourselves that yes, it would be noisy.

“Please, don’t worry,” I said. “We are here in your home and village, eager to stay and experience your ways. If it’s still okay, may we stay?”

Megah beamed; Apae nodded. Megah showed us our room: a king-size cot with typical hard Thai mattress. The toilet was a shared squat affair, outside in a corrugated iron hut with a cold water faucet serving as shower.

Perfect: with basic needs met and gracious hosts, we’d be a-okay.

And so our first evening began. Beckoned upstairs onto the shaded, breezy verandah of their bamboo home, we shared a whiskey with Apae and Athu’s 87-year-old father, Aq Bawl – “grandfather.” Megah placed steaming bowls of delicious, carefully spiced foods onto a low, circular bamboo table. She and Apae had prepared dinner over the two open hearths in their dirt-floored kitchen. Akha men usually cook the meat, and certainly cooking dinner together seemed a pleasure for this obviously loving husband and wife.

Accompanying us for the four days were Leeja and Edd, young Akha men who would be our guides, translators and companions. Between mouthfuls of rice, green beans, buffalo meat, and other unidentifiable but delicious foods, they explained the morning drill. After breakfast at some undetermined time we would head on a jungle trek, which sounded both interesting and exciting. “The boys” were eager to show off their AFECT projects, their village, and their capabilities.

Immediately after dinner, at 8:30 p.m., everyone went to bed: this would be the pattern of our stay: early to bed and early to rise .

The roosters crowed boisterously right on schedule. Dogs joined in, greeting the dawn. Repeatedly. Sleep was banished. After feeding the chickens (a chore I eagerly adopted) Megah served breakfast and I helped with dishes. Then it was time to herd the cows (well, more accurately, follow their lead) down the village lane to their pasture: this became our morning rhythm.

The four days sped past: the jungle trek revealed AFECT’s water irrigation project whose source was a spring bubbling out of the forested hills. A two-kilometre pipeline led to a hillside demonstration garden and that afternoon we would witness Apae joining the last segment of pipe and seeing water spout forth to irrigate the test garden.

Leeja proudly showed off his personal project: building a set of 15 rice pounders on the banks of a reservoir, where water would be power the mechanisms. Considering that women traditionally laboriously pound rice by primitive foot-powered technology, Leeja was rightly proud of his efforts. Another day’s hill walk revealed the swidden agriculture whereby field crops are rotated, allowed to go fallow sometimes for several years, and regularly burned. Other explorations took us through emerald-green rice paddies where women and men were doing the backbreaking work of planting rice.

On our last day we met a shaman, Akaw Ayi, who spoke to us (via Athu’s interpretation) of how she helps the sick and troubled by being a direct link to the spirit world.

Would we recommend an Akha home stay with AFECT at Sae Jai Pattana village? Definitely… with a couple of cautions: accommodations are rustic – and some Akha foods may prove challenging if you’re squeamish or a strict vegetarian.

Is it worth expanding your comfort zone? Absolutely. After all, Akha and other people who adapt to our world are equally challenged by our customs.

We both would like to return to volunteer in an AFECT project.

The Akha: Thai hill tribe politics

The Akhas are one of ten or so hill tribe peoples living in northern Thailand. Their ancestral homelands included Tibet and China’s Yunnan province, but due to territorial conflicts the Akha are among many of the world’s displaced peoples who have migrated to other lands. For approximately the past 200 years, Akha have lived in Burma, Laos, and Thailand.

Their history, in other words, is a journey – and it’s far from being over.

While travelling in the Land of Smiles, we hoped to stay at and experience a traditional and hence “authentic” Akha village. It proved more challenging than we’d anticipated. That’s because although Thai tourism promotes tribal peoples’ colourful costumes and quaint lifestyle, hill tribes are a largely disenfranchised people in crisis. This is true not only for the Akha, but also for other hill tribes such as the Long-necked and White Karen, LaHu, Yao, and Lisu.

What crisis? It appears that the majority of hill tribe people do not qualify for Thai id cards, neither can many own land or possess passports. Therefore, movement within Thailand let alone legally to Burma or other countries is impossible.

Moreover, the Akha traditionally live in the mountainous regions, preferring to establish villages on the saddle of a ridge. They have an agrarian (swidden) lifestyle and are superb hunters in the jungle-forest habitats.

Such traditions immediately create conflict with the Thai government. One reason is because of the forestry industry: the government’s attempts to control it, create plantations of non-fast-growing pine, and establish some forest preserves mean the Akha (and others who live further down the mountain slopes) have been compelled, quite literally, to move their villages out of newly designated forestry preserves – sometimes at a moment’s notice. Some claim they’ve woken up to find saplings planted in their rice fields in an obvious move to hasten their departure and emphasize their disenfranchised status.

Repeated, forced evictions translate into loss of hope and culture. It produces poverty because as the Akha and others like them are relocated further and further down the mountainside, their traditions and agrarian livelihood directly compete with not only other tribes but also, the lowland Thai people. Due to population pressures, these fully recognized Thai citizens are encroaching further and further up the hillsides. Not only are relocated hill tribes being forced to share their villages with one another (causing increased inter-tribal competition and necessary compromises to further dilute their unique cultures), they must also mix with the Thai.

In one sense, we could nod and say “it’s the way of the world.” But this sort of comment is easily thought and spoken if one is respected, employed, and secure. However, if you are a hill tribe person or community witnessing the unravelling of your culture, loss of identity is bitter and depressing. At best.

Another problem for the hill tribe peoples is degradation and loss of their traditional beliefs and culture due to possibly well-intentioned missionaries. Many Akha speak with sadness if not barely concealed outrage over “the Christians” who build missions (including not only churches but residential or non-residential schools). Just as we have experienced in Canada with our all-too-recent troubled history of enforced residential schools for our First Nations peoples, the Akha and other hill tribes are losing their identity thanks to planned, organized erosion of their culture.

The Akha are animists who have a firm belief in the spirit world. They build and tend spirit houses, spirit gates, and perform many sacred ceremonies wherein the spirit world is woven into their daily lives. In Chiang Rai I saw many beautiful animist spirit houses pushed over and broken. Desecrated. When I asked my Akha guide what had happened, he replied, “It’s the Christians; they do this to us to discourage our belief and try to convert us to their varied faiths. I’ve never understood why there are so many types of Christians: can’t they even get along with one another?”

Good point and the answer is… No.

As merely one example of obvious inequality, it was discouraging to see a Christian mission being erected on the dominant hill of a Karen village outside Chiang Rai. The immense, obviously expensive church was under construction; however, the missionary’s home was complete and stood behind an imposing iron gate.

It is better to give than receive, Christ taught. But when animist hill tribe villagers live in seemingly eternal poverty and the missionaries place a donation box outside their grand edifice, who is eternally giving, and who is receiving more than their due?

With residential schools and missions being built, continual challenges to procuring Thai identity cards, and all the other challenges to Hill Tribe traditions, it seems as though these diverse cultures may be doomed.

But then again, their lives are a journey and so far, they’ve survived myriad setbacks. I hope they continue not only to survive, but to prosper, also.

The power of words

The term “swidden” is defined as “an area cleared for temporary cultivation by cutting and burning the vegetation.”

Now consider how differently we might react to the following two sentences:

1. The Akha people practice small-scale swidden agriculture to grow food for their families.
2. The Akha people use slash-and-burn methods to clear land to grow food for their families.

Both have the same meaning—but the choice of one over the other certainly conveys a different message. And if #2 is chosen in a government report about the impact of the Hill Tribe people on the environment, how can it not imply a bias?

This is but one of the problems facing the Akha people of northern Thailand. Even if it were initially unintended, the bias gets picked up by subsequent bureaucrats and the media—and before you know it, it becomes “common wisdom” that deforestation and the subsequent water shortage causing imminent rice crop failures are due to primitive practices of the Hill Tribe peoples.

But could these problems be the result of climate change and long-term precipitation cycles? Or be accelerated by the loss of vast tracts of tropical forests plundered for their hardwoods by “friends” of governments in the region? Such alternatives are harder to explain to an electorate than to set up a scapegoat.

The swidden methods certainly look pretty scary when you see haze in the air or get close to a fire as it blazes through dry bamboo. However, such burning also kills weeds and insect pests, while restoring some nutrients to the soil. Traditionally, the plot would be used, then allowed to go fallow for many years before the cycle repeats.

The official solution to the declining forest resources (and subsequent assumed water problem) has been to move villages (often forcibly) to lower areas, and to declare the uplands as forest reserves. In many places, this has meant reforestation with pine trees—hardly a native species, but suspiciously like a future cash crop.

Like many, I reacted with horror to the burned areas we saw as we explored the hill region. After learning a bit more, and seeing how the people use swidden methods, I’m not so sure it is such a bad thing.

The alternative of farming intensively in the same spot with herbicides, pesticides and fertilizer is unlikely to be a more suitable solution.

Jungle lunch

“We’ll hike over there.” Edd pointed to the hills beyond the cleared ridge west of the village of Sae Jai Pattana. We were about to set out on a full-day trek with three Akha villagers. “Wear good shoes.”

Good advice—for us. He and Leeja wore old runners, and Apae wore flip-flops! The trail took us down past fallow and newly-planted rice fields before ascending the ridge and following a newly-laid water pipeline to its source in a spring located higher in the jungle above.

Apae was carrying some cement to seal the small dam at the catchment end of the line, and pushed ahead while Edd and Leeja shared their knowledge of the Akha uses of vegetation as we hiked along the creek.

My first stirs of anxiety about lunch came when Leeja scooped up a little minnow I had noticed in the creek. “Here,” he passed me a bamboo tube, “we can put them in this!”

Within moments, he had several more minnows—and then a crab, and a shrimp-like creature. When he pulled a frog out from under a muddy rock, I knew lunch would be a challenge.

Edd took the tube to help Leeja, and I joined Katharine to examine the nearby bamboo spirit house built to ensure good water. Apae finished his dam, and as the small reservoir started to fill, we scooped out leaves as all three men collected more lunch ingredients.

We then learned how important bamboo is to the Akha people. Edd split a small length and cut out the dividing parts to make an elegant sluice to provide a clear flow of spring water to clean the catch. Leeja had split a larger diameter piece of bamboo to form a two-section troughs: one side for the items to be cleaned; the other to hold them after cleaning. Meanwhile, Apae made a small fire near a bamboo grove, and filled two bamboo tubes with water, positioning them so the heat would boil the water before the containers dried enough to burn.

It was all very well timed: when the water boiled, Apae added some leaves and the ingredients, while Edd used another bamboo trough to pound chilis, salt and garlic into a paste. Leeja had split a small bamboo length to act as a spit for the frogs (after basting them with some of Edd’s paste).

They’d brought some leaf-wrapped sticky rice for each of us—and some chicken for the second dish in case we were too squeamish. Apae even fashioned some perfect chopsticks.

Leeja chopped a few banana leaves from a nearby tree and laid them out as a mat and serving area. Lunch was ready.

The ingredients were certainly the challenging part for us, but the preparation was immaculate—and fascinating.

And the food? Tasty enough, but memorable to say the least!

Exploring in Suthep-Pui National Park

On Monday Mr. Horse swapped his tuk-tuk for an air conditioned truck. Picking us up at 8:00, we left Chiang Mai behind, ascending the nearby forested mountain which is known as Suthep Pui National Park. Our destination? Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, the symbol of Chiang Mai. Here we climbed the 306 stairs to enter the Buddhist temple, wandering about and appreciating how tourist observers such as ourselves easily mix and mingle with the devout. We always marvel at the Buddhists who accept being the focus of attention. We know that back home, worshippers in most organized faiths would not be as welcoming of tour groups and photographers in their midst while they pray.

Leaving the Wat we continued our ascent, visiting the Royal gardens at Phuping Palace. Although beautiful, we felt it unnecessary for the Royals to insist on charging an entry fee: why couldn’t people be allowed to appreciate the gardens in the same way we Canadians can freely explore and enjoy Rideau Hall?

After visiting Baan Tong Luang the day before, you can bet we were eager to visit “real” villages so on Mr. Horse drove, climbing still further up the narrow hairpin road which suddenly became single-lane. The road ended at Khun Chang Kiang village where Eric and I strolled its dusty red-earth lanes and wooden homes. Shouts of laughter beckoned us: we discovered a group of schoolboys getting their heads shaved at Srinehru School. A gay banner welcomed visitors, and the boys smiled at the camera, continuing to shave one another’s heads with what appeared to be very dull shears. Eric declined getting a cut…

We retraced the narrow road and stopped at a lookout to see a tidy village in a valley below. Seeing our interest, Mr. Horse turned off the main road to take us to Doi Pui, another Hmong tribal village. Narrow, wending streets led us to the village heritage museum. Entry was 10 bhat apiece. Although exhibits were dust-covered and sparse, they were nonetheless interesting—but the piece de resistance was the “sample house.” Sample indeed: it was being lived in and was full of refuse, plastic bags and detritus. No windows and we thought it was emphysema-inducing just to step inside.

Beyond it, however, was the real highlight: a terraced garden extending up the mountainside where cascading water made its cooling sounds. Amaryllis were in full blossom as were opium poppies – part of the museum display apparently – and many other blossoming plants. Three pavilions beckoned us onward and after the ascent to them on narrow Nepalese-like stone steps, we appreciated the astonishing cool breezes which rewarded our efforts.

Time. It does have a way of passing. We descended to greet Mr. Horse who returned us to Lai Thai… And none too soon: it was a long but fun 9-hour day.

Chiang Mai: Nearby Baan Tong Luang Village

Mr. Horse the tuk-tuk driver proved indispensible to us: for a great price he transported us about Chiang Mai to a variety of handicraft outlets and galleries. With the breeze keeping midday heat at bay, he safely negotiated the sea of motorcycles, cars, other tuk-tuks, bhat buses – and pedestrians leaving us time to look about and appreciate the heartbeat of the city.

He soon understood what we were interested in: culture, nature and handicrafts. Soon he was making recommendations and, after a nanosecond of deliberation, we placed ourselves in Mr. Horse’s capable hands.

Off we scooted to Baan Tong Luang village. Think of Upper Canada Village – but where the traditionally costumed “animators” are authentic hill tribe peoples who live and work on the farm. This put what at first appeared to be a disappointingly over-the-top tourist venue into perspective. Politically, the hill tribe peoples have suffered from the hands of various oppressive regimes. In fact, they still do. Members of four tribes: Karen, Lahu Shi Bala, Palong and Hmong live here, marry, have children, work the fields, look after and work with their elephants, and make and sell traditional clothing and crafts.

Touristy? We spent 2 1/2 hours here photographing the tribal people, watching the women weave, playing with the children – and learning how to shoot coconuts with a traditional bow and arrow. (I thoroughly impressed the old gentleman who asked me to try to hit a small green coconut on a stump: I got two direct hits and got very close to it three times. Neither he nor Eric knew my parents used to call me “Annie Oakley” when I was young…)

I ended up purchasing several scarves from the Lanna long-necked (aka “giraffe”) women. In fact, it was a thrill to buy a brightly coloured one which was being woven before our eyes!

We later learned that had we taken a bus tour, we would only have had 45 minutes to experience this worthwhile village project.