Fair Trade Culture

Trade Winds: Karen Hill Tribe

July 30th, 2007 by Amanda

It was a hot and humid day in May when three friends and I decided to take a motorbike trip into the mountains of northern Thailand in search of some small villages and the arts and crafts they create. Only a larger dirt bike type could be used on this trip because the narrow roads were hardly roads and slick with red muddy clay. About 15 minutes of pavement driving out of the town of Pai, we were at a natural hot spring and a dirt road-path that ran past and far back into the forested mountains. After a quick break and some rehydration, we headed in.

The roads became a mess of turns, hills, dips, and potholes. We laughed at the adventure of it all while we drove deeper and deeper into nature. The two back riders on the bikes had to get off and walk at several points because it was just too slippery and the bikes could hardly make it up the rise of the mountains. We were all completely covered in mud and full of excitement for the venture!

About an hour and 15 minutes later, we came to a small village that sat in a valley of some of the mountains. As we neared the huts and shacks that created the village, I saw several Kariang (also known as Karen) hill tribe people walking along the road-path away from the village, some carrying on their shoulders baskets, and one small girl dragging a heavy board with a rope through the mud. They were dressed in their traditional clothes and headpieces, made colorful with mostly reds, blues, and blacks. They all stopped and stared as we drove past, probably wondering what we were all doing so far out in the hills. I was grateful that I had come with two Thai friends whom I trusted completely, along with one other foreigner who had joined us for the ride. Three of us had dreadlocks and the other foreigner had a mow hawk, so we were just as much of a spectacle to the hill tribe people as they were to us! They greeted us with curious eyes and big smiles.

Once in the village, we left our bikes and decided to walk and look around. The mud was so thick that I lost one of my sandals and ended up barefoot for the next couple of days! The red muddy clay caked our feet and felt wonderful! The village was filled with small huts and boarded shacks. I could hear a sweet melody coming from somewhere, and I knew then that they had at least some electricity. Further into the heart of the village, I actually saw a satellite dish and was shocked to know that even in the middle of nowhere, they were still able to have television: a porthole to the outside world. Chickens roamed all around and many homes had worn fences in the front with dirty pigs sleeping in the heat of the day.

Joey, a friend that lived in the north and knew the villages well, spoke with some people of the villagers and learned that the village’s chief was gone for the next week on a trip to Myanmar. No crafts or goods would be sold, since in his absence, the entire village does not do any kind of business. Slightly disappointed, but happy to have the experience, we headed back to Pai in hopes to get back before nightfall and still have time for a refreshing dip in the hot spring. The people of the village waved us off and laughed as our dirt bikes slipped through the wet earth that they knew so well. I left feeling as if the bikes had driven us back in time, with a quick glimpse of a lifestyle that remains traditional and began with a strong people migrating from China hundreds of generations ago.