Sunday, May 4, 2014

Phongsaly, the Last Untouched Jungle of Laos


We could have just gotten a trekking guide from the agency,” my friend whined, after plunging her left foot into the mud. The right one was already soaked in the sloppy soil a few seconds earlier. Kampoon, our friend, somewhere ahead, shouted back to us, “I think we took the wrong trail. The plants are getting too savage here. We definitely can’t pass.” Up until now we had been lucky enough to frequently run into people from the surrounding villages from whom we could ask directions, but our luck had run out. According to the trek itinerary, we should have arrived at Changtern village at least 3 hours earlier. But it was now 4pm and we didn’t know where we were. We headed back to the last crossed trails we passed, which hopefully, would be the correct turn. My thoughts ran wild with all sorts of possible dangers in this forest after sunset. We were definitely being punished for ignoring the trekking agency’s warning that a self guided trek in Phongsaly’s jungle could easily get us lost. 


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We stopped at the main town in Phongsaly province, the northernmost part of Laos bordering to China’s Yunnan, a few days before, and spent the whole time trying to arrange a rural trek with a local agency. Instead we decided to save our money for the rest of the trip. We copied a 4-day trekking itinerary for a tour of the Ahka hill tribe villages (the agency was kind enough to supply this for free). We planned to hire a local who knew the forest well. 

With the help of a man teaching English at the town’s non-profit language center, we were introduced to a local named Kampoon, who agreed to lead us. Kampoon didn’t know the forest nor did he speak any hill tribe’s languages, but he was able to ask for directions in Laotian, which was also understood by hill tribess, so we settled to the deal and left Phongsaly town at 7 in the morning.


The sea of mist on the way to the first village

Drying corn seeds

This morning’s trek was fairly easy, just a mild hike up and down mountains. We passed some deforested areas and farms, merrily greeting the locals all the way. We followed a trail, pioneered by the French during the Vietnam War, according to the itinerary. We arrived to the low-water-level Nam Long river by lunch, across which we waded our way through. An abrupt change started on this side of the river when the trail turned steep, narrowed, and nearly blocked by plants most of the time. Apparently even villagers themselves didn’t use this trail much, and this was the point we started to get lost.  



It wasn’t until close to 6pm when we saw farms and fields with burned tree stems again. This was a good sign that a village was nearby. We caught up to an Ahka woman with a basket filled with wood. Kampoon asked her for directions. We all were so relieved to hear Changtern was just right around the corner.


Entrance to Changtern village

3 bamboo poles set up in a teepee shape marked the entrance to what looked like a 30-house village. Kampoon explained they would put a swing on this structure during Ahka’s New Year rituals. That was the only thing we noticed in the dim sunlight. Kampoon informed us that we wouldn’t get electricity here. He led us to the village’s chief’s house where we could ask for food and beds. 

At the house, more like a big room built on the soil ground, dinner was being slowly cooked above a bonfire. On one side near the wall, there was a long elevated platform lined up with blankets and pillows. Chatting noises from surrounding houses was easily heard. The houses were so close that the roofs rubbed together. Flashes from torch lights came through the walls of plaited bamboo strips. Needless to say, privacy wasn’t a strongly valued concept here.



The houses in the village had no toilets and when I asked Kampoon what we were supposed to do, he pointed into bushes. He explained that that’s the way the villagers themselves did it. I was surprised as I did not see any disposals left even in the bush when I went myself, but then I left the bush and headed towards the home, and two big boars rushed into that bush. It all made sense now. I swore to myself I would never touch a dish cooked with boars.

In the chief’s house we sat on the soil ground at a low bamboo table lit by candles. There were various vegetable dishes placed on the table. We each had a shot glass in front of us in which the chief poured a light green liquor. He urged us to bottom up. Kampoon said guests were supposed to drink at least 2 shots of rice whisky before meals. After feeling the alcohol burning our insides, we ate with the chief and his sons. His wife and their daughters waited to clean up after us before they started eating themselves. 


Rice whiskey, more powerful with a centipede

The village head's wife preparing dinner

A simple meal of rice, bamboo shoots, potatoes, and some green peas

Later we slept in bedding provided, next to the family’s five young children. The wife and their two other daughters started pounding rice in the kitchen area late into the night. We asked Kampoon why they didn’t do that during the day, to which he answered their days were always too busy farming and nights were the only time left for them to finish up with less tiring work. We were exhausted from the 11-hour trek and the 20 degree cold air, so the rhythmic pounding sounds that could now be heard from all over the village actually lulled us into sleep.    

The next morning was heavy with mist. While waiting for breakfast to be ready, we explored the village. 
Domesticated boars and chickens scuffled across our path. The shy villagers, who certainly didn’t expect foreign visitors avoided eye contact. They hid behind doors, some even walked away when we got close. Babies cried as we approached them. They could probably tell by our clothes that we were from an alien land. As we tried to take pictures of women in their black tunics with colorful embroidery and impressive silver headdresses, but most of them ran away. Kampoon told us not to take their picture, because they thought their soul would be stolen by the cameras. Still, we stole a few shots of the women, who leave one breasts bare. He said it’s a tradition for married women to do so and sometimes they greeted each other by touching each other’s breasts.

Preparing a squirrel for a meal 

Pounding rice




The village's only school, with 30 kids

We stopped at Sop Ngam village for lunch. The village of Lao Sung sits in a green valley with a river cutting through, providing the locals plenty of fish. We asked some girls playing near the river to take us across the river on a bamboo raft, in exchange for a small payment. We continued on the trail passing thick and tall wild yellow Cassie flower bushes. The path curved behind mountain, into an area that was not exposed much to sunlight. Humidity felt stronger here and now the trail was wet from dewy leaves continuously dripping onto it. 


Sop Ngam village, nestling in a valley


Lao Sung villagers


 Cassie flower bushes

Then we discovered the muddy and slippery trail wasn’t the only challenge of trekking in Phongsaly’s forest in November, a month after the rainy season. At one point I fell a soft but sharp poke on my foot. And when I looked down to see what it was, I was shocked to see probably more than 10 leeches happily burrowing up and into my sneakers.

“Leechesss!,” I screamed with fright and disgust. I hurried to take off my shoes, socks. I rolled my pants up to the knees, trying to balance myself with one leg while pulling leeches out of the other leg off the ground. I looked at the ground where I threw the leeches, only to see I was surrounded by leeches, crawling and  stretching their long slimy black bodies straight up, searching for somewhere to land. They were everywhere on the trail, near and far. I looked over my shoulder, my friend was more or less in the same situation.

Kampoon, ran back to inspect the cause of the noise. He started giggling once he saw two girls jumping around scared of the leeches. He pulled out a lighter, picked up our shoes and burned one leech after another. I noticed there were some on his pants and shoes too, but he didn’t seem to care. Once we girls calmed down a bit, we started walking again, now faster, with the fear that leeches could hook onto our shoes if we paced slow. We paused several times to get leeches of our legs. At the end of the day, we felt it was no use since they would always find a way to get onto us. We eventually got used to the tingling feeling on our feet. We stopped pulling them out and just wished them to enjoy the feast.         




We arrived at New Pei Yesang village about 3pm. This village was bigger and had some of the houses equipped with solar power generators. The locals were curious about us foreign visitors but much less than the people in Changtern. The first thing we asked upon arrival for was a shower. The villagers pointed down a mountain slope. We climbed down a slippery trail to an open area below. A tiny fountain of water poured from a cliff and through a bamboo stem that the villagers had rigged. 


New Pei Yesang village



Not prepared for an open-air and super natural bathroom, we striped to our underwear, and wet ourselves as quick as possible before other people arrived. To my surprise, I felt a thumb-size lump on my thigh. It was a round and fat leech. This one d%# leech had made its way up this far! I pulled it out and smashed it with a sharp stone, feeling satisfied seeing my own blood splash.  


Our (clean?) source of water 


Exciting kids seeing their portraits in the camera 









We toured the village a bit and then joined the chief’s family for dinner. The news about us visitors had spread over the village. Several people, mostly teenage boys, dropped by to peak at us. The chief started serving local whisky to everyone. A small party was launched. We retreated by 9pm, and went outside to brush our teeth in the mountain’s cold and fresh air. It was very dark, but still we were treated to a beautiful view: a supremely clear, moonless sky dotted with millions of stars.


Sucking on a bong, a routine activity of the village's head



The next day we were given dried tobacco leaves, which we were told to soak in water and apply on our feet and legs, to prevent leeches. The leaves did the job very well. We passed Old Pei Yesang village at about lunchtime and arrived at Chakkhampa village, our last overnight stop, a few hours after that. While hanging out in the village, we met two lovely school teachers of the Phunoi tribe who were relocated to Chakkhampa. They invited us for dinner.



On the way to Old Pei Yesang village

Old Pei Yesang village


An Ahka lady heading out to work on a farm. While walking, she span thread
that would later be used to weave their tunics


Chakkhampa village


Our source of clean water. yes, this one is pretty clean...




After the meal, we circled around the bonfire and chatted. The conversation ranged from our lives in Bangkok to their daily routines in the village. They told us about the Akha people’s favorite meals during festivals, which is uncooked animal parts and fresh blood. They explained how they buried dead bodies of their relatives in the bushes just behind their houses. It wasn’t nice to imagine there could be spirits peeking over our shoulders and listening to our conversation, and knowing about that tradition, it left us no choices as where we would go toilet-ing: the bushes in the front.

The next morning, it took us 4 hours walking down the mountain before we eventually saw Nam Ou river snaking at the base. At first I felt a rush of happiness and comfort knowing the hard beds, cold weather, and leeches were going to end, but I also realized how grateful I was, and how privileged I had been to get to experience pristine forest, fresh air, and the generosity of the villagers during our trek. It made me feel a bit sad, not knowing when I would be able to experience an adventure like that again.  

At the trail’s end, there was a sandy beach where passing boats picked up passengers. We got on a long-tail boat heading downstream to Hat Sa, where we could catch a public pick-up truck back to Phongsaly town. At one part of the river, men were building a dam. A huge sign in Chinese advertised the construction company. Kampoon said in the next 3 years the villages around the area would all have electricity. He said they would spend much less time traveling to Hat Sa, on a smooth concrete road. While enjoying the scenery on both sides of the river, I started to picture these Ahka ladies back in the villages wearing T-shirts and sin (sarongs) just like flat land Laotian women did, and had their traditional black tunics folded away.


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Sunday, March 9, 2014

Charmed by Mount Victoria and the Tattoo Spells

Mount Victoria, Chin State, Western Myanmar, 2013


I have a mania for indigenous tribes Besides wanting to document their primitive ways of life, revolving around the earliest creations of humankind, some of which are disappearing due to the fast-paced globalization process, being in their environments is like a fantasy world come true. The trekking adventures to the villages, their eccentric costumes, and superstitious elements embedded in daily life, are a world away actually existing in reality, and I always travel to the far-flung corners of the world to live it.

A few months ago, I got an e-mail from a photographer friend who sent me a beautiful picture of women with faces tattooed in a spider web pattern, labeled ‘Chin Women, Myanmar.’ Feeling an adrenaline rush through my body, I punched ‘chin women tattoo Myanmar’ onto Google and browsed through the results. The Chin tribe is native to the mountainous region of Chin Hills-Arakan Yoma in western Myanmar, some of whose villages surround one of the country’s most beautiful trekking destinations, Mount Victoria. Never had to think twice, I called my trekking buddies up, and had the return tickets ready to leave Bangkok in less than 3 weeks. And what was even cooler was, we would be there during New Year.

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Landing in Mandalay, we took a night train to Bagan where we arranged a Pajero taxi to drive us to Mindat for 100 USD (one way). We actually preferred taking buses to get to Mindat as what cheap travelers usually do. But anyone who could speak English we asked in Bagan said either there was no public transportation to Mindat or buses weren’t regular and we would have to make more than 3 transits. To avoid all the hassles and save time, a taxi was our best choice.     


On the next day, our taxi driver collected us from our guesthouse in Bagan at 6am sharp. As the early morning’s cold wind rushed through the windowless Parejo, cutting into our flesh, the driver told us the ride to Mindat, where we would start trekking, was going to take 9 hours despite the town being less than 100 kilometers away. Once the sun rose and we delighted on its warm glow, farms and rice fields bathed in gold dotted with the silhouettes of tall toddy palms started to appear along the road.


Tanaka, the secret of Burmese's beautiful skin, a market in a village somewhere on the way from Bagan to Mindat




A few hours after of dozing and some serious napping, we woke up to the abrupt change of landscape, a desert with sand hills and cacti and savage spiky plants. We crossed dried out rivers several times, passed farmers ploughing with ox carts, small villages, and yellow mustard fields. We climbed mountains which was now thick with pine trees, and were dropped off at Mopi I Guesthouse in Mindat around 3pm (35,000 Kyat per night for 3 persons after a lot of negotiation). The driver left and said our Chin guide would meet us the next day first thing in the morning. 




Crossing a dried out river

A yellow mustard field 
          
A lunch stop. Street-side eateries always serve a set menu of refillable dishes for 2,000 Kyat per person (foreign visitor's price)

Burmese Salad

On the way to Mindat


Rice fields during a harvest, near Mindat

In the misty air of 15 degree Celsius, we paced around to keep warm and waited to meet our guide. Nai Kie Chang, shorten as Kie, our guide turned up and we settled to the deal of 4 days trekking on pedestrian trails to Mount Victoria, ending at Kanpetlet town on the other side of the mountain. His fee was 35,000 Kyat per day and we hired 2 motorbikes for 40,000 Kyat to carry our bags and food supplies. The motorbikes would be driven by Kie’s friends on motor roads and would meet us at the villages we stay overnight. Kie's friends turned out to be a 14 and a 17 year old boys. And they preferred taking a few days off for a fun road trip to going to school.  

About 11am, we headed south of Mindat and Kie led us off the motor trail at the town’s end into the trail that winded through thick green mountains dotted with villagers’ roofs; some were bright orange or red, while others were thatched. White flower shrubs grew wildly alternating with overhead-tall grass. 



A slope with a landslide 



We arrived at Lao Pe village, our tonight stay around 2.30pm. The small village had houses all built with thatched roofs, teak structure, and plaited leave walls. Some had animal skulls hanging all over the walls.




Kie explained the ox and bull skulls were from sacrifices in ceremonies and to please spirits to turn bad into good fortunes. He also pointed to the poles used to hang the sacrificed animal’s bodies or heads. Whereas the skulls of deer, wild boars, flying lemurs were the pride of the hunters. I spotted strings of broken egg shells hanged from roofs and he said they were remains of the fortune telling. He asked if we wanted to meet the village’s shaman, and we couldn’t wait to do so.


Eggs used to fortune telling

Animal's sacrificing poles 

We followed Kie into one of the village’s bigger huts. Kie introduced us to the probably 70 years old shaman and his wife working in the kitchen. The shaman, noting we wanted him to read our fortunes, prepared his kit. While he said the prayers, his wife stuck bird’s feather into his beanie, signifying we were entering a sacred ritual now. He emptied an egg, burned its shell with the tip of a burned stick, drawing a few black dots in line on it. He said my health and life conditions in general would be good. Then, he asked me if I had doubts or particular questions to ask him. And I asked him when I would find my true love. It was a half serious half joking question that sent my friends into a burst of laughing.




The shaman's wife
The shaman, via Kie’s translation, asked if I could get married like...now. When I said I hadn’t found a groom, he said with a laugh he could be one. Kie explained Chin men can keep marrying women if his present wives can’t give him baby boys. But his wife has given him 2 boys already and she, in her 70s, was still beautiful. So, he had been joking. And then came the non-joking part, the shaman said I was doomed for bad luck in love, but if I sacrificed a chicken, I would find my love in the near future, to which, of course I said no. We thanked and bid goodbye to the shaman and headed to the hut we would sleep in. 

In the village, my wish of seeing women with tattoo faces had become true. Only elderly women, mostly dressed in the same style: green tunics, colorful bead necklaces, and sarongs, had tattoos on their faces. There are over 40 sub-groups in Chin tribe and their tattoo designs vary. The Munn group’s pattern is a line of small circles along the neck, straight lines making half moon shape for the cheeks while the Dine just put dots all over the faces. Another group living in Arakan state do spider-net patterns. Lao Pe is a village of Munn group. Kie said lots of Dine could be seen in Mindat, and there was even a granny who played flute with her nose, which is a practice usually done to express satisfaction and gratitude when a woman is asked to be married. However, the granny only performed for visitors now.  




On the next morning, we left Lao Pe for That Schwe village, which was the closest settlement to Mount Victoria base camp. A few minutes after leaving the village, we passed the village’s cemetery filled with knee-height stone tables. Kie said they were the tombs and buried underneath were jars of the dead’s ashes. Stopping at Aye village for lunch, we then walked a small trail sided by a cliff on the right and steep slope on the left. There were so many clouds floating above the valley we couldn’t see what was below, and it made it look as if we were walking above the cloud.


A group of villagers we met on the way from Lao Pe to That Schwe


A hunter

At That Schwe, there were less than 20 villager’s huts. The cold and dry wind blew vigorously here and the temperature dropped so low as soon as the sun went down. Food was scarce in the village since the villagers weren’t allowed to cut forest and farm due to the fact that the area was protected within Nat Ma Taung National Park. The villagers lived on simple vegetables like beans and potatoes grown in their backyards. We, running out of food, had to buy eggs and a chicken twice as expensive as the prices we paid in Mindat’s market from a villager who happened to live and work in Thailand for 7 years and could speak Thai. After dinner, we crawled into the -15 degree sleeping bags tugged under 3 layers of blankets, shivered for a while until the exhaustion eventually put us to sleep.  


That Schwe Village







At 7 the next morning, we packed lunch to eat at Mount Victoria’s summit, and walked the 9 kilometer motor road to the base camp, taking pedestrian trails most of the time to shorten the distance. The low pine forest was thick with the chirping sound of birds to be heard everywhere. Near the base camp, we started to get dark evergreen forest with large oaks and alpine species typical in the Himalaya further north, including the rhododendron trees. We arrived at the base camp at 11 and continued climbing another 3.5 kilometers towards the summit.







We were now exposed to the panoramic landscapes walking on the trail snaking on the mountain ridge rugged with dry yellow meadow dotted with shrubs of wild flowers. The dark green leaves of bushes and tall trees contrasted with the clear azure sky. Rhododendrons were at bloom with red flowers. On the way, we ran into some of Kie’s acquaintances from Mindat who were also making a journey up to the summit. The boys were in their purple traditional Chin gowns. They were singing, talking, and laughing the whole time. Though we could only communicate via Kie’s translation, we found them very pleasant companions.  






In less than 2 hours, we arrived at the summit ground. To one side there was a small pagoda and a simple pavilion where trekkers rested and put up their tents. To the other side, stood the real summit which was a bald hill with a flag pole. We headed onto the hill, threw ourselves onto a patch of dry grass, and sucked oxygen into our lungs big time before we unwrapped our lunch. The cold breeze was a little too strong but the sunlight kept us warm. While we were eating, Kie’s acquaintances started dancing their traditional dance which Kie explained it was a defending dance and usually performed only at funerals. But sure, exceptions can be made!    




From the summit, it took us only 1 hour to climb down to the base camp where Kie’s boys waited to give us a ride back to That Schwe. We spent another night at the village, feeling a bit more used to the cold now. On the next morning, Kie borrowed another motorbike from a villager and the 6 of us drove on a dirt then paved road all the way to Kanpetlet town. On the back of Kie’s motorbike moving fast on the road winding down the mountain, I enjoyed the cool breeze rushing across my face, and the view of the road-sided pine forest dotted with luxurious resorts, some looking new and some being constructed.


A colonial period house on the way to Kanpetlet

At about 11am, we arrived in Kanpetlet. Despite being at mid day, the town, took over by the mist, looked gloomy under the cloudy sky. Kie said that was the usual weather for Kanpetlet. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and as we girls agreed we preferred Mindat to the town, we asked Kie to take us back to Mindat on that same day to spend our New Year’s Eve there.


A Munn tribe lady in Kanpetlet
Kie accommodated our request while announcing his duty as a guide was over and that now he would just treat us like friends. We were happy with that until the boys started drinking beer, chewing on bethel nuts and got pretty drunk we were afraid they wouldn’t be able to drive back to Mindat. However, they got us back to Mindat safe but we, each on the back of the motorbikes, had to tell the boys to slow down every 3 minutes and to focus on the road. Kie’s motorbike broke down close to Mindat and while waiting for the engine to cool down with the hope we could start it again, a house uphill happened to be hosting a funeral and we were cordially invited to join. The small wooden hut was packed with people. To one side of the room, a coffin sat next to the wall. The men were playing traditional music which sounded to us like some loud and un-rhythmatic noises. They took turn getting up and performing the defending dance. Some were quite shy but others were brave, with the help of locally brew alcohol.


Kie, at the funeral 
We stayed at the funeral for less than half and hour then headed back to Mopi I Guesthouse on only 2 motorbikes, leaving Kie’s motorbike behind to be picked up on the next morning. On the next day, New Year’s Eve, Kie asked his brother to take us sightseeing Mindat as he and the boys had to go to court for a fighting case they got into with some other teenagers earlier. Kie’s brother took us to a few villages of walkable distance from Mindat and to the granny’s who could play flute with her nose.


A Dine lady with black dots tattooed all over her face 

Cherry blossoms, plenty in Mindat and Kanpetlet

A kind lady let us go into her house and take pictures of her craft 
Chin's knife bags

After the show, we interviewed the granny about face tattooing, and with the translation, she said she had been told the tattoos were meant to hide Chin women’s beautiful faces and thus not to be taken as wives of a Bagan king some time ago and men of other tribes. She didn’t know if the story of the king of Bagan and men of other tribes wouldn’t marry Chin ladies with tattoos was true but ever since she was a child, all the women in her village had tattoos. She did it because everyone else did it and some people considered facial tattoos more beautiful, especially when paired with traditional costumes, large earrings and necklaces. 

The ink was made of smoke of burnt green pine barks mixed with a kind of bean leaves then injected onto the skin using the thorn of canes. The tradition dwindled when the Christian missionaries arrived, and completely banned by the Revolutionary Council from 1962 to 1974. And it never picked up again as Chin women’s faces are covered with thanaka powder now.







After the sightseeing, we got back to our guesthouse and got ready for the night. Kie came to pick us up from the guesthouse and the bar and bon fire hopping lasted until nearly 2 in the morning. When alcohol was in these people’s hands, the shy turned brave and the quiet turned loud. We were also informed one of the guys at one of the bon fires was our bus driver for the ride scheduled on 8.30am on the next morning.  

The night is young!
Counting down to 2014, a bit before midnight

2014's New Year's morning, a good bless over a hang over 

At 8 o'clock on 2014's January 1st, I got my window seat with my friends next to me while other passengers still uploaded their stuff onto the bus’s roof and started taking empty seats. Kie came to see us off, obviously still hanged over. The driver eventually took his seat at 9am, starting the noisy old engine. We slowly left the station and hit the road. I pulled out my camera and started flicking through the pictures, replaying each moment vividly in my head. I watched Mindat pasting through my window as we headed down the mountain to Pakkoku where we would catch another bus to Kalaw, looking forward to our next adventure in the Town of Pine Trees. 
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Until We Meet Again, Mount Victoria!