Monks to the Rescue

This is what $10 gets you in Myanmar if you are lucky......

“So where do you sleep?” It seems like a simple question to answer, but in Myanmar, as a tour cyclist, accommodation is a complicated issue. As I mentioned before, there are guesthouses, but the ones that allow foreigners are tightly controlled by the government. Their prices are usually absurd or in no way reflect the value of the room for which you are paying. Obviously the government wasn't thinking about tour cyclists when they determined which guesthouses could take foreigners. For backpackers and other tourists who are transported from town to town, finding a guesthouse is no problem. But the distances between guesthouses is also a challenge for cyclists, sometimes there is a good 150 kilometers between each town that offers official accommodation for foreigners. Even for someone like me, who is up for a good physical challenge every now and again can get tired trying to reach an official guesthouse.

Day 1, I cycled 158 kilometers which included the hilly border climb and the treacherous road in order to arrive at a town with a guesthouse for foreigners. Granted there was one at kilometer 70, I choose to continue on and make the most of my day riding. On day 2, there were guesthouses at kilometer 40 and 140, again I opted for the long distance. Day 3 I did my pilgrimage and day 4 was lighter, cycling 110 kilometers to arrive at a town with a guesthouse. On day five I knew I had several options for accommodation at kilometer 90, 120, and 180, although I knew nothing about the hotels that awaited me. Not surprised, the first two had outrageous prices $30 and $40 dollars and were nothing more than a bed with clean sheets, air conditioning (I actually prefer a fan), and a private bathroom. I decided to carry on after seeing the second guesthouse. The owner tried to convince me otherwise telling me his guesthouse was ideal for resting and very luxurious, and that the next guesthouse was too far to reach the same day as I had an hour and a half of daylight.

Perhaps this was a foolish decision on my part, but the day before I had met Chirag, an Indian cyclist who had crossed the recently opened Indian-Myanmar border up north three weeks ago. He had recently graduated from university and was taking a year off to travel around Asia before furthering his studies. He was on a tight budget indeed and had plenty of tips for me on how to go about sleeping in Myanmar. Unfortunately we were traveling in opposite directions, but we managed to sit down and have a drink and chat for a good hour. He had been sleeping primarily in pagodas and never been turned away. He had paid for a proper guesthouse only 4 nights of the 20 total.

What a delight it was to meet Chirag.  We enjoyed a few cold beverages and exchanged practical information

After meeting him, I was restored with confidence that it was possible to evade the Myanmar police and manage to find other accommodation besides government sanctioned foreign guesthouses. I continued riding up the road keeping my eye out for a pagoda. They are everywhere in Myanmar, every village of 10 houses or more seems to have a pagoda, the problem being that most have loud music playing and people along the road who are collecting money for their sacred place of worship. These pagodas were out of the question as they called too much attention. I kept pedaling another 20 kilometers until I came across a small pagoda in a village that looked rather quiet. I pulled off and entered, trying to find a monk. Alongside a pagoda there is always a residence, and sure enough a monk came out. I signaled with my hand the gesture for sleeping as well as a roof/tent, and he nodded. He and another old many, who was dressed in normal clothing showed me to a giant room where there were a few sparse bed structures. One bed was already set up with a mosquito net, and there was another bed structure in the corner. The monk gestured me over. The two men prepared the bed for me, and then a few more people arrived, a lively crowd, men and women. For a good 10 minutes we played the game of charades using a few English words to try to communicate. I explained to them where I had come from. They were amazed I was traveling solo and that I had taken an interior mountain road to arrive at their village. They understood I had had a long day and was in need of a good rest. 

Conversation consisted of a lot of sound effects and hand gestures, both universal and comical means of communicating! The two boisterous women were delighted to have a female foreigner visit their village. They were my same age, married with children, and brought me to the wash up area. This was going to be an experience. How to bathe yourself in front of 2 monks, 2 women, and a small child? They were all just as eager to see how it be done as I was. They provided me with a sarong (which I now know I need to purchase) and helped me take a cold water bucket bath. It was absolutely divine! I managed to clean myself head to toe, shampoo and conditioner and all, and even wash my clothes. The women made a lot of hand gestures with suggestions for how to complete each action and helped me change into my clean clothes using the sarong to provide a bit of privacy.

After that, one of the two monks gestured to follow the women who would take me to eat. It turns out she lived across the street where she owned a small shop. Her name was Dee Da Ou and ironically she was just as lively and energetic as myself. A Burmese version of Melissa if I do say so myself. She sat me down on the table outside and gave me a cup of coffee and some green tea, a staple in Myanmar. To occupy the time, she painted my face with the yellow face paint, and the mystery was solved. It comes from the bark of the Thanaka tree which is rubbed against a stone with bit of water and then painted on the skin, first with the fingers and then accented with a brush on the cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. I felt pretty silly, but Dee Da Ou was extremely proud. The young woman also showed me pictures of her family, a very proud mother of two, a daughter age 9, and her son, 6. From what I gathered she was one of five children herself and out of those 5 had one sibling who went to university and had a handful of pictures at her graduation ceremony.

This is how they prepare the yellow face painting, it comes from the bark of a Thanaka tree

Dee Da Ou with her photos.  She was very proud of her son who served his time as a monk when he was five.

It was midway through the picture session that I looked up and to my surprise found swarms of villagers intrigued by my presence. They were all curious with a big smile on their face asking the woman a ton of questions. They were in shock that I was in their village, but even more so that I had arrived on bike. For the next hour or so a steady stream of visitors came to see me. It seemed they were strategizing for how to get me fed. I myself was quite baffled by the situation. Locals aren't permitted to take in foreigners, but from what I could gather, pagodas couldn't turn anyone away, not even a foreigner. Aha! I had discovered the glitch in the government's tight control over tourism. They might normal tourists to use hotels, but tour cyclists could slip through the cracks and this was a perfect example. I hadn't passed a police control for about 30 kilometers at the previous town where there was a hotel. They most likely assumed I was staying at that guesthouse. However, I kept pedaling and found myself a pagoda, I was in the clear. Well almost.

Hiding in the corner of this busy restaurant, a rest stop for buses

Going to dinner was an adventure in itself. Never have I felt more suspicious and guilty as I did on that outing. Dee Da Ou took me on her motorcycle, about 15 villagers saw us off. We rode 5 kilometers to another town and we stopped at a roadside cafe where buses take their break. This was a good idea as it was plausible that I was just a tourist who had unloaded from the bus. We sat in the far corner of the restaurant and the entire time Dee Da Ou was on watch. She gestured she was safe guarding her motorcycle, but I think she was on the lookout for the police. Never have I eaten my meal so quickly, but the problem came when I went to pay. With the large wad of cash that I had exchanged, I had distributed the money in three separate places, but wouldn’t you know I had no money left except for $1,50 in the bag I brought? Usually I could buy dinner for under $1, but since we were at a tourist diner, prices were inflated and I was out of luck. Dee Da Ou Had no money on her either and so it was time to brainstorm. Stalling any longer could have been dangerous, giving more people the opportunity to see me. At times like this I get frustrated with myself for being so careless but also for having a huge language barrier. How could I tell them that I was honest and would return tomorrow on my way out of town to give the the money. So Dee Da Ou scurried off and came back 5 minutes later with cash. She must have gone to visit a friend and borrowed money. Boy did I feel foolish. We drove home where the other women from the bath awaited us. I had told them I was a teacher and it just so happened that her son was at school on that Sunday evening.

I promise Dee Da Ou was really friendly, she just looks serious in her pictures and has reason to be at the restaurant

She walked me across and down the road and there was a small school with all the lights off except in one classroom that was filled with about 30 little bodies, all standing to greet me. A few handful of parents were gathered outside to also greet the foreigner. What on earth were these kids doing at school on a Sunday night. I was introduced to the two teachers who spoke broken English and told me it was a special class. A special class indeed it was, that has a special visitor that night. For the next half hour, I talked with them, asked them questions and had them practicing their English. They were so proud and excited, you could see the glow in their faces when they interacted with me. English I'm sure, was nothing they ever used, just a theoretical subject they studied. Here they were telling me about their families, favorite sports, and what food they liked to eat. I shared with them the places I had visited. What an impacting experience. There was a small basket of chalk at the board, a sponge to erase and a few small light bulbs hanging from the ceiling to light the room. Girls were separated from boys, and there were about 4 in each row, 5 or 6 rows deep. The room was incredibly hot, or I was nervous, but I was sweating profusely.

Interesting how they all cross their arms in front of them, making them look so serious, but in reality they were fun loving and kind!

Bad quality photo, but an unforgettable teaching moment.  School visit number 51 in country number 22

The classroom full of students with hardly any lights on, studying at 8 pm on a Sunday night.

When my visit to the school was over, I went back to the pagoda to hang out with the rest of the locals who had a good laugh at the story from dinner that shared. This seems to be where locals hang out in town when they want to socialize. They had be pray to the monk, bowing on a straw mat along with them. We continued to converse some more and eventually I couldn't stop yawning profusely. They understood that I needed to sleep and so the women took me downstairs to set-up my bed. Luxury accommodation to tell you the truth, a bed with a straw mat, and a mosquito net. I used my sleep sack, but there was almost no need it was so hot. The only thing to my liking that was missing was a fan. The bed in the other corner was occupied by the elderly man I had met when I first arrived. He was Pa Pa Too and was 78 years old. I think he was basically homeless with little financial means and so the pagoda had taken him in and given him a place to live.

These two men worked at the pagoda and helped me get settled.

I went to bed at 9pm and slept soundly having the most peaceful night's rest in Myanmar. I awoke to blaring chants in the morning, probably sometime around 5am, but thankfully was able to go back to sleep and woke up naturally around 6:30. I collected my things and Dee Da Ou came over to swoop me off to her house to wash-up and eat breakfast. Changing in privacy was another challenging task as her backyard and wash area was completely exposed to all the neighbors in every directions. I was starting to gain a new profound respect for the Burmese. Privacy is just something that doesn't exist in this culture. Here I was in her “backyard” where they washed the dishes, clothes, stepped up to the 2 foot by 2 foot out house, all completely exposed to the neighbors. I managed change, wash up and went back to take my seat at her table. I was a bit slow to start in the morning, but soon I had a roti filled with a savory bean and chickpea paste in front of me to eat with my a cup of coffee Dee Da Ou prepared for me. Mind you her stove is an actual fire on the dirt floor of her house.

My little bed, the mosquito net was a must!!

I met Dee Da Ou's nine-year-old daughter that morning who spoke the best English of anyone. I thought I looked a bit tired and lacked my normal spunk, but she told me that I had a “smiley face!” which made me laugh. She was so eager to practice her English and talk, we chatted while I ate. She was riding her bike to school, so I got ready and went with her, not before Dee Da Ou painted my face again and I said good-bye to all the locals, who had again gathered around. On our ride to school, she was able to fill me in with more details about her life: 500 inhabitants in her town of Chan Dha Gone, they were currently in their “cold” season (although temperatures dropped to 32C (90F) if I was lucky), and Myanmar's three distinct seasons. Her face lit up when she told me her school has a library where she can go to read books. She was an adorable little girl. I said good-bye to her and the other students that we had picked up along the way to school and pedaled off to start my route.

She was so proud she got to ride with me on the way to school

We both have our faces painted, but I'm so white in comparison you can hardly tell

I love this picture, I"m still a bit groggy from sleeping and Dee Da Ou squeezed me so to pose for the picture!

I felt a bit uncomfortable with my face painted yellow because it meant that I had had close contact with the locals and I didn't want anyone to be suspicious of me or my activities. I hadn't been on my bike but 10 minutes when a man on my motorbike rolled up next to me and was asking repeatedly, Pagoda? I tried to ignore him and kept telling him where I was headed that day and also pointed to my earphones. Listening to an ipod is key in this country and a saving grace to clock out all the road noise, but this guy on the motorbike did startle me. How did he know I had slept at the Pagoda? Or was I just paranoid? At my first rest stop of the morning, I quickly washed my face and left no trace of the paint. I didn't want to jeopardize anyone's safety, but I had managed to find a different answer to my original question. As a tour cyclist, where do you sleep in Myanmar?

Honestly, the pagodas are just as good as budget accommodation here and you get much more of a true feel for the culture

My Buddhist Pilgrimage

The famous Golden Rock which draws Burmese pilgrims from all around the country

I had arrived at a tourist attraction without even realizing. After not seeing any westerners since crossing the Thai border, except for James, a British tourist cyclist I met just over the border and cycled with for two days, all of a sudden there was a herd of them. Where was I? Kyaiktiyo, the famous Pagoda that sits atop a golden rock that is precariously (and supposedly) balanced on one of Buddha's hairs. As the Lonely Planet states, "Legend states that the boulder maintains its precarious balance due to a precisely placed Buddha hair in the stupa. Appar- ently King Tissa received the Buddha hair in the 11th century from a hermit who had secreted the hair in his own topknot. The hermit instructed the king to search for a boulder whose shape resembled the her- mit’s head, and then enshrine the hair in a stupa on top."  This pagoda is so well-respected in the Burmese Buddhist culture that people here make a pilgrimage to it every year from November to March.  

Besides the swarms of backpackers, I also found myself with a group of tour cyclists: 3 Germans and a Brit.

The town at the base of the Golden Rock

What to do? Visit the pagoda along with the mobs of people, or carry on? I couldn't decide but one this was for sure, I was done for today. My legs couldn't go any further, so James and I found a guesthouse. The day before had caught up with me, the noise, and the early mornings. It is impossible to sleep in here, as the morning buddhists prayer and songs start at about 5:30 and carry on for a few hours.

James was my cycling companion for a few days, but he carried on to Yangon rather than doing the pilgrimage

James was on a tight schedule and meeting friends in Yangon, and I decided to make the Golden Rock a day trip and a day off of the bike. The next morning I cycled up to the town at the base of the temple where tourists have to take a open ceiling bus, still some 12 kilometers above, or walk. Guess what I opted for? After finding a guesthouse that had been recommended by some Spanish cyclists I had encountered, I packed up my small bag of items and set off for the pilgrimage “hike”. I thought the path would be crowded, after all, it has religious significance. The man at the hotel told me it took 4 to 6 hours to hike, as it went uphill the entire way, but being the optimist that I am and knowing that I usually hike faster than the stated time, I thought I'd be up in two hours.

Very simple housing for the locals

Or perhaps I wasn't going to go as quickly....No sooner did I set off did I reach a tourist police booth. You have to be kidding me? How was I going to cause a problem, I was hiking a well marked trail? I caught the policeman so off guard, he had no books for me to register, just a chair to sit in and an empty booth. He signaled for me to wait, so I sat down in the chair. After 5 minutes of twiddling my thumbs, I fibbed and told him I had friends to meet at the top, so he had me write down my name, passport number, and hotel. To my surprise he started escorting me. Yikes! Was he really going to escort me the entire four hours? Thankfully he dropped off after 10 minutes and I was alone and on my way. The path was pretty abandoned and lacked others pilgrims. The only foot traffic were locals walking between villages and houses, or carrying goods up from below. I did meet a few local tourists coming down, but no one going up. At one time this had been a heavily trafficked path as souvenir and food stalls, which were also residences of the local villagers, lined the way. It was absurdly impossible to get lost! I had packed a 1,5 liter water bottle, but in all honesty I didn't need it as there were plenty of beverages for purchase along the way. I stopped twice for snacks and kept a pretty good pace the whole time. Setting off in the heat of the day, I felt like I was on a stair master on the hardest level possible. I stayed motivated seeing the locals walking down in sarongs and flip flops, the national shoe of Myanmar.

The handmade souvenirs, guns made out of bamboo sporting the words Rambo USA and a date, quite amusing for a sacred pilgrimage

Some of the friendly young monks I encountered along the way.  With all the pagodas in here, the area is crawling with them.

There were kilometer markers, or so it seemed but it took me almost the entire ascent to figure out how they worked. Unlike a few road markers I've seen that are in kilometers, the trail marked distance in miles, I finally realized, divided into 8 equal parts. An odd way to calculate the distance, but once I discovered the logic, I knew how far I had left. To my surprise the hike took me a full three and a half hours. Close to the top I came across the trucks that carted people up and down and by their speed and sharp turns on the curvy road, I realized I was smart to have walked the 8 miles (12 km) as I probably would have gotten sick on the truck. Besides the vendors asking me if I wanted to buy water or coca cola, the hike up had been the most pleasant and quiet 4 hours I'd had since entering Myanmar and I had truly enjoyed myself and all the great scenery of the mountains.

The red signs indicates a village sign and the yellow marker is the mile post, which had me baffled for a bit, probably due to the heat and lack of oxygen.......

More views, mountains and hills in all directions

Views during my hike up

One of several pagodas I encountered along the hike up.  Looking in every direction, pagodas dotted the hillside

A decorative entrance to a pagoda

At the top, of course there was another tourist checkpoint. Since I arrived later in the afternoon, I tried to press my luck and in a friendly way bargain with the tourist police to give me half off the entrance fee. He didn't seem to think that was very funny. Nor did the women at the entrance gate when she saw my shorts were above the knee. I had forgotten to bring my skirt to pull on for the visit to the pagoda. She gave me a sarong and helped wrap it around me. She took my shoes (you have to go shoeless in pagoda's) so I would have to return to her.

Looking like a local with the skirt

At first sight I was shocked by the Burmese definition of a pilgrimage. There were masses of people sprawled over the ground. They had brought mats, food, entertainment systems, you name it. If they were in some sort of conversation, they were playing with their mobiles or taking selfies. Vendors were everywhere, and I had a quick flashback to my arrival in Hong Kong, when I witnessed all the Philippine maids take the streets on Sunday, their day off. It was the strangest sight. There were very few western tourists, this was a hotspot for local tourists, or at least during this season. I had seen pictures of the Golden Rock and could easily see it when I reached the top, but overall I was a bit disappointed, unable to understand how this was a sacred event for Burmese Buddhists. It was far from peaceful, calm, and meditative at the top. I, however, felt like I had had a more spiritual experience hiking up, or perhaps it was just a well-needed break from all the noise.

The view from the hike and one of the straighter sections of the road up by truck

I was glad I chose to hike rather than ride in the back of this truck.  You can see the one westerner compared to the amount of local tourists.

Loads of people walking to and from at the top

I headed down to gather my shoes and wouldn't you know the tourist police who had given me the sarong was eager to collect two dollars for using it. Of course I put up a stink. I feel like this country completely takes advantage of tourists thinking we have an unlimited amount of money. I know two dollars is a misery, but I wasn't about to fork it over to her, a corrupt tourist police. I was happy to spend my money on food and drink and support the locals, but not the tourist police. You see the Spaniards had warned me that they had finally protested with all the absurd entrance fees at the tourist sites and were able to finally avoid them. I decided to follow in their footsteps and the police woman was upset, but she knew she had no right charging me for the sarong. In Thailand they give them to all tourists wearing shorts or a tank top without any hassle.

Yes, it is an impressive rock and pagoda to see, and insightful to experience a buddhist pilgrimage

To my amazement there was quite a bit of civilization up top

After my encounter with her and with less than an hour at the pagoda with mobs of pilgrims, I decided that I was going to hike back down and enjoy the calm and serene environment. At the base of the entrance I saw a familiar face. As I mentioned in my last blog, I had been following the blog of a Scotsman who was currently touring around Central Myanmar, and there he was walking up the steps of the Golden Rock. “Are you Ian Mitchell?” I stopped and asked with a big smile on my face. I was pretty sure I recognized him from the photos in his posts, not to mention he was one of the only westerners and was sporting a bike jersey. I took him completely off guard. I had emailed him a few times asking some questions, and it finally dawned on him, that is who I had to be. After being stopped by a good handful of strangers myself on my trip who knew me, it was fun to surprise someone else. We started talking and then decided to go for a drink, which is when we realized we were staying at the same hotel and so we made plans to meet back there in the evening.

A few too many people for me, which is why I opted to walk down again......

My hike down was effortless in comparison to the way up and even more peaceful as sunset approached. I arrived down to the bottom in about two hours and used my head light for the last 15 minutes. It was absolutely delightful! I had managed to hike the entire 16 mile (24 km) pilgrimage, and although that seems like an absurd activity for a “rest” day, it was a huge rest from all the noise and bumps on the road.

More monks on the way down, watching a game of volleyball

It always amazes me how happy the children are in southeast Asia with so little......

Sunset approaching on my descent

I found Ian and we went to dinner while swapping route information and travel advice. Ian's month visa was coming to an end and he was cycling over to Thailand using the same road I had to cross. Between reading his blog and that of other tour cyclists and asking him countless questions, I felt well prepared to cycle through Myanmar.

Ian Mitchell, just the way I saw him in his blog posts.  He was on the road before me, but also headed the opposite direction

The next morning I took advantage of a decent internet connection at the hotel before starting. Feeling refreshed and with a new sense of confidence, I was back to the battle field. Stay tuned for my next post with another my hospitable encounter with some Buddhist monks.......

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!