January 01, 2006
Notes on trip into Burma
Notes on my trip into Burma:
- I never saw a working speedometer.
- Disposable cameras are evil.
- It was sorta spooky, which made me a bit paranoid, but that's just me sometimes.
- When your paperwork is not in order, don’t make a joke of it.
- Most vehicles are right-hand drive even though the roads are the opposite, drive on the right style. Left-hand drive cars are rare and always very new. This is apparently because some astrologers told the government a few years back that they needed to switch sides of the road. Hmmm…Where is Nancy Reagan these days?
- The current government generates an astonishing amount of paperwork because of internal travel by both foreigners and nationals. Brittany and I used the toilets at the Kengtung immigration office and were taken aback by the shear quantity of old, dusty, numbered, collections of travel document photo copies that lined the walls of the immigration office. And I would guess it to be mostly worthless.
- I use the term ‘Burma’ rather than ‘Myanmar’. This is because using the later is considered distasteful amongst those in the NGO-world in Thailand working with the UNHCR-registered refugees and illegal migrants. It also seems to be a linguistic form of resistance. As I understand it, the term ‘Burmese’ refers to the ethnic group that is now in control. ‘Burma’ is defined as the geographical area in between India, Bangladesh, China, Laos and Thailand. It is originally an English term (damn those Brits) but then again we Anglophiles call ‘Deutschland’ ‘Germany’, and the Francophiles call it ‘L'Allemagne’ so I don’t have a problem with it. ‘Myanmar’ is what the ethnic Burmese government calls there own people, and the land of Burma. Much of this is semantics, but it is the nomenclature I have learned to use from those in opposition to the current Burmese-lead regime. All that said, somebody is going to disagree with these points. Whatever.
Posted by stu at 04:07 AM | Comments (0)
Kentung morning market, then Kentung to Chiang Mai
The next morning I woke up early and wondered about the local early morning market. Before taking pictures of people, I first asked or tried to bribe. The first attempt was with a women selling these small bags of fried culrly things. She handed one to me, I ate it, thought “ummm…yuck”, but bought a package for 500 Jyet anyway. Then I got the shot. Later one I walked about the market and offered the curled whatevers to people I wanted to take pictures off, including this old woman and young girl. She didn’t seem to like the friend curly things either.
After getting bored with the main street market I wandered into the surrounding side streets where people were going about their daily business. At two houses I found people working on some sort of dough making machine which were basically 3m long cantilevered hammers that would pound the dough. Two to four people would work one end to raise the hammer and then let the hammer head fall onto the dough itself every second or two. (There will be a a sound clip in the audio gallery soon.) As the hammer head was being raised, a woman would flip the dough halfway like an omelet. After many minutes of this, they would add some red stuff and be done with it. I think the end result was the doughy-like fried things we ate for breakfast, but am not sure.
After my stroll I sent back to Harry’s for coffee, etc. My fellow guesthouse tenants told me that the friend curely things were pork rinds. Double yuck! Somehow this lead to a conversation about my vegetarianism. At one point, this lone 50-something American package tourist with guide asks me “Is your skin turning yellow? All the vegetarians I know turn yellow.” It is one of the strangest questions I’ve ever heard, but coming from this bumbling fool (he said lots of little, zany things) it was really not a surprise.
Once it reached 9am or so, Britney and I caught a 500 Baht each taxi to the boarder and made such good time that we made it back ‘home’, well at least for me. She was en route to Pai for New Years Eve. Once we crossed the boarder we caught a fully packed 8 Baht Sawngthaew to the bus terminal were within twenty minutes we were on a 50 Baht, one hour long, air-conditioned, 2nd class bus ride to Chiang Rai. I had seat 4A, just behind Brittany’s 3A window seat. (The direct Chiang Mai bound bus was sold out.) In Chiang Rai we did well and within another twenty minutes had boarded the 3 hour, 88 Baht bus number N261 for Chiang Mai in seats 9A and 9B. This was my first-third class bus ride in Thailand and I won’t be doing it for any long haul travel again.
We finally arrived into Chiang Mai about 2200 where we took a Tuk Tuk to the Child’s Dream office, picked up the scooter, dropped off Brittany at a guesthouse, and I was off for bed at Pam’s flat. Yipee.
Posted by stu at 03:57 AM | Comments (0)
December 31, 2005
Mong La back to Kentung
The next morning we wake up and prepare for the journey back to Kengtung. Brittany has arranged with driver who brought us to Mengla to take us back. She goes out for breaky at some local joint near the ‘bus station’ beside the hotel and I just munch on some fruit I bought at the market the previous day, drink some green tea, and watch the English-language Chinese CCTV news channel on my room’s television. Once our negotiated departure time approaches, we check out and sit down at Brittany’s breaky joint, chat about the people there, and sip much tea and coffee. We also watched a couple of platoons of soldiers marching back to and fro some destination with ancient, single shot rifles.
Finally our driver is almost ready to depart having packed up his Toyota to an unbelievable degree. There are even a dozen people sitting on makeshift benches up top. It is stunning how heavily loaded the truck is. After ten minutes he returns from the immigration office without our travel documents and indicates to Brittany to hope on the back of the scooter so they can pick up our paper work.
While she was away, it became clear that something definitely was no normal. My paranoia set in. Thoughts of how to handle hypothetical situations where racing through my head: what if they came back for me? (Shit…I bet the food is bad.) What if they said she was detained and I was free to leave? (No. She’s been a good travel mate so far and I’ve got mobile phone reception…start making calls.) What if I can’t get my internal papers…are my chances of crossing the border into China illegally and hoping for the best? (Great idea...now my salvation lies in the hands of Condoleezza Rice’s US State Department.)
I’ve asked Brittany to explain in her own words what happened next:
I jumped on the back of the motorbike behind our taxi-driver, and zoomed off to the immigration office. We entered to find 6 guys, dressed untidily in t-shirts and longyis, crowding around a table. Due to them not being in uniform, it was unclear if they were SPDC (Burma Army) or UWSA (United Wa State Army), the drug producers who signed a ceasefire agreement with SPDC who control that area. As it was immigration, I would imagine that they were SPDC, although USWA would control the check-points and border crossings. So, all these guys are crowded around the table, with the head guy speaking and jabbing his finger accusingly at our (Stu’s and mine) two pink travel documents on the table before him. I speak barely any Burmese, so had no idea what he was going on about. This exchange, him barking and pointing, me shrugging, smiling contritely and replying “na ma leh bu” (I don’t understand), went on for a while. I realise that something is wrong, but am too nervous to pick up the documents and inspect them. In irritation he huffs, and flaps his hand at one of the guys, who comes to my side, two documents in hand, and tries further to explain to me. It is clear that the other guys believe that he is speaking English, and he believes that he is speaking English. But believe me, it wasn’t English. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Eventually I look to our taxi driver (who, thankfully, doesn’t seem too fazed by all of this) for support. He was Shan, spoke Shan/Thai (the two languages have a lot of similarities), the basics of which I understand. He speaks, everyone looks at me expectantly, but no luck, I don’t understand. Although nervous, I’m not particularly worried at this point, as I know that whatever the document problem is, it has no relation to the work I do in Thailand, work that if the SPDC knew about, would bring me interrogation resulting in being kicked out and blacklisted. But this is the slightly worrying thing, I’m no ordinary tourist, I’m here because I’ve been working with people from Burma for over 3 years. And no matter how vigilant I am about keeping my identity safe, the paranoia-inducing bastards still manage to get me on something! I look at the two open documents on the table. Head guy jabs his finger at Stu’s document, at a stamp of ‘MGL’, and barks “Mong La!”. He jabs his finger at my stamp, which says ‘KTG’, and barks “Kengtung!”. Oh… I don’t have a stamp to be in Mong La. HOLY SHIT, I DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO BE IN MONG LA?? How the hell did this happen? The immigration guy in Tachilek gave me this document, how come he only stamped it for Kengtung? And why the hell didn’t he tell me he only stamped it for Kengtung? And how come all the checkpoints we came through between Kengtung and Mong La didn’t realise it was only stamped for Kengtung? And why didn’t the taxi boy, who got all the photocopies and dealt with all the paperwork in the checkpoints not realise? OH MY GOD. I look at the taxi boy. He looks at me. He looks ok, he doesn’t look like he’s just realised he’s gonna be facing the firing squad, or be made to stand in the sun for 8 hours (Myanmar Lonely Planet explains somewhere how because 2 stupid tourists on a bus refused to pay a checkpoint charge, the checkpoint soldiers took the bus driver out and made him stand in the sun for hours as punishment, while the tourists sat on the bus in ignorance. Stu, can you check this for me – the piece is boxed text.) Oooooh, be extra contrite to head man. Explain how immigration in Tachilek gave the stamp and I hadn’t seen it. Smile, nod/duck, wai (hands together, head bent), do anything to deflect this situation. Head guy glares, puts wrists together, to imitate handcuffs, "Kengtung!”. They’re gonna arrest me in Kengtung? No no no, he’s joking, everything’s ok, I put my wrists together, back away looking at head guy in mock-indignation, “No no no. No arrest” Head guy’s eyes open wide in disbelief and anger, bangs table, starts ranting. Everyone starts ranting. Taxi boy, head down, deflates, “she’s blown it.” Oh for god’s SAKE! Ok, ok, back to table, head down, ranting stops, nobody speaks. I gesture weakly at documents, “Ok, Kengtung, Kengtung, no Mong La. No Mong La… Sol-ee...” Raise eyes, they’re all glaring at me suspiciously, shit, put eyes back down. No one speaks. What to do? Wonder what the bathrooms are like in this place? Did I notice a comfy sofa on my way in? (Just to humour myself. Of course there was no comfy sofa, I think I saw one broken plastic chair.) I’m a woman. Would they treat me well, bring me nice bits of food? Oh come one, someone speak, the tedium of this is killing me. Head guy folds up 2 documents, hands them to me. Starts writing a letter neatly on note paper. I breathe with relief, look up to find guy in doorway pointing camera at me. Oh please, now that is something I really don’t want. Smile for the birdy…
The letter was signed and stapled closed, handed to taxi boy. We left. I doubt that anything will come of the photo, they have no computers up there, pointless documents govern every part of everyone’s lives, documents that get lost very easily. I’ll let you know the next time I apply for a visa to Rangoon, in June…
It was good to have her back and everything in order. At about 11am we finally hit the road. Because of how heavily laden the Toyota was, our driver took it nice and slowly. Every time we hit a pot hole I had visions of the cute little seven-year-old girl up top flying off. Our driver spent more time looking in his rear view mirror than forward. During the descents down slopes he repeatedly pulled over, grabbed a plant watering bucket, and poured stream water onto the disc breaks to cool them down. Fan-fucking-tastic.
At one point we came across another truck, even more heavily loaded, that had a catastrophic tire failure on the right rear side. Our driver, without hesitating, got out and helped them fix the flat. I just love that kind of community spirit. It delayed our own journey a good twenty minutes, but whatever.
Some hours later we made it back into Kengtung with little more drama. Quickly we check in and discover that there are two $4 rooms that they don’t really advertise unless someone is about to walk away. I got room 117 this time. Both Brittany and I were not up for a trip into town so we settled down next door to Harry’s for dinner. Making use of my newly acquired ‘how to eat when you do not speak the same language as the cook’ that Brittany taught me, I walked in and pointed at a few things and, in the end, had a nice scrabbled eggs with mixed vegetables dinner. We invited a lone traveler, Ivan, over to join us. He was from Slovenia and turned out to be a bit of an ass. He also seemed to have a really dodgy background, but that is speculation. Brittany retired early. Ivan and I drank a bit until it became clear we disagreed on much, and I decided he was just an ass. Oh, well. We tried.
Posted by stu at 09:39 AM | Comments (0)
December 30, 2005
Ghost Town: Mong La
At the guesthouse through out the day everyone is discussing there future travel plans—it can shorten the journey to travel as a group because the taxi drivers have fewer seats to fill and can leave earlier. Both Brittany and I are headed up for Mongla the next day and agree to try and arrange a taxi the next morning. This turned out to be an interesting exercise is patient negotiating. The original Corolla driver we approached wanted 1000 Baht each, but then offered 750 each…which works out to nearly USD$20 for a three hour ride. Too much, so after getting board around 10:30am we tell the driver ‘no’ and are prepared to just spend another day in town. This changes things with the group drivers notably and we soon are ushered into the front seat of a ‘80s Toyota Hilux pickup truck that is only half loaded for 500 Baht each—a slightly high, but fair price.
The trip north was beautiful with the many mountains that were thankfully not to steep. Road conditions were better than Laos, but worse than Thailand. The second of three (or four?) police check points was more like a boarder crossing: there were officials manning two gates in different uniforms and at the second gate we forked over 37 Chinese Yuan each. From what I can gather, this portion of the Shan state is controlled by the ethnic Chinese Wa clan and was formerly in open rebellion with the national government. Hence the border crossing feeling, the Yuan payment, etc.
When we finally arrived in town and check in at the 60 Yuan (US$8) a room hotel near teh market. It is the best $8/night hotel I’ve ever seen. I’m in room 226 and Brittany is across they was in 219. It is about 2pm and we are famished. Across from the hotel is the central market were we easily find some great Shan-style vegetarian food that is nice and spicy. After lunch we head off to explore town. It was even more spooky than Kengtung—a literal ghost town.
In Mengla a dozen years ago or so, they had set up several casinos and large hotels. Much investment clearly went into the basic infrastructure to make it attractive. It was a boom town full of Chinese tourist and lots of traders. Apparently all this came to a screeching halt a over a year ago and now things are different. Why? The Asian Times reports in CHINA MOVES ON MYANMAR: Casino town loses out "The reason can be traced back to {the summer of 2003}, when the daughter of a high-ranking cadre in the Chinese central government lost millions of yuan in Mong La's casinos." There are dozens of casinos, hotels and discothèques in various states of closure and disrepair. Some, like the Myanmar Royal Casino, are closed but still being maintained. Not a car in the parking lot but exquisitely manicured hedges that read in English ‘WELCOME’. Other buildings have paint peeling off of them, broken windows and trash littering the surrounding grounds. The streets were nearly empty of people and cars, at least in the sense that they city had the infrastructure to accommodate many multiples more people. We didn’t even bother with the side walks that much.
At the other end of town near the Chinese border is a great Wat/temple which was our goal. We accidentally took a left instead of a right and found ourselves just a few tens of meters from the Burma/China boarder. It was a bit shocking to realize that we were headed that way because there was no vehicle traffic—only a few hand pulled carts with agricultural goods by local peasants. So we backtrack a bit, take the right turn, pass a police check point where they half laugh at us and point up the road to the temple. The view from the temple was amazing…and only a few hundred meters from a hill on the Chinese side of the boarder with a large mobile phone mast. (This explains all the Chinese Telecom and Unicom shops in Mengla.) I break out my Swiss SIM and realize that I can ring my family for the obligatory holiday calls the next morning. Cool. The temple itself was very impressive and well maintained. Inside the temple there were about a dozen chronological murals starting with the enlightenment of Buddha all the way to current day justification of the current government and Chinese support of it. There was also a guest book which I signed. One has to leaf back a few pages to find the sporadic western name.
Once we left the temple and bought a bottle of water each, we headed down the mountain were we were intercepted by a young man who spoke some English. He apparently was a correspondent student of some sort of science (Chemistry?) and had ambitions of being a tour guide. He walked us down to and in the Drug Eradication Museum which we really had no intention of visiting. Brittany and I politely viewed all the displays and read the English language exhibits. It was spooky and boring, but I felt somewhat obliged to follow through with it. Once we finished, our impromptu guide was no where in sight so we quickly headed back into town.
Once back in the city, we took the scenic route and delved into the old city. This is were the heart of the current town life seems to be and we vowed to come back for dinner. Before exiting the old town we came across two young girls dressed up in stunning red outfits. I motioned that I wanted to take a picture. They were too shy, but an old lady a) made them do it, and b) made me pay them 5 Yuan. Capitalism is alive and well in Burma.
Soon we are back at the hotel to freshen up and put on warmer clothing. It has been a beautiful day in stark contrast to the cloudy drizzle of Kengtung. Once the sky starts to darken we can start to see stars more clearly than I have in months.
Back up in the old town we settle down in a restaurant that looks very popular. Brittany, having traveled much more extensively than myself, introduces me to the skill of point-n-cook. If required, one should even go into the kitchen and indicate what is acceptable, and what is not. This is a great skill for a picky vegetarian like my self. As we chow down we notice that two tables are seated mostly by men who are drinking Johnny Walker black label. There are also lots of new full sized four door sedans about. No BMWs or anything, but clearly these guys are wealthy…maybe even the movers and shakers in town. Hard to tell.
After dinner we first pick up some fried crispy things along the side of the street for Brittney and then head down to the central market which is now significantly more active than before. We settle down for a beer (Huang Guang(?) 4.2%) and observe our surroundings. There are people selling food and goods, our waitress/owner is playing Mahjong with some friends (and clearly winning some cash by nights end), there are many store fronts surrounding the market with red lights which we interpret to be infrequently visited brothels, a crowded pool hall, and a group of monks who smiled and joked as we passed.
We are very interested in finding a beer that will actually give us a buzz and after forty-five minutes of walking about town we settle on two Chinese brewed Budweiser beers each and go back to the now very chilly market. It doesn’t take long before our interest in being warm and getting some sleep overtakes our desire to finish the beers at our leisure. Bed time for Bonzo.
Posted by stu at 10:00 AM | Comments (0)
December 28, 2005
Mae Sai to Techilek to Kengtung
First thing on the 25th I packed up and headed for the border. The exit from Thailand was uneventful and I crossed over the bridge that spans the Nam Ruak river separating the two nations towards the city of Tachileik on the Burma side. Because traffic in Thailand is on the left hand side, and the opposite in Burma, we border crossers have to cross over in an X-like fashion. It being only 8:30am, the immigration office is nearly empty and I turn over three passport photos, pay the 500 Baht (it is supposed to be $10, but they screwed me on the exchange rate), turn over my US-issued passport, and receive an unsophisticated pink construction paper internal travel document with permission to travel all the way up to Mong La (Mengla.) I must turn to Tachileik to exit the country. The immigration officer tells me that it’ll be 750 Baht to Kengtung, my intended destination which contradicts my online research. Soon we’ve agreed on 500 Baht which I accept as there doesn’t seem to be many people about it being Christmas day.
Soon after changing some of my Baht into Kyat, I’m in the back of a ‘80s white right-hand drive Toyota Corolla station wagon which is as prevalent in these parts as a black cab in London. It takes until well past noon when we have an additional three passengers, small infant, and some cargo to encourage the driver to head off for the three hour drive to Kengtung at a profit. Within twenty minutes I’m fast asleep only waking for the many toll booths and three or so immigration/police check points. Some time after dark we pull into town. I’m the last to be dropped off after having the driver try to push the $40/night Prince Hotel on me. After a few minutes of insisting on Harry’s Guesthouse we make the final drive there and I check in.
Harry’s wife is up and shows me a nice $10 room, #110, which I readily agree to. I just want to get to bed. She registers me and then send off my internal travel documents to the town’s immigration office. The room has a television which I don’t use and a natural gas economy water heater that warms up the water better than any economy wall mounted water heater I’ve ever seen. Shit, shower, shave and I am quickly sound asleep. Traveling can be so exhausting.
The next morning over the inclusive breakfast of XXX, bananas and terrible coffee I meet some of my fellow guests. Everyone is over 50, from America, Canada, or the UK, on a package tour, and had flow up into Kengtung, the Shan state administrative capital, on a domestic flight. Basically, I gel with none of them.
Off I go on a walkabout back into town. Harry’s Guesthouse is in a little sub-village north of the disappointing Naung Pha Gate. (Chiang Mai’s has Tha Phae Gate has defined what a gate should be to me.) On the way into the center of town I meet Zar Zar, a fifteen-year-old girl who wants to work on her English. After some basic question and answers, she occasionally whips out a sheet of paper to refresh her memory of some English phrases and we continue talking. She offers to show me Wat Pha Jao Lung (Maha Myat Muni) to which I readily agree. It is an attractive little wat but there is not much to see. She does a little prayer, we both donate a little bit of Kyat, and continue on into town. Zar Zar works at her family’s stall in the central market where they sell mass-produced whatever from China. Nothing to interesting so I continue on exploring town.
My big, somewhat peculiar interest is in the UN Drugs Control Project building on the north side of the lake. I never find it, but do find the local anti-narcotic agency, city hall, and the International Red Cross compound on the eastern side of the lake. At the IRC there was only a guard, a job advertisement board, and a requisite white Toyota Landcruiser with underwater breathing kit installed—no people about. They day is a bit cloudy and is sprinkles on and off forcing me to take cover here and there. It is a bit spooky that there seem to be no foreigners about.
Large propaganda boards are all about town, with a few in English beneath the Burmese language slogans, lots of men in green with guns, and policemen in white jackets who constantly talk into their walkie-talkies. I imagine them saying things like “OK, subject S-420 is moving towards Yang Kham Gate Rachileik-Taunggy Road” and such. A bit of paranoia is setting in. Regardless, throughout the length of my journey I try to make eye contact and then smile to these military men. Only once did I get anything other than a blank stare or no eye contact at all—and that was only a diminutive nod.
After hours of walking and taking some pictures, I head back for Harry’s to get some money. Joyasia on Lonely Planet’s online Thorn Tree forum suggested that it would be best to change my Baht/Dollars/Kyat into Chinese Yuan at a gold dealer or money changer before getting to Mengla. (More on that later.) So, I head back for the 
market in the early afternoon only to find it closed up. Hunger is beginning to set in so I head for the Golden Banyan restaurant near Paleng Gate. There I read up on Mengla, have a ‘vegetarian’ dish that includes enough chicken bits to make me gag, and a Myanmar brand beer. After some more walkabout time it is back to Harry’s were I met Brittany, a charity worker in Thailand from the UK. We got along quit quickly and were distinctly separate from the other travelers at Harry’s Guesthouse. That evening Brittany and I head into town for a Chinese place that seems quite popular. After dinner we wonder semi aimlessly down to the lake side and find ourselves a little beer joint and split a beer.
Posted by stu at 08:42 AM | Comments (0)