The road to Mandalay

I was very happy to be leaving Bago. The people I met there were great but the town itself was a noisy, dusty shithole. The bus 6pm that I’d rushed to get ended up being nearly an hour late. That’s the way things are in Myanmar. If the bus gets full before it’s time to leave it just goes early. Buses can be late for any number of reasons including waiting past the departure time for more people to get on and break downs.

Originally we planned to go to from Bago to Kalaw and then hike 3 days to Inley Lake which is a huge lake with many floating villages and monastaries. There were no tickets available on the bus to Kalaw since it was school holidays and apparently many locals headed to Inley Lake on vacation. So we were booked on a bus to Mandalay – 14 hours away. Our plan was to get off the bus at the turn off to Kalaw about 12 hours into the ride then hire a pickup to take us 2-3 hours further to Kalaw. Since the girls were both still sick though we thought it best to go straight on to Mandalay where medical facilities would be better (although still limited) if we ended up needing them.

Our seats were in the back row. The back row also doubled as a storage place for other peoples luggage. The bus was better than I expected but no where near the uber-quality of the Thai buses which had all the mod cons, including an immaculately presented hostess who handed out face cloths, snacks and water. On this bus our seats didn’t recline so it was going to be hard to sleep sitting upright. Peach, still feeling ill and with a history of not handling even mildly long bus rides well, was not happy. She overcame her anxieties by dosing up on valium and sleeping tablets. Everytime she woke up she’d pop another pill and nod off. We got creative with the luggage next to us and created a bed on the floor in front of the seat. This way two of us could lay down on the back seat and another could sleep on the floor. We loaded up our ipods and braced ourselves for the journey ahead. Although at first we thought we had the worst seats on the bus our creative arrangements meant that we probably got more sleep than anyone else.

The condition of the roads, and infrastructure in general, in Myanmar are appalling by modern standards. The roads are littered with potholes, deserted or broken down vehicles and other obstacles that make every bus ride seem like a ride at a theme park. One minute you’ll be cruising along the road, next you’ll be thrown forward as the driver hits the breaks to avoid a broken down truck that’s appeared out of the darkness. The rest of the way you bounce around with the never ending array of bumps and potholes that punctuate the journey. That said I loved the buses in Myanmar. Every ride provided another story and there was never a dull moment.

Golden Rock – Kyaiktiyo

In Bago the day previously we’d arranged to hire a driver to take us to Kyaiktiyo. Kyaiktiyo is a mountain with a huge boulder, known as Golden Rock, which is balancing somewhat precariously on the edge of a cliff. Local legend says there’s a Buddha hair stopping it from tumbling down the mountain. Both Peach and Tess had been up vomitting during the night and were still unwell so I was flying solo.

The car to take me there arrived 40 minutes late and instead of being a sedan as promised it was a small pickup truck, like a Toyota Corolla with a tray on the back. These cars are everywhere in Myanmar. They’re mostly used as taxis but there’s bigger versions that are used as buses. Often they are so full that you see people hanging out the back or riding on the roof. I didn’t want to have my bones shattered bouncing around the tray on Myanmars dodgey roads for the 4 hour journey so I sat next to the driver. His mate, my guide, sat in the tray.

The car ride was an adventure in itself. We stopped for petrol twice in the first few minutes and then the bonnet of the car kept popping whilst we were driving along so we’d have to stop to push it down again. Next the car overheated. We topped it up with the ample amount of water that was in the car for just such an occurance and continued on. I had to catch a 6:30pm bus that evening and I was having visions of breaking down the middle of nowhere and missing the bus. This wasn’t helped by passing other broken down cars, trucks and buses every couple of kilometres or so.

Luckily we made it ok. At the township at the bottom of the mountain we grabbed lunch then my guide an I caught a truck up the mountain while our driver stayed behind. There were several of these trucks that were constantly taking loads of locals up the mountain. Golden Rock is one of the most religious sites in the country and many people make the journey to pray for good luck. The trucks were large open trayed units that kind of looked like a cross between an army truck and my old Tonka tip-truck. There were bench seats in the back and 30-40 people were crammed on before embarking on a harrowing drive up the steep mountain track. I found myself making positive visualisations of our safe arrival whilst mentally planning what I would do if the truck rolled during transit. I imagined myself doing an action hero styl leap from the vehicle just as it went tumbling down the mountain.

From where the truck dropped us is was a 30-45 minute hike up the rest of the way. By this time the heat was picking up and I was covered in sweat. Even though I sweat like crazy I don’t get particularly tired but my guide wasn’t so lucky. He struggled up the path and we had to stop a couple of times for a breather. He’s one of the first SE Asians I’ve seen sweat on this trip.

At the top of the mountain a lot of development had taken place to cater to local tourists. There were large tiled places to walk around and shaded areas to relax or pray in, along with the obligatory tacky souvenier stands. On the paths just below the peak there were various types of medicine for sale. Of note was the remains of a mountain goat that had been used to create skin lotion.

The Golden Rock itself was painted gold – funnily enough. It was possible to walk right up to it and look underneath to see just how little surface area there was resting on the cliff. A viewing platform below also gave a good view of this. It was pretty amazing even if the whole area had a tacky tourist feel about it and the views from the mountain were superb.

The ride back in the car was a fitting sequal to the adventure earlier in the day. We left the mountain later than planned so time was going to be tight if I was going to make that bus. We stopped again for petrol early on and my guide asked me to chip in since we might not have enough fuel to get home. I didn’t have any local currency (kyat) left though so I was no help. I assumed that since the car cost a small fortune by Myanmar standards the guys would have at least been given enough money to pay for fuel. Along the road we saw the usual broken down vehicles along with several scenes that looked like those pictures that do the email rounds of bikes, cars and trucks carrying far too much load. One pickup truck I saw was so full of hay that the load was tilting at a 45 degree angle. This sort of thing is common fare in Myanmar.

About 30 minutes into the drive home the car made a loud clunking noise. We pulled over to check the damage and it turns out the spare tire had come loose from under the car and had fallen on to the road. It was “no problem” though at the tire was retrieved and put into the tray for the rest of the trip.

The rest of the drive went quite smoothly until we were about 15 minutes from Bago and we ran out of petrol. My guide flagged down a motorbike and hitched a ride to the next place he could get gas. I hung out on the side of the road with Sunny, the driver, who reassured me that despite time ticking away I would still make my bus and there would be “no problem”. The petrol arrived about 5 minutes later and we completed the rest of the trip without incident. Upon arrival I rushed to my room to pack my stuff and have a quick shower before the bus was due.

Bago

From Yangon, Myanmar we jumped on a public bus for the 2 hour ride north to Bago. The buses in Myanmar are pretty shoddy at the best of times. To squeeze more people on there are seats that fold out into the aisle. I had one of these seats. The back rest was broken so the steel frame that was supposed to hold the back rest dug into my back the whole time. My body is getting used to uncomfortable travel situations so the 2 hour ride flew by. It was the first time I’d had a chance to check out any of the Myanmar countryside. I expected it to be full of lush tropical jungle but instead there was only dry and dusty fields and this was the case for most of the other countryside I saw during my time there.

The bus stop in Bago is in the very centre of town. There’s 3 hotels within a few metres and a contant stream of traffic flows along the street. Cars, trucks, motorbikes and bicycles all do a traffic dance that resembles organised chaos. In Asia honking your horn means “I’m here” rather than “Look out dickhead” and the Myanmar people aren’t shy about riding the horn at all times. I later found out that if someone gets in an accident it can cause ruinous legal and financial problems so they honk like mad in an to avoid this.

Touts pounced on us as soon as we got off the bus, trying to convince us their hotel was the best. In the end we went with one that looked like it had a nice rooftop garden. Straight after we checked in the hotel staff started the hard sell on local tours and booking tickets to our next destination. This town was very in your face. And it was a shithole. We didn’t want to hang around any longer than we had to so we organised for each of us to go on a tour of the local area that day, we booked a day trip to a place called Golden Rock the next day and we booked the bus tickets to our next destination for the follow evening.

The tour guides took us to a “famous” local restaurant which was a short ride away. The place was nearly falling down and was essentially just wooden benches on a dirt floor with a simple wooden roof and no walls. I had fish ball curry and rice and it was bloody lovely.

Afterwards Tess and I went on a tour of the town with two motorbike guides. Peach wasn’t feeling well so she stayed behind. There were about 8 or so sights around the town that were ok but not that exciting really. I was still thinking about the awesome Swedagon Paya in Yangon – after that other sights would have to be very special to get me excited. I spent more time speaking to one of the guides who spoke excellent English and seemed to know all the bus and boat routes in the country including the associated timetables. I tried to extract as much info as I could and began mentally planning out options for things to check out around the country. It was also great learning about our two guides lives.

After the tour we went to a pub near the hotel and had a few mugs of the excellent Myanmar Draught. The guides got talking about the hardships of life in Myanmar and the political situation there. I learnt that everyone thinks the government is incompetent and has no respect for them whatsoever – no big surprise there. It’s the monks that have the real power in the country. The people are uber-religious and there are monks everywhere. The government has got no sway over the monks and the monks are the only ones willing to stand up them. If the government ever tried to control the monks or tell them what to do the people would revolt – so the monks get left alone. The monks periodically demonstrate against the government. If any lay people did this it they would be punished but the monks can get away with it. The people hold the monks in the highest esteem and lots of them have pictures of monks in their homes and places of business along side images of Buddha. The people are convinced that the government will eventually fall and that more prosperous times will come to the country – until then they’re patiently waiting, even if it takes another lifetime. It was great talking to these guys about this stuff. They could have been punished for doing so but apparently the government informers can’t speak English so they were able to talk very openly with us.

Later on it was off to find some dinner. Afterwards another local stopped us in the street and started talking to us. He had similar sentiments to the tour guides. It seems that Myanmar people are very eager to tell foreigners about there lives and their thoughts on the government. This guy was a motorbike taxi driver. That day he’d made about $US1.50 but he was very happy. Tomorrow he might earn nothing or he might be lucky and make a lot of money. Tonight he was going home to watch an American action movie. He loved action movies. He told us he didn’t care for money or material possessions. This was another theme I found amongst the Myanmar people – they all live with incredible hardship, a lot of their houses are literally falling down, they never know if they’ll have enough money to buy food for their families tomorrow but they’re all very happy. It gave me a great perspective.

In bed that night on the 6th floor of the hotel I could hear the symphony of traffic noise as if it were in the room next door. The traffic noise was complemented by the accasional burst of distorted music blarring from a nearby building and people trying to speak over the top of the noise. Good thing I packed the earplugs.

Back in action

I’ve just landed in London after a month is China. The Chinese government blocked all wordpress blogs, so I couldn’t make any updates. So peak back more regularly from now on and I’ll work to get through the back log!