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Asia » Burma » Mandalay Region » Inle Lake
April 11th 2010
Published: June 5th 2010
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So after an eventful bus ride we were dropped off at the cross roads outside town where we waited for a pickup knowing the price should be $1. After saying no to offers of 5 and 6 we eventually went with a guy who was just going back home and would take us begrudgingly for the same price as the pickup. His car was falling to bits but was also pretty retro.

We were finally in inle and already planning on getting out. This was purely because we knew we had to get back to Yangon aka Rangoon for the water festival which everyone recommended to us at the former capital.

By the time we had checked in it was too late to go round travel agents and touts so we went instead for a curry. I had beef and emma had potato curry and finding rum to be as cheap as water we got a rum and star cola. These were really tasty and we recommended them to two fellow westerners. When we got up to leave we ended up getting some good advice from them as well. One, an expat from Scotland, lived in Yangon and advised
2 - Loadsa Cash2 - Loadsa Cash2 - Loadsa Cash

This is where we ate swamp water soup
not going there as it descended into chaos and you couldn't go outdoors without getting soaked by buckets of water. The other, called stefan, had found that no buses were going for the next 6 days and you could either charter and unofficial bus, get the train or fly. Him not being a tight budget he was flying as he had to make his flight home. The good news was that the water festival in Yangon dragged on for days so we had more time than we initially thought.

This ex-pat was old and a bit of an arse, so when he started going on about how it was 'dreadful' in the city during this time it just made us want to go more.

We opted for the train as though it was more expensive than a normal bus we figured it would be easier to manage and had heard it was a very scenic journey. The next morning after waiting for half an hour for the public pickup to fill up we gave up and arranged for the driver to just take us to the train station and back. He did this and we reserved seats in upper class as ordinary class was not open to tourists.

The train station was an experience. They didn't get many tourists there so when we turned up and tried to book tickets we had an audience of about 10 blokes and us all crammed into the tiny 'upper class office; watching/helping/hindering us. We are still not sure who actually worked there and reserving (I use the term loosely as all they really did was tell us to come back tomorrow) a ticket was a group effort.

We were driven back and after picking up some other people so the driver could make some more money back at our hotel cheeky ba#$*&d considering the extortionate price we had paid to a round trip. Oh and for half the time he just sat talking to his mates, having a fag in the shade while we baked in the truck. We booked a tour of the lake for early the next day, grabbed some tasty samosas and knowing plans were set had an early night eating at the same place.

The food in Burma was amazing as it is so close to India. After a while you do get fed up of Asian food - stuff thats cooked really quickly and then drowned in coconut milk. So having samosas and curry that had been cooked all day was something that we both really loved.

This would not turn out to be as successful as I realised you could order a set meal and save some money. Whilst the tomato salad and crackers that came with the rice and curry were nice the soup threatened to ruin even the best of beef currys. It was we decided not soup but swamp water dredged from the nearby lake. Bits floating in it could have been spinach or weeds and the water smelt stagnant. This was the worst thing we had tasted yet and they did not seem to want to bring us the rest till we at least looked like we had attempted to eat it. Needless to say it remained unfinished.

The next morning we awoke early to get on our boat around the lake. We wanted to be back early so as to soak up the water festival in inle (I can't help it the blood of a teacher is in my veins).

That was just bad.

Once again this attitude of quickly quickly was not readily accepted by our guide especially as this one had a sideline in commission from every place we stopped. First was a silversmith who proclaimed he was the only person to make authentic fish necklaces that moved in a swimming motion. We quickly moved on from this one as we couldn't afford the smallest fish let alone the silver plated handbags he sold.

Although I did buy one off a random woman for $2. I wore it for a day then put it in my bag. The next time I got it out it had turned green so maybe there was something in what that guy said.

Next was a cigar maker where women were rolling tobacco in bannana leaves to make these odd looking cigars. We were given two short sample ones - if only all tobacconists could adopt this marketing ploy. We watched a guy cutting up meat then cleaning his implements in the river (not too hygenic) whilst our boat driver had a fag.

We saw crowds of people outside the next place and were quite eager to go inside the temple and see the Buddha statues that now resembled blobs as people laid more and more gold leaf on them for luck. Unforunately whilst we were suitably dressed to buy souveniers and lark about on the river the hotpants (emma not me) and vests were no good here. As we didn't want to buy souveniers clothes at high prices we moved on much to the drivers dismay as he stubbed out a cig.

Next was the floating Market which consisted of two other canoe like boats crashing into us and offering us souveniers - no thanks. Apparently the food and local produce was not being sold today due to the festival. We stopped at another souvenier shop - he had dropped the pretence of it being a hunt for commission now - where the famed hoop necked tribeswomen were on show, literally. They had a little booth to stick their heads through for passing tourists. I think a bed with a big soft pillow to rest on would have been kinder.

This theme continued at the next stop where paper and umbrellas were made - all available at a good price just for you - with an older woman also sporting the heavy hoops on her legs arms and necks.

We were getting a bit fed up by this point. We didnt want to buy any tourist tat (except my high quality fish necklace of course) and the women with the long necks standing in a window all ready for tourist's to take pictures of turned our stomachs a bit. It was really horrible.

The grand finale of our trip was to be a monastary that probably has a Burmese name but was commonly known as the jumping cat monastary. It had monks and cats. Through years of meditation and zen thinking they had trained some select holy cats to jump through hoops. A quick disclaimer: don't try this at home. These cats were specially trained and all the relevant health safety precautions meant this was being done under controlled conditions - Rolf Harris was on call in case of an accident.

Ok so it's basically a gimmick for tourists and donations were expected. To be honest the cats didn't look to bothered and just wanted the treats they got. Also the monks were having lunch so it was
8 - Emma on a boat8 - Emma on a boat8 - Emma on a boat

Note the lifejacket is used as a cushion - comfort over safety
some young kid in jeans who showed us. He even lowered the hoop a few times to make it easier.

Now emma was beside herself with joy. She now had something to work towards in her life - a trained cat. Because she was so engrossed she didn't realise that she had become a jumping cat in her own way. Now I can't say for sure that they were japanese tourists but let's say for arguments sake that they were. A group of them had started to turn there posh cameras away from this miracle feline feat and were snapping photos of emma. Some even woke her from her daze and posed with her. We left confused and unsure as to what reality meant anymore.

Yep its not something that you get used to. Burma was the first place that locals would want to take pictures of you - either by asking or on the sly (which, when I noticed, annoyed the hell out of me). It was something that we (mainly me as Andy is too ugly to merit attention) would have to get used to as when we got to Indonesia it got a whole
9 - Bad case of BedHead9 - Bad case of BedHead9 - Bad case of BedHead

Quite an acheivement considering I have no hair
lot worse. Yep but anyway, the jumping cats were amazing! The kid did not lower the hoops and the cats could jump miles up into the air. I want one.

We had seen enough by this point (Andy had, being a heathen dog lover.) and headed back past the floating gardens - didn't see any tomatoes only loads of green weed looking stuff - and back to he dock. We did see the local fisherman using a unique paddling technique with their legs being used to propel and steer the boat leaving hands free to drag in nets. All in all the trip finished a draw with any cultural enlightenment negated by the never ending sales pitch.

The water festival turned out be a washout as well (I've got tonnes of these by the way) as we took a token soaking from our hotel then wandered the town looking for celebrations. Finding nothing we opted for a restaurant some way from the lake in the hope the swamp soup would be less pungent here.

In fact everything on this menu was fish sauce based. Fish sauce was in the chilli the peanuts and even the anchovies. These dips accompanied currys drowned in oil and a huge pot of rice.

And a woman who stood by our table watching us eat and after a while started to show us how to eat. This involved covering everything in various things that tasted like rotten fish and then expecting us to eat it.

After the advice of our hotel we got an early night so we could be up at the station bright and early as the train left anytime between 8:30 and 10:00. All the pickups were too unreliable and the taxis were full but our hotel managed to find a guide to take us for $10 an extortinate amount but one we had to pay. It turned out to be the same guy who had dropped us off on his way home. So he did manage to rip us off in the end but full credit to him he deserved it.

He also had the decency to look really embarrassed when he saw us.

After a quick move by me at the station I jumped inside just in time to see emma get hit by two pots of water by the girls I had seen lying in wait.
What a gentleman. He didn't actually just run away like he said. He grabbed me and threw me (backpack and all) into their path as he legged it up the steps. Its alright though as Karma got him back later on.
We collected our tickets and waited for the train till 10 when it left for thazi, a crossroads to mandalay and Yangon. A woman let emma hold her parrot - no euphamism just a green parrot.

The train was comfy enough although maybe not for 12 hours as any seat begins to make your cheeks moan after that long. There was a rather distinguished german next to us who had worked for an airline all over the world and now enjoyed his retirement with a wife in Bali. He had visited 103 countries in his life and we enjoyed swapping stories with him. One thing we did not share was our openess to the water festival. Whilst we quite enjoyed the occasional splash of water as you neared a town and didn't drop your window quickly enough he hated having to keep his window shut and getting off the train to get food or cigarettes.

The waves of panic soon became almost a joint struggle as we and our comrades fought off the hordes of invading water throwers by battening down the hatches each time the train slowed. Shouts would ripple through the train and you saw people rushing to help anyone struggling with the lock on their window. If you didn't get your window down in time it wasn't always you that got soaked but it still could be and it was all for one and one for all on our carriage. Despite this, a bucketful still managed to soar through a closing window over two seats and the aisle straight into my face. This caused much amusement to the locals. and me, hahah karma!

Some young lads opposite were playing with fire when they began taunting the people on the platform when we stopped and possibly provoking them in Burmese. The youngsters on the platform would try and sneak onto the train to dunk a bucket on one lad in particular but he was quick to get to the middle of the train each time they approached.

Eventually they made do for soaking his seat and the girl travelling with him. This resulted in a quick barney between the friends and him looking sheepish and apologetic for the rest of the journey.

The journey passed quickly enough and the scenery was stunning. Mountains and green occasionally beset with small villages. We got a curry to eat on the train at one of it's many stops and remembered why we preferred this to the stale bus journeys we often took overnight.

Andy was dead brave to go and get a curry because the train just stopped at little villages for a short amount of time while they changed the tracks or did something train-y and technical. It took ages to sort out the curry and by the time it was done the train was making rumbalings. I was really impressed when he just hopped back on to the train as I would have weed myself.

The mood was ruined slightly by two older locals who came across as lechy to Andy! and as they drank rum and beer soon became a bit too familiar. To top it all one was an employee of the train who on finishing his shift we hope had decided to take up the festival spirit.

We arrived on time in Thazi and went to the stationmaster to book ourselves in the train that left a few hours later at midnight. This was not to happen as the train was cancelled due to the festival. We found a place to crash and from the dust on the hospital issue plastic bed covers we guessed this wasn't a busy town. In fact the old lady asking us to tell our friends about our brief encounter with this place further reinforced this.

We were up and out for the first train the next day at 9 and having opted for the upper class again we were soon glad as we saw that the seats were just wooden planks and it seemed to be a free for all seating arrangment.

We ate a quick curry for breakfast - the student in me loved that - and were off to Yangon. Once again the journey was pleasant the seats being even comfier this time and we grabbed food from the bloke walking down the aisles and having to mime chicken and fish to us.

The real drama came as we neared Yangon. One of the locals sat next to us who spoke good English took a phone call and then after some hurried words to a friend beckoned for our attention. It transpired after a few misunderstanding that bombs had gone off in Yangon in crowded areas of the festival. The reports of casualties were mixed but it seemed that whilst no tourist areas had been hit the layover in Thazi could definitely be seen as a blessing in disguise.

We pulled into Yangon a little late and decided that the guesthouse just outside the centre of town may be the better option so as to avoid any sort of trouble.

Only after meeting a pain of a bloke who was going the same place as us. We knew that taxis charged more for after 6pm and then more again for holidays so figured that we would have to pay about $3. This bloke would not accept this as last time he had only paid $1.50 so refused to get in a taxi till he found this none existent rate. We had been on a train for forever and just
16 - We weren't allowed in this temple 16 - We weren't allowed in this temple 16 - We weren't allowed in this temple

I was far to skimpily dressed
wanted to get there but he dragged us into the city centre. He only gave up when I lost my temper with him and pointed out that he'd only gave to pay a dollar as there was 3 of us. We avoided him for the rest of the time as he was a tool.


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