Returning Home to Ban La Up

January 15th, 2009

It must be a good fit. I just returned to the village I am volunteering in after a 9 hour (one-way) Saang-Taew adventure to Mae Sot and back in order to enter into Myanmar and renew my Thai visa. Upon my return, I was unexpectedly overwhelmed with the feeling that I was returning home.

There were smiles all around as I was welcomed back by my family. It took Grandma a little while to warm up to me, but now she seemed the most excited to see me. As my friend Queta would say, she is a fine wine.

I feel so fortunate to have this opportunity to be welcomed in by a wonderful Lawa family in this beautiful mountain village and be able to feel helpful at the same time.

Although things have changed here in the past ten years or so with electricity and TV, the people still hold onto much of their way of life and tradition. Each meal is cooked over an open fire in the kitchen. The toilet is outside and must be squatted over. A large bucket with a bowl to pour water over your head serves as the shower. Instead of chairs and sofas there are mats on the floor. The people do their own farming and each family has pigs and chickens living under their hut. The bed is just a blanket on top of the wood-planked floor.

The meal times are my favorite. Each meal is the same and they only have one word for it, "gin kow," which literally means "eat rice". The women sit on mats in the kitchen and start a fire in the square pit. We prepare the leafy vegetables by tearing them into pieces and rinsing them in the recycled rain water. The rice is put over the fire to boil. Chilies are ground and all sorts of spices I don't recognize are prepared. If meat is available we chop that as well to add to the vegies. Once the rice is boiling it is moved onto a cement cylinder to simmer over just a few of the coals. The little boys come in to warm themselves around the fire. I teach them some english words and they return the favor by teaching me Thai. Grandma teaches me a little of the Lawa language and occasionally bends her rule by speaking Thai with me. Smiles and giggles are always going around as we try to adapt our tongues to new pronunciations . The main dish is usually boiled in a pot over the fire. Sometimes there will also be other tasty treats wrapped in banana leafs roasting just outside the fire. Other times we will also cook using a wak or a fish roaster over the fire.



Once the meal is ready the whole family gathers in a circle on the floor around the dishes of food. Everyone is served their own generous bowl of rice. The family says a little prayer while I silently thank the animal that gave its life. Everyone has a bite of plain rice and then uses their spoon to dish up a few bites from one of the dishes into their bowl. Once you finish those bites, you get some more to add to your rice until your bowl is empty. Even after a week the family is still thoroughly amused to watch me pour heaping spoonfuls of the chili paste onto my rice.
The mother of the family, Mina, was worried that I wouldn't be able to eat her cooking, so she is very happy that I love the mountain food.

After the meal, the daughter Helena and I wash the dishes in a pot of water on the windowsill and throw the scraps down to the ground. This is always immediatly followed by several skirmishes from the animals below to get at the best pieces.

The Thai people seem to be obsessed with bathing. They wash several times a day even though it is quite cold here in the mornings and evenings. I take my shower in the afternoon when it is the hottest. Even then the water feels painfully cold as I ladle it over my head. I try to get it over as quickly as possible before I go outside to comb my hair and dry in the sun.

The toilet was a little bit difficult for me to get used to as well. The toilet room is always outside in the back of the home. There is a little basin in the floor with a foot pad on each side to use while squatting over it. It takes a little practice to find your own correct foot positioning. Once you are done with your business, don't bother looking for the toilet paper. There isn't any. Even if you did have some, the system isn't set up to handle it. Instead there is the same bucket you use for the shower. You ladle up some water and wash yourself. Now that I have gotten used to it, it's actually not bad and you feel cleaner than with paper. And don't worry, there is soap to thoroughly wash your hands with when you are through.

I have even gotten used to sleeping here. Although I will admit, my first night was slightly miserable. I think the little sleep I did manage was spent dreaming about my therma-rest on the other side of the planet. The floors of the huts are made with either slats of bamboo or wood planks and then they are on stilts high over the ground with no other insulation below. So, when I saw my bed of just a blanket on the floor I knew it would be hard and cold. Luckily my friend Pat gave me a poncho blanket just before I came up, so I wrapped myself in that as well. Even with that, I would still wake up cold and then be bitter about the hard ground.

Yet, somehow I have gotten used to it. I am still always a little cold at night no matter how I wrap myself but I appreciate the benefits of the hard floor for my back, I have gained a new appreciation for the soft parts of my body, and I have actually been sleeping pretty well. That is until the roosters sound their daily alarm at the crack of dawn.


I haven't been doing as much classroom teaching as I would like. This time of year the people have just finished their main harvest and there are a lot of celebrations going on. This translates to a lot of days with no school. I have already been to two weddings, two children's day festivals and helped one little girl celebrate her birthday. Other times I help people with their wares, teach English to families and have time to relax and explore.

The Lawa people are traditionally Animist and although they still retain some of those beliefs and customs, most people have been converted to either Christianity or Buddhism. The first wedding that I attended was a Christian one. It was a sober affair with a band but no dancing and a lot of talking by the guy on stage.
The second wedding was between a Lawa Buddhist woman and a Lisu (another hilltribe) man. The day before they sacrificed a cow and a pig. They made enormous pots of rice and invited people from all around to join in on a feast.

I was invited into one home to join in on a meal of "the King's food". It was a beef dish with a deep red sauce. I'll admit it tasted great, that is until I asked what the sauce was made from. "Raw blood" came the simple response. It was then that I noticed the dish had the same after taste that comes from a bloody nose.

The village elders gathered in the home of the bride, passed around liberal amounts of home-brew and chanted for the newly-weds. By the time I was invited into the house, the elders were well on their way to being thoroughly sloshed and quite amused to have me as their guest. They all kept pushing me to drink the home brew and speaking to me in Lawa. I responded by taking tiny sips and joking with them in English. Laughing tends to be the best form of communication in these situations.

When I needed a break from being a spectacle, my new friend Sayan took me over to his families home. Sayan was just visiting for the day from Chiang Mai where he works for an NGO. It was fortunate for me that he was there because he speaks really nice english and was able to explain a lot to me. We had another lunch at his house. Everyone seems to worry that I am not getting enough to eat. I helped his father separate cotton from its seeds which is a nice relaxing job.

Apparently, at one point Sayan had a roomate that was Mexican. So, he has developed a great interest in all things Mexican. After lunch he offered me some Kahlua. I couldn't turn down the novelty of drinking Kahlua in a Thai hilltribe village, so I accepted. But on hindsight I probably should have known something was fishy. He poured some instant coffee into our cups, added a splash of hot water and as I watched in horror, proceeded to fill the glass the rest of the way with rice wine.

"Delicious?" he asked.

I controlled my gag reflex and managed to giggle for the second time that day. Some things just don't translate the same.

By night time many people around the village were "Mao LaO" (whiskey sick) and I was glad that the people in my family don't drink much.


Children's Day was another special affair. The teachers at the school set up a stage and each child in the school had the chance to take part in a performance. They had a big present exchange and food and snacks were passed out like Halloween.

The younger children mostly stuck to traditional song and dance while the older kids performed more pop style singing and skits. A few of the older boys performed some rock songs with their band. The whole thing was really cute.

The next day we filled a truck with children and adults and traveled down the mountain to the town of Mae La Noi where the whole thing was happening again but on a larger scale. The kids were all so excited for this excursion to "the big city". At this festival they also had a carnival ride and a couple of extra stages. Everyone could just walk right up and get food, drinks and ice cream. It was similar to a small town fair, but everything was free. It gave the event a very nice spirit.


In the evenings I often visit another family that lives a few houses down from mine. They are probably the sweetest family I have ever known. They live a very traditional Lawa lifestyle. They don't have much in the way of money but they are incredibly rich.

There are six children, but the house never feels hectic. Even the baby has a calming peaceful presence, I've never even heard her cry.

The eldest daughter, Janjira, has a special place in my heart. She wants to be a trekking guide. I think she could become a great Outward Bound instructor as well. She has a natural gift for english and jumps at any chance to learn more.

One evening I was over at their house trading skills. They were teaching me how to make brooms and I was teaching english. Janjira casually mentioned that it was the birthday of her little sister Om.

I taught the family the "happy birthday" song and we celebrated with some little treats I bought and I gave her my colored pencils. I felt honored to give a small treat to a family that has shared with me so much.


The classroom teaching has definitely been something that has pushed my comfort zone. Although I am an instructor in the US, I have never taught inside a classroom, I have never taught a large group of small children and I have never formally taught english. Nonetheless on my first day the Thai teacher, Toshi, had me jump right in.

"Here are the keys for classroom. Go Ahead!" Toshi told me.

I had no idea what english the students already knew or how to start.

"Uh, hello." was my pitiful introduction.

"Hello-teacher-how-are-you-today." The class responded in unison, making the phrase sound more like one continuous word.

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

This time I was responded with only confused looks and frantic searching of the faces of peers to see if they knew what was going on.

"Ok..." Come to think of it, I probably had a similar expression. I wondered if the students had any idea how much I felt out of place.

Somehow I managed to stumble through the hour teaching introductions, practicing numbers, the ABCs and a few necessary vocab words.

Finally Toshi announced that the class was over. The students all stood up, bowed to me and recited in unison, "Thank-you-teacher-see-you-next-time."

I let out a huge sigh of relief as they raced out the door. Then slowly other students started filing in.

"Ok, next class." Toshi told me.

I wondered if this was some kind of cruel joke, but no, it was true. Fortunately Toshi took more of a lead with this class and the students were also more self directed.


I got that kind of self-doubt that seems to happen each time I throw myself into something that could either be fantastic or terribly painful.

What am I doing here? I asked myself. I don't know how to teach english! How could this possibly work. I berated my decision to come.

There are times when you jump into water that is over your head that at first you feel as you may never stop sinking, but when you give it time, you can soon rise to the surface and enjoy frolicking.

I have learned to relax in the classroom and use my own style to teach english in an active way. The children have been responding well and some days are really fun, especially with my first graders.

Over dinner upon my return, the father of my family told me they were all very happy I was back. He explained that now I am like a member of the family and when I am not there, the women feel sad because they are missing me.

I never knew it could happen so quickly, but I felt the same way.

Searching in Circles

January 6th, 2009
Once in Mae Sot I quickly found people that wanted me to commit to volunteer positions. I toured a couple of orphanage schools and was deeply touched by their need. However, as a person that relies strongly on intuition, it just didn't feel right for me and my skillset.

I hadn't fully realized how much I cared for the small villages of Northern Thailand until I had left them. I finally gave myself time to contemplate the offer that I had received in Mae Sariang. The offer that had sounded too good to be true. The offer that was now tugging at my heart and nagging my soul.

During my last visit to Mae Sariang I had really felt a connection to the area. By chance, I had also met a Thai couple that run an eco-minded trekking company. After a bit of talk, they offered me the chance to volunteer in a village that they visit on their treks. At the time of the offer I had been too distracted by my quest to Mae Sot to give it serious consideration. But fortunately I did have the good sense to get their contact info.

So, on a leap of faith I again boarde the Saang-Taew for the 6 hour ride back to Mae Sariang. The journey was not wasted, when I arrived I found the offer to still stand. Today they are taking me to a village to see if it suits me. I don't really have much information on what it will be like, other than I will be working at the school and in exchange I can live with one of the families. They told me that I won't have much direction and basically I can make what I like out of it.

I'm generally a person that's pretty much at peace with the unknown but now I find myself a bit nervous. I'm really hoping I can make this work into a good experience for all involved.

A Long and Winding Road

December 31st, 2008

I was on a journey to volunteer but instead found myself the constant benefactor of the kindness of strangers.

After spending several days longer than expected in Pai, I said some tearful goodbye to my Thai friends that I had grown close to. It was amazing how quickly I had felt apart of their community. I was sad to leave, but I was also on a mission. My main intention for spending so much time abroad was to combine my love of traveling with my desire to volunteer. So, I was headed out on the long and winding road to the Thai-Burmese border town of Mae Sot.

When I got on my first bus, it was filled past capacity and the seats were all taken. I stood there akwardly with my back hunched. In Thailand, things are just not build to accomodate the height of a tall westerner. Out of the blue, a young man insisted that I take his seat. He was able to stand much more easily, being quite a lot shorter than I.

Four hours later I arrived in Mae Hong Son. I was hoping to push on to a town another four hours south but it didn't work out with the schedules. I generally try to avoid arriving in a new town after dark, so I decided to stay their.

I bargained for a rate and got on the back of a taxi motorbike. When we arrived at my desired guest house we discovered it was full. The driver told me, "don't worry" and motioned for me to get back on the bike.

Six places later we still couldn't find a vacancy, yet the driver remained in good spirits. We made a game of it like a treasure hunt. After each place denied me, we would throw up our arms and exclaim, "Nai!" and race off to the next place.

Eventually we found the one open place that was within my budget. "Yay!" we celebrated. The driver didn't even ask for extra money, of course I gave him a nice tip though.


The town was in full swing for the Thai celebration of New Years.

There was a large market centered around a temple on a lake. The Thai families were out enjoying the festivities, eating and drinking and setting off large paper hot air balloons. The balloons are lifted up into the sky by the heat produced by the fires at their bases. The sky glowed with their light.

The next morning I set out to catch the morning bus. The bus station was across town so I planned to catch a ride. I started walking in the direction but could not find a taxi. I had already been walking for 20 minutes and it was getting close to the time I needed to be there. Feeling quite frustrated I finally attempted to ask a boy how to get there.

He responded with a little bit of english, that it was straight for awhile, then turn... (I think).

By this time I was sure that I would miss the bus, but I kept walking. Suddenly the boy pulled alongside of me on a motorbike and motioned for me to get on.

As it turns out the station was still a long ways away, but he got me there just in time.

It was another four hour winding road through the jungle up and down the mountainsides before I reached the town of Mae Sariang.

I discovered when I arrived that the last ride to Mae Sot had already left. Fortunately this time I easily found a room close to the station that was really cute and very affordable. One good thing that came from this fragmented journey was that it provided me the opportunity to explore two extra towns.

After watching the sunset from a hill top temple I was wandering back through town.

"Hello! How are you?!"

I was surprised to hear english because I hadn't seen many Farangs since I left Pai.

"I am good. How are you?" I responded.

The whole table, filled with men and women of various ages, exploded with laughter.

"Please, come join us."

A trait that seems to be common in Thai people is that if you are by yourself they want to "adopt" you.

How could I say no to people that are so entertained just by my speaking. So, I found myself a part of their group, eating and drinking and joining in on a rendition of "Have you ever seen the rain..."

They all begged to have me join them at the Karaoke bar but I was too weary of getting on a bike with anyone that was drunk enough to appreciate my singing.

Early the next morning I caught the ride to Mae Sot. The ride was the back of a pickup truck with benches built in, called a song-taew. At one point I was sharing the song-taew with 27 other Thais. I learned that the winding roads had actually been a blessing once we hit the straight, hot freeways. We raced along so fast my face was burned from the wind.

It was another six hours before I reached my final destination of Mae Sot. I was physically exhausted by my journey but spiritually energized to give back for all that had been given to me.

To Pai (A Christmas in the Mountains)

December 25th, 2008

*WARNING: if you tend to worry about my judgement and safety, you may want to skip this entry.


Now that was a Christmas to remember! Through a strange series of coincidences I unexpectedly spent my holiday with a tiny hilltribe village five hours by motorbike into the jungle without another outsider in sight.

I suppose one could take it all the way back to Febuary 25th 2001, when I met the love of my life that I later nicknamed Tupai. But, that would make for far too long of a story.

Fast forward over seven years to me traveling in Asia and feeling a mysteriously strong pull to the small town in Northern Thailand called Pai.

I took a train on a 13 hour voyage from Bangkok to the city of Chiang Mai where I could catch a bus on to Pai. On the train I met a Kiwi married couple, whom had been traveling for over a year, that were on their way to Laos. They also planned to just spend one night in Chiang Mai. Somehow we kept managing to distract one another from moving on and it became three days before we departed the city. The highlight of which being the Chaing Mai Zoo. It was very nicely done and a little less stringent on safety rules than the US. I was able to fulfill a lifelong dream of playing with and holding a baby lion.

Finally I made it to the bus station. The driver asked, "where you going?"

It wasn't until the moment I responded "To Pai!" that I conciously recognized the connection of the name of this town and my long lost love.

I sat in the back of a rickety bus that was so old and decrepped that I seriously doubted its abilities to house old hippies, let alone carry us high up into the mountains. However, for the price of the ride I couldn't even make it to the next neighborhood in the US, so I took it all in stride.

I passed the time ensconsed in a muddled converstation amongst a french girl and a very friendly Thai woman, both of whom had limited english abilities. Somehow I ended up playing translator, but it was really more like a bad game of telephone. I'm quite sure that all three of us have very different pictures of what we discussed.

Once in Pai I found a flimsy hut to stay in for 150 baught (about US$4.50) but it was so small I couldn't even open the door without hitting the saggy bed. It was a bit late, but I decided that I needed a good bowl of rice and curry and a beer before I'd be able to sleep there. So, I headed next door to a place called the Wisdom Bar. It immediately drew me in with its cozy patio little nooks to lounge in, a bonfire to sit around and good classic rock playing. "Like a rolling stone" came on and gave me a whole new appreciation of it.

I was invited in, chose a little table and ordered my dinner.

I sat for a couple of moments longer before I was questioned with, "Oh, you're here alone?" from the woman at the table next to me.

"Yes" I nodded.

"Oh, please, come sit here." The Thai group welcomed me to their table as warmly as old friends.
Ah, welcome to Pai.

We sat there eating, laughing and drinking and welcoming other visitors into the circle. At one point I was sitting around a fire with a man from Israel, his girlfriend from Holland, a mountaineer guide that works in Nepal, two German girls and several local Thais. We were from all over the world but that evening we were all the same.

I was asking around about my best options for trekking into the mountains around town. Each person had been out trekking with a different company and everyone had seemed to have a good experience. I asked my new friend Oyi if he wanted to go on a trek with me. He told me that his trekking guide friend, Kon, was also trying to get him to go on a trip for Christmas to stay in a village that been influenced by a missionary. However, he was too busy to go. He offered to ask Kon who was also sitting at the fire if I could go instead.

Kon seemed like a really nice and respectful guy, but it just seemed like a bad idea to go alone with someone I had just met. I chatted with Kon and all the others throughout the night, but neither of us mentioned the trip.

Two days later I was getting the same story from everyone that I met. They had already been trekking, but offered the same advice; just find some cool people and go with a company that doesn't go to overvisited villages.

I had been studying the posters at each of the 20 or so trekking companies around town. I finally saw one that looked really good. They guaranteed to take guests to villages that were not visited by any other companies. They also seemed to have a great respect for the people of the villages and the environment.

So, I walked in to see if there was a trek leaving soon. The woman left to get the guide for me to talk to. Much to my surprise, Kon walked in the door. He told me, as I had already suspected that there wasn't much trekking going on until after the holidays, but I could always get together my own group or check back in.

Just as I was about to walk out, feeling quite disapointed, he stopped me.

"Well, I'm going on a personal trip. My friend Oyi was supposed to go with me but I don't think he is going to..."

I knew from an outsider's perspective it would be a terrible judgement call... but, my inutition told me the situation was legite, and my intuition rarely steers me wrong.

Two hours later I was on the back of my new friend's motorbike heading deep into the jungle. The dirt road twisted and turned, juanted and dipped, we crossed muddy creeks, climbed dusty hills and raced down deeply rutted paths. All the time passing oxen filled rice paddies, weaving between exotic fruit trees and passing wild flowers. The terrain seemed to include everything, except for a flat place in the road.

After an hour without seeing anyone, we pulled alongside a little stand with three men drinking homebrew and puffing cheroots. I was a bit aprehensive about the situation. Kon and the men exchanged some words in Thai and then four more men came out of the jungle wearing ski masks and yielding machetes.

Holy shit! What have I gotten myself into! This has the possibility of being really bad, even by my standards. My mind raced trying to decipher what they were talking about.

The men studied me as well, looking me up and down.

I considered my options and realized I didn't have many.

The men all laughed and one of them offered me a drink. I was in survival mode, the last thing I wanted was a drink.

My tension eased as I realized they had lost interest in me and were casually chatting amongst themselves. One offered me an orange and I took it as a peace offering.

I still didn't feel quite right until we were back on the bike a ways further down the road. Kon admitted that he was joking with them and told them I was his girlfriend. They were quite surprised because they are hill tribe farmers and rarely see farangs (westerners).

They may have been surprised, but I'm guessing I was the one more in shock. It really isn't until now that I can kind of laugh about the whole thing.

We kept on bumping down the road putting the motorbike to the test. Sometimes the path would be so steep that we would have to hop off half way up and walk with the bike's engine still roaring. Other times we would be going down a winding road with brakes squeeling narrowly missing rocks and branches and losing traction in lose dirt. I was certain that at any moment we would crash and burn and all I could do was hold on with all my might.

Eventually we made it to the Lisu village to stay with Kon's friends. They showed me to their hut. It had a dirt floor with an open fire inside. An old man sat on the floor shucking corn for the pigs. Chickens ran about and several piglets were trying to jump over the door stop.

"Here is your bed. Please, make yourself at home."

The bed consisted of a couple of dirty blankets folded on the floor. Never the less I was excited to be there. We ate dinner squatting around a little table with a Lisu woman. The meal was a delicious mix of egg, taro stew and rice.

The next morning was announced very audibly by a countless number of roosters. It was also marked by the sounds of several grass huts a-rocking. No wonder this village has so many kids running around.

It still amazes me that everyone in Thailand seems to wake up at the same time. Within the timespan of 20 minutes a whole town can go from absolute silence to full swing with people chatting loudly, music blaring, dogs barking and engines roaring.

We got back on the bike to travel further into the mountains to find the Christian village. Along our way we passed through another small village and stopped to say hi to an old couple that Kon is friends with. They opened me warmly and the old woman had a great laugh dressing me in traditional Lisu clothing.
As we passed through the village I noticed a young Lisu woman bumping along on the back of a bike seemingly with no effort. As my arms were quite soar from my death grip, I took a clue and was finally able to relax on the bike.

Riding through a jungle trail on the back of a motorbike is a lot like dancing with a partner. You must keep your body loose, ready for each twist and dip while at the same time maintaining control of each movement. You must learn to trust your partner, but sometimes it is best to just close your eyes, and most importantly, always remember to enjoy the ride.

A few hours later we arrived at the Lahu village just in time to partake in the Christmas Eve festivities. The village consisted of about ten families of which most were Lahu people with Animist beliefs whom had also been influenced by a Christian missionary.

I really wasn't sure what to expect. What I found was they didn't have a Christmas tree or presents but they had killed three large pigs and were enjoying a gathering of families for a large feast completed with a generous supply of homebrewed rice whisky and a couple of santa hats mixed in.

All were surpised to have a Farang as a guest. But, nonetheless they were very welcoming and entertained by my presence. Well, all except for one of the babies that didn't quite know what to make of me. The children were a bit aprehensive as well, but once I proved myself by playing their version of hackey-sack they warmed right up.

All the adults were interested in was my relationship status and couldn't seem to believe that I am single. A couple of them were very set on the idea that Kon and I were to start a romance and get married. Unfortunately for them I have very different ideas for my future.

Once the sun set the feasting and festivities abruptly ended. One of the families set up some blankets for me to sleep with them on the floor of their stilted hut.

It was very nice being so integrated into ther lives on Christmas, but it also made me miss my own family and friends quite a lot.

Christmas morning was just a continuation of the festivities from the day before. We feasted and the woman worked on preserving the remaining bits of pig in various fashions. There was literally pig everywhere.

Kon and I started back on bike to make the five plus hours back to town so I could call my family.