In Search of a Village in Northern Thailand
Nop, our guide, pauses and turns back to ask again if my husband and I are doing alright on our two-day hike into the mountains of northern Thailand. Forcing a wan smile, I repeat that we are, this time with detectable insincerity. Avid ultimate Frisbee players, we’re used to strenuous exercise. The guidebooks and Websites promised this trek would be only moderately difficult. But, scrambling up the steep incline in the Thai heat and humidity made me wonder if there are many tourists who fare better.
Later, I learn that each time I said I was okay Nop took it as a signal to lead us on even steeper and longer trails. Nop is from one of the hill tribe villages in the area and has been traveling these trails for years. While he appears to be about thirty, Nop claims to be married for twenty years with two children, including one teenager. I couldn’t help but wonder if trekking every day is a kind of fountain of youth. He certainly seems more energetic and youthful than either of us.
Over the course of the next two days we learn more fascinating tidbits about our guide beyond the spider tattoo on his shoulder and his habit of singing a bar or two of his favorite American pop songs as he walks. He mentions his past life as a Thai boxer, noting that now he looks a bit more like Buddha than a boxer. Judging by his impeccable shape, we wonder how that could be. We also find out that his mastery of English, which is surprisingly good, developed while studying to be a monk at Wat Pho in Bangkok.
More tired than hungry, I ask to stop early for lunch. I wonder if I can eat the spicy Thai dish put in front of me when all I really want is water. I try to eat a little, not wanting to be rude, but Nop is perceptive. He offers me some of his lunch, sticky rice. After all, he says, “We may not have known each other before, but on this trek, we are family.” By the end of the trek, I came to understand that he meant every word.
With a dessert of freshly picked pineapple, we were back on our feet and on our way. Our small band consisting of our English speaking guide, our trail leader, my husband, and I climb further. When we finally clamber to the top of the hill, Nop points and tells us that our destination is behind the peak far in the distance. He’s not kidding. It’s going to be a long day.
As we continue, the leaves around us begin making a tapping sound like fingers on tin. Nop disappears into the foliage and re-appears with leaves that he quickly transforms into surprisingly effective rain hats. It was just in time, as the rain intensifies. We quickly find ourselves in the middle of a Thai monsoon. Nothing we are wearing stays dry and the path soon turns into a stream. The bone-drenching rain is a welcome respite from the intense heat.
The rain lets up and, one by one, our group leaves their rather ridiculous looking leaf hats behind. The hats would not be the only things Nop offers from nature as we wound our way deeper into the jungle. He periodically stops to pull bark off of trees and dig roots from the ground, eagerly telling us to eat. When we ask what these morsels are called, the only name we can get is in Karen, his tribe’s language. He never steers us wrong, but sometimes we wonder how the locals discovered what in this forest is edible. The Karen hill tribe people have been long known for their incredible ability to augment their diet with wild plants. At one point, Nop stops a small group of farmers on their way to the rice fields and procures a leafy substance for us, telling us to chew. It was supposed to taste like tea, but I never did taste a resemblance.
We are not the first outsiders to be led into the jungle. Trekking is big business in Northern Thailand. Every guest house and massage stand in the Chiang Mai district seems to offer guided treks. Many of these treks will make the obligatory tourist stops for elephant riding and bamboo rafting through the lush green cloud forest. The main attraction, however, is not the scenery. Instead, visitors come to meet and interact with the hill tribe villagers who have had varying bits of exposure to the outside world and Western culture. It is in one of these villages where we spend the night.
With relief, we finally reach our destination after an exhausting hike. We wander cautiously through the village, very aware how much we stick out in this close knit community of fifty people. Children peak out from behind doors and chickens dart away from us. Dozens of piglets wander about and some come up to sniff us. The buildings are on stilts with the people living above and their livestock tied below. It is absolutely amazing that this tiny village is here without road access, running water, or electricity.
We are pointed to the hut that would be our home for the night. It is the house of Nop’s brother. Inside, a fire had already been lit and Nop is making dinner. In the meantime, we peel off wet clothes and I make a much-needed trip to the outhouse. It might be just a hole in the ground, but it is surrounded by walls, which is more than what has been available during the trip so far. Attached to the outhouse is a room with a water pump. It is the only place to shower in the village. Throughout the evening, women come down to this room and carefully pick their way back across the village with their hair wrapped in a towel. Although we are a conspicuous distraction, life in the village around us goes on as usual.
Nop acts as interpreter during dinner, asking the questions of our curious host family. One of the first questions was about the age Americans get married. The members of the village have been known to marry as early as ten, although in past years they have waited until a little older. They are eager to know what differences there are between their lives and ours. Over the course of the meal, they tell us about their daily life, including the two-hour walk to the rice fields where many villagers work.
Sitting on the floor, eating dinner among the villagers, we are in awe of this very different way of life. I began to wonder how much longer it will stay this way. How many more visitors can take this same trek? Already, the younger generation wears jeans. Earlier in the day, we passed a village accessible via road and could see a satellite dish peeking out from behind a thatched roof.
Tourist travel to these villages creates a paradox. By visiting, we are affecting them. Just as global 
warming may be taking away some of the natural wonders, globalization is reaching even secluded people such as these. How long until there are no villagers in their native garb? And with the younger generation learning Thai, I doubt they will continue to be such an isolated group. They are a society in transition and it dawned on me that evening that this is a place I can return to, but not a time. The same trek in twenty years would look very different than it does today. It is with these thoughts that I settle down for a less than comfortable night’s sleep on the floor of the hut we share with our host family.
The next day we begin our trek back out of the forest. We plod between rice paddies, over crudely-made fences, and through dense undergrowth. Only as we get closer to the end of our trip did we see another tour group slowly packing up their belongings from bamboo huts built only as tourist accommodations. The giveaway is the presence of picnic tables. As they are just beginning their day, we have already been hiking for five hours. It isn’t hard to get a jump on the day when a rooster outside your hut crows at four in the morning.
Eventually, we reach what looks like a bus stop strangely placed in the middle of the jungle. It is the end of our journey on foot and the beginning of the first proper road we have seen in some time. As we wait, Nop talks with a woman who runs a small souvenir shop at this pick-up spot for trekkers in Karen. Nop laughs and translates a bit, letting us know that she is impressed with how far we have walked. When we ask how far we have traveled with Nop, the answer is surprising – forty kilometers, or nearly twenty-five miles, in two days.
Then our truck appears and takes us bouncing down the road to the relative congestion of Chiang Mai. The trek is more than I had expected. We are both exhausted, but satisfied that the experience of being two days and a world away from our daily metropolitan lives, was well worth it.
Details: Chiang Mai Trekking
TRANSPORTATION: To get to Chiang Mai from Bangkok, travelers can take plane, train, or bus. Going by plane is fastest, taking around 2 hours, and there are 6 flights that take this route each day. Travelers can use either Bangkok Air or Thai Airways, expecting to pay between $60 and $100 each way. The overnight train takes 13 hours and a bed on this train can cost as little as $15. A bed in a private cabin can cost as much as $35. The bus takes about as long as the train, if not faster, and usually costs between $10 and $15. Once in Chiang Mai, the trekking company will provide transportation via truck into Doi Suthep National Park.
INFORMATION: Treks can be arranged through any number of reputable trekking companies in the area. When choosing a trek, look for a small group size, a certified English-speaking guide, and consider where time will be spent (i.e. in the jungle, with local villagers, bamboo rafting, etc.). Expect to pay between $25 and $75 per person per day for a quality trek.
RESERVATIONS: This trek was arranged through Julie’s Guesthouse (julie_chiangmai@gmx.net, http://www.julieguesthouse.com/pTrekking.htm). The guide was Nopparat Sukdenchaikul of the Baatunglong Village (cell: 085-0417237).
SUPPLIES: Most treks carry food for you and provide a bamboo hut with mosquito netting for sleeping. Travelers will need lots of water (about 2 litres per person per day) as there is not much chance to refill along the way, a flashlight, bug spray, sun screen, a towel, and a hat. Trekking pants are ideal, as they dry quickly, can be converted into shorts, and are lightweight and loose for the tropical weather.
