Horns, horns, horns. There are so many impressions of this insane city, and my mind is spinning with dozens of them, that I feel at a complete loss for words.
Even while waiting to board the plane in Bangkok, I knew I was stepping into a different world. I was the only person I could distinguish as being a foreigner on the plane – possibly there were others from India or other parts of the region…
Arriving at the airport, I was surprised to find it drizzling outside. Refreshing in a sense, but a bit worrying since it is supposed to be the dry season in this part of the world; the rains are not to begin until May. Inside Dhaka airport was orderly enough. Passing through immigration and getting luggage was surprisingly efficient and smooth. Then came the reality; outside to find a taxi.
On the left side as you exit the airport are the official taxi stands. Micah, who I’m staying with here in Dhaka, had told me the real meter rate would be about 70 taka (approx. 1USD) but they would probably ask for about 250, and he said I should really try and get it down to 150 or less. Well, the guys at the stand insisted that 350 was a fair price. After talking one down to 300, I moved on down to the other end of the fence and they rapidly started yelling at each other, presumably forming an agreement not to lower the price any further. I asked the military guard at the gate if there would be taxis outside, and all of a sudden he no longer spoke any English. I went back under the shelter and sulked for a good 5 minutes, debating what to do: pay the outrageous 300 taka (after all by American or Japanese standards it’s not so much, right?)…call Micah and beg him to come save me, or go out into the street and hope that a normal taxi would pick me up and I could talk the price down??
I decided to go outside. A huge crowd of hungry eyes and searching bodies leaned heavily against the fences between which was the exit. No one, literally, was walking through. Everyone was leaving in taxis or other vehicles. I went determinedly forward, and found the military guard telling me I was not allowed to leave like this, and I would have to take an official taxi. I told him no, and kept walking. I was pretty apprehensive, though. Immediately a swarm of begging children surrounded me, and 4 local taxi men came running. I told them I needed to go to Banani and they all said 300. Finally, one very questionable young man who spoke English arrived on the scene just as I was getting one cab to agree to my price of 150 taka. He insisted that the driver didn’t speak enough English to get me to my destination and said he would join. I told him that I thought it would be fine since I had the address and he insisted – I told him if he wanted to, he could come but I was not, under any circumstances, going to give him any money. At this he took great offense and made some claim about how he was helping me in the name of Allah, and money was not a motivation at all. Sounds like stories I got in West Africa all the time…
Traffic in this city is absolutely mad. The honking is incessant and I have no idea regarding the mechanics of it, but the horns are LOUD; way louder than anywhere else I have been in the world. Traffic, if my memory serves me well, is even worse than Cairo or Bangkok. With gritted teeth and stiffened knuckles, we proceeded through the rainy roads. Along with other taxis, we shared the pavement with colorful rickshaws, CNGs (green caged motorcycles with a passenger compartment behind), jam-packed public buses, also very vocal, and countless other vehicles and pedestrians. The ride that Micah said would take 15 minutes took well over an hour.
The questionable young man made a very crude sexual remark at which I got very indignant and he apologized profusely but I was not impressed. Arriving in Banani neighborhood, we found we were lost, and drove around in repetitive circles all the while Micah trying to explain where we should go (I later found out he had told them to stay where we were and he would just come meet us since we were so close but of course this wasn’t how it worked out). Finally, we met and drove a very short distance home. All of a sudden, the young boy who had been helping me in the name of Allah, after hitting on me, demanded money for his services, to which I replied that I had told him over an hour ago that I wasn’t going to give him any money, and Micah and he had a short (seemingly) heated conversation and inside we went.
Welcome to Dhaka.
The evening was pleasant thereafter, lots of stories, laughs, and a definite refuge feeling from Micah and his flat (thanks thanks thanks). We went in the neighborhood to buy really horrible wine from a Burmese family and it was surreally peaceful, walking through the rain in the quiet evening.
This morning as I awoke, I was filled with dread and reluctance. I knew that there were parts of Dhaka that I would like to see, but I was weary at the prospect of getting there. Tuli, Micah’s maid, went down the street with me so that I could call Rafia Chowdhury, Fareez’s aunt. Fareez was a good friend of mine in high school in Washington, DC, and was my initial contact that sparked my interest in Bangladesh. He had enthusiastically advised me to call his aunt in Dhaka when I told him that I was finally visiting his country.
No one answered the phone, and I headed to the bank, then got in a CNG with the hope of going to Gulshan II circle where Guide Tours was located. My driver spoke no English and a few minutes later, kept saying Korea over and over. I said no, Japan. I’m pretty used to people asking me where I’m from or thinking I’m from other Asian countries so it was nothing noteworthy – until a few minutes later I was sitting in front of the Japanese Embassy. Agh.
More communication difficulties and I finally ended up where I wanted to be. The staff at Guide Tours was exceptionally friendly and I spent a good amount of time in their haven-like office, before heading back out into the crowded noisy street.
I visited the Grand Central Mosque, a big white cavern of a building, and decided to walk all the way back to Banani rather than go through another CNG ordeal.
The streets are so full of life. There are so many people, the women are dressed in beautiful colored robes with eyecatching makeup, and well, people do stare. I saw not one tourist in the whole day (though I think I wasn’t in a very tourist-oriented place if they even exist here). The rickshaws are decorated with bright neons and flower patterns, the crumbling sidewalks interspersed with puddles from the unseasonal rains make people hop and jump from one protruding safe dry foothold to another. The spicy smell of betel lingers in the air, and street stalls with dhal and cha line crowded walkways. I was filled with an intense feeling of hatred and amusement in the same moment; in any case, it is intense, with all senses heightened as it feels like walking 500m down one road is an obstacle course that requires supreme awareness and technique.
I was hungry. I found a place recommended by Lonely Planet, Dhaba, and walked in to see Micah at the first table! A very pleasant surprise. He was with an American friend working for IREX and we sat together and chatted. Given that there are so few tourists here, I really wonder how I would be feeling if I didn’t have a local contact that I am so comfortable with.
I finally got in touch with Rafia and we will meet tomorrow. The next day I go to Bandarban in the Chittagong Hill Tract, which is covered with tribal villages, and also known for political instability, and after 3 nights there I will head back to Dhaka for a day before going to the Sundarbans, the largest mangrove forest in the world. The Sundarbans also have a reputation for pirates. Hope I don’t see any.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Myanmar: Inle Lake: 27/28 January 2007 (Written 20 February 2007)
We were meeting our boatman at 6am. Which meant it was still dark, and very very cold. I walked with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, telling myself I was on a warm beach, and we climbed into the longboat. First light on the lake is magical. There is fog and mist everywhere, and the boundaries between the mist and the sky and the water and mountains simply blend, confusing the senses and playing their magic. I was captivated.
We proceeded out onto the big lake (22km) and stopped occasionally to watch some of the small boatmen. When we would go near them, and turn off our motor, it would be completely silent. The only thing you could hear was breathing, and the almost inaudible sound of the water moving under the one oar controlled by the boatman’s leg. Watching them move their vessels in the water is watching a being completely in harmony with its own environment; the fluidity of the movements, the muscles working in ways that they have been, day in and day out, for decades. It has a surreal quality that words and photos cannot do justice to.
At around 7:30am, we arrived in a village. The light was what struck me and will stay in my memory forever. The water is so clean and clear, producing startling reflections of the huts, the boats, and the people. The people come out of their houses to wave, shout Mingalaba!, and watch as you float your way away.
We visited a floating market, which I am sure over the years has grown increasingly to cater towards tourists, but still retains much of a local atmosphere, especially when visited at the right time; since many tourists head out of Nyaungshwe as the sun is beginning to warm the lake, we arrived early, and had the whole place to ourselves. The people from various tribes shopped, gossiped, chatted, drank tea, ate breakfast and snacks, and we wandered through the aisles.
We proceeded to the Jumping Cat Monastery; a bit bizarre, and also a different pagoda, and decided to head back to Nyaungshwe.
In the evening, we decided to eat on the street by the market; street vendors had set up little frying pans and pots, and we at delicious mini-pancake like things; fried dough with green onion and corn, with chili dipping sauce. There were children playing in the street, their faces bright with full smiles, dressed in rags, with no toys, yet their souls were intact. They would be playing games simply tagging and running, but their laughter and ability to play amazed me. As we walked back in the dark, we stopped to watch a group of children playing hopscotch in the street. Kids everywhere in the world are the same, aren’t they?
On the 28th, I was totally exhausted and lazed about in the morning before heading off into town with no direction whatsoever. I stopped to watch the watermelon seller play checkers. I asked if I could play and they were surprised but delighted, and even more delighted when I lost. The man, a thin, wiry man with an old fading purple longyi gave me a big slice of watermelon, and as I tried to pay, said present with a very firm look in his eyes, and I accepted. I strolled down the street with watermelon juice dripping down my face and hands, and entered a pagoda, where a family sat in the front with a thermos of tea. They immediately tried to sell me an offering to the Buddha, which I refused, but after my walk around the temple I accepted their invitation to sit and drink tea. I took photos of the family as well as their 3 year old son, and they ooh-ed and ahh-ed when I said I was from Japan. The woman that spoke the most English (really not much) said take me to Japan, I can teach Myanmar language. I smiled and said I would if I could. This was not the only time, by any means, that a person in Myanmar asked me to take them to Japan. I thanked them kindly for their tea and promised that if I visited Nyaungshwe again I would stop by the temple.
On my walk back I passed the watermelon stand and since I had no agenda, decided to make some cranes for my opponents who I had lost to. The group of 7 or 8 men were very pleased, and asked me to demonstrate again, giving them sheets to follow along with. A few of them also made me things they knew how to make, a boat (hle), an envelope, an airplane. They asked me to write their names in Japanese, and we sat around with my phrasebook, taking minutes to convey single-word thoughts. Lovely. Sateen, the original watermelon seller that had given me the juicy slice as a gift, now insisted that I eat his lunch. I was delighted to try some real local food, but also realized that this was a poor man and I didn’t want to take what little food he did have. I also didn’t want to refuse and offend him, so I decided I would take a few bites. He dismantled the stacked silver cylinders, and the first container had a lima bean curry. The next, plain rice. The last had plain rice and a few tablespoons of chili. Excuse me, but not a very nutritious and sustaining meal for a man that is presumably working on the street from daybreak to dusk. I did take a few bites, offered a few hundred kyat, at which he vehemently resisted and instead brought me tea. I drank, and explained that I should go and meet my friends, and we shook hands and waved with big smiles. I cried as I walked away.
Somehow the town had transformed, or I had transformed, or my role in the town had transformed, within the few short days that I was in Nyaungshwe. People that recognized me from the watermelon stand waved and smiled, whereas just a day before I had been stared at, I think mostly because people had no idea where I was from. I was in love with Nyaungshwe.
I met Ricard at the hotel, and he told me he had just eaten some delicious noodles, so I asked him to show me where it was. We walked back to the market, waving again to Sateen and Co., and sat at the tiny noodle stand with a very motherly woman with a grin covering more than half her face. She delighted in the fact that I was enjoying her Shan noodles and everyone within a 10m radius burst into laughter when I asked for a second bowl.
Sadly, it was time to go and we headed back to Joy Hotel to pack our things and take the pickup to Shweyaung where we would get the bus to Mandalay. We had a lot of time to kill at Shweyaung so we sat in a teashop, drinking delightfully sweet tea and munching on greasy samosas. The bus arrived after dark and I happily slept for the majority of the journey to Mandalay.
We proceeded out onto the big lake (22km) and stopped occasionally to watch some of the small boatmen. When we would go near them, and turn off our motor, it would be completely silent. The only thing you could hear was breathing, and the almost inaudible sound of the water moving under the one oar controlled by the boatman’s leg. Watching them move their vessels in the water is watching a being completely in harmony with its own environment; the fluidity of the movements, the muscles working in ways that they have been, day in and day out, for decades. It has a surreal quality that words and photos cannot do justice to.
At around 7:30am, we arrived in a village. The light was what struck me and will stay in my memory forever. The water is so clean and clear, producing startling reflections of the huts, the boats, and the people. The people come out of their houses to wave, shout Mingalaba!, and watch as you float your way away.
We visited a floating market, which I am sure over the years has grown increasingly to cater towards tourists, but still retains much of a local atmosphere, especially when visited at the right time; since many tourists head out of Nyaungshwe as the sun is beginning to warm the lake, we arrived early, and had the whole place to ourselves. The people from various tribes shopped, gossiped, chatted, drank tea, ate breakfast and snacks, and we wandered through the aisles.
We proceeded to the Jumping Cat Monastery; a bit bizarre, and also a different pagoda, and decided to head back to Nyaungshwe.
In the evening, we decided to eat on the street by the market; street vendors had set up little frying pans and pots, and we at delicious mini-pancake like things; fried dough with green onion and corn, with chili dipping sauce. There were children playing in the street, their faces bright with full smiles, dressed in rags, with no toys, yet their souls were intact. They would be playing games simply tagging and running, but their laughter and ability to play amazed me. As we walked back in the dark, we stopped to watch a group of children playing hopscotch in the street. Kids everywhere in the world are the same, aren’t they?
On the 28th, I was totally exhausted and lazed about in the morning before heading off into town with no direction whatsoever. I stopped to watch the watermelon seller play checkers. I asked if I could play and they were surprised but delighted, and even more delighted when I lost. The man, a thin, wiry man with an old fading purple longyi gave me a big slice of watermelon, and as I tried to pay, said present with a very firm look in his eyes, and I accepted. I strolled down the street with watermelon juice dripping down my face and hands, and entered a pagoda, where a family sat in the front with a thermos of tea. They immediately tried to sell me an offering to the Buddha, which I refused, but after my walk around the temple I accepted their invitation to sit and drink tea. I took photos of the family as well as their 3 year old son, and they ooh-ed and ahh-ed when I said I was from Japan. The woman that spoke the most English (really not much) said take me to Japan, I can teach Myanmar language. I smiled and said I would if I could. This was not the only time, by any means, that a person in Myanmar asked me to take them to Japan. I thanked them kindly for their tea and promised that if I visited Nyaungshwe again I would stop by the temple.
On my walk back I passed the watermelon stand and since I had no agenda, decided to make some cranes for my opponents who I had lost to. The group of 7 or 8 men were very pleased, and asked me to demonstrate again, giving them sheets to follow along with. A few of them also made me things they knew how to make, a boat (hle), an envelope, an airplane. They asked me to write their names in Japanese, and we sat around with my phrasebook, taking minutes to convey single-word thoughts. Lovely. Sateen, the original watermelon seller that had given me the juicy slice as a gift, now insisted that I eat his lunch. I was delighted to try some real local food, but also realized that this was a poor man and I didn’t want to take what little food he did have. I also didn’t want to refuse and offend him, so I decided I would take a few bites. He dismantled the stacked silver cylinders, and the first container had a lima bean curry. The next, plain rice. The last had plain rice and a few tablespoons of chili. Excuse me, but not a very nutritious and sustaining meal for a man that is presumably working on the street from daybreak to dusk. I did take a few bites, offered a few hundred kyat, at which he vehemently resisted and instead brought me tea. I drank, and explained that I should go and meet my friends, and we shook hands and waved with big smiles. I cried as I walked away.
Somehow the town had transformed, or I had transformed, or my role in the town had transformed, within the few short days that I was in Nyaungshwe. People that recognized me from the watermelon stand waved and smiled, whereas just a day before I had been stared at, I think mostly because people had no idea where I was from. I was in love with Nyaungshwe.
I met Ricard at the hotel, and he told me he had just eaten some delicious noodles, so I asked him to show me where it was. We walked back to the market, waving again to Sateen and Co., and sat at the tiny noodle stand with a very motherly woman with a grin covering more than half her face. She delighted in the fact that I was enjoying her Shan noodles and everyone within a 10m radius burst into laughter when I asked for a second bowl.
Sadly, it was time to go and we headed back to Joy Hotel to pack our things and take the pickup to Shweyaung where we would get the bus to Mandalay. We had a lot of time to kill at Shweyaung so we sat in a teashop, drinking delightfully sweet tea and munching on greasy samosas. The bus arrived after dark and I happily slept for the majority of the journey to Mandalay.
Myanmar: Yangon to Inle: 25/26 January, 2007 (Written 14 February 2007)
On the morning of the 25th, I awoke early and visited the Good Luck Food Center again to see my favorite teashop boys. The shop was bustling at 7.30am, crowds of men hovered around steaming cups of tea and greasy samosas.
As I walked back towards my hotel, I stopped to observe a betel quid stand. There were 2 monks hanging out, and we started chatting about betel and how it was aya-dha-shi-deh (delicious). He asked me to visit his monastery as one of the elder monks was studying Japanese. We crossed the street, passing a Hindu temple and I entered the monastery. I was told to sit in front of a gilded large Buddha as the monk was summoned. Many people came to stare and smile warmly. They were very keen to be photographed and after chatting a bit in English and Japanese I explained that I would be traveling to Inle Lake soon and I had to go. They were so nice, telling me to travel safely and anytime I was in Yangon I was welcome to visit them.
At the hotel, the staff told me that there was a guy who was also going to the bus station and we could share a cab; thus, I met Pascal, a very curious Frenchman. At the station, we met Ricard. From the moment I met Ricard, I just had to laugh; not in any malicious way but he was just so funny. He was sitting on a bench, with bright orange athletic shorts, and looked exhausted and somehow out of place. He is from Cataluna, and very very proud of it, and very adamant in its independence from Spain. I chatted with the two boys a bit, but soon took out my Burmese phrasebook and had a crowd of locals around me ready to correct my pronunciation and practice their English.
Heaps of vendors came by, their makeshift boxes full of candy, gum, potato chips, books, drinks, tissues, batteries, watches, and a lot more stuff that made their displays look chaotic. I thumbed through the English learning books and found such phrases as “Quite charming,” “I loved you from the moment I saw you,” “You’re beautiful,” and many many more lines in this manner.
A man from Taunggyi who spoke good English befriended me and we started chatting before the bus started, and we sat together on the bus. The bus finally started, about half an hour after its scheduled departure and it was relatively uneventful. The road was surprisingly smooth and along its side were many piles of small rocks being worked on by elderly and children. The air-con was broken but the cool breeze made it not even a consideration. At 8pm, we stopped for a delicious meal of chicken curry, vegetable soup, and about a dozen vegetable dishes spread out in front of us. Then, it began to become cold. Really cold. My window didn’t close completely and it would open more every time we went over a bump. Coincidentally, at the time it started to be really cold, the road deteriorated into an uphill sand and gravel path, which consequently meant that every 3 minutes I would need to push my window shut again.
At 6am, descending from the beautiful pine-forest town of Kalaw, we had our final tea break, and arrived in Shweyaung, where we caught a pickup to Nyaungshwe. A very bumpy road in a vehicle crammed full of people, with two rows of people sitting on the roof led to the small town of Nyaungshwe, and Pascal, Ricard and I checked into Joy Hotel, situated next to a busy canal with boats coming and going from Inle Lake.
Inle Lake is one of the original things that drew me to Myanmar. Several years ago, I was in Japan with my sister and we saw a television show in which celebrities go to different countries in the world and stay with local families. This particular episode had a man stay in a village on Inle Lake and I was captivated by the serene beauty, the exquisite calm, the hospitality of the villagers, and the beautiful way the boats are steered, with skilled and balanced boatmen using their feet to control their single oar.
Though I was exhausted from the 20 hours of travel and the cold, relatively sleepless night, I once again had the urge to just go out and walk around and see the place I had wanted to visit for so long. Pascal had the same thing in mind, apparently, and we crossed paths about half an hour later. From Nyaungshwe there is a road that goes almost perfectly straightly towards the mountains. It is a beautiful shaded avenue with trees on both sides of the path, with wet rice fields and water buffalo providing an unbelievably scenic landscape. We walked on this path for a few kilometers, then turned left into a village. There were only a few villagers in sight, who smiled and said Mingalaba. As we passed a large field with about 10 men walking, one came running down and said he would take us back to town in his boat. We agreed, and after wandering around the village awhile longer, we climbed into his small canoe that seemed almost at the point of capsizing every time we shifted our weight ever so slightly.
If paradise exists, this is what it would look like. Floating gardens, water hyacinth with beautiful white blossoms and yellow interiors are so plentiful and fragrant that you feel you are in a giant floating garden. Houses built on stilts, with canoes resting underneath, ready to be steered in any direction at any moment, children peering out windows excitedly screaming hellos, and the reflection of everything on the surface of the water is nothing short of magical. The villager made me a necklace from water hyacinth and he skillfully navigated his way through the lake, arriving in Nyaungshwe over an hour later.
As I walked back towards my hotel, I stopped to observe a betel quid stand. There were 2 monks hanging out, and we started chatting about betel and how it was aya-dha-shi-deh (delicious). He asked me to visit his monastery as one of the elder monks was studying Japanese. We crossed the street, passing a Hindu temple and I entered the monastery. I was told to sit in front of a gilded large Buddha as the monk was summoned. Many people came to stare and smile warmly. They were very keen to be photographed and after chatting a bit in English and Japanese I explained that I would be traveling to Inle Lake soon and I had to go. They were so nice, telling me to travel safely and anytime I was in Yangon I was welcome to visit them.
At the hotel, the staff told me that there was a guy who was also going to the bus station and we could share a cab; thus, I met Pascal, a very curious Frenchman. At the station, we met Ricard. From the moment I met Ricard, I just had to laugh; not in any malicious way but he was just so funny. He was sitting on a bench, with bright orange athletic shorts, and looked exhausted and somehow out of place. He is from Cataluna, and very very proud of it, and very adamant in its independence from Spain. I chatted with the two boys a bit, but soon took out my Burmese phrasebook and had a crowd of locals around me ready to correct my pronunciation and practice their English.
Heaps of vendors came by, their makeshift boxes full of candy, gum, potato chips, books, drinks, tissues, batteries, watches, and a lot more stuff that made their displays look chaotic. I thumbed through the English learning books and found such phrases as “Quite charming,” “I loved you from the moment I saw you,” “You’re beautiful,” and many many more lines in this manner.
A man from Taunggyi who spoke good English befriended me and we started chatting before the bus started, and we sat together on the bus. The bus finally started, about half an hour after its scheduled departure and it was relatively uneventful. The road was surprisingly smooth and along its side were many piles of small rocks being worked on by elderly and children. The air-con was broken but the cool breeze made it not even a consideration. At 8pm, we stopped for a delicious meal of chicken curry, vegetable soup, and about a dozen vegetable dishes spread out in front of us. Then, it began to become cold. Really cold. My window didn’t close completely and it would open more every time we went over a bump. Coincidentally, at the time it started to be really cold, the road deteriorated into an uphill sand and gravel path, which consequently meant that every 3 minutes I would need to push my window shut again.
At 6am, descending from the beautiful pine-forest town of Kalaw, we had our final tea break, and arrived in Shweyaung, where we caught a pickup to Nyaungshwe. A very bumpy road in a vehicle crammed full of people, with two rows of people sitting on the roof led to the small town of Nyaungshwe, and Pascal, Ricard and I checked into Joy Hotel, situated next to a busy canal with boats coming and going from Inle Lake.
Inle Lake is one of the original things that drew me to Myanmar. Several years ago, I was in Japan with my sister and we saw a television show in which celebrities go to different countries in the world and stay with local families. This particular episode had a man stay in a village on Inle Lake and I was captivated by the serene beauty, the exquisite calm, the hospitality of the villagers, and the beautiful way the boats are steered, with skilled and balanced boatmen using their feet to control their single oar.
Though I was exhausted from the 20 hours of travel and the cold, relatively sleepless night, I once again had the urge to just go out and walk around and see the place I had wanted to visit for so long. Pascal had the same thing in mind, apparently, and we crossed paths about half an hour later. From Nyaungshwe there is a road that goes almost perfectly straightly towards the mountains. It is a beautiful shaded avenue with trees on both sides of the path, with wet rice fields and water buffalo providing an unbelievably scenic landscape. We walked on this path for a few kilometers, then turned left into a village. There were only a few villagers in sight, who smiled and said Mingalaba. As we passed a large field with about 10 men walking, one came running down and said he would take us back to town in his boat. We agreed, and after wandering around the village awhile longer, we climbed into his small canoe that seemed almost at the point of capsizing every time we shifted our weight ever so slightly.
If paradise exists, this is what it would look like. Floating gardens, water hyacinth with beautiful white blossoms and yellow interiors are so plentiful and fragrant that you feel you are in a giant floating garden. Houses built on stilts, with canoes resting underneath, ready to be steered in any direction at any moment, children peering out windows excitedly screaming hellos, and the reflection of everything on the surface of the water is nothing short of magical. The villager made me a necklace from water hyacinth and he skillfully navigated his way through the lake, arriving in Nyaungshwe over an hour later.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Bangladesh: Sundarban: 20-23 February 2007 (Written 25 February 2007)
A long overnight bus ride from Dhaka to Khulna, arriving on the 21st at about 10am. We were supposed to get there at 6am but for some unknown, unexplained reason we couldn't cross the river on the ferry for about 4 hours. Hmm...
From Khulna we went directly on the boat to the Sundarbans. The whole day on the 21st was spent sailing past cement factories, villages, and river boats.
On the 22nd we packed in loads of activities starting at 6am. We went on a canoe ride down the river and saw lots of birds - kingfishers, herons, and a green-billed malokha. More remarkable was the landscape itself, the mangroves where you could see the water level from the last monsson, and the roots sticking up vertically through the grey mud.
We went on a walk to the beach - but this landscape was really stunning. Immediately in from the river there was a variety of different scenery right next to each other; dry tall grasses, the kind that you imagine tigers walking through; woodlands with lots of shade where the deer are; flat green grassland that looks like any other country; and then you arrive on a huge sandy beach, complete with tiger tracks.
We saw lots of deer, a monitor lizard, more birds, tiger tracks, tiger scratches on trees, and tiger feces. But no tiger. Kind of happy and kind of sad about that. I think they purposely take you around the area when the tigers are sleeping (they're nocturnal) because they probably don't really want to see a tiger. They're scary. All the forest guides carry loaded rifles the whole time, and through certain parts of the forest they have them ready to fire if necessary.
In the afternoon while we lounged on the boat there were a few Rhesus macaques (monkeys) who daintily climbed over the mangrove roots. Very impressive, since I tried the maneuver a few hours earlier, nearly fell off and twisted my ankle badly. We also saw one Irrawaddy river dolphin (same as the ones in Kratie, Cambodia) which I was very excited about.
Another boat ride in the afternoon took us to some vine snakes, who are incredibly well camouflaged, lots more birds, and a lovely sunset.
I decided to join a different boat to head back to Khulna on the night of the 22nd because I didn't want to risk missing my flight from Dhaka on the 24th, so I slept in a Crew Cabin. Was a very interesting experience.
On the 23rd, we stopped off in Khulna, and I was struck by how green and comparatively quiet it was to Dhaka. Lots of ricefields, colorful rickshaws, and not as much honking.
We arrived in Dhaka around midnight, I went to bed, and that was the end of my Bangladesh trip. An uneventful morning on the 24th with my flight to Bangkok.
All in all, I enjoyed Bangladesh but as horrible as it may sound, I enjoyed even more the knowledge that I never have to go back there again. The air, noise, and water pollution is shocking, such that the moment I arrived back in Dhaka from my various excursions I would be coughing, my eyes would tear, and I'd often get headaches.
I think it may be the country where I've most strongly been struck by the contrasts between haves and have-nots, the peacefulness of the countryside and chaos in the city, and so much more that just didn't make sense. Good thing I have a week on the beach in Sulawesi to try and ponder it.
From Khulna we went directly on the boat to the Sundarbans. The whole day on the 21st was spent sailing past cement factories, villages, and river boats.
On the 22nd we packed in loads of activities starting at 6am. We went on a canoe ride down the river and saw lots of birds - kingfishers, herons, and a green-billed malokha. More remarkable was the landscape itself, the mangroves where you could see the water level from the last monsson, and the roots sticking up vertically through the grey mud.
We went on a walk to the beach - but this landscape was really stunning. Immediately in from the river there was a variety of different scenery right next to each other; dry tall grasses, the kind that you imagine tigers walking through; woodlands with lots of shade where the deer are; flat green grassland that looks like any other country; and then you arrive on a huge sandy beach, complete with tiger tracks.
We saw lots of deer, a monitor lizard, more birds, tiger tracks, tiger scratches on trees, and tiger feces. But no tiger. Kind of happy and kind of sad about that. I think they purposely take you around the area when the tigers are sleeping (they're nocturnal) because they probably don't really want to see a tiger. They're scary. All the forest guides carry loaded rifles the whole time, and through certain parts of the forest they have them ready to fire if necessary.
In the afternoon while we lounged on the boat there were a few Rhesus macaques (monkeys) who daintily climbed over the mangrove roots. Very impressive, since I tried the maneuver a few hours earlier, nearly fell off and twisted my ankle badly. We also saw one Irrawaddy river dolphin (same as the ones in Kratie, Cambodia) which I was very excited about.
Another boat ride in the afternoon took us to some vine snakes, who are incredibly well camouflaged, lots more birds, and a lovely sunset.
I decided to join a different boat to head back to Khulna on the night of the 22nd because I didn't want to risk missing my flight from Dhaka on the 24th, so I slept in a Crew Cabin. Was a very interesting experience.
On the 23rd, we stopped off in Khulna, and I was struck by how green and comparatively quiet it was to Dhaka. Lots of ricefields, colorful rickshaws, and not as much honking.
We arrived in Dhaka around midnight, I went to bed, and that was the end of my Bangladesh trip. An uneventful morning on the 24th with my flight to Bangkok.
All in all, I enjoyed Bangladesh but as horrible as it may sound, I enjoyed even more the knowledge that I never have to go back there again. The air, noise, and water pollution is shocking, such that the moment I arrived back in Dhaka from my various excursions I would be coughing, my eyes would tear, and I'd often get headaches.
I think it may be the country where I've most strongly been struck by the contrasts between haves and have-nots, the peacefulness of the countryside and chaos in the city, and so much more that just didn't make sense. Good thing I have a week on the beach in Sulawesi to try and ponder it.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Myanmar: Yangon: 24 January, 2007
So now I will begin my tales of this magical country.
I am infinitely glad that I had done a lot of reading about Myanmar before arriving; it's a country that is so different from the rest of Southeast Asia and I really had to see it to believe it.
A ridiculously early morning in Bangkok - chocolate cake (thanks James) at 5am, in the taxi at 5.30am, at the crowded new airport at 6, and the flight was at 7.45am. Surprisingly, the flight was relatively full; lots of Thai people, but also American businessmen, as well as a handful of package tourists. I overheard an American couple say they had booked a package tour through a German company that went to Myanmar for 3 days. They would arrive in Yangon, take an afternoon flight to Bagan, stay 2 days, then leave back to Thailand. I had heard stories of the package tourists in Myanmar but I had, really, no idea what was to come.
Upon arrival at Yangon airport, nothing is shocking or makes a huge impression. I clambered onto the very old bus (perhaps late 70s) and was reading the signs in Japanese: "Be careful when getting off the bus," "Watch your step," and the like. Maybe it was the early morning start (but more likely my denseness), but I thought, "Wow, there are enough Japanese tourists coming here that they have all these signs in English?!" - I soon realized that the bus, along with the grand majority of those in Myanmar, was an old Japanese bus that had been bought cheaply by either the government or businesses in Myanmar.
Before arriving, I had contacted a person on CS that was in Myanmar, and he works at one of the most popular guesthouses in Yangon. I wondered how I was going to find him, but as I stood in line to get my passport stamped, I was greeted by a huge smile and wave, and I met my friend Nyein Lwin. At the guesthouse, I was shocked at the number of people both staying and working there. It seemed all my imaginings of barely touristed areas were not to be true here. I was exhausted, and had planned to take a rest before heading into the city, but as soon as I put my bags down, I felt I had to go out and seize the day.
The Motherland Inn 2, where I stayed, is located about 1km east of downtown. Walking on Anawratha Road into town, it is like stepping through time, borders, religions, and cultures. Life in Yangon (and much of Myanmar) simply happens on the street. The sidewalks are covered with tarpaulins that have an immense variety of wares; books, CDs, watches, staplers, car parts, nails, and really, I think, anything else you could think of. I was getting stared at a lot, and not so many friendly faces. I smiled, then people would smile back. Every block seemed to have as many different ethnicities as you might see in an evening in Tokyo; Muslims in traditional dress, people that look Indian, Bengali, Chinese, Burmese, and many many others I couldn't identify. All of them wear longyis, traditional sarong-like garments that tie in at the waist, with beautiful colors and patterns. Many are chewing betel quids, and when you walk close enough to someone chewing, you can smell the spicy nut, and you don't have to get too close to see the red-stained teeth or hear the violent spitting sound. Tanakha, a paste that is made from the bark of the tanakha tree, is used as makeup/sunblock/perfume by women, children, and some men, and it was fascinating to see the people with this golden paint in different patterns all over the city.
And, of course, the food. Miniature plastic furniture around ladies and men with piles of different noodles, spices, and vegetables, frying stations of samosas, bananas, and various other such oily delectables.
I bought a Burmese/English dictionary and phrasebook, passed Sule Paya, a 46m high golden pagoda in the center of downtown, and wandered around Bogyoke Aung San Market, where really, anything you could want (or not want) is sold. Continued walking up to Shwedagon Pagoda.
Shwedagon Pagoda is one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. A 98m high solid gold pagoda, surrounded by hundreds of other pagodas and buildings, and a very important site for the people of Myanmar. Monks walking around, monks resting in the shade, pilgrims chanting, having their photo taken by freelance photographers in front of the pagoda...a very good introduction to religious sites in Myanmar.
Back at the bottom, I got in a minibus to Sule, missed the stop, realized this as we were nearly at Shwedagon again, got off, got in a different bus, got down at Strand Street with 2 ladies who made it their mission to help me, and walked, walked, walked back to the hotel. I was exhausted - it was 6pm and thus I had my 12 hour day already.
Showered and went back out with Corinne, a Swiss girl in the same dorm, and we came across the Good Luck Food Center. There, we met Kyan Du Sok and Huo Zo, ages 16 and 13, busily running around, assuring us very authoritatively that they would take care of us, and urgently brought us tea, water, Shan noodles, Coconut oil soup, a Thali set, and sat with us, watching us eat. We hung out with them for awhile, making origami, arm-wrestling, looking at guidebooks.
And that was all in one day. I was head over heels in love with Myanmar already.
I am infinitely glad that I had done a lot of reading about Myanmar before arriving; it's a country that is so different from the rest of Southeast Asia and I really had to see it to believe it.
A ridiculously early morning in Bangkok - chocolate cake (thanks James) at 5am, in the taxi at 5.30am, at the crowded new airport at 6, and the flight was at 7.45am. Surprisingly, the flight was relatively full; lots of Thai people, but also American businessmen, as well as a handful of package tourists. I overheard an American couple say they had booked a package tour through a German company that went to Myanmar for 3 days. They would arrive in Yangon, take an afternoon flight to Bagan, stay 2 days, then leave back to Thailand. I had heard stories of the package tourists in Myanmar but I had, really, no idea what was to come.
Upon arrival at Yangon airport, nothing is shocking or makes a huge impression. I clambered onto the very old bus (perhaps late 70s) and was reading the signs in Japanese: "Be careful when getting off the bus," "Watch your step," and the like. Maybe it was the early morning start (but more likely my denseness), but I thought, "Wow, there are enough Japanese tourists coming here that they have all these signs in English?!" - I soon realized that the bus, along with the grand majority of those in Myanmar, was an old Japanese bus that had been bought cheaply by either the government or businesses in Myanmar.
Before arriving, I had contacted a person on CS that was in Myanmar, and he works at one of the most popular guesthouses in Yangon. I wondered how I was going to find him, but as I stood in line to get my passport stamped, I was greeted by a huge smile and wave, and I met my friend Nyein Lwin. At the guesthouse, I was shocked at the number of people both staying and working there. It seemed all my imaginings of barely touristed areas were not to be true here. I was exhausted, and had planned to take a rest before heading into the city, but as soon as I put my bags down, I felt I had to go out and seize the day.
The Motherland Inn 2, where I stayed, is located about 1km east of downtown. Walking on Anawratha Road into town, it is like stepping through time, borders, religions, and cultures. Life in Yangon (and much of Myanmar) simply happens on the street. The sidewalks are covered with tarpaulins that have an immense variety of wares; books, CDs, watches, staplers, car parts, nails, and really, I think, anything else you could think of. I was getting stared at a lot, and not so many friendly faces. I smiled, then people would smile back. Every block seemed to have as many different ethnicities as you might see in an evening in Tokyo; Muslims in traditional dress, people that look Indian, Bengali, Chinese, Burmese, and many many others I couldn't identify. All of them wear longyis, traditional sarong-like garments that tie in at the waist, with beautiful colors and patterns. Many are chewing betel quids, and when you walk close enough to someone chewing, you can smell the spicy nut, and you don't have to get too close to see the red-stained teeth or hear the violent spitting sound. Tanakha, a paste that is made from the bark of the tanakha tree, is used as makeup/sunblock/perfume by women, children, and some men, and it was fascinating to see the people with this golden paint in different patterns all over the city.
And, of course, the food. Miniature plastic furniture around ladies and men with piles of different noodles, spices, and vegetables, frying stations of samosas, bananas, and various other such oily delectables.
I bought a Burmese/English dictionary and phrasebook, passed Sule Paya, a 46m high golden pagoda in the center of downtown, and wandered around Bogyoke Aung San Market, where really, anything you could want (or not want) is sold. Continued walking up to Shwedagon Pagoda.
Shwedagon Pagoda is one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. A 98m high solid gold pagoda, surrounded by hundreds of other pagodas and buildings, and a very important site for the people of Myanmar. Monks walking around, monks resting in the shade, pilgrims chanting, having their photo taken by freelance photographers in front of the pagoda...a very good introduction to religious sites in Myanmar.
Back at the bottom, I got in a minibus to Sule, missed the stop, realized this as we were nearly at Shwedagon again, got off, got in a different bus, got down at Strand Street with 2 ladies who made it their mission to help me, and walked, walked, walked back to the hotel. I was exhausted - it was 6pm and thus I had my 12 hour day already.
Showered and went back out with Corinne, a Swiss girl in the same dorm, and we came across the Good Luck Food Center. There, we met Kyan Du Sok and Huo Zo, ages 16 and 13, busily running around, assuring us very authoritatively that they would take care of us, and urgently brought us tea, water, Shan noodles, Coconut oil soup, a Thali set, and sat with us, watching us eat. We hung out with them for awhile, making origami, arm-wrestling, looking at guidebooks.
And that was all in one day. I was head over heels in love with Myanmar already.
Myanmar: Rest of Itinerary
My last entry was in Bagan. The one week after Bagan was quite eventful.
On the 5th, I flew from Bagan to Thandwe. On the 6th I flew to Sittwe. On the 7th I took a boat journey to Mrauk U, the ancient Rakhaing Capital, on the 9th returned by public government boat to Sittwe, and on the 11th, flew to Yangon.
Today is the 12th and the sweltering "summer" heat is starting in Yangon. Hence my willingness to sit inside at a computer (no fan or air-con though!)
Tomorrow I fly early morning to Bangkok, spend the day there, and in the evening fly to Dhaka, Bangladesh. I'm filling up on Western food today (had French Fries for lunch!) - and starting tomorrow night I'm guessing it's all lassi, dhal, and curry. Mmmm.
On the 5th, I flew from Bagan to Thandwe. On the 6th I flew to Sittwe. On the 7th I took a boat journey to Mrauk U, the ancient Rakhaing Capital, on the 9th returned by public government boat to Sittwe, and on the 11th, flew to Yangon.
Today is the 12th and the sweltering "summer" heat is starting in Yangon. Hence my willingness to sit inside at a computer (no fan or air-con though!)
Tomorrow I fly early morning to Bangkok, spend the day there, and in the evening fly to Dhaka, Bangladesh. I'm filling up on Western food today (had French Fries for lunch!) - and starting tomorrow night I'm guessing it's all lassi, dhal, and curry. Mmmm.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
The Golden Land - Myanmar
Internet is the most expensive I've seen in months, and connections the slowest I've seen in years. You have to hack into most email sites, i.e. gmail.
This is easily my favorite country I've ever visited. The smells, sights, sounds, and tastes are unlike anything I've ever experienced. I feel that I am somehow inextricably connected to this place, and have no doubt I will return many times.
The past 2 weeks has taken me to Yangon, the bustling capital, Nyaungshwe/Inle Lake, where water and sky and mountains seem to blend into one, Mandalay, well, a city, surrounding ancient cities, Monywa with huge monuments and temples, including a surprise festival I stumbled upon, a wedding I walked into, Pakokku with 1 guesthouse with 2 rooms, and now to Bagan - with 4400 temples scattered across an enormous plain, pagodas, stupas, temples, as far as the eye can see.
Unfortunately no time to write more now but rest assured that there will be long, detailed stories to come in the coming weeks and months.
Mingalabar my friends.
This is easily my favorite country I've ever visited. The smells, sights, sounds, and tastes are unlike anything I've ever experienced. I feel that I am somehow inextricably connected to this place, and have no doubt I will return many times.
The past 2 weeks has taken me to Yangon, the bustling capital, Nyaungshwe/Inle Lake, where water and sky and mountains seem to blend into one, Mandalay, well, a city, surrounding ancient cities, Monywa with huge monuments and temples, including a surprise festival I stumbled upon, a wedding I walked into, Pakokku with 1 guesthouse with 2 rooms, and now to Bagan - with 4400 temples scattered across an enormous plain, pagodas, stupas, temples, as far as the eye can see.
Unfortunately no time to write more now but rest assured that there will be long, detailed stories to come in the coming weeks and months.
Mingalabar my friends.
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