How to summarize the past four weeks? I could probably type for hours and fail to do it justice, so I'll try to do my best. I apologize not having posted within that time frame, but three of the last four were spent in different villages in Northern Thailand, studying how the people there sustainably live with their environment and abide by agroecological principles. The week before leaving was a whirlwind in and of itself, filled with studying alternated with going to the myriad of bars they have here and dancing at the equal number of clubs that span the Chiang Mai streets. Moving into the apartments has brought us a new found freedom which, when coupled with our slightly improved ability to speak Thai, has given us the ability to manuever the city with ease. Most of the nights were filled with a group of 30 or so of us - farangs on parade if you will - infiltrating a certain club
(Monkey Club, Fabric, and Warm-Up being just a few), and, amidst the laser lights, skin flapping bass, and hordes of swaying Thais with Johnnie Walker heavy on their breath, we made ourselves blatantly American, dancing wildly and screaming Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold" whenever it was played. Days were filled with class and homework, attempting to learn Thai with pounding headaches and baggy eyes. A nap and a cheeseburger from Mike's was all that was needed to rejuvenate the party spirit for the night for most though, the energy of the night revived with a quick run to 7-11 in the basement of our apartment complex.
The partying was quickly put to an end though with the arrival of our first expedition course, as our group of 33 split into two separate groups of 16 and 17, parting ways to do the tour of cities in opposite order. My group headed north towards the city of Fahng, a long van ride through a series of gorgeous jungle mountain ranges, enough sharp turns and switchbacks to make me wish I could lean out the window and vom. We proceeded to hike for two days through two remote villages tucked away in the upland hills, sweat pouring from our brows as we trekked up steep hills in the midday sun, winding through sprawling hillside corn fields and rice paddies, the views from the top more than worth the wheezing that accompanied seeing them. At night, we listened to the stories of villagers there, our faces illuminated by the soft glow of a fire and the restless jungle murmuring behind us. Exhausted from the day, we would crash at no later than 9:00 in our bamboo guesthouse, nestled beneath our mosquito nets. The second night we watched the village children perform for us, attempting to sing the Thai versions of songs like "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" and "Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer." We then all huddled around the fire and sang some of the English versions from them, eventually becoming all of us dancing tribally around the fire.
From the villages we went to UHDP, or the Upland Holistic Development Project, spending a week there in the bunkhouse and learning how they do agricultural research and help the marginalized villages do more sustainable farming. I could bore you with long asides about agroforests and hedgerowing, but I'll just highlight the more memorable portions of being there:
1. The Pig Slaughter.
As part of our understanding of food systems and they work, we connected the full cycle of from Pig to Pork by taking part in a pig slaughter, butchering it, and cooking it, utilizing every portion of the animal to feed the entire village. That Friday, tension was thick met the pig we were going to kill the following day, petting it and thinking of giving it a name, fully embodying the American paradox of having an undying love for animals and yet possessing this carnivorial denial that they are the source of the meat we eat on a daily basis. I'm not saying that the love for animals is in any way a bad thing, but the incredible distance in which our society has allowed us to be removed from the food we eat has fostered the mental separation of pork and pig. Pig is the honey holiday ham glistening on your plate and pork is the snorting, oinking, sniffing, defecating animal that runs around in our pens. They are one in the same, the abstraction of the animal from the saran-wrapped styrofoam package of meat is easy to live with. Ignorance is both bliss and a curse, for better or for worse.
Anyway, enough of ranting. We were given a debriefing of how the whole incident was planned to go which went as follows:
1. Knock the pig out
2. Stab the pig in the heart while it's knocked out
3. Bucher and cook the pig
For whatever reason, this rundown gave us comfort, as we subconsciously pictured the pig being slain silently in its sleep. Close to accurate? We herded the pig into a cage and eight of us hauled him down to the slaughter area, a villager waiting there with a hoe. "Oh hell no. He's not going to knock him out with a hoe." I thought, slightly panicked at the thought. The door to the cage was opened, and as the pig wandered out, before we could even have time to prepare ourselves, we were met with the splintering crack of wood on bone, the pig squealing as it fell to the ground, not asleep like we had imagined, but concussed, dazed, confused. Another sickening blow of the hoe gave us five seconds to haul it onto the slaughter platform, Pi Arpat guiding the steel blade in Sam's hand into the pig's heart as some people held it down. The pig let out a hair-raising scream, roaring so loudly that its own blood curdled as it surged into the pot collecting it. I stood, unable to move, transfixed, the sound of the rhythmic blood sloshing over the knife blade the only sound I could hear. The cries of the pig were progressively more gargled as blood filled one of the lungs. Tears poured from the girls eyes. This wasn't a sacrifice. The pig did not lie his life down for us. This was violence in its purest form, the way in which people have killed animals and survived for thousands of years.
And, before we knew what had happened, it was over. The pig conceded to death, lying quietly as its eyes closed. We all looked around at each other, solemn faced, some tears still streaming silently from the girls. The Thai people, however, were stoic throughout the whole ordeal; this is their way of life, the way in which they stay alive and get their protein. Pi Arpat lied a canvas bag over it. "Go to sleep." He chuckled. We all laughed nervously, but it was enough to break the tension and the relief was almost palpable. Abiding within the paradox, that is for me when it no longer fully felt like a pig and more like pork, but later in talking to other people, that point is a huge gray scale, as some people never stopped viewing it as a pig, some didn't feel it was pork until it was butchered, and others never viewed it as a pig at all. No point is less true than another. Pig is pork, pork is pig. Sounds simple, but it's a hard concept to fully wrap one's mind around, and even a few weeks after the experience, I still sometimes wrestle with it.
Within three hours, every part of the pig was cooked and on our plates. The bones and scraps went to the dogs (who can apparently eat as many bones as they want, who knew), the organs all separated and cooked in their own respective dishes, the ears, nose, tail, and skin delicacies of their own. We ate with a greater appreciation for meat, that it's a luxury that we often take for granted. Not going to lie, and to quote Fried Green Tomatoes, it really was "the best damn barbeque I ever did ate."
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I've been typing roughly for an hour and a half, and I'll continue this post later.
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