Ahhhhhh....tickets to Bangkok, Feb 6th, 2014. The May Shan, Yangon, Myanmar, Feb. 11th, 2014.

Bangkok Farewell

We leave tonight for the journey home. The last week on the island, despite the mishaps, was excellent. Muzzy snorkeled an old wreck off Sairee Beach and while he didn't get to go more than one day, he did get to see the fishes. I bobbed around in the blue waters and a good time was had by all. We think we will come back to Koh Tao. The Seaview Resort is low key, very quiet with stunning tree top views, a great cook named O and a crew of delightful Burmese ladies who called us "Ma and Pa". It is not on the beach, but close enough with a motorbike. We even got to see the crazy bird whose call I was sure was a monkey. He is a big sucker with a long black tail, head like a raven and beautiful brown wings. The resort kitties gave us endless petting opportunites, and our hut perched on the side of the hill looked all the way down to Ao Leuk beach...beautiful.
The train back to BKK was slightly delayed. The engine for the local had broken down and it sat on the main track for about 45 minutes. The "farang" train stopped one track over and I thought we would have to crawl through the local and across the tracks, but the local pulled out and the station guys hustled all of us burned out beachies with our stupid rolly bags and giant back packs onto the sleeping cars of the Express for the 9 hour trip to Bangkok. What a relief. I had a moment of panic earlier in the day when the ferry on the 3 hour trip from Koh Tao to Chumphon slipped out of gear and came to a stop in the middle of the water. After a little clanking and clunking, we were on our way...a much mellower ride than the one out. I had forgotten how rough the water can be in January. Like clockwork, when the calendar changed to February, the water glassed over, the sea became clear blue green, and things settled down...just as we left. No matter. We will go later next year.
Our last two days in Bangkok involved two mornings at Chatuchak. It's nice that we finally figured out how to use the debit card over here...I guess...maybe not, considering we have two more bags returning with us than we had when we left, and sent a box with two big gold and black electric fans off on a boat with DHL. Chatuchak is less of a mystery and I don't think that is a good thing for us...I found an amazing store with antique textiles and silver Chinese jewelry, as well as a beautiful silver and agate Tibetan cup, some great tunics, fabulous rayon fabric from China, more beads than I care to think about, millions of magnets, and presents for everyone. We even found Willy's Bar, which we completely missed last trip! We sat there drinking an iced mocha looking at the corner where Sarah, Kristen, Tu, Sean and Amy and I sat in 2008! I'm so glad its still there! And though our favorite coffee people have returned to Chiang Mai, a new little place has opened offering great coffee and fresh juice.
So now I have to pack...I will post photos soon. Muzzy took lots of video this time...of pak boon fai dang at Jok Pochana, of the horse cart rides in Bagan, on the lake at Inle, of the trains, and our last night at the park on Phra Atit...the Thai Low Riders bike exhibit and the gangsta dancers and the aerobics class...Damn, I love Thailand!

Island Time

The last week. It's island time. Our first visit to Koh Tao. I could wax nostalgic about the good old days on Koh Phangan, Bottle Beach, Pi Mi and the special mushroom omelets, but lets face it, there are more people everywhere now and the islands in the Gulf of Thailand are no exception. Everyone dreams of a hut on the beach with the white sands stretching into the distance, alone, warm breezes wafting...it ain't that way anymore. Still, I have to say the Seaview Resort on the east side of Koh Tao is a little piece of paradise, even if the beach is a glimmer in the valley between two rising hills. It's walkable, but at this time of year, a little too blown out for swimming and snorkeling. Nevermind. The next good place is a motorbike ride away. We are already talking about coming back next February...a better month in the gulf. O, the Burmese cook at the Seaview, has enough skills for several and the food alone is enough to make a return journey desirable. Seaview is a little more upscale than we usually do, but our hut perches on the hill behind the restaurant and reception area, quiet, secluded, with its own hammock (I don't get in and out of those things like I used to!), great bathroom and stunning view. The whole resort comes with a set of charming Burmese workers, Neil, who interprets our needs in Thai with a Scottish accent, several fat resident cats and 3 colorful large geckos...tu-kay. One of them even stays out during the daytime, perhaps a pariah because of his missing tail. There isn't much to do...nothing to draw me away. There is a motorbike for Muz to make the 10 minute jaunt to town and return with treats, or to look for good snorkeling spots. I am busy reading...finishing up the depressing biography of Kurt Vonnegut, an Indian murder mystery by Paul Theroux, and looking forward to The Cider House Rules by John Irving...you never know about the books you bring on vacation. I did get all the way through The Passage by Justin Cronin, but ohhhhhh, the nightmares! I don't think I'll go there again. We return to Bangkok on Friday...night train with lower berths this time, thank god! If we can get checked in to the New Siam and breakfast at Ricky's, we may have two more days at the weekend market...just enough time to buy that fan we wanted and several more things we don't need.

Escape from Rangoon

It matters a lot where you stay. We chose the May Shan, by luck and coincidence, and by staying in the heart of the city, we got to see many aspects of life in Yangon that we might have missed. Aside from the act of crossing the busy Yangon streets being very similar to a game of Frogger, the inner city area is rich with life all within walking distance. I looked at hotels that were more upscale, some quite romantic, but in the end, each traveler makes their own decisions about what is tolerable or what they need when they are in a foreign city. If we had stayed at the Savoy, for example, we would have had to take a taxi to see the market, to see Shwedegon or Sule Paya, or the Bogyoke Aung San Market. There is something vital and exciting about the busy mix of Muslim, Hindu, Chinese, Burman all blended together that we might have missed. Just walking to the Daw Saw Ye for dinner was a game of dodge-car and an adventure in balancing on sidewalks that were once broad expanses of pavement but are now remnants of cement tipping and wobbling and waiting to tip you over. You feel you've accomplished something when you arrive without having been impaled on a surprise piece of rebar. The May Shan was an oasis in the middle of this, air conditioned, free wifi in the lobby, room cleaning daily,a little cell-like (and I think this is typical of old cities with old hotel residences because all the buildings are close together and the windows are in the front and back), but quiet and secure. The owners went out of their way to be helpful; laundry service, taxis to the airport, a little map of the city, air tickets and a huge free breakfast which we chose not to eat because we had breakfast at the tea shop across the road. The May Shan booked our guesthouse in Inle and in Nyuang U, both of which turned out to be fine for us. And right outside our door was the Sule Paya, a night food market complete with the big green sugar cane and lime extractor and the food sellers hawking their wares with sing song cries and tin cups banging on top of their tin bowls to attract your attention. In the morning as we stepped out, the only time it was cool and there was no death-defying traffic, the cries of the bus attendants yelling their destinations and hustling passengers was the first thing we heard. Our last two nights, we went to sleep and woke up to Buddhist chants over the loudspeakers.
Some travelers consider the ambiance of a hotel or guesthouse part of the trip. I can relate to that and you will need to spend a little more money on accommodation to get that than Muz and I do. So...if you want clean, convenient, basic plus, our recommendations are all of that. If you want romantic, atmospheric lodgings, our choices may not match what you have in mind.
As far as food goes, it's a big part of the fun of travel. Trying street food, finding good local places to eat, all of that can be costly in terms of stomach issues, but it's worth the hassle. All we can advise is to WASH YOUR HANDS a lot and try not to put your fingers in your mouth. Be extra careful the first week, use bottled water always, keep your mouth shut in the shower and don't forget to use bottled water to rinse your toothbrush, ask if any uncooked vegetables and fruits were rinsed in bottled or pure water (you may have to mime this). If you eat at street stalls, take a look at the food first...is it on ice? does it look fresh? With skewers of food, ask them to be put back on the grill for a few minutes before eating them (gestures once again). And who is eating there? Lots of locals, lots of happy people? Then its probably okay..and good luck...lots of positive thoughts...if it doesn't feel right, trust your gut, no pun intended.

Redemption

Our last full day in Myanmar. We are back in Yangon, doing a little laundry, finishing up a couple of novels, racing to the tea shop in the morning just in time for fried hot puffy bread soaked in sweet milk and egg, a fresh semolina cake, sanwin makan, which is pronounced nothing like it looks, and nam ja doe, Muz's noodle breakfast. But it is Asia, nothing is like it looks. Now that we are preparing to leave for Thailand, I find myself regretting it, but that is why we keep coming back...for one more trip. We are off to look for a flowered enameled tin lunch stack, not just the regular tiffins, but a fun Chinese one, maybe in pink. And, of course, one more visit to Bogyoke Aung San market.
Its hard to describe our last day in Bagan. The power was off and on for most of the day, but we spent one more morning in the Nyuang U market. Unlike the markets in Thailand and Laos, the markets in Burma open later...9 or even 10 am. I'm not sure why this is and because of my extremely poor language skills, it's impossible to get down to the fine points of time or anything philosophical that requires more than just one word declaratives. Needless to say, I did better with the Two Sisters, Myin Myin and Than Than. They were overjoyed to see me again, pulling out stools for us, producing glasses of tea and some little snacks on a tray. Then we got down to business...a lot of fabric business...concluding in a nice sale for them. Then out came their photo albums, the two unmarried sisters in an array of traditional costumes, their families, their parents, their school days. Impossible as it seems, they found a great shirt for Muzzy and a fun T shirt as well...full service shopping. They loved him! "So handsome, I think he is actor!" Muz was in heaven and his element. We left with something for everyone, including a huge stack of cheap napkins...it occurred to me that night in bed that they may not look so great after their first washing. I just loved these women, university grads, living near one another and running this stall in the Nyuang U market, so full of grace and humor and passion. I'd have kept buying just to sit with them and chat.
Around 3 in the afternoon, So Ren drove up in his horse cart to take us to view the sunset...again. He promised there would be no repeat of the previous night's experience, standing perilously on top of a temple on a narrow ledge with Germans, Japanese, Dutch, French, some really nasty Thai girls, and some confused Canadians, all trying to shoot the perfect sunset photo with their tour buses arrayed in the dirt yard below. And it was redemption, really. We went first to Suliman Paya, a 12th Century temple with a stunning entrance walkway leading to the ornate stone worked walls. The interior walls were still covered with original murals depicting the life of Buddha, the Jataka tales, reclining Buddhas and one breathtaking mural of his enlightenment surrounded by a pyramid of intricately detailed intertwined nagas. I was thrilled to be able to walk right up to the walls of the temple and examine the paintings closely. Muzzy did his very best to capture some of the images, but truth be told, how do you capture eternity? This was the very best temple we have ever seen...of the old ones, anyway. So Ren patiently walked us around, helped Muz with his camera equipment and stood with me passing the time as Muzzy bustled about. And indeed, some of the photos are quite wonderful!
After Suliman, which was pretty empty considering the hordes of people out in the fields, So Ren took us to his "spot", another 12th century temple that has not been closed to the public yet. By the time the builders at Bagan got to this century, they were building their stairways with a little more light, wider and more uniform steps. Still, all of these temples are filled with Buddha images and it's shoes off for everyone. I find it lovely that you go into some obscure little temple with crumbling facade and debris scattered everywhere and in front of an ancient statue of the Buddha is a vase or bouquet of flowers, a stick of incense and perhaps a small pile of rice that hasn't quite been eaten by the animal and bird life that abounds. We went up and up and up to the very top of this temple, whose name I cannot remember and is not on the LP "list", and while we were not completely alone, there were only about 15 of us and this is a big something. No doubt it will be discovered soon and thronged until someone falls and then it will be closed. Bagan is a very compromised archaeological area, odd and quirky in many ways, but still so stunning when you think about its history and where you are. 11th and 12th century payas, ancient kings and Kubla Khan, earthquakes and wars, all arrayed on a high plain next to the Irradwaddy. The sunset was nice...not spectacular, but still, a worthy sunset sitting atop an ancient brick temple in the middle of a field of temples as far as you can see. The drive back was a trip through time, the sound of So Ren speaking to his horse, the creak of the cart, and looking out the back with my legs dangling down, the silhouettes of the temples etched into the fading light. This was the best.

Impressions

Impressions:
Thin man in a conical hat standing up to peddle his bicycle down the road in the midday sun. You can't see the back of his bicycle because it is hidden under several sacks of produce. In fact, when he finally moves past us, you can't see him or the bike at all, just a giant jumble of sacks with wheels underneath.
Women returning from the morning market with leftover goods and items they have purchased. Their longyi are worn and slightly askew, their faces painted on each cheek with tanaka paste and shadowed by the wide brimmed straw hats they wear.
Midday...few people are out. Shop keepers lie on platforms in front of their stores, napping. Some have rigged up hammocks and swing gently, one arm hanging over the edge, one knee propped up, other arm over their head.
The way women walk in the longyi. Shoulders back, almost scuffing their feet in their dusty flip flops, arms hanging loosely at their sides. An island walk, a walk for hot countries where time has a different meaning. I have forgotten what day it is.
Horse cart drivers, like rickshaw drivers and tuk tuk drivers, asleep in their rigs in the afternoon.
Early morning vendors walking the streets calling their wares. Women and men with wide trays balanced on their heads or poles slung across their shoulders ending in buckets of something.
Flowers, so many flowers in the markets in Myanmar. It was a surprise to me to see that. Chrysthanemums, gladiolus, gaura, roses, many more I don't recognize, but everywhere women return from the market with food items and a bouquet of flowers.
The helpfulness of the people in the market. One woman will rush to aid another in a sale, helping to fit a blouse, offering a different choice, assuring me the price is good. I bought silk/cotton from The Two Sisters and could have bought more and more and more. They were like chattering parrots, excited about a sale, laughing and calling me sister. They made a place for me when they saw I was hot, laughed when I got out my glasses to better see what I was buying, explained about the 50/50 silk cotton and the 70/30 silk cotton..."no synthetic". So much laughter, so many beautiful colors and pieces whisked away to be cut to the length I desired. They presented me their card and told me they were having new cards printed with English on them as well as Burmese. Their sweetness and enthusiasm made me miss being a merchant myself.
The clicks and snaps of the horse cart drivers as they give directions to their horses. They way people break into song for no reason in particular. Because it is an unfamiliar language, it reminds me of the scene in Trading Places where Eddie Murphy is on the train pretending to be an exchange student from Cameroon and he breaks into a heartfelt nonsense language song. It makes me laugh, but it is also very sweet.
The way this country has changed in the 7 years since we have been here. There is a feeling of hope everywhere and the spirit of the people blossoms all around us.
We chased the sunset across the finely sifted sand of the Bagan plains. The first time I came here, I was chased by a grief so profound it was hard to see the ruins at all. Everything I looked at was covered by my mourning and I saw this world through a veil of tears. Sometimes the universe saves the best for later. The Great Spirit, whatever we perceive it to be, provides a second chance. I could deny that I know what the crumbling city teaches me, but it's plain as the nose on my face. All things are transitory. We live in a world of illusion. Maya dances across the crumbling frescoes inside the tunnels protected from the light. We glimpse all of life through a veil darkly. Perhaps, last time, that lesson was too fresh for me and my own loss, the profound loss of one of my children, was too close for me to need any reminders of just how fleeting life really is. But time softens the edges of grief just like time has worn away the steps leading up inside the crumbling brick temples whose purpose is no longer important. They are just structures to make us wonder. Each of us brings to travel our own expectations. I have always felt it was best to bring as little expectation with me as possible...to allow space in the suitcase of my soul for the unexpected. If we leave a vacuum and hope for the best, the best will fill that void. If I could apply that same philosophy to my life at home, what a gift it would be, but it seems to work best for me here...away from the everyday. And though it is fleeting, it is the best thing I bring home.
At the top of the tallest paya with the corncob pinnacle, waiting for the sunset with hundreds of people from all over the world bringing their expectations and frustrations with them, I couldn't get down fast enough. Yes, the sunset was stunning, magical, the outline of hundreds of temples stretched out along the Irrawaddy, the dust of horse carts, tour buses, private cars and taxis mixing with the setting sun and turning the light a golden glow, but we got the definitive photo in 2006, and we have the photo inside of us, the memory of that older magick. It's wonderful that Myanmar, Burma, is opening up and money is pouring in along with tourists, but here we are, fighting for space, for our own little piece of eternity, the perfect picture, the perfect experience, along with everyone else. It is only a matter of time before someone tumbles from the parapets and this temple, one of the last remaining two whose upper reaches are open to the public, will be closed. The disappointment of all these people, packed together on a narrow ledge reached by stairs not unlike those up the pyramids in Central America, was palpable and horrifying.
We will take one more trip out to the ruins on our last day upcountry. Our laughing driver, So Ren, will lead us to some temples less crowded, our own private piece of eternity...and that is the gift of serendipity...the jewel in the lotus.

Bus journeys and beyond

Early morning, smoke,Sunday's are the same everywhere. Nyuang U on a Sunday morning. We are waiting for our not so bad coffee, fruit plate and eggs. I bought a can of Happy Cow Sweetened Condensed Milk for my coffee yesterday. We are butressed against the chill in our warm clothes, including the dusty fleeces that have served us well these last two weeks, but later we will shed them as the temperature soars and the dust billows up around us leaving a fine coating on everything, our hair, our feet from the constant on and off of shoes at the temples, and even seeping onto the keyboard of my little Ipad. Along with the clip clop clip clop of the horse carts, traffic picks up along the main Nyuang U road and guesthouse row. Myanmar has especially loud, piercing horns on their buses, although everyone seems to have taken a cue from India and honks at every opportunity while pressing their feet on the accelerator. In the case of the horse carts, which roll and ramble down the streets right out there with huge trucks and buses, they signal they are coming by dragging the driver's stick on the spokes of the big wooden wheels. It isn't a bad way to travel, horse cart, especially out by the temples where the fine dust erupts into choking clouds every time a motor vehicle races down the paths to deposit high end tourists who are disgorged from their aiir-conditioned cocoons into the gloomy interiors of 11th century pagodas. Even they have to remove their shoes at the entrance and dance along the pebbled corridors of the temples, listening to guides in a plethora of languages explain the history of Buddha as painted on the walls. Restoration projects abound and ordinary Burmese bypass the camera toting crowds in order to kneel for a moment, place some lotus flowers, sticks of incense and a candle in front of towering images that have been there for centuries. The contrast between Burma of 2006 and 2013 is startling. Police presence is much more discreet. Private cars abound. New gas stations are popping up along the roads sans the barbed wire and rationing lines we saw in '06. Food stalls, souvenir stands, coffee shops and tea houses dot the highways of places like Nyuangshwe and Nyuang U. Backpacker and Flashpackers abound. The Lonely Planet Burma's blue covered guidebook can be seen in the hands of dozens of travelers. The road to the temple fields around Bagan have guesthouses and vegetarian restaurants in various stages of building. People talk about Aung San Su Kyi openly, and give a hearty thumbs up when we say we are from America..."Obama, we like!" And they remind us that he came to Burma. What an impact he made. I wonder what part of Burma he saw?
The bus trip from Nyuangshwe to Bagan, 7+ hours that seemed like 14. We actually had seats, and the buses aren't that old here. They look deluxe from the outside and unlike the treadless tires on most of the city buses in Yangon, they look roadworthy, from the outside. The road from Nyuangshwe, Inle, goes up and up into the mountains that surround the lake and then down, rather rapidly, to the high plateau of Bagan on the banks of the Irrawaddy. Coming down was an adventure that included a stop about halfway so the driver could get out and hose off the brakes until steam stopped rising from the wheels! He was a good driver...slow, very slow, even on the straightaways, and we started the journey, the bus about half filled with farangs including a young man from Belllingham, with a nice long Buddhist sermon, very soothing and reassuring. At least we had a devout driver. As we continued across the arid countryside. We stopped in the crossroads town of Thazi where the rail lines intersect for Mandalay and for the narrow gauge rail that goes back up to Inle, to take on more Burmese and let off one lone Aussie. We shed clothing as the temperature climbed. Stopping at the entrance to the Bagan Archaeological Zone to pay our entrance fee of $10 per person, we arrived at the Nyuang U bus station. Our ears bled from the constant, non-stop videos played at full volume...unrequited love, silly girl and serious boy, silly boy and serious girl, long concerts of the same popular songs over and over and over until we could actually sing along. The only time the farang perked up was when the marathon Gagnam-style video came on. It went on and on and on and included a segment of young men in Burmese longyi dancing along with our little Korean friend. We found a horse cart for our luggage, my head was reeling and my ears ringing, and we finally checked in with Auntie Cho at the Mya Kha Lar. Water so hot its written on the wall above the spigot in red paint, "HOT!", two twin beds, a large cross shaped key that fits in a slot to activate electricity, free wifi if you sit close enough to the signal, a big veranda and free breakfast...coffee, toast, eggs, fruit plate, and crepe like pancake. What more could we possible want. Oh, yes, I wish you all were here...

Continued

So I believe we were pulling up to the market at the end of the lake when the internet went back to wherever it resides and took my flowery description with it. But here goes...
Spreading before us at the end of the narrow boat clogged canal, the market spilled down the hill from the paya we had glimpsed for a way before turning off the main waterway. The paya (temple) grounds were littered with hundreds of stupas of random sizes and a long covered walkway led down the hill to the market grounds around the edge of the canal. Our boatman hefted me up on top of a long berm that led to the action. To my right was a large area full of oxen carts, some still hitched up and just starting to leave the area in single file, their drivers standing up to steer. To my left, a sea of Bao women in market dress ambled along, black tunics and longyi trimmed with blue or red stitching, short tight jackets with narrow sleeves made of the same fabric and some from velvet, and their headwraps a shocking contrast in red, orange and blue. Most of the women had their faces painted with tanaka paste, a soft wood that smells like sandalwood that is mixed and used as a cosmetic. Some were the usual patterns of overlarge round dots on the cheeks but some of them had taken great pains to make elaborate designs with the paste. The Bao women dominated the market, standing out like the tribe they are and I had to catch my breath because this is what I love about the markets of Asia, the fact that these beautiful costumes are still part of everyday life, even if only on special occasions now.

Ban-Khan Village Market

Boats for the market

Bullock carts

Pa'O girls

Snacks

Causeway to Payas

Going home

Muzzy and I separated, he to take photographs and me to wander, a little awestruck and awkward. I approached three Bao women to ask for a photo but was quickly rebuffed, so I turned my attention to the little bags of palm sugar candy at one of the utilitarian stalls. You can never have too much palm sugar candy in Burma. It is set out on the table as an after dinner treat in most of the Myanmar style restaurants. Then I found the local Bao clothing dealer and negotiated for a longyi, which I had failed to buy when I got my tunic and jacket at the Nyaungshwe market. I decided to add one of the scarves...I am a sucker for those cheesy plaid scarves. I decided to go with orange. Since the costume is so sombre, the color of the headwrap designates the tribe you are from. After searching for Muzzy and finally finding him at the edge of the oxcart field, I brought him into the food stall part of the market where we tried some deep fried Shan tofu. Shan tofu is made from chickpea flour and fried up crispy, eaten as a snack. We shared a small salad with tofu strips, nuts and shredded cabbage. Of course Muz asked for chillis and boy did he get them. It was the source of much laughter among the other diners and the girls doing the cooking.
We started up the main walkway which led to the temple up the hill. These long covered walkways are typical of the payas in Myanmar, one for each of the four directions, leading to the main courtyard around the stupa. This one swooped gently uphill, but we got sidetracked talking to some other foreigners. We were lucky that our boatman got us there early, before the market started to dissolve and the tourists outnumbered the villagers. Much as we would love to have everything to ourselves, "we" are everywhere and I consider us lucky to be able to experience a market like this at all anymore. Not that I haven't made some interesting contacts with other travelers, but...who doesn't want to be Indiana Jones?
We returned to our boat and began the journey back up the canals and up the lake, stopping at one of the schlock "get the farangi to buy some cheap tourist shit" places that I hate. Unfortunately, by the time we realized what was happening, we were fully committed to the dock, so we dutifully got out of the boat and went inside. Imagine our surprise when three Paduang women sat at the end of the porch, spinning and weaving. I have no intention of trying to impose my values on other cultures. I try very hard not to. I am aware of the great privilege I have in being able to travel like I do, spend money on things I don't need in countries where some people never travel beyond their village and could never afford to, but I also try very hard to support positive change in the world. I was very uncomfortable staring at the brass rings strung around the necks of these young Paduang women. In case you are not aware of them, they live in the highlands between Myanmar and Thailand and their ancient custom dictated placing these brass rings around the necks of the women, also on their legs and arms. The rings on the neck force the collar bones and shoulders of the women down and their heads sit on the top rung where a little piece of cloth softens the metal against their chins. As they age, some develop breathing issues because of the deformation of the rib cage and most loose the muscle strength in their necks so they cannot hold their heads up without the rings. This practice was dying out until some entrepreneur decided that the women and the tribe could make money by charging for photos of the "long-necked" women. The practice was revived using young women who had never been part made to wear rings. Some tour operators exhibit the women and ask if you would like to have your photo taken with them or if you would like to take a photograph. Since I don't speak their language, I have no way of determining if this is something the women do voluntarily or are pressured into, or what, but I think it is a cruel freak show kind of way to make money, exploitative under any circumstances. Human rights organizations ask us not to support this practice by not taking photos of the women, but instead, buy their weavings or other handicrafts. I was so appalled when the gift shop operator asked if I wanted a photo, that I just wanted to get the hell out of there and I hate to say, I bought nothing at all. As soon as we got back into the boat we made it clear we just wanted to head back to town. No more "shops".

And jeez su bay

We board a morning bus for the dry hot plains of Bagan tomorrow morning. 5 days in Nyuangshwe may have been a bit much, however, we seem to be doing fine. The Nyuangshwe market day on Tuesday was very fun, but imagine my delight when we asked where the next market was in the five day rotation and Moogee, our sweet bright, funny travel gal, told me it was waaaay at the end of the lake in the village of Thaung Tho. "Not very big market, not many visitors." This was the market I'd wanted to see because the LP described it as "off the toruist track" and well worth a visit because the surrounding hill tribe villagers come down for this one. Yeaaaaa! So we bundled up in the early morning fog and met up with our boatman, a different one, the other one's brother, Jojo, and headed for the bridge over the canal where the boats wait for lake tours with their little chairs, heavy blankets and umbrellas tucked away in the back.
The lake was shrouded in a chilly mist, neither shore visible and its glassy surface broken only by the tat tat tat of boats as villagers motored past us heading for Nyaungshwe and the faint sillhouttes of the legendary leg rowing fishermen of Inle deploying their conical nets. We saw no other toruist boats this early as we headed for the south end of the lake and the long narrow canal that connects it to the second lake, Sankar. Sankar is a protected area, only open to visitors with permits and a Pa-O guide. Thaung Tho sits just north of this area, a small market, sparsely visited by tourists because it is small and takes so long to get to. As we motored and motored endlessly, our butts numb and faces frozen from the cold, we approached a narrow canal that looked too narrow for our boat. It was clogged with reeds and hyacinth. I turned to our driver with alarm. With his cheek bulging from a wad of betel nut, he smiled and nodded, which I took to mean this was the place, or okay you crazy farang, now I'm going to dump you in the reeds and take your fleece jacket. As I turned back, I drew my breath at the sight before me. On the hill was a temple with literally hundreds of stupas glistening gold in the morning sun. Spread below on the banks of the lake was a field of red, orange, and blue head wraps of the Bao women and a parade of gaily adorned ox carts. The excitement of the market reached us as our boat made its way through the narrow passage parking next to hundreds of other boats along a high berm that led to the shore. To be continued...

Mingalaba

The Manau Kwa Tha hotel, guesthouse, sits at the far edge of town, across from the Police Station, just close enough to the main back packer/flash packer strip through the center of Nyuangshwe township at the north end of Inle Lake to make walking everywhere okay, except at night when that walk back in the dark is full of potholes and a scattering of motorbikes plus the occasional horse cart and gigantic Chinese truck. Nyuangshwe is not a hustle bustle place, but rather the embarkaration point for trips on the lake, which spreads out like a giant shallow pond at the foot between two mountain ranges in the Shan hills of northeastern Myanmar. It is cold at night, Bellingham cold, huge heavy Chinese blanket cold, wearing a beret at night cold, thinking maybe we should be at home with the furnace cold, but by 10 or so in the morning, the surreal mist burns off and it heats up fast. We plunged right in, booked a lake trip the day after we arrived. For the ridiculous price of $17, we took off through the water hyacinth clogged, tall reeded canals for the lake. It took about a half hour to reach the actual lake and what a sight it was! Our boatman steered us out the mouth of a canal and there was Inle, spread before us, flat, calm, clear, the water plants and the shallow bottom easily visible as our craft sped out into a vast water covered plain. The canals themselves offered ample bird life...white egrets, some sort of bird I mistook for a giant kingfisher, but on closer inspection, decided it wasn't, and others I wasn't quick enough to catch with either binoculars or camera. I'll have to consult a Birds of Asia book at home or on the web if we get a good connection. There were crows aplenty, lovely white dabbed blackbirds and hundreds of swallows as well as ducks and small gulls. We were on the tourist package...it can't be helped...and in the end, turned out to be just fine. Our first stop was a small market close to Nyuangshwe. There are five rotating markets around the lake...each day at a different village. Most are thronged with camera popping tourists and this was no exception, but it was interesting, mildly. Then on to the lake itself and the famous leg-rowing fishermen. The young ones who lurk near the entrance to the canals eagerly pose for the cameras, but as you venture further out, you see that the Intha, the tribal people who live on the lake, actually fishing and going about their business while you go about yours...bringing much needed revenue into an impoverished country by being a tourist...I'm sorry...you just can't avoid it, and this area is so beautiful, it's no wonder people want to come here. Our boatman did his best to steer us through areas where there were no other boats and that was awesome. We steered through village after village with stilt houses and real "streets" of water. It was truly fascinating. Our next stop was the weaving village. It's on the water too. The boats are docked at a small pier and up you go where an English speaking guide deftly explains the weaving processes that are actully in session (not just put on for the tourists). They weave the fiber of the lotus root and it is just scrumptous, with a price to match. I didn't get any, but I did get a Shan longyi for myself, which one of the ladies made up into a wrap skirt while I waited. Their silk is woven from thread brought in from the northern Shan hills and is done in a heavy, drapey weave. They also do local cotton and the girl was very helpful when I asked about natural dyes. She said they don't use naural dyes, but purchased fiber-reactive ones. The colors were irresistable, however, I did manage to restrain myself and purchased modestly. After a nice visit and many photos, we moved on to the cigar making place where Muzzy purchased a small supply, actually, probably more than he wanted, but I wanted the boxes they came in. What makes all of this different than other trips is the fact that it is all done on the water, this great plain of water with its own life carried on in small dugout canoes steered by men, women, and very young children. Even the cats have adapted to life on the water. I am glad we opted for a private boat. Our young boatman, who kept caging cigarettes from everyone, even asking me to get him one, did an admirable job, slowing down to allow Muz to take photos and waiting patiently while we got in and out of the boat.

Out to Inle Lake

Nyanyshwe Market

Intha Fisherman

Cheroot Making

Lunch was next on the agenda...unremarkable as is much of the food up here. I think I am a bit full of fried rice and fried noodles. I am writing from the only wifi place in town and they have those big crepe like pancakes with various toppings that travelers like...yummm...almost a roti. After lunch, we explored the temple and headed for the barn. I used an umbrella for the ride back and probably should have done so on the way out. I am a bit of a lobster gal today.
Today was market day in Nyuangshwe and with some artful sign language and much encouragement from Mr. Muzzy, I enlisted the help of a young Bao tribeswoman and another older respectably dressed matron who directed me to the one stall selling Bao tunics and jackets. They are unremarkable to anyone but a dyed in the wool fabric costume junkie like myself, but I got a tunic that fit and a jacket from which I can make a pattern. I love it! The expereince of shopping was worth more than the 10,000kyat I spent on them, about $12. The market was noisy, crowded, full of chillis and veggies and flowers and eels and chickens in modest headless chicken poses and all the other things that Asian markets contain...when you engage in conversation, the first thing you are asked is if you are married, how old you are, if you have children...it is the same all over Asia and I love it.

Market Day Nyuangshwe

Scales

We are nearly midway in our journey...doing okay. The guesthouse/hotel here is fine, Mr. Muzzy and I are navigating the roads okay, taking photos, exploring side roads, resting and reading and laughing a lot. The one mishap is that I have left part of one of my mollars in a traditional Shan food house. But as a veteran of these teeth tragedies, Mr. Muzzy assures me I will survive.
You know...we are sending these little self-indulgent missives out into the universe...feel free to comment! In a couple of days we decamp from the hills and head for the plains of Bagan...by bus, which the sweet young Bao travel lady assures us is very comfortable...where have we heard that before?

Shewdegon Paya

I asked Muzzy, "If a crow poops on you while you are at the temple, would it be considered a blessing?" He answered, "No, I think the monks would say no, it just means the crow pooped on you." We started our circumnavigation of the main pagoda and stopped so that Muzzy could launch his tripod for a blurry crowd shot. I was trying to warm up my cold toes in the early morning sun...Muzzy said, "Look, a bird pooped on my arm. I guess I had it coming."

Monks at Shwedegon

Shewdegon is truly one of the wonders of the world. It's hard not to cry when you first step onto the broad plaza filled with golden Buddhas, stories of the Buddha's life, white and golden elephants, Rama and Sita, neon halos around the Buddha's head and pavillion after pavillion of Buddha in all his aspects. People from all over the world come to this wonderful place of pilgrimage. Families walk together and stop to take photos. Monks chant in the individual temples and give teachings and blessings non-stop. Children run and play, people eat lunch or deliver bags of purchased food to the monks and widows and nuns who wander around, because alms giving is a blessing on the giver. I was reminded of those same teachings from Christ and how here, alms are given without strings attached. You don't have to listen to a sermon, or accept Jesus as your savior...you just give because it is the right thing to do...even if there is that Southeast Asian caveat of making merit. Who cares, as long as we take care of one another. Yup...it was a religious experience, bird poop and all.

The Lost Post

Arrrggghhhh....two lost posts. Muz and I sat up before breakfast composing some sights and tastes for you and they are lost lost lost. It is amazing, however, that we can send email at all! Our second full day and we are doing much better. We have found a great hotel, the May Shan, a Chinese run empire a stone's throw from the Sule Paya on Sule Pagoda Road, sort of a hub of Yangon. The May Shan has it all...just stand ouside for 10 minutes by the generator and the bright red reader board and they will list their ammenities, in almost every language! It truly is great, as close to the New Siam empire as you can get. Our tiny cell-like room with no windows has the best shower we've encountered in SE Asia yet...all the water pressure of Myanmar concentrated in one little hose that has real hot water!!!! Woo hoo! We have made our first visit to the Bogyoke Aung Sang Market, lodged in a huge colonial era building with turrets and gingerbread. Two stories of little shops selling longyi, the ubiquitous men's sarong (and may I say, mighty attractive too....the old men wear them riding high over their paunch and the young men wear them slung low on their hips...sigh...my my my), and all your needs with Myanmar labels and plenty of Chinese branding as well. WE encountered an antique textile shop run by a Chin woman and her daughter and I only wish I had brought more money or that they took credit cards. I bought 3 wonderful pieces and will certainly buy more if I have any money left when we return to Yangon. While this country is still emerging from years of darkness and oppression, and the infrastructure is still a shambles, there is new building everywhere on top of the bones of the old crumbled nation. The people are wonderful and so gracious. Muzzy remarked how it reminded him of India...the crowds, the multi-faceted ethnic population. The Muslim men are easily identifiable by their beards, skull caps and long shirts over their longyi. The women wear full hijab including long black over dresses. I have to gasp at how hot it must be, but who knows? Walking the streets is an adventure in lawsuits. No single stretch of sidewalk is even. The cement is all askew and opens up to reveal scary sewers, lengths of rebar jutting up to add to the surprise of the moveable chunks. There is a mosque just a few doors down from the May Shan, right across from the Sule Paya, which dominates the skyline all around. I was hoping to be able to hear the call to prayer but we are quite insulated in our little cell.
Decrepet busses with completely bald tires rattle to a stop at the bus stop across the broad road in front of the hotel and you can hear the bus boys yelling and exhorting the passengers in loud singsong voices. In the morning the traffic is non-existent, but by the afternoon it is like playing frogger to try and cross the streets. There are lots of overpasses, however, that means lots of stairs...bummer.
We have found a couple of eateries that we like. The first was a recommendation from the LP and by our hotel. Daw Saw Ye, a Burmese style restaurant, quite good, down a little alley clogged with cars and stacks of broken cement and generators. Burmese style means sort of like a cafeteria. You walk up to a kitchen area and point to the dishes you want. We picked a shredded crispy style fish with chilies, pork curry, green beans and the last portion of butter beans. When you sit down you are served a large plate full of rice...looked like long-grain basmati...a plate of fresh veggies...maybe radishes? some greens, an okra looking thing and some sliced cucumber. You get a bowl of sour curry soup with chunks of melon and floating leaves, and then your chosen dishes. It's all quite good. Not Thai, but this isn't Thailand!
While nearly all the hotels serve a complimentary breakfast, our first one, The Garden House, left us bruised with apprehension, so I was determined to eat at one of the tea houses that are part of the Yangon culture. They are not tea houses like we know, nor like coffee houses, exactly, although their purpose is similar...for gathering, conversation, discussion and whiling away hours drinking black tea with sweetened condensed milk and eating little snacks. We found one across the street that serves fresh ground coffee...so strong that tiny little spoon wades around like a duck in sludge and the most wonderful snacks. Yesterday morning Muzzy discovered a curry noodle with egg dish that is very very good...and I discovered the custard. And why not? it's milk and eggs, right? I was all set to order another this morning when the boys started packaging up some rounds of fried bread, fresh from the kitchen. I asked, "Is it sweet?", to which the cute young man replied with a smile and a nod to the other boy who carefully cleaned a tiny saucer and set one of the hot pieces of bread before me. OH MY GOD! Soft, thick bread soaked in egg and sweetened condensed milk and fried in butter. What's not to like? After that, another man came in with a big covered tray on his head. He and the boy started setting out chunks of what looked like cake on small saucers. Of course I kept staring. This was after my second cup of coffee (come on, they're small cups!). Finally, the older man took out some jars of what turned out to be browned coconut, raisins and some nuts, dressed the top of the cake and handed one to me. Another older Burmese man walked by and told me it was sticky rice with coconut milk and palm sugar. Well, I polished that right off and we have a new breakfast place!

Sule Paya

Our favorite tea/coffee shop

The Mosque

All in all, the tide has turned, we've found our travel feet, and are waiting for tickets to Inle Lake either tomorrow or the day after. It will be good to leave the city, but at least we feel a little more at home here. Tonight we go to Shewdegon. Sunset is the best time we are told. And really, despite the inconvenience of travel, the barbed wire around the government buildings, the armed guards, there is a feeling of optimism here. Tourism is up and that means money is coming in at the personal level. This is a a vital, gracious country, full of its own peculiarities, its own way of doing things. We are visitors here, and lucky to be able to do so. We are the intruders, and as such, it is up to us to keep smiling, to be patient and to figure it out. How lucky to step out of our door and look over at the golden glow of the Sule Paya a few steps away. I can only think there are more mysteries to come.

Yangon

Where do I start? Perhaps with the ride into Yangon from the airport, one address in hand, but no reservation. We had no idea we were entering a wild west town, a boom town where every room was twice a much as it was in the guidebook, and not a whit better than they were when we were here 7 years ago. It was broiling hot, the traffic unbelievable and in the midst of the crumbling infrastructure of a fading colonial empire, new building was going on, rapidly, on the bones of the old. Our one hope of a guesthouse was a blowout and after 4 phone calls by the rather bored young woman at the desk, we secured a night at the Garden House. Even when I showed her photos of the Chan Myae we took in 2006 she was unmoved! So off we went with the patient taxi driver. I nearly passed out climbing the stairs of the Garden House, but what could we do...we needed a place to stay and to let the poor cabbie go, so we took it. The same price as the New Siam in Bangkok, but nothing like it, believe me. It was wretched in a way only Burma can be...it all came back in nightmarish flash. The one good thing was that from the 3rd floor window in the common room, the view of the Sule Paya, the 2000 year old temple in the heart of Yangon, was stunning. You could almost reach out and touch it, magnificent! I collapsed in the room sending Muzzy out for water and to change some money. After an hour passed, I was convinced I was a widow, alone in a country where the most I could say was hello (mingalaba) and thank you,if I could remember it. I saw him dead from heat exhaustion, lying in traffic, no one knowing who he was or where he belonged. I started to panic, went down the stairs and looked around the front of the hotel (change money, madam? taxi, madam?) and climbed back up, nearly passing out on the second floor. But he showed up, with two icy cold bottles of water, a wad of kyat, and tales of a wonderful guesthouse just a block away that might have a room for us the next day. Indeed, we rested, got up and went over to the Shan May, and they miraculously found us a room. We moved in today and will stay two nights, hoping to take a flight to Inle Lake for a long 4 or 5 day stay.
It's crazy here...hard to describe. Muzzy says it reminds him of India, and indeed, it is very crowded, dirty, full of Muslims...the mosque is just a few doors down and across the traffic circle from the Sule Paya where all day long a woman sits under a banyan tree with nat houses nailed to its trunk, selling dried corn for the pigeons and another woman sells tiny baskets of birds you can release to make merit. The men, young and old, walk around in longyi, a long sarong type skirt they are constantly adjusting. They look rather jaunty with their crisp short sleeved dress shirts on top. There are Muslim men with beards and skull caps and long knee length shirts over the longyi and Muslim women in full hijab and overdress. It is so hot I don't know how they stand it. And the traffic is crazy crazy crowded, the sidewalks are never smooth and even and things jut up out of the walks and the road at every turn. The busses look like they've been in a destruction derby and the bus boys hop off at every stop yelling and harranging the prospective passengers. It is chaotic, confusing and a little intimidating. And we haven't even left Yangon yet!

Bangkok Farewell

We leave in the morning for Yangon, Myanmar. Time enough for one last breakfast at Ricky's until the end of the month. We revisited the Amulet Market today but the woman with the old postcards was absent. However, out of all the crazy crappy faux antiques, one lovely little gau stood out and I got it for a song...well, maybe not a song, but I was definitely humming a tune as I slipped it in my bag. We took a tuk tuk to Pahurat, the Indian cloth market, where we were unceremoniously deposited at the beginning of one of the warrens of aisles that meander through Sampaeng Lane. Lost, lost, lost, it didn't matter because every once in a while we caught a glimpse of daylight off to the left. Coming to a dead end, we turned left and exited into the street, disoriented, but finally figuring out where we were. It's a miracle to really recognize anything in Bangkok, because there is so much and it all looks very similar. We were not in the buying mood so we took a taxi (god bless air conditioning) back to the New Siam, took a brief shower, grabbed some lunch down Phra Atit, back to the room and hit the bed, sleeping all afternoon. Apparently the combination of intense massage and jet lag finally caught up with us. For dinner, we made it as far as the restaurant across the street at the New Siam Riverside. Jok Pochana was closed for the day and the roti restaurant was closed as well. The Riverside was fine. We sat by the Chao Phraya drinking Tiger Beer and watching the fat little cross-river ferries head home for the night. The Chao Phraya resembles a big sloppy bathtub, but it is a hub of the city, running in an thick, water hyacinth littered ribbon through Krung Thup, the great city of Bangkok. The best thing about the restaurant at the Riverside is easy access to a table by the riverwalk and a front row view of the slow barges heading down the river, the elaborately lit tourist boats taking diners up and down the river to the strains of karaoke or live bands belting out renditions of "Dock of the Bay" and "Happy Birthday". Bangkok is a big, messy, dirty, crowded, confusing city,one that we avoided for years on our trips in and out of Southeast Asia. Lately we have developed an affection for the uniquely Thai version of modernity it offers, as well as the plethora of food and shopping and people watching, from Pantip Plaza with its escalators turned stairways and overabundance of DVD porn thinly disguised as new movies, to the tunnels of Sampaeng Lane and the overload of Chatuchak. We are off to Burma, modern day Myanmar. We'll let you know what happens next and be back for a weekend of serious shopping on the 24th of January.

Jok Pochana

We dragged our pummeled bodies out of bed and headed out for Jok Pochana, dodging street cafes that were springing up by the second. The hyper-refrigerated cake and pastry shop looked tempting, as did the roti shop, but getting to the crossroads of Phra Atit to play dodge car with the lights and traffic was more important. We sat down at Jok Pochana, in full swing with the dinner rush...lots of take out. The food is country style and very popular among the Issan diaspora...workers who have moved from the northern areas populated by Lao refugees and decendants of Lao who were inadvertently converted to Thai when the border between Thailand and Laos was redrawn at the close of the 19th century. They have a distinct language, food, and music, the lilting strains of malam. This is the food we love. In my jet-lagged, massage sodden brain, I mistook the sign for Shisha, 300 baht, for shushi, a delicious crispy fried fish with a spicy sweet sauce over it. Of course the cook had to come over and try to figure out just what the hell I wanted. I was well into my Beer Lao by that time and Muzzy was consummed by getting a photo of the other cook making the spectacularly delcious pak boon fai dang, a flamming concoction that could make a meaningful photograph. I switched gears and ordered the garlic pepper squid that I remembered from our last trip. The pak boon, fried morning glories, arrived with a smokey flavor adding to the oyster sauce and garlic. But the next dish blew us away. Muzzy put away his camera and we concentrated on the fried duck with onions in chili oil with a delicate halo of crispy basil leaves over the top. OH MY GOD...run, don't walk to Jok Pochana, the best kept secret of Bangkok's prodigious street food! We lucked out with one icey cold Beer Leo and one typically warm one...we shared. And now, we are crashing, seriously. More adventures tomorrow. Night All!