Category: Uncategorized

On the way from Pyin Oo Lyin to Inle Lake, used several modes of transport, including shared taxi, train, tuk-tuk, walking, and a horse and cart.

First, a shared taxi to Mandalay – a downhill journey descending from the highlands. Maria captured this floral delivery person on his way to the flower market.

Driven to Mandalay Station, we spent the afternoon browsing in an air-conditioned mall before returning to catch our 5:00 PM train.

This is the Rangoon Express, but we plan to get off in a place called Thazi, stay overnight, and take the slow train to Inle Lake next morning. We stay at the Moonlight Guest House, enjoying an end-of-the-day beer under a brilliant orange full moon.

Setting off bright and early – we took the horse and cart to Thazi station – we head over the mountains. This involves a series of switchbacks, backing up one incline, going forward on another, backing up another, and so on. The first is at this delightfully named station.

The usual sights appear.

And some unusual ones.

It’s avocado season here – there are piles of avocados everywhere. We bought three from this lady for about 20 cents each.

On the other side of the mountains are fertile foothills.

They don’t clear the grass from the tracks here. When you see the engine on a curve, it looks like we’re chugging along a trackless green pathway.

Sign on Burmese Railways trains:

At last the train arrives in Shwenyaung. From there, it’s another 11 kilometres in a tuk-tuk  to Yaungshwe, the main town for visiting Inle Lake.

Sight or Insight of the Day

After checking in to the eminently comfortable Zawgi Inn , we found a restaurant with the cutest dog in Myanmar. (Or at least in Inle Lake.)

He belongs to the proprietor. It’s rare to see cared-for animals here. I just wanted to squeeze him like a roll of Charmin.

Finally managed to extract ourselves from Hsipaw and took the train to Pyin Oo Lyin.

A fine day to be on the move. The fields are full of something yellow in bloom. It looks like canola.

Had to go Ordinary Class, as the Upper Class was sold out. About the only difference: ordinary class has rigid seats as opposed to the  upholstered luxury of Upper Class.

Oh, also it’s more crowded, because tickets are half the price of Upper Class. Both classes travel at the same glacial pace.

Pyin Oo Lyin is known for its colonial-era architecture. We didn’t see much of that, but our hotel was one good example.

It was built in 1918-1922. All it needs is a brace of greyhounds gambolling in the foreground to look like something straight out of the Home Counties.

The years have not been kind, however. Now descended into a hotel that is within our budget, it still has a few traces of opulence, such as enormous rooms.

Maria tested out the Burmese beauty treatment: thanaka paste.

The hotel provides free bicycles, probably because it’s some distance from the centre. We biked to the National Kandawgyi Botanical Gardens, a few kilometres from town.

A wildly popular place on the weekend. Families, young couples, overseas visitors – something for everyone.

You can get away from the crowds in the farther reaches of the park, like the Bamboo Forest.

I had to take a picture of this kiosk on the way back.

Chewing betel is very popular in Burma, as in a few other Asian countries. You can usually tell by the splats of red gob everywhere. When I saw this betel outlet, I envisioned someone in a top hat and tails – maybe a walking stick, too – casually jettisoning a stream of scarlet goo onto the sidewalk with a satisfied air.

We’re enjoying our time here in Hsipaw, a very laid-back little town.

It’s so relaxing here at the Mr. Charles Guest House, we can barely pry ourselves out of our comfy seats in the common area. Tonight will be our fourth (!) night here. It’s quiet and calm, after the pandemonium of Mandalay. Our guest house is scrupulously clean. The big thing to do here is go trekking: every day, we watch groups of eager 20-somethings set out for 1, 2, or 3-night treks to overnight in the local hill tribe villages. We, meanwhile are happy to stay near home base, soaking up the tranquil vibes, renting a bike now and then to see the local sights.

Hsipaw has a nice little market.

It’s pleasantly situated on the Dokhtawady River.

It has nifty backstreets to explore.

For such a Duckburg, there’s always something interesting going on. Such as a troop of young nuns on the move.

I’m not sure if this is a Pwe. In my imperfect understanding, a Pwe is a sort of impromptu celebratory spirit dance that can last for a few moments (we used to do this in our kitchen all the time, when we had a kitchen) or go on all night .

And as always when travelling,  you come across the unexpected. On the map provided by our guest house is something mysteriously marked as the ‘Shan Palace’ on the outskirts of town. We found this vaguely English-looking stately home. It was built by one of the last Shan princes, who studied at Oxford, came home and moved out of the traditional palace nearby (destroyed in WWII) and into these gentrified digs.

On entry, we’re met by a gracious older Burmese woman, a relative of this royal family, who narrates the story of the prince and his Austrian bride in excellent English. When the military take over, the prince disappears at the hands of the regime. Princess moves to America and eventually writes memoirs.

If this sounds like the makings of a movie, it’s been done. Unfortunately, only the living room of the house is open, but the ripping yarn about Sao Kya Seng makes the trip worthwhile.

Caught the 131 Up train from Mandalay to Lashio through Shan State. It leaves at 4:00 AM, entailing a 3:00 AM departure from the hotel and an 8- or 10-block walk through the quiet, deserted streets of Mandalay to the train station. (Mandalay, unlike Rangoon, is a problem for arranging transport. Except for motorcycle taxis, for which we are now too old and wise.)

We would think twice before doing this in Ottawa, where at this hour, trigger-happy gangstas and opioid-addled sociopaths roam the streets with impunity.
It’s very safe here – people are quite gentle. Even the souvenir vendors lack aggression. We flagged down a passing car that was prepared to drive us to the train station for a few thousand Kyat.

Departure. Slumber. After a few switchbacks in early morning mist, we are in higher country.

I’ve discovered the joys of downloading music to my IPhone (a hand-me-down from Maria after she upgraded).

Originally bound for Pyin Oo Lwin, we decided to go further to cross the Gokteik viaduct, once the world’s highest railway bridge (over a century ago).

I remember this from Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar and its reprise, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, both of which reward reading or re-reading.

Along the way, people are harvesting grain. It looks like a Van Gogh or Gauguin painting: groups of people using hand scythes to cut the stalks, laying down arm-bundle-sized stooks, and piling them into haystacks.

A big tip o’ the Tilley hat to this site for its invaluable info about taking trains here. There is virtually no posted information available at stations in English (although the staff behind the wickets are very helpful), the schedules listed on official websites are incorrect, and there are lots of recondite details that would be time-consuming to uncover, such as the location of the advance ticket counter in Rangoon.

We usually carry a supply of drinks and snacks. In case of emergencies, there’s always something to buy on the platform.

After a journey of 11 hours and 230 kilometres, we arrive in Hsipaw.

This place has been through many changes since being immortalized in Rudyard Kipling’s poem.

Walked to the Royal Palace – a long, long walk – which is surrounded by an enormous walled-in area.

The entire area is now some sort of military base. Foreigners must register – with a machine gun-toting guard – before entering, and then only in a straight line to the Royal Palace, everywhere else signposted as  a ‘Restricted Area’.

It has a sort of inauthentic appearance.

…turns out that during the Japanese occupation in WWII, the Japanese were using these grounds as a supply depot – which the Allies levelled in bombing raids. So the ‘Royal Palace’ is a replica that was built in the 90’s. I thank Wikipedia for that bit of information.

Next day, was wise enough to rent a bicycle. Traffic at first is really chaotic, but you soon adapt to local conditions.

Came across a gold-beating shop, where they produce gold foil to adorn temples.

…where we saw the same German tour group that was on our boat from Pagan! Small world.

On to Mandalay Hill, with its giant lions at the bottom of the stairway.

Mandalay Hill, with its trash-strewn hillside and permanent squatter settlement –  is less than impressive, compared to some of the places we’ve been lately, but you get a view of Mandalay  and a fresh breeze.

Mandalay

“On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flying fishes play,
And the dawn comes up like thunder out of China ‘cross the Bay!”

Rudyard Kipling, excerpted from Mandalay

I’ve often puzzled over this. Mandalay is on a river, so there are no flying fishes as far as I know, nor is there a Bay. And China is a thousand kilometres away. Mr. Kipling must’ve been taking some poetic license, because he only spent about three days total in Burma. Still, the metre is good.

And the road we’re taking is actually the Irrawaddy River. Awoke at the crack of pre-dawn (3:45 AM) to take a boat – the good ship Nmai Hka – from Pagan to Mandalay, an eleven-hour trip (the slow boat takes two days.) After snoozing for a couple of hours on board, turns out this is a good way to go. A fairly modern boat, uncrowded and comfortable. Just us, a handful of Burmese, and a German tour group.

Forgot to mention a Zen moment: heading up the muddy river, comfortable seated in the shade, and listening to the Beatles on my IPhone. Can life get any better than this?

Some riverside scenes along the way:

Of course, no journey is without its crisis. We had mechanical problems midway, so we self-beached on a sandbar while the crew went overboard and fixed something that was fouling the screws. (That’s nautical talk for ‘plugging up the propellers’.)

Maria follows events with great interest.

Eventually, our delay was so long that the boat company ordered a bus to meet us at a town a few hours away from Mandalay, where we left our crippled vessel.

Luckily, there were people around to unload the tour groups’ substantial luggage.

So we enjoyed the last few hours of travel to Mandalay in a comfy bus.

 

 

Pagan/Bagan

Pagan was yet another kingdom that had its moment in the sun, at one time covering much of Southeast Asia before subsiding back into ruins. Pagan is special because there are thousands of temples and pagodas spread across a broad plain. It’s overwhelming – they range from the simplest pile of crumbling bricks to enormous pyramids of stucco, gold, and faith.

They say the best time for viewing is dawn or dusk. We’re more middle-of-the-day kind of people.
We rented an e-bike for a couple of days. They’re more like e-scooters. Perfect for temple-visiting: the sites are too spread out for easy cycle visiting. The paths between them are often sandy. And, as usual, the heat is intense.

Many of the temples have murals or script still visible.

We went up the ‘Pagan viewing tower’, which is located in a stunning resort in the middle of the archaeological area that is, er, out of our present budget, but offers a great panorama of the surrounding temple-rich plain. And it’s a lot more economical than the hot-air balloon rides available for $US 300 per person.

Must squeeze in a few more temple pics…

Just one more…

We ate a few times at the Sanon restaurant, a training restaurant set up and developed by a handful of independent Australians to train ‘at-risk youth’, then place them in the hospitality business and monitor their progress afterwards. The originator of this project was a genial Aussie that was on the same train as we were. We shared a taxi into town.

Pagan/Bagan

Arrived here after a not-too-ghastly 17-hour journey with Myanamar Railways. Burmese trains are in the same condition as Indian trains. (For those who have been on Indian trains, you’ll know what I mean. For those who have not – well, there’s some scope for imagination.)

The train ride was actually enjoyable. Lots of pleasant scenery, pagodas atop hills, farmers with their oxcarts.

After the sun went down, clouds of fireflies appeared.

Arriving at last in Pagan.

Before leaving Rangoon, we went to the Bogyoke Market. Had visions of leaving with an enormous star sapphire ring – lots of gems for sale in this market – but cooler heads prevailed.

Maria bought a bracelet for less than a buck.

We also took the Circular Train in Rangoon, a 3-hour route that travels 36 kilometers around the city and nearby countryside. A good way to get down with the locals, and a bargain at 20 cents.

Of course the little girl at bottom right is not a local. We’ve noticed many young couples – mostly Europeans – travelling with their surprisingly young children and taking everything in stride. This was a Dutch couple with their daughter, who built up a charming rapport with an old burgundy-clad monk in the seat opposite. Like most places, people here love kids.

Went to the Botataung pagoda, with its nifty gold maze and its Buddha hair relics.

Maria had a go at gaining some merit.

Rangoon, Burma/Yangon, Myanmar

That’s the meaning of Rangoon/Yangon. Kind of ironic, given recent history.

I have to admit a bias for Burma over Myanmar. Burma has fewer syllables, and Myanmar sounds like a disease of the jaw.

Arrived here by air from Chiang Mai and noticed a change from Thailand – more packs of stray dogs, no street signs, and a general urban shabbiness and lack of trash collection that comes with decades of living in a socialist paradise hermit republic.

Then this morning we went to the Shwedagon pagoda. The centrepiece is a 99-metre gold foil-covered wonder of the world. After weeks of seeing dozens of temples, they pale in comparison to this place.

It’s approached up this grand staircase.

Which is guarded by these marvelous crocodiles.

 Once there, it’s like being in New York City for the first time: the most jaded cosmopolitan is transformed into a slack-jawed gaping yokel.

We spent hours walking around.

By the way, that’s an improvised longyi I’m wearing, made out of a travel towel, because shorts are not permitted while visiting the pagoda. A longyi (sounds like loan-gee) is a piece of material worn by both men and women here.

Some more shots of Shwedagon.

And another.

Strange fact: In Thailand, they drive on the left, like the British, even though they have never been a British colony. Yet here, which was a colony, they drive on the right, like in North America, but the steering wheel is on the right side, like left-driving countries. Just one of the mysteries of the orient.

On the way to Shwedagon, we came across a charming custom. This woman has a cage full of birds. For a thousand Kyat – less than a Canadian dollar – you can set one free.

So I liberated this little guy, thereby gaining great merit.

I should’ve ransomed the whole cage.

 

Chiang Mai

Chiang Mai means “New City” and was so named because it became the new capital of Lan Na when it was founded in 1296, according to Wikipedia. (La Na was another one of the many kingdoms that preceded the present Thai kingdom in olden times, apparently.)

Left Sukhothai in an interesting stretch tuk-tuk to New Sukhoti.

Note the garland of marigolds hanging from the driver’s mirror:

Here, flowers are more for offerings than for home decoration. People offer up things to temples, trees, bridges. We later saw a woman creating these in a Chiang Mai market.

Came across a wonderful teakwood wat…

…with a skillfully-carved stone gate…

…and some delightful kite-like things hanging inside.

Chiang Mai is a walled city. Its claim to fame seems to be markets. There’s an awful lot of commerce going on.

I bought an umbrella, for the sun. This is something Maria just had to try in the Night Market: fish therapy.

The idea is, the minnows ever-so-gently nibble away at the dead skin cells of your feet. Very refreshing (so I’m told).