TO VEE OR NO TO VEE? THAT IS THE QUESTION

Look, I don't want to lower the tone of this blog any more than necessary, but I just have to get the tissue issue out in the open. I've used toilets all over the place. I've used some where they don't even have a bog roll. If you didn't BYO, then you are going to walk out of there with a wide gait like Tony Abbot. All you can do then is waddle straight home. I've used the good old 3x2x1 army latrine while out on bivouac. Only the army could specify a required size for a hole in the ground to crap into, but I suppose at a pinch, it could double up as a weapon pit in case of sudden attack. In fact, I've since found its better if you don't dig a hole at all, and I'm prepared to discuss this in appropriate detail at a suitable time. I've been to dark places full of redbacks where all you've got to work with is a few torn- up pieces of newspaper stuck on a nail next to the throttling pit. I've had to use those morale sapping starting blocks they still have in some so-called civilised countries. What a god awful predicament they are. I've been to some places and just said "kill me now".

But on this trip, in every single place I've stayed in, without exception, somebody has pre-folded the loose end of the bog roll into a nice, neat tidy V shaped point. Every single day! I mean, talk about class! I won't hear a bad word said against the hospitality industry this country, it's the Switzerland of Asia in this regard. God only knows what the locals do, but such conjecture is inappropriate and unhelpful. And not only that, most of the facilities there is one of those hosepipes hanging on the wall next to the karzi for you to use if you accidentally set fire to something while you're in there. I mean, they anticipate every possible need!

Look at that! Its not the best one I've ever seen, but it is tradesmanlike, and in keeping with a lot of things here.

I just don't know how I'm going to adjust to life back in Australia. I don't know how I will be able to accept anything less from the Budget Motel Chain, country pubs, caravan parks, roadhouses, and yes, I feel I must say this, even friend's houses, than the nice little welcoming V shaped point on the end of the bog roll. And I'm talking about before I go in there. I reserve the right to tear it to shreds, but that's my business, not yours.

Now that we have dispensed with that important issue, we shall say no more about it. Maybe.

GOIN' UP THE COUNTRY, GOT TO GET AWAY....

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??

MARKETS, MONASTERIES, TEMPLES

At Disneyworld, Florida they have an expression for sensory overload combined with too much ice cream. They call it being Disneyed out. But here they say it differently, but they are essentially talking about the same thing. And I think I'm there.

My conveyance today was a Lexus 4WD. Uh oh, I thought when it turned up, we're going bush. Today started with another temple. Groan. At least this one was different. For a start it was quite some distance away down a diabolical goat track, then down about 100 stairs. You see, it was built in a gorge. It was the 12th century Kyauk Gu Ohnmin Cave Temple, that rarely sees foreign visitors, I was assured. Well, they got that bit right. First you'd have to find it! We pretty well had the whole place to ourselves, except for the monks of course, and this old codger, the keeper of the shoes. Tough job, but someone's got to do it.

This place was a bit spooky, but very quiet for meditation, if you don't have claustrophobia.

Then we moved on, heading further out into the sticks. I didn't think this was possible, but it was. Passing through villages with not a single modern building, everything built from bamboo, rattan and palm leaves. And as for John Deeres and Massey Fergusons, well, not round here, sir. Not even a Mahindra round here.

Well, did I lie?? Finally we finished up at Pakkoku, a fair size town further up the Ayawaddy, and crossing said river via what is apparently the longest bridge in Myanmar. No argument from me. I tried for some photos, but its a hard thing to capture.

In this region, the Ayawaddy is massive. I have measured the Indus in Pakistan at 1.1 km shore to shore, and at the time, I thought it was the biggest river I had ever seen. I reckon this bridge was about 2 miles (3.2 km) long, but of course it wasn't all over water. Then again, this is the dry season! The water in the above photos is only a backwater. The main channel looks like this.

Admittedly, I haven't seen the Amazon. I better do something about that. Right, Pakkoku. First thing Moo Moo had laid on for me was a series of visits to genuine Asian sweatshops.I kid you not. They have the real thing here. First it was a cigar factory. Everybody was sitting around on the floor, working on some part of the process, done entirely by hand. I couldn't believe it. Today by the way is Sunday, but that makes absolutely no difference in Myanmar. Naturally I had to buy one. Anybody that reckons smoking won't kill you should try one of these!

Then, It actually got worse. Next stop was a place that made sandals. Same deal, everyone squatting on the floor, ancient machinery, cutting by hand, one guy smearing rubber glue onto soles by hand! Occ health and safety? Don't make me laugh.

Well, I suppose they're lucky to have a job. Everybody appeared happy enough. I tried on the biggest pair they make, and they were too small. That cracked the staff up properly, they didn't think it was possible for anybody to have plates the size of mine. I suggested they needed to think out side the box. Literally.

Next stop was the market. It was quite a big one, and I will guarantee I was the only foreigner in the place. I felt like I was the main attraction. Everybody seemed to be clocking me. But the really good thing about it was that as soon as you made eye contact with anybody, and smiled at them, they broke out into a genuine happy smile. Maybe they were saying "check out the tosser with the big feet" for all I know, but they seemed genuine enough. OK, ready for this?

 Dragon fruit.

 Bamboo root. I thought it was skinned rat.

 Sesame paste on the left, pickled mango on the right.

 Now that's a real trike.

 That's Moo Moo. What did I tell you?

The fish department. Just keep walking.

But the grand prize goes to this guy. That's a case of beer and another of munchies strapped to the bike. This guy knows what he wants to do on a Sunday.

Then it was a leisurely 2 hour cruise back down the river to Bagan, with lunch included. Whew, big day.