After two days on bedrest in Bangkok for my bum toe, I took a train to Sukothai, a small town in Northern Thailand. I saw ruins over sunrise with one of my best friends from China, Onkei. We then headed up to Chiang Mai, an ancient, stunning city full of temples and winding mountain roads leading to rice terraces and butterfly sanctuaries. There, we made friends from all continents. Again, as we gazed off into the sunset on the mountain, I asked myself aloud, do I deserve this? The deep voice of a friend replied, “You deserve it. You are here, therefore you deserve it.” Something in how he said it made me suddenly start to believe it. I let go.
We danced reggae, danced house, danced to Oasis playing grungy 90’s. I found the most amazing vegan Thai cooking school and restaurant, and began to regain a few of the pounds I lost while being sick in China. Finally, I tried Tom Yum soup (it’s overrated- sorry) and Pad Thai (OMG I died it, was so good). And I went back for the Pad Thai every day, even bringing a herd of fellow hostel-goers with me one night, and sending the four table café into a shock as they scrambled to take all the orders. They were happy. Our bellies were even more. Seriously, if you go to Chiang Mai, try the little vegan place called Mai Sue next to the Jade Buddha. I’m not being paid to say that. :)
After Onkei returned to China, I moved to a hostel with a friend I met the day prior. We went cliff-jumping with a great group of people, but I felt like I was missing something by not interacting more closely with the actual locals living where I was staying. I went alone, into the jungle. Well, alone if you count not being able to speak English with any of the 7 people with me on the tour. They were mostly older Germans, and to my surprise, older Germans have neither the snark nor the great English talent of their progeny. As I wandered through the jungle, the weight of a huge pack bearing down on my back, I realized those old Germans worked out more than me. I hefted upwards, nearly six hours, finally giving into the realization that the only way home was to stay with the group and to force my weak muscles to forge ahead. I kept it slow. About halfway through, I realized that my toe still hurt and tried to avert any additional injuries by fighting off the urge to keep everyone’s pace. Minutes behind the group, all I could do was observe. Observe the jungle, the way it changes from droopy green foliage with purple, lilac-like flowers hanging over the trails, to dry, rusty looking bamboo with pine needles covering the forest floor. Finally, we came to a resting point. There, we saw 6 trees marked with crosses. Our guide explained that the locals followed a religion rooted in ancient animism and Christianity. The crosses replaced the former deities which were placed on trees to protect the woods and their villages from harm. It reminded me of things I’d seen in Guatemala. But here we were, in the Karin villages of Northern Thailand. As we approached the first village, we saw a motorbike zoom down the trails upon which I had so struggled to stay vertical. He quickly rode through the sharp turns and deep, wet grooves in the paths without missing a beat. Bastard’s just showing off now, I thought, as I grabbed my aching quads and used my hands to force them to keep moving. When we finally arrived in the village in which we were to stay the night, dusk was fast approaching. Roosters, sows, and dogs ran about, enjoying the last moments of daylight. The river gurgled behind the houses, providing the fish and water they depend on to sustain their main staple, water buffalo.
One water buffalo earns them about $30 USD. They sell one every five or six months, according to our guide. They also live off what they produce on the land, which is fertile but does not come without a lot of manual labor. Allowing a group of eight tourists to stay there each night, though it will certainly affect cultural preservation, provides an essential income for them to survive. I realize that a systematic change (or overhaul) in the way the world and the economic authorities operate are the true way to change these circumstances, not just tourist groups coming and giving a small income. I say this for those reading who talk about white savior complex and international travel, of which I am well aware and not wanting to be a part of. I would invite those who critique this particular type of trip, however, to try it and talk to the locals. Just triple check that elephant riding isn't included in the package. The locals' day-to-day needs, such as medicine, food that will actually fill them, and materials to make their shelter safer, are met by this small but significant tourism income, and they view it differently from the writers I’ve read in North American blogs. Disclaimer: This may be different travelling to different destinations and talking to other villages; I am just writing from the conversations I had with the particular Thai locals who spoke with me.
Pondering all of these things, we settled in for the night. I figured that the Germans would have some beers, being Germans and all… And then, if I was lucky, they might speak English with me. I had to wait some time for it to take an effect, though. I went to the kitchen and used hand motions to ask if I could sit while our host, a woman not much older than 25, cooked. We tried to communicate about our relationship statuses, how many babies each of us had (her, 3, me, 0), and how old they were, using mostly hand gestures and her bits of English. The woks for cooking were new, but she still cooked over an earthen stove on the floor, gradually adding more wood to keep the fire going. I watched as her children drank soup from plastic serving dishes in the back of the house, as she cooked for the guests. I wondered if she minded me being there, but she smiled and I thought, being a host every night, maybe she doesn’t have a lot of company. Maybe these basic human gestures like sitting with someone, even if you don’t speak their language, really can mean something. You can’t always change the whole world, but you can always find a way to show a little kindness. She to me, and I to her. As many trips to the hospital in China have shown me, even quiet company between speakers of different languages can be moments of shared kindness.
I returned outside to find, as expected, the socially lubricated Germans and two Czech women sitting around a warm campfire. The evening was filled with interesting conversations and encouraging advice. ("You can do it, move to Italy if that’s what you want, I am so astonished by your bravery in doing this alone")… These women fed me much needed positivity. Sometimes it is not so bad to travel with people in very different stages of life than one’s own. As an aside, by the time I got home, within three months, I had applied and gained acceptance at 3 different Italian universities. A little encouragement from people outside one’s family can do great things.
The next day, we travelled to another remote village. As we approached, we heard the sounds of a mother scolding and rushing around to collect a tiny toddler, who was determined to escape the responsibilities of wearing pants. When her eyes set upon us, her mother gave up. She ran to us, eager to meet the newcomers. Pants on, finally finished with her tangents, she climbed on me like I was a jungle gym. I pulled out coins from behind her ears and drew pictures with her in my journal. Then she found my lipstick… I wondered what would become of this little girl. She was so full of life and so engaged. But given her surroundings, she does not have much of a chance for a good education, healthcare, and other basic needs to be met as she grows older. Later, I would discover that they are establishing schools in the name of a backpacker who died on the cliffs where I jumped several days prior. And that they are in dire need of English teaching volunteers. It pains me that student loans keep me from doing something like that long term. It might be possible for a year, but no more than that.
Later that day, we came to an elephant camp. It was a part of the tour I was not looking forward to, surprisingly. It was sold as an ethical trip, but it turned out, they engaged in riding and beating practices that I could never support. If you google “ethical elephant sanctuaries in Thailand”, you’ll find that most Thai elephants are trafficked through Myanmar and other countries. Elephants in captivity rarely reproduce, so they are continuously illegally poaching them from their natural habitats. Whips, chains, and sticks are used to prod them into submission. If an elephant is injured, it will still be made to give rides. When conscientious backpackers, looking for a small relief to their guilt, ask the tour guides, they are told it is fine because it is a practice that has gone on for centuries. However, there are many foolish practices that have happened for centuries, and not once have been right. For instance, in China, they use “ruby sulfur” (arsenic) in burn compound cream. I did not find out about that ingredient until after I had rubbed a heap of it into a motorcycle burn wound. It was used for centuries in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and even taken as a drink during Dragon Boat Festival, but three people died from it in Taiwan and they started to ban it in certain provinces. Well, hello, it’s arsenic… I quickly scrubbed the compound off my wound, breaking my heat blister and giving myself a scar that persists to this day. And so it was that I learned to reject justifications based on something simply being practiced for thousands of years. I chose to sit out the “elephant experience”. As the elephants arrived to collect our group, I bought them some bananas. I fed them and looked them in the eyes. I felt so much sadness; they seemed to recognize my compassion as they slurped their long trunks around my arms and looked back at me. I saw the chains around their necks, the men with the sticks. I retreated up to a hill by myself and let myself cry for them. I spent a long time wondering about ignorance, why people choose it, and how terribly sad the situation is. I felt bad even having given money, albeit unwittingly, to a tour operator that supports it. Eventually, I collected myself and was tasked with driving a bamboo raft, which I later rescinded in favor of chilling out on the raft while others worked. Not a bad afternoon.
I returned to my hostel that day with a fresh perspective and ready for something a little happier. First, I needed a massage, and then the group was going bowling, which apparently the Thai version of Chinese KTV. We found ourselves playing “Never Have I Ever” and laughing over stories never to be shared again. The next day, I flew into Laos. No expectations. I just knew it was a beautiful, small, undeveloped country. Many backpackers named it as their favorite, along with Myanmar and Vietnam. I had no idea what I was getting into. To be continued...
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Amanda Whitmore. Shareable with
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