Bow, wow, Bottoms Up: The Akha Hill Tribes

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Bow, wow, Bottoms Up: The Akha Hill Tribes

Third day with the Akha hill tribes in northern Chiang Rai and I am finally starting to enjoy the benefits of traveler's amnesia; a true sign that the mind and soul have joined the physical body on holiday. I don't know (nor want to know) what day or hour it is. I have forgotten about my 'to do' list and all the concerns and thoughts that woody wood peck my head at home.





Events and next steps are determined by the natural flow of life. I live in a perpetual state of meditative amnesia; I only contemplate the imminent now and live reactively. No schedule, only doing things because they are the logical next steps. You cook because you want to eat. You eat because you are hungry. You are hungry because you are alive. You watch life live, you feel existence. You are grateful because you feel life in the now; not in reflective memory nor future anticipation.





I am the only non tribal in this village (and for that matter the only white person in the past 8 days). Unless your own reflection counts of course! Yet interestingly I am the only one in the village that seems to notice. Fifty of the same them, only one of me. I notice I am different, yet the villagers don't seem to seem to notice the one person in the village that doesn't look like them. I never was very good at math, but how does that work out?





I am grateful my village family doesn't mind my fixated stares during meals - its really my only way to participate and to communicate; to read their body language and facial expressions as a way to somewhat understand my context. Somehow I am able to follow and understand the language of laughter, love, sadness, surprise. In spite of my temporary language deafness.





This afternoon my village brother (with very limited English) asked me to join him on a small hike to visit his family. So off I went with him down some steep roads, around the village and down a steep drop off to where he mentioned his entire family would gather for a celebration of a family member's return. And what a pleasure it would be if I could join in on the celebrations, oh and if I could join in the cooking of the "dog". Sorry, did he mean hog? (Perhaps lack of hearing the English language for so long had truly caused some kind of real hearing problems). So I gave him the benefit of the doubt and said 'yes of course I will be happy to help your family cook the hog'.





He looked at me and said no, no 'dog'. And then he made the first Akha hill tribe sounds that I truly understood in native language, as in bow, wow, grrrrrr, rrrrrufffff.





And there was polka dotted Benji. Impaled on a bbq stick obediently twisting and turning at the will of his master who was doing his best to evenly char the sad pup. It was quite a methodological process, I must admit. After the chargrill, Benji was removed from the fire and given his final bath - his master scrubbed him down with generous water, making sure he was spotless. At least this time Benji had no objections to a bath.





Before I continue with the following steps of proper dog on the barbie, I have to admit that the moment froze for what seemed like an hour as I had flashes of animal rights protesters throwing raw vegetables at me out of anger for participating in the cooking ritual. I had visions of all the vindictive dogs that would one day find me and have a taste of me. There sharp teeth, their gang threats and chewing and knawing off of my little and big toe (I decided they would leave the other 3 in place to remind me only that the first and last toes had been knawed off). Finally I thought of Pitbull singing his latest Shakira duet. Funny in certain moments you can never anticipate the ebb and flow of mental processing.





And then after the thought process, the emotional deluge came. I felt fear and probably the closest thing to a panic attack that I have ever had. I was now not frozen in thought, but I was physically frozen in the moment. My legs felt heavy and arms glued to my sides. Almost like those really nasty nightmares where someone is chasing you and you cant run. Or where you are mentally awake but physically your body is frozen and you cant seem to wake yourself up.





The thought process, the emotional deluge, the panic attack. The call. I called my ex husband who is one of my dear friends. I must have sounded like hysterical non sensible woman, specially as it was in the middle of the night for him. Me: Mike help, help. What have I done? Why am I choosing to travel 12,000 miles to live with a tribe? Why am I not on the Amalfi Coast sipping proseco? I want proseco, not Benji. I want proseco not Benji! And so on and so on until he said in his usual confident and assertive ways: "Stop. Embrace the moment, live it. Bow, wow, Bottoms Up". And with that I heard the drop of the call.





And so, I looked at my mobile, grateful to AT&T for the 2 bars that allowed me to place my mad woman call... and grateful for his advice. Yes, Embrace. Bow, wow. Bottoms Up.





You will have to wait with full culinary curiosity and anticipation until after I give my disclaimer. I did have some ethical concerns over cooking man's (or my case) woman's best friend. What about one of my greatest loves, my little London Bridges, my beautiful King Charles Cavalier? Was it ethically wrong? Would she look down at me from doggie heaven, feeling betrayed and with sad puppy eyes? I also considered, is there some reason to believe that Wilbur is less superior, or that Betsy the Cow deserves to be turned into ground beef, smashed into patties, salted and peppered then grilled, but not canines? And with that thought I arrived at the end of my internal ethical debate. The Hill tribe sustains off the lands and the food that they are given to live. This is what they have and this is the way they are able to live.





So, dog on the barbie, how does it all work out? After Benji's proper bath, little Benji is removed from the stick (crispy on the outside but still raw on the inside) and the first part to go is the head. I have to admit that it was a bit shocking to see the pups head roll with one hard chop of the machete. And from there he was deskinned and taken inside, where we all sat around a big banana leaf on the floor. And the cutting event transpired. Little did I know that removing all the meat from the bones would take such a long time, about 3 hours. I watched the 2 men methodically cut, chop and dice in rhythm, almost like a chop chop dog dance. The dancing machetes, completely in synch and rhythmic, like drums. And with that the men decomposed Benji's meat into one huge bowl.





And just as I was feeling comfortable with the process, a woman who had been cooking handed one of the men a piece of greyish spotted meat. He took it chopped it up (with the same machete he had used to chop up a very raw Benji) and handed me a piece. My first thought was not "I am just about to lose my dog virginity" (that was my second thought) but rather I imagined all the 1,000s of little evil bacteria with deep sinister chuckles just waiting to get into my tummy and victoriously destroy my insides. I thought about the imminent voracious vomiting, cramping and specially about the torrential diarrhea that would ensue eating from raw meat utensils. But nevertheless, I grabbed a small and very tough chewy spotted grey piece and chewed and chewed and chewed and difficultly swallowed. It was Kentucky fried dog skin. I have to say I am not a fan. It was tough and I much prefer a bag of salted pork rinds.





So my observation period would end. It was now time to help to prepare all the sauces needed to dress the pup up and prepare for consumption. We would have 3 versions of dog, dog in its own blood (the big big bowl of bright fresh blood was a bit much for me, I have to admit), then 2 versions of a dry chili rub. But it was obvious that the hero of the night would be dog in its own blood.





So I joined the circle of butchery and they put me to work. Grinding all kinds of herbs (various chilies, fresh lemon grass, lots of garlic and other herbs I did not know). And let me tell you it was the most thorough chopping job I have done in a long time. I ground and ground those little herb into different pastes, putting full force into grinding out my own fear and fully letting go, embracing the moment.. Oh and side note; the hill tribe whiskey shots helped me to relax a little too.





So Benji was finally ready for the feast. But really, this story isn't about cooking Benji, its the least interesting part. Its about the beauty of what transpired. What I found most beautiful was what a family event it was. It turned out to be a pretty big gathering (about 30 people in a small hut) so full of energetic conversation and connection. You could feel and see the love and care the family members had for each other. Babies were passed from hand in hand, everyone taking care of them and giving them affection. And the feeling of joy of abundance that they shared was so evident. The feeling of abundance in a hut, with little but yet with so much.





We all sat "cris-cross apple sauce" around a bunch of small round tables. The communal dog dishes were laid out on the table and each person was given a small individual bowl of rice. We used chop sticks to pick bite by bite (and mix with rice) out of the communal dishes. I love this idea - forget the chopstick double dip rule oh and hands were God given to eat with. Its communal, its family and the meal is meant to be shared in conversation and in consumption.





Out of all the various types of dog dishes I most enjoyed the dry dog cooked in ginger, lemon grass, chilies and garlic. The meet is dark and slightly chewy but I must say it was surprisingly tasty. Like pretty good. A bit like skirt steak, darker and chewier. I admit I wimped out of trying dog in its own blood.





It was an amazing experience. After I let go of all my fears and embraced the moment I deeply enjoyed myself. The eldest lady took me apart at the end of the feast, sat me down, chanted a few things and as she tied a black bracelet around my wrist to ward off evil spirits. She then offered me a hard boiled egg for good luck. A welcoming initiation for the tribe.





We left the hut and walked out into a dramatic wow sky -deep jungle, dramatic star brilliance. It was a phenomenal night: love, release of fears, connection and dog. So out my comfort and out of the realm of what I thought I could ever do. But so deeply moving.

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