Hi All!
I stayed with another girl from our program, Grace, with a host family who lives in the village. Mostly all of the people in Khun Sathan are "Hmong" - an ethnic hill-tribe that has its roots in China. The Hmong culture is rich with it's own traditions and ceremonies, and they have a distinctive dress; brightly colored, striped skirts, and velvet embroidered jackets. Here's a picture of Grace and I, with our host parents Yee and Kong.
We also worked on a farm that our family rented
about 40 km away from Khun Sathan. This was down in "Thai country,"
and it was very hot. We spent one entire day planting about 5,000 chinese cabbage
seedlings, by Grace's count, only to find out a few days later that all of the
seedlings had died because the roots were too weak.
The first one was a hike that we did in Khun Sathan National Park.
Now, when I first heard the word “hike,” an image came into my mind of hikes in Colorado: a dry, rocky path climbing up into the mountains with some sort of scenic destination. This image couldn’t have been further from reality. Our “hike” was more of a slippery, muddy ‘bushwack” through the jungle, complete with giant bugs, scorpions, and a torrential downpour that left us and our packs soaked.
I'm sorry it's been soooo long since my last post!
Internet access in the town we were staying in, Ban Khun Sathan, was pretty
much nonexistent. I started writing a post about 5 different times, but before I
had a chance to actually publish it something or other would happen to the
wifi.
It's impossible to sum up the past month of my life
in a single post, but I want to give you at least a brief glimpse.
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The village we were staying in, Ban Khun Sathan, is
located several hours south (via very windy mountain roads) from the city of
Nan, in northern Thailand. The region was absolutely beautiful. I never realised that this is what people meant by the "hill country" of
Thailand.
Every morning we woke up to a heavy mist, which
wound in thick curls through the dense greenery, and mixed with the smoke from
open cooking fires.
By mid day the mist cleared to reveal the outlines
of the rainforest covered mountains, and some evenings there were beautiful
sunsets.
The weather in Kun Sathan was actually very cool
and rainy most days - a far cry from Bangkok. I don't think there was a single
day where I didn't need either my fleece, or my raincoat, or both :)
I stayed with another girl from our program, Grace, with a host family who lives in the village. Mostly all of the people in Khun Sathan are "Hmong" - an ethnic hill-tribe that has its roots in China. The Hmong culture is rich with it's own traditions and ceremonies, and they have a distinctive dress; brightly colored, striped skirts, and velvet embroidered jackets. Here's a picture of Grace and I, with our host parents Yee and Kong.
I'll have to admit, that first night we arrived in
Khun Sathan was pretty intimidating. After a welcome ceremony at the local
school, we climbed with our packs into the back of our family's pickup truck to
be taken their home. It was dark and the air was thick with the smoke from
cooking fires. As we first drove along the main street through the village, it
seemed like we would be fairly close to the school and the rest of the group.
But then we turned down a narrow, bumpy street and started descending into the
valley. We jolted along past house after house, getting further and further
away from the school - the one thing slightly familiar in this strange place.
The dark was oppressive, and there were no stars. I felt like we were heading
to the ends of the earth.
By daylight though, our house was actually pretty modern.
The hardest thing about the first couple of days
with our host family, was the fact that they spoke only Hmong, and not a word of
Thai (let alone English). Our crash course in Thai being rendered useless, we
had to rely entirely on hand gestures. This worked to a certain extent. But
most of the time, we were wrapped in uncomfortable silence. The only
interaction we had with them at first was watching strange Thai soap operas with
them on their flat-screen TV.
But gradually, we began to adjust to each other.
Grace and I learned a few essential phrases in Hmong; "Nyob Zoo,"
(hello)........"Noj Mov" (mealtime)......and "Ua Tsaug"
(thank you). This, coupled with the few phrases our 16 year old host brother
could say in English, made us feel a little less isolated.
Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays we spent farming
with our host family. Our main farm was on a steep hillside, and consisted
entirely of spring onions.
Grace and I soon became experts at peeling the
leaves off of the onion stalks. The best onions were the ones that were a
pearly bud on top; not yet opened but not too small. Whenever we worked at the
onion farm, our hands and clothes would reek of onions for days.
This sounds super cliché, but I really did come to realize
just how hard it is to farm for a living. Although the views were absolutely
stunning, there is nothing at all romantic about spending eight hours a day
doing the same exact backbreaking task over and over. But even so, our host
family seemed to find a certain comfort in their routine.
When we weren’t farming, we were spending time at
the one and only school in Khun Sathan, Prakitwetchasak. The entire month of
October was our Agriculture unit, and we spent a lot of time diving deep into
the topic of what sustainability really is, and what it means to consume food
sustainably.
Living in Kun Sathan, a farming community, made the
issues we were discussing extremely relevant. One thing that really struck me
was just how different our host family’s consumption patterns were from how I
consume food back home.
For every single meal, we would have white rice
(which our family farmed themselves), eggs (from the family’s chickens), meat
(very obviously from one of the family’s chickens as well), and some sort of
vegetable that was farmed in the community (often stewed sweet gourd or fried
beet greens). So nothing they were consuming was imported from halfway across
the world, and nothing had any sort of packaging.
After mealtime, anything leftover was simply
covered and left out on the table to be eaten at the next meal. If something
went more than a couple days without being finished, it got fed to the
chickens. In this way, nothing was ever wasted.
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Our immediate host family consisted of our host mom
Yee, our host dad Kong, and their youngest son, 16-year old Mung. Mung was very
shy around Grace and I, and usually avoided us at mealtimes. He did consent to
taking a picture with us on our rice farm though!
We also spent time with a lot of the extended host family
too. Jaa, our 30-year-old host sister, came over often with her husband and
baby girl Sophia. She got a degree in mechanical engineering, and lived in
Bangkok for a time. But she told us she didn’t like city life and so came back
to Khun Sathan to be with her family and continue farming. Shy, and humble about
the fact that she had a college degree, it was easy to see the fondness she had
for her native Khun Sathan. But she also had an aura of longing about her. She
told me one day on the farm that she dreams of traveling the world, but that
she thinks she would never be able to afford it.
Gan, our 20-something year old host cousin, was
also a big part of our lives during the month we were in Kun Sathan. Having
also gotten a college degree, she has big dreams for her future and the future
of Khun Sathan. She wants to bring more tourism to the community, and was always
on the lookout for good ideas.
One Saturday, I went with her and a few of her good
friends to the neighboring town of Na Noi. We toured some street-side tourist
restaurants, and also a national park where tourists (who come mostly from
Bangkok and bigger cities) like to camp.
It doesn’t look like it in the pictures, but I
started feeling really sick that day. When Gan dropped me off back at the
house, I collapsed into bed and slept for most of the evening. That night and
the next day, she kept checking in on me. The sweetest person ever, she would
always say,
“Em-ee….Okay?”
Out of everyone who touched our lives in Khun
Sathan, Gan was the hardest to say goodbye to. The night we had our farewell
ceremony at the school, I kept catching her eye, and she would give me her
characteristic smile: a sweet moment of radiance where her cheeks flushed a
ruddy color right up under close to her eyes. “I’m going to miss you both,” she
kept saying.
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While we were in Kun Sathan, we took a couple of
really interesting day trips as a whole group.
The first one was a hike that we did in Khun Sathan National Park.
Now, when I first heard the word “hike,” an image came into my mind of hikes in Colorado: a dry, rocky path climbing up into the mountains with some sort of scenic destination. This image couldn’t have been further from reality. Our “hike” was more of a slippery, muddy ‘bushwack” through the jungle, complete with giant bugs, scorpions, and a torrential downpour that left us and our packs soaked.
Oh… and then there were the leeches.
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a leech walk, but
they stand on end and do this freaky cartwheel thing to move along the path.
It’s not exactly pleasant to see a bunch of tiny wiggling things sticking straight
up out of the ground, and it’s even less pleasant when the start burrowing in
your shoes.
Or in my case, ending up in your armpit. (Don’t
even ask how it got there – I have no clue).
Here’s a picture of us looking tough with our
“leech sticks,” sticks with little bundles of salt on the end to ward off the pesky critters.
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We also visited a nearby reservoir one day, and had
lunch on a house boat.
The picture below is of one of the fishing boats
that the people who live on this reservoir use. It has a lantern dangling from one end of it, which is used to attract fish into the large net at night.
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I could write so much more, but if I do, I’ll never
get this posted! So I'm going to have to say goodbye for now.
I miss you all!!
--Emily
--Emily
