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Inle Lake

Asia, Destinations

Off roading in Inle Lake

December 20, 2014 • By

It’s 4:00 AM and I am reeling from the effects of the alcohol but mostly I am concerned there is an initiation ceremony going on in the distance and the tribes are coming to get me for the offering. I hear a beating drum, a man howling like Tarzan of the jungle and I feel mostly hungover but a little scared so I duck further under my covers and heated blanket and pray this bamboo hut wards off their advances. The sun finally rises over the mountains and I see a shimmer of light dancing from underneath the drapes and I undress the covers and move – slowly – to see what the day brings. The cows outside my window are dawdling if you can call it that and the farmer’s heads peak out from the crops. The night fog is crowning the mountaintops but that too is lifting. It’s going to be a glorious day and I am free of scheduled programming to lose myself in the villages of Inle Lake but first a breakfast of champions to cure my aching head – Myanmar’s finest French toast and some scrambled eggs.

My bamboo hut at sunrise

My bamboo hut at sunrise

Stuffed, I readied myself for my 90-minute massage courtesy of Jill and Steve. My masseuse, “Eee Eee” introduced herself and I immediately asked where she learned massage before subjecting myself to any further “foreign” techniques. She momentarily calmed my fears when she told me a European woman taught her but when I probed further I learned the European woman was actually an Israeli and my mind flashed to the rigorous military training all Israeli citizens undergo but I figured a five star hotel catering to entitled people like me would probably not allow for scaring and I closed my eyes and let the beating commence.

Feeling re-energized and wanting to make the most of my day, I rented a bike and decided the best way to explore would be rolling on two wheels. It seems the massage may have awakened my hunger or the alcohol lingered in my system because I only biked for 40 minutes before I detected sweat pouring out of me at a record rate and gnawing pains in my stomach. I guess it’s time for lunch and lacking any “foreign” approved restaurants I took a chance on a place that called to my very cravings…”Ice Cream” flashed on it’s fence and doorway.   My menu listed items in English but the waitress spoke nothing so I ordered a banana lassi and vermicelli noodles with fried veggies and crossed my fingers my Walt Whitman moment would not come back to haunt me.

Exhausted, swarmed by flies and regretting my feeding frenzy, I pushed myself along the dusty, rocky, path to my next destination, Main Tauk Village and Forest Monastery, a monastery set deep in the hills. My map indicated it would be a 45-minute walk from the village to the monastery but it failed to taken into account the altitude and my current weakened state. I peddled as far as I could before I parked the bike and let my two feet move me through the suffering. There are a number of orphanages in this area and I passed by a boy and girl center. It’s my understanding many of the parents cannot provide for their children so at least at the orphanages they are fed and clothed.

Forest Monastery

Forest Monastery

I turned the corner to begin the steepest part of the walk and found a flurry of activity. The local villagers seemed to be constructing some sort of cement path to the monastery. A team of 20 people in as assembly line pulled rocks from the side of the mountain and piled them in square like fashion and then poured concrete over the box. This went on for about a mile before I then discovered packs of monks digging into the hillside for larger rocks. The younger monks aged 10 and under seemed to be enjoying the playtime by jumping off the hills and into the gravel. The teenage monks who worked feverishly in the heat did not seem amused. They appeared disheveled and exhausted from the manual labor. Staying focused on the rules, “do not take pictures of monks (especially ones hardly dressed) I pushed ahead only snapping photos of those fully robbed. What surprised me most is the workers in the field, roads, lake etc. who all worked barefoot or in flip flops with absolutely no regard or concern for safety.

When I paused for a break and debated whether or not this hike was worth my energy, a woman came bobbing down the trail. I asked her how much further and she replied in a British accent, “You are nearly just there.” I always hated the British and their chirpiness. Her nearly and my nearly are about 15 minutes and a few pounding heartbeats away.

I arrived at the top and promptly took a seat on the monastery steps where I inhaled the sweet air, sipped my water and enjoyed the panoramic views of the lush trees and blooming flowers, Inle Lake and its surrounding villages. I admired the view as much as my perseverance. It was a clear day and resting my eyes on the geography of the area gave me a perspective much different than sitting low on the lake. High in the mountains, you can see a pyramid of crops, the layout of the villages some close together and others quite distant and then the varying colors of the lake from syrupy brown to a dirty mud caramel and the vegetation plotting it’s take over of the lake.

Tired from my bike and hike combination, I decided to head back to my hotel dodging motorbikes, construction trucks and potholes along the way. I know as a traveler I am supposed to be fully aware of my surroundings at all times but I was meandering along daydreaming about my lovely life and guessing the name of each crop or gawking at the farmers in the field when suddenly I looked up and came face to face with two cows and a man on a cart. I screamed, swerved to the side and then took a very unhappy spill in the dirt. It happened so fast that I couldn’t even process it.   I turned around to see if the man stopped. Without hesitation, he continued rolling along while smoking his cigar completely unfazed about my accident.

An example of a cow cart that nearly killed me

An example of a cow cart that nearly killed me

I escaped with a few scrapes on my ankle and decided to save the trip to the winery for another day. My stomach reminded me it needed more tofu and veggies and my body cried out for a hot shower.

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Asia, Destinations

Happy Brr Day

December 19, 2014 • By

It’s early in Bagan nearly 6:00 AM and I’m enjoying the lovely messages from those of my friends and family who remembered my birthday 14 hours ahead of time. A birthday is special no matter what age but it’s the only day I like to genuinely spoil myself and accept well wishes from across the globe. Last year, I celebrated my 40th birthday Vegas style surrounded by my closest friends and family. I wore an expensive dress, I fancied myself with make up and hair products and I sipped $14 cocktails and allowed people to toast (and roast) me. This year I settled for a 10- minute facetime conversation with my father who wondered why I was calling him and a little Asian adventure to Inle Lake, Myanmar. To most people, Inle Lake might not be as glamorous as Vegas but to me, Dora the Explorer, it’s a grand opportunity to taste food from the Shan state, learn about local village customs and to convince lots of Intha people to pay attention to me.

My early morning flight from Bagan stopped over in Mandalay and I arrived at roughly 10 AM in Heho, a village in the Shan State. With a population of 5.8 million, the Shan State borders China to the North, Laos to the East and Thailand to the South. There are nine primary ethnic groups and the state is known for its produce and vegetables evident by thousands of harvested and barren crops lining the only road in and out of Heho to Inle Lake.

Local fisherman

Local fisherman

The people live by farming. Their crops yield sugar cane, corn, tea leaves, rice, potatoes, avocado, lima beans, garlic, onions, tomato, long beans, bananas, papayas and teak wood to name a few. The state is rich by local standards and the economy relies on agriculture, as well as the trade of silver, lead, zinc, teak and rubies. The fancy British rail line likely not renovated since the 1940s transports agricultural products throughout the country.

There are 30+ ethnic tribes in the Shan state and it has it’s own military and distinct language. I like the Shan because they don’t allow the military government in Myanmar to take advantage of them. Their armies are heavily equipped with weapons many purchased with money from the illegal trade of opium and heroine with Thailand and China. (I am not condoning just saying they have some balls).

Far from the border regions sits the lovely Inle Lake, heavily trafficked by tourists wanting to sample a taste of rural mountainous central Myanmar. There are 70,000 village people known as Intha, a mix of many of the state’s ethnicities who live as self-sufficient farmers and fisherman.

The first stop on every tour is a visit to the market but this one is different in that it rotates around the lake. Today, the market was held in Nyaung Shwe, the only town of the Inle Lake region and the center of commerce for the surrounding villages. It’s a bustling place with abundant construction, many backpacker type hotels and restaurants and dusty roads leading to attached villages. People from all over the area will attend each of the “traveling” markets to sell their goods and services but the village people will stock up on enough supplies to last them five days. People filled their baskets with mostly vegetables and fruits but it was narrower and more chaotic especially as we inched toward closing time. Discarded products remained smashed on the paths and women made haste with old-fashioned scales to weigh the produce. Suddenly, amongst all the commotion, silence prevailed but for all the wrong reasons. I pointed my very dirty foot at some green looking vegetable and several women gasped in horror. I forgot the rules. “No pointing with your feet.” Oops! I issued several formal apologies by bowing and begged my guide to say sorry in the Burmese language. It’s time to tackle the lake.

Inle Lake is a freshwater lake, the second largest lake in Myanmar. It’s one of the highest with an elevation of 2,900 feet and it averages anywhere from 7-12 feet deep and 50 square miles surface area. Unfortunately, the dynamics of the lake are changing with less rainfall in recent years and the slash and burn farming practiced by many of the locals. The lake used to be fed with natural springs from the mountains but now with entire hillsides cleared of trees and bush, the silt is running off into the lake decreasing the water levels and introducing foreign plant species.

Stupas in Indein Village

Stupas in Indein Village

To the naked eye, the water is clean, colored a shade of summer’s finest ice tea. The sunlight pours through several layers to the roots of the reeds standing the depths of the water. Fishermen practice a unique rowing style to keep their hands free and their vision on the catch and floating plants. They take one leg and wrap it around the oar and push. It’s like an abductor machine meets a Pilates sitting one leg circle sweep. It’s mesmerizing yet complicated. The fishermen must feel like Dumbo at the circus because tourists glare incessantly at their legs trying to crack the technique.

My guide and I traversed a large portion of the lake by a small boat with a diesel engine. The sun beamed down on us as the roar from the boat’s engine blocked out everything but the sound of splashing water and the howl of the wind smacking my face and drawing back my hair. We darted around water hyacinths, a plant not native to the lake and consuming much of its surface area, and veered through inlets taking us through small but contrasting villages.

At the far western part of the lake, we found Indein Village and feasted on avocado and eggplant salads and strawberry juice. Indein Village is home to the Pa-o Tribe and a cemetery of stupas. I made friends with a Polish woman and two Romanian men at lunch. We bonded over the love of local juices. I told them it was my birthday. They sang. We parted as friends.

Indein Village celebrating my birthday

Indein Village celebrating my birthday

 

My guide walked me though the stupa graveyard and commented on the archeological find. Many are made of limestone, dilapidated but historically beautiful while others have been haphazardly painted white and gold by the locals who could not possibly understand their significance. They want something shiny and new to pay homage to Buddha. They are farmers, workers and survivors. They use the lake as a source of their livelihood and also their existence. They bathe in the lake’s shallow waters, clean their laundry, transport their goods and farm on its surface and near its shores. Many of their “homes” consist of small huts made of bamboo sitting on stilts in the lake’s waters or along the lake’s shore. The villagers today have tanks of clean water but change is not easy. Waste water flows into the lake and many of the households use pits rather than toilets creating even more sanitation issues. I wanted to try the fish until I read there are unsafe levels of nitrates in most of the wildlife found in the lake.

Wandering the village grounds

Wandering the village grounds

Back at my posh hotel where cows roam in the fields adjacent and my bamboo covered “room” sits on four stilts in a pool of lake water, I awaited the sunset with a birthday mojito. My wifi not working, and no one to wish me a happy birthday I ordered a second mojito and snapped photos of myself on my fancy deck with my the sun sinking over the mountains giving way to smoke stacks and the night sky and the sound of insects coming alive.

A bit tipsy from the alcohol and determined to access my email and Facebook, I retreated to the lobby to interrogate the staff about the wifi. I learned, “the Internet no work today.” Feeling a bit defeated, I decided to eat my emotions. I selected a glass of local sauvignon blanc wine, a rich and savory entre of chickpea fried tofu with cauliflower, snow peas and peanuts and a goat cheese salad, which consisted of three bites of lettuce and toast with a slice of local melted cheese. For dessert, I really wanted cake but after several minutes studying the menu tears filled my eyes because I thought about my mom who always makes sure I have cake at home and Jill who plans elaborate birthday surprises when we travel. The waitress appeared. I stopped daydreaming and ordered a Bailey’s with coffee, my recent drink of choice. A few minutes later, a line of 20 staff filed out of a side doorway. The lights in the restaurant already dimmed to confuse the mosquitoes, the candles flickered brightly and before I could process all the activity, I heard the words, “Happy Brr Day to You, Happy Brr Day to You” echo across the room.

They delivered a fudge-coated cake with three glowing candles on an ornate lacquer platter. A little embarrassed at all the attention in the room, I inhaled and unsuccessfully blew out the candles. That pollution in China really crushed my lungs because it took me three attempts before the room went dark again. I sliced off a piece of cake, dry yet chocolaty and sipped my baileys now perfectly content and happy.

Several couples came up to me and wished me a happy birthday but one couple, an American and Australia mix pushed the conversation from dinner to late night. Their daughter is married and living in New York City and their son is heading east soon. Patti is originally from Grand Island near Buffalo but found herself looking for an adventure post university and moved to Melbourne to teach English. She never left. Her husband Ross, a former New Zealander, ventured to Australia after reading an advertisement for needed pharmacists. They met, married and raised a family near Brisbane. We delved into American politics, their children and daily life. We started in the restaurant and moved to the bar. It made for a great end to the day and indeed a happy birthday.

A special thank you to Joanne at Frosch for the lovely cake and Jill Straus and Steve Feldman for the surprise massage appointment and of course for everyone’s Facebook messages and emails….I eventually got them.

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