Kyaikto Hotels
|
  | |  |
House of Fog and Rain
Entry 7 of 11 | show all | print this entry |
It's a few days later and Nick and I are still here in Koh Chang, Thailand. We're still relaxing and being rather mindless, with our only major concern being the sun --- whether it's going to break through and give us that ONE greatly desired day basking in its rays. But so far it has been overcast and rainy, regrettably representative conditions of the current "rainy season". Much like the last week we spent in Myanmar......
Inle Lake..... we arrived there after a journey that defied any mental preparation our imaginations had provided us. Yes, we did think that being awake and ready at the guesthouse doorstep at 3:30 AM would feel slightly odd and rather early. We did know that the roads would be bumpy, and that the 10 hour estimate to get to Inle probably meant 12. And we did assume at least one breakdown en route.
Luckily, the last assumption was wrong--- our bus picked us up promtly at 3:30 AM and went the whole 12 hours following without a single breakdown! However, what we did NOT assume became the defining vehicle of torture -- the Bus in fact was a School Bus. the Bus was in fact a School bus that the Japanese Red Cross adopted which somehow ended up in its Next Life as THE way of traveling the short distance over steep winding hill roads and bumpy unpaved rural roads between two major gov't approved tourist destinations. No wonder people (who are a bit wiser) fly.
As we rode this bus and felt Every. Single. Rock. Pebble. Pothole. and Pothole-to-be. for 12. hours. I thought I had somehow ended up in Purgatory. I could not sleep away the time, nor could I appreciate the hyper-green and beautiful landscape. I could only stare at the pretty Burmese girl in the red dress in the seat across the narrow aisle, and wonder how on earth she sat still with her hands perfectly clasped on her properly positioned knees and look unbothered if not elegant, as I sat on my half of the school-bus seat-bench with my knees separated so my feet could reach as far as they could without imposing on Nick's space, and my lower back hunched under me as I tried to rest my head against the stiff upright seatback, as the back of my head rubbed against it as we bumped up and down, creating a birdsnest in my hair in a very short period of time. That pretty girl in the red dress dabbed her forehead and helped her puking seatmate with her plastic bag.
I wondered if saving $70 and taking the bus instead of flying (oh the elegance that just resonates in the word!) was really worth having the time to contemplate the Buddhist teaching of suffering. The girl in the red dress had clearly mastered it.
I kept telling myself, this is what you get in a country as poor as this. Crap buses. Shit roads. This is what it means when the government does not care about its people, when there is no such thing as infrastructure. When people just want to get from one small village to another. So they can sell their rice or woven baskets. So they can feed their families. Who can barely afford to go to school. What on earth are you complaining for Chien? This is only 12 hours of your long privileged life. Suck it up.
So in any case, the Japanese Red Cross School Bus never broke down, and Nick and I arrived in Shweyang, the bus stop closest to Inle Lake, still talking to each other and slightly delirious.
During this ride, I was aware of the Chinese couple sitting behind us. I pretended not to notice them when they got on at 3:35 AM, and sat behind us. I pretended that I couldn't care less with communicating with another (rare) set of tourists whom I actually had the language ability to communicate with, and perhaps, even commiserate with. I pretended that I didn't know Chinese. I didn't feel like dealing with anyone who was Chinese. I was tired.
After we stepped off the bus and needed to get a taxi into Nyuangshe, the town most people stay at in Inle, I noticed they were haggling with the taxi drivers over price. "5000!" the taxi driver said. I stepped in, "No, 4000, for all of us." A second of protesting and insisting later, the four of us got in the taxi and I started speaking in Chinese. Xiao Fong and Xiao Yong were a couple in their 40's, and incredibly rare in Myanmar, and greater China.
Nick and I had been commenting that despite the closeness of China (as in, bordering Myanmar) there were no Chinese tourists. But here were a pair, and here was God and the Forces of Fate giving me one last opportunity to meet the Chinese people I had been wanting to meet. I had been wanting to meet worldly, wise, generous and fun Chinese but didn't have a chance to in China (besides my aunt and uncle, whom I saw only once a week, and my coworkers, who were fun but unfortunately, not worldly, not due to any personal fault but that of their education and actual opportunities as Chinese people.) Xiao Fong and Xiao Yong were clearly successful, traveling on average 60 days each year, often in 2-month bouts, and from Beijing. She had already been to countries Nick and I had on our itinerareis, and most other countries in Southeast Asia. They eschewed group tours and preferred backpacking. They were the new New Chinese. Nick was sick that night we first arrived at Inle, from all the curry and travel exhaustion, and after knocking on their door at the guesthouse we all decided to stay at, Xiao Fong quickly offered some Chinese medicine to tame the "internal fire". I never felt so lucky to be able to speak Chinese.
The next day, Nick felt better, and we went on a hike into the hills. We saw small villages, small children, small homes made wood and bamboo, and small chickens. We gave small denominations of US and UK currency to the children who ran up to us with flowers in hand to give us, but had too few 'presents' to hand out to all of them. We saw an orphanage, pigs, stray dogs (lots), and all the countryside subsistance living that is most of Myanmar. I realized as we were walking I was getting used to all this. When I woke up the next morning to an unusual sound passing our window, I quickly realized "oh, it's just an ox cart going by". Then I realized it was not usual for me to easily guess the sound of an ox cart. But we're in Myanmar so that's obviously what it is.
On our second full day in Inle, we shared a long boat with the Chinese couple, and did a day long tour of the lake's surrounding sites, most of which were the 'factories' of handcrafts -- woven silk, cotton and lotus root, silversmiths, blacksmiths, and many more. These factories were simply large houses on the water, as all "buildings" on Inle are on stilts. Inle Lake is 14 miles long and 7 wide, 4300 feet above sea level. It's a waterworld and surreal at times, especially when you pass a fisherman rowing his boat with his leg. It's the classic Inle Lake image, and rewarding once you finally see in person.....
That night, we had dinner together at Star Flower, this amazing, undiscovered small restaurant in Inle that makes the best banana pancakes I have EVER tasted. I can't wait to make it for you once I get back. The owner also proudly showed of his fresh basil, which an Italian woman sent him seeds for so he could grow his own. His pizza was also delicious and we sat around discussing China and our personal experiences and thoughts about it. The most poignant fact that Xiao Yong shared with us was about technology. How China WANTS to innovate, and how the world wants it to as well and Stop Copying Goddammit. What we don't know in the west is that in fact, in order TO create innovative goods, one needs the technology with which to produce it. But the US won't SELL to China the hi-tech machines. So it's a stalemate for both countries. I realized how politicized (and partial) our respective news sources are.
The next day, we all left at noon for Kyaikto, the location of the famous Golden Rock -- a gold-leaf covered rock that is perched, apparently, on the edge of a cliff, perpetually in a state of unlikely balance. We drove directly south and had traversed the majority of the length of Myanmar. 16 hours after being nearly frozen to death in Subzero refrigeration/Fifth Avenue-Department-Store-level air-conditioning, we arrived in overcast and rainy Bago. At 4:30 in the morning, we just wanted to sleep and shower, but the bus to Kinpun, the town with accomodations closest to Golden Rock, had a bus that picked up from Bago at 7:30 AM. Xiao Yong and Xiao Fong graciously offered for us to crash for a couple hours on the other bed of the room they checked into. ($6/night). I had never felt so appreciative and taken care of and when we awoke at 6:50, they had left to see the temples in Bago, with their contact information on a note left on the desk. I look forward to meeting them again....
The busride to Kinpun was surprisingly lighthearted and touching. The bus was half full of monks on what must have been a pilgrammage to the Golden Rock, the other half full of thoughtful and nice Burmese. It was early but it seems that in general, Burmese start their days at sunrise, as it's cooler but also allows everyone to get a full day in before the power cuts out shortly after 8 PM. The man behind us bought me and the Japanese girl we were with each an ear of steamed corn, and I couldn't help but feel at peace sitting next to a pair of monks as we were all on our way to a religious site.
The delight of the trip to Kinpun lasted only the duraction of the busride. Once we stepped off, it dissipated into the wet mist covering the town slowly wading through off-season. The stalls and shops were closed, the one main road of the town crumbled down, broken, puddle and trash ridden. The town stunk of wet neglect. Only our hope to hike up to Golden Rock sustained us through a short series of misfortunate events, including badly bruising my toe and staying in a dank depressing room and eating questionable fried noodles. By 8 PM, after not sleeping the night before, we went to bed, and woke up to steady rain at 6 AM. There was no hope, no happiness, and a cold toast breakfast.
We realized our only destination for the day would be getting back to Yangon, and were in fact rather optimistic about it. Finally, a city with roads with pavement, and slightly cheerier facilities. So we packed up and by 10:30 were waiting for our bus. We spent 24+ hours of our lives for a poor dirty town. But oh well, we shouldn't have been going to a sexist site anyways. (Females aren't allowed to touch or even go near the Golden Rock.)
As Nick read on the bus, I walked around the market, and ended up taking pictures of and with this group of women as they entertained themselves as business was (dead) slow that day, and I was just waiting for a bus. I felt so comfortable with them, gesturing, joking, capturing their smiles, their poses and sharing that image instantly on the back of my camera on a tiny digital screen, in spite of not being able to verbally communicate with them. They felt like distant aunts and cousins, they felt much like MY aunts, like my mom's siststers and her cousins.
On the ride home to Yangon, I realized that I had found something I had subconsciously wondered if I'd find when I left San Francisco: my roots. I could not find them in China, and in fact found myself constantly finding why I was NOT like the Chinese. Yes, my paternal side had businesses in Guangzhou back in the WW2 era, even my grandmother lived in Guangzhou (I only found out when my Mom told me offhandedly during her visit.) But that knowledge did not make me feel any closer to the general Chinese culture of today.
But here in Myanmar -- here in Burma, where my mother grew up, where my aunts grew up, I felt an unexpected sense of connection, deeper understanding, and familiarity. The poverty and state of disrepair that possess all physical surroundings was immaterial. The unwavering kindness, compassion, giving, and general proclivity to smile made the deepest impression on my heart, and felt most familiar to my soul. My experience in Burma was like finding a distant but immediate home, and revealed a goal I had been seeking, unaware of its exact location.
|
|
If you like this entry, search for other entries from Myanmar or try a new search. |
| |
Back to Entry - Back to Home
|
1 vote 
