Glad I saved the $400 on the balloon flight at Bagan. I flew from Bagan to Heho yesterday, and I got a window seat on the plane, and I saw every goddam temple in one hit, for free. Thirty five minutes of white knuckles and grinding teeth later, (that's flying in Myanmar!) I was collected at the airport by a new driver. Our initial conversation went like this:
Missa Grin??
Yeah, that's me, call me Mike.
Yes Missa Grin Mike.
No, just Mike.
Yes.
Why did they want to see my passport just now, after I got off the plane. I've only flown from Bagan, not from outside the Country.
Yes.
But its a local flight, not an international one, and anyway its finished now, so whats the point?
Yes.
At that point, I gave up. It was the "Goat is dead" conversation I had in Nepal all over again. Anyway, it was a quiet drive up to Kalaw, another hill station, another corner of a foreign field that will be forever England. I stayed in an old dump of a place built in 1903, looking like Fawlty Towers, and it tried its best to recapture past glories. Starting by charging exhorbitant bar prices. But it did have some fascinating photos and sketches of the very early days hanging on the walls of the bar and restaurant. Two in particular caught my attention. The first was a photo of a native wearing nothing but a headpiece and a loincloth, taking aim with a small bow and arrow at something up in the trees. The second was a sketch entitled "The fleet sets sail from Andaman for Rangoon", and it showed a fleet of some dozen or so men o'war weighing anchor. Life for the natives was about to change. If the world's most powerful navy sails into your country and says "we'll take it from here" and all you've got is a bow and arrow, well, you're buggered aren't you?
BASIL !!
This region is now a major market garden area, supplying most of the country, and very busy and productive. Check the size of the avocados. The hand grenades are some kind of custard apple.
No sooner had I got there, than we were driving back down the mountain again, heading for Nyaung Schwe, better known as Inle Lake, which is well on its way to becoming a major tourist magnet. On the way, we stopped at another temple, this one very significant, apparently. The guide looked a bit crestfallen when I said "What else ya got?" A little further along, we went through some major roadworks, and then he couldn't understand why I was busy taking photos, but I'm sure you will.
These workers are mostly women, they are all wearing sandals and they are carrying rocks in whicker baskets from the sorting and grading area immediately above, to the site, where somebody has heated 44 gallon drums of bitumen on a wood fire, and someone else has applied the hot bitumen through watering cans (yes, true) onto the roadbase, ready to stick the rocks onto. Freakin amazing! They did have a steel wheeled roller though, but it didn't appear to be doing anything. Maybe they didn't want to wear it out.
We finally got to Inle Lake, and that was it for the day. I was free, and it was only lunchtime. Revelling in my new found freedom, I immediately grabbed a map, and my camera, and went to do one of my favourite things. I immersed myself in Nyaung Schwe by foot. Come with me and enjoy!
These diabolical things are all over the country, and I have been wanting to get a shot of one since I got here. They come from China, have no bonnet, a small diesel engine that sounds like a golf ball rolling around inside a clothes dryer, and no guards of any sort over the belts and pulleys. What could possibly go wrong? Goodbye fingers, clothing, hair or anything else if it gets too close. They are mainly used by farmers and construction workers and the guide tells me they are called, in Burmese, "Chinese buffalos" proving that humour transcends any language barrier!
These are not Chinese, and are not buffalos either. They are called cows, but just not as we know them. The farmer actually smiled at me when I pointed the camera at him. You never quite know how they're going to take it, but so far, no real dramas.
Ditto, with these ladies in traditional dress in the back of a truck. Myanmar has eight states, based largely on ethnic lines, and a heap of smaller ethnic divisions and dialects within each one. This has proven to be a problem, particularly when some reckon they are not getting their fair share of the pie, and has led to the ongoing civil war in parts of the country. Some parts are still verboten to foreigners.
I've never seen a live one! I need to get out more.
Hoi, you, Dickhead! Can't you read the sign?? Eerr, well, er, ...no! And now, speaking of signs, here are some which I could read.
I suggested to Caz that she should diversify and offer cooking lessons while she's massaging. Now she's not talking to me.
And this is a shop for....?
See, it's the new craze, everyone's doing it here.
I said I could read it, not understand it. Now, as for these below, it's not often I laugh out loud in the street.
As for the last one, maybe I better just leave it alone. Oh, ok, one more. Glad I'm not staying in this place.
About now, it started to rain, but I could not have cared less. Well so far this has been an interesting look around Nyaung Schwe. Yes, its touristy, or getting that way. I wandered down to the jetty area, somewhat unintentionally, and started to get accosted by boat drivers touting for business, for lake cruises. This is THE main thing here. But it was all pretty soft and polite, they have a long way to go before they really get in your face and make you want to kill them, like they do in India. Its also got a kind of hippy vibe right now. Showing my age, ok hipster vibe then. Lots of young Euro backpackers, mostly clean cut, but then some of the real freaks like the ones that used to go to Goa, Kathmandu and Morocco in the 70's, Thailand in the 80's or Pokhara about 10 years ago. Well, ok, they have to go somewhere, and the world is running out of places like this.
There are also a lot of, ehem, more mature age visitors like me, who want it a bit more upmarket. I guess that's really because the country has only just reopened its doors, and now everybody wants in. I had lunch in a very nice restaurant suggested by my guide. It suddenly occurred to me that everybody in the place - and there were 5 other tables occupied- was Dutch. I had to listen hard, but pretty soon there it was. To me, Dutch is like German, except its like German played to slow music, more lyrical than gutteral, and peppered with lots of "yerp yerps" and "hoo-dee-hoodies". Not unlike the Swedish chef from the Muppetts. No offence.
More random photos from my reconnaissance patrol. Its pretty basic in some parts.
See, there it is again. Travel AND Laundry. You have to diversify.
I certainly can't do that!
I think life for the natives here is about to change, yet again. And I really hope we foreigners don't stuff it up for them. And now finally, one last shot. This is my bed for the next three nights. I thought I got the bridal suite, but no, this is a genuine mozzie net. Well, there's water everywhere around here. Could they be any worse than the ones in Chitwan National Park in Nepal? If three of those landed on you at the same time, they could fly away with you.
So far, all the mozzies I have seen around here are actually pretty small, but apparently, that doesn't matter.
OK, late inclusion. Again, I pointed the camera at this shop, just as this guy walked out. He thought I was snapping him, so he stopped and smiled. They are just terrific people here.
If you can zoom in on the green sign just above the door, you will note with interest, as I did, that this shop sells a product known as Stallion Lubricant. Should I just leave it at that? Probably! Or should I buy a can or two for Peter Jolly or Trevor Thomas, fellow Ulyssians and both ex-racehorse trainers??
Missa Grin??
Yeah, that's me, call me Mike.
Yes Missa Grin Mike.
No, just Mike.
Yes.
Why did they want to see my passport just now, after I got off the plane. I've only flown from Bagan, not from outside the Country.
Yes.
But its a local flight, not an international one, and anyway its finished now, so whats the point?
Yes.
At that point, I gave up. It was the "Goat is dead" conversation I had in Nepal all over again. Anyway, it was a quiet drive up to Kalaw, another hill station, another corner of a foreign field that will be forever England. I stayed in an old dump of a place built in 1903, looking like Fawlty Towers, and it tried its best to recapture past glories. Starting by charging exhorbitant bar prices. But it did have some fascinating photos and sketches of the very early days hanging on the walls of the bar and restaurant. Two in particular caught my attention. The first was a photo of a native wearing nothing but a headpiece and a loincloth, taking aim with a small bow and arrow at something up in the trees. The second was a sketch entitled "The fleet sets sail from Andaman for Rangoon", and it showed a fleet of some dozen or so men o'war weighing anchor. Life for the natives was about to change. If the world's most powerful navy sails into your country and says "we'll take it from here" and all you've got is a bow and arrow, well, you're buggered aren't you?
BASIL !!
This region is now a major market garden area, supplying most of the country, and very busy and productive. Check the size of the avocados. The hand grenades are some kind of custard apple.
No sooner had I got there, than we were driving back down the mountain again, heading for Nyaung Schwe, better known as Inle Lake, which is well on its way to becoming a major tourist magnet. On the way, we stopped at another temple, this one very significant, apparently. The guide looked a bit crestfallen when I said "What else ya got?" A little further along, we went through some major roadworks, and then he couldn't understand why I was busy taking photos, but I'm sure you will.
These workers are mostly women, they are all wearing sandals and they are carrying rocks in whicker baskets from the sorting and grading area immediately above, to the site, where somebody has heated 44 gallon drums of bitumen on a wood fire, and someone else has applied the hot bitumen through watering cans (yes, true) onto the roadbase, ready to stick the rocks onto. Freakin amazing! They did have a steel wheeled roller though, but it didn't appear to be doing anything. Maybe they didn't want to wear it out.
We finally got to Inle Lake, and that was it for the day. I was free, and it was only lunchtime. Revelling in my new found freedom, I immediately grabbed a map, and my camera, and went to do one of my favourite things. I immersed myself in Nyaung Schwe by foot. Come with me and enjoy!
These diabolical things are all over the country, and I have been wanting to get a shot of one since I got here. They come from China, have no bonnet, a small diesel engine that sounds like a golf ball rolling around inside a clothes dryer, and no guards of any sort over the belts and pulleys. What could possibly go wrong? Goodbye fingers, clothing, hair or anything else if it gets too close. They are mainly used by farmers and construction workers and the guide tells me they are called, in Burmese, "Chinese buffalos" proving that humour transcends any language barrier!
These are not Chinese, and are not buffalos either. They are called cows, but just not as we know them. The farmer actually smiled at me when I pointed the camera at him. You never quite know how they're going to take it, but so far, no real dramas.
Ditto, with these ladies in traditional dress in the back of a truck. Myanmar has eight states, based largely on ethnic lines, and a heap of smaller ethnic divisions and dialects within each one. This has proven to be a problem, particularly when some reckon they are not getting their fair share of the pie, and has led to the ongoing civil war in parts of the country. Some parts are still verboten to foreigners.
I've never seen a live one! I need to get out more.
Hoi, you, Dickhead! Can't you read the sign?? Eerr, well, er, ...no! And now, speaking of signs, here are some which I could read.
I suggested to Caz that she should diversify and offer cooking lessons while she's massaging. Now she's not talking to me.
And this is a shop for....?
See, it's the new craze, everyone's doing it here.
I said I could read it, not understand it. Now, as for these below, it's not often I laugh out loud in the street.
As for the last one, maybe I better just leave it alone. Oh, ok, one more. Glad I'm not staying in this place.
About now, it started to rain, but I could not have cared less. Well so far this has been an interesting look around Nyaung Schwe. Yes, its touristy, or getting that way. I wandered down to the jetty area, somewhat unintentionally, and started to get accosted by boat drivers touting for business, for lake cruises. This is THE main thing here. But it was all pretty soft and polite, they have a long way to go before they really get in your face and make you want to kill them, like they do in India. Its also got a kind of hippy vibe right now. Showing my age, ok hipster vibe then. Lots of young Euro backpackers, mostly clean cut, but then some of the real freaks like the ones that used to go to Goa, Kathmandu and Morocco in the 70's, Thailand in the 80's or Pokhara about 10 years ago. Well, ok, they have to go somewhere, and the world is running out of places like this.
There are also a lot of, ehem, more mature age visitors like me, who want it a bit more upmarket. I guess that's really because the country has only just reopened its doors, and now everybody wants in. I had lunch in a very nice restaurant suggested by my guide. It suddenly occurred to me that everybody in the place - and there were 5 other tables occupied- was Dutch. I had to listen hard, but pretty soon there it was. To me, Dutch is like German, except its like German played to slow music, more lyrical than gutteral, and peppered with lots of "yerp yerps" and "hoo-dee-hoodies". Not unlike the Swedish chef from the Muppetts. No offence.
More random photos from my reconnaissance patrol. Its pretty basic in some parts.
See, there it is again. Travel AND Laundry. You have to diversify.
I certainly can't do that!
I think life for the natives here is about to change, yet again. And I really hope we foreigners don't stuff it up for them. And now finally, one last shot. This is my bed for the next three nights. I thought I got the bridal suite, but no, this is a genuine mozzie net. Well, there's water everywhere around here. Could they be any worse than the ones in Chitwan National Park in Nepal? If three of those landed on you at the same time, they could fly away with you.
So far, all the mozzies I have seen around here are actually pretty small, but apparently, that doesn't matter.
OK, late inclusion. Again, I pointed the camera at this shop, just as this guy walked out. He thought I was snapping him, so he stopped and smiled. They are just terrific people here.
If you can zoom in on the green sign just above the door, you will note with interest, as I did, that this shop sells a product known as Stallion Lubricant. Should I just leave it at that? Probably! Or should I buy a can or two for Peter Jolly or Trevor Thomas, fellow Ulyssians and both ex-racehorse trainers??
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