Eric: Our day was spent on a tour with Christopher, the proprietor of Chiang Dao Rainbow, our guesthouse. He used to teach literature at Oxford, but he is also a wealth of knowledge about the political history of the area. The tour we went on took us through the mountains north of Chiang Dao.
Carrie: This road was so incredibly winding, almost constant swerving and switchbacks that were 180 degrees. During this ride I am writing furiously in my little notebook everything grain of wisdom Christopher utters, while bracing myself on the arm rest. Nine pages of scribbled glyphs.
We stopped at a mixed Lisu/Lahu hill tribe village. Although they both live in the same town and interact daily with members of the other tribe, they keep their own traditions. For instance, the Lisu build houses flat on the ground with woven bamboo walls, whereas the Lahu build houses on stilts with wooden walls. As far as I can tell, they also retain their own languages. The village we were at is one of the largest in the area, with around 60 houses.
There was a group of Lisu women, all in traditional dress, by the road sorting grain and produce. I had assumed that the hill tribes mostly wear the traditional dress for the benefit of tourists or only for special ceremonies, much like Native American tribes, but this isn't the case. Christopher said that nearly all of the hill tribes, with the exception of the Lahu, wear traditional costumes on a daily basis. The costumes of the Lisu were plain but stunning: they didn't have the necklaces and bracelets that often adorn the costumes from other tribes, but the fabric was a mix of bright, almost neon, colors (you can get an idea from this picture I got from Google).
As Christopher took us through the town explaining the farming methods, struggles, and history, a couple of young girls walked up a short hill from the preschool/daycare center and walked by us. It seemed that the entire purpose was to get a better look at us, as they turned around after a couple of minutes and headed back to the preschool.
Unlike the last time we saw kids, we were prepared with bouncy balls in hand to pass out. (Carrie: Be assured that giving out something not naturally in their culture was a discussion E and I had gone through many times in the past, checking also with Christopher to better understand local reception.) I knelt down when they were about 10 feet away, bounced one so they knew what it was, and gave it to one of the girls. She took it, giddily, and ran back down to the school. Her friend ran after her before I could give her one. A Lisu man was walking behind them, so I gave a ball to him and pointed at the girl who didn't get one. He knew what I meant, and called her and then tossed her the ball.
Meanwhile, the first child had spread the word at her preschool that the farang were giving stuff away, and we were soon swarmed by all 15-or-so kids in the class. Several of the kids would even hold their ball behind their backs and reach out their other hand, hoping that I wouldn't notice! When I looked behind their backs and pointed to their ball, they would run away laughing, only to repeat the trick. We had a blast. We're so glad we brought the balls along, as we certainly wouldn't have had this ability to make contact with the kids if we hadn't.
Carrie: I was doing my best to snatch a picture, but the kids could hardly stop bouncing in their giddy. I managed to catch a few of those hummingbirds on film.
Eric: After the village, we pressed on toward the town of Piang Luang on the edge of the Burmese border. Before hitting the town, we passed by two impromptu military roadblocks. They waved us on, and Christopher explained that they were probably looking for refugees, although he couldn't be certain. We were probably in the car for an hour each way, so we got to pepper Christopher with all of our questions. He has not only lived in Thailand for 3 1/2 years, but also speaks and reads Thai, and so is very in-tune with the cultural and political issues in the region. I'm sounding like a broken record, I'm sure, but this educational experience is just what Carrie and I have been craving. The trip cost 1200 baht apiece ($36), and it was worth every penny, and many more, just for the information.
Piang Luang is a fascinating town, that doesn't really get Western tourists unless Christopher takes them. The town was originally settled by the Shan people, an ethnic group whose political situation is somewhat like the Kurds: they have a tight-knit society with their own dialect and customs, aren't Thai or Burmese, but don't have their own country.
Christopher says that a major part of the conflict in Burma right now is between Shan revolutionary forces and the Burmese government, which would prefer if the world turned a blind eye so that they could go about committing genocide. Anyway, this Shan town had a large influx of Chinese in the 50s, when some members of the Chinese 4th National Army moved into town. (I have no idea about the history of this unit, but I'll include it here in case any readers do). Now, although they get along well with the Shan in the city, they have their own section of town.
The main road in town runs, roughly, north to south, and looks like any other small Thai town. But if you go one block to the left, the Chinese main street runs parallel. This street runs on the ridge of a small hill, and when you cross the hill, you descend on a small valley that is entirely Chinese. The high school, which flies the flags for the King and for Thailand on the outer wall, is adorned with Chinese characters saying the name of the school, and who knows what else.
The most interesting part of this city, however, is the monastery which houses Wat Wieng Fa In. This temple was built by the Shan before the Thai and Burmese governments really cared about the border. In the latter part of the 20th Century, however, that changed. It turns out that the monastery perfectly straddled the border. The complex was promptly split into two sections, and a bamboo fence erected between the sides. Since then, the Thai government has helped the Shan restore the compound to be a functioning monastery.
Now is where the story gets complex. The main chedi (also called a stupa) houses several Buddha images, each of which is contained in a small alcove adorned with paintings, and the alcoves are arranged in a circular pattern around the chedi. The Buddha images run the cultural gamut, from classic Thai meditating Buddhas, to more severe looking Buddhas in the Shan style, to the fat Chinese Buddha that is more popular in the West. The paintings on the wall are done in a distincly Indian style and depict both scenes from the Buddha's life, as well as scenes from the Ramayana, a Hindu epic poem. The young novices in the monastery are all Shan orphan refugees from Burma. On the Burmese side of the border, the compound was transformed into a military base. So these young Shan orphans look across a 50-yard-wide ravine to see Burmese guards! The mix/clash of cultures at this one spot is mind-boggling.
A few years ago, this was actually a pretty violent spot; Christopher told us of a Japanese tourist who got out of his car to take pictures of the Burmese guards, who retaliated by blowing up his car with a bazooka! That's not the case now, but the Thai government has used the occasion to dig their finger into the side of the Burmese government. At this compound, directly across from the guards, the government built 3 covered benches so that visitors and monks can sit and stare at the Burmese. I have a whole new respect for the Thai government.
Right before leaving I went to the restroom, which is a series of 4 stalls in a rectangular concrete structure which faces the courtyard/parking lot. Bathrooms in Thailand, especially ones at temples, are often like this. Another common feature of bathrooms is that the stalls are separated by walls that are about 8 feet tall and flat at the top, above which there is a small space between the wall and the slanting roof. This space is about 2 or 3 feet tall at the highest point at the part of the wall closest to the door, and gradually shrinks as the roof slopes.
So, the moment I shut the door behind me, I notice that there is a hole in the door where the knob should be. There is, however, the metal post that locks into the door frame, which it did. After doing my business, I turned my attention to the sharp pieces of metal that are magically manipulated by the knob and pull the post out of the frame. All I succeed in doing is roughing up my fingers. At this point, I'm looking out the hole and hoping for...who knows what, it's not like a locksmith would just happen to be going out for a 1:00pm stroll to look at Burmese guards. I don't see Carrie, and right before I call to our erudite, ex-Oxford professor tour guide for assistance vacating the loo, I take stock of my options.
That's when I saw the gap between the stalls (luckily, I knew that all the other stalls were empty). The roof was supported by some metal beams screwed into the top of the wall, meaning that the largest crawlspace was a triangle just over 2 feet long and about 18 inches high at it's highest point. I jumped up and grabbed the metal beam flush with the top of the wall and put my foot on the thin ledge that formed by the top of the ceramic tiles that go up about 5 1/2 feet on the wall. I managed to get up and slide through the space and drop into the next stall. Christopher was a bit curious when he saw me striding across the red dirt toward the truck, but from a different stall than I entered. When that locksmith eventually gets around to opening that door, I'm sure everyone will be stumped by the streaks of red clay on the wall that don't start until a good 5 feet up.
Boy am I glad I've lost weight. Any more girth and I'd still be stuck, either waiting for the locksmith or partway through the space between the stalls.
Carrie: At dinner tonight the guesthouse had a full house and we were seated with a Thai man. It was kind of awkward because we didn't know how well he spoke English, so we did a lot of nodding and smiling. I had also brought along a coconut that Eric and I had found while wandering after the caves some days back. I had carried it with us up 500 stairs when we went to the forest monk's temple, Wat Pho Poly, (not to be confused with the cave hermit). Come to think of it I don't think we wrote about that Wat. I'll have to add some later. Anyway, I carried this albatross quite a distance in hopes of eating my very own found prize.
The Thai man laughed when he saw it. "Old coconut" he called it. I wasn't sure how he could tell without cracking it open. He said we wouldn't want it; it was only good for coconut meal. I've had coconuts just like this one many times, and I rather like them, so I knew I DID want it. But he kept insisting that I needed a "young coconut." Then I finally figured out what he was talking about. The young coconut was that husky coconut I'd had my drink out of on the first day. I remember being nearly grossed out by the slimy sweetness of the soft inside. The only type of coconuts we get in the US are "old coconuts."
The Thai man gestured that I should have Mong Kun crack it open for me. I was thinking he'd have a mallet somewhere, but no. He took a cleaver and in six sharp whacks the top came off in a near perfect circle. He popped a straw inside and handed it back to me. After drinking it, I tried loosening the meat with a spoon, then a knife. The Thai man watched clearly amused. Back in the room after dinner I splintered it apart with Eric's army knife. Delicious, and just what I wanted. Satisfying and easy on the stomach.
I'm pretty pleased to report that the mosquito count hasn't increased
at all during our stay. In fact most of my smaller ones are gone.
Eric is about the same.
Note about pictures: we only know of 2 internet cafes in town, neither of which have CD drives (they mainly cater to young Thais playing games on the internet). This means that it may take a while to put up pictures, as we're no sure if our next stops have better internet access.
