Adventures in South East Asia

19 ~ Opium

Chiang Rai/Chiang Saen

Our waterfall journey signalled the end of my village volunteering excursion. I smiled as the wind blew through the jeep windows, nearly making it to the squished backseat. As much as I had enjoyed learning how to mix a bag of cement, sand and water to lay down paths and decorate their borders with scatted rocks, it would be nice to get back to an area where I could communicate with more than two people effectively. My Thai skills still left a lot to be desired.

With every passing curve of the road, I knew I would miss the mountains, their valleys and the smiling faces in the village. We journeyed back to Ahka House in Chiang Rai, where Som-o offered to let me stay for a few more days until my flight out. I appreciated it and took him up on the first few nights, since they were technically still part of the week I had paid for.

Two days later, the maddening cries of a shrieking bird and persistent rooster echoed through the screen windows. I refused to comply with their 5 a.m. wake up call and tried to find sleep to the image of a sling shot launching small rocks in their direction. I still had a few more steps on the path to achieve vegetarian-level compassion for animals.

Som-o brought us mango sticky rice for breakfast, which made my day. It was typically a dessert, but I whole heartedly welcomed it as breakfast. Little in this world made me happier than a fresh yellow mango.

Api offered to accompany me to the Golden Triangle in Chiang Saen so I could take up my tourist role once again. She had been there before and knew the tricks, like the bus to take as well as where to get off. The ride wasn't too long, but we had to switch vehicles partway there. One of the drivers informed us an elephant had been killed the night before. That fact had my sympathies, animal compassion growing.

Arriving at Golden Triangle, we explored the glitzy Big Buddha area and marvelled at a glimpse of Laos across the great flowing Mekong River as well as Myanmar across the Ruak River. Through the haze, large red-roofed Burmese casinos, Laotian mystery domes and riverbanks emerged. We later walked up the many stairs to the viewpoint. With all the smoke in the air, underwhelming was a fine word to describe the experience. It offered the same sights as the street-level view.

Most of my friends had advised me against the highly underwhelming tourist cash grab, but yesterday Api had shared the Golden Triangle's true treasures: the opium museums.

Why opium? That area between the three countries had been one of the prime opium growing regions in the world for the past sixty or so years, recently being out grown by Afghanistan. Hill tribe people, like the Akha, Lisu, Karen and Hmong, typically grew the crop for little money just to support their families. The Thai royal initiatives worked hard to provide the Thai hill tribe people with alternative crops to grow and support their families. The military would destroy and opium flower fields they found without mercy. Earning ones livelihood in this trade came with its risks.

The poppy, the same brand the Ally countries wore every Remembrance Day, was the opium flower. Once the petals of the flower fell, the bud began to produce a latex-like substance, which was scored two to three times with a metal curved scrapers. That latex substance boiled for a day before it was ready. The farmers were responsible for this portion and would mix in other ingredients to alter the taste.

Opium didn't originate in East Asia, but was brought over with explorers. Larger scale production began shortly after when the colonizers realized its potential for profit.

The local museum showcased everything from indigenous legends depicting the drug and flowers, to harvesting tools, opium weights -- in the shapes of small animals -- and replicas of the poppy flowers and buds. Even opium pillows for the opium smokers, made of hard material like ceramic, wood or ivory, were displayed behind glass alongside pipes and bongs (the word coming from the Thai word baung, meaning cylindrical wooden pipe, that the soldiers shared with Thai people during the Vietnam war).