It is 34 degrees here, the sky is blue and we are seeking the cool shade of the palms. We have frolicked in the waves that roll in at the western shore of Burma, the waves of the Sea of Bengal. West across this sea is the coast of India. To the northwest, where we in BC know Alaska to be, one finds Bangladesh, to the east are Thailand and Laos and to the northeast is China. Of these countries China seems to have serious sway here, both economically and politically. In part due to the sanctions, only recently lifted, and imposed by much of the Western world. China stepped into the void and though the Burmese people are not entirely grateful for this, they had no choice.

We arrived here by bus along a torturous single lane road down to the seaside. It is a 6 hour ride from Yangon, and for the most part a vacation destination for the Burmese. Our hostel room is a small cabana just a short walk from the palm lined, soft grey sand and the emerald and silver ribbon of the sea. The water is wonderfully warm!

Burmese vacationers are modest and swim fully clothed in longyi and t-shirts. There is nary a bikini in sight. (I did see one bikini on our hostel neighbor from France, but then she also hung her purple lace panties on the outdoor tap to dry… )

Local villagers ply the beach with even the largest baskets perfectly balanced on their heads. We drink coconuts and they offer us with seafood and other delicious things they have caught and cooked. Village life just off the beach is similar to that we have seen in other parts of Burma. Small, simple bamboo homes raised off the ground, blackened kettles over an outdoor firepit, children playing or sleeping just inside the doorways carefully watched over by grandmothers and grandfathers.

One more day here and we return to the broken and decaying city of Yangon (Rangoon). It will be wonderful just the same. Absolutely everything is different here, it turns you on your ear.

Goodnight all, Love Monika and Randy

We have spent the last four days in ‘waterworld’ around Inle Lake in west-central Myanmar utterly fascinated by life on, over and near the water.

As I try to sleep tonight my head is swimming with the vivid images of today. We arose at first light and after a quick breakfast of delicious banana pancakes and green tea, boarded a long wooden canoe from the town of Ngaungshwe. We were bound for market-day in the village Thaung Tho at the distant south end of Inle Lake. Our boatman tells us that it is important to get to market early to truly experience the action.

A heavy fog hangs over the water and the air was cool. Barely discernible through the soft, grey, early morning mist are fishermen in flat-bottom canoes which are little more than a couple of curved, teakwood planks. They have a unique way of rowing. While standing, they wrap one leg around the oar and in a snake-like manner propel the canoe through the water. Through the mist we can also make out groups of small children padding their way to school and villagers on their way to market with their goods. We pass through hauntingly beautiful villages of bamboo built in the broad marshes at the edge of Inle Lake. Houses, schools, shops; all are built on seemingly spindly poles and stand many feet above the water. Besides daily home life in these stilt-villages, cottage industries thrive. Some work weaving longyi on enormous floor looms. High up on stilts in another bamboo building women sit in tight circles gossiping while rolling cheerot, a traditional Burmese cigar. I smoked one … not so bad at all!

In another bamboo building, half-naked, muscular, blacksmiths hammer lengths of steel into machetes and knives and in another people are are working silver into intricate pieces of jewellery.

By the time we reach the market the fog has lifted and the market was bustling.

The Pao-O people from the mountains were there in traditional dress – dark blue longyi and jackets with colorful red and orange checked head-scarves- having driven their ox carts loaded with firewood and handmade goods down from the hills to trade for vegetables grown in the incredible floating gardens of the lake people.

In the heat of the afternoon, we wind our way through the maze of canals to see that the gardens actually float on a thick mat of lotus and other fibrous vegetation. Over time, soil is built up on top and the crops planted are never wanting for water. Farmers paddle between the rows in their flat canoes to tend their crops.

In the late afternoon sunshine we make our way back to Nyaungshwe and to our hostel which sits alongside the canal which leads into Inle Lake and we look forward to watching the continuous bustle of daily life from our balcony – and we look forward a cold beer to go along with it of course. Until dark, strong, brown bodies will fill canoes with sacks of grain, huge lengths of bamboo and sugar cane and heavy beams of newly sawn timbers to be sent down the lake. It is like a great movie. Boat traffic – mostly 50 foot teak canoes with huge inboard engines begin transporting goods and people around 5:00 am and finish just after dark. The noise is rather like a steady stream of Harley’s without mufflers passing by all day – one can get used to anything over time.
But, it is dark now except for a small glow from a light bulb here and there and the canal is now quiet. It is time for bed.

Good night all. Love Monika and Randy

We have seen the shrines of Bagan at dawn. It is something one simply must do when in Burma. Get up early (life in Burma begins around 4:00 am anyway), climb to the top of one of the highest temples, and be utterly stunned to see more than 3000, yes three thousand, temples and stupas on a plain that stretches from your feet to the distant horizon. Each of them was built by an ancient king as a tribute to Buddha. They stand serene and magical rising from the mist with their hips nestled in the loving arms of banyan trees. It is flatly impossible not to meditate here. The temples themselves seem to be meditating. It is as if a single great … ohm … is rising from the copper morning mist. Some stupas are are layered in gold and drop from their peaks in gentle curves (rather like a soft ice-cream, but with a spire instead of a curl on top, and then are dipped in gold instead of chocolate…. Ohmmmm…….. 🙂

Though Buddhism has been practiced in the area since the third century BC, in the 11th century, king Anawartha decreed Buddhism to be this country’s religion and there remains evidence of it everywhere; in the mulitude of Buddha images, shrines and frescos and in the daily life of the people. I think it is the reason why it feels so safe to travel in Burma, even to walk after dark through strange city streets. It is the reason why when you leave a tip on the table the waiter runs after you to return the money you’ve “forgotten”. We have discovered where men wearing longyi keep their wallets. It is doubtful you could keep your wallet so exposed anywhere else in the world.

By horsecart we go back to the village and pass by a little boy monk who is in a hurry to catch up, and a group of boys kicking up rousing game of soccer.

We travel by bus from Bagan to Hsipaw, a small town in the north east of Burma. Only 35 Km on, one is not permitted to go further and beyond which lies the border to China and Thailand. In those nearby hills internal conflicts continue to flare. Even from the bus window we can see the people are working hard; selling a few things from ubiquitous roadside stands(even petrol by the litre in expired plastic water bottles), toiling in the fields, building a section of the narrow, yet major roadway literally by hand. Women crouch beside a pile of rock sorting the stones according to size then apply layers of road before pouring a dipper of boiling tar on top. The only machine seems to be a small steam-roller for flattening it. Even on the bigger construction sites concrete is mixed in small batches and poured it into flat baskets which women in dusty longyi carry on their heads to dump in the right place. The Burmese people are lithe and strong.

Life here in Hsipaw seems simpler. It is an agricultural community surrounded by small hill villages that are home to the Shan and Palaung people. We decided on a two-day guided trek to visit some of the remote villages. The trek takes us over a mountain, down to the river valley and up the other side, through forest and terraced plantations of such things as tea, sugar cane, watermelon, sesame and beans. All fields are tilled by water buffalo and plow and are planted and harvested by hand. It is the dry season and we are told that during the rainy season all these fields will be planted with rice.

We stop for lunch in the Palaung village where, in a simple traditional home, we are graciously served a lunch of rice, fresh steamed vegetables, soy cakes and copious amounts of delicious tea. We continue to walk and climb for eight hours and end our first day in a Shan village. Here we will spend the night. We climb a simple set of stairs to the upper level of the home, the animals live below, and enter a large open room with mats and blankets laid out for us on the floor. Several open-shuttered windows look out over the lush mountains. The walls are darkened by years of indoor wood fires used for cooking, heat and light. There is no power, and water from the mountain spring trickles through an ingenious system of bamboo pipe into a barrel at the foot of the stairs. This is where we can wash. The cool water is pure luxury after a long and dusty hike.

Before dinner we explore the town which, because of the brick red earth, is bathed in a rosy light. The entire village is settled on a hillside of brick red earth while the houses are of rich brown teak and bamboo. It is a restful and simple palette. Courtyards are cleanly swept animals settle beneath the homes. Villagers, especially children, come forward to greet us and wave. The village spring seems to be a gathering place as people come to wash vegetables, themselves and to fill jugs of water to take home.

We return to our home for the night to a meal of rice, vegetables and tea and then settle our tired bones on our mats while the smoke from the indoor fire billows overhead. Thank goodness for the draft of fresh air from between the floor boards and from around the shutters. A teething baby cries in the night but otherwise everything is silent.

Good night, Love Monika and Randy

PS: Good night to John, Kristi, Briane, Margo, Matt, Alexi, Claire, Craig, Do Jee, Jo Jo.

Burma is shaped like a kite with a tail, a kite the size of Manitoba. Rangoon is at the southern end, just where the tail would start and Mandalay is about 600 km to the north of Rangoon at about the widest part of the kite, in the heart of the plains of Burma.

We arrived in Mandalay on an slow, rocky overnight bus, passing by the military junta’s new capital, Nay Pyi Taw, in the dark. Works for me. It was still dark when we arrived in Mandalay at a primitive bus station on the outside of the city. Taxi drivers in thick coats were eager to take us anywhere for a few thousand kyat. We were soon off to the hostel ‘Peacock House’ in an old battered Toyota. We are steadfastly avoiding government run hotels, guided tours and restaurants. It is not difficult to find other good options.

Our room for the first night at Peacock House is basic. It is a lean-to at the back of the laundry room; walls of rattan mat, a corrugated roof and ‘well ventilated’ but there is a mosquito net over the bed. Our host at Peacock House is a dear elderly lady. She is clearly the family matriarch, speaks impeccable English and keeps a careful watch over all things. I leave my finished novel on the bookshelf to trade and as soon as I have turned my back it is gone. I believe she is already reading it.

Footwear must always be left at the door. Like the rest of the population, we have been living in flip flops which are now indistinguishable from the brown-grey sand which is as fine as talcum powder. Imprinted with bicycle tires, footprints and pawprints, it forms the footpaths at the edges of even the busiest streets. It is mixed with the ashes of roadside campfires which burn each evening, for even people in the city may not have running water or electricity and only basic santitation.

Our first day in Mandalay we had an unexpectedly long walk through busy markets, past monastaries and stupas and down to the banks of the Irawaddy River which seems as wide and flat as the sea. We discovered the walking route we had done was actually intended to be a bicycle tour! That cold beer in the alleyway … nirvana ?

Burmese monks wear maroon red robes and it is the color I have come to associate with Burma. They are shaven, and most often barefoot. Early every morning, like a ruby necklace, the monks walk in quiet procession through the streets, each carrying a bowl. They quietly knocked at the kitchen door of Peacock House to receive alms. Today a scoop of uncooked rice rained down into the metal bowls. Over 90% of Burma is Buddhist and almost all males spend time in the monkhood. Females may enter monastic life, but this is not as highly valued. They also remain shaven but wear pink robes instead.

A few days ago, just before bed, I swatted a cockroach in the bathroom with my flip flop. That night, and for two days after, I subsisted on soda crackers, gastrolyte and eventually cipro. I hardly left the hostel room because I couldn’t risk being too far from the bathroom. Randy and I had been eating from street stalls, but he had no problems ??? By the third night I was beginning to believe I would never get better (thoughts of wanting to go home) and I encountered a second cockroach in the bathroom. I gently ushered him out. The next morning I felt a hundred percent better. A Buddhist believes in reincarnation, karma and wouldn’t harm a single living thing. Do you think there is a chance that I might return as a cockroach in my next life, or have I been forgiven?

PS. Our taxi driver proudly displays an NLD sticker on the dashboard. “She is our mother, we love her”. He expects victory in the next election in 2015. He smiles broadly and makes a huge check mark using his whole arm. Later that day, our tri-shaw also displays the NLD sticker and then also the horse-cart driver. Another taxi driver says “Yes we can talk about it now. Everyone is talking now.” Hope is in the air.

Good night,

Love Monika and Randy.

Rangoon is heartbreak and joy, both at once. The contrast is stark. Grime and gold. Sights imprint much more than sounds or smells here.

Looking down while walking is essential. Everyone must carefully choose where to step. Many sidewalks are like crumbled crackers and wide gaps and mud puddles suddenly appear. Mounds of dry dirt, gravel and trampled trash gather along the edges. The dusty shoulders of the streets are sometimes better for walking. Buses are ancient and rusting, parks seem to be for pay only and are surrounded by chain link and barbed wire. Looking up we see what were clearly once beautiful buildings that have become grey with soot and mould and are over-grown with vines. The city has been neglected.

Yet, around us are the Burmese people. In their eyes there is such kindness, humor and patience and, despite their hardships, they carry themselves tall and they appear strong and confident. Not too much can be said.

Almost all men and women wear traditional ‘longyi’. It is a waist-to-ankle, cotton sarong worn both for work and home. Downtown lawyers, cab drivers and teenagers, mothers and grandfathers all wear them. I think the ‘longyi’ looks finer than a kilt on a man (and I do like a kilt on a man). Men tend to have their longyi in muted shades of fine checks and plaids and wear them with a proud knot out front and their shirts tucked in. Women wrap them smoothly in front and wear their slim blouses on the outside. Shortly after arriving in Rangoon yesterday we came upon a bustling street market and in a very short time I purchased my first ‘longyi’; maroon background with a faint olive-green pattern. I stepped into the wide circle of fabric and the shopkeeper helpfully tied it over my pants. The news travelled fast. As we made our way around the market, we were greeted with smiles, hand-shakes, and calls of approval. Randy bought his ‘longyi’ today. It’s a classy, rich brown check with a faint blue stripe. Much fun again as several fellows off the street had to step in to help demonstrate the knot.

There are sad corners everywhere in Rangoon, but across the street from our hostel a bright red banner hangs proudly from a high window and pictures of her are everywhere.

Tomorrow we will go to see the golden Shwe Dagon Pagoda and then an overnight bus to Mandalay.

Goodnight.

Love Monika and Randy.