Lake Inle

It was a ten hour ride to Lake Inle (including the obligatory dinner and inexplicable 2am tea stops) and at 3.30am, me and two German tourists got out at Shwenyaung where we were met by a pickup which took us on the half hour drive to Nyaungshwe. It was absolutely freezing but about the same temperature as the bus. Luckily for me Tun Aung had phoned my guest house ahead (yes, he really was my saviour!) and while they were full, they set up a small room I could use to rest until my room was ready in the morning.

I figured I had to see the lake today since I’d lost time in Mandalay so headed down to the river just after 8.30am, found a boat driver, found another tourist to split the cost of the boat with, and we were off.

In the southern part of Shan state, the lake is a large working lake with lots of communities on the banks and some in the marshy parts of the lake itself. Ondres, my Czech companion, suggested one of the villages could have been what Venice looked like many centuries ago. There are dozens of men and boys fishing on the lake and a huge amount of produce is grown on the bans and in the marsh areas.

We were both a bit pagoda and monastry-ed out so were happy to cruise around the lake and visit some of the villages.

It actually turned out to be like one of those shopping tours. It was hilarious but we both really enjoyed it and the weather was just perfect. First we visited a local market. The lake has a five day market roster so only certain villages have markets on certain days, and they rotate. So we went to the main one today which was great. We got a late start compared to most so were lucky it was still going on. A lot of the stuff at the market was for locals but there was also a little bit of the tourist stuff and I ended up buying a few things I didn’t want or need, just to get some of the ladies off my back. They were good fun though.

Next we visited a silk/lotus/cotton weaving place – and of course showroom. They did produce some beautiful things. I didn’t even know you could weave from lotus. It is seven times more expensive than silk because of its short harvesting time and the labour required to extract the thread. It is quite a rough thread too but I guess when you’ve seen the process you can appreciate it.

Next was a cigarette making place where we were given tea, rice crackers, and cigarettes while the young girls rolled cigarettes and cigars in front of us. One of them was mixed with aniseed and was rather like smoking Pastis. The other was tobacco soaked in the juice of banana, pineapple, papaya, tamarind, and a few other things. That was a little strange too.

Lunch was at a pleasant restaurant over the water although my noodle soup turned out to be a spicy Shan variety rather than the bland kind I was hoping for.

After lunch we visited a pagoda, a silversmith and jewellery maker, and a paper and parasol maker. By this time it was getting on 4.30pm so we skipped the monastery so we could get back before the sun started setting and the cool evening air settled in.

Ondres had been to Burma seven years before and has come back to visit many of the people he met on his last trip. We had dinner at the restaurant of his friend who was really sweet and wouldn’t accept any money. By this time I was feeling really bad about such generosity so I left money on the table but he came and gave it back to me. What can you do? Next time I need to come prepared with gifts for all of these kind and generous people – money is just the wrong thing for these occasions.

On the market roster, today was Nyuangshwe’s turn. The market was really bustling with pretty much anything imaginable for sale (but I didn’t see any animals or meat).

The monks were all out in full force as well, collecting their money in the rice bowls. One thing I haven’t mentioned yet is the way the monks are part of everyday life here in Burma. Everywhere you go there are monks of all ages, from really small children to the elderly, men and women. However in the morning and particularly at markets, they are collecting donations. Generally they are very pleasant and offer a shy smile if you catch their eye. Although some of the young boys can be a little pushy, not very monk-like I wouldn’t have thought. It is nice when you give them some money and they stand around you and do their chant (although I couldn’t help but compare it to the greeting you get when you enter one of those sushi train restaurants at home).

After the market I thought I’d try a traditional Burmese massage given I’d had a bit of a rough trot. It was a bit like Thai massage but not. You are massaged with your clothes on, then walked on, then at the very end, she rubs oil on your skin, under your clothes. It was quite nice and my masseuse was really sweet. She is the eight generation in her family to practice massage and it is a technique they’ve handed down through the generations. She is now teaching her eleven year old niece, who apparently is quite talented.

After lunch I got a pickup back to Shwenyaung for (thankfully) my final night bus back to Rangoon.

There’s about fourteen bus companies that ply this route so all the backpackers there were waiting for whichever company their guesthouse booked them a ticket on. Mine turned out to be not so great. After being 45 minutes late (and I was an hour early) the bus finally arrives with only two rows of seats available. The entire rest of the bus was packed to the ceiling with white bags of cargo.

I’m still getting over it so let’s just say it was a rather uncomfortable 18 hour ride on a mechanically unsound bus.

Dust, diesel and a bad curry

Today was the big sightseeing day to Amarapura, Sagaing, Shwenandaw Kyaung, and the Mahamuni Paya, one of the top three in Burma (the other two being the Shwedagon in Rangoon, and Golden Rock).

Shwenandaw Kyaun is an old teak monastery that used to be located within the grounds of the Mandalay Palace but was dismantled and moved in the late 19^th century. That turned out to be fortuitous because it escaped the WWII bombings. It is now used as a meditation centre and not a monastery.

The Mahamuni Paya, after Shwedagon and Bagan, didn’t thrill me. But there was a really big buddha that people (read: men only) donate gold leaf to so this thing is getting bigger everyday, and rather strangely shaped. You can see the men going up to apply the gold leaf to make merit, while the women are down the back praying and offering leaves and flowers.

The drive out of town was gorgeous with beautiful fertile plains and small farming communities producing all kinds of fruits and vegetables using old fashioned and traditional farming methods. You don’t see any machines around here, bulls drag carts loaded up with whatever needs to be loaded up. People are in the fields with hoes and traditional tools.

Sagaing has over 600 golden stupas on a series of hillsides on the banks of the Irrawaddy. It is a stunning and peaceful place where many Buddhists come to spend time meditating with the monks. Sagaing is a big monk centre with a population of over 6,000.

Just down the bottom of the hill and across the river is a small port where they load up the beautiful old teak logs for transportation to Singapore. The paradox of peace and destruction wasn’t lost on me. Considering teak is such a fast growing hardwood, and Burma has around 70 per cent of the world’s teak wood resources, you might think they’d consider sustainable forestry. But no.

Finally we headed to Amarapura which is a beautiful old town, and a former royal capital. The streets were full of traffic and people. It turns out that a very famous monk died the day before and this was the ceremony for his funeral. The road was so jam-packed with thousands of people, with singing and a big elephant creature dancing up the street, that we turned back and found another road to our destination – U Bein’s Bridge. This is a 200 year old, 1.2 kilometre teak footbridge that crosses the Taungthaman Lake. It is absolutely stunning – and very rickety to walk along. There were loads of people down on the shores, and men fishing with old bamboo poles, up to their waist in the lake.

Tun Aung suggested we wait nearly three hours there for sunset but that was a bit too much for me feeling as I was. So he agreed to pick me up earlier tomorrow before my bus to Inle and take me there at sunset. I forgot to mention that earlier in the day I told him I needed a bus ticket to Inle so he pulled over at one of those places where there’s a phone on a table under a tree and you pay the lady a couple of hundred kyet to make a call, and he booked me on a bus for tomorrow night.

Anyway, leaving the bridge we headed back through Amarapura and ran into the funeral procession again. By this time they had the body down at the river, where he would soon be burned and the ashes taken to one of the pagodas. Seeing so many people out for the ceremony was quite moving. Obviously revered in the community, his funeral was attended by several police and government officials.

So I returned to the hotel, crashed for a couple of hours, then ventured out for my fateful mutton curry at the chapatti stand, after, of course, my beer at the ice-cream shop.

No need to go into specifics but food poisoning is never fun, particularly when your throat feels like you’re swallowing razor blades.

Optimistically I checked out of my room at 1pm to lay on the hard wooden bench (Chinese style) in reception to wait for my saviour to collect me at 4pm to take me to the bridge, then the bus station.

At 1.45pm, I checked back into my room.

Tun Aung arrived at 4pm and, as I had no way to contact him, I couldn’t have let him know before now that I can’t get on that bus tonight. He made a quick call, postponed the bus, got the girls to get me some hot tea, sent me back to my room to rest and went out to get medicine.

About twenty minutes later he arrived with some tablets, rehydration salts and biscuits and ordered me to eat before taking the tablet, then sip the rehydration solution that he made up while also drinking tea. He set everything up in my room and when he was satisfied I should be okay he left.

I had a pretty rough night but convinced myself I was feeling better. At this point I really needed to get out of Mandalay, although spending time indoors was good from a dust perspective.

At 8am Tun Aung phoned to check on me and then I spent pretty much the rest of the day as yesterday, laying around, sleeping and watching movies on my computer, all while listening to the strange sounds of Mandalay out the window.

I popped out in the late morning for some more medication to make sure I would be okay for the bus tonight. Then I checked out at 1pm to spend three hours on the hard wooden bench but the staff generously gave me my room back after 15 minutes, feeling sorry for me laying on the wooden bench.

The bridge at sunset was truly beautiful and after getting out and about (and taking a lot of medication), I was feeling a fair bit better.

The road to Mandalay

I was grateful for a daytime bus to Mandalay, even if it was local. There isn’t too much difference between the two. In fact, the local buses are, I think, preferable because you don’t have the air conditioning set at 4°C, and you don’t have Burmese movies played so loud that the sound is distorted. The seats did seem a little smaller than the already small ones on the big buses, and mine was stuck at a 90° angle which wasn’t ideal.

I think after a pretty loaded four days I was happy to get on a bus. And the dust was starting to get to me, with a scratchy throat and a blocked head that I was trying my best to ignore.

The bus ride entailed the usual things, several meal stops, several other stops for no apparent reason, and a slightly early arrival to Mandalay. One of the big differences between the streets of Rangoon and Mandalay is that in Rangoon it is mainly cars, whereas in Mandalay, mainly motorbikes (and I’m told it was mainly bicycles up until a few years ago). So my taxi turned out to be a motorbike! I told my driver (who turned out to be my saviour) that I wasn’t sure how he would carry my backpack. Don’t worry he said, I am a professional transporter. And he was. He somehow squeezed it between his legs (and my backpack is not small, I still haven’t learned the art of packing light, even for a short trip) and we were off on his 110cc motorbike, zipping through the streets of Mandalay with a million other bikes.

My saviour, I think his name is Tun Aung, drove me to several hotels, which were all full, before I found a room at a Chinese hotel.

See, since Burma opened its border with China about 20 years ago, there has been an increasing number of Chinese tourists, particularly to Mandalay. This is evident with Chinese hotels, shopping malls and a lot of other businesses in town.

The downside of the Bonanza hotel is that there were no other western tourists so this would be the only place I didn’t find anyone to chat to. The staff had very limited English as well so Tun Aung served as my translator.

Anyway, by the time I got to the hotel I was feeling pretty crappy after another day inhaling dust through the open windows of the bus. Tun Aung offered to take me on a tour around the main Mandalay sights, which are outside of Mandalay, so I suggested we do that Thursday.

(Still no clouds today…)

Well it didn’t really feel like Australia Day where I was today. I was expecting Mandalay to be beautiful, but it isn’t. I spent most of the day wandering around the town, stopping for tea at the teashops, squeezing through the local markets, dodging motorcycles, and trying not to breathe in dust.

I know I’ve mentioned it a few times but I’ve never been anywhere so dusty. Anything that has been still for more than ten minutes is caked in the stuff. The leaves on the trees all have a thick layer of dust and general visibility is quite poor because of it. In the evenings it is like something out of a sci-fi film when you see it through the headlights of the buses and motorbikes.

I managed to find some Strepsils for my throat which by now was raging, but had no luck finding a local remedy for throat infection although I did have some antihistamines for the hayfever.

With no real bars to speak of in Mandalay, I headed to the Nylon Ice Cream Bar for a beer after dinner. I got chatting there to a local artist, Min Tun, who was really friendly. When I told him I wasn’t in the market to buy his work, although it was very nice, he gave me the picture he had been working on while we chatted. I felt bad but I’m getting the hang of the Burmese way, despite getting hassled by beggars and drivers and the usual, most of the people are genuine and generous and are just happy to spend time talking to you.

(My cloudless streak has officially ended with some light wispy clouds in the morning becoming more substantial in the afternoon.)

Magical Bagan

Alas, I did not factor in arriving two hours early. So at 3am (after a few meal stops – a dinner stop at 8pm and an inexplicable tea stop at 2am) we arrive in Bagan. It was freezing. The locals on the bus all nodded an smiled and said, yes, Bagan, we very early, when I looked at them bleary eyed and dumbfounded.

My German friend on the bus, and I were offered a ride to a hotel by a local. Sounded like a great idea since it was freezing cold, pitch black, 3am and we had no idea where to go. So he bundles us off into his, wait for it… horse and cart. Yes, really. I don’t think I was completely awake – everything was a bit surreal at this point.

The first hotel was full, the second was okay but we thought we’d look at another. We tried several and they were all full so by 4am I pleaded that we just take the available room, at least for now.

Bagan is a truly magical and mystical place. It is a land of over 4,000 temples and stupas build by the kings of Bagan. The earliest temples date back to the eleventh century with Bagan’s golden era lasting roughly 200 years until the Mongolian warlord, Kublai Khan, came and took over the joint. The area of Bagan is roughly 42km square and there are four ways to get around, hire a driver (in a car), hire a horse and cart, hire a trishaw, or hire a bike. I chose a bike.

Despite my lack of sleep I managed to fit in a full day of cycling and sightseeing. Bagan is the sort of place that makes to want to fit in just one more temple. And, of course, you need to be at Shwesandaw Paya at sunset for the amazing view and light.

At one temple, Bupa, which is a golden stupa by the Irrawaddy river, I was approached, or rather ordered, by a group of locals to pose in photographs with several of them. Then as I sat for a little while to take some pictures, a small boy, I would say about three years old, came over to see what the story is with my camera. He then became creative director. I think he thought I was a bit stupid because I couldn’t respond to his questions. He has yet to learn that people with blonde hair generally don’t speak Burmese. He started showing me his whistle toys and giving me a turn. In the end, his family suggested he give me one as a gift – very sweet.

Afterwards I wandered down to the riverside to get some lunch. It was all locals down there doing local things and frying all sorts of food. Mainly different vegetables in some kind of batter. I tried a few which were quite interesting. But again, I think I was of more interest because at my table I was joined by ten kids and a few adults. Everyone mainly stared at me and watched me eat but one of the older kids who spoke some English chatted to me for a while.

In the afternoon I cycled around visiting more temples, got a flat tyre, got it fixed, was followed by several locals. One of them, Jojo, decided he should be my boyfriend and he could call me and email me. It took a while but I finally convinced him that age difference alone was a problem (he was 20) let alone the logistics of carrying out such a “relationship”. He finally left me to it but asked me to consider it overnight. (Yes I’m laughing as I write this.)

I finally made it to Shwesandaw Paya for the stunning sunset before cycling my sore and weary bones back to Nyuang U for a shower and dinner with my German friend.

My fourth full day in Burma and I still haven’t seen a cloud since I arrived…

Figuring if I gave it a good crack today, I could see a fairly good whack of Bagan and be on my way to Mandalay tomorrow. Another eight hours cycling around on either bumpy, dusty or sandy roads but the rewards were there.

While there are a number of foreigners around, I was overwhelmed by how many of the locals visit these temples and worship. They are not merely architectural relics. Particularly the ones further afield. At one temple, as I walked up the stairs, a group of locals walked around from the side and all just stopped and stared as I approached. I heard a few gasps and murmurs, figuring not many foreigners make it to this one.

The bike didn’t have the best day today. The steering column came loose at some point so I had to walk the bike a few kilometres to Myinkaba village where I found a repair guy. And, as luck would have it, Jojo happened to be standing right next to it with a big grin on his face. He helped me get the bike sorted then took me through the village which is where he lives. This village is famed for the lacquerware, which is exquisite. We visited some of the people working and they showed me the process – fantastic to see. I bought a lovely bowl then we headed off for more temples. I had to break it to Jojo that I had considered his offer and it just wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t so happy so we parted ways.

I visited a bunch of temples in the afternoon, mainly the far flung ones which involved riding through soft sand tracks. Let me tell you, that is very difficult. Afterwards I headed back to Nyaung U to see the market which was pretty much shutting down but it did give me a chance to get another flat tyre on the bike and walk it home for the exercise.

Rangoon

Day one and I enjoyed “the world’s best breakfast as seen on Discovery Channel” at my hotel before I step out into the chaotic streets.

I wandered around town doing a circuit down to the river and then back up to the markets. People stop and smile all the time – big genuine smiles. I stopped at one point to take a photo of a small boy, it was okay with his parents, but not with the boy apparently. He crawled off in protest. But I stayed and chatted for a while as they explained to me how they make the betel leaves with chewing tobacco. And also explained where the paste comes from that the women and some men smear across their faces, apparently for sun protection but some are made up as though in war paint.

At the market I did a black market currency trade which equipped me with some Kyet (pron. chut) to buy some lunch – thankfully.

The Shwedagon Pagoda is something really special. I found myself there for two hours, mostly just staring at it and daydreaming. It felt like about five minutes. While there I met an old history professor. He travels by bus for three hours to get to the Shwedagon each day, and three hours home, hoping to act as a guide for tourists for some cash. See the government cancelled the pension the year before he was due for one so this is the only way he can make a living. Next year he will become a monk so that he can be looked after in the monastery. My professor friend took me to the Sunday buddha (as I was born on a Sunday) and, following his instruction, I tipped several cups of water on it as he made special blessings for me and my family.

Afterwards I got a cab down to the lake to see what action was taking place there. More like a theme park than authentic Yangon nightlife, you pay a few kyet to get in and then there are (mostly empty) restaurants lining the lakes edge, some with a gorgeous view over to the Shwedagon. I got a beer and watched some young guys rock it out on the guitar for a while before heading back to the “bar” I was at last night.

At the “bar” I met Annie, a fellow Aussie travelling around. I planned to catch a boat to the other side of the river in the morning to see what was there and Annie decided to join.

It was a little confusing at first getting tickets as we were shown into the office, then another office where a cat kept jumping on the desk, only to be unceremoniously pushed off, as our man was trying to write out our “foreigners” tickets. It was only a short trip straight across the river but quite another world compared to Rangoon. At Dalla port it was all chaos and congestion but around the streets it is a quiet and rural life. This area was badly affected a few years ago by cyclone Nargis as many of the houses are made of bamboo and pretty much sit on stilts above swamps.

Most of the time we were there we had trishaw drivers following us around trying to get a gig. They gave up once we were followed by a gaggle of children who would have been happy for us to spend an entire day taking their photo.

Later in the afternoon I headed to the bus station for my first night bus in Burma, up to Bagan. Things went incredibly smoothly and we departed right on time at 5pm. The trip to Bagan was scheduled to take twelve hours, arriving at 5am. This is predominantly the factor determining my route as the Mandalay bus gets in even earlier in the morning.