The Myanmar Norway connection

In the North of Norway, way back in 2010 as I looked at the maddening scenery in front of me, I heard a voice. ‘This is like the south of New Zealand’ then one more, ‘maybe even better’. 

People, as in travelers often make comparisons in what they see when they travel. Some of them who travel a lot, often speak about a beach in Turkey being similar to the one they saw in Brazil, or a mountain in Chile similar to the one they saw in New Zealand. But, what I don’t hear and come across is the people comparison. Maybe because the travelers, who are busy ticking off the list of the places to see, find no time to talk to locals, and the only local they ever speak to is their guide.

This is my second trip to Myanmar and on my fifth day I am coming to realize that there is a strange connection between the Norwegians and the Burmese. I was in Norway just a week ago and this maybe just fueling this comparison.  

On the face of it Norway and Myanmar are poles apart! Norway is one of the most developed countries in the world. Myanmar maybe is  the most undeveloped in South East Asia. Norway is building new tunnels every year. Myanmar doesn’t even have good roads to connect its two principle cities of Yangon and Mandalay. A lot of other things like ATM’s, Internet, Medical care etc and others that come with development don’t exist in Myanmar or is very limited. I can go on and on about the opposite’s on the surface. But look underneath, get on the streets and talk to the local people and suddenly it seems that these two are not very different.

Lets say it starts with honesty and ends with being sincere. People mean what they say and say what they mean. Norway does it in a very upfront manner, while the Burmese do it with a smile.  But the tradition is alike.

            The Ticket Collector on the Kalaw - Inle Rail link who doubles up as your lugguage assistant 

When one of my travelers is trying to get his bags from his room, someone from the staff suddenly appears from nowhere and takes it over. People having their mid day meal near their store get up to offer their chair just coz they see an old Indian woman waiting for the group members to arrive. These are just a few of the many things the local’s in Myanmar do and not even make a big deal out of it. I know up north in Norway, something like this will never happen.

But I also know there are very few countries in the world where ‘genuine’ is a regular word.  Being honest is a way of life ..

I am lucky to have seen the local’s up close both in Norway and in Myanmar.

looking out of the window!

The only part of the long journey’s that I remember of my childhood is when I asked my mother, how long before we arrive? My father would then say to me, look out of the window and see how beautiful it is. To sleep in the journey was more out of boredom then out of the actual need to sleep. In short all that mattered was the destination and when I took my first 1 hr flight to Goa from Mumbai, I remember smiling all the way even with the discomfort caused due to the air pressure difference. Getting there quick is important, is what I thought back then.

Over the years the concept of a journey has changed for me, but I never really put it in retrospective as much as I did when I first started to mention the North of Norway. ‘The journey is more important than the destination’ I said to one of the callers, explaining him about the ‘Lofoten Islands Road’. After I had kept the phone down, I thought of the ‘me’, 25 years ago and smiled.

Unlike the beauty of a destination that suddenly comes in front of you and makes you say ‘wow’, a journey takes its own time to grow on you.  That is if you look out of the window! Many train journeys are mentioned which are breathtaking, but not a lot is said about the road. The train has the advantage of a steady speed, stops at known intervals and the freedom to walk around in confines of your compartment. The road on the other hand can be bumpy, the limited space to sit can be uncomfortable and is prone to unexpected delays due to an accident etc. But then the road gives you the freedom to stop where you want and take in the surroundings. And this is where the road scores over the rail!

I have always promoted the winter in Scandinavia tour by speaking about the activities that one does on tour.  Reindeer sledging, snow mobile etc give you that excitement. I also mention the Ice Hotel, and the Santa Claus. But what I have learnt in the last two days of my trip here in Lapland is that the journey is equally important between the towns of the North.

Rovaniemi is the largest town in the north of Finland, while Kiruna is the same to Sweden. Harstad and Tromso take the title in Norway. But what is beautiful in the winter is the journey that connects these towns from Finland to Norway. The sun rises below the horizon at 11 am. This actually means that between 11 to 1pm it is the twilight zone in the North of Scandinavia above the Arctic Circle. We travel for around 650 kms in two days staying for a night in between at Kiruna. There is enough snow in the surrounding to make you feel that everything right from the roofs of the houses to the tiniest twig on a tree has all been quoted in a white paint.

Somewhere in those 650 kms you might unknowingly hear yourself saying, ‘wow’ and that’s when the journey has taken over.  The expanse of nature makes you feel small. The odd snowmobile, or a man being pulled by his dog on a home made sledge catches your sight or as the twilight begins to fade and the Christmas lights stand out even more on the houses you cant help but notice the surrounding. The light makes the white snow turn a into a shade blue and you feel peace!

Looking out of the window!

Svalbard 78 Deg N

When I first arrived in Tromso, Norway in 2010, that was the northern most point on this planet I had ever travelled to till then.  And yet the 68.5 Deg N latitude felt like any other place I had been to in Norway and so the other tags that it had earned over the years, like the worlds northernmost university town, or the world northernmost brewery etc. did not impress me much. Coz it simply didn’t feel northerly enough, even in the middle of winter with no sun at all.

I guess that was the beginning of wanting to go to a place where it felt like the extreme north.

A combination of Northern latitude and emptiness, was what I thought would really feel like ‘The North’. I knew that there is an island up there somewhere and it is called Svalbard. I knew it is the world’s northernmost place with a fully functional human settlement of more than two thousand. I knew that there on this island we have 3 months of complete darkness, where there are more snow mobiles than cars.  The thing I didn’t know was that it is not very expensive to fly there and if you plan it well you could well be on the way for less than 200 Euros return from Oslo.

All through 2012, Svalbard remained pocking at my travel mind especially through my travels in both summer and winter in Norway. It was on the last day of my Northern lights tour in the winter of 2012 on a flight from Tromso to Oslo, did I first read the words ‘LONGYEARBERN’ on the route map of Norwegian Airlines.

Longyearbearn was the airport that they flew to from Tromso. This was the northern most civil airport in the world.  I think that was the first time on that flight that I thought that it might be possible to fly to the ‘Town of the long year’ somewhere in the near future.

‘The worlds most beautiful country’, ‘the land of the mid night sun’, ‘the northern lights capital of the world’ etc are things that you may hear in relation to Norway. I have been lucky enough to go there, time and again and every time it feels a little different than earlier. The same place presents itself newly. I am talking more in terms of the North of Norway.

I believe a place should first present itself accidentally. Then it should grow in your mind. Grow like a plant from a seed .. and that’s the time when you are ready to go.

I knew in March 2013 that I was ready to go to Svalbard this July. 

Portugal is Portuuugaaaal

Slovenia is the smallest European nation I have travelled to. Portugal is maybe thrice its size but it feels small.  By small I mean it doesn’t feel European enough. In its appearance maybe yes, the streets, the traffic etc.

However once you go inside a cafe and the meet the people running the place, it feel’s different. More intimate to be precise.  Eating is a different thing! Nowhere else in the world I have seen the guys who run the place so interested in recommending you, what to eat. At certain places the recommendations stretch to much more than just that.

When I first came to Portugal in December 2012, I realized that I had come closer to finding the place I want to live in if not in India. It maybe just a childish fantasy, like the way we want to be pilots or doctors when we are in our primary school. Who knows? but I have come back twice after that and the liking has only grown. Yes there are other countries in this continent, which are appealing, but Portugal is just so different.

Today I met a woman in a café who said to me, ‘all the Portuguese run shop’s are closing down being replaced by Chinese or Indian owners. She didn’t seem to be upset by it. Maybe the Portuguese don’t know how to do business? Is this the thing that pulls me towards towards this country? The non commercial attitude in the majority of people I have met. On a personal level even I get told, “you don’t know how to make money”.

There is an underlying current, which only grows stronger with every visit. I remember in East Europe when my Polish driver enters his home country from Czech republic, the smile on his face is different. Someone said the same thing about me when I entered Portugal through its southern border with Spain. Even my Spanish driver after saying, “Well, Portugal is 10 years behind Spain” was quiet happy about it.

Maybe the extreme west, geographical location helps. Maybe bordering with no other country but Spain keeps the Portuguese traditions intact. Whatever the reasons are.. I hope through its entire economical crisis, this country stays the way it is.

I hope Portugal stays as Portugal!

Where am I ?

I don’t know how many months/tours have passed since I last wrote here. In March, I had the privilege of travelling to South America; it is a privilege when it happens after 18 months! I thought I would write an entire series from there. But .. not even a word was written. Then came Spain and Portugal in April. There I wrote a few words, but I was so much in love with Portugal that words couldn’t really make up for what I felt. Then, like every year in May came Poland and surroundings, I was hopeful that some evening as I looked out into the mountains, words would automatically flow. Nothing.. or as they say in Spanish .. nada.. not even one word.

Over the past 3 months I have travelled and really travelled. So much so that I would wake up in the middle of the night and take a few minutes to realize where I was. It was a strange feeling, one that I had not experienced before. Travel is changing for me; the desire to show people that there exists a world beyond the city limits has governed the last 3 – 4 months.

                                                        St Bernard in the Andes 

I used to fondly say that East Europe is the only tour that helps me to gain weight. In other words, the food there is my all time favorite. Be it Poland, Czech or Croatia. This time however I couldn’t find the time to eat, or maybe just lost the desire to go the extra length to find a good restaurant. I remember every time I wanted to say “I hate this job“ I ended up saying “you have to do it for Slovenia”, or whichever country I was in.

                                                         Tua Railway Station - Portugal

   

Call me crazy, but the only saving grace when my spirit is down on tour is the love for the country I am in. I may eat or sleep hungry, make friends or be lonely, have fun with my tourists or absolutely hate them. But the love for the country never goes away.

Sometimes people ask me. “How come you don’t get bored coming to the same place again and again?”. I simply smile. It maybe the unbearable headache at 15000 ft in Peru or the frustration of not finding a single vegetarian option on the Menu for the tourist’s dinner in Portugal, the face may project something else, but inside I am always happy.

                                                           Plitvice Lakes - Croatia

I am one of the few lucky ones who do what they love, for a living. Travel is what I do right?!. But wait, it doesn’t end there! Travelling to the places that I love is the key. Because, only in these places can I really be myself and try and show my people what the real country feels like.  So on one hand I would love to visit every small village in Turkey, but not even look at the map of U.S.A. I don’t like it, I don’t want to know it, is what I believe in.  So travel in the micro sense for me is linked with the countries that I love. The best part about this love is that it has no reason. I don’t know why a meal in Portugal makes me cry in pleasure? Or Egypt makes me so happy that I don’t wish to come back to India. Similarly I don’t know why I absolutely have no feelings for Australia and don’t even wish to talk about U.S.A.

I believe if you have reasons to love or hate, with time that relationship might change with the reasons.  

The writing had to happen now! In air is where I often start writing after a long break. Especially if the flight is going to Scandinavia it means a little more.

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’