Debbie & Dave’s Myanmar Trip

Jan. 8^th to Feb. 9^th, 2007

1. Bangkok 5. Mandalay

2. Yangon 6. Hsipaw

3. Pyay 7. Inle Lake

4. Bagan 8. Ngapoli Beach

A Preface for the General Public

This travelogue began as point-form notes to help me remember details of our trip to Myanmar. I’ve found so many names, events and impressions of prior trips are now lost to me that this seemed a worthwhile exercise.

The notes were expanded into a narrative to share with friends and accompany our posted photos (see http://picasaweb.google.com/wasagadave). This was written assuming the reader knew us and was reasonably current with our life situation.

We found travel blogs so helpful in planning our trip, I decided to make our experiences available to anyone interested in Myanmar. I recognize this narrative is in dire need of extensive editing to suit it's new purpose, and I hope to address that in future. As time allows, I'm gradually adding a few snapshots from the photo collection mentioned above into the body of the blog.

Now that our potential readers includes strangers, a little background information may be in order.

Debbie and I are a middle-aged couple living in Wasaga Beach, Ontario, Canada about two hours drive north of Toronto. For years we lived in downtown Toronto. I worked for the provincial government and Debbie owned and operated a boutique travel agency. We took advantage of the opportunities afforded by the travel business and saw a good deal of the world.

In 1990 we moved here from the city and for reasons that we now don’t fully understand, opened and operated a fine-dining restaurant for fifteen years. That business had many rewards, but eventually wore us down. We missed the freedom to pick up and go when the mood struck. It took quite a while to sell the property, but managed to do so last year. Since then, we’ve been preparing to build a new home, designed to also accommodate Debbie’s father as his health is failing.

With our new house under construction, logistics of moving two households in progress and the prospect of caring for an aging parent, our travel opportunities will be limited for some time ahead. Already I appreciate being able to look back at these notes and photos and relive our wonderful time in Myanmar.

I hope you find something entertaining and useful in the pages that follow.

Dave

Table of Contents

1. The Rationale

2. Preparations

3. Three Nights in Bangkok

4. Yangon, Myanmar

5. The Road to Bagan

6. Temple Central

7. Upriver to Mandalay

8. Three Dark Nights in Mandalay

9. Hsipaw – a Real Nice Town

10. Inle Lake Area

11. R & R on Ngapoli Beach

12. Last Night in Myanmar

13. Surviving Bangkok

14. The Hong Kong YMCA

15. The Long Trip Home

16. An Accounting

Myanmar 2007 - Dave’s Account

1. The Rationale

Right after “Where’s Myanmar?”, we’re usually asked “Why Myanmar?”.

Good question. For me it’s simple - that’s what my wife wants, and her happiness is all I need in this life. But seriously, I do have to infer her motivation because I’m totally pussy-whipped!.

I suspect Yul Brenner is the butterfly wing in this regard. As a child, Debbie loved “The King and I” and a fascination for the exotic orient began. Her parents travelled to Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Hong Kong, Singapore and such in her teenage years, returning with enthralling stories of these ancient cultures. Studies in the travel industry fueled the fire. Working for a top tier Hong Kong-based hotel chain, then designing extended custom adventures to South East Asia for her travel agency clients must have been major influences.

Then in 2003, our friends , Dan and Carolann, embarked on a year-long odyssey through South America and South East Asia. They kindly included us as recipients of their frequent and highly entertaining emails. We looked forward to these travel installments more than the Saturday Toronto Star, Lee Valley catalogue and CBC Radio’s weekly Vinyl Café broadcast combined. They wintered in Asia and even vicarious travel to warmer climes was welcome relief from our Canadian reality. Debbie, the travel junkie, was getting restless. If only the damn restaurant would sell!

I think it was Dan and Carolann’s mention of the difficulties in adding Myanmar to their itinerary that first put this little-known country on her radar. Given all that, what really did the trick was probably the World Wide Web. Debbie had a cyber epiphany! She had shown mild appreciation for its research capabilities with recipes, health questions, pet breeds and such, but was usually content for me to do the heavy lifting. Travel fever got her fingers on the keys. Fortunately I had recently gone high-speed.

Over the next two years, Myanmar became her destiny. The bookmarks piled up. Personal blogs and image collections really sold it for her. The temples were stunning, the prices affordable, but what continually came through was the gentle warmth of the people. By now, a number of friends had traveled the more popular destinations: Thailand, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Vietnam, Indonesia. Myanmar’s “off the beaten track” status carried a certain cachet.

Years of economic boycott by the western nations had ensured the country was largely unspoiled by intense development. How many well-healed tourists want to step back decades to a time without credit cards, ATM’s, reliable electricity and internet service? Certainly the repressive military junta was a concern, but we were not convinced that years of complete financial isolation was a helpful strategy for the general population. Independent travel, focussed on the small, individual operators would primarily benefit the lives of the people.

2. Preparations

We realized the timing was right. The restaurant sold, we had a free period before house-building began in earnest, and everyone was reasonably healthy and secure enough for us to sneak away for several weeks. When a great deal on airline tickets with Cathay Pacific, a favourite of Debbie’s, came up, we were sure the Gods had spoken.

The Cathay flight was from JFK to Bangkok. For some reason, it was a bunch cheaper to get ourselves to New York and take this flight than to catch the same one at its Vancouver stop. Luckily I could get American Airline tickets to JFK using my stash of Airmiles.

Myanmar requires entry visas, and this lengthy process had been the problem for Dan and Carolann. We got the applications from Ottawa and submitted them right away. They even took passport-sized photos I made up at home. We perused the required and recommended health precautions and narrowed it down to Twinrix shots for hepatitis and Typhoid pills. Of course we carried a basic kit of antibiotics, intestinal stabilizers and such.

We decided to reserve accommodation in Hong Kong for the one-night lay-over between Cathay legs. Room rates there are quite high, but among the more reasonable was the YMCA’s Salisbury Hotel. It looked wonderful and was centrally located. Coincidentally, I met a man at our local Y who mentioned he had stayed there for four nights that year and praised the facility. I rushed home and booked it.

Our young friends, Mark and Krista, about to return from Asia, suggested a cheap and cheerful guesthouse in Bangkok called Shanti Lodge, so I emailed a reservation there and followed it up with a telephone confirmation per their request. The last booking we made was for the first night in Yangon. Dan and Carolann learned of our plans and made time to spend a week with us at the tail end of their latest extended trip through China, Singapore, Indonesia and Vietnam. To make it work, however, they would need some American cash (difficult to obtain in Vietnam, and essential in Myanmar). They recommended we both book into the Motherland (2) Guesthouse in Yangon. They’d fly in late on the same day we arrived.

That just left two major activities: shopping, which I can barely comment upon as Debbie threw herself into the chore, and securing the homestead.. Our next door neighbours planned three weeks in Mexico just after our return, so we traded house-minding services (mail pickup, flyer removal, keeping footprints in the snow fresh, etc). He actually kept a path and a parking spot shovelled . Our good friend and mechanical go-to guy, Paul, agreed to check the place regularly for any equipment failure. I shut off the water supply before leaving.

We looked into long-term airport parking and did find one very reasonable facility.. In the end, a much better alternative presented when our friend Ted volunteered his spare underground parking spot in Mississauga, ten minutes from Pearson International. Wow -dry, warm and checked twice daily by someone I trust. He even offered to pick us up on the return, and as a keen aircraft spotter, he’d know just when we were really arriving. Everything was in place.

3. Three Nights in Bangkok (Jan 8 - 12)

If you are paying close attention, you’re probably wondering how “3 Nights” relates to the bracketed 5 day time span. Well, I’m including our elapsed travel time, including the International Date Line correction, in this section.

The plan was to call for an airport limo when we got to Ted’s, then park the car using the spare garage remote he’d kindly provided and get picked up from the condo lobby. We arrived in good time, but couldn’t seem to reach the limo company on my crumby cell phone. Driving to a nearby mall, we finally find pay phones, and I learn that limos aren’t like taxis - we would have to wait an hour or more. The phone books had been vandalized, so I went into a nearby convenience store and got a popular cab company’s number. They would be there in 15 minutes.

We dashed back to the condo, unloaded the luggage and I parked the car below. Trouble was, I couldn’t get myself out of the garage! Without the remote (left in the car) or a vehicle-sized object to trip the automatic door sensors, I was locked in. Luckily, after several anxious minutes, another car entered, allowing my escape. The driver seemed a tad concerned as I sprinted past him up the ramp.

The taxi had arrived early, just as I disappeared down the ramp. He got us to Toronto International in short order for a better price than the limo. He also gave us a valuable tip. When arriving at an airport, go to the departures level and grab a regular cab as it drops someone off. Only airport limos are allowed at arrivals level, and they always charge a premium. There’s currently a big flap in Toronto about the imbalance of these rules, limos can operate two-way airport service, taxis only one.

US Customs pre-clearance is more involved that ever. We were prepared for the liquids size and packing requirements, and this was our first shoe-removal routine. Boy, does that hold up the process! It was so thorough, I almost expected the last official to give me a Good News-Bad News routine: you can get on the plane, but you have an enlarged prostate! Our American Airlines flight turned out to be with their regional carrier, American Eagle, and involved a 40-seat sparrow built in Brazil. We endured a five hour connect lag in the departure lounge. Good thing I’d checked exchange rates in advance - Thai Bhat were very expensive at this airport, and Myanmar Khat were non-existent.

We were successful in selecting “Exit” seats on our Cathay flight. Turned out to be a mixed blessing. On the plus side you get lots of leg room, easy access and you can slip into an adjacent washroom quickly when it’s empty, never trapped by service carts in the aisles.

There are several problems to consider. The middle four seats in the same aisle are bulkhead seats equipped for baby basinettes, so you’re next to whatever infants are on the plane. Babies hate pressure changes, it seems, and let everyone know it. Being next to those washrooms means you often have hopeful occupants staging in all that extra leg room space. We also found that the Chinese men would leave their sleeping families to chat with each other in that space. My sleepy glares didn’t bother them at all!

Cathay did all they could to make this long journey tolerable. Debbie had brought eye shields and inflatable neck pillows. We got more sleep than I would have thought possible, in no small part due to the hour of departure and our travel west. We followed the night. Our transfer in Hong Kong went smoothly. Turned out we had no lost-luggage risk as we reboarded the same aircraft for the final leg to Bangkok.

Mark and Krista, had just returned from Asia before we left and coached us on getting a taxi just outside the terminal. It’s a long drive into the city from the new airport, but , with the aid of a map provided online by the guest house, we were successfully deposited at Shanti Lodge. It would not be out of place in San Francisco in the 1960's with vibrant paint and climbing vine exterior, vegetarian café, rustic yet imaginative decoration and youthful, backpacking clientelle. I felt old and quite uncool as I slipped out of my shoes and got to the reception desk near the rear of the first floor.

Sorry, no reservation. What? I have emails in hand! I made two very difficult long distance calls confirming our arrival, and followed those up with another email! Well, she patiently explained, you didn’t talk to me, and you didn’t specify the reservation under “Dave”. A last name carries no significance here, it seems. However, for a 50% premium rate, they could find us a room. We’d been traveling for 40 hours, I hadn’t the strength to leave.

This left a sour taste with me that made it difficult to roll with the irritations to come. I might have been more good-natured about the infrequent electricity and hot water, the all night chanting and drums from the neighbourhood market or the use of a cold water spray hose in lieu of toilet paper. The café food was good, but expensive compared to nearby alternatives.

Back up. That’s right, no toilet paper. Wherever you found a western commode, it had one of these “vegetable spray” hoses attached to the toilet’s cold water supply. I really hoped it was intended to replace the bowl brush. Apparently not. We confirmed its use with a congenial group of Peace Core workers we met in the Shanti Café. They were well acquainted with the practice and concluded it was ecologically friendlier to, as they phrased it, “cut out the middleman”.

Bangkok itself did not disappoint, or surprise - it was as good and as bad as expected. We walked almost everywhere, only taking a water taxi down to the Royal Palace. The Palace was magnificent - beautifully maintained and a “must see” for any visitor. Scam artists line approach routes. First they engage us in pleasantries. Even knowing what’s coming, our socialization precludes a rude dismissal for the first twenty or so. Next come enquiries on where we’re going. Then the advice that our intentions involve a problem which, of course, they will gladly solve. We were told repeatedly that the Palace was closed today for a state function or some other nonsense.

Our entrance fee included access to the “Teak Palace”. It is some distance from the Royal Palace, but not that far from the Shanti Lodge, so we took it in another day. It’s a gem, made of wood and only used for a few years, it’s a royal residence on a grand, yet human scale. Our return stroll took us through tranquil monastic grounds where we discovered a Thai soap opera being filmed.

Mark and Krista suggested a travel agent on the infamous Ko Sahn Road for booking our flight to Yangon. They attended to our needs quite efficiently. While in the neighbourhood, we stocked up on inexpensive antibiotics at a Boots pharmacy, sampled some delicious Thai curry washed down with local beer, and scanned the many shops. This area is a Mecca for backpackers.

Before retiring on our last night, I settled our account with the guesthouse. They asked when our flight left, suggested an appropriate departure target and asked if we’d like a taxi. Seemed convenient and I foolishly accepted and prepaid. I later realized that it was twice the going rate. Everyone’s on the make in Bangkok, and I was ready to move on.

4. Yangon, Myanmar (Jan. 13 & 14)

I sweated bullets over entering Myanmar. There’s a requirement to declare cash holdings over $2000US per person, and we were over that with the extra for Dan and Carolann. The Myanmar embassy staff in Ottawa had confirmed this rule and emphasised the severe consequences if not observed. They suggested there would be an accounting for the difference between funds declared on entry and funds leaving. This seemed odd - I thought they wanted money to be spent. Perhaps they feared foreigners were financing subversion! Apparently I could not be truthful about carrying funds for another tourist - that was forbidden.

We counted our cash and were significantly over the maximum. I experimented with a variety of hiding places, pretty much convinced I should smuggle the extra. When it came time to fill in the declaration form on the plane, I caved and went with the truth. One look at the Spartan terminal (it reminded me of entering Yugoslavia before the breakup) and I was glad I wasn’t trying anything risky.

Turns out it really didn’t seem to matter. Maybe the truth had set me free and I had an aura of confidence. More likely they really don’t give a whit for less than $10,000. Whatever, we sailed on through with great relief and were flagged down by a little guy holding our names on a card. I loved it - always wanted to be the guy on the card! The Motherland provides free airport pickup, and Monet was here to ensure we didn’t get lost on the lengthy journey there.

Before leaving, we checked the government exchange counter. The official there said very clearly that they offered the “OFFICIAL EXCHANGE RATE” of 400khat to the US dollar. You could almost see him hold his nose as he said this! Just checking. I’d been monitoring an online publication by Burmese expatriates in Thailand (The Irrawaddy News) and they reported the real rate was hovering close to 1200. Oddly, one of the few online exchange sites that listed Myanmar currency reported 1 U$ = 6.4 khat!!

In Myanmar, there are levels of the black market that are acceptable to the government, and some that aren’t. Hotels typically want payment in US $ and will usually exchange for local currency, but expect up to 10% off the prime rate. Jewellers were reliable exchange locations, while trading with street merchants was discouraged. The best rate we got in Mandalay was at a large travel agency. Large denominations get slightly better rates. Another weird thing about exchanges and payments - they only want pristine US bills. No such concern for Myanmar money. Local currency came in paper notes for 50 through to 1000 Khat. Any significant amount of it meant carrying around a brick of cash.

Government fees often require US $, but when pressed, may take khat. Most other private operations seemed to be US $ for big-ticket items like airfares, local khat for small, everyday purchases. Also, the larger the municipality, the better the rate, but there wasn’t a huge variation. For convenience, whenever I mention dollars, assume they are US unless specified Canadian.

The Motherland was a bit out of the way, but cheap and cheerful. We headed off the first afternoon for the “Scott’s Market” on Aung San Road. It was warm and humid, and it took over an hour to reach it. We saw the real Yangon on those streets. It was not easy going. Initially it was just the treacherous sidewalks that slowed us. The general state of repair was dismal, and the layout included frequent stretches of deep, open sewers at the most unexpected places. Approaching the market, street vendors became the greater impediment.

The market itself reminded me of Cairo’s Khan el-Khalili Bazaar. Hundreds of shops with spirited vendors. Of course, they didn’t have the wide-ranging command of European languages as their Egyptian counterparts, or the smooth familiarity with tourist trade. This was just our scouting mission so we only spent an hour or so. We knew we’d be back with our friends soon and didn’t want to attempt those sidewalks after dark.

Dinner, a short nap and we found Dan and Carolann had just arrived. We all sampled the local brew and caught up on each other’s latest Asian adventures. We’d been in regular contact by email for some time, so we started out pretty much on the same page. We decided to spend our time together in Bagan - an ancient area with an unbelievable concentration of temples. We’d seek a suitable vehicle and driver to take us there and see Myanmar countryside in the process .

The next day Monet suggested he could fill our transportation needs, and we returned to the Market, this time by taxi. Debbie had read in one of the blogs that eyeglasses were a bargain here, and she found a shop in short order. Dan picked up a pair of prescription sunglasses, while I got bifocals and, a first for me, a pair of computer glasses. They are set for a focal distance a little further out than reading lenses. My total bill was $135, and they would all be ready by closing time. We headed off to lunch beside the lovely Inya Lake in central Yangon. A most impressive recreation of a massive Royal barge boasted a restaurant, but we arrived to learn it only served dinner, with a show I think. After dining at a lakeside café and a stroll by the lake we headed back to the Motherland.

Monet had found us a twenty year old Toyota van (pre-Previa) with an English-speaking driver named Thi Ha (meaning The Lion, we later learned). At $180 per couple for five days, the rate was a little more than expected, especially given the questionable reliability of the aged vehicle, but Monet assured us it was a good deal. Attempts at negotiation were unsuccessful. Thi Ha explained he was an employee and it wasn’t his van. He would only earn $7 a day for driving. The fee included all fuel, tolls and driver expenses (food & lodging).

We knew the trip to Bagan was long and rough in places. Before committing, we hired Thi Ha for the balance of the day as an extended test drive. He returned us to the market for the glasses, then on to the impressive Schwe Dagon temple complex in time for sunset. Dan cleverly did some comparison shopping among the drivers waiting in the temple parking area, and confirmed we weren’t getting fleeced. Over dinner back at the Motherland, we signed a contract with The Lion and paid a 50% deposit.

5. The Road to Bagan (Jan. 15 & 16)

Leaving in high spirits after breakfast, we headed north and before long were in farming country. Thi Ha masterfully navigated around rural traffic - wooden carts piled high with wood or produce drawn by horses, cattle, oxen or the occasional mini-tractor. Before too long, Dan requested a stop. His keen photographer’s eye caught a photogenic residence. I held back, a bit unsure how we’d be accepted, while he boldly strode to the primitive farmhouse, camera in hand, and through smiles and gestures, made his interests known. This routine was old hat for our well-traveled companions. Dan captured the serious images on his impressive Sony SLR while Carolann produced her trusty Polaroid. The family was delighted to receive instant images of themselves, and soon a group of curious neighbours had gathered. Debbie broke out balloons for the children, and we left with everyone pleased from the encounter.

Increased pedestrian and vehicular traffic always signaled one of innumerable villages ahead. Skinny yellow dogs would sleep on the warm pavement, unconcerned with the traffic flowing respectfully around them. The size and diversity of cargo hauled by people and vehicles was a constant amazement. Bicycles, carts, pickups and full-sized trucks were usually laden with goods or passengers to overflowing, and then that much again was piled on. Miraculously, nothing ever seemed to tip over or fall off!

Every now and then I’d be roused from my travel stupor by a blaring loudspeaker. It would come from a little roadside stand under a tree. Thi Ha explained it was a request for donations for the local temple or some such building project. I never saw anyone stop. We didn’t even stop for the incredibly frequent toll stations. Thi Ha was making time and would slow only enough to slap a small bill in an outstretched palm, if he was feeling charitable. More often, the bill would be released to avoid the sting of contact at speed, and the toll-taker would scramble after the swirling paper. I asked him what would happen if he didn’t pay and just drove through. He really couldn’t grasp the concept of such a rebellious act. The continued survival of the unpopular government started to make sense.

In my experience, Myanmar’ traffic conventions are unique in one very basic aspect. Apparently it is decreed by the government that all vehicles should be right-hand drive, yet they must travel on the right side of the road! The only advantage I see in such an arrangement would be in paying these roadside tolls. It certainly makes passing a challenge, and passing large, slow vehicles with oncoming traffic happens a lot. The cooperative nature of Myanmar motorists makes the best of this dangerous situation. Thi Ha will announce his presence with a toot of the horn as we approach a truck. The truck will not move aside until it is safe for him to do so (due to pedestrians, pot holes) and there are no oncoming vehicles. When passing is possible, the truck moves to the right and it’s left turn signal comes on. Thi Ha moves left to visually confirm safe passage and overtakes the truck. There seems to be no ego involved in driving here.

We pulled into the town of Pyay late that afternoon and inspected the two-storey Smile hotel. It was only $13, but pretty basic, and had one of the steepest staircases I’ve encountered to the rooms upstairs. We were reluctant, but after viewing the town’s only alternative, we quickly booked the Smile.

With a couple of hours of daylight remaining, we headed for the local hilltop temple complex called Schwesandaw. It’s one of the country’s principal pilgrimage sites, with a main stupa to rival Yangon’s, and an immense statue of a seated Buddha watching over the site. We happily snapped photos until someone approached us to collect the “camera tax”.

We needed an early start for the second leg of our journey. Thi Ha advised us that it would be a little further and a lot slower than the previous day as the road was very poor in several places. When a local says the road is poor, you worry!

At our comfort stop, I noticed a few varieties of Myanmar whiskey for sale. Thi Ha said it was quite decent to his taste, and the owner poured samples. It was pretty smooth, and I actually preferred the taste of the cheaper ones. At $2 for a 750 ml bottle, I bought one for me and one for our driver. Given the state of the roads, I thought he’d need some that evening.

Whiskey is almost cheaper than diesel fuel on the black market. Everyone gets a very small monthly quota of fuel - only a few gallons - and no where near enough to operate a tour bus. Black market sales operate openly and quite profitably. One often sees little roadside stands with five-gallon drums and a selection of funnels. The rate seems to be about double the official price, but a desperate driver is just glad to find it. I started to understand the rate Thi Ha quoted.

It took about 12 hours to reach Bagan and Thi Ha was exhausted by the constant vigilance required to bounce through the potholes without damaging the poor old van.

6. Temple Central (Jan. 17 & 19)

Knowing we would be arriving late, Thi Ha had phoned ahead and reserved rooms at what turned out to be a lovely oasis called the Kaday Aung Hotel in New Bagan. At $20 per night, Thi Ha negotiated very well for us. The pool was lovely, although we never got a chance to try it. Dinner that first night featured a traditional puppet show. These cultural presentations seldom ring my bell, and this was typical. The breakfast buffet offered brewed coffee and fresh fruit along with eggs, rolls and such.

Rested and fed, we were ready to temple down.

Like many of Myanmar’s principal tourist regions, there is a government fee charged. For Bagan, it was $20. No one asked to see proof of payment during our entire stay, or in any other tourist region for that matter, so it seems to operate on the honour system.

Debbie had done her homework. After countless hours on the internet and in travel guides, she had her temple list in hand. The three-star items were “must sees”. Two-star were possibles, where more information or easy access would make them worth a look. Thi Ha, an old hand at touring Bagan, seemed impressed by her selections.

I won’t go into details on the individual temples. It’s reported there remain at least 2000, about half of the original number constructed in the 11^th to 13^th centuries, covering some 42 sq. km. of Irrawaddy River plain. They come in all sizes, many different shapes and styles, and a variety of finishes and colours. We saw hundreds, inspected dozens and entered or climbed several over the next few days. Many we had to ourselves, while others were shared with Europeans, often on tour buses.

A few sites are popular and spacious enough to support a collection of vendors. They offered little of any interest to us, with the exception of the odd picture or bit of jewellery. Postcards and little carvings were common. They could be mildly annoying at times, but generally good-natured. You had to appreciate their desperate circumstances. Not knowing our nationality, the odd one would request we change a Euro coin to local currency. We discovered they had likely asked a previous tourist for a souvenir coin from their homeland, and were now trying to convert it into something they could use.

We encountered a number of French, plus Germans, Dutch, Italians and Aussies/Kiwis to lesser degrees. Of the few Canadians we encountered most were from Quebec. Dan, a trained linguist and native of Northern Ontario, was in his element. Americans and British were relatively rare.

Shoes are removed in (and on) all temples. Most surfaces were reasonably clean and smooth from constant use, but sometimes heat was an issue in direct sunlight. We also dressed modestly, as one would in a European cathedral. Interiors were seldom elaborately decorated in Bagan’s ancient structures, but a few of the Buddha images were impressive.

Outside one of the temples, a group of young local men were engaged in a pick-up exhibition of the ancient national sport called “Chinlone”. This means “cane ball” after the only piece of equipment needed.. The play looks similar to Hacky-Sack. The ball is a hollow sphere of rattan, not fully enclosed, about six inches in diameter. It is really a non-competitive art performed solo or in teams, ideally of six. Just before leaving Canada, I’d caught a CBC Radio interview with Greg Hamilton, director of a film (The Mystic Ball) on this sport and his passion for it. I’ve always considered Dan a natural athlete. After just a few moments on the sidelines, he joined the circle and showed that Mr. Hamilton wasn’t the only Canuck with talent for the game.

On our second day we headed out of Bagan to two nearby sites, Mt. Popa to the east, and the town of Salay to the south. Mount Popa is geographically impressive. Said to be the core of an extinct volcano, it rises dramatically from the surrounding plain like Devils Tower in Wyoming (remember Close Encounters ...). Crowning the peak is a complex of stupas and monasteries, and an impressive view of the surrounding plain. Getting there (ie. the half-hour climb to the top) is only a small fraction of the fun. You see, they have a lot of rude monkeys that are not temple trained. Remember the barefoot-in-the-temple rule? The hundreds of steps to the top are all considered too sacred for shod feet, but not for monkey poop. We went through a lot of handy-wipes on that excursion! If you get there someday, look for pieces of petrified wood along the roadways. I didn’t read about that until we’d left.

Salay is a small town with a big soul - or at least 50 or so active monasteries. We concentrated on a lovely teak one dating from the 1880's with renovations within the last fifteen years to protect the intricate wooden carvings. Inside are several museum pieces from the 17^th and 18^th centuries. The town is also known for its examples of British colonial architecture. That evening, Thi Ha borrowed a guitar and serenaded us by the pool w/ hurtin’ tunes. He knocked back the whiskey while I tried betelnut for the first and final time. I only lasted ten minutes at most before sneaking off and spitting the astringent red juice into the shrubs for another five minutes.

Next day was our last with Dan and Carolann, and she was still keen on lacquerware. I had never appreciated that Burma is the global centre for this craft, and the Bagan region is the country’s main producer. Lacquerware starts from coils of bamboo with several layers of polished and decorated black varnish. The tree which supplies the varnish is native to the region, and it has been produced in this area for two centuries. Formal schools were established in the 1920's to support the industry.

Thi Ha drove us into town to the workshops and sales outlets. As we entered the workshops, the managers thoughtfully turned on the electric lights so we could see the intricate hand work being performed. Men and women of all ages were engaged in the many stages of producing this lovely product. How they managed such detailed processes without this illumination was a mystery!

That afternoon, our friends were taken to the airport and we prepared ourselves for an early start in the morning,

7. Upriver to Mandalay (Jan 20)

Well before dawn on Saturday morning we settled our accounts and had our last ride with Thi Ha to the ferry. You’ll note I did not say “ferry dock” as there isn’t one despite the daily service which has existed for years. I suspect this is due to the significant annual flooding of the Irrawaddy River. Laden with luggage, we scamble down a steep and significant bank in darkness and navigate an inclined ten inch wide plank system from the shore to the ferry, spanning perhaps fifteen feet of water.

The ferry is a pleasant surprise in many ways. It is large, clean and relatively modern. The ship has several sections on two public levels. There is a small restaurant with good food, snacks and beer, and a number of lounges both inside and out. Well padded reclining seats were most welcome as we tried to make up for the early wake-up. Best of all, the boat was practically empty - fifteen to twenty passengers on a ship built for perhaps a hundred. Good thing, as the upriver leg takes thirteen hours (only ten downstream). We heard that most people opt for the opposite journey, but I’m glad we were contrary. It even costs less ($12 pp). River traffic was light, but included barges loaded with teak logs and all manner of smaller vessels. Much of the shoreline was broad, desolate floodplain with the odd temporary tent community.

There were only three short stops along the way, but the middle one was memorable. Vendors came to the shore offering food and souvenirs, but from even the lower passenger deck it was a long way down. Somehow goods were hurled up and cash floated down in a mutually satisfactory fashion. I watched several people buy bananas (love them little bananas) from a young lady and hollered “how much?” when she was below me. To my surprise, she replies with a bunch of bananas. She must have been tired by now because they did not reach me. For the first time they fell short, half splashed in the river and the remainder bounced off the side of the ship and landed off-limits among the coiled hawsers and winches near the bow below.

She demands payment. I have no bananas. She becomes quite agitated and I don’t even know how much it will take to settle her down. By now the entire ship’s manifest and riverside village population are rivetted on our exchange. And the boat starts to leave... The woman is now shrieking at me. I grab a few bills and try tossing them down. They flutter into the water and are quickly churned under as we pull away. I am now dealing with a banshee.

Just to complete my embarrassment, I glance up and see the ship’s officers and crew on the bridge enjoying the show immensely. Hoping someone speaks English, I ask how much would be fair for the bananas. The Captain smiles and says 200 Khat.. He dispatches a deckhand to retrieve the bananas below, and I give the Captain payment to pass on to the lady on the return leg next day. A cheap price to be able to show my face on deck for the next seven hours! The final insult - they were miniature plantains rather than the sweet fruit I had assumed.

We pulled into Mandalay well after sunset and once again survived the gangplank. The bank seemed even higher here, and choked with touts grabbing at the luggage to secure our taxi fare. We had heard that taxis to town were relatively expensive, but took a hard line and managed to negotiate a reasonable price with a third traveller to the downtown hotel area.

8. Three Dark Nights in Mandalay (Jan 20 - 22)

I recall that Dan & Carolann learned to avoid evening arrivals in strange places without reservations. Tonight I was to learn why. The trusty Lonely Planet Guide gave us a short list of preferred lodgings and we were dropped off at our top pick sometime after 8 pm. It was full. Runners-up were a few blocks away, but Mandalay suffers chronic electrical blackouts which, coupled with the crowds, traffic and pavement ranging from poor to dangerous, made evening trips extra exciting. Our fourth try was also unsuccessful, but they suggested the nearby Classic Hotel likely had a room. It did, and even though our six floor climb (never an elevator) was relatively pricey, we booked it thankfully. Sleep came quickly that night.

No electricity means no hot water, so showers were brief and refreshing. Breakfast was served on the roof (a bit chilly this far north) and the hot meal was miraculously prepared with little real cooking equipment. After two nights we found better space for less money at the Royal Guest House.

We learned that a new capital is being built from scratch between Mandalay and Yangon. Since returning home, I’ve learned it is to be called Naypyitaw meaning “abode of the ancient rulers”. As an incentive for relocating civil servants, it receives 24 hour services, resulting in shortages in Mandalay and elsewhere. The only justification we heard for a new capital was “security reasons”. I’ve since heard the safety threat relates to the government opposition being potentially strongest in the old capital. No one we spoke to thought it was a good application of scarce resources . The new airport at Yangon will only handle domestic flights in future, and the disruption for government worker families will be enormous (double incomes are the rule).

We made regular use of our flashlights to get around after dark, but once we’d had dinner and lingered over an extra beer, there was nothing to do. Even reading was difficult. We found ourselves sleeping ten to twelve hours just waiting for the next icy shower.

Mandalay, the last royal capital of Burma, sounds so exotic that I probably expected too much. The Palace is overwhelming from the outside. Check out Mandalay on Google Earth and you can’t miss this immense walled square covering about 150 downtown blocks, completely surrounded by a two hundred and fifty foot wide moat and two miles of 25 foot high walls. We were surprised and disappointed to learn that the inside held little interest - historic buildings had been destroyed by fire during Japanese occupation. Forced labour in the last two decades had produced tacky reconstruction and the space served largely as military barracks.

We did see a number of interesting sites outside the city. For $20 we hired a “Blue Taxi” for the day. These tiny, ancient Mazda pickups are all painted blue, with a rear cap over two wood benches in the cargo bed. If there’s any suspension, I missed it, so within an hour on the rough roads, I was fidgeting. We stopped at the sculpting district on the way out of town. People of all ages worked in marble and other materials producing mostly Buddas of all sizes. Chips, dust and noise filled the air from simple chisels to power tools. Several other craft items, tin, brass, wood, etc. were also available.

Amarapura is an old capital area just outside Mandalay. There are the expected temples and monasteries, but the most unique feature is U Bein’s Bridge, a 200 year old teak footbridge. Over a thousand teak posts, rising several meters, span over a kilometer of shallow lake. Vendors are numerous at this popular tourist site, but all were polite if sometimes intense. Debbie was engaged by a young woman who walked with her for the entire time answering her many questions. Only when we left did she modestly offer her jade jewellery for consideration.

I was most impressed with a young salesman, maybe nine years old, who conversed well in English, but seemed equally fluent in several European languages and claimed a few Asian tongues including Japanese. I didn’t doubt him. One has to wonder what such skill and drive could produce with the opportunities we take for granted.

One item here was most disturbing. A few vendors had caged, wild birds. Songbirds, baby owls and one hawk that seemed near death were held in wicker enclosures. The scam was to buy a bird’s freedom and receive a blessing. Such a heartbreak! You want to free them all but in no way want to support the practice. We were told that this was a Hindu, not a Buddhist venture. I considered engaging the vendor in a moral debate - something like if freeing the bird brings blessings, what is the effect of capturing and confining them? A futile expression of frustration, I suppose.

We moved on to Inwa, an even older capital city spanning the fourteenth to nineteenth centuries. We reached it by a small ferry and then hired a horsecart, the only way to see the scattered sites. Time was getting tight, so we negotiated a reduced fare to skip most of the routine payas to concentrate on a 200 year old teak monastery named Bagaya Kyaung. There’s a special feel to these old wooden structures, still in use, built on massive posts. During our visit we were fortunate to see how palm fronds are harvested from the trees. A man quickly climbs to the top and hacks off all but the innermost leaves which fall to a companion below with an oxcart. I was pleased to capture the process on a video clip, but alas it didn’t make it home. More on that later.

Back at the Blue Taxi, we were once again surrounded by vendors. Debbie had forestalled them on our arrival by promising her attention after our tour. As the mob closed in, she showed me a previously hidden talent. My bride became a commercial dominatrix. In just a moment she had everyone organized and quiet. One at a time they approached with their wares and their pitch. I don’t think Walmart buyers could do better. Watching from the sidelines, our driver seemed impressed by Mistress Debbie.

The return to Mandalay was quite taxing on my increasingly tender butt. We had just enough daylight to try Mandalay Hill, immediately north of the Palace, with the obligatory hilltop temple complex. We arrived with good intentions, but decided, at the end of a full day of sightseeing, to give it a pass. Turned out it was almost closing time when we arrived. Our little “blue taxi” could not handle the drive up. Frankly, I can only take so many temples in one day and was not prepared to run up a few thousand steps to rush through yet another.

Although a little more expensive than Yangon, and suffering the difficulties of infrequent electricity, Mandalay did have it’s pluses. The best internet service was here - a little outlet called Net Addict near the southwest corner of the Palace. Cheap, fast and helpful staff. got some of the few successful emails back home and backed up photos from camera to a USB Flashdrive.

Unlike Yangon, scooters and motorcycles are allowed in Mandalay. Traffic is busy, but works surprisingly well. While I didn’t get fully into the groove as a pedestrian, I did develop a sense of its rhythm. Only the most major intersections had traffic controls of some kind. Coming into the city centre by taxi I was amazed to realize that we never fully stopped. There was a basic understanding and cooperation at work at every intersection that manifested in a Burmese “musical ride”. On reflection, we never saw a traffic mishap in the entire journey, and not a single sign of aggression or frustration, let alone rage, on the Myanmar roads. In some ways it is easier to deal with traffic than the sidewalks. Debbie took her concentration off her foot placement just for a moment and earned a painful sprain from the unpredictable surface.

I’m almost embarrassed to share our discovery and use of Seven Diamonds Travel Service in Mandalay. We dropped in to their office innocently enough, just to see about delaying our departure from Yangon to Bangkok. Myanmar was going so much better than Thailand, why not maximize our time here? That was accomplished quickly, and our most gracious agent asked about our future plans. He was smooth. We later learned he was one of the “Seven Diamonds”, managing family partners (Indian heritage, I think) in a chain of Travel Agencies around the country.

We left with pre-booked flights from Mandalay to Inle Lake, Inle Lake to Ngapoli Beach, and Ngapoli Beach to Yangon with hotels arranged for four nights at a beach resort and one night at an upscale hotel in Yangon. He threw in an early morning shuttle to Mandalay airport, and we got a very good exchange rate for local currency. Somehow I felt we were wimping out - this seemed too easy. The big plus was certainty, on two fronts. We had a framework to plan our activities, knowing we would get where we wanted to be. And we prepaid everything so we could budget the balance so much easier with these “big ticket” items accounted for. Also the exposure of carrying huge piles of cash about is greatly reduced.

The wonderful folks at the Royal Guest House let us store our biggest bags during our three day side trip to Hsipaw, and arranged a share taxi for the trip next morning.

9. Hsipaw - a Real, Nice Town (Jan 23 - 27)

From early on, Debbie wanted to venture northeast of Mandalay to the tiny hill town of Namhsam, “Switzerland of Myanmar”. The larger town of Hsipaw, five hours away by car, would be the staging centre. The last 80 km to Namhsam was reported to take between six hours and a few days!

Five hours in a share taxi can feel like twice that. Our ride was typical, a large driver and 4 hefty western tourists in a 20 year old Corolla wagon with little surviving suspension from the wheels to the seats. We had an extra constraint - the lady of the Dutch couple with us had a bad knee and had to occupy the front seat for the entire trip. As was the custom, she’d paid a little extra and booked the front seat in advance. We had hoped this wouldn’t be the case and we could rotate seating positions for a little relief. As it was, we took turns enduring the “hump” in the middle rear. Mercifully there was a stop along the way.

It was a steady uphill journey with many switchbacks. The most dramatic section of road involved the Gokteik Gorge. Traversing this substantial geological cleft must have taken half an hour or more of descents and climbs. We would have quite a different perspective on our return.

Most of the visitors to Hsipaw stay at Mr. Charles’ Guesthouse, and after our experience in Mandalay, we had reserved a room. At $20 it proved substantially pricier than the Lonely Planet guide suggested, but it was clean, modern, spacious and had an interesting view over a residential neighbourhood. We finally had a tub/shower w/ curtain! It was in a large new high rise addition. Mr. Charles seemed to be doing well. When we booked from Mandalay, they asked where we were staying. We concluded they determined how much you could afford based on your answer.

We dined that first night at Mr. Food - the popular Chinese establishment all the tourists frequent. The food is hot, tasty and plentiful, the staff is friendly and attentive, they serve the most delightful little complimentary peanuts, but I think it’s the draft beer that really nails it. Outside of Yangon, their Dagon lager is the only draft we found. It was good and we became regulars.

Another storied town character is Mr. Book. Debbie’s blog research had indicated he was the man to arrange trips to Namhsam, among many other services. We found his little shop - a roadside stall really, and mentioned our interest. Over an hour later we managed to disengage, but learned that he was officially forbidden (he showed us the handwritten order) from a number of activities including the tour services we sought. It seemed there was bad blood with Mr. Charles, and Mr. Charles was well connected with the political authorities. Mr. Book was a loyal monarchist and democratic supporter.

This pretty much put an end to dreams of seeing Namhsam. The only way now was to book seats in Mr. Charles’ jeep for almost $200 per person, and we’d be left with very little time there at best. There was a real chance we would be delayed enough to miss our flight to Inle Lake. From what we’d learned about Mr. Charles, it was decided he wouldn’t get any more foreign currency from us. We spent next morning checking out alternate accommodations. We picked the better of the two, the Nam Khae Mao Guest House and snagged the biggest room in the place, on the main floor, for $10 a night.

It was run down, but the staff were like family. We’d return from a day’s exploring and be brought complimentary tea and fresh pineapple. A fellow traveller was ill and they nursed her for days. We mentioned seeing Shan noodles and they brought them for our breakfast from a vendor across the street.

Electricity and hot water were still in very short supply, and the nights here were quite cool. One South African spent several hours mornings and evenings bundled in a blanket as he only brought shorts! Pants were sold for $2 in the market, but he went Navajo! The only other annoyance was our proximity to a temple or monastery with an active community outreach program. In their case, they reached out by way of a public address system sharing morning sermons well before dawn. In our few days there, we did not develop the subconscious filter to block this, like freight trains, from waking us.

The town was a delight - so laid back. We walked for hours seeing the main sites and side streets. One of our first stops was at The Black House for the best coffee of our trip. It’s a lovely retreat on the river and is owned by an Australian woman named Maureen. We heard it was for sale, and for a fleeting moment, we wondered ....

Another time we were admiring a house that also served as a medical clinic. Seeing us, the doctor came out and we eventually had a tour. He asked where we were staying and fortunately we were exuberant in describing our guest house. He beamed - turns out he owns it. He makes a point of hiring staff with difficulties - an orphan, a man missing a foot from a landmine, and so on.

We had seen lines of monks collecting alms early and late morning almost everywhere we’d been. From our seats at Mr. Food one afternoon we first saw the pink-robed female monks, or nuns, making the rounds of the shopkeepers. It was interesting to learn that, while the men got food, the women were given ingredients! They all sang a delightful little blessing in thanks.

It took an entire afternoon to track down the infamous Popcorn Factory north of town through a maze of intersecting, unmarked dirt paths. In frustration, Debbie called out to a farmer if we were headed in the right direction and he answered that we had arrived!

The matriarch was delightful. A former teacher, she invested in the equipment many years ago to provide gainful employment for the family. We were treated to a demonstration of the popcorn “cannon”, and saw the family members packaging the product for sale in little cellophane packets. The “cannon” is a cast iron, pot-bellied pressure vessel about 20 inches high. It is loaded with dried corn, baking powder and flavourings, heated over a fire to a specified pressure, then pointed into a small bamboo-walled room. The top is released and the contents explode into the room where it is gathered up off the floor for packaging.

Another day we rented a motorbike (for under $10 including gas) to explore the surrounding countryside. Hadn’t ridden a motorcycle in over twenty years but the little Chinese copy of a 90 cc Honda step-thru was very forgiving. We only found half of the intended sites, but picked up a few extra including a waterwheel generator at a river crossing. We had been directed to hike to a waterfall, but had trouble finding the way. Luckily we asked a man at a lumberyard and he pointed across the plain to a reddish ribbon on a distant ridge. That would be it if there was any water!

Debbie visited the market more than once. For a small town, it was a substantial operation. There was also a night market adjacent to the regular one for fresh farm products, but much of it packed up before dawn. If you couldn’t find it there, it probably wasn’t available outside of Mandalay. There was even a dentist booth with a foot treadle drill. My teeth hurt just looking at it!

I found a goldsmith willing to exchange currency at a reasonable rate, and was struck by the quality and value of his creations. When Debbie checked it out, she too was impressed and we found an unusual 24 k gold bracelet we fancied. It was expensive, so we went for a walk. Our Doctor friend was around the corner and when consulted, he vouched for the integrity of the goldsmith. We did the math and figured we could safely part with the cash.

The Lonely Planet says visitors find this town addictive. We were no exception. This place struck that magic balance between tourist acceptance and genuine local activity. We tried to book a share taxi back with great reluctance on two counts - desire to stay and dread of the awful ride. Booking the train to Mandalay solved our problem with a new adventure. Despite an early start and a very long ride, we were going to cross the famous Gokteik Viaduct!

Before leaving, we had tried to secure a supply of the peanuts used by Mr. Food. He suggested a supplier, but our best efforts all over town turned up nothing. At our last dinner, we mentioned our failure and he said he would gladly sell us some. He would bring a bag for us first thing next morning and we would just have time to drop in on the way to the train. We got there early, but he was late. In desperation I took all the bags and headed off to buy our tickets. It took some time to walk to the station, and buying the tickets required Debbie’s passport and pristine American currency (I lacked both). Long story short, we just made it. Mr. Food finally arrived, without the nuts, but immediately headed back home to get them over Debbie’s pleas not to bother. Now she was stuck waiting further. ps. The nuts were so good I almost made myself sick!

Our return to Mandalay proved more of an adventure than hoped. For $6 we each got dedicated first class seats. First class means your wooden bench has 3/4 inches of foam on the seat, and limits the amount of standing room. We shared our section with a pair of communications workers up from Yangon. They were very engaging and advised us on which vendor offerings might be of interest. Vendors would get on the train at one stop, then off at the next as more got on. Vendors also patrolled the stopped cars with a variety of food, and in a few cases, small firewood logs! Did people brew their own tea in the second class cars, I wondered?

After several hours we reached the Viaduct. Thir steel bridge was built for the British in 1903 by the Pennsylvania Steel Co. in just nine months. It was the third highest railway bridge in the world. As we approach it, I’m reading that it came with insurance so maintenance was minimal, and that the area around the bridge is full of land mines to discourage saboteurs! Heights seldom bother me, but I felt a little vertigo leaning out the window. There were no restraining sides! I’m looking straight down. The train is moving at a glacial pace. The panic rises - we obviously don’t want to stress the old girl, but can we please get some ground under us?!

Finally, yet all too soon, it was over. As we pulled into the halfway town of Puin U Lwin, our new friends started gathering up their gear. They had decided to trade in 6 more hours of train for two hours of taxi to Mandalay. On impulse we asked to join them. This might allow us to arrive back at our hotel before sunset.

We learned share taxis aren’t the most crowded road transport. Pick-up taxis are just that. An old Japanese pick-up (Ford Ranger size at most) with a reinforced open tailgate and a steel superstructure over a cargo bed full of benches and stools. I never thought it would be possible to load so much on to a mini half-ton truck! We started out with about twenty adults and a lot of luggage including a bicycle. A monk was allotted a spot up front and rode free. We were flagged down several times and somehow ended up with net increases in passengers. I think the peak was 26! Soon we are screaming down the switchbacks to the Mandalay plain. Now the backfires really come on, and the lack of a muffler distracted me from considering the stress on the brakes and the high centre of gravity. Where else can you have this much excitement for $2?

10. Inle Lake Area (Jan 28 - 31)

Our luggage retrieved and a last night spent at the Royal, we left early for Mandalay airport and flew to Heho, air gateway to Inle Lake. Finally - a relatively late model Camry with working A/C for the ride to Nyaungshwe, the major town near the lake. The trip is listed as just 11 km., but seems to take forever on the poor, crowded roads. We checked in to the Gold Star Hotel and went out in search of a Mr. Atun to see about a trek into the hill country. Debbie was determined not to miss her last chance at seeing hill tribes after losing out on Namhsam.

We found him an entertaining character, surprisingly irreverent for this culture. We booked a two-day trek to start next morning (just $20 each incl. meals and accommodation), and an immediate afternoon boat tour of the lake for $8 each. We paid a little above the usual rate to get a shorter tour. Sound strange? We’d been tipped to request this arrangement and skip the usual tourist traps where guides get referral fees to bring prospective customers to the shops. We concentrated on lake activities and only a few select businesses. They included a goldsmith operation and a special place that weaves silk and produces a unique material from lotus leaf fibre. We also got to see cheroot manufacture. A cheroot is a small cigar-type item of chopped cheroot leaves wrapped in a tobacco leaf. Supposedly a smooth, mild smoke. I was tempted, but unlike beetle nuts, didn’t sample them.

Life on this lake is fascinating. The lake itself is over 20 km long, half as wide and from what we saw, often quite shallow. The bottom and shorelines are a mass of vegetation, and the surrounding hills present impressive backdrops from every angle. Several communities exist on the lake in village complexes built on high stilts. Fishing , farming, craft/cottage industries and now tourism support hundreds of families in this picturesque setting.

Few things are done in the normal way. People hop in their small boats the way we’d slip on our shoes. All structures are suspended high enough to avoid all but the worst flood levels. Electricity is strung across the water on scaffold-like wooden structures. Farming involves building up massive floating bog fields and topping them with earth. The area is renowned for fine tomatoes. We saw several boats harvesting water plants from the bottom and, laden to the gunwales with vegetation, heading for the fields with the compost material.

The fisherman will casually demonstrate their unique traditional method of “leg-rowing” for passing tourists. Perched on the tiny flat platform at the end of their shallow dugouts, they free both hands for handling their bell-shaped nets by hooking their leg around an oar and fine tuning the boat’s position. Long-tail motor boats are increasingly used, but no large craft were seen.

The town of Nyaungshwe is linked to the lake by what seems to be a canal about three kilometres long. It is the tourist hub for the area with many guest houses and restaurants. Oddly, they all seemed to feature Italian food, pizza in particular. They all told the same story too: each one claimed to have studied under an Italian chef visiting the area some years ago. Everyone in town must have been in the same class! We tried the pizza once and it was recognizable, but all the Italian offerings seemed pricey compared to the usual fare. Perhaps the ingredient cost.

Bright and early Monday morning we headed off for our two-day adventure in the hills east of Inle Lake. A German couple in their late twenties shared the young guide. We didn’t have proper backpacks, but made do travelling light with shoulder bags. Debbie wasn’t feeling 100% that morning, but was not about to cancel. The first two hours were not strenuous and we passed through local villages and some caverns with Buddhist trappings and, in one case, a resident monk who served us tea. Along the way we encountered a mother with infant and innocently asked the baby's name. We learned the child was not yet old enough to be named. I can only think delaying this personalization for several months (five months if I'm not mistaken) is related to the infant mortality rate.

The temperature rose and the incline steepened. Another two hours and Debbie was in pain. The trails were narrow stream beds comprised of nasty rocks jutting out of fine, powdered earth. There was no shade or relief from the incline, so we took more frequent one-minute breaks for air and water. My wife was determined to keep up despite her suffering. I was most impressed, and to be honest, extremely thankful that this trek had not been my idea. About 2 pm we reached a village where a local hot lunch was prepared for us in a native home. During preparation, Debbie curled into a ball and tried to gather her remaining resources for the trials ahead.

It was a real education to observe the local domestic routines. The home was three rooms with bamboo and woven palm frond panel walls and wood plank floors. It was all on a second storey level supported by stout poles. There was no furniture to speak of. The rear room was for cooking and family eating, though as guests, we ate separately in the middle room. A full range of cutting and chopping implements hung on one wall. The front room seemed to be sleeping quarters, based on the piles of blankets by the wall. The area below housed a very long drying oven - 15 to 20 feet of covered trench in the dirt floor. Firewood in the form of long poles would be fed in from an exposed end at the outside wall. As they burned, fruits and such would be laid out to dry above the long, narrow fire.

Fresh ingredients were gathered from the adjoining garden. Our meal was prepared over a compact wood fire built on a cement-like pad built into the floor near the room’s centre. I was surprised that there was no chimney or other apparent ventilation excepting crude, shuttered windows in each room. The walls showed the effect of repeated cooking fires. Rice and garden vegetables including beans and leafy greens were served out in individual portions. Despite a lack of seasonings, it was a most welcome repast, accompanied by tea.

I was worried for Debbie, but she struck out with renewed stubbornness. Whenever she could, she would pull ahead of the pack and take recuperative breaks without holding anyone up. Luckily we were only a few hours from our evening destination and the terrain was more varied. We actually could appreciate the scenery, meadows, hills and the odd village and monastery, on our way to another hospitable family.

Our overnight lodgings were quite similar, but somewhat larger than the mid-day stop. They also had a few pieces of furniture, but nothing to sit upon. I got quite uncomfortable no matter what position I tried, and I tried ‘em all! While Debbie gathered her strength, I hiked off to a nearby hilltop with the Germans to catch the sunset over Inle Lake. Back at the lodgings, the guide showed me a local game something like our crokinole, but on a square table with no pegs or centre hole.

The dinner was again basically a vegetarian affair, only with eggs included. They were masters at juggling several items over one small flame. It was delicious, but I suspect our active day had something to do with that.

At bed time the family brought out piles of heavy blankets for both mattress and covers, and strung mosquito netting. I think the netting was what they normally used themselves. The evening chill should have discouraged our flying foe, but their country, their rules! Debbie was still indisposed and we were up several times through the night. I had real problems with the hard surface despite the blankets. Any movement raised clouds of dust which led to watery eyes, clogged sinuses and if we did nod off from sheer exhaustion, heavy snoring in the crowded hut.

By morning Debbie’s condition had not improved. This was a long way from fun and we didn’t want to risk being a further burden on our fellow travelers. We arranged a direct trip down with the family’s teenage son after breakfast. If you’ve ever descended for a prolonged period, you’ll remember the burning front leg muscles.

Along the way we witnessed graphic displays of local strength and determination. Pairs of men ranging from their 20's to middle age passed us from time to time steadily climbing the rocky trails wearing flip-flops and a smile. Each man carried a pair of giant wicker baskets slung on a long shoulder pole. They were filled with some large, unknown vegetable material that looked like cream-coloured mushrooms over a foot in diameter. With no one available to translate, we never learned what it was, but believe they indicated it would be processed into whiskey.

In a little over two hours we got to an unknown town on the shore of Inle Lake. Our young guide negotiated a water taxi back to our town, and in another hour we were back at the Gold Star retrieving our luggage and checking in to a new room. We got some medication into Debbie, and by the evening, she had enough strength to share pizza and beer al fresco near the hotel.

Over breakfast the next morning we had a chance to chat at length with the lady managing the hotel. Her English was quite good and we learned she moved to this job from the distant town of Kawlaw as her husband was disabled and she was the sole breadwinner. She had put her daughter through university, but she could not find work in her field. This was an all-to-common story throughout the country. She seemed the picture of quiet control in her head scarf typical of the Shan tribe.

When we tried to improve our vocabulary and pronunciation, we got a glimpse of why the country was so appealing. After several similar queries, I realized I had a glaring gap in my basic word repertoire. I asked how one says “no”. She was at a loss. Wondering how my question could be unclear, I tried another tack: “Suppose we meet on the street. I tell you I am looking for the temple, and ask is it up ahead? In fact, the temple is the opposite direction. What would you tell me?” Her reply: “Yes, the temple is behind you”. We talked about this and learned that her culture always strives to the positive. I don’t know if this is a reflection of the Buddhist faith or more tribal. When I suggested her western clients must seem incredibly bad mannered with our foreign value system and aggressiveness, she did allow we provided opportunities to practice their tolerant values.

There were a few hours to tour the town before leaving for the airport. Debbie was quite taken with the town market - a busy and colourful collection of stalls selling almost everything one might need in close-packed stalls. As in Hsipaw, fresh flowers and produce were prevalent. One shop had what might have been termed antiques. The swords tempted, but some items were just bizarre, like the violin with a tin horn replacing the wooden body.

Another area served as a recycling depot. The debris raked out of the open sewers was deposited on a vacant lot to dry. Several women sifted through the material sorting anything useful into common piles ready to be taken away - plastics, metals, compost, combustibles and hopefully the odd small treasure.

The last-minute shopping at the small airport in Heho was a surprise. Debbie picked up a couple of very practical hats for the sunny days ahead, and a dish I believe. I, however, was appalled at the price of bottled water. We got a second surprise talking to an elderly German couple heading for Bagan with a tour party. They were traveling throughout Myanmar playing golf! I hadn’t really twigged to the plentiful supply of courses at the places we’d been. Our new acquaintances assured us they were quite playable and they were enjoying their vacation immensely. .

11. R & R on Ngapoli Beach ( Jan. 31 - Feb. 3)

Debbie had most wisely decided we should finish our trip in a tropical paradise. The Royal Beach Club at the south end of Ngapoli Beach provided just that at a modest price. You can certainly pay more. Our pre-booked room was about the cheapest on the beach at $35 a night, less, we learned, if we had booked it ourselves. Next door, the Amati Resort ranges between $120 and $400. On hearing they had banana splits with fresh-made ice cream, we paid them a neighbourly visit. At $5 each, this was probably the most expensive food item we had in Myanmar, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

The resort was fairly basic. Our room was sort of a wooden condo cabin, a long way from air-tight, but the beds were comfortable. No hot water, but by now we were acclimatised. Realized I hadn’t had so many icy showers since the teenage years. Besides, the temperatures were warm, we bathed in the Bay of Bengal and just needed to rinse off the salt water. At the end of our stay, we were told that the hotel gladly delivered complimentary tubs of hot water to the rooms on request. Staff at all levels were wonderful. We learned the dining room staff typically worked from 7 am to 10 pm with one day off each month. We tipped well.

Breakfast buffets were long, languid affairs where we’d spend hours chatting with the retired pathologist from Martha’s Vineyard who was staying for months. Or the 40 year old Polish art restorer with the cute butt the good doctor was circling. Or the Montreal fireman. Or the French doctoral student (with an even cuter butt) collecting material on the local cultures for her thesis.

We were farthest from the airport at Thandwe, but closest to the active fishing village of Jade Taw. Strolls this direction showed men preparing their boats and even building new ones. Women worked collectively cleaning the nets at the shore. Acres of fish dried in the sun.

Inland it was a thriving town, but I only saw part of it. My rented bicycle lost a pedal partway into this long little metropolis and I had a warm walk home. Bands of children insisted on helping me push the crippled vehicle at various stages. I suspect this was a socially acceptable way to inspect the foreign devil more closely. No one suggested compensation for their services. I got to see a wedding reception and the parading of the happy couple through town - much like the horn-blowing affairs at home. It also appeared that official news was provided to the populace by loudspeaker traveling about on a cart. Maybe they were just promoting a new oxcart dealership!

I was unsuccessful finding anyone selling fruit juice to smooth out the local rum I’d bought. Be warned, after the excellent beer, stick with their whiskey - you can drink it straight. Many days we would start off with a shot, for medicinal purposes - I kid you not! My mix choice was restricted to very expensive Coca Cola (no local cola here) or recycled bottles of murky local fruit preparations. The frequent warnings of Dan and Carolann sprang to mind and I just couldn’t risk the downside possibilities. Thank you guys, I lived to tell the tale!

We usually had such a large, lengthy breakfast that lunch was redundant. Dinners at the resort were better than acceptable - in fact I met a well-healed couple from an upscale property on neutral ground and without knowing where I was staying, they praised the quality and value of our dining room. One special provided a whole large grilled Red Snapper for a few dollars. Our one venture to an independent roadside restaurant was a treat - the fresh barracuda centrepiece was excellent, but one small charge included appetizers, soup, three vegetables, dessert and coffee. We must have chosen well. We arrived early and were first to dine, but 40 minutes later they were lining up. The other spots we passed on the way home were pretty much deserted.

Just off the shore a bit south of us was a lovely restaurant on a small peninsula. At high tide it became an island, but wading in no more than two feet of ocean just made it special. It was entirely al fresco with great views of both the ocean and the beach. Along this stretch of sand the local vendors would set up shop each day. Debbie scoped them a few times and promised she would be back to see each one before we left. They trusted her words and joked with her each time we passed their impromptu mall. Her buying session was highly organized. She planned all her desires and offers in advance - I caught her reworking her notes several times. She tried to distribute purchases fairly between all of them. Each was dealt with in turn, and at the end, deals were struck with all but one. Debbie felt bad about this, and gave the woman some small items, I recall a hat for her child was one. The lady in turn gave Debbie some local tokens, and everyone seemed content.

My prize purchase was a pair of local machetes. The beach coconut vendor used one to open our purchase early in our stay and I was quite taken with their rustic design and effectiveness. When asked where I might buy one, he said he could get it for me. We negotiated a price and two days later he had brought two so I would have a choice. I owed a gift to the man who was minding our house in Wasaga and thought it might be the perfect item for him. I took both and each of us was delighted. At home, my friend was given pick of the litter. It was obvious I had chosen well.

All in all, Ngapoli was a ten. The beach itself rivalled those of the Carribean in beauty and utility. Factor in the warmth of the local population, the fascination of an ancient foreign culture and the overall value for money, and it would be worth flying halfway around the world even if this was the only place you went.

12. Last Night in Myanmar ( Feb. 4)

Our drive from the Yangon airport to the Parkview Summit Hotel was refreshingly tranquil. We had not appreciated the quality of the main roads and the absence of motorbikes when initially here. On reflection, Mandalay traffic was chaotic.

This was the classiest accommodation we experienced in Myanmar, and only cost us $40 through the travel agent. Our Lonely Planet Guide lists it as a high end facility priced at at least $50, so I had to believe his claim of an exclusive promotional rate. Even here, we were greeted with a welcome fruit drink in the impressive marble lobby. Our room had all the modern trappings and a wonderful view over the large People’s Park next to the Schwe Dagon temple complex. After dinner we would see the main golden paya lit up for the evening from the rooftop vantage patio.

As soon as we were settled, Debbie somehow found the energy for a final foray to the Aung San Market while I took advantage of the comprehensive internet services at the hotel’s Business Centre. Emails to and from home went well, but I couldn’t seem to connect either my camera cable or my USB Flashdrive to their computers. We did try to find reasonable accommodation near the new Bangkok Airport, without much success.

The hotel boasts a pool, fitness centre and a few tasteful shops featuring local artists. A string quartet entertained guests in the lobby that evening, and next day we very much enjoyed the traditional music of the “Saung Gauk”, a Burmese boat-shaped harp dating from the eighth century, and a bamboo xylophone. We seemed to be the only ones focussed on this gentle and talented artist.

I must confess that the restaurant was the crowning treat for a couple of foodies. This evening they offered a special buffet option. For $10 per person, the selection was amazing. The main courses, including shrimp & lamb, the salads and desserts were all first rate. But wait, they included quite decent self-serve wine, beer, and very good coffee. The equally impressive buffet brunch was included in the room rate. After weeks of pretty much the same basic Chinese rice and noodle dishes, it was heaven.

This hotel was perfect for our last night in Myanmar, just as the Motherland Inn was for our first. In each case it served to acclimatize us for the upcoming environment. At this juncture, we were ready for a little Western decadence.

13. Surviving Bangkok ( Feb. 5)

We had no hotel reservations for our brief stopover in Bangkok and had really hoped to get out early and avoid the problem. Cathay Pacific was polite, but firm - $200 US and we might get tickets changed for that evening. That price might be worth it but for the high cost of an extra night’s accommodation in Hong Kong. It’s an expensive city and we’d be at the market’s mercy arriving late evening. The only handy hotel we could find near the new Bangkok airport was outrageous, and we’d be leaving it at about 4:30 am. Believe it or not, we opted to stay put.

I’d never slept in an airport. It’s an experience. Technically I hardly “slept” there.

It’s a big, modern, beautiful terminal. The web is full of negative comments, largely on the operational matters and the isolated location. As an impromptu hostel, one could do a lot worse. Too bad most of the great shops are past the check-in counters, and closed overnight anyway. We dined at the Quickie-Mart. They have the most extensive collection of cup-a-soup type items imaginable.

We staked out some comfortable lounge seating, set our baggage handy, and tried to nap for a few hours. Debbie found a more isolated nook and we moved in sometime after midnight. We stretched out head-to-head and slept a little easier. It’s amazing how many other people spent the night. At perhaps 2 am I went to recycle some of the soup and returned to find a beefy stranger sound asleep blocking half of my bedsite. He looked like a kick-boxer. I sat next to Debbie for the duration. We were first in line to check in.

One odd thing - an Australian family we met took great delight in telling us how much the Israelis hate Canada! We’d been out of touch since early January so were at a loss. Was this a residue of some of Harper’s early diplomatic pronouncements? I thought we’d actually erred the opposite way in leading the rejection of the Palestinian Hamas government!

The shopping in the departure area was amazing. I had just taken a shot of a local “Snake Wine” complete with about 2 feet of embalmed reptile, and was setting up a photo of the huge scotch inventory when told pictures were forbidden. In the end, I bought nothing - probably too bagged to get excited about anything.

14. The Hong Kong YMCA (Feb. 6)

Our approach to Hong Kong airport provided a panoramic view of the beautiful harbour area. The airport is a model of efficiency, and the directions provided by the hotel were clear and simple to follow. We opted for one of the three options listed - the quick, cost-effective airport train/shuttle service - and bought one-way tickets into Kowloon. About 25 minutes later we were deposited outside the famous Peninsula Hotel, next to the Hong Kong YMCA.

The check-in staff took our internet confirmation, checked their screen and apologized that they had overbooked - our room was not available. Would we accept a bump to a harbourview suite? Well, since they asked so nicely ...

We had just closed the door and set our bags down when a fruit basket arrived. The suite was wonderful, and that’s not just compared to our previous night’s lodgings. This is a far cry from the stereotypical “bed at the Y”. Our view of Hong Kong across the harbour was magnificent, and only got better with nightfall. As Chinese New Year approached, Hong Kong put on an amazing skyline light show involving several large office buildings and strategically place rooftop lasers.

Beside our hotel we looked down on a historic, colonial-style building and substantial grounds undergoing renovation. Two old trees and a circular stone structure appeared to be in giant pots sitting several metres above the surrounding construction level of the lot. They were obviously being preserved at great expense.

Despite our fatigue, we hit the streets to get a small taste of this frenetic metropolis. I didn’t get a good feel for the place - it was just overwhelming. Every 5 minutes there was someone trying to dress me. I’d heard that fine suits could be made in a day at very attractive prices, but had no idea the tailors were so aggressive. Finally I asked one particularly persistent gentleman to have a good look at me and tell me honestly that I was the silk suit type! Maybe the word went out because I wasn’t bothered again.

We followed some locals into a small greasy spoon off a sidestreet. We pointed to the dishes at the next table and tried the soup. Cheap and cheerful. Our local neighbours offered us a taste of their deep-fried fish skins. Salty, like pork rinds, but not bad. They wanted us to take the whole bowl! I did not expect such hospitality, but encountered it in a number of little ways.

We reveled once again in the abundant hot water and turned in early. I had paid our bill before retiring and discovered that I got a substantial discount by producing my Canadian YMCA membership card. Enquiries in Canada had been negative on any such consideration.

Early next morning we headed back to the airport. The shuttle bus took us to the express train station and we noticed a Cathay Pacific counter. To our surprise and delight, they checked our bags right there and we continued to the airport with just shoulder bags! Might not have trusted Air Canada to pull this off, but have great faith in Cathay.

Next bonus came when, on a lark, I tried my old one-way ticket in the automated entrance machinery. I couldn’t see how it had been canceled on our inbound trip, and it appeared to be functional either direction. It worked, and we saved another $20.

Breakfast at the airport was a much better deal than I’d hoped, and there were plenty of interesting shops to fill the time before boarding. I was tempted at the Victorinox shop - GPS watches and Flashdrives/MP3 Players within Swiss Army knives, but my heart wasn’t in it. At this point I just wanted to get on the plane.

Good thing we had extra time to handle the inspection lineups for US bound flights. We sure knew we were headed for “the land of the brave and the home of the free”. I even got a little concerned about the machetes in the checked luggage! We found out that it couldn’t be checked through to our connecting flight with American Airlines. It would have to be off-loaded in JFK, claimed and taken back through US Customs for our continuation to Toronto!

15. The Long Trip Home (Feb. 7 - 9)

Spending over 14 hours and covering more than 13,000 km in a confined space is nobody’s idea of fun. I was thankful we went out of our way to fly with Cathay Pacific. The 340-600 Airbus has some nice toys to pass the time. Each seat sports a 9.5" LCD with a remote control that doubles as a phone. In addition to the usual channels on flight statistics, there’s a belly-cam that is particularly cool on take-offs and landings.

Just after take-off an elderly American couple seated behind us praised the tight security. In short order they targeted a Chinese passenger who they thought was acting suspicious. They were half convinced he was a terrorist and dedicated their waking hours to keeping track of him. We saw a man shifting position to fight off leg cramps.

The cabin crew were terrific. We spent long periods in the rear galley stretching our legs, swapping stories with staff and passengers, and snarfing down shrimp cocktail. Wine, beer and spirits were all comp, but we drank mostly water and juices. We even managed a couple hours nap time. The crew stocked us up with desserts from first class and a pile of fresh fruit just before we arrived in New York.

The transfer at JFK was tedious, and I really got tired of removing my shoes for inspection. There was absolutely nothing to do outside the departure area at the American Airlines terminal, so with a five hour wait between flights, we checked in early. Goodbye to our fresh fruit and bottled water.

Finally we boarded the American Sparrow once again and left a chilly JFK. We breezed through Canadian Customs like it was 1960, and our friend, Ted was waiting to take us to our car parked in his condo’s garage.

The idea was to grab a meal, check into a motel and head home in the morning. I didn’t see a motel and was just tired enough to have impaired judgement. We drove carefully through the light snowfall. Thank God for my retired neighbour who had cleared a parking spot and path for us. All I had to do was turn up the heat and shovel into the basement access to turn on the water supply. It would be several days before it felt like home again.

16. An Accounting

You know it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t keep track of our expenses. So often you get all kinds of information on building projects or renovations, craft ideas and vacations, yet never get an idea what they cost.

Here are the main items, this time in Canadian currency:

Transportation

Airfares:

Cathay Pacific - JFK/Bangkok return $ 2,335

Amer Airlines - Toronto/JFK (est. $230 US ea.) 550

Note -we used airmiles, only pd taxes of $213

Bangkok Airways - Bangkok/Yangon 567

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Sub-total - To/From Yangon $ 3,407

3 One-way flights within Myanmar 426

Van & Driver shared for 5 days to Bagan (50% share) 224

Flight Insurance (Toronto to/from Yangon) 406

Myanmar Visas (incl $35 Fedex to/from Ottawa) 95

All other Transportation 76

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Total Transportation Costs $ 4,634

Accommodation

Bangkok - 3 nights (+ 1 night in airport) $ 70

Myanmar - 23 nights 566

Hong Kong - 1 night 148

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Total $ 774

Food $ 365

Fees (Tourist Region Fees, Site Entrances, etc) $ 68

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Grand Total excl. personal items and gifts $ 5,841

Note: The Canadian Dollar was worth about $0.85 US at the time