Tuesday 10 May 2011
Day 87 (Mon, May 9) - MLB: Place Holder
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Day 86 (Sun, May 8) - MLB: Cake & Cat Empire
JF's birthday proper, and Mother's Day too.
Had a slow morning (recovering from last night) and enjoyed the company of family and friends in the evening -- eating birthday cake and going out to see a band, woohoo!
Had a slow morning (recovering from last night) and enjoyed the company of family and friends in the evening -- eating birthday cake and going out to see a band, woohoo!
Day 85 (Sat, May 7) - MLB: Place Holder
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Day 84 (Fri, May 6) - MLB: Place Holder
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Day 82 (Wed, May 4) - MLB: Place Holder
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Day 83 (Thur, May 5) - MLB: Place Holder
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Day 80 (Mon, May 2) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 79 (Sun, May 1) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 81 (Tues, May 3) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 78 (Sat, April 30) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 77 (Fri, April 29) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 76 (Thur, April 28) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 75 (Wed, April 27) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 74 (Tues, April 26) - MB to CNB: Place Holder
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Day 73 (Mon, April 25) - MB: Place Holder
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Day 72 (Sun, April 24) - MB: Place Holder
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Day 71 (Sat, April 23) - MB: Place Holder
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Day 70 (Fri, April 22) - CNB to Mystery Bay: Place Holder
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Day 69 (Thur, April 21) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 68 (Wed, April 20) - CNB: Place Holder
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Day 67 (Tues, April 19) - SYD to CNB: Place Holder
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Day 66 (Mon, April 18) - SYD: Place Holder
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Day 65 (Sun, April 17) - SYD: Place Holder
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Day 64 (Sat, April 16) - BKK to SYD: Place Holder
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Day 62 (Thur, April 14) - Ayuttaya: Place Holder
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Day 63 (Fri, April 15) - BKK: Place Holder
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Day 59 (Mon, April 11) - KK: Place Holder
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Day 60 (Tues, April 12) - KK: Place Holder
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Day 61 (Wed, April 13) - KK: Place Holder
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Day 57 (Sat, April 9) - KK: Place Holder
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Day 58 (Sun, April 10) - KK: Place Holder
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Day 55 (Thur, April 7) - BKK: Place Holder
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Day 54 (Wed, April 6) - SNG to BKK: Place Holder
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Day 56 (Friday, April 8) - Train from BKK to KK: Place Holder
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Day 53 (Tues, April 5) - SNG: Place Holder
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Day 52 (Mon, April 4) - SNG: Place Holder
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Day 51 (Sun, April 3) - SNG: Place Holder
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Day 50 (Sat, April 2) - SNG: Place Holder
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Day 48 (Thur, March 31) - BKK: Place Holder
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Day 49 (Fri, April 1) - SNG: Place Holder
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Day 47 (Wed, March 30) - BKK: Place Holder
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Day 46 (Tues, March 29) - BKK: Place Holder
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Day 45 (Mon, March 28) - BKK: Place Holder
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Tuesday 5 April 2011
Day 44 (Sun, March 27) - BKK: Place Holder
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Monday 4 April 2011
Day 43 (Sat, March 26) - BKK: Palm Reading & Sukhumvit
In the morning, Naew took me for a consultation with her Palm Reader of ten years, Kun Moo. Kun Moo is from Burma, and worked as Naew's boss's assistant for a time; she used to live around the corner from Naew, but recently moved to a gated community about half an hour away. She runs her own consultancy (palmistry business?) full-time now, and her sister acts as her receptionist and takes care of the finances. I arrived as one client was leaving, and the waiting room was full when I left.
Kun Moo invited me to sit down across the desk from her in her small office, with my palms face up on a pillow. She enquired whether I was 'convenient' (ie comfortable), and then asked for my date of birth. Then she talked at me for 40 minutes straight.
And astounded the heck out of me.
She asserted things about my inclinations, my character, my employment history, my relationship history, my finances, and my familial relationships, all of which were uncannily spot-on. She didn't ask me questions or fish for information. She also made predictions about my future which I have 'on tape' (she made an audio recording for me); she encouraged me to think of her reading when they came to pass.
I had an astrology reading done in 2008 which was (similarly?) based on my date (and time) of birth -- but the astrologist had several days in which to prepare her comments, unlike this palm reader who I told my birthday as I sat down. The astrology reading did have similarities to this palm reading -- but I found Kun Moo more forthright in her descriptions, and there were no references to planets ruling this or that house in my chart to complicate the message.
Either this Palm Reader has astounding powers of perception, or much of 'who we are' is in fact determined by the date on which we are born, or she got incredibly lucky. Not having heard the reading, you may add: or I am reading what I want into very vague things she actually said. Perhaps I'll transcribe some exerpts, and let you judge for yourselves ;)
We ran into Awi and the kids on our way to lunch, and we all had Vietnamese together at a little local restaurant.
After lunch I got a ride with Awi to Sukhumvit, where I went to the Citibank and took a wander. I almost bought a bikini at Robinsons for my upcoming beach/diving trip, had a comforting stroll up and down the aisles at Tops supermarket (Waitrose - an upscale grocery store with outlets only in the UK -exports its line of own-brand products to Thailand; who knew??), and noticed farang men discussing prices and times with slim Thai girls, sandwiched between street stalls selling t-shirts and sneakers. Off-duty women in matching outfits relaxed at tables outside massage parlours down the soi's (alleys) off the main drag, while prospective customers lounged at the bars on either side.
To get home, I caught the BTS/Skytrain (45B) to Victory Monument -- the pre-eminent round-a-bout in Bangkok, reminiscent of the traffic circle around the Arc de Triomphe, or Picadilly Circus maybe, but bigger and more chaotic. There's a walkway 3/4 of the way around it, from the BTS station to the bus stop. There I hopped on a Bus 522 (14B), which turns onto the Express Road immediately and turns off again in Nonthaburi; the first stop - after about 30mins, traffic permitting - is outside Pantip Plaza. The final 1km stretch of road up Ngamwongwarn 25 (ie the 25th road intersecting Ngamwongwarn) to Soi 14 (the lane with Naew's house), I covered on the back of a scooter (10B), driven by a young man in a flourescent yellow vest.
Had a family dinner all together at home in the kitchen, and spent the evening transcribing my reading.
Kun Moo invited me to sit down across the desk from her in her small office, with my palms face up on a pillow. She enquired whether I was 'convenient' (ie comfortable), and then asked for my date of birth. Then she talked at me for 40 minutes straight.
And astounded the heck out of me.
She asserted things about my inclinations, my character, my employment history, my relationship history, my finances, and my familial relationships, all of which were uncannily spot-on. She didn't ask me questions or fish for information. She also made predictions about my future which I have 'on tape' (she made an audio recording for me); she encouraged me to think of her reading when they came to pass.
I had an astrology reading done in 2008 which was (similarly?) based on my date (and time) of birth -- but the astrologist had several days in which to prepare her comments, unlike this palm reader who I told my birthday as I sat down. The astrology reading did have similarities to this palm reading -- but I found Kun Moo more forthright in her descriptions, and there were no references to planets ruling this or that house in my chart to complicate the message.
Either this Palm Reader has astounding powers of perception, or much of 'who we are' is in fact determined by the date on which we are born, or she got incredibly lucky. Not having heard the reading, you may add: or I am reading what I want into very vague things she actually said. Perhaps I'll transcribe some exerpts, and let you judge for yourselves ;)
We ran into Awi and the kids on our way to lunch, and we all had Vietnamese together at a little local restaurant.
After lunch I got a ride with Awi to Sukhumvit, where I went to the Citibank and took a wander. I almost bought a bikini at Robinsons for my upcoming beach/diving trip, had a comforting stroll up and down the aisles at Tops supermarket (Waitrose - an upscale grocery store with outlets only in the UK -exports its line of own-brand products to Thailand; who knew??), and noticed farang men discussing prices and times with slim Thai girls, sandwiched between street stalls selling t-shirts and sneakers. Off-duty women in matching outfits relaxed at tables outside massage parlours down the soi's (alleys) off the main drag, while prospective customers lounged at the bars on either side.
To get home, I caught the BTS/Skytrain (45B) to Victory Monument -- the pre-eminent round-a-bout in Bangkok, reminiscent of the traffic circle around the Arc de Triomphe, or Picadilly Circus maybe, but bigger and more chaotic. There's a walkway 3/4 of the way around it, from the BTS station to the bus stop. There I hopped on a Bus 522 (14B), which turns onto the Express Road immediately and turns off again in Nonthaburi; the first stop - after about 30mins, traffic permitting - is outside Pantip Plaza. The final 1km stretch of road up Ngamwongwarn 25 (ie the 25th road intersecting Ngamwongwarn) to Soi 14 (the lane with Naew's house), I covered on the back of a scooter (10B), driven by a young man in a flourescent yellow vest.
Had a family dinner all together at home in the kitchen, and spent the evening transcribing my reading.
Sunday 27 March 2011
Day 42 (Fri, March 25) - BKK: Gao's Dressage Competition & Huub's Birthday
Gao, Naew's youngest sister, started taking horse riding lessons when the family lived in Vienna, and has taken it up again recently at the local stables in Nonthaburi. Today she was competing in the Preliminary-Level Dressage Competition of the Thai Equestrian Association along with 23 others. The test / performance consisted of a 5 minute choreographed routine of walking / trotting / cantering around the field in prescribed circles and diagonals, starting and finishing in front of the judges at a perfect standstill. Most of the competitors were girls in their early teens on ponies; a few were on horses (including Gao); and there was just one man. Gao performed satisfactorily but too 'hollowly' for the judges' liking and she didn't 'impel' her steed sufficiently, and scored average on the twelve or so competencies. She's doing this for fun, and is more concerned with riding in such a way that she and Grazia (that's her horse) have a nice relaxed time together.
Gao's friend Jeet from the stables was there too, and we chatted away while Mr Keshagupta captured Gao's whole performance -- from warm-up to warm-down -- on video. Jeet lived in the UK for two years, studying in Birmingham and London, and we shared our reflections on the English vs Americans vs Thais. She said riding affords her a bit of nature in the city, as well as a social circle. She's 45 and single, and (as is common here for the unmarried) lives with her parents.
We were at the military base watching all 23 riders for the whole afternoon, from 1pm till 5pm. Once home we watched Mr Keshagupta's video.
In the evening I skyped with Huub for this birthday (hartelijk gefeliciteerd Huub!), and had a nice conversation with Jim but only caught Paul for a minute before he was heading out the door. Shin and Shain came to say hello too; it was their first time on skype! Afterwards, I helped Naew and Shin set up and test their new skype accounts.
Gao's friend Jeet from the stables was there too, and we chatted away while Mr Keshagupta captured Gao's whole performance -- from warm-up to warm-down -- on video. Jeet lived in the UK for two years, studying in Birmingham and London, and we shared our reflections on the English vs Americans vs Thais. She said riding affords her a bit of nature in the city, as well as a social circle. She's 45 and single, and (as is common here for the unmarried) lives with her parents.
We were at the military base watching all 23 riders for the whole afternoon, from 1pm till 5pm. Once home we watched Mr Keshagupta's video.
In the evening I skyped with Huub for this birthday (hartelijk gefeliciteerd Huub!), and had a nice conversation with Jim but only caught Paul for a minute before he was heading out the door. Shin and Shain came to say hello too; it was their first time on skype! Afterwards, I helped Naew and Shin set up and test their new skype accounts.
Day 41 (Thur, March 24) - BKK: Crocodile Farm & 'The Last Airbender'
8am It wasn’t raining, so set off to the Samutprakarn Crocodile Farm & Zoo with Naew, Shin, Shain, and Awi driving. It’s right the other end of Bangkok, south of the center. Naew initially suggested going to the smaller & cleaner croc farm closer by – but as I was visiting, we went to the big one. Stopped off at Kasetsart University Laboratory School to pick up the kids’ report cards. Shin was mortified that he wasn’t wearing his school uniform as etiquette required; Naew was at first worried to show her face since she wasn’t planning on going back to her office. Shin got to practice making introductions in English by introducing me to his teachers. Shin got a grade point average of 3.83, above the 3.75 required to get a mention, and his written report-card comments revolved around his being an industrious and participatory student. Shain got a ‘four point zero zero’ for the year in English, P.E. and Music & Thai Dancing, and was praised for his self-confidence and happiness but encouraged to improve his concentration. It’s a very competitive school to get into, with over 3000 applicants for 300 spots, over half of which are reserved for the kids of university faculty staff and a little under a quarter for ‘special favors.’ The parents of mere mortals (albeit with good grades) have to impress the application committee with the right mix of donations and good works – and need to raise their profile with the PTA committee, on which Naew sits. So there’s a lot of ‘Sawadee-ka’-ing back and forth with hands folded and a slight bow of the head anytime Naew is on the school premises. / The Crocodile Farm is the largest in the world. I didn’t count, but there were a helluvalotta crocs. Big crocs, little crocs; well-fed crocs, emaciated crocs; crocs on land, crocs in the water; crocs piled on each other, crocs in solitary confinement. But mostly we saw stationary crocs you couldn’t tell were alive or dead. They hang out scattered across the pavement, sometimes lying across each other, often with their jaws frozen open. / We watched the 10am ‘Crocodile Wrestling Show’ which consisted in two young men dragging crocs out of a moat onto a concrete display area and prodding them sticks to get a snap out of them. The highlight of the show was a tender sticking first his arm then his head into the croc’s maw. They stroked the snout and upper jaw a lot beforehand, which I expect has a de-sensitizing effect; in contrast, when they wanted a sharp snap, they prodded the lower jaw. Naew observed that the show’s slap-stick and tip-begging emphasis was linked to the preponderance of Chinese tourists; last time the she’d seen the show, years ago, it had had more of a spiritual bent. / Afterwards we strolled across the bridges built over the crocodile water-pens, and fed the crocs. Naew bought several buckets of chicken carcasses which we tossed over the railing to the milling crocs below. There was also a ‘Jumping Croc’ station, where visitors could dangle meat over the water with a fishing pole, and the crocs would rise up out of the water snapping for it. / Awi and I walked along the breeding pens, where baby crocs from a few months to a few years were housed, and along the handicapped croc pens where the ‘eyeless’ and ‘humpbacked’ crocs had their home – as well as the ‘dark chocolate covered’ and ‘white chocolate covered’ crocs (now THAT’s what I call a handicap!).
Friday 25 March 2011
Day 40 (Wed, March 23) - BKK: Blogging Day 3: Flooding! & The King's Speech
Woke up to a wet drizzly day -- only to discover the street outside, and the whole neighborhood, had flooded in under an hour of heavy rain around 7am! Awi left to pick up a friend to help him with his taxes, and didn't return for several hours; apparently the flooding was even worse in other neighborhoods...
Blogging.
The Nanny offered me some noodles for lunch, with Shain translating for us.
More blogging.
Watched The King's Speech with Shin, and Naew and Awi and Shain popping in and out.
Played some card games with Shin and Shain -- Halli Galli (a card game based on adding or subtracting to five), Snakes (a game with magnets) and Aquarius (like dominoes but with more permutations).
Ah! Found some contemporaneous notes I'd made off-line, and am adding them in here:
9am up. Yoghurt and cereal for breakfast. Awi just leaving to pick up Phong. Street was flooded, took pix. Blogging in study. Awi returned with Phong to do his taxes in the study. Moved downstairs. Nanny came over at noon and Shain asked me if I wanted something to eat; she served me a bowl of noodles. Awi & Phong came down around 1.30pm and went to lunch. Upon return, they played a card game with Shain in the living room, then went back to work. Naew came back from work early (about 4pm) and surprised Awi. Awi gave everyone a ride to the garage or to pick up Shin or something. Came back with Phong, got changed, and left for work. House quiet and I moved back to the study. Called to dinner at 7pm. Naew WAS home, and dinner was on the table. Somewhat quiet meal. (Is she pissed at me? I feel guilty). Afterwards assembled the two fans she’d bought. Then played cards with Shin and Shain: 5 Fruits, Snakes, Cosmic Cards. Shain to bed; Naew uploading photos to FB; Shin practicing Speed Stacking; me blogging. Shin went to bed. Neew was posting pix of me at the temple and asked, ‘Is your Mom religious’ and we got talking about fanatics and Christianity & Islam vs Buddhism, and Buddhism being a dying ‘religion’ (Thailand is the only Buddhist country today). I took the opportunity to say I felt bad about staying so long, I felt guilty, was there anything I could do to make it up to her, I could imagine she might just like to come home and have the house to herself, was I getting in the way of anything. She didn’t say anything and I couldn’t tell if she was nonplussed or too reserved to let it rip. She said she was not a very chatty person, so it was normal for her to come home and go straight to her room. She was also not ‘service-oriented’ (she doesn’t cook and such for the family), so isn’t that way for guests either. She was psyched Shain is speaking English to me; and she’s also psyched that I read Shain some bedtime stories in English and that I sometimes play games with the boys. Anyhooo. She went to bed about 10.30pm, then popped back in and announced that Elizabeth Taylor has died as she collected some papers. Figured out how the scanner worked, and blogged till midnight. She went to bed about 10.30pm, then popped back in and announced that Elizabeth Taylor had died as she collected some papers. Figured out how the scanner worked, and blogged till midnight.
Blogging.
The Nanny offered me some noodles for lunch, with Shain translating for us.
More blogging.
Watched The King's Speech with Shin, and Naew and Awi and Shain popping in and out.
Played some card games with Shin and Shain -- Halli Galli (a card game based on adding or subtracting to five), Snakes (a game with magnets) and Aquarius (like dominoes but with more permutations).
Ah! Found some contemporaneous notes I'd made off-line, and am adding them in here:
9am up. Yoghurt and cereal for breakfast. Awi just leaving to pick up Phong. Street was flooded, took pix. Blogging in study. Awi returned with Phong to do his taxes in the study. Moved downstairs. Nanny came over at noon and Shain asked me if I wanted something to eat; she served me a bowl of noodles. Awi & Phong came down around 1.30pm and went to lunch. Upon return, they played a card game with Shain in the living room, then went back to work. Naew came back from work early (about 4pm) and surprised Awi. Awi gave everyone a ride to the garage or to pick up Shin or something. Came back with Phong, got changed, and left for work. House quiet and I moved back to the study. Called to dinner at 7pm. Naew WAS home, and dinner was on the table. Somewhat quiet meal. (Is she pissed at me? I feel guilty). Afterwards assembled the two fans she’d bought. Then played cards with Shin and Shain: 5 Fruits, Snakes, Cosmic Cards. Shain to bed; Naew uploading photos to FB; Shin practicing Speed Stacking; me blogging. Shin went to bed. Neew was posting pix of me at the temple and asked, ‘Is your Mom religious’ and we got talking about fanatics and Christianity & Islam vs Buddhism, and Buddhism being a dying ‘religion’ (Thailand is the only Buddhist country today). I took the opportunity to say I felt bad about staying so long, I felt guilty, was there anything I could do to make it up to her, I could imagine she might just like to come home and have the house to herself, was I getting in the way of anything. She didn’t say anything and I couldn’t tell if she was nonplussed or too reserved to let it rip. She said she was not a very chatty person, so it was normal for her to come home and go straight to her room. She was also not ‘service-oriented’ (she doesn’t cook and such for the family), so isn’t that way for guests either. She was psyched Shain is speaking English to me; and she’s also psyched that I read Shain some bedtime stories in English and that I sometimes play games with the boys. Anyhooo. She went to bed about 10.30pm, then popped back in and announced that Elizabeth Taylor has died as she collected some papers. Figured out how the scanner worked, and blogged till midnight. She went to bed about 10.30pm, then popped back in and announced that Elizabeth Taylor had died as she collected some papers. Figured out how the scanner worked, and blogged till midnight.
Day 39 (Tues, March 22) - BKK: Blogging Day 2 (& Pond & Unstoppable)
Continued blogging. With 3 weeks to catch up on (not including posting photos to the early existing entries, which I'll do at some later point) at, say, an hour a post (involving captioning and organizing photos in Picasa, and adding text), that's 21hrs of work (not including internet outages).
Awi, who was home as well, asked if I wanted to join him for lunch, and we drove to another of the small local restaurants in Nonthaburi he frequents for a cheap but filling rice or noodle meal. Afterwards we drove around looking for the 'ice-cream sandwich' man with his cart, but failing to find him, Awi took me to an ice-cream parlour / restaurant he's visited since he was a kid when the family was back from Vienna on home-leave. I got to sample 'the usual': a dollop of vanilla ice-cream with a mould of red jello. Two desserts in one!
After more blogging in the afternoon, I joined Awi on Day 1 of his new exercise regime: walking five 500m laps around the pond, and doing some weights on the stationary machines there. Shain joined us at the last minute, and lost interest in walking after two laps. I joined him trying out all the exercise machines until Awi was done. Passed by some guys playing a highly athletic game of soccer-volleyball -- where you can touch the ball, with your feet or head, just three times before it has to reach the other side of the net.
Shain's energy level picked up again once we got home, and he showed me how he can ride a two-wheeler, before crashing and reverting to his tricycle.
Popped through the gate to Naew's sister's house. Api lives next door with her family; they finished their house last year, and the family bought the empty plot between the two houses so that now they're connected through the garden. Api has two beautiful Thai ridge-back dogs, one frisky at 5 months, and the other adorable at just 1 month old.
After dinner, watched 'Unstoppable' with Shin and Shain, the story of a runaway train disaster averted (based on some true incident in Pennsylvania not too many years back).
Then blogged some more.
Awi, who was home as well, asked if I wanted to join him for lunch, and we drove to another of the small local restaurants in Nonthaburi he frequents for a cheap but filling rice or noodle meal. Afterwards we drove around looking for the 'ice-cream sandwich' man with his cart, but failing to find him, Awi took me to an ice-cream parlour / restaurant he's visited since he was a kid when the family was back from Vienna on home-leave. I got to sample 'the usual': a dollop of vanilla ice-cream with a mould of red jello. Two desserts in one!
After more blogging in the afternoon, I joined Awi on Day 1 of his new exercise regime: walking five 500m laps around the pond, and doing some weights on the stationary machines there. Shain joined us at the last minute, and lost interest in walking after two laps. I joined him trying out all the exercise machines until Awi was done. Passed by some guys playing a highly athletic game of soccer-volleyball -- where you can touch the ball, with your feet or head, just three times before it has to reach the other side of the net.
Shain's energy level picked up again once we got home, and he showed me how he can ride a two-wheeler, before crashing and reverting to his tricycle.
Popped through the gate to Naew's sister's house. Api lives next door with her family; they finished their house last year, and the family bought the empty plot between the two houses so that now they're connected through the garden. Api has two beautiful Thai ridge-back dogs, one frisky at 5 months, and the other adorable at just 1 month old.
After dinner, watched 'Unstoppable' with Shin and Shain, the story of a runaway train disaster averted (based on some true incident in Pennsylvania not too many years back).
Then blogged some more.
Day 38 (Mon, March 21) - BKK: Full-time Blogging Day 1
Determined to bring my blog up-to-date, I spent the day "curating" photos and figured out how to post a slideshow to my blog via Picasa (inspired by Alec's example). At dinner with the family in the evening, Chaisak expressed disbelief that I hadn't left the house all day.
Chaisak was leaving for Panama on the 9pm KLM flight, and has a 5hr stop-over at Schiphol. He asked me about 'typical Dutch foods', and I wrote down stroopwafels, spekulaas, drop, hagelslag, gestampte muisjes; too bad he doesn't like cheese.
Chaisak was leaving for Panama on the 9pm KLM flight, and has a 5hr stop-over at Schiphol. He asked me about 'typical Dutch foods', and I wrote down stroopwafels, spekulaas, drop, hagelslag, gestampte muisjes; too bad he doesn't like cheese.
Day 37 (Sun, March 20) - BKK: Chinese Temple to pray & Siam Paragon Mall to shop & Rango at the movies
In the Chinese zodiac, the Year of the Rabbit is a 'clash year' for the Rooster, Rat, Dragon, and Horse. I joined Naew and her family at Wat Khanika Phon in Chinatown today to pray and donate and generally mitigate negative energy. This involved making meritorious donations (like, quite practically, buying oil to refill the burners at the temple, and shrouds to be used by the police at crime scenes; as well as donating towards the cost of funerals for people without means), and praying both for forgiveness and for guidance, with candles and incense and garlands to help transmit the intention. We migrated through various 'stations', bowing to the Buddha while asking forgiveness, kneeling on the patio while asking for guidance, lighting incense from the incense burner, and candles from the oil burner, and placing them to burn in the appropriate places. There is a power to prayer that is intensified by physically going through prescribed motions.
The area where people burn incense etc has been moved across the street from the temple proper, which is an oasis of calm. There we bowed to the Buddha, and took the opportunity to read our fortunes: you shake a cupful of numbered flat red sticks until just one shakes itself out. You read the number on the stick, and find the leaflet with the corresponding number on the shelf: this is your fortune. I'll have to ask Naew to translate mine again, but broadly speaking it wasn't positive. I suppose that fits with the fact that as a Rooster, this is a 'clash year' for me...
Afterwards I got my face read on the street outside the temple. My ears don't stick out enough (which indicates I'm not rich), my eyebrows and my cheek bones are too low (which indicate I'm not supported and will always have to work for my money), but my eyes and chin are good (I'm a strong and kind person). The rest of the reading was based on my birth date and time. Wood and water figured prominently -- and apparently from a business perspective, import-export is one interpretation of water, as is the restaurant business. Perhaps exporting teak furniture from Thailand is in my future, or running that Italian deli in London with Susan will become a reality... or maybe I'll just head to the beach ;) Chaisak, meanwhile, had his cards read (the fortune-teller used a regular deck of playing cards) and from the bits translated for me it sounded like she was wide of the mark.
We went for lunch at Naew's favorite French-Fusion cafe-restaurant in Siam Paragon mall (the teriyaki cod was delectable), and then the family visited Ocean World downstairs while I explored the five levels of fancy shops above (Salvatore Ferragamo, Apple Store, etc). Got caught up browsing in what I later learned was the largest English bookstore in Bangkok.
Got home in time to join Awi for the 6pm showing of Rango, showing at a mall in Nonthaburi I've not been to yet. Parking was scarce, and it's normal here to 'double park', leaving the hand-brake off so someone needing to leave can push your car out of the way. Rango was a quirky adult-oriented animated movie about a chameleon wanna-be-screenwriter and his life-changing adventures in the Wild West, with the tag-line, 'Why blend in when you can stand out?' It playfully took off on all sorts of tropes from Spaghetti Westerns (the music, the baddies, even Clint Eastwood himself) -- smart and funny.
The area where people burn incense etc has been moved across the street from the temple proper, which is an oasis of calm. There we bowed to the Buddha, and took the opportunity to read our fortunes: you shake a cupful of numbered flat red sticks until just one shakes itself out. You read the number on the stick, and find the leaflet with the corresponding number on the shelf: this is your fortune. I'll have to ask Naew to translate mine again, but broadly speaking it wasn't positive. I suppose that fits with the fact that as a Rooster, this is a 'clash year' for me...
Afterwards I got my face read on the street outside the temple. My ears don't stick out enough (which indicates I'm not rich), my eyebrows and my cheek bones are too low (which indicate I'm not supported and will always have to work for my money), but my eyes and chin are good (I'm a strong and kind person). The rest of the reading was based on my birth date and time. Wood and water figured prominently -- and apparently from a business perspective, import-export is one interpretation of water, as is the restaurant business. Perhaps exporting teak furniture from Thailand is in my future, or running that Italian deli in London with Susan will become a reality... or maybe I'll just head to the beach ;) Chaisak, meanwhile, had his cards read (the fortune-teller used a regular deck of playing cards) and from the bits translated for me it sounded like she was wide of the mark.
We went for lunch at Naew's favorite French-Fusion cafe-restaurant in Siam Paragon mall (the teriyaki cod was delectable), and then the family visited Ocean World downstairs while I explored the five levels of fancy shops above (Salvatore Ferragamo, Apple Store, etc). Got caught up browsing in what I later learned was the largest English bookstore in Bangkok.
Got home in time to join Awi for the 6pm showing of Rango, showing at a mall in Nonthaburi I've not been to yet. Parking was scarce, and it's normal here to 'double park', leaving the hand-brake off so someone needing to leave can push your car out of the way. Rango was a quirky adult-oriented animated movie about a chameleon wanna-be-screenwriter and his life-changing adventures in the Wild West, with the tag-line, 'Why blend in when you can stand out?' It playfully took off on all sorts of tropes from Spaghetti Westerns (the music, the baddies, even Clint Eastwood himself) -- smart and funny.
Wednesday 23 March 2011
Day 35 (Fri, March 18) - BKK: Palang Chakawan & Nonthaburi Temples
Got up after the family had left, and took a walk down to the Family Mart to get some bananas, but they had none, and the woman frying hers for sale on the street would not sell me any uncooked ones. Picked up some yoghurt instead and had that for breakfast with toast. Read yesterday’s Bangkok Post Life section and thought about going to some ‘alternative’ theatre and/or a lecture somewhere and/or an art gallery; inspires me more than visions of tourist traps (even if ‘cultural highlights’). Apparently pensioners are replacing backpackers in Southeast Asia, and have their own acronym, SKIERS: Spending their Kids’ Inheritance. Stomach nominally fine but the yoghurt passed through me straight away. My period is probably past its heaviest now, which is just as well coz I’ve run out of tampons.
At 10am Awi and Shain appeared, and after some commotion I only vaguely followed around whether Shain had or had not dealt his cousin next door a life-threatening head blow, we drove to Naew’s university building for a Palang Chakawan consultation with her colleague, in an office overflowing with papers in Thai and hand-made Happy Birthday Mom! cards stuck to the walls. Shain went first and I watched as this woman somewhat older than me placed one hand on his head and one on his lower back, her eyes closed; he too had his eyes closed and looked like he was concentrating. She next touched his neck and shoulders, and he soon lost concentration and started looking around, even more so after Naew appeared at the door and hovered over the séance. It lasted 5 minutes, and then Shain folded his hands and thanked the healer, and it was my turn.
I took my place on the stool, and she asked what my ailment was, and concluded ‘food poisoning’ when I’d described my vomiting and diarrhea. ‘We’ll see if it helps,’ she said, and proceeded to lay one hand on my head and the other on my lower back and closed her eyes. I closed my eyes too, and felt a powerful heat and energy where her hands were and along an imaginary line in between, as though her hands were magnets and I was feeling the attractive force between them running through my back. When she placed her head hand on my stomach, the ‘magnetism’ wasn’t as strong, but I focused on her hands and on her breathing and on breathing with her. After a little less than 5 minutes she took her hands off me and that was it. ‘Can you describe what you do? I felt an energy.’ She said she channels energy from the surroundings to the chakra pertinent to whatever is ailing you; this involves visualizing the color related to the chakra. She added that what she does when she has food poisoning is to not eat for 24hrs, just drink water. (Naew has since told me her colleague went to Catholic primary and secondary school, then got her BA and MA in Electrical Engineering in the US. And started practicing Palang Chakawan after she returned to Thailand).
Drove the two or three campus blocks to the Friday Market (the market held on campus every Friday) where there was a plethora of food treats awaiting my not-to-be-indulged stomach; what a shame! Naew did some household shopping (mandarins and pomelo, fish paste and mushroom broth, some new wash cloths) and got take-away lunch for Shain (chicken and yellow rice, and some hot red syrup mixed with ice to keep him sweet as we wandered around) and Awi (sticky brown rice and spring rolls) and me (bananas). She herself left us to have lunch at the outdoor Electrical Engineering ‘canteen’ by her building.
Shain was bouncy in the car, turning his tongue red with his drink and puzzling over the meaning of ‘last name,’ and identifying flags. The three of us had lunch together at home, me some watery rice specially prepared by the housekeeper, with some dried shredded pork (it looked like carpet fluff) and some cracker (also pork-based; much better texture and flavor). Shain could hardly sit still, talking with his mouth full, eager to give the maid (Naw, as opposed to Naew) the bean-paste sweets he’d gotten for her at the market, fetching his sword as soon as he’d finished his chicken leg. Awi threatened him with withholding (or withdrawing?) ‘stars’ if he didn’t behave, and that got him to quiet down. Apparently the kids are awarded stars for good behavior; each star is worth 10 Baht (or something) and the kids can trade them in for stuff they want (toys, mostly) once they’ve accumulated a sufficient amount. The maids also get some kind of reward for good work, in the form of going somewhere with the family.
After lunch Awi took me to see the Chinese Temple in Nonthaburi, sister to the large temple in Chinatown. It was new and ornate and the first temple I’ve seen with an upstairs. Then, inspired probably by my appreciation and photo-snapping, he took me down the road to see the largest reclining Buddha in Nonthaburi, at Wat Ratprakongtham, another new-ish temple complex along the canal. There I also saw a Burningman-worthy cluster of miniature Buddha’s and other ‘dolls’ huddled around the base of a tree; Awi informed me that if a Buddha or spirit statue breaks, you must get rid of it immediately or it will bring bad luck, and one of the places you can dispose of it is at a temple under the Buddha-tree (the one with leaves shaped like the one in Lello’s Buddha sand-painting). Then we drove next door to an older temple, much more ‘authentic’ feeling, with three-faced-Buddha reliefs repeating around the walls. An orange-robed monk who was clipping the hedge outside let us in; a bonus, as Awi had never seen the temple open before. Inside it was similar in size and décor to the Chinatown temple I’d visited with Raf: large golden Buddha (this one seated as in a Western chair, unusually; and plastered with gold patches, also somewhat unusually), and murals on the upper walls.
We returned down the narrow road that hugs the square confines(yes, right angled corners) of Wat Ratprkongtham, over the canal by hump-backed bridge, and back to the Pantip part of Nonthaburi. Awi commented the road out to the temples had been widened to 4-lanes in the last year. Previously it had been one lane, with trees arching over it. Must have been a beautiful shady approach to the canals and the temples. The trees have been sacrificed to the city’s expansion. The BTS Skytrain is also being extended Westward along this road; the pillars destined to support the rails are already in place. Last time I was in Bangkok, in 2004, there was no Skytrain or Metro; next time I’m here, this new line will be finished, and who knows what else. Already the property prices along the new line have sky-rocketed.
Picked up period pads (no tampons) at the supermarket in Pantip with assistance from Awi (got the kind he always gets for his sisters), and he looked for a paper with the most recent interview with his father (who, as a former IAEA power plant inspector, gets consulted on nuclear matters) but with no success. Also bought a Rittersport bar for 76 Baht - the equivalent of two bowls of noodle soup; no wonder Awi has stopped eating chocolate.
Shortly after we got home, Naew called Awi from Pantip saying she was having dinner there with Shin; did we want to join. Awi drove me and Shain back to Pantip and we went upstairs to Black Canyon Café – a chain restaurant which serves steaks and club sandwiches as well as Thai food. Turns out Naew had bumped into the owner’s wife on the way home, who’d insisted she come eat at Black Canyon. Shin hadn’t wanted to, but needs must.
After dinner Shain wanted to catch a tuk-tuk home, so Awi drove back and the rest of us piled into a tuk-tuk. Squeezing is part of the fun, right?
Once home we watched The Blind Side (2009) on DVD, the uplifting story of a rich white woman (Sandra Bullock, who got an Oscar for her performance) and her family who adopt a homeless black boy (Quinton Aaron) who, with the family's support, becomes an NFL star. Naew commented that in Thailand adoption is not a common practice at all.
At 10am Awi and Shain appeared, and after some commotion I only vaguely followed around whether Shain had or had not dealt his cousin next door a life-threatening head blow, we drove to Naew’s university building for a Palang Chakawan consultation with her colleague, in an office overflowing with papers in Thai and hand-made Happy Birthday Mom! cards stuck to the walls. Shain went first and I watched as this woman somewhat older than me placed one hand on his head and one on his lower back, her eyes closed; he too had his eyes closed and looked like he was concentrating. She next touched his neck and shoulders, and he soon lost concentration and started looking around, even more so after Naew appeared at the door and hovered over the séance. It lasted 5 minutes, and then Shain folded his hands and thanked the healer, and it was my turn.
I took my place on the stool, and she asked what my ailment was, and concluded ‘food poisoning’ when I’d described my vomiting and diarrhea. ‘We’ll see if it helps,’ she said, and proceeded to lay one hand on my head and the other on my lower back and closed her eyes. I closed my eyes too, and felt a powerful heat and energy where her hands were and along an imaginary line in between, as though her hands were magnets and I was feeling the attractive force between them running through my back. When she placed her head hand on my stomach, the ‘magnetism’ wasn’t as strong, but I focused on her hands and on her breathing and on breathing with her. After a little less than 5 minutes she took her hands off me and that was it. ‘Can you describe what you do? I felt an energy.’ She said she channels energy from the surroundings to the chakra pertinent to whatever is ailing you; this involves visualizing the color related to the chakra. She added that what she does when she has food poisoning is to not eat for 24hrs, just drink water. (Naew has since told me her colleague went to Catholic primary and secondary school, then got her BA and MA in Electrical Engineering in the US. And started practicing Palang Chakawan after she returned to Thailand).
Drove the two or three campus blocks to the Friday Market (the market held on campus every Friday) where there was a plethora of food treats awaiting my not-to-be-indulged stomach; what a shame! Naew did some household shopping (mandarins and pomelo, fish paste and mushroom broth, some new wash cloths) and got take-away lunch for Shain (chicken and yellow rice, and some hot red syrup mixed with ice to keep him sweet as we wandered around) and Awi (sticky brown rice and spring rolls) and me (bananas). She herself left us to have lunch at the outdoor Electrical Engineering ‘canteen’ by her building.
Shain was bouncy in the car, turning his tongue red with his drink and puzzling over the meaning of ‘last name,’ and identifying flags. The three of us had lunch together at home, me some watery rice specially prepared by the housekeeper, with some dried shredded pork (it looked like carpet fluff) and some cracker (also pork-based; much better texture and flavor). Shain could hardly sit still, talking with his mouth full, eager to give the maid (Naw, as opposed to Naew) the bean-paste sweets he’d gotten for her at the market, fetching his sword as soon as he’d finished his chicken leg. Awi threatened him with withholding (or withdrawing?) ‘stars’ if he didn’t behave, and that got him to quiet down. Apparently the kids are awarded stars for good behavior; each star is worth 10 Baht (or something) and the kids can trade them in for stuff they want (toys, mostly) once they’ve accumulated a sufficient amount. The maids also get some kind of reward for good work, in the form of going somewhere with the family.
After lunch Awi took me to see the Chinese Temple in Nonthaburi, sister to the large temple in Chinatown. It was new and ornate and the first temple I’ve seen with an upstairs. Then, inspired probably by my appreciation and photo-snapping, he took me down the road to see the largest reclining Buddha in Nonthaburi, at Wat Ratprakongtham, another new-ish temple complex along the canal. There I also saw a Burningman-worthy cluster of miniature Buddha’s and other ‘dolls’ huddled around the base of a tree; Awi informed me that if a Buddha or spirit statue breaks, you must get rid of it immediately or it will bring bad luck, and one of the places you can dispose of it is at a temple under the Buddha-tree (the one with leaves shaped like the one in Lello’s Buddha sand-painting). Then we drove next door to an older temple, much more ‘authentic’ feeling, with three-faced-Buddha reliefs repeating around the walls. An orange-robed monk who was clipping the hedge outside let us in; a bonus, as Awi had never seen the temple open before. Inside it was similar in size and décor to the Chinatown temple I’d visited with Raf: large golden Buddha (this one seated as in a Western chair, unusually; and plastered with gold patches, also somewhat unusually), and murals on the upper walls.
We returned down the narrow road that hugs the square confines(yes, right angled corners) of Wat Ratprkongtham, over the canal by hump-backed bridge, and back to the Pantip part of Nonthaburi. Awi commented the road out to the temples had been widened to 4-lanes in the last year. Previously it had been one lane, with trees arching over it. Must have been a beautiful shady approach to the canals and the temples. The trees have been sacrificed to the city’s expansion. The BTS Skytrain is also being extended Westward along this road; the pillars destined to support the rails are already in place. Last time I was in Bangkok, in 2004, there was no Skytrain or Metro; next time I’m here, this new line will be finished, and who knows what else. Already the property prices along the new line have sky-rocketed.
Picked up period pads (no tampons) at the supermarket in Pantip with assistance from Awi (got the kind he always gets for his sisters), and he looked for a paper with the most recent interview with his father (who, as a former IAEA power plant inspector, gets consulted on nuclear matters) but with no success. Also bought a Rittersport bar for 76 Baht - the equivalent of two bowls of noodle soup; no wonder Awi has stopped eating chocolate.
Shortly after we got home, Naew called Awi from Pantip saying she was having dinner there with Shin; did we want to join. Awi drove me and Shain back to Pantip and we went upstairs to Black Canyon Café – a chain restaurant which serves steaks and club sandwiches as well as Thai food. Turns out Naew had bumped into the owner’s wife on the way home, who’d insisted she come eat at Black Canyon. Shin hadn’t wanted to, but needs must.
After dinner Shain wanted to catch a tuk-tuk home, so Awi drove back and the rest of us piled into a tuk-tuk. Squeezing is part of the fun, right?
Once home we watched The Blind Side (2009) on DVD, the uplifting story of a rich white woman (Sandra Bullock, who got an Oscar for her performance) and her family who adopt a homeless black boy (Quinton Aaron) who, with the family's support, becomes an NFL star. Naew commented that in Thailand adoption is not a common practice at all.
Day 34 (Thur, March 17) - BKK: Feeling fragile
Spent the day at home, at Naew's. She left for work early in the morning, as usual, and Shin had math camp and Shain was playing with his cousins. Stayed in bed and caught up with friends and family via skype and email, re-connecting. Awi knocked on my door at 1pm, asking if I'd like to get some lunch with him. We went to his favorite rice-and-pork shop a short car-ride away. I have an appetite now...but everything is passing straight through me in liquid form.
Day 33 (Wed, March 16) - Flight Yangon to Bangkok
Thae Nu met me at the airport and we hung out for about an hour before my flight. She gave me three bags of green tea, and we had a coffee together (which I promptly threw up). I left her the mobile phone I bought with her assistance the first day; it won't work outside of Burma. Zaw Zaw was working but came over to say bye. Thae Nu gave me a pill which I took, and stopped the vomiting.
I slept through the flight.
It was nice arriving in Bangkok for the second time and having a chance to get my bearings, finding my way calmly down to the City Train which runs directly into the center. Naew had emailed me instructions on how to get to her husband's office by public transport, and it was a breeze. 'You didn't get lost?' asked Chaisak when I arrived at his office. No, but when I walked into the lobby with my big backpack on, the receptionist gave me a look that left no doubt she thought I had.
The family was going out for dinner for Shin's 12th birthday in the evening, and Naew had suggested I drop off my bag and do some sight-seeing for the afternoon. I wasn't feeling up to either sight-seeing or eating dinner, and caught a ride home with Chaisak's driver, who was picking up Naew's sister and the kids.
I'd fallen asleep by the time the family returned about 9.30pm, but Naew knocked on my door and we had a nice chat.
I slept through the flight.
It was nice arriving in Bangkok for the second time and having a chance to get my bearings, finding my way calmly down to the City Train which runs directly into the center. Naew had emailed me instructions on how to get to her husband's office by public transport, and it was a breeze. 'You didn't get lost?' asked Chaisak when I arrived at his office. No, but when I walked into the lobby with my big backpack on, the receptionist gave me a look that left no doubt she thought I had.
The family was going out for dinner for Shin's 12th birthday in the evening, and Naew had suggested I drop off my bag and do some sight-seeing for the afternoon. I wasn't feeling up to either sight-seeing or eating dinner, and caught a ride home with Chaisak's driver, who was picking up Naew's sister and the kids.
I'd fallen asleep by the time the family returned about 9.30pm, but Naew knocked on my door and we had a nice chat.
Day 32 (Tues, Mar 15) - Golden Rock: Visiting the Paya
What an adventure. The Golden Rock is attractive, but the real excitement was in getting there and back. The trucks which run pilgrims back and forth to the hill upon which Golden Rock sits rival a roller coaster for thrills and comfort. We left Kinpun by truck about 6.40am, and got back just in time to catch our 2pm bus back to Yangon.
What happened after the photos run out is that we caught a bus back to Yangon (Nicolas got off in Bago), arriving around 7pm. I vomited once on that bus, once on the public bus back into Yangon, and a third time when I got to Yamo Hotel (room 404 this time). And then I woke up and vomited again during the night.
What happened after the photos run out is that we caught a bus back to Yangon (Nicolas got off in Bago), arriving around 7pm. I vomited once on that bus, once on the public bus back into Yangon, and a third time when I got to Yamo Hotel (room 404 this time). And then I woke up and vomited again during the night.
Day 31 (Mon, March 14) - Golden Rock: Overnight trip with Thae Nu
Thae Nu has wanted to visit Golden Rock pagoda since the 11th Grade. She jumped on the chance to go there with me. I jumped on the chance to go there with her.
Day 30 (Sun, March 13) - Yangon: Lello leaves
5.30am wake-up call, 5.45am Thai breakfast and toast while Lello had the coconut sandwich he bought at the supermarket yesterday, 6am taxi out front. 30min drive to the airport in silence. People out walking and exercising. Spotted an ‘8 mile’ sign on a building and had an 'aha' moment.
At the airport, paid the passenger tax of $10 for Lello, who was flat out of money. Another backpacker got to the guards at the entrance to check-in, and blustered past them repeating, "I have no money; NO money,' and they let him through.
Sat on the seats around the side of the departures hall, waiting for Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw who finally showed up at 7.30am. Went to the coffee shop but it wasn’t open yet. Lello gave Zaw Zaw his Italian Lonely Planet Thailand guide, along with the Paul Smith perfume he'd gotten for Xmas; and a box of dried fruit from Pathein to Thae Nu. Then he hugged us all goodbye and disappeared through check-in to Rome via Bangkok.
Left the terminal building with Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw for a coffee across the road, and talked about going to Golden Rock pagoda with Thae Nu. All good; Zaw will cover for Thae Nu at the office. Then Zaw went to work and Thae Nu and I caught a local taxi (15 people packed in, at least) back to her 'hood. I've thought she's been saying 'Taima' this whole time, but realize now it's 'Ten mile.'
There she walked me over to the bus stop into town and we hung out for a while as packed buses drove past and she seemed in no rush to get me on one. I learned the Burmese script for 1, 2, 3 and 5 as we watched buses 51 and 132 to Sule Paya drive past, along with bus 202 which goes to the university. I suggested we get some sugar cane juice, and we sat and talked till 10am. She told me that when Lello arrived at the airport, she thought he looked dirty and hadn’t waved to say hello. It's true, she insisted Lello buy a new shirt, that first day I arrived in Yangon. Too funny. We dropped in at the Hotel San Francisco just down from the bus-stop, to see if it'd be a place for me to stay after our trip to Golden Rock, but they said there was no room available for viewing, and anyway it was more expensive than Yamo.
It took the bus about an hour to get to the terminus at Sule Paya. Sat on the back seat. People ignored me mostly.
Walked slowly back to Yoma Hotel, the way Lello and I had walked in the rain yesterday. Spotted the YMCA, and the Queens Park Hotel, and a sign for the Lucky Seven – but must have been a street over from the Ocean Pearl and Three Seasons (these are all places listed in the Lonely Planet guide).
Got back to Yamo at 12.30, and finished the Thai soup from breakfast which hadn’t been cleared away, and had the second coffee mix with the still warm water.
Took a bath-shower and washed my hair; felt good.
That's when it started to pelt down with rain outside.
I settled in and read Emma Larkin and dozed off till about 3pm, when I expected them to come and do the room but nobody ever knocked. Read some more, and watched a news update on the tsunami as well as some Burmese karaoke. Did photos for about 2hrs, selecting photos for my blog from my first 4 days in Myanmar. Watched a crap but mesmerizing and happy-ending-ed romance from 8-10pm, when I went and did 30min of email. I was hungry by this point, but the street was closing down when I emerged from Net Corner. A warm and humid night.
Why do I write? (Why do I write THIS STUFF?) Is it a way of ‘living’, of capturing the ‘fact’ that I HAVE lived, of proving to myself that I have a life? Versus Lello, who gets out there and LIVES, and is baffled by the extent of my need to ‘capture’ – in photos or words?
Mood: feel like I sank into apathy today. Sure, read and photo-ed and wrote. And watched a fair bit of TV. And didn’t get out at all – the thought of walking or eating alone didn’t appeal. Know that if Lello had been here, we would have been out and about. Without question. Do I just ‘need’ to tag along, is that my modus operandi? But equally I resist being told what to do. Dilemma / conflict/ paradox, hmm…?
I knew I ought to pack but didn’t feel like it (what I ‘don’t feel like’ loomed large today; a character trait, called ‘laziness’ maybe?). Fell asleep about midnight, and dozed for a couple hours.
At 2am I woke up and wrote about today, uploaded photos, and set the alarm for 6am to pack then.
At the airport, paid the passenger tax of $10 for Lello, who was flat out of money. Another backpacker got to the guards at the entrance to check-in, and blustered past them repeating, "I have no money; NO money,' and they let him through.
Sat on the seats around the side of the departures hall, waiting for Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw who finally showed up at 7.30am. Went to the coffee shop but it wasn’t open yet. Lello gave Zaw Zaw his Italian Lonely Planet Thailand guide, along with the Paul Smith perfume he'd gotten for Xmas; and a box of dried fruit from Pathein to Thae Nu. Then he hugged us all goodbye and disappeared through check-in to Rome via Bangkok.
Left the terminal building with Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw for a coffee across the road, and talked about going to Golden Rock pagoda with Thae Nu. All good; Zaw will cover for Thae Nu at the office. Then Zaw went to work and Thae Nu and I caught a local taxi (15 people packed in, at least) back to her 'hood. I've thought she's been saying 'Taima' this whole time, but realize now it's 'Ten mile.'
There she walked me over to the bus stop into town and we hung out for a while as packed buses drove past and she seemed in no rush to get me on one. I learned the Burmese script for 1, 2, 3 and 5 as we watched buses 51 and 132 to Sule Paya drive past, along with bus 202 which goes to the university. I suggested we get some sugar cane juice, and we sat and talked till 10am. She told me that when Lello arrived at the airport, she thought he looked dirty and hadn’t waved to say hello. It's true, she insisted Lello buy a new shirt, that first day I arrived in Yangon. Too funny. We dropped in at the Hotel San Francisco just down from the bus-stop, to see if it'd be a place for me to stay after our trip to Golden Rock, but they said there was no room available for viewing, and anyway it was more expensive than Yamo.
It took the bus about an hour to get to the terminus at Sule Paya. Sat on the back seat. People ignored me mostly.
Walked slowly back to Yoma Hotel, the way Lello and I had walked in the rain yesterday. Spotted the YMCA, and the Queens Park Hotel, and a sign for the Lucky Seven – but must have been a street over from the Ocean Pearl and Three Seasons (these are all places listed in the Lonely Planet guide).
Got back to Yamo at 12.30, and finished the Thai soup from breakfast which hadn’t been cleared away, and had the second coffee mix with the still warm water.
Took a bath-shower and washed my hair; felt good.
That's when it started to pelt down with rain outside.
I settled in and read Emma Larkin and dozed off till about 3pm, when I expected them to come and do the room but nobody ever knocked. Read some more, and watched a news update on the tsunami as well as some Burmese karaoke. Did photos for about 2hrs, selecting photos for my blog from my first 4 days in Myanmar. Watched a crap but mesmerizing and happy-ending-ed romance from 8-10pm, when I went and did 30min of email. I was hungry by this point, but the street was closing down when I emerged from Net Corner. A warm and humid night.
Why do I write? (Why do I write THIS STUFF?) Is it a way of ‘living’, of capturing the ‘fact’ that I HAVE lived, of proving to myself that I have a life? Versus Lello, who gets out there and LIVES, and is baffled by the extent of my need to ‘capture’ – in photos or words?
Mood: feel like I sank into apathy today. Sure, read and photo-ed and wrote. And watched a fair bit of TV. And didn’t get out at all – the thought of walking or eating alone didn’t appeal. Know that if Lello had been here, we would have been out and about. Without question. Do I just ‘need’ to tag along, is that my modus operandi? But equally I resist being told what to do. Dilemma / conflict/ paradox, hmm…?
I knew I ought to pack but didn’t feel like it (what I ‘don’t feel like’ loomed large today; a character trait, called ‘laziness’ maybe?). Fell asleep about midnight, and dozed for a couple hours.
At 2am I woke up and wrote about today, uploaded photos, and set the alarm for 6am to pack then.
Day 29 (Sat, March 12) - Bus back to Yangon
Woke up naturally at 4.30am and wrapped myself in a bathtowel to go down to the beach. The air was none too warm, but the water was the same temperature as ever. Swirled about in shining bubbles of gleaming plankton water.
Ate our Styrofoam packed breakfasts of bread with butter and jam mushed between, and coffee mix and tea, on the porch. Lello helped one of the young girls carry my pack to the reception. There two motorbikes awaited us; Kenbos. Lello got a big kick out of asking his driver what brand the bike was: ‘Suzuki? Honda? Yamaha?’ only to be greeted with a long pause, then an excited ‘Kenbo!!!!!’ from the driver. They took turns honking the horn, and laughed.
Our bus was a Fusi, which in Italian means ‘broken down’ or ‘worn out’ or some such. It didn’t help instill confidence that six men were pushing it from behind to get it started. Lello said this was normal; he’d had a motorbike where you had to hammer on a side-engine of some kind to kick start the main engine, this was the same thing. I love how he comes out with practical wisdom about things relating to car-human- and animal-interactions; it’s very reassuring. I paced up and down the village main street and took some photos, and Lello got talking to a Burmese couple. I overheard him talking about how he misses a good espresso, and how coconut oil is really expensive in Italy.
The bus left shortly after 6.30am. Our seats were up front behind the driver (good), again on top of a wheel (less good). The bus wound its way over the hills, roller-coaster like, and the woman behind me spent that part of the ride puking out the window. There was an older monk with a young child across the aisle from us, and a woman seated in the aisle, who all sat dozing. One other Western couple was half-way back, denizens of one of the fancy hotels up the beach; the woman promptly pulled out a neck pillow and closed her eyes.
Back through Pathein, past some crews working on paving the road, through flat landscapes with fields and banana trees. Stopped at a store that sold umbrellas and different kinds of sticky rice paste delicacies (I bought some, along with a box of fried banana chips like the ones the girl on our last bus ride shared with me), and got some steamed corn for on the bus. Stopped by the roadside about 1 1/2 hr from Yangon and had some watermelon (nice and fresh) and some banana-leaf-wrapped sticky rice sandwiching banana paste (not so nice).
Got into Hljang Thar Yar bus terminal about 1.30pm, and were determined to thwart the expensive taxi drivers and take a bus. We managed to find the stop outside the entrance to the terminal, and got pointed to the second bus in the row. Had a jolly ride in, sitting on the long side bench by the door being entertained by the energetic caller-conductor. ‘Sule sule sule’ he’d belt out, along with the other stops the bus would be making, into the wind as we drove or directed at pedestrians when the bus slowed down enough, grinning as though he were sharing the news of a great lottery win with the world. ‘He jumps around like a cricket,’ thought Lello. More like a monkey, I’d say, swinging in and out of the bus using the central door pole as his grip. Took about an hour to get to Sule Paya, whereas a taxi takes about 30mins (on empty streets, it’s true). The bus cost 300K each, the taxi would have been about 6000K.
The streets were wet when we got into Yangon, and it started raining lightly when we got off the bus at 46th Street and headed down Maha Bandoola Rd and left on Bo Myat Tun St to Yamo Hotel. We overshot slightly, so walked down a block of Bogyoke Aung San Rd we’d not been down even though it’s just one block from Yamo Hotel, and discovered a host of bustling Indian eateries.
Got to Yamo and the reception told us we were in 501 (miracle of miracles) but that it was being cleaned and wouldn’t be ready until 3.30pm, so we went for a 1/2hr wander and got some noodles at a stand just down the street. I had noodles, that is, and Lello got them to concoct the same soup but with rice for him; after some initial confusion he got not only steamed rice but also a bowl of broth, and onion and parsley and cut-up fish-stick for flavor.
Finally found a working sugar cane juice vendor on the way back to Yamo, and got an extra one for the tiny waif who stood before us looking pitiful and holding out her hand and rubbing her stomach. Seeing her success, her companion (sister? cousin? friend?) came and gave us the same look, but Lello signed that one was all they were getting. We motioned for them to share, but the acquirer walked off sucking on the straw without looking at the other child, who hung back like a dog that’s been kicked.
Called Thae Nu and she said cryptically that she was waiting, but when I asked if everything was ok said hurriedly ‘ok, ok, I come to Yamo at 4.30pm.’
Thae Nu didn’t arrive at 4.30pm, and then Zaw Zaw called to say she wouldn’t be able to make it since her relatives had arrived. Ah, capisco, that’s what she was waiting for at 3.30pm: their arrival. She promised to be at the airport at 7.15am tomorrow morning, to see Lello off.
Headed out for some BBQ on 19th Street, where we'd met Dan and Ros way back when. Checked to see if Bogyoke Market was open, but it wasn’t. Turned left following the fence along the side walk, past the umbrella makers and Carolina’s tea stall, but she wasn’t there and the stall was all packed up; maybe she doesn’t work on the weekend, or maybe it’s the rain. Our sign maker wasn’t in his usual spot either. Walked down Anawrahta Rd vaguely looking for green tea and a teapot for Lello, but spotted neither. First thought the BBQ was on 29th St, then remembered just how far we’d walked to get there, and the four-sided overpass at the intersection with Sule Paya Rd, and the concentration of mosques along the way.
Approached BBQ Street from the south side this time. Brushed off restaurant hawkers to settle in at a motherly woman’s stall, where we could see the grill. She gave us an empty basket to fill with skewers, and shoved another filled with chopped vegetables under our noses, nodding. We ended up with a selection of meats (chicken, pork wrapped around bean sprouts, mutton) and vegetables (ochre, broccoli, taro, potatoes), and had the basket of vegetables stir-fried in an anise-spiked spicy sauce. Actually, we downed our Myanmar draught beers in seconds flat, that’s how spicy it was. Finished with grilled corn that they cut off the cob for us, much to Lello’s disappointment (‘I wanted to’ – and he mimed gnawing a cob of corn). Not a spectacular dinner, but it had its tasty moments. Rich at 8600K. A woman with a crutch and a beautiful voice passed by singing in the street, and I donated to her begging bowl.
Walked the long walk back from 19th Street to 46th Street along market stalls and Sule Paya and Trader’s Hotel.
Went to the internet shop to burn Lello's photos to DVD and check email. Lello was dozing off to more TV footage of the tsunami when I got back.
Ate our Styrofoam packed breakfasts of bread with butter and jam mushed between, and coffee mix and tea, on the porch. Lello helped one of the young girls carry my pack to the reception. There two motorbikes awaited us; Kenbos. Lello got a big kick out of asking his driver what brand the bike was: ‘Suzuki? Honda? Yamaha?’ only to be greeted with a long pause, then an excited ‘Kenbo!!!!!’ from the driver. They took turns honking the horn, and laughed.
Our bus was a Fusi, which in Italian means ‘broken down’ or ‘worn out’ or some such. It didn’t help instill confidence that six men were pushing it from behind to get it started. Lello said this was normal; he’d had a motorbike where you had to hammer on a side-engine of some kind to kick start the main engine, this was the same thing. I love how he comes out with practical wisdom about things relating to car-human- and animal-interactions; it’s very reassuring. I paced up and down the village main street and took some photos, and Lello got talking to a Burmese couple. I overheard him talking about how he misses a good espresso, and how coconut oil is really expensive in Italy.
The bus left shortly after 6.30am. Our seats were up front behind the driver (good), again on top of a wheel (less good). The bus wound its way over the hills, roller-coaster like, and the woman behind me spent that part of the ride puking out the window. There was an older monk with a young child across the aisle from us, and a woman seated in the aisle, who all sat dozing. One other Western couple was half-way back, denizens of one of the fancy hotels up the beach; the woman promptly pulled out a neck pillow and closed her eyes.
Back through Pathein, past some crews working on paving the road, through flat landscapes with fields and banana trees. Stopped at a store that sold umbrellas and different kinds of sticky rice paste delicacies (I bought some, along with a box of fried banana chips like the ones the girl on our last bus ride shared with me), and got some steamed corn for on the bus. Stopped by the roadside about 1 1/2 hr from Yangon and had some watermelon (nice and fresh) and some banana-leaf-wrapped sticky rice sandwiching banana paste (not so nice).
Got into Hljang Thar Yar bus terminal about 1.30pm, and were determined to thwart the expensive taxi drivers and take a bus. We managed to find the stop outside the entrance to the terminal, and got pointed to the second bus in the row. Had a jolly ride in, sitting on the long side bench by the door being entertained by the energetic caller-conductor. ‘Sule sule sule’ he’d belt out, along with the other stops the bus would be making, into the wind as we drove or directed at pedestrians when the bus slowed down enough, grinning as though he were sharing the news of a great lottery win with the world. ‘He jumps around like a cricket,’ thought Lello. More like a monkey, I’d say, swinging in and out of the bus using the central door pole as his grip. Took about an hour to get to Sule Paya, whereas a taxi takes about 30mins (on empty streets, it’s true). The bus cost 300K each, the taxi would have been about 6000K.
The streets were wet when we got into Yangon, and it started raining lightly when we got off the bus at 46th Street and headed down Maha Bandoola Rd and left on Bo Myat Tun St to Yamo Hotel. We overshot slightly, so walked down a block of Bogyoke Aung San Rd we’d not been down even though it’s just one block from Yamo Hotel, and discovered a host of bustling Indian eateries.
Got to Yamo and the reception told us we were in 501 (miracle of miracles) but that it was being cleaned and wouldn’t be ready until 3.30pm, so we went for a 1/2hr wander and got some noodles at a stand just down the street. I had noodles, that is, and Lello got them to concoct the same soup but with rice for him; after some initial confusion he got not only steamed rice but also a bowl of broth, and onion and parsley and cut-up fish-stick for flavor.
Finally found a working sugar cane juice vendor on the way back to Yamo, and got an extra one for the tiny waif who stood before us looking pitiful and holding out her hand and rubbing her stomach. Seeing her success, her companion (sister? cousin? friend?) came and gave us the same look, but Lello signed that one was all they were getting. We motioned for them to share, but the acquirer walked off sucking on the straw without looking at the other child, who hung back like a dog that’s been kicked.
Called Thae Nu and she said cryptically that she was waiting, but when I asked if everything was ok said hurriedly ‘ok, ok, I come to Yamo at 4.30pm.’
Thae Nu didn’t arrive at 4.30pm, and then Zaw Zaw called to say she wouldn’t be able to make it since her relatives had arrived. Ah, capisco, that’s what she was waiting for at 3.30pm: their arrival. She promised to be at the airport at 7.15am tomorrow morning, to see Lello off.
Headed out for some BBQ on 19th Street, where we'd met Dan and Ros way back when. Checked to see if Bogyoke Market was open, but it wasn’t. Turned left following the fence along the side walk, past the umbrella makers and Carolina’s tea stall, but she wasn’t there and the stall was all packed up; maybe she doesn’t work on the weekend, or maybe it’s the rain. Our sign maker wasn’t in his usual spot either. Walked down Anawrahta Rd vaguely looking for green tea and a teapot for Lello, but spotted neither. First thought the BBQ was on 29th St, then remembered just how far we’d walked to get there, and the four-sided overpass at the intersection with Sule Paya Rd, and the concentration of mosques along the way.
Approached BBQ Street from the south side this time. Brushed off restaurant hawkers to settle in at a motherly woman’s stall, where we could see the grill. She gave us an empty basket to fill with skewers, and shoved another filled with chopped vegetables under our noses, nodding. We ended up with a selection of meats (chicken, pork wrapped around bean sprouts, mutton) and vegetables (ochre, broccoli, taro, potatoes), and had the basket of vegetables stir-fried in an anise-spiked spicy sauce. Actually, we downed our Myanmar draught beers in seconds flat, that’s how spicy it was. Finished with grilled corn that they cut off the cob for us, much to Lello’s disappointment (‘I wanted to’ – and he mimed gnawing a cob of corn). Not a spectacular dinner, but it had its tasty moments. Rich at 8600K. A woman with a crutch and a beautiful voice passed by singing in the street, and I donated to her begging bowl.
Walked the long walk back from 19th Street to 46th Street along market stalls and Sule Paya and Trader’s Hotel.
Went to the internet shop to burn Lello's photos to DVD and check email. Lello was dozing off to more TV footage of the tsunami when I got back.
Day 28 (Fri, March 11) - Ngwe Saung: Motorbike ride down the beach
I woke up in the middle of the night and went and sat on the deck chairs for a bit and watched the lights of the shrimping/squiding boats and tried to let go of my feeling of frustration at not being heard. Let it go. Yes, I do get (unnecessarily) ‘nervous,’ don't I?; how do I let THAT go?
I went for a swim and then had breakfast with Lello; you could tell we were ‘late’ coz the sun was already high enough to be hot. This morning it was fried rice with a fried egg only, as they were out of bananas.
Sat on the porch together and chatted. Got to talking about ‘home’ – how people expect to make a home in another country and examples of people who don’t or can’t because of a (willful) inability to connect with the local people. Lello has a dream of living on the beach it-matters-not-where and fully expects (based on supporting experience travelling) to connect with the locals. I teared up, feeling the ‘weight’ of my often dis-connected experiences in my own multiple 'homes.' Lello asked, ‘But, why do you cry? Do you miss your mother, your father? Sorry if this is an impolite question.’ He suggested it’d be good if I were to spend some time living with my parents in DC. Bless him. I explained that London is my home, if I were to choose one -- for my friends there, for the city itself, for an ambiguous amorphous sense of belonging. He said we should go for a walk and I said I preferred to stay on the porch and be miserable. He took a walk up to the stupas north of us on the beach, and I packed my bag in a leisurely fashion, not unhappily. Lello teases me for the 40mins or so it takes me to pack my bag; I suspect I find something comforting in rationally and carefully organizing my belongings.
About 2.45pm, just before high tide, we hired a vespa-like Kenbo scooter for a ride down the beach to Sinma Fisherman's Village,purportedly 45mins away. Lello drove barefoot, and said driving a scooter reminded him of being a teenager in the south of Italy. Had a great time. Drove down the beach past Lovers' Island, splashed across a flooded channel (‘Ah, now I understand why they talk about the tides,’ said Lello) and then got to a rivulet where a boat ferried people and motorbikes across for 200K; the pilot squatted on the front prow and pulled us across on a rope stretched from bank to bank. Carried on past a cluster of restaurants, then cut inland when the tracks on the beach ran out, onto a sandy track through a small village and out the other side, where we had to choose right or left and went right. The track took us through some fields, up and over a hill, past a stupa to another village. Stopped on the main street at a small restaurant where the glass and tea mugs were arranged on the shelves ever so neatly, and I had a cola and we munched on some prawn cracker type chips. The café-keeper saw me eying a flan-like pudding and served us what turned out to be a rice-based paste topped with gelatin.
We walked down the main street and came out at the water again, where a few boats were moored in the inlet to the sea. Examined the sea snails on the beach, moving ever so glacially; mesmerizing. Continued around the corner, followed by some small kids, and came upon lots and lots of boats moored in a small harbor. Kids were splashing about in the shallows, and some men were waiting with their parcels to get rowed out by slender canoe to one of the larger boats. A man saw me looking around for Lello and he clapped to get my attention and gestured over to the bamboo houses flanking the beach. I looked but didn’t see Lello, and took some more photos of the boats and the boys. Then heard him calling ‘Eli!’ and turned to see him talking to some young men at a bar – at least, a wall of empty beer boxes fronted the property.
We said our farewells and walked inland through the houses, past pigs and people washing and hens with their chicks, past a houseful of women playing bingo, back to the main road and the restaurant where we’d left the scooter. Everybody in this town seems to grow kiss-me-quick flowers in flower pots in front of their properties. Stopped by a house where an older man was crouched attending to a small child playing with a spanner. ‘What do you want?’ he barked at us, but not unkindly. I said we were admiring his beautiful flowers, and then Lello explained how much he would like to plant some back in Italy. The man kindly offered to provide a cutting. He explained he was a little deaf, which was why he didn’t catch everything we were saying. A younger man came and cut off a short bit of thorned branch, and wrapped it in coconut husk which he’d soaked in water for the journey home. The older man said he was an English teacher, and the youger man was his student. I asked where he had learned his English, and he answered, ‘In kindergarten.’ In a different era; he must have been in his late 60s.
Took the inland road back northward, parallel to the beach. Passed mounds of coconut husks by the roadside, and stopped at a house with a particularly large sheet of drying coconut whites out front. There was a gaggle of kids on the porch, and a couple who was our age. ‘Onzi, onzi?’ queried Lello; the word we’d learned for coconut oil, which sounded to us like Fonzi. They looked nonplussed. I made motions of washing my body and my hair, and pointed to the coconuts, and recognition dawned and they said ‘On-zi’ and laughed. The woman of the house went to the back and returned with a Johnny Walker bottle of pale yellow liquid. Yep, it was coconut oil. Lello indicated he didn’t want the whole bottle, and went back to the scooter to get the empty plastic cola bottle he’d saved for transporting his plants. She funneled about half the oil in, and held up 1 finger indicating that’d be 1000K. One boy had cottoned on the fact that onzi was ‘coconut oil’ and Lello would point at him and say ‘Co? Co-co?’ in the hopes he’d reply with ‘coconut oil’. The other kids sat there and giggled.
Got to the rivulet we’d been pulled across in a canoe, only further inland. There was a bridge across, but it was falling apart, and two young men ‘guarding’ it ran after us as we prepared to drive across it. The bike had to cross by boat. I set out across the bridge, having seen a few people cross it on foot, though the young men waggled their hands at me and looked doubtful. Indeed, the bridge had almost entirely collapsed at the far side, but there was one narrow plank that still afforded access to the far bank.
Snaked back through some houses and palm trees to the beach as the sun was preparing to set, and found ourselves at the level of the restaurants; we decided to stop for dinner, and were served bowls of steamed rice with a side of fresh cucumber and eggplant and three tasty Myanmar curries: pork, chicken, and squid (yay! I’d been craving squid since last night). Especially liked the squid. Got some spirals of cracker-like fried dough for ‘dessert’.
Headed back after dark, but fortunately it was straight-forward driving on the beach coz Lello couldn’t find the switch for the lights, and he was concerned about hitting a rock. We followed the tracks left by the ox carts. Splashed through some surf and the engine cut out, and caused us a minute or so of grave concern before sputtering back to life.
At the bend by Lovers' Island we knew we were almost home; how come I hadn’t noticed these huge boulders before, or the hotel south of ours? Got back safe and sound though the scooter conked out on the soft sand and Lello figured one of the hotel staff could come and help get it. Turned out the bike did have a headlight, the button was on the other side of the steering wheel.
When we got to the reception, Norman was there and told us there’d been a devastating tsunami in Japan. He turned on the news for us – the hotel gets BBC News, fancy that. 8.8 on the Richter Scale, epicenter in the sea to the east of Tokyo, waves 7m high, flooding 10km inland north of Tokyo. Amazing footage of a wall of water flattening a city in seconds, becoming a moving miasma of cars and boats and building debris. Tragic.
Rinsed out my damp and dirty sneakers; there’s no way they’re going to dry before we leave tomorrow.
Shared a final Tiger beer on the porch, tucked in the mosquito net tight around the bed, and agreed it’d be nice to go for a swim before we left at 6am.
I went for a swim and then had breakfast with Lello; you could tell we were ‘late’ coz the sun was already high enough to be hot. This morning it was fried rice with a fried egg only, as they were out of bananas.
Sat on the porch together and chatted. Got to talking about ‘home’ – how people expect to make a home in another country and examples of people who don’t or can’t because of a (willful) inability to connect with the local people. Lello has a dream of living on the beach it-matters-not-where and fully expects (based on supporting experience travelling) to connect with the locals. I teared up, feeling the ‘weight’ of my often dis-connected experiences in my own multiple 'homes.' Lello asked, ‘But, why do you cry? Do you miss your mother, your father? Sorry if this is an impolite question.’ He suggested it’d be good if I were to spend some time living with my parents in DC. Bless him. I explained that London is my home, if I were to choose one -- for my friends there, for the city itself, for an ambiguous amorphous sense of belonging. He said we should go for a walk and I said I preferred to stay on the porch and be miserable. He took a walk up to the stupas north of us on the beach, and I packed my bag in a leisurely fashion, not unhappily. Lello teases me for the 40mins or so it takes me to pack my bag; I suspect I find something comforting in rationally and carefully organizing my belongings.
About 2.45pm, just before high tide, we hired a vespa-like Kenbo scooter for a ride down the beach to Sinma Fisherman's Village,purportedly 45mins away. Lello drove barefoot, and said driving a scooter reminded him of being a teenager in the south of Italy. Had a great time. Drove down the beach past Lovers' Island, splashed across a flooded channel (‘Ah, now I understand why they talk about the tides,’ said Lello) and then got to a rivulet where a boat ferried people and motorbikes across for 200K; the pilot squatted on the front prow and pulled us across on a rope stretched from bank to bank. Carried on past a cluster of restaurants, then cut inland when the tracks on the beach ran out, onto a sandy track through a small village and out the other side, where we had to choose right or left and went right. The track took us through some fields, up and over a hill, past a stupa to another village. Stopped on the main street at a small restaurant where the glass and tea mugs were arranged on the shelves ever so neatly, and I had a cola and we munched on some prawn cracker type chips. The café-keeper saw me eying a flan-like pudding and served us what turned out to be a rice-based paste topped with gelatin.
We walked down the main street and came out at the water again, where a few boats were moored in the inlet to the sea. Examined the sea snails on the beach, moving ever so glacially; mesmerizing. Continued around the corner, followed by some small kids, and came upon lots and lots of boats moored in a small harbor. Kids were splashing about in the shallows, and some men were waiting with their parcels to get rowed out by slender canoe to one of the larger boats. A man saw me looking around for Lello and he clapped to get my attention and gestured over to the bamboo houses flanking the beach. I looked but didn’t see Lello, and took some more photos of the boats and the boys. Then heard him calling ‘Eli!’ and turned to see him talking to some young men at a bar – at least, a wall of empty beer boxes fronted the property.
We said our farewells and walked inland through the houses, past pigs and people washing and hens with their chicks, past a houseful of women playing bingo, back to the main road and the restaurant where we’d left the scooter. Everybody in this town seems to grow kiss-me-quick flowers in flower pots in front of their properties. Stopped by a house where an older man was crouched attending to a small child playing with a spanner. ‘What do you want?’ he barked at us, but not unkindly. I said we were admiring his beautiful flowers, and then Lello explained how much he would like to plant some back in Italy. The man kindly offered to provide a cutting. He explained he was a little deaf, which was why he didn’t catch everything we were saying. A younger man came and cut off a short bit of thorned branch, and wrapped it in coconut husk which he’d soaked in water for the journey home. The older man said he was an English teacher, and the youger man was his student. I asked where he had learned his English, and he answered, ‘In kindergarten.’ In a different era; he must have been in his late 60s.
Took the inland road back northward, parallel to the beach. Passed mounds of coconut husks by the roadside, and stopped at a house with a particularly large sheet of drying coconut whites out front. There was a gaggle of kids on the porch, and a couple who was our age. ‘Onzi, onzi?’ queried Lello; the word we’d learned for coconut oil, which sounded to us like Fonzi. They looked nonplussed. I made motions of washing my body and my hair, and pointed to the coconuts, and recognition dawned and they said ‘On-zi’ and laughed. The woman of the house went to the back and returned with a Johnny Walker bottle of pale yellow liquid. Yep, it was coconut oil. Lello indicated he didn’t want the whole bottle, and went back to the scooter to get the empty plastic cola bottle he’d saved for transporting his plants. She funneled about half the oil in, and held up 1 finger indicating that’d be 1000K. One boy had cottoned on the fact that onzi was ‘coconut oil’ and Lello would point at him and say ‘Co? Co-co?’ in the hopes he’d reply with ‘coconut oil’. The other kids sat there and giggled.
Got to the rivulet we’d been pulled across in a canoe, only further inland. There was a bridge across, but it was falling apart, and two young men ‘guarding’ it ran after us as we prepared to drive across it. The bike had to cross by boat. I set out across the bridge, having seen a few people cross it on foot, though the young men waggled their hands at me and looked doubtful. Indeed, the bridge had almost entirely collapsed at the far side, but there was one narrow plank that still afforded access to the far bank.
Snaked back through some houses and palm trees to the beach as the sun was preparing to set, and found ourselves at the level of the restaurants; we decided to stop for dinner, and were served bowls of steamed rice with a side of fresh cucumber and eggplant and three tasty Myanmar curries: pork, chicken, and squid (yay! I’d been craving squid since last night). Especially liked the squid. Got some spirals of cracker-like fried dough for ‘dessert’.
Headed back after dark, but fortunately it was straight-forward driving on the beach coz Lello couldn’t find the switch for the lights, and he was concerned about hitting a rock. We followed the tracks left by the ox carts. Splashed through some surf and the engine cut out, and caused us a minute or so of grave concern before sputtering back to life.
At the bend by Lovers' Island we knew we were almost home; how come I hadn’t noticed these huge boulders before, or the hotel south of ours? Got back safe and sound though the scooter conked out on the soft sand and Lello figured one of the hotel staff could come and help get it. Turned out the bike did have a headlight, the button was on the other side of the steering wheel.
When we got to the reception, Norman was there and told us there’d been a devastating tsunami in Japan. He turned on the news for us – the hotel gets BBC News, fancy that. 8.8 on the Richter Scale, epicenter in the sea to the east of Tokyo, waves 7m high, flooding 10km inland north of Tokyo. Amazing footage of a wall of water flattening a city in seconds, becoming a moving miasma of cars and boats and building debris. Tragic.
Rinsed out my damp and dirty sneakers; there’s no way they’re going to dry before we leave tomorrow.
Shared a final Tiger beer on the porch, tucked in the mosquito net tight around the bed, and agreed it’d be nice to go for a swim before we left at 6am.
Day 27 (Thur, March 10) - Ngwe Saung: Snorkeling around Lovers' Island
Today’s Burmese breakfast was fried rice with fried egg – along with a double helping of the Premier 3-in-1 coffee mix and orange squash Lello refuses to drink.
We watched as two teams of fishermen strung out their nets in a large arc off the beach, laboriously hauled on either end of it for at least half an hour, and maybe caught a fish or two. Tourists from our breakfast nook trudged across the beach and leant in close with their cameras to record the process. A tourist is an intruder who takes a photo then turns her back and moves on. I (also) took a photo of the white flowers by the path up to the restaurant and the young waiter told me proudly that they were his flowers, he had planted (he mimed planting) them himself. We borrowed a knife from the kitchen to cut up our papaya (yes, I too cut papaya with this knife, mimed our waiter) and ate it on our porch. When I took a photo of the restaurant menu, the older waiter behind the counter beamed; it turns out he’d designed it.
Lello looked at the calm sea and said it’d be a good day for snorkeling. I rented a mask and snorkel from the front desk; Lello carries his own with him. About 9.30am we walked down the beach past some more fishermen hard at it, and, it being high tide, waded over to Lovers' Island. We walked left along the rocks – those long flat rocks covered in barnacles are much less ouch-y with shoes on. The island was deserted but for the guard ‘out front’ by the sign that announces the camera fee of 500K that doesn’t ever seem to get collected. We walked almost to the far end of the island along its perimeter, then jumped into the sea and discovered a plethora of fish worthy of the Great Barrier Reef: yellow-and-blue horizontally striped ones, black and yellow vertically striped ones, a parrot fish (is that the one with the fan of wavy tentacles on either side of a crayfish like body?), and a parrot fish (or is a parrot fish the one with the beak?), a blow fish (round like a ball), a lobster, tons of silver minnows flashing by in schools, small pods of small silvery fish feeding together on coral, lone red and brown fish, and on and on.
We drifted along the rocks with the ebb and flow of the waves. After about an hour, we clambered out onto a patch of smooth hot stone to warm up. A sloping rock formed a shallow pool, warm as bathwater. Occasionally spray or a whole cold wave would cascade over the surrounding rock wall. So beautiful lying in the water in the sun in the wind, with the waves swirling around and about, foaming white and sucking deep hollows only to rush back in with the force of a giant’s bellows.
We swam around the far end of the island, following the bulge of the rocks and the darting fish. Lello reached into a hole and pulled out a perfect shiny brown mottled shell, the kind that folds ‘round on itself to a set of lips; he showed it to me, then let it go noting, ‘She is alive.’ We took a rest around the north side of the island to shake off the chill and de-prune the skin of our fingers.
Around lunchtime we swam back to the shallow channel, and walked back onto the beach where a pair of lively brothers were dancing in the water to a portable radio. A group of fishermen – thirty or so in all, divided into two teams – were still fishing the shallows. Lello bought some fried dried fish from the Pi-Pi Lady as a snack, and I settled for a banana and the last of the ‘biscotti’ (or Pucci Special Cakes, round biscuits sprinkled with sesame seeds).
After 'lunch' we went looking for the Kiss-Me-Quick thorny flowering plants that Lello wants to take cuttings from, and found some red ones and a pink one. Then headed over to the restaurant for a coconut – first they cut off the end so you can drink the juice, then they hack it in half so you can eat the succulent white flesh lining the inner cavity. Lello explained that coconut oil is made from mature coconuts that have been left to dry out; the white flesh is thick in them, and cutting the coconut in half to reach it is a precise skill. He worked at it when he was in Costa Rica, and it took a day’s work to make about a litre of oil.
Got a Tiger beer to drink back on our porch together with the left-over peanuts from our EFR visit yesterday, and then I showed Lello some photos of the family: Huub in Middelburg, Mom moving, our family reunion in Lurray. He dozed off and I switched over to writing. Around 5pm we moved out to the porch to watch the world go by and the sun go down.
We walked down the road to our local restaurant again, and chose a table to the right on the grass ‘for a change.’ I had shrimp and cashews, Lello a whole steamed fish (better than last night’s fried version) and he tossed the head and bones over the fence to the hopeful dog. I got a bit snippy with him (first time), which put a damper on the rest of the evening (for me).
We watched as two teams of fishermen strung out their nets in a large arc off the beach, laboriously hauled on either end of it for at least half an hour, and maybe caught a fish or two. Tourists from our breakfast nook trudged across the beach and leant in close with their cameras to record the process. A tourist is an intruder who takes a photo then turns her back and moves on. I (also) took a photo of the white flowers by the path up to the restaurant and the young waiter told me proudly that they were his flowers, he had planted (he mimed planting) them himself. We borrowed a knife from the kitchen to cut up our papaya (yes, I too cut papaya with this knife, mimed our waiter) and ate it on our porch. When I took a photo of the restaurant menu, the older waiter behind the counter beamed; it turns out he’d designed it.
Lello looked at the calm sea and said it’d be a good day for snorkeling. I rented a mask and snorkel from the front desk; Lello carries his own with him. About 9.30am we walked down the beach past some more fishermen hard at it, and, it being high tide, waded over to Lovers' Island. We walked left along the rocks – those long flat rocks covered in barnacles are much less ouch-y with shoes on. The island was deserted but for the guard ‘out front’ by the sign that announces the camera fee of 500K that doesn’t ever seem to get collected. We walked almost to the far end of the island along its perimeter, then jumped into the sea and discovered a plethora of fish worthy of the Great Barrier Reef: yellow-and-blue horizontally striped ones, black and yellow vertically striped ones, a parrot fish (is that the one with the fan of wavy tentacles on either side of a crayfish like body?), and a parrot fish (or is a parrot fish the one with the beak?), a blow fish (round like a ball), a lobster, tons of silver minnows flashing by in schools, small pods of small silvery fish feeding together on coral, lone red and brown fish, and on and on.
We drifted along the rocks with the ebb and flow of the waves. After about an hour, we clambered out onto a patch of smooth hot stone to warm up. A sloping rock formed a shallow pool, warm as bathwater. Occasionally spray or a whole cold wave would cascade over the surrounding rock wall. So beautiful lying in the water in the sun in the wind, with the waves swirling around and about, foaming white and sucking deep hollows only to rush back in with the force of a giant’s bellows.
We swam around the far end of the island, following the bulge of the rocks and the darting fish. Lello reached into a hole and pulled out a perfect shiny brown mottled shell, the kind that folds ‘round on itself to a set of lips; he showed it to me, then let it go noting, ‘She is alive.’ We took a rest around the north side of the island to shake off the chill and de-prune the skin of our fingers.
Around lunchtime we swam back to the shallow channel, and walked back onto the beach where a pair of lively brothers were dancing in the water to a portable radio. A group of fishermen – thirty or so in all, divided into two teams – were still fishing the shallows. Lello bought some fried dried fish from the Pi-Pi Lady as a snack, and I settled for a banana and the last of the ‘biscotti’ (or Pucci Special Cakes, round biscuits sprinkled with sesame seeds).
After 'lunch' we went looking for the Kiss-Me-Quick thorny flowering plants that Lello wants to take cuttings from, and found some red ones and a pink one. Then headed over to the restaurant for a coconut – first they cut off the end so you can drink the juice, then they hack it in half so you can eat the succulent white flesh lining the inner cavity. Lello explained that coconut oil is made from mature coconuts that have been left to dry out; the white flesh is thick in them, and cutting the coconut in half to reach it is a precise skill. He worked at it when he was in Costa Rica, and it took a day’s work to make about a litre of oil.
Got a Tiger beer to drink back on our porch together with the left-over peanuts from our EFR visit yesterday, and then I showed Lello some photos of the family: Huub in Middelburg, Mom moving, our family reunion in Lurray. He dozed off and I switched over to writing. Around 5pm we moved out to the porch to watch the world go by and the sun go down.
We walked down the road to our local restaurant again, and chose a table to the right on the grass ‘for a change.’ I had shrimp and cashews, Lello a whole steamed fish (better than last night’s fried version) and he tossed the head and bones over the fence to the hopeful dog. I got a bit snippy with him (first time), which put a damper on the rest of the evening (for me).
Day 26 (Wed, March 9) - Ngwe Saung doing absolutely nothing
I woke up before Lello (that’s a first) and took a stroll on the beach as the sun came up. Had breakfast (opted for the Burmese noodles this time), then hung out on the deck chairs and Lello talked and I read a bit and we lounged. Extended our reservation for another day. Took a swim. Had pineapple and banana and sesame biscuits for lunch (threw out the remains of the pineapple coz it was starting to ferment). Watched a Burmese photo-shoot throughout the day: could this teenager be a Burmese pop star? The photographer looks to be a personal photographer, and is shooting lots of photos of her in different poses, in the surf, on the rocks, in different outfits. Around 5pm we set out on a jog south along the beach, but my calf cramped up after about 200m. Lello continued down the bay, and we did some exercises on the beach when he returned; his karate moves caused a couple of tourists on scooters to pause and take photos. Watched the sunset from the deckchairs, not as spectacular as last night coz no clouds. At sunset took a nice shot of our German neighbor who moves like a dancer, standing straight and still on the beach watching till the sun disappeared into the waves. Decided to walk down the road to one of the few roadside restaurants for dinner. Took some photos of the palm trees through barbed wire: an apt synopsis of Burma? The Golden Guest restaurant which is an advertising station for Dagon beer turned out to be pretty good: attentive service, 8 tasty shrimp ‘BBQ-ed’ on skewers, and good tomato salad; Lello’s fish was fried not BBQ’ed, and the Thai papaya salad was fine but not as tasty as the one in Bagan. Had a few draught beers with our meal, and chilled on the bench by the entrance afterwards, we were so full. Walked home along the dark road under the sliver of a moon. I went straight to bed; Lello sat whistling on the porch, observing our (other) German neighbors smoke and drink the night away. One of the two guys had approached us during the afternoon asking if we’d want to take a boat out to the island you can see in the distance; the 85,000K charge wouldn’t be so bad if we could split it 10 ways, he said. ‘But where will you find 10 people?’ asked Lello in his laconic way. We weren’t interested anyway. ‘Is far, is really far, takes at least 2 hours, maybe 3 hours, to get there; in one of these small boats…Is far,’ Lello observed.
Day 25 (Tues, March 8) - Ngwe Saung Beach Walk
Woke up in the night getting bitten by mosquitoes; we have a net over the bed but it wasn’t pulled shut and tucked in tightly. The room has windows but no screens, just thin curtains that blow in the wind.
Got up with the sun, which rises ‘round the back of the bungalow. There was no power in the room, so I took my charger to the restaurant to charge my camera battery there; at the restaurant they informed me the power will come on again at 6pm.
Lello had chosen the table closest to the beach, overlooking sand and ocean. Breakfast was two toasts (better bread than usual) and a fried egg and butter and jam in a small dish and a banana; questa colazione fa schifo. Lello recounted tales of resort building in Kenya by Italian companies and no planning for water or electricity for the local population; a wealthy businessman bent on sailing his 5-story cruise boat down the river from Phnom Phen to moor it at his resort, and paying the government to rebuild the bridges that would have to be demolished along the way; ruins of mansions off the coast of Nicaragua, where wealthy people had built palatial residences out into the water only to be demolished by a hurricane.
Around 9am we started walking north up the beach, anticipating a 45min stroll to the village. A beautiful morning: sunny, warm, breezy (quite a strong warm wind, really). Lello in his blue speedoes, me in my khaki mini and black sports bra. On a ‘mission’ to find coconut oil and a bikini. On our left, the gray blue Bay of Bengal. On our right, beige streaked with black sandy beach reaching up to the line of coconut palms flanking the beach, behind which squat the bungalows of the various hotels that line this strip of coast. Our hotel is the farthest south but one. Shwe Hun Tha Resort. Ours is the only one with a Burmese name; the rest all have names like Paradise Resort, Ocean Paradise, Silver View, Bay of Bengal Resort. The fancier ones have manicured grass frontage and sagging volleyball nets on the beach and a messy line of buoys in the water to demarcate a swimming area, not that the concept of life-guard exists here. The two resorts immediately north of ours are dilapidated shambles: Treasure Island Resort and Nwyshima (or something). I’d like to learn why they’ve been abandoned.
There were hardly any people out, though rows of deck chairs beckoned on the beach. We crossed two white folk walking in the opposite direction, and two clusters of Burmese families where most of the adults huddled under village-style palm-frond shade-structures while the young kids rocked about in the surf in inner tubes, and the teenagers waded into the water in their skinny jeans and long t-shirts. Families snapped photos of each other sipping juice out of green coconuts in the surf and smiling for the camera. Finally came across one hotel that looked like the Western hang-out; a fancy place with green lawns. Passed a group of middle-aged Italians taking a walk, the men paunchy and the women spilling out of their bikinis. Climbed the tower some hotel architect had deemed an appealing design feature and took photos up and down the coast while Lello lounged in the surf.
Walked north till the hotels ran out and the Bay reached a point, and walked through hotel grounds to the guard cabin at the road. Right to the town? Yes. Or left? Yes. We turned left and followed the road past the Bay of Bengal Resort into dusty countryside. Backtracked and turned off the paved road onto a sandy track, the highstreet of Zwe Min village. Came across a few stores and Lello asked for coconut oil, and the shopkeepers looked nonplussed. We greeted a man on the road who said he was ‘anglo’ (though he was quick to add he didn’t use a last name in the anglo fashion), explaining he had a French grandfather and telling us he had relatives in Australia. He was a keyboard player and tonight would be playing at Treasure Island (wasn’t that one of the resorts that looked abandoned?). He took us back down the street to the ‘Mini Mart’ (it had a sign outside proclaiming so). A young man sat having lunch with his wife and young nephew in the house-area behind the counter. He told us he was an aircon electrician, and had gotten married in 2008. He brought out photo albums for us to peruse, with photos from what must have been the wedding and a trip to the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon. Lello opted for the bottle of coconut oil that didn’t smell like chemical fragrance, and we picked up one of our trusty sesame snacks, and tried a crispy fried rice snack with a lemony flavor. We asked where we could eat lunch, and after first being recommended the Lookout Bar at the Bay of Bengal resort, were led by our host down a path between some houses to the paved road we’d branched off from, where there was a local roadside restaurant.
Some white-shirted Andaman Resort employees were hanging out there, and helped translate our order to the woman of the restaurant. We had rice with a side of spicy greens and a side of beef curry. And one each of the fried snacks – fried banana, fried long skinny veg, crispy fried cake with encrusted peanuts. It must have been about 11.30am; the sun was high and hot and it was time to sit in the shade and take a nap. I was feeling like I’d gotten too much sun.
We tried to explain to the man with a rickshaw who was napping in his vehicle outside the restaurant that we wanted to go to an internet café, and another young hotel employee chilling in the hammock helped us with translation such that the man’s ‘ok ok’ was more plausible to us. He still dropped us at the wrong place -- the EFR hotel rather than Recreation center – but the latter was just a 7min walk through the village where we’d arrived by bus, with its stalls selling dried fish and ‘junky’ souvenirs, and then it was ‘left-right’ down the road towards the pagoda. EFR is there on the left, an odd concept with internet and beauty salon (where they ‘cut hair and wash face’) and a restaurant. Had a cold beer and freshly fried peanuts while waiting for the internet to be activated; then I took a nap in the shady reception area while Lello tried his luck with email. They charge 3000K/hr here, compared to 300K/hr at the last hole in the wall down the street from Beauty Land in Yangon. In the end it didn’t work after all.
Felt groggy from my nap as we walked back to town, my skin red and parched under the hot sun despite the cooling breeze. Decided to get some fruit and waited while the girl peeled the pineapple, making an unsuccessful foray to find sesame candy (the label I’d saved from our last packet read only ‘Made in Myanmar’). Motorcycled back to the hotel laden with pineapple and bananas and papaya. Took a cooling shower and read some Finding George Orwell – Lello fell asleep while I was reading some choice passages outloud to him, and I dozed off shortly after. Awoke about 5.30pm in time for a swim in the still-warm ocean, along with a beautiful sunset. Walked down the beach to some rocks and took lots of pictures of sky and light and water and reflections. Sat with Lello after the sun had set, watching the sky turn red and the stars come out. Munched on some pineapple and banana as we gazed. The moon is a thin sliver tonight, just starting a new cycle.
And here we are, sitting on our porch, listening to the waves rolling in and out. Lello whistles – Summertime, Songs of Freedom, Italian classics; he carries the melodies perfectly. Some girls just walked by, ‘all dressed up with no place to go.’ ‘Do they go to the disco?’ joked Lello. They strolled back 2 mins later. ‘Maybe there was no taxi, aye.’
It’s so nice to be here with Lello. This whole trip in Burma has been a pleasure because of traveling with him. It’s as hard to imagine traveling on my own now, as when I left London.
Got up with the sun, which rises ‘round the back of the bungalow. There was no power in the room, so I took my charger to the restaurant to charge my camera battery there; at the restaurant they informed me the power will come on again at 6pm.
Lello had chosen the table closest to the beach, overlooking sand and ocean. Breakfast was two toasts (better bread than usual) and a fried egg and butter and jam in a small dish and a banana; questa colazione fa schifo. Lello recounted tales of resort building in Kenya by Italian companies and no planning for water or electricity for the local population; a wealthy businessman bent on sailing his 5-story cruise boat down the river from Phnom Phen to moor it at his resort, and paying the government to rebuild the bridges that would have to be demolished along the way; ruins of mansions off the coast of Nicaragua, where wealthy people had built palatial residences out into the water only to be demolished by a hurricane.
Around 9am we started walking north up the beach, anticipating a 45min stroll to the village. A beautiful morning: sunny, warm, breezy (quite a strong warm wind, really). Lello in his blue speedoes, me in my khaki mini and black sports bra. On a ‘mission’ to find coconut oil and a bikini. On our left, the gray blue Bay of Bengal. On our right, beige streaked with black sandy beach reaching up to the line of coconut palms flanking the beach, behind which squat the bungalows of the various hotels that line this strip of coast. Our hotel is the farthest south but one. Shwe Hun Tha Resort. Ours is the only one with a Burmese name; the rest all have names like Paradise Resort, Ocean Paradise, Silver View, Bay of Bengal Resort. The fancier ones have manicured grass frontage and sagging volleyball nets on the beach and a messy line of buoys in the water to demarcate a swimming area, not that the concept of life-guard exists here. The two resorts immediately north of ours are dilapidated shambles: Treasure Island Resort and Nwyshima (or something). I’d like to learn why they’ve been abandoned.
There were hardly any people out, though rows of deck chairs beckoned on the beach. We crossed two white folk walking in the opposite direction, and two clusters of Burmese families where most of the adults huddled under village-style palm-frond shade-structures while the young kids rocked about in the surf in inner tubes, and the teenagers waded into the water in their skinny jeans and long t-shirts. Families snapped photos of each other sipping juice out of green coconuts in the surf and smiling for the camera. Finally came across one hotel that looked like the Western hang-out; a fancy place with green lawns. Passed a group of middle-aged Italians taking a walk, the men paunchy and the women spilling out of their bikinis. Climbed the tower some hotel architect had deemed an appealing design feature and took photos up and down the coast while Lello lounged in the surf.
Walked north till the hotels ran out and the Bay reached a point, and walked through hotel grounds to the guard cabin at the road. Right to the town? Yes. Or left? Yes. We turned left and followed the road past the Bay of Bengal Resort into dusty countryside. Backtracked and turned off the paved road onto a sandy track, the highstreet of Zwe Min village. Came across a few stores and Lello asked for coconut oil, and the shopkeepers looked nonplussed. We greeted a man on the road who said he was ‘anglo’ (though he was quick to add he didn’t use a last name in the anglo fashion), explaining he had a French grandfather and telling us he had relatives in Australia. He was a keyboard player and tonight would be playing at Treasure Island (wasn’t that one of the resorts that looked abandoned?). He took us back down the street to the ‘Mini Mart’ (it had a sign outside proclaiming so). A young man sat having lunch with his wife and young nephew in the house-area behind the counter. He told us he was an aircon electrician, and had gotten married in 2008. He brought out photo albums for us to peruse, with photos from what must have been the wedding and a trip to the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon. Lello opted for the bottle of coconut oil that didn’t smell like chemical fragrance, and we picked up one of our trusty sesame snacks, and tried a crispy fried rice snack with a lemony flavor. We asked where we could eat lunch, and after first being recommended the Lookout Bar at the Bay of Bengal resort, were led by our host down a path between some houses to the paved road we’d branched off from, where there was a local roadside restaurant.
Some white-shirted Andaman Resort employees were hanging out there, and helped translate our order to the woman of the restaurant. We had rice with a side of spicy greens and a side of beef curry. And one each of the fried snacks – fried banana, fried long skinny veg, crispy fried cake with encrusted peanuts. It must have been about 11.30am; the sun was high and hot and it was time to sit in the shade and take a nap. I was feeling like I’d gotten too much sun.
We tried to explain to the man with a rickshaw who was napping in his vehicle outside the restaurant that we wanted to go to an internet café, and another young hotel employee chilling in the hammock helped us with translation such that the man’s ‘ok ok’ was more plausible to us. He still dropped us at the wrong place -- the EFR hotel rather than Recreation center – but the latter was just a 7min walk through the village where we’d arrived by bus, with its stalls selling dried fish and ‘junky’ souvenirs, and then it was ‘left-right’ down the road towards the pagoda. EFR is there on the left, an odd concept with internet and beauty salon (where they ‘cut hair and wash face’) and a restaurant. Had a cold beer and freshly fried peanuts while waiting for the internet to be activated; then I took a nap in the shady reception area while Lello tried his luck with email. They charge 3000K/hr here, compared to 300K/hr at the last hole in the wall down the street from Beauty Land in Yangon. In the end it didn’t work after all.
Felt groggy from my nap as we walked back to town, my skin red and parched under the hot sun despite the cooling breeze. Decided to get some fruit and waited while the girl peeled the pineapple, making an unsuccessful foray to find sesame candy (the label I’d saved from our last packet read only ‘Made in Myanmar’). Motorcycled back to the hotel laden with pineapple and bananas and papaya. Took a cooling shower and read some Finding George Orwell – Lello fell asleep while I was reading some choice passages outloud to him, and I dozed off shortly after. Awoke about 5.30pm in time for a swim in the still-warm ocean, along with a beautiful sunset. Walked down the beach to some rocks and took lots of pictures of sky and light and water and reflections. Sat with Lello after the sun had set, watching the sky turn red and the stars come out. Munched on some pineapple and banana as we gazed. The moon is a thin sliver tonight, just starting a new cycle.
And here we are, sitting on our porch, listening to the waves rolling in and out. Lello whistles – Summertime, Songs of Freedom, Italian classics; he carries the melodies perfectly. Some girls just walked by, ‘all dressed up with no place to go.’ ‘Do they go to the disco?’ joked Lello. They strolled back 2 mins later. ‘Maybe there was no taxi, aye.’
It’s so nice to be here with Lello. This whole trip in Burma has been a pleasure because of traveling with him. It’s as hard to imagine traveling on my own now, as when I left London.
Day 24 (Mon, March 7) - To the Beach at Ngwe Saung
4.20am showered and went down to reception to pay the $22 room bill. Nobody there, so picked up a Myanmar paper and read a commentary about how the G-#s are now an outdated concept and have no clout any longer (along with the Worldbank and IMF and US government). And how China has now surpassed Japan to be the world’s #2 economy. Turned out the receptionist was asleep behind the counter, and his alarm went off at 4.30am sharp. Packed up last bits and bobs, and had breakfast of toast and coffee and banana (the guy who fries the eggs wasn’t at work this early, apparently) with a few other early risers. Beautiful marionettes hanging in the breakfast room – an elephant, a horse, a sultan. Along with a map of the EU, and a photo of a smiling woman with thanaka on her cheeks and ‘Mingalabar’ printed underneath. There were tourist pamphlets with maps and potted factoids about Myanmar pinned to the walls, and signs in our room labeling the hot and cold taps and urging residents to turn off the lights. A hotel catering to tourists, clearly, unlike our polite and clean Yoma Hotel. Our booked taxi arrived at 5am, and we bundled into a Kangoo-style wreck with a gear-box that choked on the uphills; on the downhills the driver leant on his horn to warn cyclists and pedestrians and other drivers that he wasn’t about to brake and waste momentum. His dashboard was a graveyard of good luck charms. He drove us to the Aung Mingalar bus-stop, which was the wrong one and a good 40min drive from the one our bus was due to leave from at 6.30am. He did his best for us, and managed to get us to our bus in the nick of time. It was a local 30-seater, with seats built for diminutive people and extra plastic stools packed into the central aisle. Our seats were over the right back wheel, boxed in, so it diminished our limited legroom even further. We were both bursting for a pee, but figured there’d be a stop in about 1 ½ hrs and we could hold it. No such luck. But we did stop for a toll, where the driver’s assistant had to turn over the passports of the 6 foreigners on board to the toll police for documentation, and I took the opportunity to literally climb over the bodies packed in the aisle to take a pee by the side of the road. Lello figured we’d take an official stop soon and he’d hold it, but practically turned blue in the face as the driver kept going for another few hours, and in his turned climbed out of the bus at the next toll booth at the far end of the highway. Other people followed his brash lead, including the two nuns, and the driver relented and turned off the bus. We stopped shortly afterwards in Pathein, a town pitched to tourists for its umbrella-making, though economically more important as the center of a major rice-growing area. There is a large ‘tombstone’ announcing the town and suddenly the roadside curbs are manicured and the main roundabout with pillar is almost worthy of a small French village. 100m off the roundabout, where the bus disgorged us for lunch, the restaurant looked much the same as those we’ve seen in less affluent places. From Pathein to the coast it’s a hilly bendy ride that had at least one of the kids nestled between the luggage across the aisle from us heaving. They vomit very quietly and discreetly, do these Burmese, into the small plastic bags provided at every seat on every bus we’ve been on. At the crest of every hill I hoped to catch a glimpse of water, but each time saw just more trees and greenery clubbing together to the next rise. And then, of a sudden, we were on the flat and passing signs to the Bay of Bengal Resort and, more cryptically, EFR. The bus stopped outside a row of tourist shops selling shells and dried fish, and trishaw and motorcycle drivers swarmed around us. Lello hopped on a motorbike, and I opted for a trishaw where my large bag could occupy the backward-facing seat, and we were whisked south down the long straight road running parallel to the beach and along the backs of hotel compounds, to Shwe Hin Tha hotel and our bungalow-on-the-beach. For me those words conjure up a thatched hut right on the sand with a hammock strung between two palm trees by the front door, at least 100m from the next humans around. It wasn’t that, but it was awesome nonetheless: ours was one of a row of six or so huts built up off the ground, and from our porch we had a view through some palm trees to the beach and out across the Bay of Bengal; we fell asleep to the sound of the waves rushing in and whooshing out; fresh coconuts were to be had from the restaurant just down the beach. We took a swim straight away, and the water was just the right temperature, and the Bay inclined at just the right rate to swimming depth, and the waves were just the right size, and overhead the sun was just the right brightness, and the view back to shore had just the right mix of beach and palm trees, and underfoot the sand was just the right grain. Che paradiso! Walking south along the shore we came to Lover’s Island, which has a statue of a dark-haired mermaid flicking her hair, for locals to pose next to. It was low tide and motorbikes carried whole families over for the photo opportunity. We crossed over and took a walk along the southern shore of the wooded mound, where tongues of rock reach out into the Bay. They look smooth but in fact are covered in quite sharp barnacles, so I stepped gingerly in my bare feet. Emerald green crabs sidled into crevices when they felt me coming, and tiny silver fish darted about the rock pools. Glorious. As we walked back to our bungalow we crossed a women carrying a plateful of grilled fish on her head, and a few carcasses, along with a plateful of rice from the restaurant, made a fine dinner on our porch, as the setting sun stained the sky shades of gold and pink.
Tuesday 22 March 2011
Day 23 (Sun, March 6) - Afternoon in Yangon with Thae Nu
Before we left for Mandalay, Thae Nu had invited us to her home for a meal together upon our return. We called her on our way into town from Aung Mingalar bus station to Yamo Hotel at sun-up on Sunday, and two things happened: a) we agreed to come out to her Aunt's place at 10 Mile for lunch at 1pm, and b) her cousin booked us into Beautyland Hotel. I'm not entirely sure how the latter came to pass, but with my companion already annoyed at our having cabbed into town, I went with it.
Where Yamo Hotel had few caucasians as guests and provided an overstaffed and polite reception, Beautyland obviously catered to Western tourists (map of the EU on the breakfast room wall, posters with "hello" and "thank you" in Burmese, etc) and the reception staff had an attitude. We dropped off our bags (the room wasn't ready) and figured a black coffee would sort out the mood -- only to be served a cupful of grounds at the eatery down the road from the hotel.
Lello had commissioned a plastic sign from a sign-maker on Shwe Bontha Street next to Carolina's tea stand, and we went to pick it up. Carolina had it stashed away for Lello, and went to get it while we had some drinkable coffee. The sign-maker had written the commission down exactly, but still the exclamation point was upside down and 'and' read 'end' and a capital T had crept into the web address. No problem! The sign-maker promptly unglued the offending characters and set about cutting out the corrections with his jigsaw. Lifetime guarantee!
We got a couple hard-bound notebooks for Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw as thank you's for booking our trip, and hopped in a taxi out to 10 Mile. 10 Mile is presumably 10 miles from somewhere in the center of Yangon, and there are neighborhoods closer in similarly denoted as 9 mile, 8 mile, and 7 mile. Thae Nu was waiting for us at the roadside, and led us up a bustling market street and down a side alley to her Aunt's house. We took off our shoes and nodded to the man, woman and child who sat along the side wall before taking our seats on the ground at the low table laid with lunch. When we asked 'Are they joining us?' Thae Nu motioned the girl to join us. This was her cousin and they had cooked lunch together, Thae Nu told us. The cousin didn't speak any English, and left the table as soon as she'd finished eating.
After lunch, Thae Nu was keen to take us to
and to see the White Elephants, which are a sign of good fortune, peace and prosperity apparently. They aren't by any means 'white', but rather are light-toned and might have white splotches on auspicious parts of the body. 'Tonally unimpressive' as someone on the Lonely Planet forum rightly points out.
tbc
Where Yamo Hotel had few caucasians as guests and provided an overstaffed and polite reception, Beautyland obviously catered to Western tourists (map of the EU on the breakfast room wall, posters with "hello" and "thank you" in Burmese, etc) and the reception staff had an attitude. We dropped off our bags (the room wasn't ready) and figured a black coffee would sort out the mood -- only to be served a cupful of grounds at the eatery down the road from the hotel.
Lello had commissioned a plastic sign from a sign-maker on Shwe Bontha Street next to Carolina's tea stand, and we went to pick it up. Carolina had it stashed away for Lello, and went to get it while we had some drinkable coffee. The sign-maker had written the commission down exactly, but still the exclamation point was upside down and 'and' read 'end' and a capital T had crept into the web address. No problem! The sign-maker promptly unglued the offending characters and set about cutting out the corrections with his jigsaw. Lifetime guarantee!
We got a couple hard-bound notebooks for Thae Nu and Zaw Zaw as thank you's for booking our trip, and hopped in a taxi out to 10 Mile. 10 Mile is presumably 10 miles from somewhere in the center of Yangon, and there are neighborhoods closer in similarly denoted as 9 mile, 8 mile, and 7 mile. Thae Nu was waiting for us at the roadside, and led us up a bustling market street and down a side alley to her Aunt's house. We took off our shoes and nodded to the man, woman and child who sat along the side wall before taking our seats on the ground at the low table laid with lunch. When we asked 'Are they joining us?' Thae Nu motioned the girl to join us. This was her cousin and they had cooked lunch together, Thae Nu told us. The cousin didn't speak any English, and left the table as soon as she'd finished eating.
After lunch, Thae Nu was keen to take us to
and to see the White Elephants, which are a sign of good fortune, peace and prosperity apparently. They aren't by any means 'white', but rather are light-toned and might have white splotches on auspicious parts of the body. 'Tonally unimpressive' as someone on the Lonely Planet forum rightly points out.
tbc
Day 22 (Sat, March 5) - Bus from Inle Lake to Yangon
Our overnight bus back to Yangon was not scheduled to leave until 2.30pm, so we had the morning to kill in Nyaung Shwe. We took a look around the covered market and wandered up to the official-looking gate to the town, and then got sucked into a veritable Curiosity Shop on the main drag, crammed full of an eclectic collection including tiger teeth and opium pipes, gas lamps and Padaung brass coils. But the owner's passion was gem-stones, and he excitedly brought out ring after ring for us to hold up to the sun, finding the 'star' in the rubies and admiring the color of the sapphires and amethysts. 'This one not for sale,' he said of the ring show-casing 9 different gem-stones including a giant ruby; I wonder who here could afford it!
Lello bought a none-too-perfect oblong pearl, and for the next hour a wizened and meticulous silversmith carefully drilled a hole through it so that Lello could add it to his bead necklace from Bagan. Then, discovering the additional bead made the necklace too tight, we returned to the market for some nylon cord and fortuitously found a scrap a merchant had in a box of odds and ends.
At the bus stop we bumped into Clay and Ginger, who'd spent the same night as us at the monastery, as well as a Burmese mother and daughter pair who lived in the US and kindly read our tickets for us and let us know whether the bus arriving was ours. I would have loved to talk with the daughter, who was born in Yangon and had just gotten her MA in Graphic Design from UCLA -- but their bus came too soon.
Our bus showed up an hour late and we had a flat tire en route, so we arrived in Yangon a little later than scheduled, but 'overnight' is 'overnight' and I'm not keen on arriving before sunrise anyway. When the bus broke down the polite young man from the seat behind me befriended us and told us he was on his way to see his family for five days, and then a rowdy trio of good-looking and slightly tipsy young men butted in and got him to translate that one worked for the Forestry Department and another was a Police Constable, and took pictures draped over us. Two stops further down the line they were sober again and kept to a table at the far end of the food hall from us.
Lello bought a none-too-perfect oblong pearl, and for the next hour a wizened and meticulous silversmith carefully drilled a hole through it so that Lello could add it to his bead necklace from Bagan. Then, discovering the additional bead made the necklace too tight, we returned to the market for some nylon cord and fortuitously found a scrap a merchant had in a box of odds and ends.
At the bus stop we bumped into Clay and Ginger, who'd spent the same night as us at the monastery, as well as a Burmese mother and daughter pair who lived in the US and kindly read our tickets for us and let us know whether the bus arriving was ours. I would have loved to talk with the daughter, who was born in Yangon and had just gotten her MA in Graphic Design from UCLA -- but their bus came too soon.
Our bus showed up an hour late and we had a flat tire en route, so we arrived in Yangon a little later than scheduled, but 'overnight' is 'overnight' and I'm not keen on arriving before sunrise anyway. When the bus broke down the polite young man from the seat behind me befriended us and told us he was on his way to see his family for five days, and then a rowdy trio of good-looking and slightly tipsy young men butted in and got him to translate that one worked for the Forestry Department and another was a Police Constable, and took pictures draped over us. Two stops further down the line they were sober again and kept to a table at the far end of the food hall from us.
Day 22 (Fri, March 4) - Inle Hot Springs
There's a hot spring about 4km south of Nyaung Shwe on the western side of Inle Lake. Our hotel rented us some bikes, we were handed a laminated hand-drawn map with an 'x' marking 'Inle Spa,' and off we went. The strip down the middle of the country road was paved but pot-holed, and anytime a car or ox-cart passed, it felt prudent to take to the sandy berm. That made going a little slower, as did any slight incline, which pretty much killed whatever momentum I'd built up on the gearless bike. Kudos (awe, really) to the tri-shaw drivers who carted us up and down the hills of Twante 2 weeks ago on bikes just like these!
After about 1/2hr and numerous turn-offs with signs only in Burmese, we came upon a low building set back from the road with a wall in front and some motor-cycle drivers hanging about outside, and guessed it to be the spa. We were shown to the mixed bathing area, which is only for foreigners, and given towels and soap.
There were three man-made pools -- hardly a bubbling hot spring where water gushes straight from the rock -- but we learned the spring water is a scalding 70C degrees, so must be allowed to cool before it's fit for bathing.
Over the wall, farmers toiled in the fields.
We hung out for a couple hours, and were joined by an English couple, a German couple; a solo American, Dutchman and Japanese; and two Japanese friends.
We left around lunch-time, and biked further south to the nearest village to find somewhere to eat. The village was in the business of producing dried snacks and confections that are sold at markets and road-side stalls. We sampled some but they weren't 'ready' and the farmer-merchant-drier tending to his goods must have thought us soft in the head.
On our way home we stopped and watched as a herd of oxen took their evening bath, the owner-herdsman sitting proudly by our side and gesturing that there were still more to come. Mesmerizing; I could sit and watch these powerful animals rippling beneath the thick water for hours, their horns and eyes and flared nostrils grasping the air.
In the evening we cut back from the main road and happened upon a venue we'd passed yesterday afternoon when music was pumping from it and it looked like there was a party going on. It was again packed, though tonight looked to be Soap Opera night rather than MTV night. We were immediately brought plates of samosas and spring rolls and other fried foods, snacks to go with the coffee or tea we were expected to order.
After about 1/2hr and numerous turn-offs with signs only in Burmese, we came upon a low building set back from the road with a wall in front and some motor-cycle drivers hanging about outside, and guessed it to be the spa. We were shown to the mixed bathing area, which is only for foreigners, and given towels and soap.
There were three man-made pools -- hardly a bubbling hot spring where water gushes straight from the rock -- but we learned the spring water is a scalding 70C degrees, so must be allowed to cool before it's fit for bathing.
Over the wall, farmers toiled in the fields.
We hung out for a couple hours, and were joined by an English couple, a German couple; a solo American, Dutchman and Japanese; and two Japanese friends.
We left around lunch-time, and biked further south to the nearest village to find somewhere to eat. The village was in the business of producing dried snacks and confections that are sold at markets and road-side stalls. We sampled some but they weren't 'ready' and the farmer-merchant-drier tending to his goods must have thought us soft in the head.
On our way home we stopped and watched as a herd of oxen took their evening bath, the owner-herdsman sitting proudly by our side and gesturing that there were still more to come. Mesmerizing; I could sit and watch these powerful animals rippling beneath the thick water for hours, their horns and eyes and flared nostrils grasping the air.
In the evening we cut back from the main road and happened upon a venue we'd passed yesterday afternoon when music was pumping from it and it looked like there was a party going on. It was again packed, though tonight looked to be Soap Opera night rather than MTV night. We were immediately brought plates of samosas and spring rolls and other fried foods, snacks to go with the coffee or tea we were expected to order.
Day 21 (Thur, March 3) - Shopping on Inle Lake
As soon as we got off the boat in Nyaung Shwe yesterday afternoon, a boatman's brother was at my side touting a boat trip for the morrow, running through the long list of sights/sites to see on the lake: fishing in the typical Inle Lake fashion (rowing with the leg), weaving, cheroot-rolling, umbrella-making, long-necked Padaung women, silver-smithing, Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda, and the Jumping Cat Monastery. There's really no getting around it.
It turned out to be more of a shopping spree than a sight-seeing trip. About the only thing I didn't buy was cheroots -- and I didn't make a donation to the cat treats at the monastery either. Yes, the cats do in fact jump; it's quite remarkable how they go from comatose to leaping without the assistance of a cattle prod, but I saw it with my own eyes.
I loved seeing things being made by hand, and we hung out and conversed a bit with the youth of the cheroot-making and silver-smithing families where we were the only ones visiting at the time.
I loved being out on the water, speeding across the open lake and meandering down narrow water-ways between houses and gardens. And at the end of the day I went for a swim in the middle of the lake. Only the deafening sputtering of the boat's motor detracted from the idyllic.
It turned out to be more of a shopping spree than a sight-seeing trip. About the only thing I didn't buy was cheroots -- and I didn't make a donation to the cat treats at the monastery either. Yes, the cats do in fact jump; it's quite remarkable how they go from comatose to leaping without the assistance of a cattle prod, but I saw it with my own eyes.
I loved seeing things being made by hand, and we hung out and conversed a bit with the youth of the cheroot-making and silver-smithing families where we were the only ones visiting at the time.
I loved being out on the water, speeding across the open lake and meandering down narrow water-ways between houses and gardens. And at the end of the day I went for a swim in the middle of the lake. Only the deafening sputtering of the boat's motor detracted from the idyllic.
Monday 21 March 2011
Day 20 (Wed, March 2) - Trek Day 3 (arrival at Inle Lake)
The monks started their musical prayers about 4.30am, but we didn't sleep in the main hall after all so the wake up call was muffled. Before we left we made a donation of 1000K each to the Head Monk, and he blessed us and attached a thread-bracelet to our wrist for protection.
This last half-day of trekking was all gently down-hill to Inle Lake. The lake has a water-logged margin rather than a hard-and-fast shore, so the village where we finished our trek was still a canal-length away from the lake proper. As soon as we got to the jetty we plunged our feet into the cool clear water, and in a flash Lello was down to his underwear and into the canal. I couldn't resist and took the plunge fully clothed. We had lunch by the jetty and then caught one of the ubiquitous narrow long-boats with an outboard motor across the lake.
Che paradiso! Inle Lake ain't Lac d'Annecy (as a French couple we met pointed out to us), but it is ringed by mountains and flanked by palm trees and houses on stilts, and definitely has more (and more uniquely interesting) fishermen plying its waters.
Nyaung Shwe, the town at the northern end of the lake with all the tourist accommodation, has a fair few restaurants advertising wood-oven pizza. The guide book warns that most don't make anything resembling pizza, but the one I plumped for miraculously did have a proper oven and made a respectable effort. Afterwards Lello, who has professional pizza-making experience, gave the owner some tips on making his pizza more authentic.
This last half-day of trekking was all gently down-hill to Inle Lake. The lake has a water-logged margin rather than a hard-and-fast shore, so the village where we finished our trek was still a canal-length away from the lake proper. As soon as we got to the jetty we plunged our feet into the cool clear water, and in a flash Lello was down to his underwear and into the canal. I couldn't resist and took the plunge fully clothed. We had lunch by the jetty and then caught one of the ubiquitous narrow long-boats with an outboard motor across the lake.
Che paradiso! Inle Lake ain't Lac d'Annecy (as a French couple we met pointed out to us), but it is ringed by mountains and flanked by palm trees and houses on stilts, and definitely has more (and more uniquely interesting) fishermen plying its waters.
Nyaung Shwe, the town at the northern end of the lake with all the tourist accommodation, has a fair few restaurants advertising wood-oven pizza. The guide book warns that most don't make anything resembling pizza, but the one I plumped for miraculously did have a proper oven and made a respectable effort. Afterwards Lello, who has professional pizza-making experience, gave the owner some tips on making his pizza more authentic.
Day 19 (Tues, March 1) - Trek Day 2 (overnight at monastery)
Another hot sunny day ambling through the countryside, taking in stunning views, meeting locals on the road, and continuing my 'back to the land' education. The neatest thing I saw today was a block of quicklime crumbling when water was poured on it.
I asked Uzo what he thought the greatest invention of the last 50 years, and his answer was: the DVD player. 'Before, you fast forward and rewind all the time, very inconvenient; now you select the track you want.' He likes action movies, and will check out Rambo V (which is set in Myanmar) on Lello's recommendation.
We passed through more villages than yesterday, and Uzo pointed out differences in dress (mainly the color combination of longyi and shirt: dark-dark for one 'tribe', dark-light for another; and how the head cloth is tied differs slightly too). People in this area live on very little, and women and children spend a fair amount of time collecting firewood and cow dung for fuel. Water, of which there seems to be ample supply, is drawn from wells. Lot of different plants are cultivated here, including tea, rice, garlic, chili, turmeric, ginger, squash, papaya, mango, jack fruit, pineapple... and more.
We arrived early at the monastery where all the trekking tourists in the area were to spend the night, so had first dibs on drawing water from the well and washing off copious quantities of red earth in the outdoor cubicle. In the monastery's main hall, blankets hanging over ropes created partitions between the different groups' sleeping areas. We had tea on the porch with lone Spanish traveler Carlos, who refused to hire a guide and had made his way successfully from Kalaw by asking locals the way to the next village on the route every time he hit a fork in the road.
I asked Uzo what he thought the greatest invention of the last 50 years, and his answer was: the DVD player. 'Before, you fast forward and rewind all the time, very inconvenient; now you select the track you want.' He likes action movies, and will check out Rambo V (which is set in Myanmar) on Lello's recommendation.
We passed through more villages than yesterday, and Uzo pointed out differences in dress (mainly the color combination of longyi and shirt: dark-dark for one 'tribe', dark-light for another; and how the head cloth is tied differs slightly too). People in this area live on very little, and women and children spend a fair amount of time collecting firewood and cow dung for fuel. Water, of which there seems to be ample supply, is drawn from wells. Lot of different plants are cultivated here, including tea, rice, garlic, chili, turmeric, ginger, squash, papaya, mango, jack fruit, pineapple... and more.
We arrived early at the monastery where all the trekking tourists in the area were to spend the night, so had first dibs on drawing water from the well and washing off copious quantities of red earth in the outdoor cubicle. In the monastery's main hall, blankets hanging over ropes created partitions between the different groups' sleeping areas. We had tea on the porch with lone Spanish traveler Carlos, who refused to hire a guide and had made his way successfully from Kalaw by asking locals the way to the next village on the route every time he hit a fork in the road.
Sunday 20 March 2011
Day 18 (Mon, Feb 28) - Trek Day 1 (overnight with family in village)
Uzo, Lello and I left Kalaw on foot shortly after 9am, stopped for lunch around noon at the Nepalese Viewpoint restaurant which true to its name had panoramic views from thatched gazebos, and arrived at our host family's bamboo home for the night at 6pm, shortly before sunset. We walked along red dust roads through pine forests and passed farmers at work in their fields and women collecting firewood, and I got excited every time Uzo pointed out a plant I've not seen 'live' before.
Note on slideshow: If you double-click on the picture, you'll be taken to Picasa where you can view the photos in a larger format, and individually rather than as a slideshow if you prefer. Also, the photos have captions which you can view by hovering your cursor over the bottom-left of the slideshow and clicking on the text-bubble icon.
Uzo, who has done this walk hundreds of times, stopped in on friends in every village we passed through, and handed out sweets to every kid we saw along the way - who raced each other across fields to the road when they saw him coming.
Note on slideshow: If you double-click on the picture, you'll be taken to Picasa where you can view the photos in a larger format, and individually rather than as a slideshow if you prefer. Also, the photos have captions which you can view by hovering your cursor over the bottom-left of the slideshow and clicking on the text-bubble icon.
Uzo, who has done this walk hundreds of times, stopped in on friends in every village we passed through, and handed out sweets to every kid we saw along the way - who raced each other across fields to the road when they saw him coming.
Sunday 6 March 2011
Day 17 (Sun, Feb 27) - Bagan to Kalaw by Bus
Alarm went off at 2.30am and we were off at 3am. Taxi was parked by
reception with the driver asleep on the bench under the tree. The
hotel had packed breakfast for each of us in Styrofoam boxes. The
hotel 'gate' (two barriers) wasn't open yet, but someone was awake to
leap up and remove them as we approached. The streets were quiet and
we sped along in the taxi: a luxury sedan to our horse cart of
yesterday. Arrived Nyaung around 3.30am, not the metropolitan bus stop
I'd imagined but a quiet street lined with low one-grate shops. One
café was open and we launched the prata-making with our breakfast
order. The boy chef oiled the table and slapped down a round of dough;
flattened it with the heel of his hand then slapped it round with this
palm; spun it round while stretching it – like a pizza chef -- till he
had a rectangle which he framed up gently before laying it in the wok
of oil heating over the fire behind him. Fried for less than a minute,
the dough sheet is then cut with scissors into strips, and served with
some chickpeas and fried onions. Locals with their hoodies tied tight
around their faces and hats on drifted in (it was cold out), along
with one other Westerner (an older Frenchman in long shorts), most
ordering milky tea (or coffee?) and Chinese dough sticks. The Dep-Rma
match was playing on the flat-screen TV up by the ceiling.
reception with the driver asleep on the bench under the tree. The
hotel had packed breakfast for each of us in Styrofoam boxes. The
hotel 'gate' (two barriers) wasn't open yet, but someone was awake to
leap up and remove them as we approached. The streets were quiet and
we sped along in the taxi: a luxury sedan to our horse cart of
yesterday. Arrived Nyaung around 3.30am, not the metropolitan bus stop
I'd imagined but a quiet street lined with low one-grate shops. One
café was open and we launched the prata-making with our breakfast
order. The boy chef oiled the table and slapped down a round of dough;
flattened it with the heel of his hand then slapped it round with this
palm; spun it round while stretching it – like a pizza chef -- till he
had a rectangle which he framed up gently before laying it in the wok
of oil heating over the fire behind him. Fried for less than a minute,
the dough sheet is then cut with scissors into strips, and served with
some chickpeas and fried onions. Locals with their hoodies tied tight
around their faces and hats on drifted in (it was cold out), along
with one other Westerner (an older Frenchman in long shorts), most
ordering milky tea (or coffee?) and Chinese dough sticks. The Dep-Rma
match was playing on the flat-screen TV up by the ceiling.
Shortly before 4am an elderly man approached us and beckoned. We
followed him across the street to the store front just opened where a
woman bundled in a blanket-fleece longi and jacket sold us our bus
tickets. She already knew we had seat numbers 13 and 14. An old
rickety diesel bus pulled up but she assured us that was the bus to
Mandalay. Our bus to Kalaw/Inle Lake turned out to be a small rickety
diesel bus. It was already filled with 20-odd tourists who'd been
picked up at their hotels in Nyaung. Our designated seats were
half-way back, but Lello asked the ticket lady if we could have the
seats up front, and we moved. A blessing. The bus smelled of diesel
fumes but the passenger side window was open, and we could stretch our
legs out into the well between passenger and driver seat. A sweet
young girl and her father sat across the aisle from us; we smiled and
said hello; she was shy and curious, her father encouraging. She gave
us a packet of dried banana slices (slightly carmelized, yum), and we
passed her a marmalade sandwich from our hotel breakfast.
We stopped twice, once for breakfast about 5.30am at a place where the
dough maker was a cool dude in his early 20s and not as adept as the
bus stop chef, and at about 10am for lunch at a place with a toilet
complex painted in green and orange, with at least 10 stalls;
otherwise it was non-descript and the rice served with my green beans
and chicken leg in curry was dry. Lello talked with one of the
Westerners, who had somehow missed seeing the lacquer-ware making
process in Bagan. The Frenchman who got on with us when he sat down in
his seat asked the woman next to him to move over, complaining only
half his butt was on the chair and failing to notice she was equally
uncomfortable. Eh, these buses are equipped for slim people.
The road was mostly narrow and mostly variously paved: unpaved mixed
with paved mixed with crumbling pavement mixed with pavement under
construction; it was slow going and moderately to very bumpy.
Nonetheless, we dozed off intermittently.
The landscape was dry and flat with a mix of scrawny trees and robust
mango trees, and onions and peanuts and corn as around Bagan; then we
hit some water (a lake or reservoir) and more agriculture including
watermelon and tomato vendors; then through a large lumber yard that
went on for at least a kilometer; and finally the bus climbed and
climbed up switch backs into the mountains. We were stuck behind a
lumbering truck that our driver kept attempting to pass, but couldn't
since the pavement ran out at a car's width and he faced the danger of
tilting the bus over. He was a good driver; nerves of steel. And we
arrived in Kalaw about 1pm, 2hrs before we'd expected to.
It's warm and breezy in Kalaw at 1pm, a nice change from the baking
midday heat of Bagan. This was a British 'hill-station', where the
Brits would come to cool off. Kalaw is a small town built on the slope
of a gentle hill, two blocks on the incline and five blocks along it,
is the downtown. The streets are lined with tiny stores selling
everyday goods, and there's a largish central covered market with more
of the same as well as vegetables and dried fish and toffee and
spices, and some souvenir stalls. As we arrived a funeral procession
was leaving from the home of the old grandmother who'd passed, to the
cemetery. Monks led the way, the body was carried on a palanquin by
pall-bearers, scooters brought up the rear.
The trekking guide Zaw had recommended wasn't available so we washed
our clothes and lunched at a small café which served us rice with
vegetables in a Chinese sauce, and lime juice for 700K per glass.
Afterwards we walked the length and breadth of the town, and some
small girls gave us flowers which we put in our hair. We wandered to
the market and stopped at a jewelry and souvenir stall where I bought
a Shan silver-medal necklace and the man kindly attached a clasp to
Lello's Bagan bead necklace; then attached one to my Shan yarn as
well. Next we paused to test the chimes of some small bells, and the
man was loath to let us leave, wanting his 'good luck money', so we
ended up buying 3 for 10,000K. Then the man arranged money changing
for Lello at a rate of 830 K to the USD; not as good as Yangon or even
Inle, but all told probably it's a wash (in Yangon they gave a blended
rate based on the quality of the bills anyway).
Skipped climbing up to the temple on the hill to watch the sunset, and
photographed some beautiful porches on a back lane instead. Met Uzo
(like the Greek liquor), the uncle of Michel the guide who wasn't
available, on the porch of Dream Villa, and he will take us trekking.
He's a jolly older man, unlike the serious young Michel, so it's
probably just as well. We'll leave at 9am tomorrow, spend the first
night with a family and the second in a monastery, arriving at Inle
Lake around noon on the third day.
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