Romping and Nguyening

Little did we know how much our morning would suck the next day, only to find ourselves slowly sinking deeper into a miserable undesired test of patience.

Our train for Hsipaw departed at 5:45am, which meant we had to be up an hour before. Unsurprisingly, the platforms and trains were not labeled in the Mandalay station. We showed a couple of people our tickets, they pointed us to the “correct” car, and we comfortably sat down with fifteen minutes to spare. The car was completely empty except for one passenger, whom we asked if the train was heading to Hsipaw. He stuttered in broken English, “Yes, Hsipaw!” After spotting another train sitting on a different platform, we were hesitant to trust the stranger, so Chris left the train to ask an actual attendant. At 5:39, the man for some reason changed his mind and exclaimed, “Yangon! No Hsipaw!”

Fuck. We had five minutes to grab our bags and run to the other platform to catch the train. As I gathered our gear, Chris frantically hurried in and cried out, “We’re on the wrong train!” With Chris’s 15 kg bag on his back and a 12 kg bag on mine, we bolted out the train, up the stairs, over to the other side, down the stairs, and into the train that was preparing to depart.

We breathlessly sank into our chairs in the foreigner-filled car, perspiration wildly dripping down our faces (remember, it’s humid here!), and within three minutes at exactly 5:45am, the train set out to Hsipaw. Whew, we thought as the train rolled out, but the train did not even completely exit the station when it stopped abruptly and sat on the tracks for a full half hour before leaving again.

During that time, we scanned the car and I stuck my head out the window to observe the train. There were only three passenger cars, two of which were “ordinary class” with wooden benches, and one which was an “upper class” with soft seats (our car). None of the ordinary cars had air conditioning but the upper class car had fans; however our section was the only section of the upper class car that did not have a working fan! We groaned and planned for a sticky day.

The only reason why I opted to travel by train to Hsipaw was because another traveler we met had recommended it, claiming it was a beautiful and authentic experience. Traveling by train in Myanmar was definitely one of the most authentic journeys I’ve experienced, but because it was neither comfortable nor faster than traveling by bus, we indisputably agreed to return via bus.

Yes, the scenery in the mountains was beautiful. Yes, we got to observe locals. Yes, we made it to Hsipaw. However, it was not worth the countless number of intermittent stops, random breaks for snacks, and cargo pick ups and drop offs for the uncomfortable twelve-hour journey in the damned heat.

Outside the shitty train:

Inside the shitty train:

Some scenic views/interesting stops:

Locals selling snacks at random stops:

By the time we checked into our hotel, we had only enough time to secure our 2-day 1-night trek for the next morning, eat dinner, and pack.

Upon returning from dinner, Lily, our kind guesthouse keeper, found us and asked, “Tomorrow for trekking, wake up earlier. Leave at 6:30 instead. Is okay?”

“No problem. Why are we going earlier?”

Without any hesitation, she replied with a large smile, “Earlier I receive call from people in village. They say don’t come. Army is there. Fighting. No good for tourists. So you trek somewhere else, Kyaukme, about 1 hour from here. Is okay?”

The fuck?

“They’re fighting in the villages?” I asked slowly, uncertain about what to think.

“Yes. No good. Trek somewhere else. Better.”

Well, no shit. That’s a damn good reason to avoid Hsipaw. I’ll gladly trek elsewhere.

“More beautiful!” Lily claimed, but my guess was she was just using her sales tactics.

***

Early the next morning our small group of three (me, Chris, and Ophelia from France) met with our guide, Sawmying and took a minivan to Kyaukme.

The day was everything you’d expect in a trek through the Myanmar hill tribes: lush green mountains and mud paths, fields of produce, herds of cows, pleasant farmers, several tea breaks in locals’ homes, and learning a different word for “hello” in every village.   

To our delightful surprise, it was only Sawmying’s second time taking tourists through the hill tribes beyond Kyaukme; his first time was only five days prior. He had taken this route to avoid Hsipaw as well; apparently a couple weeks ago when he trekked through Hsipaw with tourists, mortars could be heard on the other side of the hills. He told us that only he and his friend are the only guides familiar with the route from Kyaukme. This meant no tourists and more eager locals! Yay! (We assumed other guides had either canceled their 2-day 1-night trek through the Hsipaw villages, or took tourists on a local 1-day trek around Hsipaw instead.)

The weather was overcast (perfect!) with few drizzles.

We took our last break late afternoon in this beautiful village. It showcased lovely views of the hills and offered sounds of a nearby gushing stream.

Up until the hut, the route was relatively easy with subtle inclines and declines through farms and villages. After we left the hut, we were faced with a steep, muddy decline filled with switchbacks.

I hope we don’t return the same way tomorrow, I thought to myself.

The decline ended with this adorable, green mini Golden Gate Bridge across the river. 

Immediately upon crossing the bridge, the dirt path shot upwards, disappearing into sharp left and right turns. For two painfully sweaty hours, we trekked up and up, hoping each switchback would be our last. Finally a small village could be spotted in the distance, and Sawmying told us that would be our shelter for the night.

As we sauntered through the village, I felt like Belle from Beauty in the Beast, strolling through the neighborhood as locals keenly rushed to their windows to get a glimpse of our foreign faces. Like Sawmying said, this was only his second time taking foreigners through this village. Excited but modest chatter could be heard regarding our arrival; shutters opened as we passed, and windows filled with wide-eyed children and toothless old ladies like a domino affect through the street as we trudged up the hill. Doors opened and people stepped out just to greet us with a smile and wave.

“Comme sa!” was the greeting in this village, and these words rang throughout the streets until we finally reached our destination, which was surrounded by donkeys and horses.

Exhausted from our journey, we plopped down onto a wooden platform where we proceeded to remove our damp socks and shoes. After the two hours of hard uphill trekking, we looked forward to a bath, dinner, and sleep. As we settled in, Sawmying and the lady of the house engaged in a deep conversation. His eyes had a hint of concern, but we chose to think nothing of it.

For the next thirty minutes Sawmying sat in silence, staring off into distance, clearly contemplating troubled thoughts. I assumed he was tired, as I recalled his 45-year old body ambling up the hill behind the rest of us. Ophelia went for a quick wash and the lady of the house began preparing our meal. Chris and I happily wiggled our toes and stretched our legs.

“What time are we getting up tomorrow?” I asked Sawmying when Ophelia returned from her bath.

“Earlier than yesterday,” he responded slowly. “Maybe 7:30. Is that okay?”

“Not a problem. We can leave earlier if you want. Whatever you think is right,” Chris replied.

“Well…earlier will be better. Maybe 7…” Sawmying trailed off.

“Why earlier?” I asked curiously.

He paused. “Everyone, can you come together? I have to tell you something.”

Slightly concerned, we huddled around him.

“The lady here told me that the Shan army is thirty minutes away, and the Myanmar army is an hour away. They were further away before, but now they have come closer. They were fighting two hours before. Other villagers said that they could be fighting more…maybe they’ll come here. It might be okay to stay here, but we should leave really early tomorrow…it will be better. Or maybe we can leave now and stay in another village tonight.”

We were slightly shocked.

“What do you think is better?” Chris broke the silence.

“I think we should go back to the other village.”

It was 6:05pm. Sunset was less than an hour away.

“Then we should hurry.”

We quickly packed our belongings and disgustingly put our wet socks and shoes back on. Sawmying told the lady of the house our decision, and in response she packed up the vegetables she was preparing for us and handed him a large bag with mosquito nets. We stocked up on water (it was the only place in the remote area where bottled water could be purchased), wished the lady and her village safety, put on our headlamps, and set out into dusk. 

“Which village are we returning to?” I asked. As it turned out, we had to backtrack down the treacherous hill and go up the one I had hoped not to climb the following day. Instead, we were going to climb it today, tonight, right now.

Already drained from that day’s trek, we hastened down the hill. My knees and feet were shot, but we had to hurry. Light was fading fast. What took two hours to trek up took one hour to trek down, and by the time we crossed the bridge, the only distinguishable light came from the flickering fireflies.

That hill was a nightmare. The pitch-blackness did not allow us to anticipate the upcoming steep switchback, and every once in a while my shoes would lose grip on the slippery surface. With feet and calves burning, I followed the single file line up the hill. Each step brought more pain, and as I dawdled behind, the distance between the leader and I grew. Chris was supportive and stayed behind with me.

“Are you ready for Hong Kong?!” Chris playfully asked me.

“Hell. Yes.” We both missed having Internet and useful smart phones.

Finally, we heard the familiar rushing water of the stream. The same dogs that barked at us when we left began to yap again. We arrived unannounced at the doorstep of the familiar hut exactly 1 hour and 45 minutes after our departure.

The man of the hut turned out to be a Christian priest who held community prayers in his home. When we arrived, almost the entire village (25-30 people) sat in the common area, reading and singing in unison as the priest strummed his guitar-like instrument beneath the single light bulb dangling from the center of the thatched hut. Half the people were children, who watched us curiously as they sang.

All four of us soaked our sweat-drenched bodies in the refreshing stream for a quick bath. We were just barely able to make out the bar of soap and shampoo with the two headlamps resting on some stones. It was one of the more authentic bathing experiences I’ve had, and I looked forward to being dry in clean clothes.

After our stream bath, Ophelia, Sawmying, and I joined the sermon. Everyone had a few more words to read from the book, and then all the adults moved aside for the children. The children gathered around the priest and happily sang a song in unison as he strummed his instrument, playfully rocking his body to the song. We marveled at the locals practicing their faith, and Ophelia and I discussed how much happier we were to be spending the night with this tiny community.

When they finished, our simple dinner of rice and boiled vegetables was served at around 9:30pm. I was quite famished, since our lunch of instant noodles and rice was nine and a half hours ago at noon.

After dinner, our “beds” were set up—basically two blankets over a straw mat on the wooden floor with the pillows pushed up against the back wall. My pillow reeked of a peculiar stench (their laundry machine was the stream), but at least the mosquito net did its job. The priest and his wife gathered all seven of their young children and went to bed in their “room” across from the common area where we would be sleeping. Chris and I fell asleep anywhere between 10:30-11pm to the sound of the stream in the distance.

Little did we know that on the other side of the thin wood-plank wall where our heads rested was a broken alarm clock. It would go off at 4:50am and repeatedly again and again as the sun climbed over the hills. Its name was Mr. Rooster. When Mr. Rooster was awake, he wanted to make sure everyone else was awake too.

Chris and I lied awake in our blankets for an hour and a half, and I finally got up at 6:30am when I couldn’t take the screeching any longer. The entire family was already up and about. Hooray for authentic experiences!

Over breakfast we learned that we were the first foreign guests that the priest had hosted in his home. Sawmying knew that he and his family were not expecting us to return and stay that night, but because he was a priest, Sawmying knew he would not turn down the offer to help us.

We left around 8:20am and had an uneventful yet miserably wet trek back to Kyaukme. Unfortunately it rained almost the entire way back, making us uncomfortably wet and muddy. At around 11, we completed our trek.

Despite the past couple days being some of the most authentic experiences I have ever had, I never want to face that type of adventure that again. Getting a glimpse into everyday life by sauna-train was interesting. Trekking through villages that hardly ever see foreigners was gratifying. Dredging up and down hills in the complete darkness to potentially avoid one of the longest ongoing civil wars in modern history was formidably adventurous. Seeking shelter in the welcoming home of a priest and his family in the middle of the Myanmar hills was priceless. The trek from Kyaukme (instead of Hsipaw) was our final excursion in Myanmar prior to heading to Hong Kong, and it will definitely have a lasting impression.

***

We returned to Hsipaw around 1:30pm and boarded a VIP sleeper bus en route to Yangon that same night at 9:30pm. After looking at flights out of Mandalay, we had decided last minute to fly out of Yangon on July 22^nd because there were better options.

The bus ride took longer than the 12 hours they claimed it would take. Our bus ride took 16 hours, including the 2-hour wait from 3-5am outside of Mandalay due to that damned 9pm-5am curfew. Fortunately our VIP bus was incredibly comfortable; apparently VIP buses are each equipped with a young, attractive Myanmar woman dressed in a form-fitting uniform. After the miserable 12-hour train ride and the 16- hour bus ride, we both felt that we were thoroughly prepared for our flight home next month.

I realized that since we were returning to Yangon, we could have potentially visited Mrauk U by flight and slow boat. However, my patience for travel in Myanmar had just simmered down to dissipating droplets on a hot pan. The excruciatingly slow train ride and the whopping three hours it took for us to book our flights to Hong Kong after multiple attempts online wore me down to the bone. The U.S. sanction on Myanmar also made it cumbersome for online banking and credit card usage. We had the worst sleep for five consecutive nights during our last week in Myanmar; we had a 5:45am departure from Mandalay to Hsipaw by train, we had a 6:30am departure for trekking the day after that, we were woken up at 4:50am to a rooster after that, we spent the night on a sleeper bus to Yangon after that, and we were up again at 5:15am on our final day to catch a flight out.  We didn’t even have time to wash our sweat and mud-soaked clothes from the trek; our disgusting clothes were bagged, packed, and flew all the way to Hong Kong in that condition.  After 19 somewhat painfully authentic days in Myanmar, our Silicon Valley American souls were ready for reliable Internet, strong and hot showers, a freaking pizza or burger, and some damn efficiency. We knew Hong Kong had all of those.

It was only three years ago when people dubbed Myanmar as “a land lost in time.” ATMs and mobile phones were unheard of, and travel by horse carriage was common. Now thanks to rapid change and growth, newer cars have arrived (I saw a number of Honda Fits and Toyota RAV-4s), ATMs are increasingly common, and almost everyone has a mobile phone. (There is even a saying for people whose attention is diverted to their phones: “Look, the monkey found a coconut!”) Once the internet is truly reliable and data can actually be purchased for mobile phones (by volume instead of per minute), travel in Myanmar will be slightly more painless like the rest of Southeast Asia (and even that is a low bar!). Some might prefer Myanmar to be a “land lost in time” but with its strides toward modernity, it will not be this way much longer. I see it as a good thing—room for improvement, opportunity, growth, and education—and I look forward to returning when Myanmar is in its next stage of progress.

After extensive research in Bagan, I wished I came into Mandalay first and traveled south with Yangon being the final destination. Doing so would have allowed us to see Mrauk U and it would have provided us with more flight options out of Myanmar. Mrauk U is another archeological site in Myanmar, not incredibly far from Bagan. Upon a quick scan of Myanmar’s map, I assumed Mrauk U would have been a simple bus ride from Bagan. However, due to its remote location in western Myanmar over a mountain range, the only way to get there would be a flight from Yangon to Sittwe (where flights are only offered several times per week), and then a five-hour slowboat ride up a river. Due to this arduous journey, Mrauk U only sees about 3,000-4,000 tourists on a good year, making it a very cultural experience.

Sadly, I was obliged to cross Mrauk U off our list of places to visit and we continued our journey to Mandalay, the second largest city in Myanmar. I’ve heard from most travelers that Mandalay merely serves as a base to other attractions. Like Da Nang in Vietnam and Phnom Penh in Cambodia, Mandalay in Myanmar is a large city that offers hardly anything for tourists. Our plan was to spend a day and a half in Mandalay and then proceed to Hsipaw, another known trekking site for travelers.

We arrived in the afternoon from Bagan and rented bicycles to check out Sandamuni Paya and finally the temple on Mandalay hill for sunset.

Sandamuni Paya

Mandalay Hill

Sunset from the top of Mandalay Hill:

The next day after we bought our train tickets to Hsipaw, we rented a beat up old 90cc Honda Cub motorbike to explore two historic sites in the outskirts of Mandalay: Sagaing Hill and U Bein’s Bridge at Amarapura. Neither excursion was exactly noteworthy, but we knew Mandalay was not an exciting tourist destination by any means.

Sagaing Hill

Nice rest stop in the middle of nowhere:

Motorbiking through a village:

U Bein’s Bridge (world’s longest wooden footbridge):

There were other places supposedly worth checking out, such as the sites within the Mandalay Palace and Fort, but with the ridiculous $10 government fee, I figured it wouldn’t be worth it. In the end I felt that the palace and fort weren’t necessarily amazing attractions to see but rather excursions to fill the void while in Mandalay. From the peak of Mandalay hill, one could easily gaze down and see that the fortification was simply a handful of buildings crowded with trees and enclosed in a brick box. Meh indeed.

After our single day of killing time in Mandalay, we were ready for Hsipaw.

Next up on our list of Myanmar destinations was Bagan, the ancient kingdom I looked forward to the most while visiting Myanmar. Home to over 2,000 temples, stupas, and pagodas, Bagan houses the highest concentration of Buddhist monuments in the world. Like Cambodia’s Angkor Wat, Bagan is famous for its vast archeological religious complex; however, unlike Angkor Wat, Bagan’s monuments seem to trickle on endlessly between the 26 square mile bare desert valley and farms with winding dusty dirt paths. It is difficult to comprehend the placement of Angkor’s notorious temples with its numerous moats, never-ending courtyards, and sky-reaching fortifications buried behind curtains of forest. In contrast, Bagan’s monuments, though higher in quantity yet significantly smaller in size, were easy to navigate and explore thanks to the simple paths, bare grounds, and few trees.

The city of Bagan is primarily divided into three sections along the Irawaddy River: Nyaung U to the northeast, Old Bagan in the center, and New Bagan to the south. Old Bagan is conveniently located smack in the center of the ancient monuments but only offer high-end luxury government-run resorts as accommodation. Citizens who once resided in Old Bagan were actually forced to move to a few kilometers to the south by the government, forming present-day New Bagan, where a number of mid-range hotels and restaurants can be found. Nyaung U, a small town just a few kilometers northeast of Old Bagan has the most markets, shops, restaurants, and budget hotels in the area and is the ideal hub for backpackers and budget travelers. We opted for Nyaung U, and we were glad we did.

Since Bagan is the #1 tourist destination in Myanmar, the locals there (particularly the tuk-tuk drivers) have sadly already learned how to scam tourists like those in Scambodia. As soon as our bus from Inle Lake parked in the bus station, a herd of Myanmar men swarmed the entrance like hungry flies. We enjoyed hearing their insane offers of $4 per passenger for a 7 kilometer ride into town, but my favorite lie was when we were told the government only allowed two passengers per tuk-tuk when we tried to pair up with another couple. After we saw a group of 5 passengers take off in a single tuk-tuk at $2 per passenger, an honest local quietly offered to take us into town at the local price—$1 per passenger. The rest of the men angrily chorded him in their language, but he graciously took us into town and even dropped us off at a pleasant motel in Nyaung U after asking us what type of accommodation we were looking for. We tipped him nicely and thanked him for being genuine.

We had two days to explore the temples and started our first day with a horse drawn carriage. These carriages are not actually just a tourist attraction; even after Myanmar gained independence from the British, they continued to use this as their mode of transportation. Locals can be seen all over Myanmar villages using the horse drawn carriage like a taxi. After breakfast we stepped out our hotel to find Mimin and his tiny eight-year-old horse, Lucky, waiting for us: 

I have read in numerous books that traveling by horse and carriage can be slow and uncomfortable, but Chris and I thoroughly enjoyed our day by horse carriage. Traveling slowly allowed us to take in all the sites at a leisure pace; we did not blow by the major sites and dinky stupas that sat along the side of the road.

I will also say that I LOVED Bagan during the low rainy season; the weather was pleasant for the majority of the time, with the sun buried behind clouds and a strong wind to provide comfort. The number of tourists was phenomenally low; the restaurant street known as Restaurant Row was deserted, there were only a handful of tourists at sunrise, and Chris and I more than once had a lovely temple all to ourselves. And finally, we never once had to use our umbrellas or ponchos since it never rained while touring the archeological complex.

During our first day, we visited the twelve following sites in this order:

Shwezigon Temple & Pagoda

Thagyarhit Temple (no picture!)

Htilo Minlo Temple

Ananda Temple

Thatbyinnyu Temple

Some temple behind Thatbyinnyu Temple: 

Shwegugyi (no picture!)

Mahabodhi Pagoda

Bupaya Pagoda

Gawdaw Palin Temple 

Manuhar Temple (no picture!)

Gubyaukgyi Temple

Shwesendaw Pagoda (we were so excited to go up, none of us took a picture of the actual structure!)

Shwesendaw is the popoular spot for sunset and sunrise. Photos below are from sunset (and photos of us waiting patiently for sunset). 

Each site has its own significance and you can briefly read their historic stories here.

On our second day of exploration we rented electric bicycles (so much fun!) to tour the sites we missed out on the previous day. We got up at 4:30am and zoomed out of our hotel in pitch darkness at 5am to catch the sunrise at 5:37am. I’ve always been more fond of sunrises than sunsets; there are only a fraction of the tourists from sunset, and they require more work which in the end makes it more rewarding. Hushed whispers are only shared during sunrise as opposed to the rancor of chatter during the crowds of sunset. In darkness the largest sites are grandiose as they stand illuminated by bright, gold lights, but as the sky fills with color, the bright lights are turned off and its natural beauty glistens in the sun. Stupa spires fill the panoramic skyline, engulfing one in breathtaking beauty. Photos do not do justice, but here are the sunrise photos below.

After sunrise, we continued to explore the central plains of Bagan, checking out the eerie “bad karma” Dhamma Yangyi Temple:

Sulamani Pahto:

And Pyathada Paya:

Pyathada Paya, the largest monument in all of Bagan, ended up being our last visited and our most favorite site. It is said that having this place to yourself is unlikely, but since it was only approximately 8am during our visit, we lucked out and not one soul appeared except for the local farmers who passed by on their motorbikes. As we explored the interior, we came across a stairway behind an unlocked metal door. Although the door was closed, a NO ENTRY sign could not be found, so we pulled the door open and cautiously made our way up the dark, narrow stairs. 

Its brick terrace turned out to be surprisingly enormous and boasted 360º views. We spent some time sitting up on the roof in silence, listening to the wind and taking in the skyline before us.

By 9am, we “finished” our tour of the religious sites and spent the rest of the morning cruising through New Bagan, Old Bagan, and Nyaung U, passing up a number of the sites we visited the day before with Mimin and Lucky. It is easy to become infatuated with the archeological complex of Bagan; exploring it proved to be less stressful than exploring Angkor Wat. I highly advise against going to Bagan between March and May, the hottest months of the year. Rather, come early in the low rainy season when the weather is bearable and more often pleasant than not. Come to Bagan to marvel at Myanmar’s infamous skyline of never-ending stupas and leave with lasting memories more beautiful than your photos will ever be able to capture.

During my trek, I met Avi from Israel and Lyvia and Ivan from Switzerland. We agreed to share a boat the day after trekking for an all-day tour of Inle Lake, which cut down the cost and provided good company. I had just spent my last three days of being 28 years old trekking the Myanmar mountain countryside, and now I would spend my 29^th birthday with Chris and some new friends on a boat!

Some photos around Nyaung Shwe, the town we stayed in:

The five of us boarded the boat and departed the pier a quarter until 8am. Between 8am and 4pm we visited various shops and sights along the lake, learning more about the locals who live in the stilt houses along the canals.

My favorite excursion on the lake was Indein Village Pagoda. The entrance was lined with antique shops.

Detailed artwork were created and sold by the disabled. Incredible talent.

Indein Village Pagoda:   

Stilt houses and neighborhood canals:

Boat making: 

A local painting his fingernail pink: 

Vegetable garden in the lake: 

Local leg-rowing fisherman: 

By late afternoon on our journey back to the pier, we fortunately came across a traditional Intha fisherman who was happy to perform a balancing act for us. Everything about his mini performance was a work of art, from the brilliant half-day sun brightly shining upon his orange trousers and boat, to the dark clouds pouring rain onto the rolling green hills in the distance. 

Toward the end of our boat tour, Chris told Lyvia and Ivan that it was my birthday. They were incredibly sweet—when we arrived at the pier, Lyvia told me that they wanted to pay for my share of the boat tour as a birthday present! It was a sweet ending to a memorable boat tour of Inle Lake. Chris and I ended the day with a yummy pizza, chocolate cake, and red wine dinner at a French restaurant. It’s funny how insanely “fancy” a $20 dinner costs in a country where we normally would spend $1-$2 on meals, but it was my birthday, so fuck it, why not?

I am looking forward to my last year in my 20s!

It was a difficult decision but Chris and I decided to journey separately for the next 3 days and 2 nights due to his everlasting cough. Chris probably needed about three or even four more days to completely recover, and we were stuck in a village with no internet and nothing much to do. With a strict deadline of our return home approaching, I felt pressured to do everything I could do with the time we had remaining. It was either I go, or both of us don’t go at all.

We came to the decision that I would do this trek alone—which a majority of Myanmar visitors say is “the highlight” of their trip—while Chris would rest in Kalaw and later meet me at Inle Lake.

I woke up the morning of my trek to the sound of rain. I read the worst time to trek in Myanmar is during the rainy season due to downpours and slippery mud, but I figured it would be a good story, so why not? By 8:30am I was at Ever Smile trekking company, and by 9 the rain stopped and I was on my way with my guide, Mg Mg (pronounced Maung Maung). I read a good review about Mg Mg on TripAdvisor, so I had previously requested him. Thanks to the low season, I was the only trekker (which meant I had to pay more, but it was worth it).

To my relief, that entire day delivered nothing more than a light drizzle, but it bestowed plenty of mud that weighed down our legs as we dragged ourselves up and down the Myanmar mountain countryside. Albeit wet and slippery, I found myself favoring the cool, rainy season as opposed to of the cool, dry season of November through February (perfect weather, crowds of people) or the sunny, dry season of March through May (scorching hot). With the slight drizzle and thick, gray clouds overhead, I was reminded of San Francisco and Marin County, which has the perfect weather for hiking. It actually hardly rained throughout the trek, despite what travel books had warned.

Rest stop #1 at a Nepalese family’s home:

More photos of the trek:

A school in a village:

Throughout the day we trekked up and over hills, passed through farms and schools and villages, and took tea breaks in villages and shops. Mg Mg entertained me by telling me jokes, stories, and Myanmar village folk tales. More importantly, he filled me in with information on the Myanmar lifestyle, history, culture, and a deeper look into his family and upbringing. We were the same age (28 years) and it fascinated me how much our lives contrasted due to the opportunities our countries had provided us. Despite having an university degree, his work included hard labor at a cement factory where he got infected with malaria, setting up electric cables for new buildings at $2.50/day, selling juice out of his home, and finally becoming a trekking guide for about $10/day. (Remember that during the low season, treks are seldom at maybe two or three 2-day long treks per month.) As someone born and raised in Silicon Valley, I know that my options for education and careers are some of the best in the world. Listening to his stories again reminded me how fortunate I am to be born and raised in the United States.

By the end of the day, I learned how to count one through a thousand in Burmese, and I learned how to say, “How much?”

Rest stop #2 at an antiquated railway station:

This scale was probably older than me. It was used to weigh luggage and goods. Although their country is now making strides toward the metric system, they have their own unit of measurement: viss. 1 viss is about 1.6 kilograms.

By late afternoon we arrived at the house in Ywar Pu village, where we would be spending the night. There were a few guesthouses in the village that provided a place to sleep for trekkers like myself. Thanks to the low season, I was the only guest there that night. Like all the houses in the village, there was no running water or electricity. They depended on solar energy to light their free-hanging light bulbs and small television set, and they also collected rain water in cement cisterns to use for drinking, cooking, washing dishes, and bathing.

This was the house. The bottom floor was the kitchen and storage area, and the upper floor was the living/sleeping area.

The outhouse:

The area for washing dishes, an open cistern, and the trail leading up to the outhouse:

Mg Mg washing his feet in the bathing area using the water from the cistern:

This fairly large house belonged to a husband and wife in their late 30s, their two teenage daughters, and their young son. The husband worked as a traveling cook for other trekkers, the mother farmed, and their oldest daughter picked crops at another farm to earn extra money. Like any other teenage girl, they were giggly and enjoyed to sing, and would apply the bit of makeup they owned to their round faces to feel pretty. They were incredibly sweet and always smiled at me, shyly dodging my camera when I pointed it in their direction.

My first night in their home was the most authentic experience I’ve had in all of Southeast Asia. The fierce rain pounding on the metal roof forced my guide and I to shout at each other over dinner in order to be heard.

After a fantastic dinner, the mother took our plates and fed our leftovers to her family. Then the two sisters put on their straw Burmese hats, a poncho, and went outside to wash the dishes in the rain. Before I proceeded to bed, I put on my poncho and stepped out into the rain where I watched the girls happily sing and finish up the dishes. Being careful not to slip in the mud, I slowly staggered up to the outhouse that naturally had a non-flushing squat toilet.
As I brushed my teeth, I looked into the deep cistern and watched a number of worms wriggling around.

Finally I turned off the single light switch for the entire house (which turned off all the lights), crawled into my lone bed in the corner of their living room, and fell asleep to the pounding rain.

My bed:

Mg Mg helped apply the traditional thanaka to my face before setting out the next morning. First, you take out a slab of thanaka.

Then apply a dab of water to a stone slab:

Rub the thanaka bark in a circular motion until a creamy mixture forms.

Then apply to the face! Beautiful!

A photo of the husband the next morning, picking crops:
And a photo of me and the lady of the house before setting out:

Mg Mg told me Day 2 promised the most difficult day of trekking due to the exhaustion gained from Day 1, the distance needed to travel to the next guesthouse, the open fields that offered no protection from the sun, and the mud caused by last night’s rain. Fortunately the cloud cover kept us cool most of the day. The sun did come out for one brutal hour, but immediately after it disappeared, rain clouds appeared and dumped on us for only five minutes.

Rest stop in a village: 

Trekking up a narrow dirt path up a hill in a poncho with rain pouring down proved to be irritating, but not as irritating as the road conditions the rain bequeathed. Our last hour was brutal; I felt slightly dazed from fatigue as we trekked our final miles up an incredibly muddy hill, each step feeling heavier and heavier as the mud clung on.

Alas, we made it to the guesthouse in Pattu Baukat at a quarter until 5pm, and I enjoyed my traditional Myanmar bath hovering in the corner of a dark, wooden shack with a pan and cold water. I even managed to get four mosquito bites as I poured the frigid water over my mud-covered body, including one on my butt!

That night I slept in a super stuffy box of a room filled with stagnant air.

And I was woken up to the smell of smoke emitting from the kitchen outside my window.

For Day 3, Mg Mg told me we would trek in the morning, finish the trek with lunch, and then cross Inle Lake by boat. He estimated it would take four hours, but my competitive spirit kicked in and we quickly passed up each group ahead of us, resulting in a three and a half hour finish time! WHOO! After trekking approximately 42 miles over the past two and a half days in countryside mountain rain, sun, and mud, my legs and lower back were done. (The short yoga session I quickly gave Mg Mg on the evening of Day 1 didn’t really help either.)

Photos of trekking for Day 3:

The sliver of Inle Lake as seen from a distance:

After lunch, we climbed into a little boat and enjoyed the one-hour ride across Inle Lake into the modest tourist town of Nyaung Shwe.

A brilliant blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds served as a lovely backdrop as we zoomed past the straw stilt houses.

As we passed other boats, excited locals would point and wave, sometimes even shouting, “HELLO!” I think they were more interested in the European tourists (basically non-Asian looking people) sitting behind me, but I cheerfully waved back anyway.

The boat harbor was literally just a few meters away from our hotel in Inle Lake. A quick stroll across the bridge allowed me to reunite with Chris within minutes. The past 3 days and 2 nights coated me in sweat, dust, mud, and a shit load of bug bites, but my heart was filled with a sweet love for foreign people and culture, particularly Myanmar and its gentle people. Even the smallest glimpse into rural villages will make one understand the beauty and pleasures of a simple, community-driven lifestyle that we seldom see in the modern world of the West.

Despite it being July, Kalaw felt like a warm autumn evening in San Francisco.  Situated over 4,000 feet above sea level, Kalaw is a chilly mountain village, a refreshing escape from the sweltering hot Yangon. After we stepped off the bus into the middle of the night, we faced three or four local men, waiting for easy targets like us. One asked us where we were staying, and we told him Eastern Paradise Hotel. (We didn’t have a reservation; we planned on just showing up and hoping for the best.) He actually led the way to the nearby hotel and rang the doorbell for us. Had this been Vietnam, I would have been hostile toward this stranger and asked him to fuck off, but I reminded myself this was Myanmar.  A light turned on from inside, and a woman came out and graciously took us in. We were relieved that there was vacancy; walking around looking for a place to sleep at 3am in an unfamiliar mountain village wasn’t something I wanted to blog about. Instead of demanding money, the man who led us to the hotel smiled, handed us his business card, walked off, and disappeared into the darkness.  From the bus experience, to the local man who showed us our hotel, to the woman who kindly took us in at 3am, I truly felt the warmth of Myanmar’s hospitality.

We only meant to stay in Kalaw for two nights (including our 3am arrival) but due to Chris’ sickness we stayed an extra night.  That gave us time to do some backpacker-style laundry.

Random, beautiful photo op:

The madame at our guesthouse told us we were lucky—the market day was taking place the day after our arrival! Apparently locals and mountain tribes come to Kalaw every 5 days to trade and sell goods (mostly meat and produce), providing a colorful experience.  This market was the most authentic market I have seen during our trip; no other foreigners were present, and there weren’t any locals trying to sell us cheap crap made in China. I smiled at everyone I made eye contact with, and they happily smiled in return. 

At the end of the day, the villagers would pack up on a “bus” and journey on home.

During my brief exploration of this tiny village, I discovered a set of stairs that shot up into the hills, so I decided to check it out. A modest Buddhist temple sat on top, with perhaps the best view of Kalaw below.

With the blanket of clouds shielding the blistering sun, a desired chill in the air, and a pleasant breeze, I spent some time sitting at the top of the steps, taking it all in. As I browsed through the photos I took earlier that day, I heard an excited, “Mingulaba!” in the distance. I turned around and saw a happy, eager looking boy in maroon robes trotting my way.

“Mingulaba!” I responded with a smile. I thought he was simply passing by, but instead he knelt down beside me with a keen interest in my photos. After looking through some photos together, I decided to take a selfie. He immediately smiled for the camera. I took our photo, showed him the picture, and he giggled, bowed his head once, and ran off. 

In a town so quaint and cool, Kalaw is a great place to read a book, feel the breeze, and listen to the comforting rain.  However the real reason why people come to Kalaw awaited me the next morning—the popular trek to Inle Lake.

I have never done so much research on a country in my life until the few days leading up to my journey to Myanmar, and because most of my friends and family know nothing of this underdeveloped country, I want to share my brief knowledge of this country before I dive into my photos and experiences. 

Responsible tourism takes on a new meaning in Myanmar. Previously I have only heard that term with regard to drugs and alcohol. People advise against partying late and getting too wasted in foreign countries, trusting strangers, and wandering in unfamiliar neighborhoods. In Myanmar, once the meaning of “traveling responsibly” is explained one is left slightly disheartened and perhaps even may reconsider a visit to this country.  To travel responsibly would mean to avoid funding the government, one of the most corrupt governments in the world.

Independent travel is strongly suggested in Myanmar because it provides economy for the locals; tourists who only seek expensive, packaged tours help fund the regime. Luxury hotels, domestic airlines, and fancy, Western restaurants and facilities catered to tourists are typically owned and run by the government.  Chris and I prefer to eat at local restaurants and street vendors, stay at small family-run guesthouses, ride the buses and taxis, and hire freelancing guides. It is even recommended to exchange money at a moneychanger instead of a bank so the regime does not get its cut.  I often dreamed about visiting the horrifically fascinating country of North Korea, but I refuse to go only because I know my contribution will support no one else but Kim’s dictatorship. It is impossible to visit Myanmar without supporting the government the slightest bit, but with proper planning and research it is absolutely possible to benefit the local businesses and communities. U Win Tin, NLD leader and former political prisoner, is quoted in Lonely Planet, “We want people to come to Burma, not to help the junta, but to help the people by understanding the situation; political, economic, moral—everything.  To have a very big cruise ship with hundreds of tourists coming in—that’s a lot of money for the regime, and so we don’t like such big business.”

Like North Korea, the government of Myanmar isolated itself from the rest of the world, spiraling into economic downfall. However, unlike North Korea, its isolation lasted approximately 30 years from the 1960s to 1990 and is now seemingly making strides toward democracy. Propaganda is not on every corner, and people are generally free.  Though not a totalitarian dictatorship, the government is still known for its media censorship and lack of human rights, and citizens are not permitted to speak freely or even roam freely in their own country. Bloggers are known to be jailed, and thousands of political prisoners from the past remain incarcerated.

Everyone says the people of Myanmar are especially kind and correlate that with their religious ties to Buddhism. While I agree that the locals are genuinely welcoming, I must point out that their Buddhist government is unfortunately not. Over 80% of their country is Buddhist, and that includes Buddhist mobs and monks who instigate hate crimes and civil wars against Muslims. Discrimination against non-Buddhists is severe; non-Buddhists will never be able to earn a high-paying job in Myanmar. Civil wars and hate crimes including the ravaging of Muslim mosques are ongoing not just in villages, but also in large cities such as Mandalay; a curfew in Mandalay was declared only recently on July 3 due to Buddhist violence against the Muslims.

Even more shocking is the government’s intent to drive the minority Rohingya minority group to extinction.  The Muslim Rohingya minority group live in the far west of Myanmar along the border of Bangladesh.  According to the Myanmar government, they are not citizens of Myanmar despite the fact that their families have lived there for generations.  As a result, they are considered stateless, have been denied citizenship and their rights, and have been put into camps (I call them extermination camps) where they are not permitted to leave. The government denies them basic aid and food, spreading unnecessary starvation and diseases that could easily be prevented.  According to the United Nations, they are one of the most persecuted minorities in the world.  Even the majority of the Rohingya who manage to flee to Bangladesh or Thailand barely survive their journey and face the high likeliness of capture and imprisonment.

With the current political issues being said, it is also important to highlight some recent key historic points.  Up until 2011 Myanmar was ruled by decades of isolation from the rest of the world under the military junta.  The recent declaration of independence from the British in the 50’s led to the renaming of the country (from Burma to Myanmar), and the recent downfall of the military junta led to the renaming of the former capital (from Rangoon to Yangon), and even the birth of a new capital, a city built from scratch, Nyapyidaw.  Prior to 2012 the door to Myanmar tourism was barely an open crack, but the softening of the tourism boycott in 2012 vastly opened its doors.  Despite not being ranked far off from Cambodia and even Somalia in terms of government corruption and poverty, Myanmar is surprisingly ranked high in safety.  The people of Myanmar are kind to foreigners because there aren’t many of us there yet; they are curious about us, and are happy to learn that internationals are eager to learn more about them.

Tourism in Myanmar is now on the rise, especially by those hoping to see the most “untouched, rawest” country in Southeast Asia.  In 2012 there were over 1 million tourists in Myanmar, a 67% increase from the year before with only 816,000 visitors.  Compare that with the 26.7 million visitors to Thailand in 2013!  It is incredibly fascinating to know that the neighbor of a once-isolated country is the world’s top destination.  Myanmar is struggling to keep up, but its transition from an isolated identity to international reform makes it an exciting place to be in.  Only a year ago Myanmar saw its first handful of ATMs and now they can even be spotted in small towns.  For now, the people of Myanmar continue to have a virgin eye for foreigners.  Contrary to its Southeast Asian neighbors, most people in Myanmar have not yet learned how to scam foreigners, stalk them in tuk-tuks, or sell them t-shirts with amusing cartoons and phrases.  My guess is they will learn to hate us (like the Vietnamese do!) in the next generation.

Myanmar is not for everyone; it is not an all-inclusive, relaxing vacation for the tourist, but rather a cultural destination that will satisfy the anthropological curiosity of a traveler.  “Come here with an open mind, and leave with a filled heart.”

Although still considered filthy by Western standards, its Southeast Asian neighbors make a minor attempt at litter removal due to their knowledge of trash-despising visitors.  With so little visitors, the Burmese have not yet felt the need to properly dispose their garbage.  As a result Yangon has the grimiest, filthiest streets I have ever seen.  Mud, plastic bottles, bags, and wrappers are the least of my concern; crumbled sidewalks, gutters filled with brown rainwater and sewage, puddles of rainbow oil slicks, loads of pigeons and their poop, and crimson blood-like splatters of betel nut spit stain the sidewalks and streets.  Add the rumbling of generators for periodic blackouts and spattering, black smoke from the decades-old buses and you now have Yangon before your eyes.  Geographically Myanmar belongs in Southeast Asia, but culturally it feels more like its neighbors of Bangladesh and India to the west (which I’ve had the pleasure of visiting four years ago).

Despite our centrally located guesthouse (Golden Star Guesthouse) in downtown Yangon boasting high reviews, the entrance and stairway leading to the guesthouse was gruesomely gritty. First, you have to pass the ancient electrical boxes covered in grime.

Then you have to walk through someone’s kitchen (only around meal times).

And sometimes the kitchen transformed into a laundry area, with the pet cat lounging about.

And finally, you had to walk past this man’s “home” every morning and evening. His belongings included a straw mat and a mosquito net, and he was usually gone midday.

In the former capital of Yangon, home to over 8 million citizens, people seem to live their lives the way the rest of the Southeast Asians do, crowding the poorly built streets filled with fruit stalls, street food vendors, and miscellaneous junk. Unlike other Southeast Asian capitals and major cities, motorbikes are strictly prohibited in this city, creating aggressive drivers in gridlock traffic. People drive on the right side in Myanmar, even when most of their vehicles have steering wheels on the right.  Food vendors line the sidewalks with tiny plastic tables and chairs, serving the scrumptious national dish of mohinga soup and shan noodle soup.

Thanks to the rise of tourism, Yangon hotel rooms are more expensive but much more subpar compared to other Southeast Asian countries, but their food remains inexpensive and absolutely delicious. Small bowls of mohinga are anywhere from 200-400 kyat (~0.30 USD), but my highly sought-after snack is the fermented tealeaf and fried nut salad, laphet thoke.

A handful of Yangon’s citizens have migrated over to the Western clothing of jeans and colorful t-shirts, but the majority of men and boys continue to stroll in their longyi while the majority of women wear their traditional colorful sarongs with thanaka painted on their faces.  A Hindu and Muslim presence is strong in Yangon as seen in the kufi the men and boys wear, the number of Muslim restaurants, and the fresh samosas frying on the sidewalks. Foreigners have a bit of a presence, but nowhere near to the extent of the other Southeast Asian countries we have visited.  Mass tourism has not yet destroyed Burmese culture, but with the rapid growth of tourism Myanmar might be sorely transformed within a few years.

Just a few photos of street life:
July 4th marked our first full day in Yangon.  Instead of taking a taxi, we chose to explore the 4 km from our downtown hotel to the Shwedagon Pagoda, the most sacred religious site in the entire country.  Prior to arriving, it was easy for me to assume that this would be “just another religious site,” despite knowing about the copious number of Buddha statues, pagodas, stupas, shimmering gold, and temples it contained. It is said that there is nowhere else in the world like it, and after gazing at the spectacular site, I must cave in and agree.

This place was HUGE. It was also beautifully spread out. Not all Myanmar people are able to travel, and when they can, a pilgrimage to the Shwedagon Pagoda is a lifelong dream fulfilled.  It’s a pagoda, it’s a temple, it’s a museum, it’s a people-watching site, and it’s a hangout spot for locals. Teens gather in cliques beneath shaded structures to take selfies, while groups of monks and locals monotonously chant their prayers as the ring of a gong echoes in the distance. As the robotic chanting continues, one can feel the eerie power of faith penetrating in one’s soul. 

Our 1-day pass was valid for the entire day, thus we returned in the evening as it was recommended for a fantastic photo opportunity.  During the day, the pagoda’s pure gold and diamonds shimmered in the sunlight, and during the evening the carefully staged array of lights proudly illuminated the pagoda against the backdrop of a starry night.  We did not observe a fantastic firework show for our Independence Day, but we enjoyed the dazzling presence of Myanmar’s holiest site. 

Between our day and evening visits to the holy site, we humored ourselves in the afternoon by visiting the Drug Elimination Museum.  It is unnecessary for me to elaborate on how ridiculous this place is as it is wonderfully described in this article, so I will simply share some of our ridiculous photos here instead.

Here is the incredibly shabby entrance:

Some photos inside. This kid followed us around. Apparently all foreigners are followed around by a staff member of the museum. Big Brother watches you here…oooooh scary. o_O

On a separate day, I searched for the conversational English-speaking class that a friend recommended to me.  Chris wasn’t feeling well, so I went alone and found myself in the afternoon class of U Aung Hein Kyaw’s on 167, Seikkanthar Street. Upon a scan of the large classroom filled with students ranging in all ages, I quickly discovered that I was the only English-speaking foreigner and to my surprise, U Aung sat me on a stool centered on a small stage in front of the entire classroom and handed me a microphone. For the next two hours, students passed around the microphone so everyone (who was not shy) could ask me questions about who I was, what the U.S. was like, what the rest of Southeast Asia was like, etc. Throughout the conversations I jokingly prodded each student to sing me their national anthem and to my astonishment one guy actually asked the whole class to stand up, and together, they sang for me their national anthem!  The majority had their hands at their sides, with their heads slightly bowed, as they respectably sang their nation’s pride.  For some reason I was incredibly moved and the fat smile across my face fought back tears. 

I thought I was done after the two hours on the stage, but U Aung immediately asked me to remain another hour to help a smaller group with their English. His tone of voice and lack of other foreigners made me feel as if I did not have a choice, so I remained and ended up chatting for another two hours. Because this group was so small and personal, we were able to share more meaningful conversations about business and culture.

Thrilled with this experience, I returned again the next day, our final day in Yangon, for a morning class (with Chris this time). 

Later that afternoon after 5pm, we boarded a large bus en route to Kalaw.  Despite us being the only foreigners, it was probably the best bus experience I’ve ever had in Southeast Asia, even with the annoying Burmese music videos and poorly produced movies playing on the television. The locals were incredibly nice, especially the people who worked in the bus.  Even the driver was not a maniac like a Vietnamese driver.  Each seat provided a blanket, pillow, bottle of water, toothbrush, and toothpaste. We arrived at our destination just a quarter ‘til 3am.

Yangon was long behind us and I couldn’t wait to get a glimpse of the rural Myanmar in the mountains.