Thailand: The Hill Tribes

Northern Thailand is known for its hill tribes; six ethnicities who immigrated into the country from Tibet, China and Myanmar over the last two centuries to escape discrimination and political conflict. Each tribe has its own unique language, customs and ornate dress.

When vacationing in Thailand’s second largest city, Chiang Mai, a day trip to one or more of the hill tribe villages is recommended as a highlight by tour guides and travel books. Hundreds of thousands of tourists from all over the world take these excursions each year to get “insight” into the “traditional” lifestyles of the Lahu Shi Bala, Karen, Palong, Hmong, Yao and Akha people.

I had read about the hill tribes before arriving in Chiang Mai. I was particularly interested in seeing the Kayaw. They are a subsect of the Karen tribe known for their women who have heavy brass rings coiled around their necks. 

My guidebook was several years old and had told me in order to see them I had to arrange for a tour company to take me about three hours North of the city. 

The guide arrived at my hostel at 7 a.m. sharp so we would have plenty of time to make the drive there and back. After about an hour in the car the guide mentioned some members of the tribe had migrated and were living only forty-five minutes away from the city. Thinking the location would not change the visiting experience, I asked her to turn around the car and head to the village that was more conveniently located.

An hour later we pulled into a parking lot. She walked up to a kiosk with two women in polo shirts sitting at computers and bought me an admission ticket for eight-hundred baht (about 27 American Dollars). She then handed me a shiny pamphlet with the name “Baan Tong Luang” printed on it. Inside were photos of smiling people from the six different tribes and descriptions of their origins. She happily explained to me my last minute change of plan was a good one. I would now not only get to see the long-necks, but all the other tribes living in Northern Thailand too.

We walked through a gate and onto a dirt trail lined with wooden huts on stilts. “The Hmong People” read a sign with a large arrow pointing straight ahead. As we appeared in the middle of the one road “village,” the women who had been sitting on their porches ran down the steps and lifted towels off tables covered in the same purses and bracelets found in every night market from Phuket to Bangkok. “Come look, Madame!” they chanted the accosting words I’ve heard from vendors all over Southeast Asia. When they run out of merchandise they take off their traditional dress, hop on motorbikes and drive to the nearest major city to restock.

As we continued on our tour, the guide pointed out various features of the architecture to me. The houses are elevated off the ground, because it commonly floods where the Hmong people originated she explains. No risk of flooding here though.

We walk to the end of the short trail and approached a fork. The Karen people are that way and the Akha people are that way it instructed. I told the guide we should head in the direction of the long-necks. We had come there to see them, afterall.

As we were walking I began speaking to the guide. How had all these supposedly distinct cultures come to live in such close proximity to one another and to Chiang Mai? Where were all the fields for farming?

After some probing, I sadly got the answer I had anticipated.

“Baan Tong Luang” was created for the convenience of tourists about five years ago. The people who live there chose to relocate from their original villages, because the money is too good to refuse.

After several minutes we entered into the main attraction: “the long-necks.” The women all sat under open bamboo shacks with dried teak leaf roofs in long skirts and colorful shawls. They were wearing dozens of bows and fake flowers on top of their heads and had long white lace veils draped down their backs. Their most notable feature, of course, was the heavy brass rings coiled around their necks, the top of their calves and ankles.

The women get their first set of rings at five years old. Each set weighs approximately 4 ½ pounds and they get a set added every five to seven years. The rings push down on their clavicle making their necks appear longer. Over time it compresses their rib cages.

This tradition originated because the Kayaw were trying to emulate the beauty of the female dragon they believe gave birth to their tribe. Now, the tradition is carried on for one reason and one reason only: tourists like to take pictures of it.

As I approached the women they prepared to pose. They called over their daughters with coiled necks, pulled their babies onto their laps and stood with their crafts as though they were mid-work. Tourists began to snap away. They shamelessly turned their cameras horizontal, vertical and horizontal again trying to get the perfect shot. They crouched down, backed up and inched closer to the women who incumbently stood maintaining meager smiles.

After visitors got a satisfactory photo they handed their cameras over to their tour guides and approached their woman of choice for a picture together. When the women began pulling out a series of loose brass rings that can be tied to give the illusion of a coiled neck more amused visitors joined in.

I observed in awe when a sudden feeling of disgust overwhelmed me. I quickly hurried past the crowds and continued up the hill.

As I walked further up the path and away from the tourists I actively waved and smiled at each woman I passed. My camera was tucked away in my pocket where it belonged.

One woman sitting on her front steps pointed at my ukulele case. Up until that point, it hadn’t seemed appropriate to play. I knew if I had tried I would’ve quickly become a target of the amateur paparazzi.

I approached the woman and sat by her side with my legs crossed. I unzipped my bag, pulled out my trusty uke and began to play. She swayed back and forth to my strums as I tapped my foot and sang “Hotel California” by The Eagles. When I was done, she pulled out a four-string instrument that was shaped like a guitar, slightly bigger than my ukulele and sounded like a harp. She began to play a beautiful melody with the same sorts of scales I’d been hearing in music all over Southeast Asia; calming and repetitive.

Our eyes met and we smiled sharing the kind of unique joy that binds musicians together.

Suddenly, my gut began to cramp. Sharp pangs of guilt and sadness worked their way up through my stomach and into my chest. I knew what was going to happen next and as tears began to well up in my eyes I turned my head. I tried to contain the emotional purging to my hidden facial expression, but my body uncontrollably convulsed two or three times. My secret was out and in an attempt not to be rude I wiped my cheeks and turned back around. Jasmine was crying too as she slowly continued to play.  

I lifted my gaze from her fingers as they slid up and down the strings and once again, our eyes met. She placed her instrument down. She put one hand on my shoulder and used the other to to dry her tears with the end of her shawl. She looked at me maternally and rubbed my arm.

I collected myself long enough to take a deep breath and look around. I looked at her. I looked at her neck. I looked at all the merchandise she had laid out for purchase.

I looked down at the skirt I was wearing. I had bought it at one of the other “villages” in the complex.

I realized that as I sat disgusted by the insensitivity of the other tourists I had perpetuated the exploitation of these women as much as they had.

I had wanted to see the long-necks and I did. I didn’t want to drive the extra two and a half hours to their farming village so I visited the smaller version created for visitors. I paid my eight-hundred baht, I took some photos and I bought a souvenir.

I certainly didn’t get an “insight” into the “traditional” lifestyles of hill tribe people, but it forced me to wonder how people from different cultures can authentically come to understand one another.

So far my travels through Southeast Asia have taken me through Indonesia , Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand. All these countries have created ways for tourists to conveniently experience their varying cultural traditions. Most hotels have their own dance or music show. Tour companies advertise visits into local villages in rural areas surrounding major cities. These expensive excursions seem to consistently involve an element of spectacle.

The only way I’ve managed to get away from the circus is to hop on a motorbike and seize control of my own experiences. How the people in foreign countries really live is often not as bizarre or unfamiliar as anticipated. Just like in America, most people in Thailand spend their time with friends and family, cooking food at home, doing laundry, watching television, working...y'know.

While photos of people driving cars, eating at restaurants and hanging up their clothes to dry might not be as exciting as those of long-necked women weaving blankets it does illuminate the important reality that regardless of what culture we come from most of our daily routines just aren’t that different.