Where No Roads Go

Life in Burma is filled with Pagodas and Buddha and rice. After 5 wonderful nights on Ngwe Saung beach where the sun and stars shine equally as bright we choked down a runny egg and powder coffee breakfast before trishawing into town to catch the 6am bus back to Yangon. Although my expectations were low, I admit I had a glimmer of hope that the bus wouldn't be as uncomfortable as the ride to the beach. But lone behold as we pulled into town there was good ol' mustard stripe. Instead of the back wheel this time we had the front, right behind the driver where knees easily reached chin and there's just no escape as people pile in through the front door to catch a ride. The Barmar soft rock was pumping, ladies were barfing in bags and well, the journey back was about the same comfort level as is was getting to the beach. Arriving in Yangon cramping and cranky we powered through a taxi ride to get to the other bus terminal (both of which are ridiculously far out of town) and managed to get some seats on the overnight bus heading to Bagan. The 15 hours to Bagan were horrid. Very little sleep, more barfing Burmese and soft classics, and oh, did I mention there was no road? It's strage, there are toll booths all over the place yet the money clearly does not go to the up-keep of the road. It would be better if they used all the bills that are constantly being handed over to fill the stupid holes. Maybe that would help. Seriously though, there just wasn't a road. We were driving through dense forest over a sort of "cleared path" all while in seats made for a Burmese person which is about equivelent to a 8 year old child. Comfortable!

Anyway, after arriving in one piece and many hours of sleeping we did a little exploring and arraged for a horse cart the next morning. Bagan is comparable to Cambodia's Ankor Watt or India's Hampi. It is a vast and open valley littered with thousands and thousands of temples. Some are big, some are small, some are locked and some are not, some are gold but most are just sandstone or brick but all of them are just totally incredible. The first day we did the "big hits" tour with the horse we named Yukon. Our driver was a relaxed guy and knew what he was doing in terms of temples so we didn't miss much. We made for a break halfway through the day at a roadside restaurant where we quickly made friends with everyone hanging out there. I got my make-up done while Aaron played soccer and we ate and ate and ate until it was no longer possible. Two Star Colas later we were back in the saddle, or cart anyway, to see more temples! Timing it just perfectly we joined the crowds on one of the larger temples with open upstairs stupas for a beautiful sunset. It's amazing to see and the pictures really do not do the area justice at all. To give you a small idea the Bagan kings built over 4400 temples in a 230 year period. Earthquakes, looters and general erosion have done some damage but the vast majority of the temples still remain holding strong - although UNESCO World Heritage has pulled out as a sponsor due to the uncooprative junta. Each temple houses many Buddha statues of which a large handful are consistantly being recovered in gold leaf and we like to hope that the ten dollars we pay to see the temples goes to their restoration...although more likely it's going to new unused airports and shopping centers (sigh).

After the first, very long, day we opted for a slower start the next morning and rented some shoddy bikes that lacked tred, gears or breaks... but Aaron's had a basket which he put his murse in. hehe. We hit the roads, well sandy dirt paths, and stumbled apon some great temples that probably haven't seen anyone in a while... the lesser known temples were preserved with beautiful paintings and murals and smiling Buddhas. It was peaceful and ultimately quiet being away from the main sites and we spent a lot of time just hanging around in some of our favorite spots, lounging on the stupas or chatting with the local temple guards and vendors.

While in Bagan we enjoyed a little change from rice and fried noodles with one night of Italian, one night Indian, and one night a mixture of things but it was really nice - especially the curry and chapats (secretly I miss India). A few souvineres later and a boat ticket to boot we've opted out of the bus and are taking the 12 hour boat-boat to Mandalay. As transport has prooved to take days longer then we originally though we are having to cut a few corners on our Myanmar circut without overstaying our welcome so instead of the overland route we'll be flying to Bangkok within the first week of March which leaves us a limited amount of time here. Gotta run!

Myanmar Eh?

We have arrived in Myanmar (Burma) where there is very little english, Internet, or democracy. In Yangon, we spent the first three days trying to figure out where we were actually allowed to go in this country. The government tourist office gave us a straight up answer which we have concluded: pretty much no where. Our guide book, as wonderful as Lonely Planet is, couldn't garuntee anything and many of the locations we had hoped to get to are now off limits, have closed state borders or require a costly government "permit", a costly "guide", and a costly flight on one of the shoddy goverment owned airlines all of which has to be paid for in cold hard US cash. Not happening. As there are no banks or official money changers in Myanmar you have to travel with all the cash you think you'll need and the only way to get the local khat ("chat") currency is on the black market. The largest note that the khat comes in is 1,000 which is about $1CDN so after exchanging $250USD you can imagine the wads of bills we had... in fact, we had to by a special (pink) 'murse' (Aaron's man-purse) just to house all the khat. By asking the locals we have figured out ways to avoid financially supporting the junta as little as possible, althought complete avoidance is of course impossible.

In Yangon we visited a the Sule Pagoda which the center of the city was constructed around by the British and I bought a sparrow to free is for good luck which was pretty neat. Cute little birdie. We also caught the lastest Bollywood flick 'Krrish" playing at one of the cinimas with english subtitles! There was dancing of course and it was Aaron's real introduction into bizaar Hindi films - even though we were in Burma as our quest for some sweet Bollywood action had ended in failure in India. Wandering through the city streets which are clean and easy to navigate we found the market which was totally overwhelming. Full of gems and gold and shirts and skirts and everything weird you could imagine and having no one hassle you besides to say 'hello', well, it brought a tear to my eye.

Myanmar is a strange place, mainly I suppose, because we're not exposed at all to the culture. There's very little english spoken or signage which makes things challanging at times but the Burmese people are so kind, so friendly, won't rip you off at all and will try to help in any way they can. Also because of this factor Aaron and I are trying to learn some Barmar, our vocabulary is up to about 15 words and growing - better then my Hindi already. Longys are in for both men and women (although tied differently) and the women use powdered sandlewood paste called thanakha as make-up/sun screen. Of course we're trying to get all into it so Aaron bought a longy and I tried out the face stuff which drew much attention from the locals...everyone thought I was sooooooooooo beautiful! QMFM Barmar soft favorites are also in and everywhere you go, and I mean everywhere, there is a TV with endless tunes belting out with the words high-lighted to sing along to. A lot of the time there's a microphone. Sometimes it's funny but when it's 3am on the overnight bus to Bagan and you've been listening to this garbage for hours on end it makes you want to kill yourself. No one can sing and because the junta regulates all Myanmar music production every song is classic soft rock. It's like being at the dentist 24 hours a day. Another thing we've found a little odd is that in Burma, to get a waiters attention you make kissy sounds at them. Aaron gets a little carried away sometimes and the noises become accompanied by kissy faces as well but it's pretty funny to see all these men "smooootching" at the waiter.

Myanmar is home to giant avacados which really just make my day. Unfourtunatly the don't use them in everyday cooking - the cuisine is mainly fried everything or fried meat in oily oily "curry" but on occasion we've found an avacado and tomato salad on the menu... or my preference is to just buy the biggest one I can find, crack it open and eat it straight up. mmmmmm!!! To add to this delight they're also big on the ice cream which makes up for the fact that there is absolutely zero chocolate here. As there are trading sanctions with pretty much the entire world, I failed to connect this with the fact that this would mean no chocolate. A terrible catastrophe when I could have easily stocked up on fruit and nut bars in India. Foiled! Myanmar is also home to the oldest cars in existance. When the Bristish ruled the cars of course were driven on the left but shortly after independence the Burmese government decided to switch the driving from the left to the right so all the cars and busses still have the steering wheel on the right which makes for some sketchy driving and even sketchier passing. And when you get off a local bus instead of being dropped at the side of the rode, you're dropped in the middle of the road where scurring out of the way of oncoming traffic is a favorite pastime.

In general things are much more expensive then we expeced. As the junta has taken to charging all foriengers three times the regular local price the locals have adopted these ways aswell, although totally illigally. So, as if switching back and fourth from USD to khat isn't a pain enough we have to pay absurd amounts of money for things that aren't of any value at all. Transport is the main kicker as the busses are horrific and of poor value to the locals in the first place. But when you have to pay $9USD for the most uncomfortable local bus for a 6 hour roller-coaster, legs up to knees, trying not to vomit like half the other people ride it makes you just a little bitter. Food is good value in most places and few hotels but for the quality of a lot of the other stuff to travel in Burma is to get ripped off with the rest of the Burmese.

Ok, I may have trailed off there for a while on exactly what we've been doing. After Yangon we headed straight for the beach of Ngwe Saung where we hung out for four days swimming, reading, sleeping and learning barmar. Our little bamboo hut was delightful - right on the beach with a porch, hammock, and live in mouse who tried to steal my coconut hair oil every night. On occasion we hitched into town on the back of a motorbike or sometimes on a tri-shaw for some dinner and beers and one evening our hotel had a beach bonfire where we did some dancing, smoked some fish, and met some other travellers experiencing the same frustrations of Burma. But all is well and we're headed North to Bagan where one of the largest temple complexes in the world awaits.

For the Record

Kolkata has THE most dysfunctional railway station I've encountered yet. For a city of massive proportion and growing the most central station where all the Southern trains collect it is an utter nightmare. Firstly, it's big city rip off the tourists time beyond anything comprehensible. Every single person that talked to us outright lied. It went like this: Aaron and I arrived at 8:30am after a sleepless overnighter. We knew that there was a pre-paid taxi stand outside the station somewhere... I asked information - "yes, outside to the right". We fend off 10 guys yelling at us for private taxis because the pre-paid didn't exist anymore. But oh yes, it existed. In a piss-hole building that was literally falling apart there was a queue to get a taxi. The catch was 1) the line didn't move at all and 2) the reason the line didn't move was because of the DUMBEST most brain dead absolutely asleep Indian I've ever seen. Glazed eyes, mouth open, and just stunned. Stunned. The Indian guy who was at the counter was yelling but nothing was happening. Totally useless. After concluding the situation was going nowhere we decided to join the even bigger queue outside of the station for a metered taxi. A driver approached us with an offer of 100rps for a ride to Sudder St. It should be 60rps, but we were tired of waiting so agreed. We walked to his cab where we then realized he expected us to cram into the same car as another Indian family. NOT impressed. We laughed in his face, told him to "go ---" and joined the meter cab line again. We were committed this time so as Aaron waited I went inside to get some samosas (another feat all to itself). As I came out with the bag in my hand and joined Aaron in the queue a beggar came up and started harassing and poking me, babbling in Bengali. I gestured for him to leave and turned...still the babbling and poking continued. So I warned him in English... "you are making a sorry mistake my friend! I am in NO MOOD for you right now... I'm going to cause a big scene if you don't GO AWAY!" My rant grew louder... louder... louder... " OK I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET IT BECAUSE HERE I GO! OH YAH THAT'S RIGHT THE POLICE ARE GOING TO COME OVER AND YOU'RE GOING TO GET IT AND I'M GOING TO LOVE IT AND YOU BETTER GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!" It worked like a charm, and like always ... a police officer came and the scene dissolved just as fast as it had started. I ate my samosa in peace.

For the record there were hundreds of other people stuffing there faces on the street and because of the colour of my skin I get harassed beyond belief? At that moment in time, even if India was a helpless orphan golden retriever puppy I still would have drop kicked it.

So after more waiting and waiting and waiting we pushed our way into a taxi by shoving our bags in the back and jumping in. "Sudder St. Meter!" Good ol' cabbie tries to pull off the fake meter turn on but didn't succeed. "Yah, hey buddy. If that meter says zero when we arrive you're not getting paid so you can just go ahead and turn it on". He obliges, embarrassed. We walked around annoyed and tired for some time until we found a room with a "clean enough" attached bathroom and enough space for one of us to stand up at a time. Later we found out that not only does the smell of piss waft in through the window when the breeze picks up but the quality piping allows for the piss smell to also waft right up from the floor in the bathroom. eeew!

Kolkata was only ridiculously frustrating because we actually had to accomplish normal day to day chores that would take about an hour in Canada but take 4 days in India. But again, for the record, compared to Delhi it was nothing. We started off on a treasure hunt to buy Cail a sitar which was an experience that included inspecting lots of different sitars, drinking chai, making deals and eventually getting to the post office. Aaron went Indian styles with the sitar on his head through the crowds until we found the beautiful and old colonial building which now houses the city's postal services. To big, too long, must wrap, must pack, must this, must that went on and we ended up spending over 2.5hrs just figuring out how to ship the thing home to Mel and Cail. We paid buddy to sew a custom diaper and pack it a little extra and after more chai, a few mosquito bites and some bananas we stumbled home.

More chores were slowly accomplished included getting Visas for Myanmar, paying a visit to the Geological Survey of India (no photos allowed), stocking up on cheap and plentiful drugs and first aid, shipping stuff home, getting money changed (the biggest pain in the ass ever), phone calls, Internet, CD burning and generally time consuming crap that didn't allow us much time to see the "sites" of Kolkata.

We treated ourselves to a night out on the town which started at a restaurant/bar that had live music and 25 waiters too many. Hindi and Bengali hits were the first act sung by Bollywood star wannabes and then...and then... the English band came on. Not only were Beatles covers being belted by an Indian rocker, to ice the cake this hootched out girl came on stage wearing skin tight white pants with criss-cross slits running all the way up and a tank top that was, well, revealing... the straightened and badly streaked hair and lip liner pushed her whole look over the top and when she started slurring the words of Venga Boys, well that was just the kicker - we left shortly.

And, for the record though, later that evening we dominated Tantra night club - only the hippest and coolest place to be seen. After a quick late night shopping spree to get Aaron some shoes we hit up Tantra. It was looking a little sad when we arrived at about quarter after 12 but the R&B and house hits kept coming and Aaron and I started the dance floor party in no time. Fun? Yes. The drinks were outrageously expensive and I mean, more than you would EVER pay at home but luckily because it was a week night we got away with no cover. Dominated.

Nothing much else to report except it rained. And yes, that's a big deal to me as I haven't felt a trickle since ... September? The two downpours flooded the city in a matter of minutes and people stopped working (even more, is that possible?). I actually kind of liked it and made use of the raincoat I've been toting for months.

Because of the escalating situation in Sri Lanka with the Tamil Tigers we decided to give it a miss and are heading to Myanmar (Burma), leaving the stink for the suppressed. We'll see how it goes as travel is limited, time is limited, and mostly everything is uncertain. Oooooh ... Exciting!

Cow, Cow, Cow, Buffalo!

The Harwal Mail was no Japanese bullet but it chugged the 2130km from Chennai to Bhubaneswar. The two day journey started from Mamallapuram with a auto ride to the "bus station", eg: the side of the road, literally, where we jumped (again literally) onto the local bus heading North. I made it to the third step while Aaron hung on behind half in - half out while another Indian guy clung to him. It wasn't pretty. Actually the entire 2 hours on the bus wasn't pretty but Aaron made haste by playing a winking game with the local men and I just focused on not throwing up do to extreme air pollution going through the city. After a massive haggle struggle we then got another auto to the train station and settled in our berths for the long night ... and long day ahead. 21+ hours later I was sick of the train and we finally arrived for a night stop in Bhubaneswar. The following morning we caught yet another bus for an hour or so to the coastal town of Puri, hired another auto and were rewarded after some searching, to find a wonderful home stay family who rented a room to us for a great price. I cannot quite explain how cute they actually were. Cute doesn't do them justice.

Anyway, this brings you slightly closer to the world of travel I've been living for the past 5 months and for all those months I've been very lucky in avoiding the infamous "Delhi Belly" of India but because I only had one more week left to survive, India had another thing in mind and gave me one last kick in the pants with a single meal from the Pink Hotel Restaurant. Not good. Not good at all. I became increasingly ill through the night and we had to sacrifice the super-extreme 12 hour tour we were planning to do the next day. Aaron had to explain to them: "My wife, she is sick". So needless to say I spent a day moaning in bed and hitting up the antibiotics while Aaron played nurse and attended to my temperature spasms. The next afternoon I surfaced and we did some exploring to the local temple complex where we spied from the rooftop of the library across the street as in most temples, non-Hindus are not allowed in. It gave us a laugh to wonder where our 100rps donation to the library was going as they had about the same amount of books as a shelf in London Drugs and 99.9% of them looked to be over 50 years - most were over hundreds including the Sanskrit manuscripts that no one can read. The temple was interesting and was represented by the weirdest little saucer eyed, blinged out, bell shaking cartoon characters. I wish I had a photo but I don't... I did however buy a temple postcard for the collection. So weird. We checked out the local scene, where no whities go, and Aaron go a new shirt (too bad, the Mr. Bear Team didn't fit), I replaced my old bandanda with a sweet "I love my India" one, and we had some keychains made for our homestay family. Wandering down to the 'Indian' end of the beach we found a party and lots of really weird stuff with the Hello Kitty-Pokimon cross temple character on it. Weird.

Puri reminded me that we were back in the North. Much like any other Indian city it had it's "issues" with garbage, sewage, touts, a million stray dogs, people crashing bikes, used book stores that don't actually buy books (even though their big red sign says they do), stone aged - snail slow road construction, and cow patties everywhere. The worst part would have to be the oozing open shit hole that festers in the burning heat before slowing draining into the ocean. As you cross the bridge over it you can take a look at the people lined up to take a squat right in it. And people live right beside it! Ooze front property! Really, it made me throw-up in my mouth a little bit. The smell was bad bad bad. Coupled with the smell was the sight of dead turtles on the beach and dead humans being paraded in the streets. I know it's a cultural thing and I have no beef, I'm just saying it's hard to chock down your lassi when your looking at dead things all the time. Now it sounds like I'm really riding hard on Puri, and I am a little I guess but honestly it was a very quaint little spot. So quaint in fact the Austrian ski resort owner who also lived with our home stay family calls it home for 6 months of the year.

Because we missed our tour due to "the sickness" Aaron and I rented a scooter to see some of the select sights. But let me explain...Rickety Red wasn't just any scooter. Rickety Red was probably the most unsteady, shoddy, pinner little scooter you've ever seen. If Rickety Red and my bicycle were in the ring, I'd be betting on the bike for sure. I held on for dear life while Aaron tried to navigate minus a few clutch features such as a mirror, gas gauge, or breaks. We scooted the 40km up the coast to Kornark to see India's second most famous building after the Taj Mahal: The Sun Temple (another World Heritage - check!). It was originally built in the 13th century but destroyed once by the Portuguese and to finish her off even more, again by the Muslims. It has been somewhat reconstructed with the original pieces and it still an impressive sight. We wanted to get the full story on the temple so we hired a guide, otherwise known (to us) as Grandpa. Taking us around the site and forcing us to stand in flowers for very "Indian family" type photos Gramps gave us the history of the temple, the meanings behind the carvings and layout, and then proceeded to show us many of the very detailed Kama Sutra carvings that cover (and I mean COVER) the temple on every wall, step and nook. As he pointed out the "69! A very interesting position!" and the "face to face kissing with many women touching" Aaron and I wondered ... is this happening? Did we hire a 65 year old man to tour us through the temple of porn? I tried to get his voice on video but failed. It was SO SO SO funny. He explained to us the days of the week and times of the day for having relations - turned out to be 24/7 and because of this he also pointed out the better positions to "do it" in when the woman is pregnant. omg. I'll have to censor out the rest but I'm sure you get the picture. The temple was worthy stop and so was Gramps the guide until we had a little problem at the end agreeing on issues of money. Typical. We stopped at the beach on the way home to take in the surf and see more dead turtles then enjoyed a delicious meal, our last in Puri before another overnighter up to Kolkata.