A three-day trip in two days? The woman at Thu Thu Travel says if I go on this trek I can share the cost with the people who requested it. They are a Belgian couple, Francis and Rhea- a pair of friendly, optimistic, low-budget backpackers. They tell me they try to travel somewhere in the world every year for about 3 months.
The trip is an Inle Lake to Kalaw trek. Most trekkers start in Kalaw and go to Inle Lake because there is more downhill that direction. We are going the opposite direction. After two and a half weeks of travel and twice that without any real exercise, I have some qualms. But I will only carry my day pack and it's just for one night. The overnights are in either a local house or monastery. Blankets and pillows are provided.
I decide to go for it. The next morning the three of us and our guides take a motorboat across the lake. We are headed to Than Taung, a village on the west side of the lake. Inle Lake has no distinct shoreline. Instead the marsh vegetation just gets thicker as one nears dry land.
We pass large gardens of vegetables in which the beds exist as islands and the "paths" are canals traveled by canoe. The canal we are in bottoms out somewhat prematurely because the water is especially low in the lake this year. We are at the trailhead. (See
Inle Lake post for more detail.)
We set out walking the berm paths between rice paddies. These berms are the "seams" in a patchwork of fields varying in size and crop type. Eventually we hit a wider trail leading through the shade of 40 foot stands of bamboo. Through occasional clearings on the trail we can see patches of cropland stretching across the Inle plain. In a shallow canal bordering the trail we see an occasional water buffalo rolling in the water.
As we near the village of Than Taung we keep noticing large leafless trees ablaze with bright orange flowers. There are actually two different types of trees. From a distance they look very much alike; both about the same height and same color. But on closer inspection we can see they have very different flowers. The first has clusters of parrot beak-like flowers. It is appropriately named "Flame of the Forest" (Butea mondosperma). The other is called a Cotton Tree (Bombax ceiba) for the white tufts produced when it fruits. Our guide says the pistil, stamen and anthers of this large, tulip-like flower are edible.
A megaphone-like speaker is blasting traditional Burmese music as we enter Than Taung. It seems amazing to me that a place as rural as this actually has electricity. Children are playing in the small, dirt schoolyard. Some smile at us. Others just look curiously.
Further down the road more people are gathering in an open area behind a building. A radio or boombox is playing techno-pop which seems to compete with the traditional music. Our guide tells us today is a ceremony for the initiation of "novices" or new, young monks. Soon we hear the rhythmic sound of drums and gongs. A long line of the Pa' O tribe – with their characteristic red head scarves and black clothing –make their way down a winding path on a hill. Some of the men are beating drums or gongs. They make this ceremonial procession across the trail and into the village.
For lunch we stop at the small village of Nguet. A group of people sit in the shade weaving baskets made from strips of bamboo. These baskets are ubiquitous throughout Myanmar and are used for everything from laundry to produce.
After a satisfying meal of noodle and vegetable soup I ask to use the "restroom". I am directed to the outhouse in the back with a plastic fixture on the floor. These squat-type toilets are typical throughout Southeast Asia (except in businesses that cater to Westerners.) The unique thing about this this outhouse is the door- or rather the lack thereof. Instead of a door there is a piece of sheet metal about three feet high suspended between two vertical, 1 x4 pieces of wood. This is propped up in front of the doorway in order to hide the bottom half of your body from viewers.
Back on the trail we run across several guys who are each hauling two large (approximately 30 gallon) baskets suspended on a bamboo rod which rests on their shoulder. It seems like an incredibly heavy load until we the cargo. In the baskets are roasted, tortilla-size rice crackers. Still these guys are hauling this awkward load up dirt trails in flip flops. We buy a few to lighten their load and give us some energy for hills ahead.
Eventually we come to another schoolyard with children in the front playing. I go for the hard-candies in the pocket of my cargo pants purchased for just this purpose. I hand one out and then the kids gather around me and thrust their little hands at me. I hand out some more candy and take some photos of the kids. Some are wearing thanakah on their faces, the traditional wood-based paste that women and kids throughout Myanmar use for skin protection. Every time we take pictures out here whether its kids or adults, they want us to show them the image on the camera. They gather around and coo and laugh as they see the images on the camera screen.
Later that day we pass by fields where women with bright red head scarves till the fields with large hoes. Out this far there is no electricity and the people work- as they have for centuries- with the light of day. When the sun is up, so are they. We the sun goes down, they head for bed.
We stop for the evening in the village of Khon Hla where D'Nu people live. An old woman with a yellow head scarf smiles from the window of a bamboo house. She is our host. We take off our shoes and socks before climbing the stairs. Our legs and feet are covered with the red Myanmar dust that we've been plodding through for the past eight hours. The children in house look at us for long time seemingly fascinated with…what? Our clothes? Our electronic gadgets? Our white skin? It's hard to say. But it strikes me that they are just as voyeuristic about our lives as we are of theirs.
In the back there is a 50 gallon drum laying horizontally on an old wooden cart. The spigot from the end of the drum empties into a large bucket the size of a half-wine barrel. The water is murky, but it's wet. This is our bathing area.
When Francis and Rhea are finished I go out back with my towel and change of clothes. I take off my clothes. The old woman comes out on the back porch. I am in plain view but she continues nonchalantly with her duties. I splash the water on my thighs, calves and feet trying wash off some of the red dust. The Brahma bull five feet away from me urinates on the ground.
Back inside the house we find our sleeping quarters-grass mats on a hard wood floor. I'm given two cotton blankets and two hard pillows. I arrange the extra pillow, my empty day pack and the mosquito netting I have to act as a mattress of sorts. I lay the extra blanket over this. Fortunately I have brought lightweight long underwear, a lightweight polyester hoodie and a polypro cap. But as the restless night goes on the temperature drops to about 50 F. I am never shivering but I am always just bordering on cold as I cross my legs, keep my arms close to my body and pull the blanket over my head. When the morning comes we are all glad. Though Rhea and Francis had a fleece blanket and shared each other's warmth, they slept directly on the grass mats with no cushion. We have a filling breakfast of tea, eggs, toast and some pieces of something like French toast. Soon we are on our way.
We continue through dry rice paddies and vegetable fields. Farmers use manure for their nitrogen source and ash for potassium. As in other parts of Myanmar fields are often seen with evenly spaced piles of manure and ash. Cultivation and dragging of fields are done with ox and plough. Sometimes the beast pulling a cart or plow is a brahma bull, sometimes a water buffalo.
This area and many parts of Myanmar are very dry. It seems there is currently a drought throughout the country. Sure it's the dry season. It's also true that this area has several plants such as agave which are characteristic of arid regions. But this is an especially dry season. When trees and vegetation die prematurely, the soil has no root infrastructure to hold it in place. We pass several gullies that are becoming alarmingly wider and wider as each successive monsoon rain comes.
In the afternoon we reach the summit over Kalaw at 4900 ft. From there we wind down into the small, trekking mecca of Kalaw. It was a tough two days but we saw part of Myanmar's indigenous country life that we would not have seen otherwise. I was glad for the experience.
