Now that's what I call paradise, part 2


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Asia » Burma » Mandalay Region » Inle Lake
February 11th 2013
Published: February 14th 2013
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Inle Lake, 17-21 January

We had got serious boat fever the day before so we were awake very early on our second day in Inle Lake. We ate breakfast on the verandah and watched the lake wake up with us. The early morning fog slowly ebbed away and this time, with the knowledge of what lay beyond the mist, it was even more magical. Our boat driver picked us up at 9am and we sailed across the lake again, this time headed for a monastery. It was popularly known as the ‘Jumping Cat Monastery,’ because a monk had taught the resident cats to jump through hoops for the amusement of tourists. But our driver informed us it was no longer referred to in this way as the cats didn’t jump anymore. “Why not?” we asked. “The monk who trained them,” he said slowly, “is dead.” Fair enough then.

As we powered across the lake, the mist we had seen from our balcony flew past all around us and broke up in front of our eyes. The lake in the early morning had a cold wind and by the time we we reached the monastery we were pretty chilly. We took off our shoes to walk around and the polished wooden floors were freezing. As it was early and very quiet, we thought nobody else was around but then we heard the sound of water running and a door opened in the far corner of the room, a few feet away from the huge painted Buddhas in the centre. Out of the door came a strange sight – a monk wrapped in his regular rusty red robes and a big bath towel, rubbing his bald head dry. Clearly he had just had his morning shower. He can't have missed us but walked past without interest and it was then that I noticed there were also five or six cats napping on the floor of the monastery, scattered around. One of them was sat just outside the door and looked completely exhausted – if it’s possible for a cat to look this way – and we wondered if maybe this was the cat that used to jump through hoops for tourists and was now weak with relief that it was no longer a show animal. Either that or it was just lazy.

All around Burma, we had seen endless tiny kittens and puppies, all very well-fed and happy but this was always a strange sight as other countries we had been to we had only seen stray dogs and cats. In this monastery, we were literally stumbling over them. At the side entrance, we came across a tiny kitten asleep on the ‘Welcome’ mat and hogging the only part of the doorway located in the early morning sun. Further down the outside corridor sat a monk who was also fast asleep on a chair – it all made for a ridiculously tranquil scene. Out the back of the monastery was a tiny market where I bought a couple of handmade necklaces as presents. It was just about 9.30 by this point, which may be the earliest I have ever shopped.

Our driver had told us he would be back in twenty minutes so we waited on the jetty, watching boats sail by and smiling at an extremely old man in a house opposite chomping on a big fat cigar and looking out dreamily across the lake. I wondered just how long he had been sitting there. Forty minutes later our driver turned up (that's Burmese time for you). It was starting to warm up and we sailed right across from the southwest corner of the lake up towards the northern part. There, we visited a market that was already almost finished for the day at 11.30. It was mostly food with a few souvenirs, but the best part was when we came across a big, beaming Burmese woman sat wrapped in very colourful, traditional dress and smoking a cigar in the middle of the market, pausing to wrap up betel for shoppers. We bought some tobacco off her for posterity.

Down the road from the market, our driver told us there were some hot springs that we could walk to in fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes later, we were still walking through the burning midday sun down a beautiful road lined with jungle scenery like something out of Disney, but there was no sign of the hot springs. We jumped on the back of some passing motorbikes who offered to take us there. It took another ten minutes by bike and at this point we realised that we should never trust a Burmese person to tell us the time (we found out why later on)*. The hot springs themselves werel a really lovely place to chill out and have an ice cold drink. The views around were really pretty and we spent a good couple of hours until we couldn't take the heat anymore. On the way back to the boat, we passed another monastery our driver explained to us how all boys in Burma become monks from around the age of seven for ten years – and many become monks for another period in their life – and a very holy ceremony takes place for the initiation. I wondered whether this is the reason the Burmese people we met were so gentle and friendly; growing up in an environment like that must have an effect.

We were lucky enough that our driver lived in one of the traditional villages on the edge of the lake and his family ran a restaurant there so we headed down for lunch somewhere very special. His entire family came out to meet us – his mum and dad, sisters, nieces and nephews. We climbed up high wooden stairs to the restaurant that swayed ever so slightly on its stilts and sat around twenty feet up to eat. The village was a gorgeous place to sit and have lunch as there was a fair bit of activity going on with longboats sailing past loaded up with bags and people in about equal measure. One little girl who could not have been more than about six was sailing a longboat entirely by herself with incredible skill. A proper water baby and very captivating to watch. After lunch, we walked down the jetty back onto land and climbed the hill to a monastery (yep, another one). On the way back to the boat we saw a farmer making a bonfire while his ox waited patiently beside him. This country really does just offer endless photo taking opportunities. That night we watched the sunset from our balcony with a perfect view as it settled over the mountains. Another blissful day.

The next morning, we woke up early again and met our boat driver after breakfast. This time, we were headed towards the south of the river to see the Five Day market. This is the market that rotates around five different locations on the lake over alternate days and we were lucky enough to be going to one of the days that is considered less touristy. This was without doubt our favourite market so far. There were so, so few white people and it felt so incredibly real and felt like the first market we had seen that was exactly as it would have been years and years ago. We parked our boat up next to all the other longtails and clambered over the other boats to reach the land. There was such an incredible array of smells and sights. Women in colourful headscarves with flowers piled up high on their heads. Men sat on stools surrounded by huge wooden bowls containing incredibly exotic and colourful spices. A very thoughtful-looking monk wearing sunglasses and absentmindedly munching food handed to him by a couple of young girls. A barbershop in the back corner of the market with a group of teenage boys outside, hanging around right next to a gigantic pig and a bunch of tiny piglets. Ladies cooking huge bowls of sizzling hot food using huge utensils that meant they could keep their distance from the heat. An elderly lady weighing different types of fruit using tin cans and a string. Ox and buffalo roaming freely around at the back of the market. It was absolutely fantastic and just one of those experiences we will never forget.

We spent a long time in the market and afterwards we sailed down through many more floating villages until we reached our next stop, a knife factory. The process was one of those you just can't take your eyes off, with the blade sharpened by four boys with mallets who, one after the other hammered their mallet down on the blade. Every ten hammers or so, the other worker who was sat holding the knife in place with huge tongs, would hold the blade over hot coals and flames to heat it up and then the hammering process would start again. It was a bit like a kid's fantasy as you could tell that everyone in the room, us included, wanted to have a go at hammering the metal and making the knife. There was a huge amount of blades on display, from tiny, incredibly sharp ones to absolutely huge knives. I managed to spare C's groans and avoid making every single knife pun I could (not the sharpest tool in the box, and all that) we sailed down the lake and visited a huge pagoda then had lunch in a stilted restaurant with lovely views. We spent the rest of the afternoon chilling out on our balcony and watching the water life, then in the evening we caught a taxi to Nwaungshe to get some dinner and watch the Arsenal-Chelsea game.

My dad is a diehard Chelsea fan (go on, start the abuse) and I would never even ask C if he loved me more than Arsenal as I don't want to fight a losing battle so mutual teasing was at an all-time high. But this really was a match to remember. After going round all the places with TV's in the centre of town – none of which were showing the game – we started to panic slightly about getting to see it. Then one of the restaurant owners gave us directions to a teahouse that he said was showing it. We followed what he said and ended up on a very dark road with some very large dogs getting a bit too close for comfort. It seemed supremely unlikely that we were in the right place but then suddenly we started to see lights and the next thing we know, we rounded the corner and there was a gorgeous teahouse, packed absolutely to the brim with people, and the game showing on two screens.

I think we must have been two of the first white people to ever go there as you would have, the way that the owner behaved, that the Royal Family had arrived. He got five guys to carry a huge table out for us and was absolutely charming, smiling away and bringing us hot tea. He brought our dinner on the dot of half time and it was absolutely delicious. Fresh chicken and potato curry and fresh chicken and tomato curry with cauliflower and oyster sauce. But the best part of all was the way that the match unfolded. The teahouse was absolutely rammed with table upon table of men, mostly aged between 15 and 25 but with a fair few older ones too. Some were chewing betel (one was hocking up in a bag but we can ignore him for the sake of the mental image) and some were eating. But practically every single one was absolutely riveted by the football. Every time C would get excited about the game, every man in the teahouse would
turn around to watch him. If he hung his head in his hands, so did they. If he jumped up in excitement, so did they. When he got wound up and shouted, "Come on!" (I'm not sure he dared say what he would usually in as foreign a place as we were) they all started cracking up and shouting 'Come on!" It wasn't mocking but more a way of joining in. They were absolutely entranced by this very loud, tall white man who was obviously so enthusiastic about the sport they all love. By midway through the game, every single guy in there was supporting Arsenal and every time Arsenal got the ball, the excitement rose up a notch. It was a bit like watching a really exotic version of Simon Says, as if C was the ringleader and every single person was following him. At the end, he turned round to me and said "that was the best match we have ever lost."

That was the most perfect ending to our time in Inle Lake. The next day we got up and headed for the airport, bound for our next destination and still bathing in the perfection of the past few days. Little did we know that the next place we visited – – Bagan, the dusty, mystical town that is home to three and a half thousand temples – would make us fall even more hopelessly in love with Burma.


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