Myanmar Diaries - The Royal Myanmar Railway

After a crazy day at the lake where the only good part was my boat driver did every turn I asked him to, I had to move away from the tourists. So I decided to take the 15 km/hr train to a town called Kalaw. It’s the sort of a typical ‘British Hill Station’ the book said. During the early 30’s when the British were building railways in Burma, the Indians, the Nepali’s and the Bangladeshi’s all came in search of work. If you see anyone looking different than the average Burmese then they mostly are the 3^rd generation of the then railway workers.

                                             The start of my journey - Nyuangshwe Station

The train journey is some kind of another experience. The speed is not only excruciatingly slow but the way the carriages shake remind you of some ride in an entertainment park. Well to talk about entertainment, there is enough provided by the locals. The train makes 4 stops on the way to Kalaw during the 70 kms trip. The stations look more like those seen in the 1930’s pictures of Mumbai with a tin shade on the top, a few bullock carts outside to carry the people as well as the goods. The only thing that reminds you of this decade is a vehicle manufactured by Honda or Toyota parked on the road.  At many times, I thought I am looking at a scene from an old Hindi movie only in color.

Like in India, the train is never in time. But here comes the best bit from the station where I boarded the train, Shwenyuang junction.

The train pulls in at the station exactly 45 minutes late, and the stationmaster says “good in time”. We are a group of only 6 – 7 foreigners who have taken the upper class, which as I enter appears to me more ransacked than the ordinary class. The only difference is the higher fare and cushioned seats. I find a seat in the direction of the movement and settle down. There are atleast 4 -5 layers of dust on the table in front of me, but that’s nothing to complain about. The ticket collector gives a hand to an elderly french couple with their lugguage and then is eager to tell everyone to sit on the seats assigned to them, in an almost empty compartment.

                                            No Rush ! The train waits till you have shopped

Later, as the train is about to move, a family of eight children with their respective mothers, get inside the compartment and it feels a little alive around me. Alive not noisy! The train starts with the expected thud and after less than 100 metres it stops suddenly. It starts to move backward and I realize it is changing tracks. Well, it stops again and moves in the same direction as before only this time it stops at the station again. Some people get in the train. It moves and stops again .. this is the time when the big family gets out. It seems the ladies just wanted to give their children a ride. They all jump out on an open field and a single lady who was watching them all this while gets into the compartment. She is the real traveler I realize. Welcome to Myanmar Railways, I tell myself.

The train finally starts to move at more than 10 kms/hr and the family from down below shout their bye’s out loud to the solo woman. This was it!! I tried not to make anything out of it and just enjoy their passing company. Two people with uniforms and chewing on the beetlenut pan settle next to me and say ‘mingla ba’ in local language means ‘hello’.  By this time I forget that the scenery outside was one of the draws for me to take this journey and in the roller coaster of a train, I go off to sleep. I may have been on the verge of almost knocking myself out when a hand shook me. It was one of the guys in the uniform, “look out, goo view’. I smiled and saw that the train had already started to ascend and a bridge constructed in the 40’s was approaching. I had already seen it a day earlier from the road, but for him I said .’ya good’. He was the ticket collector, part time porter and now also the tour guide.

The first stations it pulled in was Heho and by then the man had already shown me three other sites. One of them was the crash site of an ‘air bagan’ flight, which by the way I was going to take the next morning. “air bagan .. doosh” he spoke more with his action than with his doosh !

The next item on the entertainment list was oranges. Oh yes .. on the train they eat oranges for time to pass. Its more like the pan chewing habit can only be given up for oranges. As I got down at the Heho station, I too bought oranges coz by then I had too much of accepting oranges from everyone on the train and not giving them any. It was like exchanging greetings with an orange and I did not want to fall behind. So even when the price for oranges for a foreigner was double of that of the locals, I got the necessary number of oranges I thought would last me for the journey, little did I know that I would beat my own personal record with oranges which was 1/10^th of what normal man eats on a 5 hour train journey in Myanmar.

                                                   From Station to home.. Anyone ?

The second station came and this time there was not the commotion of Heho. So I got out to stretch a little and walked past my compartment to peep in the huge wooden windows, a group of officials and regular commuters playing Burmese poker with all sorts of local currency denominations on a make shift table and orange peels on the floor. “Come play, it fun’ I just nodded and as the train started I went and joined the group. This was the craziest form of poker I had seen. The bills were folded in one, two and upto four folds.  I did not even attempt at asking why. The winner at each hand gulped in one more orange and laughed.

We take pictures, or write on a travel. I had never seen a paint diary before. A French woman, whom I earlier saw sit outside the station painting a water sketch of the surrounding had now engaged my attention as I moved around the compartment to cut time.  I saw the colorful pages open and had to ask for permission to see it. She promptly said in her french accent, “I have one on India, wait I show you”! It was beautiful and took me the next 30 minutes of the journey.  The last 45 minutes of the journey I sat alone and looked out as the air turned cooler and the scenery greener.

The train was the unexpected surprise of my visit to the state of Shan. As I got down at Kalaw. I did not care about the town. The journey was enough to make it a day.

Myanmar Diaries - Inle lake

The village of Nyuangshwe on the mouth of the Inle Lake is a backpacker’s heaven. At least it was some 11 months back. With tourism comes money and with it comes the want of more money. Its saddening to see that the simple people in the villages around the lake are so under the influence of the  $$ that,  you almost want to run away from there. But having said this, nothing can take away the beauty of the place.

                                                  The traditional way of fishing on Inle

Lake Inle might be the biggest tourist draw for the people coming to Myanmar. The lake is big and there is one more resort every year than there used to be. The sales staff in the cottage industries around the lake, have been employed with a minimal knowledge of English with words like, ‘Best price’ and ‘discount’ looming large, and once you buy their stuff, they all say ‘lucky money.’ Ya you only realize how lucky they got considering that they sell their goods at double the prices than that of the town.

Well, now about the good part. The people and the pure pristine scenery!

The Burmese have a way of offering things, they do it with the right hand, bending their head in respect and touching the right elbow with the left hand. When they smile its mostly genuine. The little waterways that my boat driver took, provided me with some of the genuinely curious faces peeping out of the wooden windows in the houses that stood on stilts. The other kind of peeping in was when the sales people winked at my boat guy for him to get the bait in. After falling prey to the silver stop and handing the girl who used the word ‘halo’ as a full stop after every sentence, I decided I am going to bargain. But before I could speak anything at the wood carving place, the girl said, the pli iii 5000 , but I give you fo 4000 ok .. vely chep’ . At places like these I thought I bought what I could in the limited local currency I was carrying, only to support the villagers there.

                                                   No bargaining please .. only lucky money!

The Palaun women are the postcard tribal woman of Myanmar. You must’ve seen an image of a woman with brass rings on her neck , as a result of which the head seems further away from the collarbone. These women live in the mountains but they earn 10 times of what they do in the mountains selling milk by just posing for camera’s on the lake Inle. Such is the tragedy! But everyone wants a picture of them, thankfully I didnt see anyone posing with them. Originally made to wear the brass bands to look less attractive to the invading armies of tribes, no one would’ve thought back then that these very rings would make them the number one tribal picture of Burma.

The best picture opportunity of Lake Inle however is the traditional fishermen in their tiny vessel fishing with the unique conical shaped net. On my way back from the lake as the sun was about to set I saw a couple of fishermen posing for a big group of tourists with high end cameras, the good part is that they were having fun with this and I guess it involved no money and even if it did, that meant a good feast on the full moon day.

The sunset over the lake is beautiful; more so because the group tours have retired to their high end hotels on the lake and the water feels less crowded.

Lake Inle for many is the high point of Myanmar. For me however it was a bit disappointing with due respect to its beauty. It was like an Israeli I met on one of the Islands said, ‘Hmmm this lake .. not as good as Daal Lake in Srinagar, this country not as cheap as India’

Myanmar Diaries - Flight to the north.. Thank god for the fog!

Its been quiet some years since I had travelled to the east of India, which in time is ahead in Hours.

Last night when I crashed in bed after two consecutive nights of sleeping on flights, I set my alarm to which I thought was 5.15 am Myanmar time for a flight at 7.30 am from Yangon to the eastern state of Shan. The only thing I remember is waking up at 4 am out of fear of missing the flight and cursing myself ‘the alarm is set it will ring’. Well it did ring while I was in the taxi to the airport. I had woken at 7 am and the flight was just 30 mins away.

I don’t know how I managed to do my morning chores but in 10 minutes I was on a taxi to the airport(after showing my hand as take off as a signal for the airport). Ten minutes away from my actual take off I was still at a traffic signal, but couldn’t see the red light as the morning fog in Yangon had set in. I reached the airport just 5 mins away from the take off. I had imagined myself run and eventually asking the ‘Air Bagan’ counter for some refund, inturn i found myself walking to the counter which still had some people checking in with the destination of my flight displayed.
‘I thought I missed my flight’ I said to the attendant. ‘oh no we wait for you’ she smiled! It was the fog .. The check in was smooth is all I can say, with the porter taking my bag on a trolley to the scanner and putting a sticker on my chest, the ones they put as a ticket when you enter a sightseeing place.

The Fog had grounded all the flights and the departure area was a complete mess. I obviously had to skip my breakfast but I guess as I wrote from the solo airport restaurant, I had enough time for yet another coffee. The only thing I feared I had forgotten back in the room was my iphone charger, which anyways was alright as Myanmar has a signal block for all international phones.

The boarding announcements went on and the waiter told me to wait and finish my coffee. Now that’s the benefit of having your flight stuck to your chest! As I typed on my laptop I saw my waiter eagerly listening to the announcements in English, a language I doubt he knew, the accent he did understand or I guess just the flight number. He was like the alarm that would come and wake me up from the chair and this time it did it right!

                                                             The Check- In bags 

Myanmar is expensive in terms of Hotels, and tourist transport. So tourists from the west especially who have combined this with the trip to Thailand, often complain about the prices. I too think the same especially for what I got for $75 in a shabby guesthouse in Yangon. Tourism is in boom and suddenly everyone wants to cash in. Some have improved their quality and therefore charge more, the others and that include most of them, simply charge more because they know people will pay. The guidebook, which was published in the Jan of 2012, has rates, which have grown by more than 100% in this season. So the people who blindly follow the guidebook (that includes me as well) are in for a shock as they approach the Hotel desk or the taxi guy.

I am not very good at bargaining and so after a little yes and no, I did give in to the close to $75 demanded for the 7 hr trip from the Heho airport where I landed to Pindaya, which has the only natural cave Golden Buddha temple of the world and then to Nyuangshwe, near the mouth of the biggest tourist attraction in Myanmar, The Inle Lake.

The Burmese are bloody honest!! I had read, but when the airport attendant got my travel pouch to me just as I realized it had been left at the counter of passport check, I just smiled and said thank you. “Hey yoaa baeeg” he said to me! If you think the Thai don’t pronounce half the English letters, come to Myanmaaa !

The temple was good and the drive took me through the Shan State countryside. The Shan are local tribes and a proud lot they are. Much of the state is out of the tourist radar as it borders China and Thailand and there are frequent conflicts as we near the border. But I was well away from it and in the tourist heartland of the state where the only conflict is in this season to find a room. My search on the internet resulted in nothing but mails saying “we are sorry, no rooms we have” or “no rooms, try some other one” it was like getting a no for a job interview. Finally I had decided to come here and see for myself. Well the first recommendation on the Lonely Planet places to stay had a room (the guys who booked it didn’t turn up, the prices had gone 3 times higher than those printed in the book) so without going further I just took it.

There are as many travel agencies in the town of Nyuangshwe as they are places which sell the Myanmar beer. They all arrange the most in demand ‘boat trip on the lake’. The lady owner at my guesthouse, tried to sell me the trip for twice the market price, which I later realized, and I am glad I didn’t take the offer.

After scouting some agencies in the town, which seemed to me like moving in a village in India in the mid 80’s or maybe even before, I was finally able to feel right about one. “Money is ok, no ploble payin is tomolo” it was not just the money which was the lowest in the market. The boat guy was sitting just there staring at me smiling. Within minutes we had the whole itinerary for the next day chopped out. The owner which was still in his 20’s was a particularly easy guy and seemed non touristy which was refreshing after the desperate sales pitch made by my guesthouse owner.  Infact the guy was so cool that as I was walking back from the restaurant to my hotel, he called me in his shop, which had a aspiring band practicing.

Dagon beer(Myanma biya is no stlon), and local cigar was to accompany the guitar on which Burmese versions of popular English songs played. As it is I don’t understand any English in the songs I hear, so there I was singing with them in Burmese. The night had just begun for the guys. For me, well I didn’t want to miss the boat the next day!!

That night my phone which doubles up as my wake up call was set again this time one hour ahead of IST. Oh and yes it was plugged in to the charger as well! Nothing lost after all!

Myanmar Diaries - Yangon, the capital!

The flight looked full and going by the number of people waiting at the departure gate, it didn’t  seem like I was going to a relatively unknown country. Mostly American’s in tour groups, and a few Asians here and there. Writing from the Bangkok international airport waiting to board the flight to Yangon, Myanmar, I can say that I was quiet surprised. ‘Myanmar is on the tourist map’ I thought to myself. Now let me call it by another name, Burma, still not helping? Well, look it up on the map. A country of good size, between India and Thailand, Myanmar borders Laos, Bangladesh as well as China.

The arrival formalities were smooth and the floor looked sparkling at the Yangon international airport. At the immigration I noticed, the counters for foreign tourists, were attended to, by women and that for Burmese nationals had beetle nut chewing men. Within 10 mins from arrival I was in the cab whose driver kept on checking the address to my hotel with his glasses on and then asking bystanders with them off.

I was in Yangon to meet with travel agents to arrange a group of fellow Indians for the future, but first I had to set my itinerary right.
The lonely planet is a guide book I have extensively used to find hotels, restaurants etc but this was the first time I was using it to find a travel agent. This is how ‘new’ it was to me to travel to the neighboring Myanmar.

                                                              The Street Satay joint 

I had read about the following before coming to Myanmar.

Only $$ are accepted and the bills have to be, clean! No creases, no marks, no folds and certainly not torn(blame the sanctions which are imposed by the U.S on the government of Myanmar, or just blame the military rule) 

No credit cards! No international phones! Very limited internet and English!

So I was not surprised, when the guest house and the travel agent together rejected close to $1000 out of the $1400 I had with me. After paying collectively, I just had $53 good to go, left with me and the hotels for the next 4 days had yet to be paid for. So this is what you do ..

You go and change your not so good $$100 bills at a regular bank into the local currency (Kyats, pronounced as chats). Then go to a spanky bank and get your clean $$. Well you do loose out on the buying selling rate, but its still worth it with virtually no acceptance of creased bills by hotels.

With the cash back in my pocket I felt better again and set out on my job. The temperature even in February is close to 34 deg here and I was glad that the next day I had booked a flight to go to the hills of Myanmar.

The book speaks about a walking tour, which I unintentionally did, not to see the sights, but to find the travel agents listed. After the punishing sun, it had to be beer and not anywhere else but at the strand hotel. “We only take $$” the waiter said. The beer was cold and the music was soft in the lobby bar of the most expensive hotel in Myanmar. When I said no to snacks(too expensive!!) the waiter just got me a bowl of fish crackers. At places like the Strand when you see Locals, that means they are the super rich of the country, and since the American version of poison, Coca Cola, just got introduced to the country, I saw a group of them just having a coke each!

Myanmar is a country where almost all of the population is Buddhist. The land of the Pagodas is what its called. The biggest of them all and that too topped with 2000 kgs of gold and 3000 carats of Diamonds is the Shwedang Paya. After trying hopelessly to negotiate for a good rate, I settled in for what the driver had to offer and came face to face with the traffic of Yangon.  The driver who had avoided commenting on his country’s political situation blasted the government and the city roads later. So much so that he went on talking and I fell asleep.

The car finally came to a stop and it was only after the engine went silent that I realized I had to get down. The shwedang Paya was here.

The pagoda turned crimson red with the setting sun and then a magic gold when the lights came out. I walked aimlessly around it greeted a few of the guides, who said ‘namaste’ to me. One of the guides I think spotted my aimlessness and asked me to walk the 5 steps with him. “look up as you walk, do you see anything?” . I do not, I told him. He said again “look up at the top of the Pagoda” and there I saw the biggest diamond changing its colour  A 70 carat diamond at the top he said, “it change color “!!  A guide does make a difference.

The pagoda is set on a high hill so that it is visible from anywhere in the city. Also the highest position in the city has its own significance. The authorities have built capsule lifts to take the visitors, up and down the hill. There are four entrances to the complex in four directions. Only the north and the south have elevators, the other two, have stairs leading to them.

It was only on my way out that I realized how huge the complex was. It took me 30 minutes, a kilometer of more aimless but this time frustrating walking and a lot of failed attempts at English to find me the right exit down where my shoes were.  My mind was tired from searching and not sleeping for over two nights. I realized all my time up there I had not sat at a place for more than 10 minutes and observed silence.

So as I left the pagoda, I just thought of doing what the locals were there for, meditation and not just photo taking. But with a tired mind and a crying stomach ,it was hopeless to even try.

Sushi is the new Mc’Donalds for junk food haters. I soon realized this, as people who don’t want to risk ordering local food were all coming to a sushi joint recommended in the book. Mostly these Europeans were on their way out of Myanmar and therefore had got tired of rice and Burmese curry. Here they could at least let go of the curry.  

On my way to the hotel in the taxi, I fell off to sleep. All I remember is the driver stopping the car and shaking me .. “We alive”  (read as we arrive), yes I was glad to be alive but soon I was about to drop dead on my bed.