I’m in Chiang Mai, North Thailand. A hot and sticky food paradise where a Thai massage costs less than a British pint and the rattling of tuktuks blends in with a language softened by five gentle tones. A few familiar names – or multinational eye sores – such as Tesco and Starbucks have made their way to the street scene. Walking past the hostels and tour operators I spot estate agents, health clinics and a probation office – telltale signs that in this foreign corner of the world life bumbles along of course, like anywhere else.
But about 200 miles away on the Thai-Burmese border it doesn’t bumble, and hasn’t done so for over 20 years. Thailand's hospitality towards asylum-seekers has spanned several decades and according to the UN it currently hosts over 140 000 refugees and displaced people in nine camps along the border. I’ve come to Chiang Mai to volunteer with WEAVE, a Thai NGO working with women and children inside the camps.
Today is my first day as a volunteer in their central office outside the camps. I’m heartily welcomed by Aunty Nancy who has been working for WEAVE for 18 years. “Do you think yesterday’s election in Burma will change things for people at the camps?” I ask her. She hesitates, “With the Burmese you never know, one day it’s like this,” she flips her hand to show me her palm, “and the next like this,” she flips it again. “People are still fighting; people are still arriving to the camps.”
The organisation is clearly doing some amazing work but the bureaucracy is relentless. What I really want to do is film for WEAVE and write about life at the camps but whether I get access is out of my hands. As a child of London-paced live TV, waiting doesn’t come naturally. “Take it easy,” says Ta, my co-ordinator at WEAVE and a video enthusiast with long black hair and a friendly face, as he spots my anxiety. Inside I have enough adrenaline to run a marathon, but I try to concentrate on cutting clips from the camps for the charity’s use. There is plenty for me to get on with in the office for now.
I was supposed to start my work a week ago but staff holidays postponed me. As plans changed, Thailand had me confused. In Siberia we were on a commuter train. We chugged along in dill-flavoured harmony with Russian businessmen and Mongolian miners dressed in equally fluffy coats. Here the patient locals coexist like parallel streets with pale travellers who look like their plane got stuck in a time warp somewhere in the summer haze of the 60s. It’s hard for these two groups to meet in the middle. The tourism industry has stereotyped Westerners into beer-loving and big-footed, and maybe that’s true.
With a few days to myself I turned to my trusted travelling partner Couchsurfing and met Rachel, an intrepid sailor/healer who has travelled the world and its seven seas settling here for a few months. I stumbled across a local human rights film festival. I enhanced future lunchboxes by taking a cooking course. All this got me thinking – it’s not what’s on offer for tourists, it’s how this unwearied, humble and traditional community has adapted to a flood of foreigners that is notable. I can observe and I can try to learn.
After lunch with Aunty Nancy, and an afternoon of editing with Ta he offered me a lift home on his scooter. Sitting back, circling past tuktuks, buses and other bikes carrying families, tourists and day-to-day commuters I felt a vague sense of belonging. I wish I had more time with WEAVE and I don’t think I’m close yet to mastering the art of patience. But I feel like I’m part of something and I think I’m finding my big Western feet again.
