After leaving the wedding on Saturday afternoon, we headed out with our landlords for some sightseeing. For about a year, they had been talking about wanting to talk us up into one of the higher mountain villages that dot the north of Thailand. Finally, we had our chance. We headed up past Doi Suthep (overlooking Chiang Mai city) to the Hmong village of Doi Pui,
Over past decades, the royal family of Thailand has sponsored a number of sustainable development projects in northern hill tribe areas. The general goal is to encourage hill tribes to move out of the opium trade and into safer, healthier economies. Doi Pui is one such example.
Up in the village, we visited the small museum and looked at some traditional artifacts and tools. We took photos in the opium gardens. We purchased handicrafts from several of the stalls along the windy roads. We admired the waterfalls.
We opted to skip the opportunity to pay 60 baht to dress up in traditional Hmong clothing for our photos in the gardens, however. Although it was clear that Doi Pui was managed and operated in a sustainable manner by the residents of the village, and not by the Thai government, we felt awkward about some of its elements. At one point, Ajaan Warangkana pulled me into a small structure where a tour group was listening to their guide explain what they were seeing. It seemed to be a replica of a house, and the English-speaking guide was pointing out the various spaces – sleeping area, cooking area, meat smoking area, etc. I couldn’t see much so I just translated the descriptions for Warangkana. When the group moved away and I was able to see inside, however, I realized that it was a REAL HOUSE CURRENTLY IN USE BY ITS RESIDENTS. A woman was cooking. Two kids were lying on a bench watching TV, surrounded by some very used-looking blankets.. Clothes were hanging on the line to dry. There we were, tourists, in someone’s real home. It was a very strange feeling, and Robert and I agreed that we wanted to quickly move back outside.
We couldn’t decide how we felt about the experience overall. On the one hand, in our position as tourists we were clearly supporting the economy of the village. I know that this kind of tourism can in many cases help communities to preserve their traditional cultures, because doing so has an economic benefit. On the other hand, at times it felt a little bit like walking through a zoo, except that the zoo had people instead of animals. I don’t feel comfortable seeing my fellow human beings this way.
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve had the opportunity to be part of "the real thing" while living in Thailand. I don’t just walk around like a tourist, looking at people’s culture and admiring or analyzing it. No, I’m living it, and wow, it’s real. All the good and bad parts mixed up together for two solid years. Nothing like the guidebooks.
We can’t all have this opportunity, though, and even I will probably only have it with a limited number of communities. (Our trip to Laos was clearly tourism-focused, but highly educational.) And certainly it must be better to have some exposure to other cultures, as a tourist, than to have none at all. Perhaps the best way to look at this issue is to say is that if I could learn something from the experience, and use it to be a better citizen of the world, then it has a value beyond its local economic benefits. And perhaps that’s good enough for me.
Over past decades, the royal family of Thailand has sponsored a number of sustainable development projects in northern hill tribe areas. The general goal is to encourage hill tribes to move out of the opium trade and into safer, healthier economies. Doi Pui is one such example.
Up in the village, we visited the small museum and looked at some traditional artifacts and tools. We took photos in the opium gardens. We purchased handicrafts from several of the stalls along the windy roads. We admired the waterfalls.
We opted to skip the opportunity to pay 60 baht to dress up in traditional Hmong clothing for our photos in the gardens, however. Although it was clear that Doi Pui was managed and operated in a sustainable manner by the residents of the village, and not by the Thai government, we felt awkward about some of its elements. At one point, Ajaan Warangkana pulled me into a small structure where a tour group was listening to their guide explain what they were seeing. It seemed to be a replica of a house, and the English-speaking guide was pointing out the various spaces – sleeping area, cooking area, meat smoking area, etc. I couldn’t see much so I just translated the descriptions for Warangkana. When the group moved away and I was able to see inside, however, I realized that it was a REAL HOUSE CURRENTLY IN USE BY ITS RESIDENTS. A woman was cooking. Two kids were lying on a bench watching TV, surrounded by some very used-looking blankets.. Clothes were hanging on the line to dry. There we were, tourists, in someone’s real home. It was a very strange feeling, and Robert and I agreed that we wanted to quickly move back outside.
We couldn’t decide how we felt about the experience overall. On the one hand, in our position as tourists we were clearly supporting the economy of the village. I know that this kind of tourism can in many cases help communities to preserve their traditional cultures, because doing so has an economic benefit. On the other hand, at times it felt a little bit like walking through a zoo, except that the zoo had people instead of animals. I don’t feel comfortable seeing my fellow human beings this way.
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve had the opportunity to be part of "the real thing" while living in Thailand. I don’t just walk around like a tourist, looking at people’s culture and admiring or analyzing it. No, I’m living it, and wow, it’s real. All the good and bad parts mixed up together for two solid years. Nothing like the guidebooks.
We can’t all have this opportunity, though, and even I will probably only have it with a limited number of communities. (Our trip to Laos was clearly tourism-focused, but highly educational.) And certainly it must be better to have some exposure to other cultures, as a tourist, than to have none at all. Perhaps the best way to look at this issue is to say is that if I could learn something from the experience, and use it to be a better citizen of the world, then it has a value beyond its local economic benefits. And perhaps that’s good enough for me.
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