Pushing boundaries: Exploring remote Chin State by mountain bike

The sun was reaching its highest point when I rode my bike across the wooden bridge. As I left the cool, glistening waters behind me and started pushing the pedals uphill, I knew that from that point onwards till dusk the only way would be up. Sweat started trickling down steadily down from my brow as I found a rhythm that suited both my calves and breathing, and slowly started to make my way up. The water that I not so long ago was splashing around in rapidly shrunk whenever I looked over my shoulder, and before me another gorgeous vista opened up. The overwhelming sensation of these dazzling surroundings almost made me forget the intense work-out and heat, and for what must be the hundredth time that trip I found immense gratitude in the privilege to be one of the first mountain bikers ever to explore this remote region of Myanmar.

The rather bold idea to cycle to Chin state took hold of me 4 months before the trip, and I decided to impulsively share the concept with Bob Jan to see whether there were more people as mad as I was. While his response was encouraging, wild ideas like these often generate a lot of excitement, and I never quite thought it would really happen until BJ, Henno and I sat down early January to discuss details. While everything from the route to the group composition to the facilitator changed from that date onwards, a firm conviction took hold in my mind that we really would be embarking on this adventure and that it really was up to ourselves to make it happen.

‘I’m quite comfortable in here.’ BJ leaned back in his seat and spread his long legs in the abundant space behind the driver’s seat. I was considerably less fortunate, squeezed in the middle between to co-driver’s seat in front of me and the web of sinews, muscles and bones that was Jochen’s enormous left leg. Luckily the drive from Pakkoku to Mindat was ‘only’ five hours and constituted the last leg of our trip, after having spent the night on the overnight bus from Yangon. As the plains of the Dry Zone in central Burma gave way to hills and mountains, so did civilisation slowly yield to the remote wilderness of Chin state. At least the road we travelled was suitable for car travel, and Mindat has paved roads, car traffic and electricity (at times). Such expressions of welfare, already quite prevalent in early 20^th century Western Europe, proved to be completely absent in the region we were to explore by bike over the next 5 days.

Our team comprised 6 people: Jochen, acting guide and organiser who knew the region from earlier motorbike travails, Win, who joined the trip as one of Jochen’s employed guides in training, two local guys on motorbikes, who carried spare bike parts and food supplies, and BJ and myself, oh so eager to explore new corners of the exciting country we find ourselves living in. The bikes were new Trek mountain bikes, and I must say I am impressed with the excellent value for money. It’s hard to imagine more testing environments for a mountain bike (and biker!) than thundering downhills, strewn with gravel and rocks, through rivers and streams. The bikes passed the test. So did we.

When still fuelling my smartphone addition during our last day of 3G connectivity in Mindat, Mei asked me over WhatsApp where we would spend the nights. ‘When it’s getting dark and we get to a village, we ask random people if we can rent a few blankets and sleep on their floor. True story.’ While it sounds quite audacious and somewhat tricky when put like that, the warm welcome we received from the villagers every night when rocking up to a new settlement quickly took away any concerns we might not be able to find a place to spend the night. But what a staggering contrast with our so called civilised society! These people would never have seen a mountain bike before, and rarely ever a foreigner, and yet they were more than happy to host us, let us use their kitchen, give us blankets against the cold of the night and provide us with water to wash to dust off our face and legs. In their remote poverty, the Chin people are pure and untouched by the greed and materialism that has wrapped itself around our western societies. While I wouldn’t want to be swapping lives, it doesn’t harm to realise what differences in lifestyle do to concepts of kindness, sharing, peace of mind and ultimately, happiness.

The cultural exchange wasn’t limited to spending the night on the floor of a welcoming local. During our trip we encountered school parties, where women were stirring huge pots of steaming soup in preparation for the feast, buffalo offerings, where the entire village would join in the spoils of fresh meat, and a wedding, where we were spoon-fed a chunk of rather pungent meat, to be washed away with a cup of home-distilled millet wine. The latter took place only half an hour into that day’s ride – not sure if that was the kind of fuel we needed for a strenuous day on the pedals!

Dusty bus rides, welcoming locals, and uncomfortable nights on wooden floors aside, ultimately the trip was very much about biking, and this sublime mountain biking territory has made a lasting impression on me. The scenery alternated between thick forest and wide valleys, strenuous climbs and single trail descends. You never quite knew what would be beyond the next turn in the road, or behind the mountain you were climbing. The adrenaline that was racing through my veins when thundering down a single trail, with the valley to my left giving way to stunning vistas, leaving behind the peak I had reached not that long ago after making my way up through sweat and tears, that adrenaline made me feel so alive, so grateful and full of awe for the experience I was gorging in. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be back in Chin state’, BJ said regretfully after we arrived back in Mindat after 5 amazing days. I’m not so sure.

A random week in RGN

All too often people ask me, “What does your life look like in Yangon?” What do you do, besides working and sleeping? Is Yangon any fun? To answer that question, and to make sure I will still be able to recall these blissful memories when I am 80 years old and reminiscing my younger years spent abroad, I briefly capture the past week below. It’s extremely random, but no less fun.

Saturday

As I hadn’t quite recovered from the intercontinental flight (and ensuing sleep deprivation) the weekend before, I slept in till most of the morning had passed by on the other side of my bedroom curtains. To make up for this extremely lazy start of my weekend, I decided to put my newest gadget (a go pro) to use, and spent the afternoon cycling through Yangon’s back alleys, capturing moving images of everyday life. In the evening I joined Marleen, Bart, Bente, Henno and a bunch of other friends to a LGBT party, but not before we tried some impressive-looking but odd-tasting cocktails at the Alchemist Rooftop bar next door. The hours spent in bed when the sun was up were well recovered at night, and it was after 3am when my head finally hit the pillow.

Sunday

Any alarm, even when it’s Caribbean Blue from Enya, is unwelcome after a night’s drinking. Nonetheless I forced myself to get up at 10am in order not to be late for Yoga at Bente’s. Joining semi-pros Bente and Christien wasn’t easy without a teacher to correct my every move, yet it nonetheless felt great stretching and bending the hangover out of my body. After yoga Henno joined us for a gorgeous lunch at the Rough Cut, which starts to resemble the Central Perk coffee bar from friends going by how much we are hanging out there. I spent the rest of the afternoon taking a well needed nap, whereas at night we listening to an album of Nina Simone at the Rough Cut– entirely in the dark. A cool experience and a good way to conclude a lovely weekend.

Monday

I don’t mind Mondays, but I must admit they’re not my favourite either. The routine is similar every day; cereals with an overly sweet liquid substance that is locally sold as “yoghurt”, shower, getting dressed and taking a cab to the office. The challenge is not so much agreeing on a price (taxi drivers are honest here and often the first offer is the appropriate MMK 3,000) but rather securing a vehicle with a backseat that doesn’t leave my white shirt full of stains or smears. Taking the taxi to work every day really sounds more glorious than it is. After work I walked to the boxing school; an enjoyable 45min stroll through Yankin’s vibrant markets, colourful neighbourhoods and quiet back alleys. Bart and Robbert, whom I both introduced to Leithwei boxing that day, withstood their first training very well and we rewarded ourselves afterwards with some great BBQ food and a cold beer at WinStar – my ‘local’ in SanChaung.

Tuesday

Those who think that my mind can be put to rest after a demanding day in the office are sorely mistaken, at least some days, as last Tuesday featured my regular Burmese class with Bente, Rayke and Marlin Le. We rotate houses between the three of us, and ‘dinner shifts’ between the four of us, with Rayke having the honour this time to put something tasty on the menu. She was helped out by her friend Marleen visiting, who made us some gorgeous (but very filling!) roti. Dinner was barely over when the always energetic Htoo Htoo burst into the room, and the next two hours I struggled trying to keep up with my way more talented friends. Despite the occasional puzzled look on my face class is always fun and rewarding, and I look forward picking it up again after the coming two month break. We concluded the evening with a small glass of Zambuka, and I must say there are worse ways to wrap up a Tuesday.

Wednesday

For lunch I caught up with Ludo and Madison at the food court in Myanmar Plaza, whereas the evening featured a Dublin-era reunion of former housemates. Paula and her friend happened to be in Yangon for the night so I took them out to my favourite restaurant (Gecko- no coincidence given that it was Whiskey Wednesday) and a few drinks at the lovely balcony of the Envoy after that. The week was halfway over and time is going way too fast, which is an undesirable side-effect of taking such delight in day-to-day life. That might well have been my last thought before falling to sleep that night, as talking to Paula about my life in Yangon made me even more conscious of how much I am enjoying my time here.

Thursday

Class was cancelled last minute Thursday night, so Marleen, Bente and I decided to have dinner together and go to the Rough Cut (where else) to check out the live music that had been announced to take place that night. There was a decent crowd, among which the familiar faces of Bart, Christien, Eline and April, which made for a somewhat sweaty but nonetheless very enjoyable atmosphere in the tiny space that is becoming an increasingly popular bar. Not for the first time this year, this time after talking to Bart about his latest novel, I told myself that I should be writing more, and with that renewed resolution I cycled home to a great night’s sleep.

Friday

That is today. It’s been a busy week at the office, with plenty of exciting and also frustrating things going on, yet I am not dissatisfied with the progress made since coming back from the Netherlands. In some ways this Friday isn’t exactly the standard Friday. Rather than the more casual end-of-the-week garb I’ve been walking around in a suit and tie, due to the various meetings scheduled, and at night I’m alone at home putting my freshest resolutions to practice. Then again, I’ll need an early night’s sleep, as tomorrow I’ll be getting up at seven for a 70km bike ride to Bago. The rest of the weekend will be very chilled out though, as I’ll be spending the remaining time cuddled up on a soft sofa at Hanthar Gardens, the latest Economist on my lap and a cup of tea within reach. Christien and Eline were kind enough to invite me for this weekend of chilling out at one of my favourite getaways from Yangon, and I look forward to some decent quality time out of the city.

Yangon on a Saturday afternoon in July

A hypthetical conversation when entering the UK

“Good morning”

“Good morning”

“What brings you to the UK?”

“Visiting friends”

“Where do these friends live?”

“London”

“May I ask how you know these people?”

“Well… I met them in various circumstances. It’s not the same group you know.”

“Various circumstances eh? Alright, who you meeting first?”

“A girl I met in Stockholm”

“Is she Swedish?”

“No, Greek”

“Greek… When was that first meeting taking place?”

“2009 I believe”

“And what brought you to Stockholm?”

“I was doing a summer university in Finland and Estonia”

“Stockholm is neither in Finland nor Estonia”

“Correct. It is on the way to Finland though”

“And when are you supposed to meet her?”

“Now. So you’re holding up a date”

“We’re not done yet. Who else are you meeting?”

“Tonight I am meeting a Dutch guy”

“How do you know this guy?”

“I know him from when I lived in London”

“Ah, you lived in London?”

“Sort of”

“Sort of?”

“They call it an extended business trip”

“How long was that for?”

“First time 10 weeks and second time 9 weeks”

“Right… so you are meeting two different friends in London?”

“No, four”

“Four? Who are the other two?”

“Tomorrow I am meeting a girl”

“Where is she from?”

“From here”

“So she is British?”

“Yes. Half Indian I believe”

“Right. How do you know her?”

“We met in Vietnam last April”

“Vietnam?”

“Yes, Vietnam”

“And what about this fourth person?”

“We used to be flat mates”

“In London?”

“No, in New Delhi”

“New Delhi??”

“Yes. It’s in India, you know”

“I know where New Delhi is. Is this girl Indian?”

“No, she is half Italian half Arab”

“Right. And when did you last see this person?”

“Ehmm. About 8 months ago I believe”

“In London?”

“No, in Hong Kong”

“Hong Kong?? How did that happen?”

“Coincidentally we both were there for work”

“Right. And where are you from? You sound Irish”

“The Netherlands”

“The Netherlands? How come you sound Irish?”

“I guess because I used to live in Dublin for three years”

“So where are you flying from today?”

“Eindhoven, the Netherlands”

“Do you live in Eindhoven?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Whereabouts in the Netherlands do you live then?”

“I don’t live in the Netherlands”

“Where the hell is it that you live??”

“Yangon, Myanmar”

“…..”

“Walk on”

Suppose

Let me put this hypothetical question to you. Suppose you live in Myanmar, which is quite a conjectural statement to start with. On a regular Tuesday morning, your cleaning lady asks you for a small loan, to pay the hospital bills for her child. She offers to repay you in ten instalments, by deducting a third of her wages every week. You readily agree (is there really another option?), fish out the money from your wallet, and leave for work.

The question that keeps you occupied on the way to work is whether to gift the money to your cleaning lady or to accept the instalments. It is an amount you can easily miss, and ideally you would gift her the money as it’s doing so much good to her compared to you spending it on whatever. Yet you are worried about creating the wrong incentives. If the money was gifted, your cleaning lady might ask for more in the future, perhaps without having an urgent cause. She might make up reasons, or invent stories.

The world is incredibly unequal and incredibly unfair. Does it matter that your cleaning lady might make up stories to get money off you when she is so much poorer? In a way it does. By virtue of allowing her into your apartment, and giving her a key, you need to fully trust her. Without that trust, you would have to cancel the contract. Moreover, Myanmar is full of people poorer than your cleaning lady. If you gave her free money, why wouldn’t you hand it out in the street to anyone who might need it?

Still, the world is incredibly unequal and incredibly unfair. This inequality is a by-product of growth in our capitalist system; some sort of an externality of having reached our current level of welfare. People work hard, innovate, and take risks when they know their efforts will pay a reward. Communism failed for a reason. Many people who can afford a cleaning lady are adding more to society than they are receiving from it, thanks to a progressive tax system and the impact they have through their job. Yet, this textbook example doesn’t hold true at all times, partially because of the twin vices of nepotism and corruption that are still all too prevalent. There is only so much you can justify by referring to economic theory.

All reasoning aside, the world is incredibly unequal and incredibly unfair. In this highly hypothetical situation, what would you do? What should you do?

Farmers and garments

Dear all,

a while ago Marleen and I got the idea to 'respond' to one another's blog posts by writing a corresponding story. Like many nice ideas, it remained just a nice idea, until I found myself writing a lengthy response to one of Marleen's Facebook posts this morning. Hopefully this is the beginning of a string of stories in which we compare our experiences and visions of living and working in the world's youngest democracy. Please find below the link to Marleen's blog post and my subsequent response. Feel free to contribute to the discussion by leaving a comment in the designated space below the article. Happy reading!

https://rsr.akvo.org/en/project/3717/update/17355/

Well let’s first establish that I don’t disagree with the spirit of your article (I mean how could you disagree with a better world for everyone) but rather with the reasoning behind it. Let’s first start with the rural-urban migration that you point out for its negative impact on food security because of the scarcity of labour it implies in the countryside. In my view and experience, the exact opposite holds. Smallholder farmer might seem romantic or idyllic from an outsider’s perspective, but those people eking out a living farming three acres of paddy land are dirt poor, and continuing to do so won’t make them any better off in the near nor the distant future. Myanmar was once the rice basket of SEA, and for them to reclaim this position we need better farming practices, the consolidation of small farm plots, and mechanisation. W.r.t. the latter, in our observations of the tractor market, we have seen evidence of farmers investing in machinery because the price of casual labour has gone up – precisely because of the reasons you point out. In my view this is a good thing. Any market force that stimulates a farmer to ditch the wooden plough and substitute it with a much more powerful tractor ought to be celebrated. Of course, when I am travelling through rural Myanmar, I find the sight of two big draft animals pulling a plough in a paddy field much more attractive that a noisy, smelly tractor. But isn’t that very selfish? Those farmers who have invested in machinery increase their labour productivity manifold, i.e. they produce more food in less time. They are much better off than when they were still trailing their oxen. Let me be even bolder in my statements; in addition to casual labour migrating to the cities, we need the smaller farmers to be bought out by the larger, more efficient ones. This will allow those farmers to grow larger, invest more in their farms, and increase their labour productivity and thus food production. A country cannot prosper as long as the majority of its labour force is locked up in smallholder farming. In the Netherlands only a small fraction of our GDP is derived from agriculture, yet we have plenty to eat. Myanmar is in parts an extremely fertile country, and it has the potential not only to feed itself but also supply its two giant neighbours, neither of which produce enough food to feed their own population. Myanmar’s current account deficit was a yawning 8.9% of its GDP in 2015, and increased agricultural productivity (and the garment industry, but I’ll get to that) can help to bridge that gap.

Now that we have established that rural-urban migration is stimulating productivity in the countryside rather than harming it, we get to your second point about the garment industry. While I fully agree with your critique of the consumerism in parts of the rich world, I think that this is a problem that lies with consumer attitudes and regulation in the West, not with producer countries in Myanmar or Bangladesh. Buying clothes for next to nothing only to dispose of them after wearing them once or twice is ghastly, and showcases much of what is wrong with today’s consumer mentality in the rich world. Yet prohibiting Myanmar people to work in the garment industry is not the solution to this problem. In my view, as long as the garment industry (or any industry for that matter), provides people who used to live in the countryside with a better income than what they had before, we shouldn’t discourage the invisible hand of the free market. As Myanmar develops, invests in schooling and infrastructure, and grows richer, so will the type of work improve that the majority of its working age population are engaged in. Looking at our own experiences in Western Europe, this transitory phase seems to be a regrettable but unavoidable phase of industrialisation. After all, the state of many a working class neighbourhood in late 19th century London wasn’t that glamorous either. In my view, if well-directed and regulated, FDI can speed up this development process, while stalling it will delay such progress.

Myanmar currently imports much more than it exports, which is unsustainable and harmful. It needs to make use of its competitive advantage to produce things at a price and quality that nobody else can beat, which would allow them to export it. Currently, looking at its fertile land and cheap labour, agricultural products and cheap garments fit the bill. Let’s hope the former will further develop so that the country may become an agri export powerhouse, while the latter will transition towards something more skilful.

So, hopefully, in a decade’s time, people will answer to your questions that they are on their way to a value-added job, which came about on the back of FDI, while answering that, thanks to a thriving agricultural sector, not only they have eaten, but also their Indian and Chinese neighbours have. 

Paradise in 40 degrees Celsius

‘Sorry for the late notice, but we’re closed down by the local government this weekend. You’ll get a free beer if you book another time!’ Late notice indeed, and at our request, not even out of their own initiative. It seems that the ostensible paradise of Sin Htauk is falling victim to its own success, both in their inability to manage bookings and supposedly to apply for the right type of licence. But with expensive domestic flights already booked to regional hub of Dawei, we had no choice but to look for alternative lodging. According to the guy from Sin Htauk all nearby accommodation had been fully booked, yet when I contacted the ‘Coconut Resort’ –inspired by a sly reference in the LP- they were more than happy to host us. And so we went anyway Saturday morning, flying down south to the narrow peninsula that Myanmar shares with Thailand.

Lovely though it was, the term ‘resort’ does justice neither to real resorts nor the homely, hostel-like vibe that Coconut displays. While the absence of AC in the rooms, power for only a few hours a day, and (adopted?) stray dogs might make the place sound a bit basic, which it was, the great setting and home-cooked food more than compensated for that. The common room featured low, Japanese style tables, encouraging guests to adopt Roman dining positions, shelves full of second-hand books, and maps of the area on the wall. Guests slept either in bungalows or in one of the small tents that could be found amid the towering coconut trees. But there wasn’t really much to do, and I saw the same sleepy, familiar faces lounging on the mats every day. Hence, during the only full day we had, we took to discovering the peninsula.

It wasn’t easy to get to, paradise. I guess if it was, it would have been crawling with people, and I wouldn’t call it paradise anymore. Now we were the only ones. The only ones who i) knew about it, ii) didn’t live in the nearby fishing village and iii) were crazy enough to lounge at a beach without shade during the hottest part of the day. Temperatures must have been in the high thirties, if not higher, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. For about two hours we had been on the move (and in the sun), riding our motorbike along the main road snaking down the peninsula, past villages and fallow fields. The area has a distinctively laidback, though relatively prosperous vibe. It was remarkably green given the time of the year, the roads were of decent quality and undergoing upgrading as we speak, and most houses boasted two stories and colourful façades. The whole scene breathed tropical, from small scale rubber plantations to mountains with lush vegetation, and from the burning sun to the gorgeous beaches. Tourism is still vert nascent, and the large crowds on the beach near Coconut were comprised almost entirely of locals. And the beaches that are harder to get to... well, no crowds there.

It was not long after we had nourished a tasty lunch of steamed rice with chicken that Jasmine (who was doing the navigation) indicated that we had to take a right turn. ‘Here?’ I eyed the dirt road disappearing into a forest, forking away from the main road that continued down south. ‘Yeah, that’s what it says…’ Google maps left no room for ambiguity, and so I rode our bike up the path. Our hostess had very kindly explained the condition of the road that we were evidently on, stating it was ‘good quality yes very good but up and down and up and down and going in sharp turns like snake but oh yes very good quality’, which proves once again how opinions might differ even when using the same adjectives. Okay, I must admit it wasn’t that bad. The gravel soon gave way to sand, with intermittent rocks and potholes making the descent a little tricky, but overall it was very doable. And it ought to be said that I was likely the worst driver in the area, as the few villagers that overtook us did so at twice the speed.

After this entertaining bike ride, all that separated us from the beach was a stretch of mangrove forest, with patches of sand, vegetations and ankle-deep water to wade through. And then, finally, after crossing the last waist-deep (a little higher for Jasmine) liquid hurdle, I tossed my rucksack aside and ran up the beach, soaking up the gorgeous scenery all around. To the left were distant hills covered in verdant, lush green jungle, whereas on the right one could make out a number of small fishing boats, bobbing on the waves. And in front of us, an azure-blue sea, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sand was made of the tiniest particles and was bleach white, the water warm. We swam, gorged on the views, the peace, the absence of any other human beings, and the serenity of the place. Yet it was midday, the sun scorching hot, and no shade to be found, so we couldn’t stay there the entire afternoon, however much we wanted to. So after an hour or so in paradise, we waded our way back to the bike, snaked through the mountain pass, up and down, onto the main road, through the now familiar-looking villages, and back to Coconut.

And the name of the beach? I think I’ll keep that to myself ;)