Dong parents see their children only a few times a year, when they return to their villages. During the Spring Festival, they especially go all out and pamper their kids. Traditional outfits are passed down from generation to generation, and the kids are proud to display them. In this small village, the parents parade their kids for hours. They carry them on simulated horses. It is cold and the parade takes much too long for a child to enjoy.
It took me three days from Yangoon (the Capital) to reach this region: plane, boat, and another boat. The first village was a tourist attraction and lacked authenticity. Traveling another 2 hours upstream, I reached the 2nd village. Fewer than 10 tattooed women still lived in this village. This lady heard about my arrival and walked a few kilometers to see what I looked like. Our curiosity was reciprocal.
I felt that during my stay I had met everyone in the village, either during the nightly celebrations, when visiting the local school, or when walking in town. But on my last day, I went above the village and met a family who were the caretakers of a small, unassuming temple. It provided me with the last opportunity to embrace the simplicity and pure life of the Merak villagers.
