Flying out of Myanmar (since it's virtually impossible to cross into Thailand overland due to ongoing civil war in the Burmese border regions), we landed in Chiang Mai where we intended on spending a week relaxing and visiting Eric's aunt and uncle - who moved to the city 5 years ago.  However, our plans changed once we checked our emails for the first time in several weeks.  Upon hearing of a family bereavement, Nikki arranged to return to England for a short trip, leaving Eric to fend for himself in Thailand.  Eric seized the opportunity to visit one of Thailand's infamous islands, Phuket, where he spent his days desperately trying to avoid the busloads of package tourists by escaping to nearby secluded islands to do some snorkeling.
 
Nikki returned to Thailand 10 days later and was happy at having had the chance to be with her family at that time, but was completely exhausted from her 30-hour travel day and was suffering from a severe cold most likely brought on by the contrasting climates of the 'hot and muggy' Thailand and the 'cold and frosty' England.  On the plus side, she returned with a bag full of 'super' clean clothes....which she insisted on Eric smelling (as often as possible), making him extremely jealous.

After recuperating in Chiang Mai at Eric's aunt and uncle's house (thanks again Bill, Millicent, Danny and JT for your hospitality), we traveled north towards the Laos border.  We took the local bus from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai for a short 3-hour journey.  Chiang Rai is considered an alternative to Chiang Mai as a trekking departure point in Northern Thailand; however, due to lost time, we could only pause in town for one night before heading to the Laos border the following day. 

The surprisingly comfortable local bus that took us from Chiang Rai to the border.

The Mekong River forms a natural border between Laos and Thailand.  On the Thai side, the tiny sleepy border town of Chiang Khong sits along the river bank, where very lax immigration officials (who are known to charge overtime fees if you happen to cross the border during their lunch hour) issue outgoing stamps.  To cross the Mekong into Laos, we piled into a small motorized long boat for the short hop across the river to the Laos town of Huay Xai.  This small border town consisted of one main dirt road lined with guesthouses and restaurants and was swarming with backpackers both on their way into and out of Laos.  We settled into a very clean family-run guesthouse and began planning our route across the country. 

Crossing the Mekong river, our bags sharing space in front with local goods.

From Huay Xai we decided to head down to the town of Luang Prabang, renowned for its relaxed colonial feel and for being a hub for day trips and activities in the surrounding area. We were faced with the choice of taking an (often) crowded 'slow boat' which would take 2 days, 8 hours per day, to sail down the Mekong to Luang Prabang; or to take a speedboat which would take only one day - 6 hours.  Having heard from other travelers of the bum-numbing abilities of the slow boat, we opted for speed. 
It was only after we had booked our tickets that we happened to read the following description in our guidebook:

"Serious accidents, sometimes including fatalities, involving these speedboats seem to occur on an almost weekly basis.  Usually they involve a boat striking a hidden rock or tree limb, although occasionally contact with a standing wave is sufficient for one of the light crafts.... the accident risk for this type of boat outweighs the potential savings in time they may represent over slower boat alternatives."

Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained....

We took a jumbo (truck-like tuk-tuk) to the speedboat dock the following morning.  The dock turned out to be a sandy river bank with a floating deck area on which to board the tiny speedboats. The speedboats were actually longboats with big loud exposed car engines fixed to the rear.  The boat was divided up horizontally with 5 planks of wood creating makeshift seating areas.  Sitting in the raft involved perching on a long flat cushion with your back pushed hard against a dividing plank, your knees crunched up in front of you, backpack between your legs and your arms flattened and immobilized by your side.... at least the journey was only supposed to last 6 hours!!!

We were all issued life jackets and crash helmets which we immediately and nervously put on (this was easier said than done since we were already squished into the boat).  In the event of an accident it is highly unlikely the life jackets would have provided much aid; blocks of polystyrene were protruding out of some whilst others lacked any straps with which to fasten them up.  As it turned out the jackets were of some use, they provided vital padding between the hard planks and the small of our backs.  Likewise the helmets, with their cracked visors, lack of straps and being grossly oversized, did little to improve safety; however, they did help muffle the sound of the noisy engine.

Huddled in our speedboat we nervously began our trip down the Mekong.

The speedboat ride was exciting and complete agony at the same time.  It was a great experience speeding down the Mekong River at break-neck speeds (literally), but we were terribly cramped in the tiny wooden boat.  Unable to move our legs, shift our weight, or stretch our backs... pain relief came only when our brains chose to switch their focus from the stabbing back pains to the fact our knees seemed to be on fire.  Despite the lack of comfort and the instances where the driver seemed to miss protruding rocks by mere inches, it was an amazing ride.  Most of the scenery was a blur, tree-lined hilly banks became sandy and rocky as they met the river, the occasional huge exposed crag and even more rarely a glimpse of a settlement or village. Most of the people we saw were fishing, washing or panning for gold in murky waters.  Indeed when we stopped briefly at one sand bank you could see golden grains glistening amongst the sand.

We finally arrived in Luang Prabang in the late afternoon and soon found a great guesthouse where we crashed and relaxed for a few hours.  Later that evening we met our fellow 'speedboat survivors' for dinner where we re-lived our collective terror at the day’s events over some Beer Lao - the very drinkable local brew.

The atmospheric town of Luang Probang is nestled between the Mekong and the Nam Khan rivers on a narrow peninsula surrounded by mountains.  The town exudes a lazy and relaxed way of life in which it is very easy to get caught up as you stroll down the wide, tree-lined streets and sample the cakes and croissants of the French-influenced bakeries housed in old colonial buildings.  Which is exactly what we did!!!

Monks, shading themselves under umbrellas, pass the bakeries of Luang Prabang.
Freshly made rice cakes bake in the hot sun in the quiet residential streets.

Wandering along the main street, we also visited the former Royal Palace.  Built at the turn of the 20th century, it was a mix of Lao and French colonial style with lots of white-washed walls, dark wood furniture and large airy rooms.  The main reception room was decorated with intricate and colorful glass mosaic scenes, a theme reflected in the decoration of the temple in the palace grounds.

A colorful mosaic five-headed snake protects the royal temple.

Each evening at dusk, dozens of local vendors flock to the sidewalks of the main street and set up displays of their wares - bedspreads, scarves, clothes, jewelry, lampshades, etc... - creating a colorful tourist night market.  This night market is truly unique in Asia as none of the vendors shout to attract attention or badger tourists to buy things, in fact it is so quiet you can still hear the crickets.  The market was full of very 'buyable' things, all at extremely cheap prices; unfortunately, limited space in our bags and a tight budget prevented us (Nikki) from buying much... Nikki has vowed to return on another trip along with an empty suitcase!

From Luang Probang, we took a day trip to the nearby waterfall of Kuang Si.  We traveled there by jumbo taxi along extremely hot and dusty roads through the villages surrounding Luang Probang. 

The waterfall was a majestic, multi-tiered cascade of fresh clear water tumbling over limestone rocks into a series of turquoise-colored pools.

We took the opportunity to cool off from the overbearing heat of the midday sun by taking a long refreshing swim in one of the lower pools.

From Luang Prabang we also took an overnight trip to the fishing village of Nong Khiaw, traveling up the Nam Ou river by slow boat.  What was advertised as a five hour cruise soon became a 9 hour odyssey.  Our wooden boat seated 10 tourists on small child-size wooden chairs under a  rickety wooden  hood.  The boat ride went fairly smoothly for the first few hours which we spent admiring  the views, reading, and chatting amongst ourselves.  Then the mishaps began.

At this time of year, as the peak of the dry season is fast approaching, the river becomes very shallow which soon caused problems for our vessel.  After a couple of near misses, the driver succeeded in grounding the boat and enthusiastically made all of us passengers get out to push the boat along the rocky riverbed.  It took about 10 minutes until we were suitably afloat again to continue on our way.  This mishap was hardly an ordeal as it was  nice to get out and stretch our legs and even to wade in the cool river water.

Our small boat scraped its way over the rocky riverbed before finally grounding itself, forcing its passengers to bail out and help with the pushing.

After about an hour we ran aground again, this time breaking the boats' propeller forcing us to stop at a nearby sandbank for urgent repairs.  Propeller fixed we were back on our way and making good time cruising alongside another tourist boat headed for the same village.  The acrid smell of burning plastic was the first sign of the next mishap, followed by black smoke billowing out of the bow of the other boat.  Its' engine had caught fire and the passengers and driver were completely oblivious.  We hailed them and got them to stop, then, with the fire under control, towed them to a sandbank.  Whilst the two drivers and crew spent the next half an hour patching up the engine we were left to paddle in the river and swap travel 'war' stories with fellow travelers, this boat trip being swiftly added to everyone's list. 

Waiting for the propeller to be fixed....and then, a few hours later, the engine.

The Nam Ou river varied slightly from the Mekong, its' banks were greener and sloped up at a greater angle into the surrounding mountains.  As we made our way up the river we saw more and more limestone cliffs jutting out over the water, many with alluring caves on their faces.

We passed quite a few fishermen and children swimming and wading in the river.  Many seemed to be hunting for fish and crabs using home made spears and old fashioned diving masks.

On arriving in Nong Khiaw we marched up a steep sandy bank to the village which consisted of about 3 dirt streets and spread across the river via a large bridge.  For a little while we became the enemies of our fellow boat passengers as we all competed and scrambled to secure the best accommodation in the fading light.  We ended up at a guesthouse on the banks of the river, staying in a small bamboo hut.  That evening we brushed our teeth by torchlight under the stars and the leaves of banana trees, then fell asleep under a glow-in-the-dark mosquito net listening to the noise of various animals and insects scratching around and calling out to one another in the bushes.

Our small bamboo hut nestled amongst the trees, looking out over the river.

After returning to Luang Prabang for a couple of days we ventured on to Vang Vieng.  The 6 hour bus journey was a nauseating route up, down, and around mountains.  There was little to see along the way as the yearly practice of 'slash and burn' by the farmers was in full swing making everything grey and hazy.  In Vang Vieng we checked into a very relaxing bamboo bungalow set amongst lush green gardens alongside the river....a great spot for g&t's and sunsets. 

The view from the front porch of our bungalow.

Vang Vieng is a town circled by mountains and limestone cliffs famed for harboring numerous caves and natural springs.  The town itself does little to reflect the surrounding natural beauty, and is instead scarred by dirt roads in a constant state of being dug up and rows of hastily constructed bars and restaurants. The town is renowned amongst backpackers for its 'TV street', a road lined with restaurants which screen TV shows such as 'Friends' and 'The Simpsons' all day long. 

The cushioned seats and TV's of the local restaurants entice in travel-weary backpackers on the town's main road.

Refusing to be tempted (for now) by the very welcoming TV bars, we rented some bicycles from our guesthouse and rode a kilometer outside of town to the famous Tham Chang cave.  The cave was formed by a natural spring running down inside a mountain and opening up to form a deliciously cool, clear pool at its base.  

We splashed around in the pool for about an hour, swimming up inside the cave some 20 meters before it became too dark and spooky to explore further.

The following day we took part in what is quickly becoming a rite of passage for any backpacker traveling through Laos: tubing.  Tubing involves floating down the river whilst sitting in the inflated inner tube of a truck tyre.  An essential part of the Laos tubing experience is to stop at one of the many riverside bars to sip on a nice cool Beer Lao and watch fellow tubers float by or jump off/swing from high makeshift wooden platforms falling with a huge splash into the river.

Tubing down the river looking for the next Beer Lao stop.

On the river, a gentle current pushed us along, in fact, at times it was so gentle we had to paddle with our arms in order to get any sort of momentum.  It was very pleasant floating down amongst the jungle and surrounding mountains chatting away with other tubers.  After the first hour we decided to stop for the 'mandatory' Beer Lao and allowed ourselves to get pulled into the riverbank via a long bamboo pole by a waiting barman touting for business.  Eric took part in one of the riverside kamikaze swing jumps, which he successfully splashed down in one of the deepest parts of the river, much to Nikki's relief.  It took us 4 hours to cover the 4 km route back down to our guesthouse bungalow.

Another cave on our agenda was the Tham Nam Water cave 15 kilometers outside of Vang Vieng.  We hired 2 mountain bikes (in fairly good condition if you don't count the inability to change gear 50% of the time as a flaw) for the day and rode the hilly route out to the cave, avoiding the cows, chickens, turkeys, and dogs, which had wandered out from nearby villages, along the way.  Parking our bikes by the river, we made our way through dried up paddy fields to the cave entrance.  The cave has been formed by a tributary of the Nam Song river which flows down inside a mountain before breaking out under a foot high overhanging rock to flow the rest of the way through open fields to the river.  Outside the cave entrance we hired 2 tubes and headlights and dragged ourselves into the dark cave using a guide rope.  

Eric leads the way to the cave which was visible only by it's narrow opening above the river.

Inside the cave it was pitch black...particularly for Nikki as her torch flickered and died within a minute of entering the cave. We followed a guide rope deeper into to the cave admiring the overhead stalactites and trying not to think about bats, spiders and other nasty creatures.  The guide rope we were following stopped about 100 meters into the cave, it was possible to abandon the tubes and continue on foot at this point; but with only one (flickering) torch between us we decided not to venture any further.

We dragged ourselves into the dark depths of the cave.

Growing tired of always having dinner with 'Friends' we decide it was time to leave Vang Vieng and took the bus to Vientiane - the capital of Laos.  Vientiane, it seems, has little to boast about when it comes to budget accommodation (not too bad, but the worst we've had in Laos) but more than makes up for this with its food.  Vientiane probably boasts the most French restaurants in the whole of Asia...and of a very good standard too. 

A Lao street vendor selling local delicacies competes with one of the capital's french wine cellars.

Indeed the French colonial influence remains in the city not only through cuisine;  the royal palace has a decidedly French country-mansion feel to it, as does the Patuxai which bears more than a passing resemblance to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.  The city streets and wide, fairly clean, and often tree lined, making it possibly one of the nicest, and certainly most relaxed, capitals in Asia.  We spent a couple of days wandering the streets and taking in the city, visiting the occasional temple, stupa, and Parisian bakery along the way. 

The main boulevard in Vientiane leads to the Patuxai.

The city's oldest stupa is surrounded by colonial houses.

One of our main ports of call was the Beer Lao factory.  We visited the factory with a couple of Canadian friends (whom we first met in Myanmar) Mark and Katie, and were treated to a quick tour of the factory followed by a nice cold free beer (always the best part!!).  Beer Lao follows tourists everywhere in Laos, though this doesn't prove to be a problem as it actually a great beer and one of the few 'local brews' of our trip that we are happy not to have to turn down.

The factory produces 54,000 bottles of beer an hour.

Eric proudly endorses one of Laos most popular products.

Although we could easily spend a few more weeks exploring the rest of this beautiful country, the heat of the dry season is becoming oppressive so it's time for us to head south to Malaysia and it's beaches.   

A one hour flight took us from Bangkok to Yangon, the capital of Myanmar.  We arrived at the small international airport and entered into a terminal building still being built - literally a four storey grey concrete shell.  We then took a taxi to downtown Yangon and checked into a comfortable guesthouse.  With no ATM's being available in Myanmar, the first order of business was to convert our dollars into local currency.  The exchange rate was roughly 1,100 Kyat per dollar and with the 1000 kyat note being the largest denomination, our 100 dollar bills quickly transformed into large wads of local cash.  Thankfully hotel bills are paid in US dollars, saving us from needing an extra suitcase to carry all that cash!

There is a noticable lack of tourists in Yangon and therefore of tourists traps such as souvenir shops and western style restaurants.  We spent our first day in Yangon wandering the city, exploring streets and side roads lined with old colonial-style buildings and unimaginative square apartment blocks.  The roads are busy with traffic, but are unnervingly quiet due to a city-wide ban on horns - an amazing feat in an Asian country!!  Streets are crammed with pavement food and merchandise stalls as well as teahouses which spread their low tables and plastic stools the full width of the sidewalk.  The streets aren't clean and are littered with hazards, such as open drains and uneven paving stones, but they are not unpleasant to explore.  Some of the buildings are painted vivid colours - blues, greens and oranges - but are still in need of repair.  Local transport seemed to consist of rusty, windowless busses, and open pick-up trucks, both are which are crammed to capacity. 

People spill out of the packed buses as they pass the colourful buildings of the capital.

Pavement teahouses prove a popular and cheap option for the citizens of Yangon. 

Most of the men and women wear 'longyi' skirts of various colours and some smear powdered bark on their cheeks called 'thanakha' - a sort of cosmetic to beautify the skin and protect against the sun.  We came across very few beggars, indeed the only people to approach us were young novice monks holding out their alms bowls and asking for money or shampoo....exactly what does a bald-shaven monk need shampoo for..?  It wasn't clear whether the lack of beggars was due to a strong police state, an anti-begging culture, or simply that tourism in Yangon has not developed to the point where locals realise western tourists are a soft touch.  Our roaming around Yangon took us to a huge semi-outdoor market filled mostly with merchandise for locals - clothes, shoes, hair products, toiletries, etc.

Walking the streets of Yangon means constantly navigating the hundreds of food stalls which fight for space on the pavements and roads.
Anything and everything seems to be available... from fruit to dried pigeon.

We ended the day at the Botataung Pagoda situated along the banks of the Yangon river.  The pagoda was rebuilt after being bombed in WW2 and is one of the few 'hollow' pagodas in existance.  Once inside the pagodas' hollow stupa dome you walk through a series of triangular rooms covered from floor to ceiling in glass and mirror mosaic.  The central circular room of the structure is a shrine dedicated to some holy buddhist relics - namely three hair strands and 2 'body parts' ('the size of mustard seeds') which once belonged to buddha himself.  We didn't actually see the hairs or body parts as they were encased in tiny gold caskets placed inside bigger golden cases, but we were assured they were there, and more importantly, that they were the real deal! The Pagoda was surrounded by 10 small temples, each housing a different kind of depiction of buddha - sitting, standing, lying, big, small, gold, bronze etc.. These temples had an almost carnival feel; all the buddhas were decorated with halos of flashing colourful lights which wouldn't have looked out of place in Las Vegas.  Some buddhas were set inside glass cases, reminicent of mechanical fortune-telling manequins often seen at fun fairs which spit out a card with your fortune printed on it in return for a few coins.  Donations were made not by posting money into collection boxes but by 'playing' carnival-style games.  For example: throwing folded notes onto a revolving table; successfully throwing your note into one of the various sized pots ensured buddha listened to your prayers.....managing to get your note through the tiny doorway of the miniture replica pagoda at the centre of the display presumably ensured you would not be reincarnated as a dung beetle.
That night we had dinner in a near-deserted rooftop restaurant overlooking downtown Yangon.  We had the strange sensation of feeling like we were in pre-war Vietnam...there were traces of the deveolped world - old colonial buildings, bland apartment blocks etc but there were few western trappings.

The Botataung Pagoda lights up the city.

The following day we visited the Taj Mahal of Yangon - the Shwedagon Paya - via the Yangon zoo (the visit to the latter was unintended...we got slightly lost along the way).  The paya was definitely worthy of a visit and consisted  of a large complex of individual temples centred around the main pagoda, a huge gold dome glimmering in the midday sun.  Each of the temples were unique in design, shape and size and contained an even greater variety of buddhas.  We befriended a local man who was happy to practice his english and share some of his knowledge of the Paya with us.   In the Buddhist religion, the day you are born on signifies your ruling animal and planet and by praying to statues of these you can ensure good health and protection.  Eric, born on Sunday, was the garuda and the sun.  Nikki, born on Monday, was the tiger and the moon.  Sunday is the most powerful day to be born on, with Monday following a close second; predictably, Eric was quick to rib Nikki about his 'natural' superiority. (Nikki: yeah but at the end of the day the garuda is an ugly mythical bird and I am a sleek tiger).  The golden pagoda was surrounded with small statues of these birth animals and planets and we were shown how to pray to them by pouring cups of water over the figures.  We were also shown a giant gold buddha footprint filled with holy water, and a gold buddha sent back to Mayanmar after it was illegally 'liberated' by the British.  Legend says that Queen Victoria herself ordered it's return as the Buddha cursed her with headaches.

The Shwedagon Paya helps give Myanmar its reputation as 'The Golden Land'.

A few of the many temples that surround the pagoda. 

Whilst in Yangon we met an Australian charity volunteer who was in Myanmar for 2 weeks visiting orphanages and handing over donations.  Tourists (who are able to bring in significant amounts of US dollars undeclared) are often used to transfer funds to charities as this is the only way of ensuring donations are recieved - especially, in this case, since the government denies the existance of any orphans in Myanmar.  He explained to us why the government likes to keep the official exchange rate so low, essentially so it can claim to generously match any donations or investment made by foreign organisations.  The official government exchange rate is set at about 6 Kyat to 1 US Dollar, the black market (a more realistic calculation) is set at about 1,100 Kyat to 1 US Dollar.  He also warned us against being drawn into conversations about the government with local people.  Not only can these conversations be harmful to locals, some foreigners have been tricked into discussing politics and then informed on and placed under house arrest before being escorted out of the country. 

Bago

An early morning bus took us from Yangon to Bago, a 1 and a half hour drive from the capital.  In Bago we hired two trishaw drivers to take us around its famous temples for a day.  A trishaw is essentially a bicycle with a sidecar and turned out to be a fairly smooth way (roads permitting) for traversing the town. 

Riding off in our trishaws!!

Our first stop was Kha Khat Wain Kyaung, the second largest monastery in Myanmar.  The Monastery turned out to be a high school level boarding school for novice monks who attend for 8 months of the year.  They study mostly buddhist texts and translation which culminates in a big exam at the end of the year.  If they do well they may be offered a place at another monastery, even one abroad, so for many it is a way to break out of the poverty of life in the villages and a way to obtain some form of education.  We arrived just before lunchtime and watched meals being prepared and tables being set.  We also visited a dormitory and sat talking for 20 minutes with 2 novices (aged 17 and 22) via our trishaw driver/guide/translator.  What, you may ask yourself, is foremost on the mind of a monk?   Spiritual enlightenment? Universal truth?  .....no, football.  Namely, Manchester United and the English Premiership. Strictly speaking these young monks are not allowed to watch tv, nor maintain hobbies that distract them from Buddhist enlightenment; however, it seems boys and sport can never truly be parted.  At the sound of the lunch gong it was time to eat and we watched at least 3 or 4 hundred monks line up for their dinner.  Monks only eat twice a day, so ensuring a good place in the queue was vitally important.  Each monk brings with him his alms bowl into which a large serving of rice is scooped from one of 4 huge tin vats.  The monks sit 4 or 5 around low circular tables sharing vegetable and pork curry and green tea.  We watched for a short while but felt a bit uncomfortable observing a room full of monks eating lunch so we left them to it.

The monks line up for lunch as curry is divided up into bowls in the kitchen.
Each monk recieves a generous helping of rice before heading into the dining area.

Throughout the day we ended up visiting 7 or 8 different temples or payas, including 2 huge reclining buddhas, tall glittering gold stupas, and towering seated Buddhas.  We also stopped by a Snake Monastery, home to a six foot boa constrictor said to be the reincarnation of the monasteries former head monk.  Reincarnation or not, it was an extremely large snake and it definitely got our respect. 

Bago's centrepiece glimmers above the town streets.

Local artists add the finishing touches to a new giant size reclining buddha.

Sitting buddhas tower over the faithful coming to say their prayers. 

The following morning we had a much needed lie-in; much needed, because of a poor night's sleep the night before due to a very hot and muggy night (no fan or ac because of no electricity) and the constant sound of car horns and trucks thundering down the road.  Just after lunchtime we went to the bus stop to catch our bus to Kalaw.  The bus stop wasn't really a bus stop but a kerbside teashop which looked out onto the main road; to catch a bus you simply stared up the road trying to decipher the writing on the front of each passing bus amidst the clouds of dust, getting the bus to stop involved wandering out into the oncoming traffic to flag down the vehicle as trucks, motorcycles and tractors rumbled past.  Luckily for us, one of our trishaw drivers from the day before was keeping us company and was able to identify and stop the right bus for us. 

Kalaw

The bus was packed but in pretty good condition, we were ushered into our seats, and our backpacks were bundled into the back on top of sacks and boxes which were spilling into the aisle - a health and safety hazard in any western country, the norm in Myanmar.  The seats were actually fairly comfortable with adequate leg room, a good sign given that this would be our home for the next 15 hours.  A small tv at the front of the bus showed the latest in Myanmar entertainment which seemed to be a mixture of a (very) low budget film and a comedy variety show wich included Burmese rap (never fear Snoop Dogg, your career is safe).  After 3 or 4 journey breaks and many torturous  hours of attempted dozing we finally arrived in Kalaw, just before 6am on a chilly morning.  Kalaw was a very nice little town and a cross between those we had visited in Mongolia and Tibet.  Tourists travel through but it remains largely untouched by the industry and locals continue going about their daily lives.  We stopped in Kalaw to organise a 3 day trek through the mountains to Inle Lake and soon obtained a guide through Sam's Trekking (we don't normally mention any names in our blog, but Sam deserves a huge plug for the excellent, honest and unobtrusive trekking service he runs).

Kalaw to Inle Lake Trek

The following day we began our trek; we were accompanied by Tunti, our guide, and, Tin, our very own chef!  Having a chef initially sounded like an unnecessary luxury but he actually performed a very vital role: he carried all our food provisions and walked ahead to prepare meals and drinks for our arrival.  In this way our visits were not too intrusive on the local villagers we would be staying with, nor a drain on their food resources - as hosts they would have felt obliged to prepare and offer us their best food irrespective of stores or good/bad harvests. 

Group photo! Eric, Nikki, Tin (chef) and Tunti (guide).

We meandered through the Myanmar countryside, mostly following yellowish-red dusty trails.  The pace was fairly easy going with a gradual uphill climb.  The scenery varied from patchworks of farmland with crops including wheat, rice, potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, garlic, and flowers, to small areas of forests, or clumps of cultivated papaya, banana, crad apple and avacado trees.  We also passed hedgerows, bamboo, dusty grasslands and small pine forests.  It was sunny all day but thankfully we were treated to a refreshing breeze that helped keep us cool.  The area between Kalaw and Inle Lake is home to a multitude of different tribes, all of which retain their own distinct language and traditions; our trek was to take us through a small number of villages giving us a cross section of the wonderful different ways of life that exist in the area.  

Tunti leads the way.

Pastel patchwork fields and pine forests provided fantastic scenery.

Our first stop was a tea break in a small village 2 hours outside Kalaw, which consisted of about 40 houses, mostly made from bamboo and other wood, though some had brick foundations.  The houses are split level with the lower level being used as a storage area and stable for cows, water buffalo and chickens.  The upper level houses the kitchen, living area, and bedroom(s), though often these are combined into one room for all three functions.  We had our tea at the home of an elderly lady, her daughter and 2 grandchilden.  The one-room house was quite dark with a wispy fire in the centre providing a steady supply of green tea.  We sat on woven mats sipping tea, smiling a lot, and conversing with our host via our guide.  The house was amazingly basic with no running water or electricity, the few shelves and storage areas seemed half empty.  Supplies we take for granted, such as sugar were set aside for special occassions -  which was the case for our visit so we were offered small fudge-like lumps to chew on.

The humble abode where we stopped for our first tea break.

Village children play in the family ox cart. 

After about half an hour we left to continue our walk over mountain ridges to the next village.  It is hard to say what the villages think of our fleeting visits.  Tunti (our guide) told us that it had taken a long time for his trekking company boss and him to explain to the villagers who the tourists were and why we wished to visit without trying to sell anything.  The villages we would be passing through were fairly remote and only saw 1 or 2 foreigners every 3 months or so.  Apart from tourists the only other people to visit were neighbouring villagers, travelling merchants, and a local government representative every other year. 

The next village we stopped in was our lunch break.  The household we ate in seemed wealthier than the first, the house itself was sturdier, bigger, and had a clear division of rooms.  Our chef had already laid out a small squat table for us and soon appeared with bowls of steaming noodle soup and fresh vegetables.  The lady of the household was appalled at the lack of rice on our dishes and so insisted on contributing to our meal from her own stock.  After lunch and a brief rest we headed off again, following winding dusty paths up and along the hillside through fields of wheat being harvested by villagers.  We were now in the area of the Pa-o tribes who can trace their ancestory back to chinese roots.  Their dress is very unique and a representation of the sacred dragon, part of their chinese heritage.  They wear layers of black to to symbolise the scales of the dragon, and bright orange (or pink) headresses to symbolize the dragon's firey breath.

Along the way we passed a sizeable monastery home to 26 novice monks all aged between 7 and 13.  Here we stopped under a shady tree and were given some sweet sticky rice to try (a delicacy served only once a year following the first full moon - which happened to be the day before).  Whilst we were enjoying our break the nearby village school finished for the day and we watched streams of children flow out the the gates, shouting, screaming and running down the path.  We were soon surrounded by novice monks (who attended the school).  We decided this would be a good opportunity to get rid of a dominoes set we had with us but rarely used.  After a brief explanation of how to play our guide coerced a few 'volunteers' into a demonstration game. The novices were very shy and cautious at first but after 3 or 4 games they soon had the hang of it, their confidence and competitiveness growing massively with each game.  After about 20 minutes of supervising we left them to it.  We had succeeded in donating the game and converting innocent monks, previously on the path to enlightenment, into sly,  competitive, gambling addicts (oops).

Eric teaches the novices the basic rules of dominoes.

Continuing on we made it to 'the Chief's house', our dinner and accommodation stop for the night.  The Chief (of the third village we visited) was sitting, tending to his small village shop when we arrived.  The shop was more of a tiny shed lined with minimally stocked shelves of washing powder, sugar, salt and cigarettes.  We mumbled our 'hello's' - completely messing up the pronounciation much to the Chief's amusement - and smiled a lot, which seemed to work as he accepted us into his house for the night.  We were left to rest and relax in the shade and admire a large spread of chilli's that had been laid out to dry in the sun.  We took the opportunity to go for a wander through the village before dinner.  As we set off our guide anxiously shouted after us "Don't touch the buffaloes!!!"  ...hmm..ok..??,,,Obviously he had sensed our secret intention to go buffalo tipping...??  Presumably some poor, unsuspecting, tourist had met with an untimely accident whilst greeting buffalos during an evening stroll.  Assuring him we would steer clear of the animals we wandered down the road.  We recieved lots of stares but many more smiles and a few greetings.  Most of the children were happy to wave and say hello, though strangely they all shouted "bye bye!", this was not a hint to leave the village but simply the only english term they knew.  We soon gave up shouting "hello" and ended up replying with an equally friendly "bye bye"...thus completely failing to further the local populations' grasp of english.

Our first nights' village and accommodation.

That evening we were guests of honour at dinner.  We ate at a small circular table laid out with an assortment of delicious dishes: rice, pumpkin and ginger soup, runner-bean salad, fried mustard leaves, potato and aubergine curry, and home-made sesame snaps for dessert.  We ate with the Chief and Tunti; the Chief's wife, son and other family members had to wait until we had finished before tucking into their share.  After dinner it is customary for people to sit around the kitchen fire, chatting and drinking tea; any house with an open door is understood to be an invite to come inside for a drink and gossip by the fire.  The younger generation venture out to help 'weave bamboo roof sections' which seems to be code for 'meet boys'; traditionally young men would woo their future wife by serenading her with a musical instrument or song, this practice still exists today, but instruments have been replaced by cassette players blasting the latest Myanmar pop songs - much to the disapproval of the older generation.  Most of the people in the village wore traditional orange  headresses, but many had forgone the traditional cloth in favour of towels (literally bath or hand towels).  If you are ever approached by a man with a towel wrapped around his head claiming to be a chief, be sure to ask if he comes from a small Myanmar tribe before you write him off as a complete looney.

Dinner with the chief was followed by late night chats around the fire.

That night we were buried under several layers of heavy blankets that kept us warm whilst we slept; only occasionally being woken up by the shaking of the house caused by the cows below - who would take turns scratching themselves agains the support beams.  The following morning after a hearty breakfast of sticky rice, fried potatoes and fried onions, we bid our 'Chief' goodbye and headed out of the village to begin the day's trek.  We passed fields being plowed and huge green expanses of garlic as we climbed up, around, and over the hills and mountains.  It soon became very hot and the land remained  very dusty and sandy - it's amazing to think that the dry season hadn't started yet. 

Farmers plough the dry dusty fields.

We stopped at a monastary for lunch.  The monastary was quite sizable and home to one monk and 67 novices - all under his command.  Myanmar boys all become novices at some point in their childhood (usually attending from age 10), but the ones at this monastary had forgone school in favour of buddhist teachings.  Most will return home to their families and farm life after 2 or 3 years.  We had lunch inside the main school/prayer hall - a huge wooden room which also acts as the boys dormitory.  Our lunch coincided with the study hour after the boy's lunch.  The hall was full of chanting (shouting) as the boys tried to memorize passages and chants.  The afternoon hike was fairly hot and dusty as we traversed rocky mountainsides.  We were forced to frequently stopped for water breaks under big leafy trees.  We arrived in our village for the night just before sunset and, after a brief stop at a monastary, we visisted the local shop .  This shop was far better stocked than the last one we had seen, largely due to the villages proximity to Inle Lake and other markets.  We unashamedly indulged in a cool coca-cola - a sweet relief from green tea!  In conversing with our guide, we tried to ascertain how much money the average villager makes but this is very hard to do as so much of their livelihood is dependant on a barter system rather than selling goods for cash.  We did managed to work out the a water buffalo is worth about $300 and a cow about $200, these must certainly be the villagers most prized possessions.  After our break, we headed to the village Chief's house where we would stay the night.  The Chief was roughly of the same demenor as the last one and similarly proudly wore a towel on his head - a yellow one this time.  We sat and had some tea with him before going for a wander around the vilage, saying the customary 'bye-bye' rather than 'hello' to all the children we passed along the way. 

A local child was unimpressed with Nikki's attempt to help out, whilst Eric faired better with the girls.

We stopped by the Chief's sister-in-law's house where we were treated to some tea and biscuits, along with a very interesting converation.  When we arrived, she was busy boiling potatoes for dinner to be made into mash (mash because she didn't have any teeth left).  She makes her mash with lots of chilli; Nikki explained to her that we eat lots of mash potatoes in England, though definitely not with chilli.  She laughed at us, thinking us foreigners were crazy and then replied that the chilli is the best part of the mash!!!!   The old lady also lived with her son-in-law and his three daughters - the wife having died a year ago.  We asked our guide if the son-in-law would remarry.  Tunti said it was possible and allowed but highly unlikely as the man already had 3 daughters.  Basically meaning that there were already women around to look after the house, and , since the oldest daughter had already dropped out of school to help out, there was no need to get a new wife/woman to look after the children and household. 

Village homes.

After making our way back the the Chief's house, we had another delicious meal and then sat chatting by the fire with the Chief.  We had a fitfull nights sleep that night, mostly due to the mice who were squeeking and scurrying around the room and along the beams over our heads.  We woke up in morning to find mice dropping surrounding our pillows!!  After breakfast we packed up our stuff and posed for a goodbye photo with the Chief before heading back out on the trail.

Posing for a photo with 'yellow towel' chief.

We followed the ox cart trails as villagers looked on from tilling the fields.

It was another very hot day for the final 15 kilometers to Inle Lake.  The walk took us just under 5 hours, pausing only briefly under large trees for water breaks and some shade.  We reached the lake at about noon; walking along narrow canals and waterways, watching farmers tend to water-logged fields of aubergines and rice.  Our final stop was a village on the south-west edge of Inle lake, it was here where we rendezvous-ed with our boat (and boatman).  Our boat was a long canoe complete with motor and comfortable wooden chairs lined one behind the other.  We were soon zooming down the canals, admiring the waterside houses and fields.  The trip across the lake took us about 1.5 hours; halfway across we began to see other 'white people' (or 'white Indians' as we are called by the Burmese).  We soon pulled up to the docks of the main town on the lake; after a final, very hot, 15 minute walk down the road, we finally arrived at our guesthouse.  The rest of the afternoon comprised of long refreshing showers and a trip down to the local pizzeria (there was going to be no rice for dinner tonight!!!!).

Inle Lake

We spend the following day exploring Myanmar's largest lake.  Just after sunrise, we set off to meet our boatman from yesterday for a day's excurions around the lake.  Although the lake has become increasingly touristy over the past few years, you can still experience and wtiness the everyday life and traditions of the locals and villages surrounding the lake. 

The infamous Inle Lake fishermen who 'row' with their legs and feet.

We toured the waterways of the villages stopping several times at the village shops and small 'factories' (ie, wood-carving, silk weaving, stone-cutting, etc.....) that lined the canals. 

The houses of the villages around the lake are built on stilts of wooden beams driven into the bottom of the lake.

The Giraffe women - they have extended necks as a result of large solid rings being fixed around their necks from the age of 13.  Traditionally, it was done to protect the women from tigers - who were known to kill their prey by biting the neck; apparently, the men can run fast enough so don't need the same protection.  Nowadays, it's done for beauty and is a dying tradition.

Men tend to their floating gardens as women head back with supplies from the market.

Surrounding the villages were floating gardens - which consisted of crops of tomatoes, califlower, flowers, etc. grown on clumps of soil floating on the lake.  On slightly more firmer land were rows and rows of banana trees, rice and other crops.  Amongst these we spied huge water buffaloes with long thick horns - definitely not to be messed with!!  Part of our day trip around the lake included a stop at a beautiful golden pogoda and the infamous 'cat jumping' monastary; where bored monks have trained the cats to jump through a hoops on demand!!  Due to their increased fame, the cats (and monks) have to put up with hoards of tourists demanding to see the trick.

Monks need hobbies too. 

Eric tentively tries to help out with the buffalo bathing.

Overall it was a nice relaxing day of speeding around the lake in our motorised canoe - it also gave our legs a much-needed rest!!

The next day, we hired a couple of bicycles from our guesthouse and mapped out a route around the lake to some nearby hotsprings and villages.  These bikes were very similar to those we rode in Nepal - no gears, no suspension, and a very hard seat!  We followed a partially paved and bumpy road along marshy waterways where locals were farming, harvesting, washing, tending to buffalloes etc... all around us.  An hour later, we arrived at the Hot Springs, which unfortunately were completely tourist-ified into concrete baths for which you had to pay $1 each just to look at.  Finding the tourist trap unappealing, we carried on down the road towards a the village, where we bumped into some other backpackers (a Canadian couple and a Californian girl) also on a days' bicycle excurision.  We all stopped for lunch at a roadside shack restaurant and spent a long time swapping 'war' stories over fried rice.  After lunch we wondered back into the main town and headed back to our guesthouse.  The following day we were to leave our lakeside residence and head to Myanmar's second largest city, Mandalay. 

Mandalay

A 10-hour overnight bus ride took us from Inle Lake to Mandalay.  We dozed on and off for the 10-hour trip and arrived just before 4 in the morning in Mandalay.  We then jumped into the back of a local 'taxi' pick-up truck which drove us to our hotel in the town center.  We spent the rest of the morning snoozing in our fairly clean hotel room - which had 24-hour electricity, hot water and satellite television (a true luxury for budget travellers in Myanmar!!!).  In the early afternoon we headed around the corner for some local cuisine and spent the rest of the day people watching, from a curbside ice cream parlour a little way down from our hotel.  Unfortunately, Mandalay is a very dusty and hot city which soon drives you back indoors; it is very different to Yangon, less modern, incredibly rundown and very dirty. 

Our first evening in the city, we went to see the 'Moustache Brothers' - the infamous comic trio who perform a slightly government derogatory act despite such performances being illegal.  The eldest borther has already endured 7 years in prison doing hard labour for telling one politically incorrect joke - a one liner where he likened the government to a thief.... 7-years in jail!!!!  The trio now get away with their present day performances by relying on the tourists to keep them safe.  Basically as long as we keep coming, keep photographing them, and writing about them, the government can't make them 'disappear'.  Their show was a mixture of traditional Burmese entertainment - dancing, puppet characters and a little singing; as well as some comic monologue.  Brother 'Number 2' did most of the talking - having a better grasp of english; occasionally he would spell out words or point to sign boards when he wasn't sure if his pronunciation was up to scratch.  He told us a bit about how everyone needed a second or third job in Myanmar as most primary jobs did not pay well enough to support a family; along these lines he described how a policeman's second job was extorting fines out of motorists.  Apparently you can tell how much money you will need to bribe the cop by how many times he sounds his horn (or whistle) when he stops you .  How very helpful!!

Brother number 3 performs slapstick whilst brother number 2 recites his opening monologue.

Eric poses with the trio whilst they mock the governments' attempt to silence them. 

The following day, we did some sightseeing around town, highlighted by a walk up 'Mandalay Hill' to watch the sunset over the city.  Climbing the hill consists of walking up a series of stairs which are broken up by various Buddhas and pogodas of different sizes.  The hill seems to be the place where school children and monks hang out to corner tourists so they can practice their english.  We were joined halfway up by some 15 year old school boys; then at the top of the hill, we were approached by 3 or 4 monks attending an abbott training monastery nearby.  One of the monks spoke near-perfect english and we spent nearly an hour talking to him and his friends; continuing once the sun had set, in a little teashop at the bottom of the hill over drinks.  During our converstation we touched upon the whole government situation in Myanmar and we explained that our guidebook advised us not to discuss the subject with locals as we may get ourselves, but more importantly the locals, in seriuos trouble.  He asked if we were allowed to discuss such things about Myanmar outside the country - to which we replied yes and that there was plenty of information on the subject - books, newspapers, etc.  This conversation occured at the top of the hill; later, when we were making our way to the teashop, he said that a suspisciuos Burmese man had been staring and listening  into this part of the converstaion.  How frustrationg to even have to worry about such things (to have to second guess whether strangers are informers or just being nosey)!!!!  Our experience in Myanmar has certainly made both of us far more aware of our freedom of speech and perhaps a little guilty that it is a right we often fail to appreciate fully.  The monk also hinted at the 'governments' forced labour which drags people away from their villages for periods of time.  What a shame we can't talk openly about these things with the Burmese, no matter how much you try as a tourist, you can only skim the surface.

The next day we hired a local 'blue' taxi to nearby attractions.  A blue taxi is a small pick-up truck with wooden planks in the back which fold down into benches.  Our first stop was at a pogoda - home to a 'very' golden buddha statue.  The buddhist pilgrims have pasted so much gold leaf on the statue, that it is now 15 cm thick in gold.  We then drove to the village of Amarapura - home to the worlds longest teakwood bridge - 1.2km long!!!  Presumably the locals think us foreigners are very strange for visiting a bunch of planks of wood. 

One of Myanmar's famous landmarks - the 1.2km teak bridge. 

Perhaps the best encounter of the day was with a local trishaw driver who we hired to take us back to our hotel after dinner.  He was incredibly overjoyed that we had agreed to get a ride from him.  He explained how he had had no customers all day (this was 9pm) and was 'so so happy' to finally pick up a fare.  His emotional relief and large smile radiated from his face the whole trip back.  The cost of the ride was less than one dollar.

The following day we planned the next leg of our trip in Myanmar: the journey to Bagan.  Luckily, we were to avoid the overnight bus by taking the ferry down the river from Mandalay to Bagan.  The ferry left at 6 in the morning from the main jetty in Mandalay and would take 10.5 hours to reach our destination.  The boat was a simple Chinese passenger ferry with airplane type seats in the lower level and two deck areas on the upper two levels.  We stationed ourselves on the upper deck and enjoyed the fresh air and the beautiful passing scenery.  The boat stopped a couple of times - very briefly.  A long wooden plank was thrown out for passengers to wobble either on or off.  There were a few locals at these stops trying to sell things - bannanas, samosas, cookies and blankets.  The women selling them usually waded waist deep in the water balancing their goods on their heads and were often accompanied by a few children shouting for pens or shampoo.   

The sun rises over pagodas as we cruise down river. 

 
The vendors throw bunches of bananas up to passengers.

The journey itself was uneventful, we spent the entire time on the deck, reading and snoozing.  We finally arrived in Bagan at 4:30 in the afternoon.   

Bagan

Bagan is perhaps Myanmar's most famous historical site and primary tourist attraction.  The 42 sq. km area was once home to 4500 temples dating from the 11th Century; today over 2000 survive (earthquakes, wars and neglect put pay to the rest) making it one of the most extrordinary sites of ancient civilization remains in the world. 

The temples of Bagan sit amongst dry grassland and palm trees.

Some temples have crumbled into disrepair whilst others remain standing tall in the distance. 

Bagan is also known for its unbearably hot afternoons; so accordingly, we opted to pay a little extra for a hotel WITH A POOL!!!  In the coming days, this proved to be a very wise decision.  Our daily schedule over the course of our 3-day visit to Bagan was to involve exploring and taking in as much of the surroundings as possible.  We rented some bicycles from our hotel for the duration of our stay - as expected the bikes were typical 'asian' style: no gears, no suspension  and brakes that barely worked.  Nevertheless, our hotel's proximity to the main temples and a fairly decently paved road made the daily excursions very enjoyable.  There are 3 or 4 main roads which service the area and to reach the actual temples themselves, you have to turn off onto dirt roads or ox-cart trails. 

We cycled along the dusty trails between the temples.

Most of the temples have a small collection of locals touting souvenirs; and very occassionally a couple of children begging.  Interestingly, they speak to us in English, but beg in French asking for 'bonbon' or stylo' as well as the ever amusing 'shampoo'.  The majority of the package tourists in Myanmar seem to come from mainland Europe: particularly, France and Germany... presumably the French have been the most giving. 

The temples of Bagan are not as impressive as those of Angkor Wat in Cambodia (which we visited the year before); inside they tend to have plain white-washed walls, or crumbling plaster with faint detail of what was once a great mural.  On the outside they have very little carving, most of the plaster facade and glazed tiles have crumbled away leaving exposed bricks.  Inside many have huge Buddhas either covered in gold, lacqeur or paint; some of impressive size.  However, despite these aspects, there is an amazing beauty to the temples of Bagan - it lies in their sheer number; they spread across the dry, arid landscape as far as the eye can see.  They vary in size and a little in shape - though most are square tiers that build up to bell-like stupas crowning the top. 

Bagan's golden stupa shines brightly amongst it's red brick neighbours. 

The gold leaf may have eroded but the temples retain a rich spiritual air.

Decorative carvings and plaster remained on a few of the temples.

Some temples housed their original painted buddhas and murals; many were still actively used for worship by monks and believers.

From afar they are an amazing array of red (exposed brick), white (white-washed plsater) and gold (gold leaf covered) ancient temples that hint of civilisation of old.  The most enjoyable are definitely those which you can climb - via narrow stone staircases squeezed into corner towers or steep steps lining the outside.  From up top the numerous temples fade into the horizon - a spectacular sight we can't quite capture in a photo. 

Only by climbing to the top of a tall temple could we appreciate the magnitude of Bagan as we saw the pointed spires stretching out for miles. 

One evening we climbed to the top of the highest temple to watch the sunset over the river; illuminating the thousands of temples dotted across the horizon as the sun dropped behind the circling hills. 

As the sun sets Bagan's temples become silhouettes against the sky. 

With regular dips in our refreshing hotel pool and pleasant bike rides throughout the day, we thoroughly enjoyed our time in Bagan.  We were now coming to the end of our trip in Myanmar.  After three full days of sightseeing in Bagan, we boarded another overnight bus (15 hours!!) back to the capital, Yangon.  We spent one day in Yangon to catch up on some last minute shopping and then caught a flight back to Thailand to continue our trip across southeast Asia.