Sergio, our writer

The proposal of a friend, a trip on the scorpion-tailed boat, sounds like a good idea and a chance to see Chiang Mai from a different perspective. The atmosphere changes as soon as we arrive at the landing: the slow flow of the river and the warm welcome by the business owner propel us into a new dimension. After a short wait under a pergola where we sneak a peak at old newspaper articles, photos of personalities and vintage images taken along the river, all posted on one of the waiting area walls, we climb aboard the enigmatic scorpion-tailed boat. Just after we set sail, almost opposite the landing, we can see Chiang Mai new town hall, the American Consulate where a stars and stripes flag is waving, and the Khun Nam Tok View temple.

Until the middle of the last century this river – the Ping River – was the largest and main communication route to Bangkok. It was a long journey of a thousand kilometers that lasted two to three months. Those who ventured on that trip were probably gambling the income of their family and those of others for that year. The traditional houses along the river lead us to imagine these shores teeming with life in a not so distant past. Today Chiang Mai is connected to the rest of the country with roads, rail and a modern airport. Nowadays, only a few of these boats used for tours, as well as a reasonable number of fishermen, bring life to these shores.

Mango sticky rice at Khun Samak farm

Our friendly guide, Khun Samak, tells us interesting anecdotes about the river, and shows us last century pictures that present facts, corners and views of the Ping River. Going downstream, we cross the ruins of a pedestrian bridge collapsed during the floods of 2011, and we are shown the spot where the river overflew. We then pass the iron bridge and sail alongside an old site where in the past timber was processed and traded before being shipped to the south. Today, the cutting and marketing of teak has virtually stopped: after centuries of forests exploitation, it is time for Thailand to save and replant its own natural heritage. Khun Samak assures us that the reforestation program is very serious and strict.

Once we arrive at the Kum Phya Dam, a dam that leads the river to a jump of five meters below, the boat makes a u-turn and begins to slowly go up-current. We observe the alternation of natural vegetation with restaurants overlooking the river and modern buildings with elegant apartments that have a view of the city all the way to the hills and down along the river, towards south, towards Bangkok. We also see the home of the last princess of the Lanna Kingdom, who lived there at the beginning of last century and often went traveling around the world financed by her father. Khun Samak shows us a photo of her aboard a side-car, almost wanting to show her as a liberated woman as well as a curious traveler.

Scorpion-flavoured local liqueur

We then come to a landing where, on the shore, a gardener is cleaning up a flower bed, in silence, in complete harmony with the peaceful atmosphere of the river. We are introduced by our guide, who also doubles up as an excellent host, inside a small botanical garden complete of fruit trees, some varieties of local rice and medicinal plants; Khun Samak gives us a comment for each one of these: cooking uses and details on cultivation. A light refreshment of mango and sticky rice topped with coconut milk and a pineapple juice are a pretext to continue to quibble with our guide, who shows us traps for snakes and eels, and other objects of bygone days .

We finally climb back aboard the scorpion-tailed boat, sail backwards for a stretch of the river and return to immerse ourselves in the modern days Chiang Mai.

For further information about cruises on the scorpion-tailed boat, click on http://asianitinerary.com/scorpion-tailed-river-cruise/

To book a tour with Khun Samak:

SCORPION-TAILED RIVER CRUISE

Contact: Hotline 24 hrs.: +66 (08) 1960 9398

http://www.scorpiontailedrivercruise.com – info@scorpiontailed.com

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SCORPION-TAILED RIVER CRUISE

Contact: Hotline 24 hrs.: +66 (08) 1960 9398

http://www.scorpiontailedrivercruise.com – info@scorpiontailed.com

Khun Samak shows us some of the veggies in his farm

A Scorpion-Tailed river cruise is guaranteed to take you back to the history of Chiang Mai and of the Ping River. Scorpion-Tailed boats are traditional-style crafts initially built in the 18th century by a local shipbuilder who got inspired by the shape of a shell that was floating in the river. This shell had a scorpion inside who had his barbed tail holding up, and shipbuilder came up with the first version of the boat by copying this image.

Scorpion-Tailed boats were mainly used as cargo boats at the time, so once the northern railway route connected Chiang Mai with Bangkok, almost a century ago, Scorpion-Tailed boats quickly disappeared. This icon of the past has been revived thanks to the efforts of tourism industry master graduate of Chiang Mai University, Khun Songsri and knowledgeable tour guide Khun Samak. They have achieved to bring back to life the Scorpion-Tailed boat, that can today serve tourists who are interested in knowing some of the history of this great river, or who simply want to take in the atmosphere of times past.

Khun Samak farm

Khun Samak’s concept for the modern Scorpion-Tailed boat took into account several factors, but the most amazing achievement was to make them environmentally-friendly. They have been redesigned to include a benzene engine (the diesel version causes great pollution to the river), they have no toilet on board (to avoid waste going to the waters – you have been warned!), and are much much quieter than other boats. Also, they are super-safe, with the buoyancy compartments in the front keeping Scorpion-Tailed boats nicely afloat.

Khun Samak’s Scorpion-Tailed boat fleet today cruises the Ping River exploring the charm of Chiang Mai along its banks. The heart-centered cruises succeed in getting tourists to experience the atmosphere of the past while learning the river and the town recent history. Khun Samak himself is the tour guide on board, a sweet, knowledgable and funny one! He is a playful gentleman who adds a real educational experience to the cruise, and makes the trip entertaining armed with good jokes, century-old pictures and cute stories related to them.

Scorpion-Tailed river cruise

The cherry on the cake was a half-hour stop at the Scorpion-Tailed boat village. Set in tropical fruits garden by riverside, this little secret garden from Khun Samak is a botanical heaven where I learned so much about local plants and herbs. He also has different qualities of rice planted in small paddies! They then had us all seated and we were served fresh pineapple juice and a delicious dessert of sticky rice with mango, while Khun Samak showed us snakes and eels’ traps from the old times, and challenged us to drink a whisky aging with a scorpion and a snake inside the bottle. We all skipped that!

The entire Scorpion-Tailed boat cruise was a lovely and relaxing experience (a great thanks to the driver too!); I saw Chiang Mai in a very different way, while comfortably sitting and relaxing on a traditional-style vessel. Not to be missed.

WHAT YOU WILL SEE/LEARN

–   historical background of the boat

–   fishing techniques from local fishermen

–   Khun Tok View Nam chedi

–   American Embassy

–   a girdered footbridge between the oldest trading community of Wat Gate and Warorot Market

–   Chiang Mai ‘s oldest shopping center

–   Chang pier, where hundreds of elephants would haul logs from the river in the old days

–   the site of the first city

–   the first bridge

–   the first Christian church

–   the first post office

 INFO

Scorpion-Tailed boat landing is at Wat Sri Khong pier, 200m north to Nakorn Ping Bridge near Rim Ping Condo, on Charoenrat Road, Chiang Mai.

Winner of the Tripadvisor Certificate of Excellence 2013.

Pick up from different areas of town available.

Cruises last between one and a half-hour to two hours.

5 cruises daily: 9am, 11am, 1pm, 3pm, 5pm.

Price per person is 500thb. Minimum booking 2 people. Call 081 9609398.

If you make your way there, beware of imitations and make sure you get to the right landing. Watch out for the Scorpion-Tailed River Cruise banner.

For further information about cruises on the scorpion-tailed boat, click on http://asianitinerary.com/scorpion-tailed-river-cruise/

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The big headed ghost at Bor Thor cave

When I embarked on a longtail boat tour of Bor Thor, drawn by the allure of ancient caves and the legend of the Big Headed Ghost, I anticipated shielding myself from the scorching Krabi sun. However, on the appointed day, the sun was the least of my concerns. Instead, I was greeted by a somber, overcast morning, with rain persisting so relentlessly that at the Bor Thor pier, nestled in the Ao Luk northern district of Krabi, Thailand, even the local vendors’ stalls were ensconced in muddy surroundings, rendering sampling their fare impossible.

Boarding a traditional longtail boat, we navigated through canals flanked by islands cloaked entirely in mangrove swamps. Our guide enlightened us about this remarkable ecosystem, dominated by millions of mangrove tree roots protruding from the water due to insufficient air in the mud, and the intricate food chain within such forests. Mangroves not only furnish nutrients for resident animals and microorganisms but also act as a natural filter for the Marui River, trapping sediments from the upstream villages.

The reverberating noise of our boat’s engine resonated amidst the labyrinth of mangrove tree trunks, while towering limestone formations surrounded us, their verdant hues juxtaposed only by the vibrant canoes and kayaks, manned by tourists clad in equally colourful raincoats.

Entrance at the Bor Thor pier

Fifteen minutes later, we disembarked in front of a staircase leading to the entrance of Tham Phi Hua To, a marine section of the Tharnboke Koranee National Park. Situated 3.5 meters above sea level, the cave comprises two expansive interconnected chambers. It is believed to have served as a burial or ceremonial site for a prehistoric cave-dwelling community, dating back 2,000 to 3,000 years, evidenced by the discovery of human skulls within. These ancient inhabitants subsisted primarily on natural resources for sustenance and shelter. Adorning the area just above the entrance, we encountered the impeccably preserved painting of the Big Headed Ghost—a slender, hunched figure with a disproportionately large head, two antennae, a beak, a mantel-like covering enveloping its form, and protrusions emerging from its pelvic region. Crafted with henna, this pictograph has spawned a legend, alleging that the Big Headed Ghost, once a terrorizing presence, still haunts the cave, guarding its enigma and essence.

kayaks stationed at Bor Thor pier

Embarking on our exploration, we traversed the first chamber, replete with millennia-old stalactites and stalagmites, while a musty fragrance hung in the air. Adorning the walls were over a hundred paintings, partially preserved despite the ravages of time and climate. These primitive depictions, some rudimentary in nature, were rendered using henna, clay, and other natural pigments, illustrating people, marine life, tools, and vignettes of daily existence. Notably, the paintings varied in elevation, a testament to the fluctuating water levels both inside and outside the cave, which would rise during high tides, compelling inhabitants to seek refuge on higher cave floors, where they crafted these artworks during periods of respite. The abundance of ancient pictographs adorning the upper grotto walls corroborates this hypothesis. Ascending to the north chamber, we were treated to a panoramic vista of mangroves, limestone formations, and the meandering waterways below.

I am enjoying the long-tail boat trip

Upon returning to the longtail boat, we embarked on an exhilarating journey through Tahm Lod Tai, a cave nestled beneath a limestone hill, characterized by narrow passageways. Laden with awe-inspiring stalactites and stalagmites, this cave is navigable only during low tide. Our boat glided serenely through the cavern, affording us ample time to silently marvel at this marvel of nature.

As we disembarked at the Bor Thor pier, the rain had abated, and though the air retained a crisp chill, shards of sunlight pierced through the overcast sky. Descending carefully from the boat, we made our way to a riverside floating raft adorned with a thatched roof, serving as a restaurant where our lunch awaited. I found immense pleasure in this meticulously organized and pleasantly adventurous tour, replete with delightful surprises at every turn.

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A view of Koh Panyee

The sheer-sided sea mountains that rise vertically out of Phang Nga Bay, squeezed in between Krabi and Phuket province, form some of Thailand’s most spectacular scenery. Images of Phang Nga have travelled the world and shaped perceptions of southern Thailand, and of the boating experiences to be had here. With this in mind, I felt myself lucky to have been invited by a tour agency to take part on one of their most popular tours: Phang Nga Bay by yacht.

On an early January morning I met the crew on the Ao Nang (Krabi) beachfront: 9 staff, all busy to make our trip an unforgettable one. A traditional wooden longtail boat transferred us to the comfortable double-decked yacht. The sea was flat and the sky was brilliant. In the busy Ao Nang bay, several longtail boats drew foamy lines that criss-crossed in the waters, a usual sight during high season: some were leaving for island trips, others to the popular Railay peninsula.

We all boarded and set off. The guides explained the program of the day, then unfolded a couple of nautical maps and showed us our whereabouts, pointing islands and places. The elegant yacht upper-deck served both as a dining area and as a relaxing patio. I laid back on a comfortable deck cushion beneath the sun canopy and let the gentle sea breeze play over my face and body. The scenery around me was entertaining: the amazing palette of colours of the sea served as a frame for the several limestone islands that dot the expanse of the Andaman Sea. We passed the north cape of Koh Yao Island and finally entered the enchanting Phang Nga Bay. The cruise around the area revealed odd-shaped scenic limestone formations jutting out of an azure sea surrounded by a lush, tropical archipelago.

Long tail boats at James Bond Island

We finally landed on Khao Ping Kan and followed a nature pathway from where a couple of viewpoints offered magnificent views over Khao Tapoo, or what is commonly known as James Bond Island. This famous landmark first found its way onto the international map through its starring role in the 1974 James Bond movie ‘The Man with the Golden Gun’. On the small sandy bay, a few meters away from Khao Tapoo, we marveled at the spectacular area surrounding this island with its signature rocky pinnacle. The shoreless rock has the shape of a nail, flat and wide at the top, and very narrow at waterline, hence its name in Thai, ‘tapoo’, which in fact means nail.

We were quickly reminded that it was high season: along the line of tourist shops, dozens of visitors walked, negotiated with the souvenir vendors on prices of shells engraved with the image of James Bond Island, bought drinks and souvenirs and took pictures of the island. Khao Ping Kan itself is very small and can be walked in a matter of minutes. The name literally means ‘leaning mount’. On the rocky side, a massive slate of limestone at least 50 meters high detaches itself from the island wall, slits down to the grounds and sits leaning on it, creating a tent-like covered space from where to marvel huge grooves that are the rock breaking points. In a plaque on the wall, the King in person has carved His signature. It is a striking sight.

A young student at Koh Panyee school

On the bay, longtail boats kept coming and dropping camera-loaded visitors of different nationalities; it was time for us to depart. The group boarded a spacious longtail boat which left the crowd for our trip to Koh Panyee. Longtail boats in Phang Ngan are quite different from the ones used in the Krabi province: they are longer, more colorful and have a more pointed shape. The sea was getting wavy despite the vicinity to the island shores. We made a quick detour inside the mangrove delta; according to our guide, the Phang Nga backwaters host the largest mangrove forest in Thailand. We were given information on this particular type of environment and on how eco-tourism has in recent times helped to reestablish the depleted mangrove forests and to generate income for the local people.

Our next port of call was the picturesque island of Koh Panyee. Otherwise known as Sea Gypsy Village, Koh Panyee is built almost entirely on stilts over water to the south of the sheer limestone cliffs of the island. The people there are muslim fishermen, not sea gypsies as the tourist name suggests; the sea gypsies live further south on Phuket island and on Koh Lanta island. We got to wander around the village; near the pier, houses’ front lines have been converted into restaurants and souvenir shops, but once you pass this area you can dive into a life made of simple people, smiling children, roaming roosters and idle women in house porches. Under the maze of cemented walkways, the constant noise of coming and going sea water. The majority of the population that groups into 120 households earns its living from fishery. The culture of these fishermen, cut off from the mainland and most modern amenities, has existed undisturbed for more than a thousand years. There is a mosque and even a public school where kids cheered at our passage. We observed the local pace of life, with folks going about their daily chores like fishing and cooking. The majority of houses are shanty shacks seriously run down, still the place has a magic aura: it makes you wonder of the hard lives lived by this community that was hard hit by the tsunami disaster years ago.

The longtail boat finally took us back to the yacht, where a sumptuous Thai buffet waited for us in the first deck. We enjoyed food on the set tables in the upper floor, and soon after the boat left for the journey back to Ao Nang. The afternoon was at leisure, lying around under the shades of the canopy, observing the few sailing boats in the area that took advantage of the breeze to gain some speed. The journey back was characterized by some clouds and cold air.

Once back, I was exhausted but quite glad to have discovered the wonders of the lush tropical archipelagoes of the Phang Nga Bay aboard a yacht, looked after by a dedicated team. Seafarers and adventure-seekers will revel on a magical cruise in the Andaman Sea.

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We wake up early and head to the Hsipaw market to have breakfast in a small shop that sells black tea and chapatis with curry. Hsipaw is not the semi-deserted village we had imagined, but a small town of 30,000 people! While we fill our bellies, we discuss on how to spend the day, finally deciding to dedicate it to nature with a trek to the waterfall we have been told about.

We start a steady walk towards the hills and approach Hsipaw train station where we cross tracks flooded with people, cows and children. We then walk through small Shan villages where people greets us showing polite and friendly manners; the path that leads us across the rice fields and towards the waterfall is getting smaller as the scenery gets more and more rural. It’s pretty obvious that Hsipaw is an important agricultural center: there are rice paddies, watermelons and papaya plantations, carrots and cauliflower fields. Nearby a tractor and a heap of corn, we make a break and socialize with a family of peasant that is resting under a wood and bamboo hut. The family men share a cheroots with us, and we manage to take pictures of their two kids that are watching us with curiosity, going crazy with joy when we show them their photos on the camera screen. Their alleged mother is having a shower dressed in a lungy sarong in the creek nearby, and laughs amused at the scene. The rest of the path is uphill until we reach an impressive waterfall with a pond below where we treat ourselves to a bath of cool, clear water that restores our strength after the two-hour walk under the sun. From there we have a beautiful view of the valleys below; at their edges, the houses of Hsipaw.

On the way back we get a lift from a farmer carrying corn in the tractor trailer; we sit on the hard yellow pile, our body stoically bearing the hits the trailer gets due to the road potholes. We get off at the train station, where they are expecting the regional 3pm train that travels from Mandalay to Lashio, a city 100 kilometers from the border with China. This train, as all trains coming from Pyin U Lwin, had to cross the Gokteik Viaduct, the most significant artifact of this rail line, as well as the highest bridge in Myanmar. Completed in 1900, it is said that it was built to last 100 years, and this means it is lasting longer than expected; in fact the trains run through it at a very limited speed in order to avoid causing structural damage. A good reason perhaps to get to Hsipaw by bus…

There are groups of all races waiting for the convoy, in addition to fruit, betel and tea merchants, and a pair of permanent stalls that sell biscuits, coffee and snacks, where I make the acquaintance of one of the owners. She’s a nice middle-aged lady with the face smeared with tanaka powder; while eating betel leaves, she tells me that she is a Catholic and she still remembers a little Italian from the nun’s boarding school! Her daughter (or granddaughter), a small girl of about three years old with shaven head, painted nails and toes, her face also stained by tanaka powder, is sitting on a step eating an ice cream with her fingers and looking at us with amusement. And as time passes and 3pm passes as well, I explore the station, entering a colonial office that reminds me of the Indian train stations built in the 1800’s by the East Indian Railway Company, with the walls of wooden planks varnished in a cream colour, the iron furniture rusty from the tropical climate, the spinning old and noisy fan, the timetables written in white chalk on blackboards hanging from uncertain nails, and a servant in white shirt, linen trousers and flip-flops who counts U.S. dollars and notes the amounts with a pen under the ‘revenue’ column of a faded brown paper register. If it were not for the dollars and the ball-point pen, it could really be a scene from more than a century ago. Amongst the boards on the walls, all written in Burmese language incomprehensible to me, and next to a wall clock that clearly marks 3,20pm, there is the only sign in English, and it states “we will always be on time”…

The walk back to town takes us along suburban narrow streets where artisans work wood and handbags, and manufacture cheroots cigarettes. We come across a noodle factory where young workers produce, by hand, sort of spaghetti that will be part of two of the most famous dishes in the area: Mohinga, a fish soup with noodles that is an essential part of the Myanmar cuisine and that is considered by many to be the national dish of Myanmar, and Shan noodles, a traditional dish of the Shan people! At the Hindu temple we contemplate a joyful and skilled pagodas maker in the middle of a new work, red brick over red brick. Mr Ashà, given our interest in his work, invites us to drink a cup of tea in the nearby shack where, seated at a table, he tells us the story of his life, from mischievous child in India to pagodas maker in Myanmar, proudly listing the names and locations of all the pagodas he has built during his career.

The main street is now overrun by locals with their rickety scooters; we pass besides 3 children monks in burgundy robes with replicas of automatic pistols and shotguns proudly showing on their shoulder, an  incongruous sight that puzzles us a bit. We look at them puzzled, and accompanied by the their distant smiles we continue walking towards a Buddhist temple where the ordination of a large group of nuns is taking place. Hundreds of them are sitting in the large temple hall, dressed in pink robes, their head shaved; they recite mantras or listen to the sermons of an important-looking priest. The religious chants are mixed with the noise of the outside traffic; the night is falling.

The Hollywood action movie we watch on a 13-inch TV hanging precariously from a TV wall mount in a shack that serves roti and beans, the only dish on the menu, reminds us that a couple of days in Hsipaw are more than enough for our tastes.

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We leave Mandalay reluctantly but with the desire to explore what here they branded ‘the way to China’. The bus is comfortable, it ventures into the hills and soon reaches the colonial town of Pyin Oo Lwin, where the British colonizers lived when Mandalay’s heat became too oppressive. We stop for a quick meal break and then set off again towards Hsipaw, described by the guide as “a peaceful stopover”. After about three hours of travelling we approach a series of uphill hairpin turns where a truck that has rolled over a few bends higher forces our minivan to join an endless column of trucks carrying boulders, logs, sand, scaffolding, bulldozers and bricks (it appears that the construction industry is in vogue in Myanmar), sometimes alternating with pick-ups full of passengers and merchandise, as well as some cars. The darkness comes early and it is pitch dark; the vehicles in column form a strip of lights that move at alternate gaps and only in one direction: the north. Sometimes we follow local passengers who get off curious, or to smoke a cigarette or take a needed break when the waiting gets too much; they talk animatedly about the incident, creating small groups with drivers and passengers of other vehicles, and then get on in a hurry when the tail seems to move and drivers call passengers out loud and set the vehicles in motion.

A series of checkpoints and less than 7 hours later, we are approaching Hsipaw, a Shan ethnic outpost. A large village with a ghost appearance: wooden houses, closed taverns and shops, a few Chinese-looking characters, dark-skinned, almond-shaped eyed. It’s definitely chilly out here. After wandering along a pair of long, dark and deserted streets that correspond to the village ‘center’, we settle into a wooden guest house modelled like a Swiss chalet, only slightly less luxurious … It is 10pm, we calm our hunger in the little place nearby where a family of Nepalis (gift of the British colonial era) serves tea and Indians chapati to a mixed clientele of Shan, Indians, Muslims and Burmese. We sit on ultra low wooden stools and we enjoy black tea and chapati while observing the comings and goings of people. It’s amazing how many different races and ethnicities live together in this dusty village. The cold intensifies, as well as the tiredness. The shower is cold but the bed is made ​​warm by a thick wool blanket.

The good morning is at 7am; it is still cold. We get out to explore the village and discover that it looks totally different than the night before: it is total chaos, with trucks that share the roads with bicycles, merchants, kiosks, mechanics, pedestrians and tourists. The sidewalks are broken off or uprooted, holes are frequent and large, the cobbled paths alternate with stretches of poorly cemented areas, making a simple walk an endeavour. A thick cloud of dust perennially rises from the potholed streets and makes the village look immersed in fog; a vaporous smoke comes out of the mouth while we breathe , but the sun is already dissipating moisture and warming the air. After breakfast we decide to head down to the river in search of something to do. We pass the market and reach a residential area of ​​small houses and cabins overlooking the river. We somehow socialize and communicate with those we meet, who try as hard as they can to understand exactly what we want and to help us, whatever the need. The Dokhtawady River is clean and its waters clear, but it is said that his currents are really dangerous; the locals tells of malicious nats (spirits) that attract swimmers towards certain death.

We are finally able to agree on a boat ride with the wife of a boatman, who does not seem to like the idea of ​​interrupting his meal, but who nevertheless accepts, changes and proudly lowers his 10-meter boat in the water. We navigate upriver for a few kilometers observing rural life, farmers, ruminating buffaloes pulling plows, paddy fields, kids running around or bathing in the calm waters. The boatman makes a stop after four kilometers and takes us to visit, on foot, a village built on the banks of the river: wooden houses made of stone or bamboo where women cook, wash clothes or clean the cobs and men build walls or artifacts made ​​of bamboo or thatch roofs. There is calm, order and cleanliness in the village dirt roads, and all the villagers greet us as we pass.

our boatman

Once back on the boat, we continue upriver up to kilometer 7, in the vicinity of an iron bridge, where our guide reverses the boat and starts the journey back. We get off three kilometers from Hsipaw in order to take a walk and enjoy the place in quietness. We say goodbye to the nice boatman and walk along a path that runs along the bank of the river. We make a couple of stops, one to eat a bowl of noodles artfully prepared by a woman who runs an improvised kiosk: the bamboo pagoda where we eat was built literally ‘on the river’, while the kitchen she uses is the one at home, just a bit higher on the hill behind. On the outskirts of Hsipaw, at about five o’clock , we walk past a temple that houses a school for monks where we witness the end of the classes; we join the ranks of children monks returning to their homes. The traffic becomes more intense as we enter the village, and the dust is the host . The day was hot yet it was cooled by a nice river breeze.

We spend the evening strolling along the central Namtu Road, where until the late hours of 9pm (!) Locals and tourists dine in the many restaurants of this street. We enjoy a plate of Shan noodles from Mr.Food, a bit for the name and a bit because it advertises draught Dagon beer. Mr.Food is just one of the many shops that follow Hsipaw Mr. craze. We are staying at Mr.Kid Guesthouse, we saw Mr.Charles Guesthouse, Mr.Book’s library, Mr.Shake fruit juices maker and other Mr. I can not remember the name. It seems that the inhabitants of Hsipaw think that we foreigners like these cute and unusual names they give to their businesses, and it also seems that their marketing strategy works…

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pagoda meeting

I sleep 11 hours in a row and I do not even hear the 5am litany. After a breakfast of homemade cookies and tea in a Chinese teahouse, we walk towards the temple of Prie Jé, a half hour walk from Namshan direction south, where they celebrate the last day of the Kahtain festival. We cross a lovely hilly area with wooden houses surrounded by flower gardens and well-cared for vegetable gardens. The locals greet us joyful, some children are playing with colorful kites that fill the sky in this brilliant day.

I entertain a conversation with a barber originating from Bangladesh who is inclined to talk politics; he tells me that Burmese people in general are still suspicious of the moves of the central government, which according to him has a hidden agenda despite the recent openings. The natural reserves are sold to China, which finances a harbor area in the Burmese coast, a gas pipeline and an oil pipeline that will reach Kumming in southern China, as well as a hydroelectric plant in the Burmese Himalayan regions where local people are organizing protests against exploitation.

He tells me how his family moved to Yangon during the war with the British in the 40s, then moved here in the state of Shan to open stores. He claims that he has never been granted nationality in Myanmar and eventually lost that of his country, so after the independence of Bangladesh in 1964, his family was not able to return home. He says he’s still stateless. While he is cutting the hair of a young Shan boy, the scissors opens in two and fall to the ground; we all laugh a lot. “See? China buys good resources and sell us cheap merchandise, like the scooters, which are often so poorly built that it is not worth repairing them” he comments, amused. He believes that China is doing a roaring trade in these parts, that the recent tendency of the government to open is only temporary and that things will go back to worse. I say goodbye and thank him for the chat.

Preparing decorations

We then continue our journey; the are a lot of people in procession towards the temple hill, amongst them are several elderlies with original faces, proud smiles and clothes for the occasion. Everyone smiles as we pass, and some groups of young people even attempt an approach with what little English they can show off. Upon our arrival at the temple, ceremonies have already started. There are traders who sell food and various amulets, as well as offerings for the monks; the elderlies wear costumes that recall the tribal people of the past, but they do so with such a simplicity that leads me to think that they are just their everyday clothes.

The Kahtain festival is celebrated once a year, and apart from the opportunity for locals to meet, dance and dress well, its aim is to make offerings to the monks and nuns of the various villages. Money, blankets and other items that the monks may need are offered by each participant in an humble way. We immediately meet Shandi, one of two ‘guides’ we got to know in Namhsan, and he invites us into a hut where a group of villagers are enjoying a meal of spicy-looking food sitting cross-legged on a carpet of colorful fabrics. We sit and are served plate to fill by drawing from common bowls in the middle of the carpet. The curries are delicious and they taste amazing. The villagers make us feel at ease, watching us but in a much less curious way than we do watch them. We drink tea, as usual, and Shandi tells us about some of the customs of the area and about the importance of today’s festival, insisting that we take pictures of everything we see.

We take leave and go out to snoop between the various activities of the temple. In different buildings, people pray, eat, chat, play. The environment is austere, this is certainly not wealthy people, but their authenticity and their apparent honesty conceals it all with a solemnity that seems to make up for the lack of material wealth. Some monks and nuns give their blessing to all those gathered, while others give public speeches focused on the happiness and prosperity that this event will bring to the peoples of the area. We are completely absorbed in these rituals; the path to reach Namhsan and yesterday’s mud and rain are light-years away.

village view

Shandi is about to leave and invites us to visit his village, a few minutes from the temple. We get there in 15 minutes of walking between stairs and descents, accompanied by leafy trees branches several meters long that shade us in part from the rays of a scorching sun. At the bottom of the hill there is an open space crowned by a forest of white pagodas: it is the village temple. There, on the upper floors of solid wood houses on stilts, old men are preparing giant burners with bamboo branches, pine twigs and incense, covering them with huge sheets of colored paper hand-produced there. These burners will burn for hours and hours during the evening closing ceremonies.

We then follow our friend down to a picturesque village of wooden houses on stilts distributed along a main road, like the rest of the villages surrounded by mountains and valleys. His house entrance leads to a large area room that serves as living room and kitchen; the floor is made of earth, the walls are covered with cheap made-in-China plastic sheets, and the wooden planks sofas provide us with some rest while Shandi sends the daughter ‘shopping’ . I get out from the house and follow her with my sight: she enters a couple of neighbours’ homes and comes out with a variety of vegetables, then she returns and engages in the creation, on a rusted stove and pots that have fed generations, of a Palaung curry with rice and fried vegetables, delicious to say the least . She looks at us for a bit while we eat at a wobbly table of rotten wood, and then sets off to watch Thai karaoke at high volume in the one and only electronic element of the whole house: a flat-screen TV that we did not notice before as it was covered by a thick wool curtain! We drink tea while outside a violent downpour has made its way into a sky that until shortly before was clear.

villagers at festival

Once the rain nearly stops, Shandi insists to find us a ride to Namhsan in a borrowed scooter, but he also informs us that soon a bus will pass so we decide to wait. The bus arrives after five minutes, and to say its conditions are poor is an understatement. Inside, the floor is literally covered with compact jute sacks full of dried tea that emit a pungent odor even though all the windows are open, broken or missing. Tea, tea and more tea, life in Namhsan hovers in every way around this drink. The seats of the bus have been unbolted and laid on top of the bags; on them, a group of guys who work in the tea factory are seated, jumping at each hole that the rundown bus hits thanks to nonexistent shock absorbers. We prefer to sit on the bags, which seem far more comfortable; the boys and the bus driver watch us amused while we suffer the inclement blows. The road winds through the hills and seems much longer than the path we walked on foot to get to the village; through the windows we can see two gas stations (we did not yet seen any and wondered how the locals got gasoline supplies), ironically situated alongside one another. We get off on the outskirts of Namhsan, right at a junction where a column of young soldiers is passing: they are ill-equipped with shorts and canvas green shoes, rifles and other heavy weapons and ammunition hanging on their shoulder or by their bodies. They march towards the country: government patrols in charge of hunting the woods for Shan liberation armies, they travel on foot for hundreds of miles across these inaccessible lands, and, on top of that, they are not at all welcomed by the local people who look at them with anger as they pass by. They are faces of different features and looks disconsolate. I pity them: imagine them while getting ambushed by a group of well-armed Shan soldiers accustomed to this climate and to these surroundings, and much more motivated than them.

The sun shines again but not for long. I stop to write my diary in the tea room where they have satellite TV; there, the usual frenetic zapping goes from football to music to documentaries, with the latter that seem to have the upper hand. When I get out the sun has already set and the road is lit by hundreds of candles; the kids have fun with their harmless firecrackers and the sky lights up with a myriad of prayer lanterns launched from various points of the village. At the monastery nearby our accommodation, children monks play around the beautiful stupa, lighting candles and making drawings with them: hearts, letters, animals; they chase each other happily. The full moon lights up the night, the locals pour into the streets, while fleecy clouds slowly run through the sky. It is a special evening in Namhsan, unfortunately the last one for us.

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tribal villagers

After leaving Mandalay in direction north-east, we had a pit-stop of a few days in Hsipaw, a small outpost town situated on the way to China and populated by people belonging to ethnic Shan. It is now time to leave for further traveling.

The alarm clock sets off early, we pack our backpacks and since it’s still early we decide to have breakfast at a place near the market, where they serve us watered-down coffee and oily but tasty pancakes. On the way back to the guesthouse, the pick-up van is waiting for us; we get on at the back of the vehicle, which is already full with people and sacks of wares, and undertake the journey to Namshan. The truck climbs on a road only half-asphalted. The journey becomes more and more interesting as we move away from Hsipaw: villages become scarce and people ethnicity changes. The asphalt at some point disappears completely, dust invades the cabin and we begin to see villages that are increasingly more primitive, inhabited by dark-skinned people with mainly Chinese features. We arrive at destination after a 7-hours ordeal (for merely 80 km…), after enduring hundreds of jumps and swings on roads that often turn into stone paths. The body hurts and is in urgent need of a shower and of a glass of water.

tribal villager

Despite this, I can assure you it the trip was worth it: mountains and mountains right in the heart of Myanmar, hills crowned with villages set in deep jungles, bamboo forests, tea plantations. At the bottom of the river, rice paddies of a ocher-yellow are in deep contrast with the heavy green of the surroundings and with the murky brown waters.

The sleeping village of Namshan, once the capital of the ancient Shan Kingdom of Tawngpeng, is perched on mountains at an elevation range of 1800-2000 meters above sea level, and therefore acts as a lookout into a series of peaks and hills that surround it. Some of these hills are covered with tea plantations, other with poppies plantations, these more discreetly hidden from view… The tea industry is the major resource in the area and provides employment for several of the inhabitants of Namshan and of the surrounding sleeping villages, friendly Shwe (Golden) Palaung people living in one- or two-floors wooden houses covered by rusty metal sheet roofs. The ‘Golden’ comes from the belts they used to wear. Other traditional belts worn by this ethnic group used to be made ​​of silver; today, aluminum belts has long taken their place. Namshan also has a minority of Kayin, Lisu and Shan ethnic and tribal groups, as well as people of Indian and Chinese origins. Namshan means ‘shaking water’, named so after its location on a marsh that was often flooded during the rainy season. The heydays of Namshan were in the 1920-1930 period, when it prospered thanks to its silver mines and its tea industry.

Girl with tanaka

At destination, we drop our backpacks in the only guesthouse in the area, located on the main road: a large two-story wooden Chinese-style mansion painted in green and run by government officials. We rent a room built entirely of wood, small in size and with outside bathroom, and with a window overlooking the rear of the property; we satisfy our basic needs and get out to explore the surroundings. It is 3pm, and the sun is already setting behind the mountain peaks. Namshan is basically a wide main road on the crest of a mountain; down on its sides one can see green valleys and views of the villages below. It is certainly larger and more picturesque than what we had imagined. Locals look at us with a hint of curiosity, giving us a mengalaba (hallo) when we cross them.

We are soon approached by two local ‘guides’ who invite us to drink tea in one of the traditional teahouses of the village. This seems to be one of the favorite activities of the villagers. You sit in low stools by a plank-wood table, you are served a plastic thermos flask plugged by a cork that keeps the warmth and freshness of the dark beverage it contains:  Le Peyé. The teahouse is dark; teapots, dishes, plates, walls and the counter are covered by a soot formed by the wood-fire that burns at all times in order to heat the water that will fill the jugs of tea. The flat screen television (!) is under the control of one of the patrons who practices the international habit of zapping, passing from news to documentaries, to sports and soap operas, in a never-ending change of channels at 5 minutes intervals which leaves no time to become interested enough to one of the programs.

We then follow our new friends for a short walk to a lookout point at the top of a hill, where we watch a great sunset. We socialize with them, asking curious questions while our cameras immortalize the magic colors of a spectacular sky.

Shan Woman

From the conversations we discover that Namshan is in fact a conflictive area and that the village marks the end of where travel is allowed to foreigners. For years, the warriors of the Shan Liberation Front have been fighting a more psychological than real battle with central government soldiers. These reprisals provoke tensions which often result in bans to visit this region, with the government applying the off-limit to the trekking routes for obvious risks of retaliation towards foreigners. Despite this, our two new friends are more than inclined to chat, and to help us in our search for areas to discover. The main reason that pushed us this far is that Namshan is a great starting point for trekking in the area, and also because it is fairly unbeaten by tourists due to the terrible conditions of the roads that reach it. The streets are problematic especially during tea harvesting, taking place between April and August, when the route to Namshan is often blocked by trucks overloaded and so heavy that they get stuck in the wet earth.

One of the two ‘guides’ has to leave us; we invite the other, affable Samir, to eat dinner at a restaurant run by Chinese people, where he recommends a delicious bowl of spicy-hot Shan Noodles, the traditional dish of the area. We later stroll up to his house, not far away, where his wife prepares us for a cup of tea (for a change) and he pulls out a guitar that we play in turn, singing songs and chatting about everything and nothing. After an hour or so we take leave; the main street is dark and almost deserted, the temperature is pleasant, with a fresh breeze that comes from the mountains. An aura of mystery surrounds Namshan at this time of night; it’s only 8pm but the place is already silent, shops and restaurants have shut their doors, and so have tearooms. Here people go to bed early.

We are tired but satisfied. Tomorrow we will start exploring the mountains. Namshan was just the place we were looking for; here all attempts of contacting the outside world are futile. We comment the day while the temperature drops, we cover with the heavy blankets provided and doze off.

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Mr. Norm at Padang

On October 5th, 2009 I traveled to Padang, the capital of West Sumatra and the focal point of relief efforts for the victims of the recent earthquakes. The first earthquake hit at 5:16 pm on September 30, 2009. We set out on what proved to be a nine-hour drive for a mere 340-kilometer trip.

The road to Padang winds through the mountains to the height of Bukit Tinggi (High Hill), one of the larger cities in West Sumatra. From Bukit Tinggi it is 90 km downhill to Padang which is on the coast. My traveling companions were Chip Hill, Paul Liu and Pak Andre. Chip is an American who teaches at an English Language school in Pekanbaru. The school is owned by Pak Andre who also runs a volunteer social organization called Nitra Sejati, which focuses on responding to the needs of people in rural villages. Paul is the pastor of the International Christian Fellowship in Pekanbaru. Through Pak Andre, Chip had established a grass roots contact in Padang in the form of Dian Insani, an organization sectioned by the government to do “Earthquake Training” in West Sumatra. Ironically, the four-member board of Dian Insani was meeting about earthquake training on the day of the 7.6 magnitude earthquake. Their meeting had finished at 5:00 pm and the earthquake leveled the building at 5:16. The meeting was at the office of Ibu Shirley, one of the Board members. Ibu Shirley and her parents lived above the office. Ibu Shirley had left the building to pick up last minute groceries for dinner. When she returned, she had lost her home, her business and her parents in the tragic collapse of the building.

This is one of many horrific stories of the earthquake. On the positive side, the larger community of West Sumatra and Indonesia has pulled together to help each other get through the disaster. We stayed in the house of Pak Michael, one of the three leaders of the Dian Insani organization. He and his family were hosting about 20 people in their home the night we arrived.

Padang earthquake Indonesia West Sumatra

People slept in tents, and on floors. This will be their lifestyle for months to come. We four slept on the floor in the front room, while six others were in the living room. We used three of the bedrolls we had brought with us. The second night Paul and I stayed at Michael’s house but Chip, Andre and ten of Andre’s guys with Nitra Sejati stayed at a house they were calling the center (rented as an office for Dian Insani in Padang). The downside was that when Paul and I rolled in after 11 pm, all the bedrolls were in use because they thought Paul and I would be at the center. Fortunately they had a blanket for us to put on the floor and I got a pillow that night, so I was even more comfortable than the first night on the bedroll.

About half of the houses in that neighborhood, including Pak Michael’s, had no water as a result of the earthquake. The community came together, sharing water with neighbors. Our first night there, after our nine-hour drive from Pekanbaru to Padang, they had lots of drinking water in plastic cups, but their bak mandi (a water storage tank in the bathroom) was empty. That meant there was no water to wash or even to flush the ‘squat on the floor’ toilet. The next morning we toted buckets of water from the neighbor to fill Pak Michael’s bak mandi. That was a small but heart-warming act of service for the four of us. OK, I admit it was not without some element of self-serving motivation.

There are aid workers from over 20 countries in West Sumatra, most in the capital city of Padang itself. Padang was full of white faces. The city is surprisingly approaching normalcy already. There was no chaos or looting. People were going about there business. Of course the business of many people was taking care of food and shelter needs and cleaning up the city. The focus was no longer on rescuing survivors from the rubble of destruction. It was too late for that. Although an estimated 180,000 buildings were flattened or severely damaged by the quake, I was surprised how much of the city was untouched. There would be complete blocks with no damage. On other streets one house would be flattened and the next perfectly intact. Some of this was the result of poor construction practices. They have a cheap mortar available to use in place of cement. For many, the luxury of cement was not affordable.

Some large business and government buildings withstood the quake while only a few were leveled. On Tuesday night, Paul and I were trying to locate a young girl from Pekanbaru. We went to a youth shelter near the site of the Ambacang Hotel. There we saw the most awful sight of our time in Padang. The Ambacang (ahm-bah-chong) has been the hotel of choice in Padang. It was completely leveled by the earthquake. Another large hotel next to the Ambacang was still standing and from a distance looked normal, but it had been closed due to structural damage. At 11:00 pm floodlights allowed the men and machinery to dig through the rubble to retrieve buried bodies. A crowd of people stood and stared. I don’t know if they were friends and relatives of the missing. I hope so. Schools had not yet reopened. This is too bad because school routines would be therapeutic for the children at this time. The government was beginning to provide tents for use as temporary classrooms. We passed one school that had significant damage to a large gazebo in front of the classroom buildings. The classroom buildings appeared to be intact, it was impossible to say for sure. Early estimates claimed that over 500 schools in the area were damaged, and that 241 schools had to be rebuilt.

Padang rubble

Restaurants and stores that did not suffer damage are open for business. We ate mostly at roadside restaurants and outdoor lunch places that hardly require electricity. However, a group of Chinese Indonesians from Jakarta, who had been delivering supplies with us on Tuesday, took us to a real restaurant near the Pizza Hut. First they insisted that we eat durian at a roadside stand. Durian is a fruit that is notorious for its odor. Hotels do not allow durian on the premises. Pak Lim showed us how to eat durian Asian style. After the proprietor cut open the spiky shell of the large fruit (about the size of an American football) we peeled out the fruit and slurped it down. Then Lim showed us how to fill the shell with water and mix in the fruit residue to create a drink that supposedly neutralizes the smell. We weren’t sure about the authenticity of this theory, but we did as we were instructed.

The Dian Insani group will continue to serve the community and will help us identify ways in which we as a community can help. They are currently identifying specific villages in Pariaman that will benefit from the kind of supplies that we can provide. For example, they will find a home for the remaining blankets that we left with them. We left some blankets with neighborhood health clinics in Pariaman.

Pariaman was hardest hit by the earthquake. This largely rural district suffered landslides that buried complete villages. These landslides are in remote areas that have only been accessible by helicopter. Dian Insani is holding meetings with many other small volunteer groups to coordinate their aid efforts, with a focus on Pariaman. The first suggestion that Michael made for our school was that a clothing drive would be very beneficial. The Duri Campus had already started a clothing drive, and at Rumbai we were just waiting to learn what would be identified as most needed. At this point volunteer groups are focusing on commodities such as rice, milk, tents, tarps, medical supplies, clothes, diapers, and other basic food and shelter items.

The efforts to help the victims of the earthquake will continue for years to come.

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Inle lin kin boy buffalo

Today I wish to rely mainly on fate and chance, as I often do when I travel. I fill the daily backpack with snacks and fruit from the market and I walk towards the distant village of Inthein, in the south-western side of the lake. I want to be positive and hope to reach it, but I am not so sure since the roads marked on my map are not very clear. After only a 10-minute walk on a peaceful country road, I raise my hand to hitchhike and stop a young man on a moped that has seen better times; he accepts to give me a ride without much fuss and takes me all the way to the hot springs where I was yesterday. From here I start walking again, with the lake and the countryside to my left, and the mountains topped with white clouds to my right.

After a 5-minute walk during which I absorb the surrounding beauty, another young man on a motorbike stops without even the need of raising my thumb. He is well-dressed; his English is poor, but we somehow understand each other and he invites me to get on his new vehicle; he looks so proud of it! He continues to turn towards me and talk while driving; the scooter lifts a tremendous amount of dust that enters in my throat, plus I do not understand anything of what he says. When he realizes that that my intention is to reach Inthein, he stops the bike and bursts out in a non-offensive laughter. He tries to explain that there are at least another 15 miles of dusty road and no public transport to get there. I tell him it does not matter, not to worry, and I motion him to continue the drive. We pass the village of Kaung Daing and finally arrive at the entrance of his village, Kin Lin. He stops at the junction with the main road, where I get off the bike and thank him. He gives me a bewildered look, he tells me he is so sorry that I do not follow him to his village where I could meet his family, and that I do not take his advice not to continue on my quest. He looks at me getting far without moving from the point where he stopped, until I lose sight of him.

I arrive in the proximity of a hotel where I notice a van that is downloading merchandise for the restaurant. I walk in and try to explain myself to the driver and to the owner. It turns out that the truck goes precisely to Inthein to deliver food and drinks! They whisper to each other and shake their heads a little. On the one hand they would like to help, but from what I understand, the young man does not want to take the responsibility to take a foreigner with him. In addition, the owner of the restaurant explains in an English barely understandable that the sky threatens serious rain, and if it does rain, this road would become so muddy that it would be impossible for the boy to get back with his heavy vehicle. I would then be stuck with him, something that does not sit well with the young guy. I completely understand the situation and I do not want to embarrass them any more than I already have. I go out to observe the sky: big, menacing blacks clouds are approaching from all directions. I decide against my will, also given the time of the day, to abandon the mission, and I backtrack.

Inle lin kin monk

Back in Lin Kin, I sit in a teahouse to relax and drink tea Le Peyé (name that locals give to black tea) while I socialize with the owners, their entire family watching me curiously. On the road, a boy riding a buffalo that sports big horns and an enormous dangling penis passes in front of my table. The little boy is about 10 years old and already has the air of an adolescent peasant, with his flip-flops, a hat bigger than his head and a traditional Burmese pouch strapped to his shoulder. We do not know which one of us looks at each other with more curiosity. All around me, glimpses of rural life: cultivated fields, hills planted with fruit trees, nice shacks made ​​of bamboo and roofed with iron sheets. In front of the teahouse I catch a glimpse of the arched entrance of a Buddhist temple. I pay the tea, say goodbye to the friendly family and cross the street.

In the temple courtyard I entertain families of a tribe wearing detailed and colorful clothes and headgears; I take pictures of the kids, which I show them in the small screen of my Canon: they are appalled. Too bad I do not have with me a Polaroid camera that can print pictures on the spot. Further on, a group of young monks in orange robes plays animatedly by rotating rudimentary spinning tops carved out of wood with the help of a rope. Upon my attempt to take a picture of the playground, they drop everything and vanish in a hurry, with worried looks; some, in particular the little ones, have scared expressions and hide inside the temple building, refusing to come out again. The ones on their teens back out from behind the huge trunk of a giant tree where they had taken refuge, look at me with little trust and set back to play, but as soon as I motion to bring the Canon to my eye to shoot a picture, off they vanish again. No pictures – mutters one of them in English. I respect their wish and head to the inside of the temple, where there are people eating, praying and drinking tea. I make friends with those most likely to socialize, I snap some photos of a few young monks and I head back to the main road. I really want to avoid the downpour that is on the way.

I love hitchhiking. Another youngster with nonexistent English takes me to the intersection for Nyaungshwe, and after a few minutes an overweight man on a rickety bike stops to assist. I’m not very confident with this ride, but the clouds are getting closer and closer and I know that it will rain soon, it is just a matter of time. I get on and he leaves; my legs are dangling as there are no passenger footrests, and this is a difficult task along a route where the fat man averages 10 chilometers per hour and seems to want to hit all of the existing holes. Nonetheless, he sports a blissful smile, like a huge contemporary Buddha. We arrive in Nyaungshwe safe and sound, and as the protocol wants, I thank him and he looks so pleased to have been able to help me.

Inle monks and flip flops 2

It was a cheerful trip that gave me the opportunity to mingle with the locals, and I found out that most speak little or no English, that they go out of their ways to help you, and that in them you often notice the desire to confront with foreigners. It is mid-afternoon. I stop at a little restaurant located in a side street, where I eat a mango salad accompanied by a substantial banana lassi drink, as I observe the sky downloading a tropical downpour that in just 15 minutes soaks the village dusty roads.

At the port, the comings and goings of wooden boats that sail the channel is as intense as usual. The sun gains space between the black clouds and hits the west slopes of the mountains. The Inle lake is proving to be a really nice place, a must-visit in a trip to Myanmar. Too bad it will soon be time for me to leave.

READ ALSO PART 1 http://asianitinerary.com/inle-lake-trip-part-1/

READ ALSO PART 2 http://asianitinerary.com/inle-lake-by-bicycle-around-the-lake-part-2/

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Inle phaung daw oo paya

Despite being a tourist town, Nyaungshwe is still the main trading hub for the local villages, as well as the departure point for craft and produce that from the lake get delivered to the rest of the country. Motorized long boats take visitors to tribal villages made of stilt houses, farms and floating gardens, pagodas and floating silk and craft workshops. Most of the buildings on the lake shores are built with stilts on water, and activities are carried out in small rowing boats or long boats that skitter along the canals, carrying people and goods.

The wish to live these situations from near motivates us to rent bicycles from the guesthouse. We ride them with the ardor of kids who have been given a new gift, heading south in search of situations. As soon as we leave the village and cross the bridge over the canal, the chaos of the riverfront disappears, giving way to the peaceful countryside: rice fields, huge ponds populated by lush lotus plants in bloom, buffaloes taking a bath heedless of human presence, farmers who work the land and smile at our slow passage. Not far away, the mountains begin to be lit by a weak morning sun that is becoming more and more intense.

Tractors and motorbikes that transit on the dirt road carelessly raise huge clouds of dust. After about an hour ride we reach Hu Pin Hot Springs in the Intha village of Kaung Daing, known for the production of tofu from yellow beans instead of green. There, we allow ourselves a series of hot and relaxing baths. The hot water comes from a natural source upstream that is diverted into three different tanks downstream, where it is mixed with cold water. The water in the first tank is 70 degrees centigrade – unbearable -, it then becomes quite hot, 50 degrees, in the second tank, only to get to an acceptable 40 degrees in the third tank. It is early and we are the first to enter the hot springs compound; we enjoy the morning stillness and restore bones and muscles tired from cycling. We eat a satisfying meal of lake fish at the hot springs’ restaurant on stilts, and we then start looking for a boat pier on the west side of the lake, direction south.

After a number of negotiations, some characterized by heated discussions on price and destination first with a couple of farmers, then with a group of young people who are loading the boat with huge burlap sacks full of oranges, and finally, a boatman who was leaving empty grant us a ride to the Phaung Dew Oo Paya temple. Between us and the bikes, in a flash we fill the boat. The boatman tells us that it is late and that his is a one-way trip. We do not worry that much and we enjoy the scenic boat journey.

The ride is interesting to say the least; we pass and overcome boats packed with families and large groups of people from the surrounding villages heading to the temple for the annual festival. Today is a special day for Phaung Dew Oo Paya, which is the most important sacred place in the state of South Shan. Inside its multi-roofed pagoda, this colorful temple houses four ancient Buddha images, to which the faithful apply thin gold leaves that over the years have turned these images into amorphous golden masses. Once a year these images, which are normally kept on display in a pavilion inside the pagoda, are taken by a decorated barge on an around-the-lake ceremony.

Upon arrival, under many curious eyes we unload the bikes, lock them to an electricity post in the temple square and begin to enjoy the moment. We missed the main ceremony, but we can still experience part of the festival. There are several local families, some come from nearby villages, others from the surrounding hills. They feature flamboyant clothes and costumes, stones necklaces, amulets, and they bring offerings of food, beverages and golden leaves for the Buddhas. Groups of cheerful youngsters wear traditional peasants clothes and dance and sing, promoting recycling, environmental protection and the importance of education to young people. Improvised stalls sell local food like fried rice, roti, curry and various sweets, as well as balloons and kites for children, and various miniature replicas of relics and of the main pagoda for visitors who wish to take home a souvenir.

We visit the surrounding area and the pagoda interior, where the gilded blobs have been returned after the boat ride around the lake. A walk leads us to the next village where local merchants sell souvenirs of all kinds. On the way back to the pagoda, it is getting dark fast; the sellers withdraw their goods, the pagoda is locked and there is a confusion of people who take boats to go back home. It is immediately evident that it will be hard to find a ride: our bicycles are bulky and they cannot be loaded on boats crammed with people. Moreover, most of those we talk to, articulating as well as we can the name of our destination, Nyaungshwe, try to tell us that they are directed towards other areas. Apparently, the locals do not like to navigate in the dark, and Nyaungshwe is an hour by boat from here. We split to have more chances and in the end, when we are about to give up the search and find a place to sleep in the area, we manage to snatch a yes from a boatman who would take us across the lake, to a village on the east side called Thale -U. I look at my map: there are at least 10 kilometers from Thale -U to Nyaungshwe, something doable if it were not for the pitch darkness and for the fact that we do not know what kind of road we will find. No one in the area speaks English so we rely on fate; we accept the risk and embrace the adventure.

The trip on the lake is mesmerizing: we sail in a silence broken only by the engine of our boat, while the sky is now a huge dark expanse that blends in with the water’s edge of the lake, also black . A few dim lights warn us of villages along the water on the east coast. The boatman drives his primitive vessel and watches us with suspicion. We arrive at a dilapidated bamboo and wood dock on stilts, surrounded and almost entirely invaded by aquatic plants and grasses; we struggle to unload the bicycles on the boardwalk, then pay the ride and thank the boatman, who reverses the boat and leaves us in a movie-like situation. A few stars in the sky, a dog barking in the distance and nothing else. The trail is in front of us, but we do not see it. We proceed cautiously for a few meters, trying to avoid frequent potholes and ruts in the road; how long will we be able to hold at this pace? Perhaps it was not a brilliant idea, it would have been better to spend the night back at the village.

We refuse to get discouraged and after about ten minutes at a steady but slow pace, we come across a house that also functions as a groceries and necessities shop. I make my way in under the shocked look of the owners, a family of farmers very surprised to see a stranger in a bicycle at that time on that path. I purchase a torch, one of those used by speleologists with a rubber band to wear it around the head, along with a blister of batteries. It turns out to be our salvation! We pedal what seems to be a long time in the pitch dark, the only dim light of the made-in-China torch to illuminate our way. The path is uneven, at times made ​​of ups and downs heavy for our legs that have to push old-fashioned bikes with flawed gears.

Along the way, we meet some sporadic scooters and some people who walk in the vicinity of hamlets that comprise a few houses made of wood, bamboo and straw; they all look at us appalled. Not a car, not a bike. The path occasionally becomes a paved road that widens until it ends and returns to be a path, in a succession that seems endless. After more than an hour we pass a couple of luxury hotels built on the banks of the river. We take the opportunity to ask passers-by if the road is the right one, an awkward question as there cannot be other roads. It is more to feel good, to sense that we are moving on in this venture: at first we thought it hard to accomplish, but we are now certain to succeed.

An unexpected enemy comes in the form of a cold air that becomes more and more unbearable. We do not wear suitable clothes, and even though we warm up by cycling, fatigue often causes us to slow down the ride. We reach a shack that serves as a bar-restaurant and we allow for a break, a hot tea and a traditional cigarillo cheroots while we rest legs and bones. Alas we do not know that we still have an hour of pedaling before we reach the destination. We finally arrive late in the evening, exhausted but happy to have lived this adventure. We treat ourselves to dinner at a Nepalese restaurant, where we arrive 10 minutes before closing time, and we comfort ourselves with good memories of the day and with a hot and spicy Masala Tea. It’s cool on the streets of Nyaungshwe, we will sleep well tonight…

Check out info on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hpaung_Daw_U_Pagoda

Read Part 1: http://asianitinerary.asia/inle-lake-trip-part-1/ – and Part 3: http://asianitinerary.asia/inle-lake-hitchhiking-part-3/

The post INLE LAKE – BY BICYCLE AROUND THE LAKE PART 2 appeared first on Asian Itinerary.

Inle Lake, located strategically in the heart of Myanmar’s Shan State, is a shore-less expanse of water and marshes 20km long and 10km wide, sitting like a gigantic puddle on a carpet of greenery with reed and hyacinth beds that get denser as they are nearer the shore.

PART 1

Inle house on stilts reflection

The bus from Mandalay gets me to my destination quite early on a cool morning. At 2.30 I am left at the intersection to Nyaungshwe, still far from the lake. I reach the village with a moto-rickshaw, sharing the cold 10km ride with a family of locals and a group of monks that only wear the monk’s outfit: flip flop and orange robe; they look not bothered as a cold wind hits their face and their bare feet, while I try to cover my neck and head with jumper, scarf and bonnet. Entering the Inle Lake area costs to tourists a 5$ government fee, which I pay to a sleepy government official at the entrance of Nyaungshwe. The moto-rickshaw drops me in the center of the village; it is pitch-dark, and there is not a single soul around.

Once a sleeping village, home until the 1960s of the last Shan shy lord, Nyaungshwe, located at the north end of the lake and next to the main canal leading to the lake, is now a bustling center for travelers, with guest houses, restaurants and tour agencies. I take a walk along the grid of roads only to find entrances of guest houses with the sign FULL hanging from locked gates. Finally I find an open house where three friends are watching a European football match live. They are so nice and let me park my rucksacks in the house and lend me a bicycle with which I start the search for a place to sleep.

Inle standing boatman

During the exploration ride I cover at least half of the village, but the result does not change: guest houses and hotels closed and showing a FULL sign. It is with a bit of luck that I address a man that watering the plants in the garden of a guest house on the banks of the canal, whom assures me that at 9 am one of the room gets vacated and that he is willing to give it to us. It’s only 5 am, and the kind manager offers us to sleep on an old mattress under the stairs in the reception basement. We drop our rucksacks there, but the desire to see the place is so strong that as soon as I see the first light of the day, I leave for a photographic walk. On the banks of the canal, early-risers boat drivers equip long and colorful boats that will take locals to the villages surrounding the lake, and tourists to panoramic tours and cultural activities.

The sun has not yet appeared from behind the mountains, but its morning light gives a magical atmosphere to the place. I proceed towards the center of the village, where some residents are already on their ways through the semi-paved roads. Sleepy rickshaw drivers, old men who sweep the dusty roads with brooms made of wood and branches, women who light fires to prepare tasty batter for pancakes and stuffed samosas to be distributed to the market and to tearooms, and numerous people going to the market by walking and cycling. By 6 am the place is already swarming, and I start looking for monasteries; I sneak through the open door of a derelict building from which comes a lullaby, and I’m lucky to find about fifty young nun girls in pink robes singing mantras and eating breakfast. They look at me astonished and embarrassed while I shoot some photos discreetly. Across the street there is a canteen where a hundred cross-legged children monks in brown robes eat on the floor and joke.

Inle selling fish in market

I eventually reach the market, located in the northern part of the village, and I delve into its chaotic streets where a cacophony of sounds fills the air: people haggle, men unload heavy boxes of fruit and vegetables from horse-drawn carts, women in colored clothes and hats sell various types of flowers, a matron with a cigar in her mouth discusses sales price of freshly caught fish from the lake tied to thick lines, while outside the walls of the immense market, dozens of rickshaws and motorcycle rickshaws wait for customers with carrier bags overflowing with groceries, and numerous dogs and chickens forage the dusty streets waiting for food scraps unsold, in a procession that is repeated day after day. I drink Indian tea and eat coconut samosas in an austere corner tea-house from where I observe the comings and goings of people and I write travel notes.

At 7:30, I return to the canal where, as I observe the local boats loading with goods and with tourists, I make the acquaintance of a group of three Chinese photographers who are looking for passengers to split the cost of a boat ride. I run the guest house, I pay the room and reassure the owner that I shall return in the afternoon; I pick up my camera and day backpack and embark for the trip, tired but full of an energy that comes from the great desire to see new places. I thank often in life this traveler spirit that I have; it is the reason of the greatest satisfaction of my existence.

Inle morning market

We leave at 8 am for a long trip that takes us, after 20 minutes of navigation along the canal and then through the lake, to the following stopovers:

–        Firstly, we visit a village of houses made of wood and bamboo on stilts where the family of our young boatman lives; some of these houses have two floors and large terraces where people drink tea and spend part of the day. The people of these water villages move around on wooden boats or motor boats. The family of our boatman offer us tea, cigarettes, cheroots, snacks and a good chat, aided by the translations of their kids whose English is acceptable. We try to use the little Burmese learned from the travel guide. The inclination of locals to make friends is strong, we notice, and we spend in their home longer than expected.

–        We then stop in a village on the shore where there is a market managed by ethnic Pa-O people in traditional costumes who sell handicrafts and fresh vegetables. The market has a dining area where elderly with carved and intriguing faces drink tea and eat spicy curries that release strong odors in the air; some look at us with curiosity and a smile. Tribal ethnic Intha, Shan, Pa-O, Taung Yo, Danu, Kayah and Danaw people populate the villages around the lake shore, and local markets where they congregate are open in turn five days a week.

–        We stop in several locations to watch Intha fishermen get around the waters using a traditional and unique flat-bottom skiff propelled by a single wooden paddle rowed in snake-like motions by a leg wrapped around the paddle. This technique has become the ultimate photo opportunity of the Inle Lake.

–        We make several stops in workshops on stilts and surrounded by floating gardens, where handicrafts such as silk and cotton, woven on antique looms, cigarillos cheroots, herbs and spices, silver and semi-precious stones mounted on rings, necklaces and jewelry are produced. As in the houses earlier on, in each of these workshops we are offered tea, cigarillos cheroots and various snacks, and this is part of the hospitality that characterizes the people in these parts.

–        We visit the Nga Phe Kyaung, a wooden monastery built on stilts in the middle of the lake, famous for its cats trained by monks to jump through small rings.

The sun is blazing hot and we take shelter wearing hats. All around, an infinite number of motor boats transiting in passageways between water hyacinth and floating gardens, through endless rows of houseboats with floating gardens that form real neighborhoods with closed streets and intersections. Burmese and foreign tourists by the thousands visit the wonders of this way of life on water.

We arrive back at 4 pm sufficiently tired after missing a night’s sleep, but full of information and photos and lasting memories. I lie down to rest, but I fall into a deep sleep…

READ ALSO PART 2 http://asianitinerary.com/inle-lake-by-bicycle-around-the-lake-part-2/

READ ALSO PART 3 http://asianitinerary.com/inle-lake-hitchhiking-part-3/

The post INLE LAKE TRIP – Part 1 appeared first on Asian Itinerary.

Woman cooking noodles

Early morning, my heart full of energy, I anticipated the magic of the journey in my dreams. My destination was a Klong and its thriving life blood, the popular Ta-Ling-Chan floating market.

I arrived there on a late morning when the market was already crowded. Sellers displayed their goods on both canal’s sideways. Ta-Ling-Chan mixes traditional lifestyle along the canals with a lush surrounding nature. Half of its traders are local farmers who come to sell their seasonal produce.

Ta-Ling-Chan is different from other floating markets. Here tourists can buy food from the boats and sit and eat it on rafts conveniently floating in the canal. From there, on Sunday mornings, they can watch students from local schools perform traditional Thai music. These students also perform in the nearby gardens on Saturdays at noon and on Sunday afternoons, for the delight of visitors.

Delicious squids

Not far away, near a fountain, guides invited tourists to buy a ticket for a trip along the canal. An officer informed us that they have special tour services on Saturdays and Sundays.

Ta-Ling-Chan floating market originated in 1987 from an idea by Khun Prachum Jareanlap – the then Mayor of Ta-Ling-Chan district. Initially the market was set up to be a trading centre for products and agricultural goods. Afterwards, the Ta-Ling-Chan traders proposed to integrate the selling of handicrafts and goods and created the Ta-Ling-Chan union. This is the way Ta-Ling-Chan floating market has been operating for the past 20 years.

Back to the trip. At first the boat navigated along the riverbanks of Klong Bang Khun Sri canal, today known as Klong Chak Phra, where rows of old Thai-style houses with the odd modern one in between alternated with plots of several uncommon plants. Unlike in the city, there is a feeling of harmony in the collective way people live in the Klong area.

The name of Klong Chak Phra comes from a tradition called Chakphra, held in the past on the 2^nd day of the 12^th lunar month. Boats carrying Buddha relics travelled along canals from Wat Nang Chi temple to the mouth of the Klong Bangkok Noi, then turned right to follow Chao Phraya River, entered Klong Bangkok Yai and returned to Wat Nang Chi temple.

A floating food vendor

The boat then sailed along the main canal passing Wat Koh temple. There, the junction where Klong Mol splits into two canals, Klong Bang Chueak Nang to the south and Klong Bang Noi to the west, creates a river island, hence the name of the temple, Wat Koh (koh in Thai means island). The inside of the temple can feel so quiet thanks to the fact that no vehicle can approach it.

Next destination was Wat Kam Peng, a temple erected during the Ayutthaya period; it boasts stucco stripes in the arches, marvelous windows which were restored during the reign of King Rama III, and magnificent murals still intact.

When the boat turned into a small canal, houses became less frequent and planted gardens predominated. A few moments later, we arrived at an orchid garden where we were given 20 minutes to rest, get refreshed, and of course, to buy orchids. The boat then headed back to the first junction, stopping for a visit to Wat Pak Nam, a place where every living being is considered sacred. We bought some bread and fed the fish, giving alms to living creatures, something usually city people don’t have much chance to do.

The late morning sunlight made the air rise sultrily. We saw children jumping into the water, having fun and waving to greet tourists on boats. Some performed acrobatic jumps. The laughs and smiles from those innocent kids gave us a sort of relief from the hot climate. The boat returned to the original route for a visit to Mae Sam-ang shop, where tourists can buy Khao Laam snacks (glutinous rice roasted in bamboo). We finally got back to Ta-Ling-Chan market, right where my stomach started to growl for hungriness.

After all, a well deserved noodle soup

A moist wind caressed my face; I closed my eyes to take in the nature around me – people, streams, life… I was simply infatuated by the experience, something that would surely stick to my memory for a long time to come.

Getting there

There are several routes to get to this destination. The one I chose starts from Krung Thon Bridge and passes the Southern Bus Terminal, then keeps left into the parallel way and turns left at the first alley; it turns right at the first junction, then goes straight and turns left to a junction where, at the end of the road, you will see the Ta-Ling-Chan floating market – nearby Ta-Ling-Chan District Office.

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Bali welcomed me the moment I arrived on its surface: at the Ngua Rai Airport I was immediately impressed by the richness of Balinese art displayed in the airport compound. We hailed a taxi and headed to Ubud, up in the hills. Downtown Denpasar was easily reached in a 30 minute drive, where we stopped to have some food in a local restaurant. Balinese food is simple and yummy, and for those not familiar or not keen on Balinese food, don’t panic: fast foods are all around the place. We eventually reached our destination and settled in our room for the night in Ubud.
The next day was temple visit day! I got up quite early for the visit to Besakih Temple, located on the slope of Bali’s highest volcano, Mount Kunung Agung, which is still active. During the trip, the minivan passed through Kintamani Village to visit Batur Lake, the biggest of the volcanic lakes present on the island. At the temple, I rented a sarong and changed my clothes to better blend with the locals and to respect Balinese culture. Besakih incorporates altogether 30 small temples. The main temple is made of carved stones, with a black palm tree roof.
To reach our next destination took over an hour. The lanes were very narrow and it seemed that all cars were heading to the same place, the traffic terrible at some points. Tanalot Temple is perched in part on a large rocky outcrop in the Indian Ocean that, at high tide, is completely surrounded by water. Reaching the temple on foot is only possible at low tide. Underneath the structure grounds there is a small cave with two sacred snakes living inside, believed by Balinese to protect the compound. With its spring sprouting from beneath the earth, it looks more like a painted backdrop than something real.
Tanalot Temple is popular for sunset watchers; the atmosphere is magical during the last minutes of daylight, and it can be compared to that of Laem Promthep of Phuket. We were there at the right time; the colours were amazing and donated a special aura to the already amazing scenery.
Dinner was an experience in itself. The many restaurants along the 2 km long Jimbaran Beach serve fresh seafood on tables located right on the beach, for that sea breeze feeling. Musicians move from table to table to create a romantic atmosphere. The last hours of the day were spent at Legian Road, where I experienced the atmosphere of Bali by night: a popular place for foreign visitors, with restaurants, pubs, souvenir shops, brand-name products and relaxing spas.
On the second day I followed a local guide for a walk around Ubud, a picturesque place with a lane replete of Bali-styled souvenir shops, art shops, modern restaurants and museums. In the background, terraced rice fields and high hills so typical of Ubud County. From Ubud, we proceeded to Kintamani village and nearby Tampaksiring, the sacred spring; Balinese believe Gods can help blow away all the mishaps or illnesses of the sick and the unfortunate who bathe at this spring.
The journey to Lovina Beach, tourist outpost in the north of Bali, where we were to spend the night, took over 3 hours of driving along curved streets flanked by deep slopes; it reminded me of the journey to reach Mae Hon Song in the north of Thailand. By the time we reached the place, it was already dark and we headed straight to bed.

On the last day, I awoke as early as 5.30 am for a local boat ride to watch the dolphins. It only took a 10 minute ride to find them along the coral reef, flipping out of the water and performing fantastic loops. It was such an exciting experience. I later spent a few hours on Lovina beach, admiring its unique 8 km stretch of black sand that originates from volcanic lava; quite a sight.

The morning after, time came to reach the airport for our return flight. Those few days passed so quickly that I felt compelled to return to Bali, the magic island. I did eventually, and ended up living there for 4 months quite recently.

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