From Rags to Riches in Myanmar

Rural life in Myanmar, their river is their bath and the place to wash clothes, and also provides them with food and water for crops.

From rags to riches, that is exactly what I witnessed as I made my way down to Yangon and the beaches of central Myanmar. I would say that during my travels in Myanmar, 70% of my time was spent on the backroads surrounded by rural villages and countryside. Here, life is very primitive and simple (hence I used the title “rags”) but that does not mean that they lack happiness in their daily life. Actually I'd argue the opposite. Village life witnessed from the side of the road and through my interaction might be titled as extreme poverty with few resources on which to live, but it was in these areas that I felt the most comfortable as a traveler because of the genuine heart filled personality of the locals.

Village houses in rural Myanmar

A grouping of houses by the main road

The bridge to a few houses on the other side of a canal.

Despite their very meager conditions, villagers in Myanmar always seemed happy and content with the bare minimum. And when I say refer to the bare minimum, that is even a bit of a stretch. Houses are nothing more than a roof, some without walls, others with only three walls and are as small as 3 or 4 square meters.  Privacy is a luxury, beds the floor unless they have a foldable mattress or some sort of bamboo pad.  Roofs made out of dried banana and palm leaves, raised on stilts if they are lucky to survive the wet season. It was common to encounter people here bathing in the streams or at a public water hole, which might be as simple as a big barrel of water and a bucket to be shared by all the people in the vicinity. Most families found a way to convert their living quarters into some sort of a business selling snacks or beverages, anything they could to make a little money. Close by was some sort of crop growing that they would all cultivate, probably one of the only sources of income for the people.

In a nut shell, the character of many Burmese is similar to this little girl

In the mountains from Inle Lake to the new capital city of Nay Pyi Taw, I had trouble finding a restaurant. Small shops were scattered along the way, but a proper tea house with green tea and meals were hard to come by. One morning I had to pedal 20 miles before I found a shop with tea I could drink to warm up in the crisp mountain air. This is unusual for SE Asia where food and drink is normally in abundance. Resources in the mountains in Myanmar were limited, making it feel as though I was really off the beaten track experiencing rural village life, which accounts for a good majority of the lives of people in Myanmar. As a tourist in rural Myanmar, they were always so curious regarding my presence, but never once treated me poorly. Never once did it dawn on them that I was a tourist and therefore they should treat me differently, charge me more, or take advantage of me in any other way. They were always willing to help me, even if it involved a lot of giggling.

No food stalls lining these mountain roads

Many of the remote landscapes in Myanmar's mountains

In rural Myanmar I was fascinated to observe their daily lives and have a profound respect for them. Survival is their objective as they are completely reliant on their own efforts in order to meet their daily needs. They build their houses by hand, they grow all their vegetables that they eat. Meat, I'm sure is a commodity but comes from the few chickens and pigs you seem roaming around freely. They might have a water buffalo to help with the efforts, but if not, they carry everything with their own bare hands, many times balancing things on their heads, or strapping heavy bags over their heads. If the road needs to be repaired, it is done all by hand. That means they gather the rocks, spread them out on the ground, level them with hand tools, and burn the barrels of tar that is then spread over the rocks. There are no bulldozers, no trucks, everything is done by hand. Witnessing their daily efforts were humbling. Their day is consumed doing everything in order to maintain a sustainable life up in the mountains. With few resources they depend completely on themselves, their family, and other village members.

A barrier to avoid mud slides, all done by hand

Road works, all done by hand

My company on the rural roads

Needless to say, I was in shock when I arrived in more developed areas, especially the new capital city of Nay Pyi Taw. About five years ago, the government decided to move Myanmar's capital from Yangon to Nay Pyi Taw, because of the more central location. Perhaps it is central geographically but the hub of activity remains in Yangon. My jaw dropped as I witnessed immaculate newly constructed 10 lane highways, skyscrapers, and infrastructure such as expo centers that looked as if they could accommodate events of many thousands of people. Oddly enough, the city is deserted with few inhabitants. I was repulsed by what I witnessed imagining the money and time that was spent to move the capital to Nay Pyi Taw, after observing the poverty conditions in rural villages. Just stop and thing about the money and effort that would be involved if all of a sudden the United States decided to move our capital from Washington DC to let's say somewhere central like Wichita, Kansas? With the money spent on the new capital the Myanmar government could have invested in the country's basic education system or improved the network of rural roads using the proper technology and machinery. It was appalling to witness and the reason why I chose hop on a night bus rather than spend the night and contribute to this economy.

Nay Pyi Taw, an empty capital

A empty massive highway, think it was an over kill?

Government buildings

Having cycled up the western central plains of Myanmar, I bused myself down to Yangon and cycled through the delta to the beach destination of Ngwe Saung, where I was also in for more surprises. In central and northern Myanmar there are a total of 3 beach destinations, one being for middle class locals and the other two for rich Yangonites and foreigners. I headed to the upper class beach because from the description of a 13 miles pristine stretch of beach with virtually no inhabitants, I thought I would find plenty of places to camp. Boy was I in for a surprise when I discovered that the entire stretch of beach basically belonged to a huge hotel compound and all the property was carefully gated and strictly patrolled. I cycled to the very end of the beach strip where the road turned to sand, and found myself among all the local village people who probably worked at the hotels. Their huts and houses were scattered everywhere and there wasn't one place I could put my tent and go under the radar. My plan back-fired as again I found myself surrounded by the “riches” of Myanmar.  Luckily I found a "resort" that would let me put my tent in the back corner of their property for a meager price, using their bucket shower to wash-up.

Definitely a tourist hub!

This is what the locals spend their time doing at the beach, taking photos of themselves

The average price of the beach resorts in Ngwe Saung go for about 80 dollars a night all the way up to 300 USD, and to tell you the truth, the amount of western foreigners is outnumbered by far by the locals. SUV after SUV with a Yangon license plate passed me on the road to the beach, which again blew my mind: the disparity between the rich and the poor in this country. It blows my mind as there is such an extreme spectrum. Here I had spent so much time up in rural Myanmar observing their simple and minimal lifestyle and now I was surrounded by extreme wealth among the very wealthy burmese. Here I had eaten three meals a day for under 2 dollars and at the beach, I couldn't even buy a fruit shake for 2 dollars. Amazing! Hence the title of this blog, from rags to riches.  Unlike western beach destinations, you won't find towels or people bathing in the sun on the sandy beaches.  No, the Burmese don't go to the beach to do that, they go there to take pictures, a status symbol, that let's others know they were there.  A few men were in the water in bathing suits, and the women that dares entered did so fully clothed or in a bathing suit that was completely covered up.  The sun was so intense on the beach during the middle of the day that everyone retreats to their resort for shade.  I found myself on a beach chair under an umbrella completely alone, which was absolutely delightful! 

The abandoned beach

Believe it or not, I can sit still, for an hour or so

My visit to Ngwe Saung prepared me for my visit to Yangon or Rangoon, as it was once called, the former capital of Myanmar. I'm glad I waited until the end of my trip to see Yangon, because, where as some people would see it as the norm for life in Myanmar, rural village life had become the norm and Yangon was something out of the ordinary. A bustling big city, that was actually quite calm and pleasant compared to other southeast Asian capitals such as Phnom Pehn, Bangkok, and Ho Chi Minh. For one, motorcycles are prohibited so traffic consists of a sea of taxis, buses, and bike taxis, making it easier to navigate than motor scooters. I also arrived on a Sunday and the following day was a bank holiday, so I think the city was calm in comparison to other days of the week. There was an ever-present essence of colonialism with the decrepit colonial style buildings that looked as if they hadn't been restored since they were built 200 years prior. Also remarkably noticeable is the confluence of cultures and religions all sharing the same city. There is an eclectic mix of Chinese, Indians, Myanmar, and a few westerners, and therefore on the same street you see a pagoda, there is also a Hindu temple, a cathedral around the corner, and a Chinese temple across the street. Yangon reminded me a bit of Penang or other cities in Malaysia with the cultural diversity and amicable relationship between all it's inhabitants.

Market goers, evidence of Yangon's cultural diversity 

A woman setting up her market stand, impeccably organized

A Hindu temple in the city center

A Mosque behind the ruins of another building in Yangon

An old colonial buildings in Yangon 

I'm not a fan of big cities and only scheduled a day and a half to visit. The noise, crowds, and traffic usually deter me, but Yangon was a pleasant surprise. I found a quiet guesthouse in Chinatown and found the downtown area easy to navigate. Even the main Schwedagon Pagoda is accessible by foot, making it a very friendly city to do on foot. Hands down the most enjoyable part of my visit was the food. I had no idea that Yangon is a foodie hub. With all the different ethnic groups it's no wonder. Basically my day and half here involved eating my way through the different neighborhoods trying anything and everything that I saw on the street. I would have needed an extra week if not month to do justice to the exquisite culinary offerings in the city, and I'm only talking about those that you find on the street food carts.......

Schwedagon pagoda, the main attraction in Yangon for tourists

The night market that lines the streets of downtown Yangon

With my visit to Yangon, my bike tour in Myanmar came to a close. I have thoroughly enjoyed biking this country even considering the more difficult circumstances involved with accommodation, the suspicious police, and the controlling government. I've developed a new appeal for traveling in a more undeveloped tourist destination making for more of a challenge and a memorable adventure. The daily life I witnessed in Myanmar is humbling. I have an incredible amount of respect for the Burmese, their work ethic, and their daily routine. After my month here, I'm again reminded about the perspective I gained after many months and kilometers traveling on a bike. I need very little in order to be happy and my standards and expectations are so low, that happiness comes from the most simple things in life and this, in my opinion, is priceless. Maybe you'd say I live like a poor person, especially traveling through Myanmar, but so be it! I prefer to experience a country as a local rather than as a king, pampering myself with frivolous amenities. I'm the happiest of people drinking a cup of milky tea and eating a fried pastry for a total of 30 cents. Dare I tell you the three souvenirs I bought? A burmese lunch box, the ingredients to make pickled tea leaf salad, my staple here in Myanmar, and their milky tea in sachets!

Stay tuned for a few more blog posts on Myanmar featuring their food, my accommodations in Myanmar, and a photo documentation of the country.   

Just Another Day Cycling Myanmar

They meant well with the name, but definitely not a classy hotel like the watch brand

I wake up at 5am, oh no.....somethings not right. I spend the next two hours going back and forth between the bathroom and my room at Hotel Rolex, which definitely didn't live up to it's name.  The food finally caught up with me! What was it? The water I got from the local ceramic pot, dinner last night even though I had actually splurged and gone to a proper restaurant with an menu in English? Maybe it was the ice that went in my sugar cane juice that I saw fall to the dusty ground and then get rinsed off with the stagnant water from the wash basin? It isn't until I'm an hour into my ride that I realize it was the fish salad from dinner, or at least that is what I keep repeating as I burp non-stop on my bike.

Diarrhea definitely wasn't in the plans today as I have a fairly big day ahead of me. I'm not at the most glamorous hotel so staying an extra day to rest is out of the question. In between my visits to the bathroom, I manage to sleep in until 7am. How on earth am I going to pedal if I go to the bathroom every 10 minutes? Breakfast is awaiting me in the lobby, but I can't even look at the food. I set off, determined I'm in good enough shape to make it.

The Ayeyarwady River is massive now in the dry season.  I can only imagine it's flooded banks during the rainy season

I had been traveling up the East side of the Ayeyarwady river, but today I wanted to explore the road on the west side. I've been told it is a good road. I cross an immense bridge, that spans two kilometers, a massive river indeed, as I'm sure it swells during the rainy season. I pass a police station on the other side of the river and I ask them for the road to Chauk. Little did I know I would be escorted by an “under cover” police throughout most of my day who magically appeared at every tricky road junction to guide the way. 

I love the police slogan in Myanmar,.....need you really ask?

My first escort starts just after the bridge with two young guys on a motorcycle. “Who is your country?” This is the question that everyone asks me. The people here are fascinate by tourists, a novelty and they always want to know their nationality.  I tell them Spain. I pedal for 10 km and they follow. The road is bumpy, just like all the other roads in this country but there seems to be less traffic on this side of the river. Just when I think I have lost them, I realize they were replaced by a solo under cover police. Again he asks, “What country?” Again I answer, Spain. I ask him a one word question, “Police?” The answer is obvious. He's a bit better at escorting than the first two and stays a good 300 meters behind me. 

My first police escort, very non-threatening gentlemen who laughed when I took their picture

I take in the scenery. Pagodas everywhere. I feel like I've already arrived at Bagan, but this is just what you see when you aren't on the tourist route in Myanmar.  Pagodas surround me old and new.  Where the old ones are crumbling and coming down, new ones are going up.  Along with the statues and decorative doorways and wall, I forget about my unsettled stomach which rumbles and turns at every divot in the road.  I stop and take photos, my escort stops as well, so I get a photo of him, and he takes one of me. How many people in Myanmar have a photo of me? A handful of policemen and many locals too!

The pagodas and ruins I stumbled upon

I continue on. This was not the best day to have a police escort. I need to stop every 20 minutes to go to the bathroom.  I should be embarrassed as I wave the toilet paper in the air, a universal symbol for toilet, except in SE Asia, where they don't really use it!   I usually try to stop every 40 kilometer for a snack, but today I need the extra sugar and fluid and stop after thirty.  I now have my third escort following me, a true tag team effort on the part of the Myanmar police. I skip the little town lined with shops and carry on to a smaller family establishment.  I prefer to support a rural family and their shop than one of the cafes that line a small town. I catch my escort off guard and take refuge in the shade. The family that runs the shop is also taken off guard by the foreigner who plops herself down and quickly drinks a glass of fresh sugar cane juice. When I leave, my escort isn't around.....but it only takes him a few minutes to find me on the road again. I put on my ipod to block out the constant hum of the motorcycle behind me and take my mind off of my currently state. Today is going to be a long day, I actually doubt I will make it, but I don't know my alternative..... My stomach is very unsettled and I have zero energy and even less motivation.

When I pulled over for pictures so did he and pretended to me engaged in conversation, although he broke into a smile when I took a picture of him

Thankfully I get wrapped up in my audiobook and before I know it I'm in another town.  I cross a police check point assuming there is no need to stop as they have me tightly controlled.  My assumption is incorrect and they come chasing after me on motorbikes. They are immigration officers. I apologize and give them my passport, which has also had a fair amount of photographs.  They copy down my details and of course ask me the ever so popular question that always gets an answer of disbelief.  Alone?  I nod.

I pedal on and to my surprise, I'm no longer escorted by a police officer. I've got some privacy, perfect for an emergency pit stop.  You aren't ever truly alone on these roads though.  Houses, farm stands, and villagers carrying on their daily tasks dot the road, as well as broken down vehicles who just couldn't hack the roads.  As I continue to pedal the road conditions worsen: No wider than a bike path with frequent patches of gravel.  Maybe this is why the police has given up on me?  The roads are so bad, that even the bridges are made out of wood rather than concrete. But to my surprise, there are still makeshift "toll booths" collecting a toll from time to time for cars and trucks to pay.

These bridges are tricky for me to maneuver, imagine for a truck.....

By this time I'm halfway through my day distance-wise, from what I can tell and I decide to stop again at the next town I see. I'm extremely dehydrated and need more sugar. I choose a store which looks promising.  There is a small fridge which I equate to cold drinks.  No one is in the store, but it doesn't stop me from opening fridge, only to find that it isn't plugged in.  The juice is in the freezer section which is as warm as the air outside.  At this point, I just appreciate the fact that it is wet and will quench my thirst.  A young girl comes as I point to the Lychee juice. I sit in the shade on the bench in front of the store and gulp down my juice. When I look up, there is a crowd in front of me. There are more to the side,....more by my bike. They are all just staring and talking, their eyes fixed with an incredibly curious face. I'm entertained by their presence and can't help taking a picture.  I go for a second juice, gesturing that it is really hot, but actually today isn't that warm, temperatures are in the low 30Cs (90F) and there isn't any humidity.

They were amazed with the automatic timer.....Notice the Barça jersey, ever present in SE Asia, anywhere!

I love this photo....notice my clean underwear hanging off my bag, they sure don't seem to notice.....

I say good-bye and continue to pedal.  At this point, my bum is rather numb, no matter how comfortable my Brooks saddle is, nothing can take on the pot holes and bumpy asphalt of Myanmar. I  consider myself lucky, it would be a much more painful ride for a man.  I would definitely refrain from cycling here if I were a young man and want to have kids some day.......

The road gets a bit better at the same time I notice my 4^th police escort who magically appears at an intersection to gesture me to turn left.  I wonder what was down the road to the right?  Today is not the day to explore.  I try not to look at my speed, knowing it will take another 3 hours before I'm in the town I've been told has a hotel, Chauk.

With 30 kilometers left, I stop at a cafe, and make my last pit stop and rid myself of my last police escort.  They don't like the local people to see them, they never stop to rest with me. Another warm juice, but the sugar does me well.  The homestretch is horrendously long with a steep climb, but the thought of a cold shower and rest keeps me motivated. I cross over the bridge and go back on the east side of the river and arrive in Chauk. Hopefully Chauk is like every other town in Myanmar with a hotel or two along the main drag so you never have to detour (and also contributes to a noisy room).   This time, however I don't find a hotel so I have to stop and ask. I am pointed in the direction and pull up at Dream II, with pictures of palm trees on the hotel sign. I ask the women if she has a room for one person, and she gestures no. What? You are full? No rooms? Then she uses the gesture I've learned here that means Sorry, I can't help you and it dawns on me, this hotel can't take foreigners. 

I ask for a hotel for foreigners and she tells me the name of Jessica Hotel and points me down the road. I carry on pedaling. By now I'm so exhausted I'd sleep on a park bench if I could find one. For a good 15 minutes, I try to find Jessica Hotel without success. I'm frustrated.  Where are my police escorts when you need them? They escorted me for about 80 kilometers today, but then abandoned me when I got to a city. Don't they care where I sleep?  Didn't they realize there were no hotels for foreigners in Chauk.  I give up and decide to pedal out of town looking for a pagoda. Within a few kilometers I ride by what seems to be a large monastery as there are a lot of small monks playing in the yard.

The head monk on the left who had his eyes fixed on me from the moment I rolled up.  His assistant on the right was ever so friendly

This man spoke the best of English and his wife was the one who cared for me so when I first arrived.

After a few other phone calls, some more men arrive. There continues to be a lot of silence and pondering the situation and then they tell me that I can stay. Relief sets in. I see a few men go off with blankets and a mosquito net to prepare my room while the main monk and a few other men who act as translators sit with me. They want to offer me a meal, but I lie and tell them I already ate. I can't imagine their response if I were to use charades and sound effects to describe my ailment.  Basic conversation and silence continues until they can see I can't stop yawning. The sun hasn't set, but they walk me over to a new building in the monastery, a huge new building, I should stay with a lonely bed, Buddha, and bathroom. Now more people arrive, children and other people from the neighborhood. Some monks are outside trying to get water hooked up to the bathroom, by running a hose to the ceiling and into the PVC pipes. It takes about a half hour and I just sit and watch. It's a community event preparing the room for the foreigner and they are so excited to have a visitor.  Now it's me who gets to stare at them.

Word travels fast at the monastery that a foreigner is present

My shower.  I'm super efficient with a pan and cold water

When everything is finally ready, they show me how to work the water, toilet and fans on the ceiling. A truly luxurious accommodation compared to budget hotels in Myanmar, and best of yet, it is peaceful outside. A few giggles from the curious monks substitute the sound of chaotic traffic and relentless horns. I realize, and appreciate, how lucky I am to be sleeping here. They leave me be, show me how to lock the door, and ask for my passport to copy. I comply and wash up. Cold water is the norm and I bathe myself in yet another cold bath that revives my energy.  It's 7:30 and I'm ready for bed when I hear a knocking at the door. I knew the people from the neighborhood were too curious not to come over. Outside a young mother and her two daughters come in. She wants me to pose with her daughters in a photo and then invites me to her home. Despite my exhaustion, of course I accept. The Burmese I meet seem to be craving interaction with foreigners, it amazes me! I should probably feel guilty for not staying at a proper guest house registered for foreigners, but instead I feel delighted because I know my presence for these people is very special and will be memorable, even if we can hardly communicate.

They love taking pictures with me and I give them my camera as well!

I walk with the young woman and her daughters to their house. The women explains to me that she works at a small shop and lives with her sister and mom. She is so excited to have me in her house you can see the pride in the expression on her face. I meet her other family members and we converse using very basic English. The other women and children from the monastery appear with their same jolly faces.  I'm content observing the situation. I do realize that there is something unique about traveling as a solo young woman, especially on a bike. Not only does it make for a natural bond among women in any country, there is an immediate respect and admiration that is exchanged by both parties. Traveling by bike breaks down any cultural barrier that might exist otherwise at the sight of a foreigner, washing away any sort of fear or threat between me and them.

Very thoughtful women and children

With fans on the ceiling and a mosquito net, and multiple plugs.....what more could you ask for?

Very politely a half hour later, they take me back to the monastery where a monk is waiting to let me in to my palace, at least that is what I called the giant room I occupy. As he opens the door, he gestures to me to pray to Buddha.  It's 9pm and I'm shattered. I set my alarm for 6:30am although I know I will be awakened before that to the sound of the morning prayer. Today is just another day on my bike pedaling,  although thankfully I rarely have the stomach issues.  I'm not 100% recuperated by any means, but I'm in the most peaceful of places and well looked after.  The monks once again have come to my rescue and the local people have showered me with their kindness. I can't ask for much more than that at the end of a long day's ride!   

First Impressions of Myanmar: Burmese Cultural Insight 101

Thailand on the left, and Myanmar on the other side of the river.  100 meters apart and a world of a difference

You learn so much about a country by crossing it's border, in my case, simply rolling across that dividing line from one country to the next. I like to go into a country without researching too much. I do however, plan my route some, but I don't want to form too a lot of pre-conceived notions about a culture and their customs before I start to witness and observe. It is my way of investigating:observe, find out, form opinions, and continue to refine them.....The famous inquiry cycle I use with my students when teaching mirrors the real world.  Once, I'm in the thick of it, deep in the country, I'm doing my research daily with every kilometer, which is exactly what happened when I pedaled across to Myanmar 3 days ago.

Immigration and police, ever so friendly at the border.  They are everywhere in this country!

It's as easy as the sign says!

Departing Thailand was painless, I pedaled 100 meters and was in Myanmar. I went to the foreigner building expecting a long line, but to my surprise, there were only two other older gentlemen in the office, and they were doing a Thai visa run. Two men handled my entrance, one in uniform in one in civilian clothes. Both spoke perfect English, enough to interrogate me in a friendly way. Are you alone? No group? Where have you been? Where do you go? What is your job? Looking over my passport and it's many stamps, they found my Myanmar Visa, stamped it, I smiled for the camera, and I was all set. However, I wasn't allowed on the road today. There is one main road between the bustling border town of Myawaddy and Hpa-An, the next big city 150 kilometers to the west and it is so small and narrow and climbs over a major mountain pass, it operates in one direction only on opposite days. The day I crosse the border an odd day, traffic was headed towards Thailand. Tomorrow, the road was open for traveling west. I thought about ignoring this and cycling on, but decided an afternoon to get some logistics sorted out in a new country seemed more sensible.

Since there was no one waiting around and these two men were plenty friendly, I decided it was my turn to ask the questions. Have you seen other cyclists? Where can I change money? What SIM card do I want to buy? Where is a guesthouse in town for foreigners? They answered all these questions quickly and to my surprise there was another cyclist in town, 3 others for that matter: one English and two Aussies. Their English was so good, I asked them if they would help me with basic Burmese for my little cheat sheet, and so they did and I even got so lucky to get a photocopy of basic Burmese as well. Just when I was starting to get the tones and pronunciation of Thai under my belt, Burmese is considerably different, even the alphabet, or so it appears.

After a good half hour in their air conditioned room I set off to find a hotel. They had recommended a cheaper one to me, although I didn't know if it really was a cheap hotel or they were trying to send me to their friend's hotel and give him business. And so my basic Myanmar cultural lessons began.

Priceless faces on these kids.  They are still shy with tourists and say "Min Ga La Bar" rather than "Hello"!

The People

You'd think that living in a border town the people were used to seeing foreigners, but they aren't. Foreigners, westerns and people with white skin, seem to be a novelty. Although they seem rather shy and humble, they go out of their way to say hello, smile, and say a word or two in English, usually “Hello!”, “Hey you!”, “Where you go?” They certainly are honest and haven't sold their sole to tourism, at least not yet. I bought coconut meat and I thought the man said it's price was the equivalent to $7, a steep price to pay, but I handed him the money. He shook his head, appalled, and realized he had confused the number 7 hundred for 7 thousand and gave me back the wad of cash. Had this happen in a country where locals are eager to make a quick buck off tourists, I think they would have taken the money and run!

I was the guest of honor at the Full Moon festival I stumbled upon and this women was so excited to feed me!

The immigration officer who advised me on the hotel really did send me to the cheapest hotel in town for foreigners. Later that afternoon, walking around, I found two others and inquired about their prices. Both were three times as expensive.

Women here carry things on their head, similar to women in Africa I've seen

Exploring the market, which I'd also say was much more primitive than any Thai market and consisted of a single alleyway rather than a network of streets or even a covered shelter area. There was a lot of loud music at the end of the way and when I approached it seemed like there was some sort of party. Indeed it was, the full moon festival, a young teenager informed me and they were happy to have foreigners participate which meant they treated me to several mugs of sugar cane juice and this sticky rice dish mixed with all sorts of energy laden goodies mixed in including coconut, peanuts, sesame seeds, and garlic. I wish I could have stashed some away for the following day's ride. During my first day cycling, I was given an energy drink and a liter of water handed out the window by two different cars. Watermelon stands line the road in this area and I can't help but stop every 30 to 40 kilometers, it's about 35C (100F) during the day. Every time I try to pay, they refuse money!

Can't get enough of my watermelon with the heat

Tourism

Myanmar has yet to be exploited by tourism which is what gives it it's charm. The doors have been open so recently that they are still so excited to see foreigners. However, the government is still uneasy from having so many outsiders in their country they have tight control on the tourism industry here, making for more of an adventure. I read the blogs of several cyclists, both of those unemployed on a global trek, and those with a bit heftier budgets , and their stories differ quite a bit. Those who try to free camp and do it on a budget have great stories to tell about escaping the police and border controls. Thailand had their fair share of border controls, but they were rather pointless and more to be seen than actually enforce. I passed maybe a two dozen in a months time, and was stopped at one, and never did they ask me for my passport, they simply wanted to chat and practice their English. In Myanmar, during my first day of pedaling, I passed 5 border controls in the first 20 km and was stopped at one, who took my passport details and wanted to know my planned itinerary both of that day and the month, basically. Towards the middle of the afternoon, I came across another border control and they also stopped me basically telling me I should “stay here, at nice guesthouse, tomorrow go to Hpa-An.”

So what's the deal with accommodation for tourists in Myanmar? There are hotels and guesthouses, and plenty of resorts, especially in the tourist “hot spots” and beach resorts. But in places that are more off the beaten track, they are fewer and harder to come by. The problem is, the government has determined which guesthouses can accept foreigners. Therefore, you might find a guesthouse in a small town, but they aren't allowed to let you stay. The ones sanctioned by the government are pricey and the hefty prices don't reflect any sort of added value, unfortunately, or else I would splurge! In comparison to the rest of southeast Asia, it is not uncommon to pay 25-50 USD a night for a basic room with a cold water shower, which would cost about 4 to 10 USD in Thailand or Vietnam. So why not camp, knock on a door, or stay at a temple? Basically it is illegal. The citizens of Myanmar are not allowed to invite visitors into their home, nor are temples, and those who do risk heavy consequences. Police and immigration officers wear civilian clothing, making it hard to determine who they are and where they are.

A very basic hotel for foreigners, for the same amount of money in Thailand ($8) you have a really nice room!

Infrastructure

Or perhaps I should say lack of. Just walking down the main street in Myawaddy, life carried on in much the same was as in Thailand. However, you step on the main drag and you are in for a surprise. Many of the streets in towns aren't paved, houses are in shambles, put together in a makeshift manner with any sort of material that could be found. In rural areas, houses are made out of bamboo, tarp, or dried banana leaves. Some are delicately built on bamboo stilts and look like a good wind storm would blow them over.

A more modern house next to an older run down wooden house

A typical house, one of many made from dried banana leaves.  I don't know how they survive the rainy season.

A primitive bridge connecting a river village to the main road

PArt of the one lane road I used to cross the border

Primitive (but charming) if the adjective that comes to mind. My initial conclusion that there can't be too much modern infrastructure here can to my mind quickly as all the products in the stores had Thai Baht price tags on them and were written in Thai. They border may have opened for foreigners recently but for commerce it seems to have been open for years with a steady flow of Thai products being imported. For instance the cars seem to come from Thailand or Malaysia, cheaper to manufacture there I'm sure. The problem is that in both those countries, cars drive on the left. In Myanmar they drive on the right, but they drive a car made for driving on the left, only slightly hazardous in my opinion!

Local Customs: Men in Skirts, Yellow Face Paint, & Bleeding Mouths

I know their proper name is a sarong, but I can't stop thinking of them as “man skirts”. A long tubular piece of fabric that the men wrap around their waist and tuck. Voila, a comfy skirt! Seeing a few men come out of a public restroom, I gathered they wear shorts underneath, or at least some. You don't see nearly as many women in the skirts, but 95% of all the men wear them.

The typical man skirt on these men at the Half Moon Festival making the delicious sweet rice

If the skirts don't make you chuckle then the yellow face paint will! Again, it isn't face paint, it is the whitening cream that is ever so popular in southeast Asia. This one has a yellow tint to it and is painted more deliberately in circles on the cheeks and nose, but some seem to bathe in it! Sunscreen is hard to come by because they go straight for the hard core stuff that is suppose to turn your skin white. Why is it that the darker complexion people always want to be lighter skinned and the fair-skinned people darker?

Typical Burmese yellow whitening cream applied to the cheeks and forehead, sometimes a dot on the nose....

I was caught off guard when I stepped out of the immigration office and talked with the first local. What the hell happened to your mouth? Are you bleeding? Do you need help? Did someone punch you in the mouth? But behind the mouthful of red saliva there is a huge smile, and then a disgusting and robust spat, and a red liquid stains the sidewalk. Beetle nut. I had been warned about this habit in Thailand, but never witnessed it during my travels. In Myanmar I have seen only a handful of men's mouths that aren't stained red. I've seen countless “bleeding” mouths now and I'm still startled every time I see it seeping out. Dentist would have a heyday here, so would Oncologists. At the end of the day it is basically nicotine they are getting form the Beetle nut. At first I thought I saw a stall with something sweet wrapped in a banana leaf, so I went closer to investigate as my mouth started to salivate. But when I saw the women brush on a white paste and fill it with bits of this beautiful nut cut up and folded like a small package, I gathered this wasn't a sweet edible treat. I watch a guy place one of the packages in his mouth carefully between his lower lip and teeth, and gathered it was the Burmese version of chewing tobacco, only it was addictive and stained their teeth blood red. The stalls to make the Beetle nut packages are everywhere, equivalent in presence to coffee stands in Thailand.

She's making the Beetle nut pouches

A beautiful nut before it does damage to your teeth

Money

I had recently withdrawn more Thai Baht than I knew I would need in Thailand, but I thought I could exchange the left over currency to Myanmar Kyat. Up until a year ago, there were only a handful of ATM's in the entire country. I went to the bank that advertised money exchange in Myawaddy only to find out, they didn't exchange Baht, only Dollars and Euros. I did have some of each, but only one 20 euro bill passed the “mint condition” test. While I was waiting in the bank, the employees were carrying handfuls of cash from one corner to another wall. Of course there were armed security guards with small pistols in holsters, but I still felt as though I was witnessing some sort of bank robbery. I had never seen so many paper bills in my life, it was shocking! Since my attempt to exchange money failed at a proper bank, I went to a “black market” stall, I had done my research. A man and his daughter had a small wooden table and a cloth over top with a calculator as well. I asked them the exchange rate and it was just slightly lower than what my currency exchange app told me I should get, so I proceeded. If I felt like I has witnessing a robbery in the bank seeing the stacks of cash, I felt like I was a bank robber when he laid before me two big stacks of bills. With no coins in the Myanmar currency, kyat, (pronounced chat) 1,000 Kyat is equal to about 1 USD, an easy conversion for all and many places will take dollars. This makes for an incredible amount of bills. They even have a bill that is equivalent to 1 cent! In reality I had only exchanged about 250 dollars but I felt like the richest person in the whole world with those hunks of bills in front of me. Uneasy and nervous, I quickly went back to my hotel and stashed the extra money.

The little black market stall where I converted Thai Baht as the banks only want dollars and euros.  Look closely and you will see his red teeth....

Boy do I feel rich, although those hunks of cash are equivalent to 200USD

The Land of Pagodas

Regardless of the direction you look, there is always a Pagoda whether it be up on a hilltop, balancing precariously on a rock on a mountainside, or in the small villages. Pagodas are everywhere, as temples were in Thailand, but even more present. Monks have also changed color, they are dressed in red gowns and never have I seen so many young monks. Buddhism also seems to be much more relaxed here in Myanmar. I've seen countless monks smoking cigarettes, driving motor scooters, chewing Beetle nut, and even drinking. Next thing you know I'll see one with a wedding ring. With so many pagodas, it's no wonder every-other-person I see is a monk, not really, but their presence is more noted than in Thailand, Cambodia, or Laos. As a result there are also quite a few monasteries, which seem to be the place to stay for tour cyclists to avoid the higher guesthouse prices. I'm sure I will experience a monastery, or two, on this trip!

Bago's impressive pagoda at sunset, the best time to go

The Golden Rock and a couple dozen more pagodas dotted the hillside

There are massive amounts of monks here, especially little boys

Technology

I spent my first hours in Myanmar wandering the streets of Myawaddy. It seemed every other shop was a food or tobacco stall or a mobile phone store. How many mobile phone stores does one town possibly need? I went to inquire about a SIM card, and it seemed as simple as Thailand. Basically for about $8 you get a Myanmar SIM card with about 1GB of data and cheap local phone calls and text messages, about 3cents a minute. I went for one of the SIM cards the immigration officer had mentioned and they helped me set it up. Internet wasn't working, so I left my phone there and came back in a few hours. The young man that spoke good English was no longer behind the counter but the women in basic English said “Internet no work today!” I was thinking, ok no big deal, so I asked, “What about tomorrow?” In her basic English, she replied again, “Internet no work this week!” I tried to hold back from laughing and just thought, Gee, couldn't you have told me that before I bought the SIM card, I just assumed the network connection would be working, after all, that is what you pay for......I took it with a grain of salt, no big deal, wifi does seem to be advertised everywhere, although the connection is incredibly spotty and works intermittently!

While walking through the local market, I saw a few local joints packed with people sitting in chairs. They weren't consuming anything, but rather glued to the TV screen. It dawned on me, obviously TV isn't a commodity not found in many households. Unfortunately they were watching some god awful karaoke session. Fascinating though, how watching TV can be a very social even in a developing country.

A quick makeshift way to widen a road in Myanmar

Roads

I knew going into this country, the roads were not optimal for cyclists. Many are in awful condition and extremely crowded. I experienced this on Day one. New roads are being built, but again, some of the road construction is so primitive and being done completely by had with little machinery. Rather than resurfacing and adding on an entire lane, they seem to work on a smaller scale, adding a meter to each side of the road, enough so that cars can pass one another on a single lane road. I didn't see any painted lines on the roads for the first two days and traffic was heavy. But what you don't hear in a picture is the noise coming from the road. They love to use their horn in southeast Asia, that I knew, but in Myanmar horns sound every second as if it is a ticking of a clock. Every time a car passes you, it honk to let you know it is coming. Do they really think I can't hear their load motor, some of the cars look like they are from the turn of the 20^th century! I had a continuous headache for the first two days from all the noise, it was relentless. To some extent it gives the country character, but I desperately wish the drivers went to the same driving school I attended. I'm thinking of making as sign for the back of my bike that reads: “Nice to see you too, but please don't honk.” Somehow I don't think it will help!

I don't know how I caught a restful moment on this road, it looks rather serene.  The dirt shoulder here will shortly be asphalted and expanded I'm sure!

The border road in "good condition". When I see vehicles like this, I'm glad I have my own two wheels!

Myanmar was an afterthought for this trip. I was originally deterred due to the tight government control which can make for an awfully expensive bike tour. After several encounters with cyclists and tourists headed to Myanmar via land border, I was too curious not to go! What a great decision I ended up making. The read adventure is about to begin!