Burmese Days - Kinpun

Yangon - Kinpun Day 4

Up early this morning at 7:00 in time for breakfast before making our way to the bus station. There was a greek and an indian staying in our dorm, and they were already chatting when I woke up. They were berating India:

Greek: "India is a shithole"
Indian: "Yea. All these people talk about how wonderful India is. I say fuck Mother India. Try living there"
Greek: "Tourists pay $10 to stay in a cockroach-infested room. India; the toilet of the world"
Me: "Toilet of the world? Why do you say that?"
Greek: "Almost a billion people and no sanitation. Its a fucking toilet"
Me: "Hmm"
Greek: "Where did you fly in from?"
Me: "Bangkok"
Greek: "Bangkok? Slut of the world"

I chuckled my way out the door. I was pretty rough, having only had about 4hrs drunk sleep or so. Bob was in a better way. We took a $8 taxi to the bus station, it really started to feel like India at this point. The bus station was a big dusty sprawl, there were people milling about everywhere. We were surrounded in an instant by young smiling girls selling their wares, wearing the traditional Burmese makeup of a creamy paste, usually smeared on both cheeks. Sometimes they wear more, sometimes less. It takes a while to get used to, at first it looked pretty disgusting, but now, depending on how it is applied it can look OK. A little line of it under both eyes is my favourite look. It took me and Bob a while to figure out what it is, we thought maybe it was sun protection. Burmese girls are generally quite pretty, we both prefer their look to Thai, in general. It was funny standing there, smoking a cigarette with these shoulder height girls encircling us. They werent pushy at all, just curious. At some point, the military turned up and all our girls scattered behind the bus. The whole place definetly got quieter. They left eventually without drama and the place returned to normal. Curious.
The bus wasn't bad, we were directed to the front seats (Im sure we pay a foreigner premium as with most things in Burma, so being elevated to the same bus seat status of a monk, who get priority everywhere here, is fine by me). The french guy from our dorm was sitting across from us, his english was pretty bad (he was french after all), but his smile was hearty. He said he got the bus to the bus station and not an 8 dollar taxi. I asked him not to tell us how much he had paid. Doh! The landscape during the journey was extremely flat for the first 3/4. As the lonely planet says, the prime colours here are green and gold. Gold from the stupas scattered everywhere.
At one of the stops we met a little crazy guy. Crazies here and in Thailand seem to have a certain look. They are usually very small and skinny and have massive smiles on their faces, almost constantly. They are always good for a laugh, and always good at helping breaking the ice in a situation where its, me, Bob and a bunch of Burmese who cant speak English, so I always try to catch their eye, not difficult as most people are usually staring at you anyway!
The bus journey came to a premature end after about 4 hours, the bus dude said "Sorry, I not make it today". Ok... He got off and organised 2 motorcycle taxi drivers to take us the rest of the way. We had no idea where we were of course. After 5 minutes we were dropped off in a big dusty clearing surrounded by huts, people sitting about everywhere and a few covered pickups in the middle. The driver said "here, here". Ok... A dude came up and hustled us on to the back of a pickup. We sat there waiting, looking at the scene, we were definitely getting further and further from modern life with every step.. The stares were getting more frequent and conversation-stopping, which I assume is directly related to the amount of foreigners that have passed through before. 5 minutes later they huddled us onto a different pickup. It filled up including one military dude, complete with revolver and a uniform that looked like it could have come from a costume shop, garish and crude. A few goods were loaded on to the pickup and we set off. We stopped every 5 minutes loading and unloading. The contents of the pickup got more and more curious. A basket of wood, a karaoke speaker system, a massive chest freezer precariously tied to the back, a plate of glass on top of it, two massive sheets of plywood on the roof and about 5 guys sittin on top of those. We were constantly reminded of their presence by the big gobs of red betel juice that would appear from above. This erratic journey continued for about 20mins until we found ourselves...back at the start point. Doh! Bob and I resigned ourselves to a potentially long last leg of this journey. No problem, we always find ourselves smiling and laughing at these moments. More stuff loaded and unloaded and we were underway again, this time we reached our destination, right outside the Sea Sar guesthouse.
We were in a proper backwater village, although not totally rural.

The proper rural people here live in even more rickety huts than we saw in the jungle in Thailand; some made completely of straw. We saw one on the bus journey that looked for all the world like the big bad wolf had blown it in, wish I had had my camera ready. The room in Sea Sar was an unexpected little touch of luxury. A massive room in a pretty brick building, clean and spacious. High-five! No TV, a broken fridge, an airconditioner that sounded like a jet-engine taking off and a fan that sounded like it was saying "Billy" a la Gremlins every time it turned could not dampen our spirits! We had reached a little piece of nowhere, our ultimate destination, and we were going to be sleeping there in comfort :)
Nonetheless, we had heard good things about another hotel in the area called the Golden Sunrise that had bamboo and brick huts and had apparently nice views over gardens. We went to find it and I thought it was just round the corner, but it turned out to be about a kilometre away and it was still roasting so we ended up sweating again. It turned out the rooms there were 50 dollars, so it was 2km in the sun for nothing. Oh well..By this time it was getting dark (and I do mean dark, no streetlights here, the only lights came from huts that were selling something) and we were pumped, especially me, so we headed down to the attached restaurant for dinner. One sardine curry, one pork with lentils and two beers later and we were knackered. Time for Trailer Park Boys and a good kip.

Kinpun - Day 5

We slept like babies. Today was the day of the mountain climb. Mount Kyaiktiyo was the goal, 1100m up to the Golden Rock, according to the Lonely Planet between 4 and 6 hours up a jungle trail. The route is a traditional buddhist pilgrimage, so we expected some hardship. Its not a pilgrimage without a little suffering, right? There is also a fat/old/lazy option of getting a pick-up up the road and walking the last 45 minutes. Pff.
We got up at 8 for our breakfast of omelette and toast. The white bread in Myanmar/Thailand is very sweet, but does taste a little better toasted. We set off through the village centre of Kunpin which we hadn't seen yet. Lots of little shop huts selling crisps, nuts, and curiously, electrolyte powder.

Le Centre Ville. Yup.

...quickly turned into not-a-lot

After a couple of hundred metres the jungle closed in and the gradient increased, and it didnt let up. I counted the steps on the way up just for something to do, there were 2000. Steps were about 10-20% of the whole surface..

Bob lookin sweaty and a bit knackered already...this is step no. 1!

It was hot hot hot, always between 30-35 degrees, and the humidity was off the scale. It was definetly the sweatiest day I have ever had, and not far from the hottest. We were drenched in sweat within half an hour, and there was little respite. The smallest patch of shade, tiny breeze or cloud was always very welcome. The trail switched between stairs and rough, rivuleted red earth. I can imagine during the rainy season that a small river runs down the middle of it. We passed hundreds of small huts along the way with locals sitting about, some of the huts had been converted into little restaurants/shops.  We made good use of our only Burmese word "Mingalaba", hello. The locals stare at you, not sure what to make of you, but saying the word is almost always received with a chorus of hearty Mingalaba's and smiles.

I was determined to make a good time, and secretly to beat the Lonely Planets 4hr minimum, so I set a fast pace.

Sweaty happy!

More stairs?!

Soaked thru

Pilgrim Bob

Help ma Boab

We met a French dude same age as us halfway up who had got a bus up (different road) and was now walking down and had a local guide to carry his backpack. We stopped after a couple of hours to refuel and sat in a little rest stop for half an hour.

Gave the wee feller a mint and was trying to show him "Eat"!

Got any mints?

I was still watching the clock so we didnt dilly-dally. We reached the temple area entrance, I checked the watch..exactly 4hrs. Dammit!
The area was a nice contrast to the closeness of the jungle, the temple area was basically perched upon the mountain and perfectly flat, so at the edges of the plateau all you could see beyond was sky or misty mountain tops.

At the far end of the complex was the ultimate goal, the Golden Rock, which was impressive.

A monk sat huddled in the corner with his forehead against it, mouthing prayer.

People were attaching very thin gold leaf to the rock and a Chinese guy offered me a piece which i clumsily plastered mostly over my fingers and a little on to the rock.

Pilgrimage complete. I took a hundred pictures and then, as Bob was starting to fade,

we made our exit and got a sugar boost.
The way back was a short walk down the road to the pick-up stop. Funny how different the atmosphere is in such a short distance, something we have noticed time and time again, the locals didnt bat an eyelid at us, and there was little shops and traces of commerce everywhere. This is the main route the tourists walk up and down to and from the pick-up stop, so they are well accustomed to the likes of us. Only 300-400m away round the mountain a bit it was stares, smiles and bamboo huts. There were basic sedans lining the road here too; it is possible to get 4 Burmese guys to hump you up the road, which is a bloody steep 45 mins, sitting on a chair on bamboo poles. Blimey.

A veritable train of lazy bastards

The pick-up stop reminded me of the bus station at Yangon, dusty, with people milling about hawking their wares. A woman came up and invited us to sit in her restaurant, which we gladly did because we were starving. It wasnt bad, Bob had fried goat and I had fried chicken, mine was much nicer. A couple of drinks, and the bill was $11. Another mini-fleecing. We were warned in advance that the pickup truck does not leave until it is full, so we kept our eye on it from the relative comfort of the restaurant. When it seemed to start to fill up we joined the throng. It had tightly packed wooden beams set across it to act as benches. As I sat down the Chinese guy who had given me the golden leaf inspected the tattoo on my arm. He called across to the monk on the pick-up who turned out to be a woman and asked her to translate it for me.

She spoke pretty good English and translated it as meaning "No leader, very happy, something about a place that can only be reached through meditation". I like my tattoo more and more every time it gets translated and each translation is different and always a little vague. I like the mystery. We sat there watching boys playing chinlon, a national pastime a bit like hacky-sack. Basically keepy-uppys with a hollow plastic ball, the more advanced version has a net, but they will play it anywhere without.

We sat for ages, changed pick-ups once (seems to be standard fare that the pick-up you get onto will not be the one you leave on), watched the world go by. Three military police sat in the pick up for a bit, realised it wasnt going anywhere soon, and got off, telling the bus dude to call them when it was full. Pff. There was a wee outpost on the hill in front of the stop with a massive megaphone that would crackle into life every now and again, god only knows what they were saying. I always imagine "come in No. 12, your time is up". In the time we sat there we must have seen 10 full pickups arrive at different times. The average age of white tourist was about 50, with none younger than 40. Some of them made the 45 min trek up the hill, and the lazy and infirm got the sedans up the hill. One white woman had the traditional burmese make-up on, then got a sedan up the hill. Eh? Take a bath, you confused hippy.
The pick-up finally started to fill and just when I thought it was full they crammed another 5 people on. We were 5 abreast, maybe 8 benches, a couple hanging off the back, and a couple of boys sitting on the cab itself.

The pick-up took off and we realised this was going to be a tough journey. For those in the middle like me and Bob there was nothing to hold on to at all, and the road was very steep and winding. To stop ourselves falling forward we had to wedge our knees up against the bench in front, which meant Bob found himself in the unusual position of having his knee wedged cosily between the buttocks of a military policeman. Surely a world first! I had mine either side of a woman, not a world first, snigger. As usual, the randomness of the situation meant me and Bob were grinning like Cheshire cats all the way home.

Woohoo, check out the two bemused souls behind us

 The view was great as well, lush mountain scenery. Our knees are still bruised today, two days laterWhen we arrived back in Kinpun there was a slightly edgy atmosphere, almost tribal. Someone had lit a fire on the street and the smoke was just hanging in the village. There was a lot of noise, and street dogs silhouetted in the smoke. Someone was shouting something over a megaphone. The impression only lasted for a second, but it felt like Africa for a second. Again, I've never been, just a feeling!
We were looking forward to the cool of the airconditioned room, but it wasn't to be. Yet another power brownout meant we had light but no air-con. We were about to head out, and it suddenly came back on, so we chilled with a couple of Trailer Park Boys.

Bob worshipping the only God that matters. The God of Air Con.
One of my favourite photos :)

We went into the village after for something to eat, and surprisingly heard rock guitar emanating from a little local place overhanging the stream at the bottom of the village. They even had blue and red lights and a TV (flat screen no less!) with an image of a guitar on it, this was definetly the place for us! We were greeted by Coco, a very polite young Burmese dude with some of the best English we have encountered so far. He brought us double whiskies (another first in Burma) and beer. We were home. He brought us a little plate of vegetables for free just to try and they were delicious. We asked for the menu and he said there was none, so we asked for a little fried pork and vegetables, which was delicious. The band on the TV turned out to be Iron Cross, Burmas biggest rock band. We had seen them advertised in Yangon to play on the 27th October, way past our original planned leaving date (although not our current planned leaving date!). We asked Coco about them and he said that most Burmese pop(ular) music is covers of Western, Japanese and Chinese songs with Burmese lyrics. We saw Iron Cross do Bon Jovi and Offspring, didnt recognise the rest. The buses always have music videos playing too, and on our various bus trips we saw Killing Me Softly and bizarrely, Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree. Twice. Getting merrily drunk, Coco joined us and started to tell us a little more about his life, music and Burma. The Belgian couple we had met in Yangon appeared out of nowhere. They joined us, and we asked Coco if we could try the omnipresent betel nut. In no time he produced 4 leaf packages. The betel nut is smeared in a lime paste and then wrapped in a betel leaf. We couldnt really see the nut because it was too dark. You put it in the side of your mouth and basically try to pass your saliva through it. Unfortunately none of us could stand the taste long enough to produce the seminal red gob. We discussed potential plans with the Belgians as they were also headed to Mawlamyine, one day after us.