It’s been ten action packed days since we landed in Thailand, ten days of temples, tuk tuks, cocktails and scooters – but not in that order! We’ve sweated it out in the markets, haggled over anklets, gorged on street food and cooled off in beautiful old colonial hotel pools. There have been jungle walks, dips below waterfalls, local fairs and tendon soup.
But now we’ve crossed the border into Laos and we’re on the slow boat to Luang Prabang, two blissful days of forced relaxation as we cruise the Mekong River into the next leg of our adventure. Not for us the cramped cattle-class journey of the cash-strapped backpackers, but a splash-out of eyewatering proportions, although memories of the US dollars we parted with are fast disappearing, swiftly overtaken by an appreciation of the good life.
As stunning scenery slides by and local village kids wave from the beaches (with the odd browneye pulled to raucous shrieks of laughter before they plunge below the murky brown waters), it’s an idyllic opportunity to reflect on our voyage so far.
Where’s all the Rubbish?
Thailand is remarkably, nearly spotlessly, clean. But in a country where the plastic bag rules supreme and single use plastic straws are shelled out at every half chance, even with black coffee, how is it all disposed?
Sadly, it seems it’s burnt or buried, the motivation to recycle or reduce plastic barely a blip on the Thai radar. And who can blame them? The rest of the world package up their recyclables and chemicals and ship them to Thailand to dispose of. Out of sight, out of mind, consciences clear – but maybe they shouldn’t be.
Cultural Exploitation or Sustainable Tourism?
Visiting a village of Long Neck Karens (yes, really) has been a highlight, but one we approached with curiosity. Much has been written about human zoos and cultural exploitation, everything from the barbaric to the ridiculous. The reality is the women do remove their rings and their necks don’t break. In fact, the rings are simply a cultural method of identification within the tribes. The Long Neck sub-tribe wear neck and leg rings, the Big Ears wear earrings!
After meeting an educated and lovely Long Neck, it seems the woke Western wowsers (the other Karens) probably need to spend a bit more time talking to the locals instead of watching from their safe and righteous positions of privilege. These Long Neck Karens fled for their lives in 1988, refugees from Myanmar, caught up in a horrific civil war. Today, many of the Karens, even the next generation born in Thailand, still aren’t recognized as citizens of Thailand, and don’t have the basic rights afforded by citizenship.
They live in tiny, isolated villages, the one we visited accessible by boat only, and eek a living from the land, supplemented by tourism. In fact, it seems tourism is their mainstay. I could be proved wrong, but what’s the difference between this version of tourism and the Maori cultural shows of New Zealand? Or a South Island farmer offering accommodation on his land? If celebrating and sharing their Long Neck culture brings in the dosh, how is this exploitation of anyone other than the tourists who are willing to part with their cash?
The Cost of Living
If a street vendor sells me a plate of food costing around $3, how many meals did he need to sell to own a late model 4WD Toyota Hilux ute? The maths doesn’t quite add up and it’s got Aaron baffled.
Who’s the Co Pilot?
If something happens to the captain, is there anyone else on this 45m slowboat who can drive it?!
The last time we cruised the Mekong it was in Vietnam on an illegal cargo boat, complete with puppies fattening for New Year and a hole bashed into the hull – a toilet that fed directly into the vomitus waters below. The river was wide and flat, lined with the homes of the people who lived and worked on this stretch of water. It was their livelihoods, their bathrooms and their drinking water.
Upstream in Laos, the river’s a different beast. Still wide and still a mass of brown water, this section of the Mekong is lined with gargantuan granite rocks and is fed by sparkling mountain streams that make their way down the densely bush-clad hills. Heaving swirling whirlpools punctuate the river, and the captain is constantly maneuvering tight bends, enormous eddies and wily rapids. It’s a tricky river to navigate, taking a skilled driver who knows what he’s doing.
Looking around, I’m not sure I’d back any tourists to step up if something happens to our captain, so here’s hoping he’s got a co-pilot!
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