Burmese Days 2

Myanmar, June 07
Well, I haven't really given you a wordy flavour thus far as to what Myanmar was really like (and you're probably quite thankful for it). To rectify that here's some prose. I cribbed it from an email I sent (with minor edits) so sorry if some references don't make too much sense.

Oh and I have spent a frikking age loading up a ton more pics on my Flickr photo site so if you want to feast your peepers some more...nothing's stopping ya!

Mandalay 5am, heading for an Irrawaddy Adventure - I popped outside to meet Mr Hat the trishaw man. Sure enough, there he was, fettling with ropes and specs. I strolled up and presented myself in the formal manner that befits such an august meeting. He simply stared at me and rubbed his eyes in amazement and blinked and gawped slack jawed (and other sure fire signs he had no idea who the devil I was). I explained I was his fare to the boat station. He takes a step back and looks long and hard and shakes his head. 'No really, I am!' Eventually he stammers that he does not believe I am the same person from the previous night. OK, so no-one looks their best in the morning, certainly not 5am, but had I really become Mr Hyde from Dr Jekyll? Amazing how being accompanied by a beautiful woman can get 'you' recognised more easily...hmmm. I guess we honkies all look the same in the dim light of early morning and without specs. He did say he & his wife would like me to stay with them on my return, which was very sweet.



Made the ferry fine and, after being shown a spot on the mid-deck to lay my mat (on the raised wooden area reserved for monks, military and mad-men), we commenced the journey up river. To say I was a novelty, source of intrigue and amusement to my fellow passengers would be like saying 'the bearded woman received some acknowledgement and minor comments on the terraces of Millwall Football Club'. Naturally I was the only foreigner on the boat.

I decided to double check the journey time with the first mate and the skipper and got two contrary answers so simply gave up on establishing a timetable and resigned to the fact that I would arrive when I arrived in Kha Tha and no sooner nor later.

So, up river we chugged at a ground speed somewhere around a slow jog (although water speed was faster as it was fairly gushing past). The Irrawaddy fanned out ahead of us in the morning light like a broad sheet of beaten bronze. By the way, did you know that Mandalay has a big Ferris wheel akin to the London Eye (but smaller...and probably from the early 60s)? No? Well it does, I saw it. Shame I didn't know before as a spin would have been capital fun!


Regards food, there was a wee snack shack made from tomato crates vending all sorts of fine fayre and every time we stopped hordes of snack sellers would swarm the deck like gastronomic pirates, brandishing samosas, bags of rice, curries, fruit, water and live pigs. In fact I had THE BEST tomato salad (with a hint of Som Tum Thai salad about it) from the boat tuck shop. Did think at the time that I was taking a risk and patted that packet of Immodium but it was delicious and without any unpleasant after effects. Grated papaya, cabbage, red and green tomato, onion, chili, peanuts, a little oil and some fish sauce I think. Marvellous.



The scenery and small fishing vessels rolled lazily by and the day passed with reading, taking pics, napping and being stared and giggled at (as well as offered food, which was very sweet).

After a pretty good nights sleep (8:30pm-5am) I was up again for day two of ???. I had noticed that the Burmese all seemed to wash from a big drum of river water at the back, maybe three times a day, and change their clothes. Naturally I had had a quick dab with a wet-wipe and was still attired in the same threads I had embarked in. It was at this point an old lady told me in forceful terms and gestures that I should wash. Partially out of embarrassment and also coz I could be on the boat for another 36hrs, I did as bid and joined in the river water wash down.



Docking at ports along the way was quite something. Along with the rush of sales-people (kids mainly) we took on board hundreds (more) sacks of rice, chickens in baskets (not the pub grub kind), boxes of veg, barrels of beer, bamboo poles etc etc until I thought the boat would sink under the load.

As it was, we landed at Kha Tha on the Sunday afternoon around five so all predictions had been awry. I was rather glad altho' the boat trip had been great. I think it was the perfect time, long enough to be an epic, short enough not to be overt endurance. Checked into the Irrawaddy Guest House over looking the 'dock' and went off for an explore.

Kha Tha is a great wee town. Sort of the equivalent of a UK market town off the beaten path but instead of the Yangon/Mandalay 60s time warp, this was definitely more like 1920s. After a summary reccy I found a great barbecue joint under a massive cloaking banyan tree that served up skewers of flattened pork, quails eggs and okra with chili dipping sauce for 200kyat (8p) a stick and glasses of beer for 500kyat (20p). Were it a gastro pub in Islington goodness only knows what flowery prose would describe the fayre and what eye wincing prices would accompany them.

The old British Club, Kha Tha as featured in George Orwell's Burmese Days

George Orwell's old house, Kha Tha, Myanmar

Decided to make headway with my extra day and leave for Mandalay on Monday. Checked out the station in Kha Tha but there was one train a day to Naba at midnight. Did mean I got my bus ride as well as train, so all boxes ticked. Met up with a Burmese fellow with fascinating dentistry (as all seem to) who showed me the old British Club (now agric co-op) and working tennis court from Burmese Days and also George Orwell's old house. Also had a good chat with the guest house proprietor along the dissident lines (initiated by him).

And then to Naba on the bus over a very bouncy dirt road, our way blocked at one point by a family of elephants (maybe six) and their drivers. Naba train station was awash with people most of whom I learnt later were there to sell snacks, curry, rice, drinks and washing water to the train travellers when the 'express' pulled in. Buying the ticket was an exercise in Myanmar bureaucracy. The train fare was US$18 for 1st class. I only had a 20 dollar bill (or a five). This caused major waves and half of the people crowded into the ticket office to witness the biggest show to hit Naba since Mr Aung Tan's goose escaped and caused a cart jam on the main street. The station master couldn't give me US$2 change and for some reason couldn't give me change in Kayt, but what he could do was mark the ticket as costing US$20. He kept saying 'Is that OK?' I was going to embark on explaining that when one has no other option, then the concept of OK is actually rather notional...but thought better of it.

The train pulled in just an hour and a half late after I had endured the unwanted attentions of the village drunk for most of that time. Found my seat and amidst the war cries of peanut sellers and rice vendors we set off. Well, if I thought that the bus was bouncy, it seemed like travelling on buttered glass compared to the rocking, rolling, bumping and bouncing of the train. How it stayed on the rails I don't know. At times I was bouncing clean out of my seat. Things not helped by the fact the seat back wasn't really fixed so acted as some form of trampoline. This was going to be a long 12hrs 'or so'. And it was. I did manage to fall asleep somehow for a couple of hours and actually woke up as we pulled into Mandalay station at 6am, so pretty much on time. I felt rather shell shocked.

Headed to the travel office with a young trishaw fella but it wasn't open til 9am so took tea and roti (pala?) with him and killed time. At the travel office they simply made a couple of calls and then said just rock up at the airport for 3pm and I'd be on the flight to Yangon that afternoon. Once again, the 'Somehow We Get You There Motto' applied. Enough time to grab a shower at the Royal Guest House and see some of the markets (buy a clean shirt!) and sample Nylon Ice Cream Parlour.

Then to the airport in a shared taxi where I got chatting with this really nice guy from Beijing who invited me to stay with him and his parents should I ever make it and we'd 'do Beijing' on bike. Great. Mandalay airport was like the aftermath of Day of the Triffids. Flight was the long haul via Heho & Bagan Nyaung so into Yangon c.7pm. Too shattered other than to snatch a bite, call Andrew (who Ros thinks bears a similarity to me which I think is doing him a diservice) and then crash out.

My last day in Yangon was pretty good. Got up early (product of 9:30 bedtime previous night) & hit the flower market to get...errr...some flowers for Andrew & Kelly whom I was to have dinner with that night. In my moochings also picked up a large parasol, a fair sized laquerware bowl and an oval tray without thinking about how I'm going to get them home. The things a boy gets up to with spare time and Kyat to kill. Hey ho as they say in the Inle Lake area.

Kelly and Andrew (my supposed doppelganger)

Watched the sunset from the roof of the guest house with a cold beer and then headed off to A&K's for dinner where I also met a chap Nikolai who was doing Dan's old job in Southern Sudan (I think) before heading to Cambodia with his girlfriend. He was doing some consultancy in Myanmar. Anyhow, had a fun old night and drank a little too much of course, especially with fine wine on offer! Made the 5:30am reveille a touch hard. And so ended my Burmese Days.

Off for a Laos-y time

Bangkok, Thailand
Hardly stuck up a post of worth regards Myanmar and it's time to hit the trail once again for what is likely to be the penultimate leg of my trip: overland around Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia. It's all very much a campaign under the banner 'Failing to plan is planning an adventure.' We'll see.

Time for some thank yous. Have to say a massive, massive thanks to Ros, Dan (and Ruby) who have acted as base camp for all my SE Asian exploration. Just totted up and I have been resident at their house here in Bangkok four times over the past two months. Having just spent an hour and a half banging my head against a wall in the United Airlines office here in Bangkok trying to organise my return flights, it seems I'm going to be passing through BKK once again around the 14th Aug. That really will be the last time...promise. Here's a snap of family ColliRussell at Dolphin Bay Resort t'other weekend. It's a shame Ruby has a bent cotton bud stuck in her ear.

And news hot off the press - I can confirm that I shall be back in Blighty from the week starting 20th Aug! There is after all a certain cricket match to play in, right!

Here are some more snaps of Myanmar for those too lazy to go and look at my Flickr site! I best boost as I have a bus to catch!

Burmese Days 1

Yangon, Myanmar, 6-9 June 07
Yangon is in a time warp stuck somewhere in the late 50s or early 60s. It's very green and lowrise. Cars are generally in excess of 20 years old on account of astronomical government tax on new cars and understandably mostly held together by string and sealing wax. Buses look like the odd jalopy that used to carry us to the boat house when I was at school. (Never did understand why in the mid-1980s the school bought a prop from a Miss Marple film.) The thing that stands out, quite literally from wherever you are in the city, is the Shewdagon Paya - a h-u-u-u-g-e pagoda in the bling-est gold.

Trust me, it's massive. Pagodas (a.k.a. payas or stupas) feature in mind boggling numbers throughout Myanmar.

Here's something that tickled me: a list of things from my hotel room that were 'for sale' (in other words how much you'd get charged in US$ if they went missing from the room). What on earth is a Happy Coat? I looked through my room and there were few items that could be described as 'happy' and even fewer that were coat like.

Bagan, Myanmar, 10-13 June 07
Bagan is on a broad floodplain of the Irrawaddy River and is famed for its incredible number (and size) of pagodas that are scattered across the plain. I on the other hand was more amazed by the size of this snail!

OK, OK, joking. Here are some snaps:







More, as ever, laters...

Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons

Myanmar, 6-21 June, 07
(Fortunately I wasn't placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds!)

So Myanmar, you know, that place we used to call Burma and we Brits in the 19th & early 20th century would plunder for teak and in which we encouraged opium cultivation. In fact the British press (and government) still call it Burma refusing to recognise the name Myanmar as the renaming was the brain child of the officially unrecognised military dictatorship. So we call it Burma, the name we Brits gave the country because some plum choked, gin befuddled employee of the British East India Company decided it rolled off the fat tongue better than Myanmar, it's original name. Complicated huh?

[OK, the serious bit.] Going there isn't a straightforward decision. The military dictatorship is a brutal institution with a penchant for forced (that'll be slave) labour and imprisonment of political dissenters including Aung San Suu Kyi - the National League for Democracy candidate who won 82% of votes in the 1990 democratic election and who has never been given power, remaining under house arrest. Add to the mix oppression of ethnic minorities in its border lands, human rights abuses and other general despotic acts and you can see why it's a hot potato. If you go, there's no way you can stop some money going into the government's coffers. And a good portion of that money will invariably go on military spending to maintain the current regime. There are limited economic and political sanctions in place by the EU and UN. So, to go or no?

Depends on why you're going I guess. If it's a cheap holiday to a land stuck in a different time period, where you can get five star (government run) luxury at 1970s prices, see some wondrous sites and neatly ignore the poverty and oppression barely visible through the bubbles in your chilled 40p beer, then perhaps your motives are a little suspect. If it's to see the sites but do so with your eyes and mind open, talk to local people at grass roots level, limit your cash going to the government by choosing private guest houses/hotels/restaurants and come back with a sense of wanting to help change the political, economic and social climate for the better in whatever small way, then perhaps there is a more valid reason.

It's not cut and dried. The Burma Campaign UK calls for a total boycott of tourism in Burma quoting Aung San Suu Kyi herself as being opposed to it. And Tony Blair called for those thinking of visiting Burma for a holiday to 'consider carefully whether by their actions they are helping to support the regime and prolong such dreadful abuses.'

Burma has one of the biggest reserves of gas & oil in Asia and also gold, diamonds and jade seemingly in abundance. These have naturally caught the eye of the corporate magpies in the west. The flimsy economic sanctions that exist, or at least the simple veto by one country on more stringent EU or UN sanctions, plays into the hands of some western companies who are willing to get into bed with the Burmese government. The money that rolls in from these ventures outweighs by a factor of thousands the money from tourism. That said, any act that promotes or apparently legitimises human rights abuse should be avoided and perhaps that means all tourism. The debate rages.

Obviously it was the chilled 40p beer that swung it for me! (Joking.)

It's a personal decision and one of conscience. Heck, with this and my previous rant on global waste production it looks like I'm turning into some form of environmental/political warrior...even if a massively hypocritical one. It's not completely the case but the world isn't all candy floss and it's only right to publicise the pros and cons of going to Burma/Myanmar...even criticise my own decision to go. For more information see http://www.burmacampaign.org.uk/ .

Oooh. I feel a bit depressed now.

In addition, an ex-work colleague of Dan's, Christina Archer, whom I met in Bangkok previously in May was going to be in Myanmar working on a project for Save the Children. She could take a week or so off after her work and we could travel about and see for ourselves some of the country. So off to Yangon (aka Rangoon) I went.

[More laters...]

Myanmar - it's like, well bling, ennit!

Myanmar, 6-21 June, 2007
Hello my blogglies! I'm back in Bangkok after my two weeks or so in Myanmar. I'm afraid I'm not going to give you the wordy nourishment you so deserve just now as two weeks out of the communication loop leaves a little bit of tidying up to do. But there are pictures to be had and we all know how much you love the snaps. They're at the usual place. Why not drop on in for a gin fizz, a bowl full of fine Club Blend and an eyeful of bling a bit like this:

Rag tag bag of wags

Bangkok, Thailand
Many thanks for your tags on the site...most...errr...kind. I haven't been able to see them until now on account of Thailand's military regime deeming Blogspot to be subversive therefore barred from being viewed from Thailand's ISPs. Got round it using a proxy server service...don't ask me...I have no idea really.

1. Yeah. All highly hypocritical of me to have a rant about global waste production whilst tripping the light fantastic on long haul flights, kicking back in business class, sipping Rusty Nails and reading the FT. That is why I have decided to take more personal responsibility and increase my green credentials. I shall continue the rest of my journey overland, preferably on foot or bicycle (well, rickshaw). From now on I aim to fund the trip through selling second hand, solo flip-flops and I shall be stopping every kilometre to plant a sapling and offer up a small sacrifice of burnt toe-nail clippings to the Green Man o' the Woods.

2. I have had my haircut twice on this trip already, one of which was here in Bangkok (banish that thought Churchy!) and both sheerings I consider unnecessary, much as this fella clearly does:
3. The bag is described as a Men's Sports Tote. Anyway, I'm not insecure about my sexuality, it may look like a girls' bag or indeed a purse to some but it works for me and is so handy for carrying my makeup, Prada sunglasses and hormone tablets.

By the way, I'm heading to Myanmar on Wednesday for a couple of weeks, which means no mobile phone, more than likely no email or internet and therefore no Spratticus updates. So for the vast majority it makes absolutely no difference, in fact it could be seen as a downright blessing. Let's GO!

Pass the port

Bangkok, Thailand
I am once again a legitimate British Citizen, with a shiny new (biometric...oooh, check that) passport to prove it and I am a valid visitor to Thailand with a replacement visa. No longer do I have to skulk about lacking credentials feeling like some form of refugee or illegal immigrant, knowing I couldn't leave the country if I wanted to. Living in fear of being stopped by the police for some random check (as happened!) or guesthouse staff asking to see my passport. Feels good. Better than I ever imagined it could have before I lost that essential bit of travel kit.

Actually when I say I have a new passport, I actually don't have it. It's at the Myanmar Embassy to get a visa for a trip I'm going to make there this week (sounds like it made the trip to the embassy of its own accord). But if I did have it, I'd take a picture of it and let you see how spangly and delightful it really is.

My advice to you is really quite simple and bloody obvious: hang onto that burgundy (or whatever colour it may happen to be) document as if your life depended on it. It just might do and it's a crashing bore trying to get another one.

Instead, here's a picture of the replacement for the bag I had stolen (hech hem...lost). Weirdly enough I chanced across the exact same model in the Siam Centre in Bangkok and it felt like destiny to replace like with like...and guess what...it's chocolate brown with an orange lining so there was no question about not getting it really.

Perhaps I shouldn't broadcast my overt act of consumerism given my previous post. And the bag's made by Nike, perhaps in some Chinese sweat shop where 13 year old kids work 18 hours a day, are discouraged from taking any days off and get paid the princely sum of seven dollars a month. [Eyes downcast in shame; pass the hair shirt.]