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Published: November 21st 2005
Floating out of the fogs
One of the first barges in the processionThe night could be described as nothing less than magical…sitting on the veranda of a restaurant in Nyaungshwe after dark, I watched the town slowly come to life as each restaurant, home, and shop lit dozens of candles and paper lanterns on their streetfront sides. The chanting coming from the main pagoda in town had been going steady for the past 24 hours, and the faded sing-songy mantra gave a sense of direction to the countless bicyclists and pedestrians making their pilgrimage towards the glow coming from the lambent golden stupa. Inside the temple grounds, worshippers found the shrine dedicated to their astrological sign among the soft golden firelight and performed their rituals, first pouring water over the Buddha image to cleanse themselves from their wrongdoings before kneeling to pray. As your attention was drawn upward to admire the brightness of the full moon, small floating baskets of light in the sky caught your eye; they were fire balloons being lit and released to celebrate Thadingyut festival, which commemorates Buddha’s return to earth after spending Lent in the Celestial Kingdom preaching to his mother. Some of the fire balloons had a tail of fireworks attached, letting little sparks and a stream
The Glitz and the Glory
Detail from the giant golden float at the Phaung Daw U Kyaung festival of color trail from the floating fire bubbles. A festive atmosphere permeated the streets, with kids running around waving sparklers largely unsupervised, filling the town with a chorus of laughing, shouting, and firecracker explosions.
It was the perfect dessert to accentuate the decadence of that day’s visual feast, brought on by the Phaung Daw U Kyaung festival. A movie producer the likes of Steven Spielberg couldn’t have created a more romanticized and perfect atmosphere than Burma’s Inle Lake. I had arrived in Heho, an hour’s ride from the lake, by plane from Tachileik, which was a dusty border town that kind of made your skin crawl. The first impressions of Burma were basically overridden with Thai influence, although slight differences paved the way for a gradual easing into a different culture. Framed pictures of the military leader graced the arrivals immigration lounge, traffic once again drove on the right (although with right side steering), the skin tones reminded me that India was Burma’s neighbor, I grew accustomed to the fact that most men wear longyi skirts as opposed to pants, and the cute bubbly script and less tonal language of the Burmese was noticeably different. Other than that, Tachileik
was just one of those hot sketchy towns that you would like to get out of as soon as possible. Arriving at the city airport to fly to Heho, I was met with a strange sight: a relatively modern-looking airport building boasted a sizeable parking lot out front…and absolutely no cars. Military and security personnel stood outside a white gate at the entrance to the lot and dozens of passengers milled about with their luggage in the shade of a nearby tree. The taxi dropped us off and we joined the ranks of nuns who had just strolled up and waited to be called by the security to be allowed to enter the lot. The two hour wait for the ridiculously short internal flight seemed excessive, but there wasn’t much of an option; overland travel is “dangerous” and therefore “not allowed for foreigners,” even though a road drives between the areas and locals can travel there on a bus.
Despite flying over large expanses of nothing but green, I hadn’t quite braced myself for what a difference the Lake area would prove to be from this unappealing departure point. The cloudy skies looked as if they could burst into
rain at any moment, and yet the splendor of the area was no less evident, even from the dirty taxicab window. The higher elevation made its mark; as the taxi navigated winding potholed roads, we rolled past green hills covered with corn, sunflowers, and what appeared to be vineyards (later discovered that the hanging vines actually produce a large light green variety of zucchini). The road clung to a ring of mountains surrounding an enormous expanse of flat-as-paper land, the emerald landscape only interrupted at its southern end by the more pristine jewel of Inle Lake.
The scenery from above was spectacular, but once we reached the streets of the towns below I really felt like I had been transported to another era: women walking down dirt roads with jars on their heads, oxcarts plowing down the road carrying crops and passengers, and a conspicuous absence of motorized vehicles marked the scene. Exploring the charming town would have to wait until the next evening, however, as the combination of a late afternoon flight, long taxi ride to Nyaungshwe, and the half-hour time difference from Thailand meant that it was practically dark by the time I settled into the guesthouse.
While waiting for dinner I watched a group of men with their longgyi skirts kilted up into very short makeshift shorts (or, perhaps they looked closer to diapers) playing sepaktakraw, a game somewhere between soccer and volleyball, though without a net to practice on, this pickup game with the small cane ball looked more like glorified hackeysack. The actual sport, however, is quite an athletic feat and fun to watch, and it has my vote for newest game on the Olympic circuit. The guesthouse restaurant had an all-you-can-eat, pay-as-you-like philosophy, which meant that you could eat vast quantities but not quite be sure of what you were getting. Luckily tomatoes are a specialty of the town so I could make out the green tomato salad, though everything was tasty. I discovered that eating at Burmese establishments requires a lot of table space: you order pork curry, for example, and they will bring out about 6 bowls of various dishes in addition to your order, as well as 4 or 5 plates of condiments.
The early morning alarm roused me from my slumber for the sunrise boat ride across Inle Lake in order to view the festival procession. A man
Lake Villagers with a good seat
Watching the procession from their house built on the water at the small boat dock washed the sleep out of his eyes as he bathed in the canal off the end of his makeshift pier. The fetters of my own grogginess, however, were less difficult to shake off - the astounding ambience and tranquility of the lake provided an endless array of captivating subjects to grab one’s attention. As the sun crept slowly out of its bed, the entire area morphed from a dull gray to a deep purple, then pink, and finally a vibrant orangish-yellow before the clouds temporarily muted the loud announcement of day. The hills and clouds were reflected perfectly in the lake’s mirror-like surface, which, despite the longtail boat traffic of other festival-goers, was still and smooth as glass. This is not your typical lake, though; it almost seems as if a traffic light would not seem entirely out of place in the middle of the water, since the lake itself has been made into as much of a living establishment as land-based cities and villages are. Concentrations of stilted houses and shops rose up to form “streets” around the canals, and much as their neighbors on land would park their bicycles or motorbikes in the
driveways of their own homes, Inthwa villagers could be found backing their boats out of the ‘garage’ space underneath their homes to make their way to work in the morning. While fishing is perhaps an obvious source of employment for many on the lake, the fertility of the area’s soil is not left as a resource only to be used by the land-bound villagers. Rather, giant floating gardens in the lake produce corn, tomatoes, and other vegetable crops; and metal-shaping workshops, giant pagodas, and even a hotel in the middle of the waters point to the unique relation between the habitat and the locals, who seem to be relatively prosperous living off the water.
We settled down in the reeds alongside a broad canal with a few minutes to spare before the action began, surrounded by other longtail boats and canoes filled with expectant onlookers. We got a boat with two of the Four Sisters from the guesthouse, who explained certain aspects of the procession while we sipped coffee and waited, hoping that the misty clouds would lift. Suddenly the silence was broken by a chanting type of music and a cymbal-like percussion beat, growing ever louder as the
first float neared. A hundred men in white shirts and pale orange pants stood in two rows on each side of the long narrow barges, moving forward and backward from the waist in synchronized short bursts as they dug their paddles into the water and collectively propelled the barge forward. The next barge of Shan men dressed in matching rust brown tops and pants was not far behind, as all the boats in this giant caravan were connected by ropes. Each float added something a little bit different to the parade, though; the colors of the parasols that separated the two rows from each other changed, as did the colors of the rowers’ clothing, and some floats were further brightened up with balloons, plants, or flowers, while others added animation by dancing to the music blaring from their barge’s loudspeakers. Some of the rowers employed the traditional Inthwa leg-rowing technique to paddle along, which developed as a rowing method on the lake due to the need to stand often to navigate around the many gardens and reeds and through the many narrow canals. After dozens of these floats had passed, the giant golden barges being pulled by their collective rowing
Great view from the outhouse!
At the metalworkers' shop on Inle Lake finally neared. While both barges were ornate and headed with large golden bird creatures at the front, the first was smaller and its carved golden canopy barely covered the overflowing circular silver trays filled with fruit and flower offerings to the Buddha. The final barge’s enormous golden structure carried the Buddha statues to their new temporary resting place and was even more beautiful than the pagoda to which it was traveling. As it finally passed us, many of the nearby boats joined with the hundreds of others trailing the procession, carrying offerings and bowing their heads in prayers.
We caught the procession two more times as the boat driver steered us through small grass-lined canals across water fields of bright pink lotus blossoms to catch the promenade that appeared even more dazzling now that the sun had come out to play under a brilliant blue sky. Eventually everyone ended at this giant monastery, where the Buddha statues (turned into unrecognizable blobby snowman figures by overapplication of gold leaf) were unloaded and the offerings were presented. The temple grounds were buzzing with people from all over the lake region, the red-cloaked monks of all ages and sizes and the different
tribes in their traditional clothing creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Women and children had decorated their faces in designs with thanakha, a yellow paste made by grinding the tree wood and used everywhere in Burma as a combination sun protector, sweat absorber, skin whitener, and aesthetic beautifier. Low tables and sitting mats were set up so visitors could briefly escape the crowds for a meal from one of the numerous vendors before heading up into the temple proper to pay their respects or to admire the anchored golden barges up close.
This experience in and of itself would have made for a memorable day, but the festivities continued well through mid-afternoon as the sisters on our boat directed us from one site to the next along the lake, visiting a variety of pagodas and monasteries and having lunch at one of the head honcho monk’s quarters. By the time we returned mid-afternoon, I was practically suffering from sensory overload; the multitude of exciting sights, smells, tastes, and sounds was overwhelming. A brief nap allowed me to savour and digest the morning buffet and prepare for the softer and subtler magic of the aforementioned evening. All in all, it was
one of the best cultural experiences I’ve had in a single day, and while I had not fully explored every nook and cranny of wonder that lake had to offer, it seemed that it would be quite impossible to top it, so the decision was made to move on the next day and not risk dulling that vibrant memory in any way.
The songthaew back to the main junction was packed to the hilt inside and out, with baggage atop the roof and male passengers atop the baggage. Personal space and familiarity barriers are much more easily crossed here than in the West (between members of the same sex); within moments of squeezing into the small bench space, the smiling middle-aged woman next to me reached up to pull my hair out of my eyes and later to pluck a crawling ant off my neck, and soon I found the teenage girl on my other side holding my arm and resting her cheek on my shoulder for a half hour nap.
On a hard bench in the back of another pickup, we climbed back into the cooler hills on a bumpy winding road that provided a nice panorama
Finally warming up!
Pulaung village near Kalaw - when the carsickness subsided long enough to enjoy it, that is. The proximity of the next destination, Kalaw, would fool one into believing that this should be a short ride, but, as it turned out to be the case all over the country, mileage is absolutely no indicator of how long your journey will be, and it is generally at least 3 hours longer than they tell you it will be. Kalaw was formerly used as a hill station for the British troops and it was described as a nice colonial town, although it didn’t appear to be especially attractive upon arrival, and the “colonial architecture” was not overly evident either. However, the little place grows on you if you give it a chance and do some wandering; an interesting medley of people matches the wide variety of plants and crops to be found in the area. Shan, Burman, Indian, Pakistanis, Nepalese, and Chinese live together in this community, practicing nat worship, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism, and Christianity side by side, while the outlying hill tribe villages provide still more diversity.
After breakfast including fresh passion fruits from the guesthouse owner’s garden, we set off on a one
Countryside around Kalaw
From the Nepali restaurant viewpoint day trek with her brother Robin as a guide, who was particularly knowledgeable about local flora and the medicinal uses of plants, though he talked almost constantly and was a fountain of all kinds of information (all non-political information, of course). Starting off through town, the ‘middle class’ neighborhoods were in sturdier and larger houses than I had seen around Nyaungshwe, and the well-tended gardens and brilliant creeping flowers provided a colorful frame for each house we encountered. Though an average wage for city-dwellers runs around 2000 kyat (about $1.65) per day, as opposed to around 1000 kyat in the countryside, Robin claimed that 85 % of people live in rural areas, stating that people can live better in the countryside, in areas such as Kalaw, where fertile soil gives life to countless crops and abundant pastures for herds of animals. He claimed that police and government officers make very little money, so they often extract bribes. He seemed to be okay with this, stating that they don’t earn much money so it is alright, but one has to wonder how much of what anyone says regarding the government isn’t just a smokescreen, given the military’s track record with oppression.
Though it seems the percentages on rural/urban division may be skewed, certainly the claim of rural bounty seems believable since they can at least feed themselves in the countryside without wondering whether their wages will rise quickly enough to match the ever-growing inflation. According to the Asian Development Bank, the last 8 years have seen Burma’s inflation rate increase to 300%, hence all the stickers in restaurant menus (or the absence of listed prices whatsoever), since they must continually adjust prices up.
The slopes were covered with tea plantations and dry rice, a non-irrigated type of rice that is only harvested once per year, as opposed to twice per year with normal paddy rice. The countryside, like all land, air, and water in Myanmar, belongs to the government, but people are allowed to farm it as they like. Of course, if the government decides they need the land, they will come and take it whenever they wish without compensation to the farmers, who may be left without the fruits of their labor overnight. Even in the cities, the houses and businesses are not on owned land, it is leased according to the old British system whereby they take out
a lease for the land for about 90 years and have to renew the contract at the end of that time period. Coffee is also grown here, although our guide told us that most locals don’t drink it, as they believe that it isn’t as healthy as “coffeemix” (which is pre-combined with non-dairy creamer and sugar).
Tribes in the area include the Pulaung and the Po’o, though a plethora of trekking companies in town have pretty much guaranteed that the villages you can visit are well-touristed, and children meet you with souvenirs in hand, ready to perfect their sales pitches over the voices of 12 other kids with similar pleading eyes waving identical products. The first village we visited was very small, with children running about everywhere while the parents were working in the fields. One young teenage girl, fully made up in the thanakha paste with painted lips, watched over the younger ones and prepared meals. None of these children went to school, they prefer to spend their youth playing with each other and their simple toys of sticks and plastic bottles until they reach a working age. And although the elementary educational participation seems to be growing,
less than 10 % of students go on to university. Robin stated that the ones that do attend university are generally from the cities; the costs of study were prohibitive for most rural children, with only 1 % of them able to afford the city life while studying. The next village contained communities who lived in the traditional longhouses, up to 60 people in each of these extended homes. We made a little rest stop inside one for some tea and bananas, which, by the way, are probably the best bananas I’ve ever eaten, as they have this distinct apple taste to them. The idea of privacy probably doesn’t exist in this type of living arrangement, as there were really no partitions to speak of. Our trek guide explained that the Pulaung tribe utilizes arranged marriages to ensure the continuity and purity of the tribe, though some modernization is occuring; the next Pulaung village we came to has adopted single family homes in favor of more privacy in the nuclear family unit.
Logging has contributed to erosion on the slopes, which in turn has caused landslides in the rainy season, evident by the steep drop of reddish orange dirt
that cascaded down one of the slopes. The small protected forest area around the reservoir is truly rare, one of the last subtropical virgin rainforests in Southeast Asia, and from the number of logging trucks and outdoor warehouses I saw along the trip to Mandalay, it is probably clinging onto that protected status for dear survival against the stronger deforestation economic interests.
Sometimes the full force of what you see traveling doen’t set in right away, perhaps because you don’t have a comparison point yet. Such was the case with Kalaw. Coming back into town from the trek, a young boy and girl came down from their house and gave me two enormously perfect white dahlias, and children everywhere shouted hello, waved, and smiled. People were curious and helpful without being pushy, friendly without expecting ‘baksheesh’ in return. The nature was marvelous, serenity seemed to impregnate the air, and a healthy balance seemed to exist between tourism infrastructure and an economy geared towards the local population. Though I found it quite pleasant at the time, hindsight catapults the Shan State up to its proper place among the dearest compartments of my heart’s affection for this country.
(I
should hopefully catch up with a string of blogs now; internet options that were few and far between, lack of steady electricity or connections, and a string of illnesses during 3 out of my 5 weeks spent in Burma made it difficult to write!)
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Maher
non-member comment
lovely
I've been to burma in 1996. I confirm its lovely