Three months into my new Burmese adventure, and I had barely left the city. Being honest, that is largely attributable to all that Yangon has to offer. It is my perfect mixture of adventure, leisure, foreignness, comfort and a homely feeling that is indispensable to happily living somewhere for a prolonged period of time. Strolling the streets downtown I am in the middle of a concoction of sounds, scents and treats to the eyes, all exotic and intense, all so very Asian while imperatively Myanmar. Any evening the streets are filled with life, with people enjoying dinner over a cup of tea or a few glasses of beer, everyone outside, walking and talking and smiling. And amid this bustling and addictively exotic place, I have found myself new friends with whom to share all these novelties, new compatriots who make my new home truly feel like a new home. Almost as lucky as I have been with them, I have been with my apartment; brightly lit and comfortable in my favourite township. Bar getting rid of the cockroaches and putting some newly acquired art on the walls, it needed little work. Along with my most recent purchase, Jack (a big leather lounge chair), it has truly become a comfortable home. Hence I had put off seeking new adventures beyond Yangon’s borders, as I simply didn’t feel the urge. Of course there were the leisurely trips to Singapore, to Bago and Dala, and the work trip to Pakkoku and Bagan. But it wasn’t until last Friday evening that I felt the travel vibe again. It came to me when our taxi entered the sprawling bus station in the northern part of the city, after two hours of wrestling through rush hour traffic. It is the thrilling sense of not knowing what lies ahead, of having your backpack strapped on, about to board a vehicle to a new destination. That feeling tells you that the only certainty you have is that it is going to be another memorable experience, it opens your mind, it lets go of the safety of comfort and familiarity, and embraces the unknown with arms wide open.
My knowledge and expectations of
the Adventure Group that Laurien introduced me to were still rather modest that
Friday evening. I wasn’t quite sure where we were going for the weekend, and I
had packed for rain and sunshine alike. In the end the trip exceeded all
expectations, mainly thanks to Zar Ni, who did a tremendous job putting the
itinerary together. Even the unforeseen was quickly dealt with, such as when
the engine of our rickshaw sputtered and stopped altogether, when climbing a
modest hill after we had swum below a thundering tropical waterfall. But wait,
that is only Sunday afternoon. Let’s stick to the chronology. Friday evening.
Night bus to Mandalay.
Night buses in developing
countries generally prompt imagines of suicidal drivers, pothole-filled roads,
and twice as many people as can reasonably be expected stuffed onto a dirty and
ramshackle vehicle deemed no longer fit for purpose by its previous first world
owner. Hence I was pleasantly surprised by my big reclining chair, the stewardess
who handed out snacks and blankets, the little screen in front of me (that I
didn’t use), reasonably good quality roads, and a driver whose only concern
wasn’t to get to Mandalay as quickly as possible but also to get there in one
piece. As such I actually slept on the night bus, from about midnight to 4 am,
which for some (a small royal minority but still) qualifies as a full
night’s sleep. To me, it was enough to keep me going full strength until collapsing
in my bed the next evening in Pyin Oo Lwin at around 11 pm.
It is rather amazing what can be
done in a day when one starts at 4 am. After taking a taxi to downtown
Mandalay, we settled in a tea house in order to change clothes and nourish an energising
breakfast. Ready to go, we proceeded to rent four motor bikes that would become our means of transport
for the weekend. It was generally assumed that the four men in our group of
eight were capable of riding a bike in general and one with manual gears in
particular. Learning about this plan, my mind drifted back to the three prior
occasions in my life that I had ridden a motor bike (none manual). There was my trip with Marieke in Goa, where I almost rode into a
ditch because I was too thrilled by our surroundings to keep my eyes on the
road. Then there was the attempted trip around Naxos with Anna, when we crashed
somewhere in the mountains and Anna had to be taken to hospital to be treated
for the injuries sustained (although she was driving when we fell). And lastly
there’s the trip with Johan and two French girls in Rajasthan, India, where we
got stuck in the middle of nowhere with a punctured tube. ‘Could someone give
me a crash course in how to ride this thing?’ Some patient explanations by
Johnny as well as the shop’s owner got me good to go, and after an awkward
first 30 minutes I managed reasonably well for the remainder of the journey.
Had someone told me that Sunday evening I would be riding the bike through the
mountains, in the dark, in the rain, for two hours back to Mandalay, I wouldn’t
have been so keen. Luckily, I was still blissfully unaware.
Fully fuelled we set off towards
a mountain whose name I forgot, parked the bikes at the bottom, and started our
hike all the way to the monastery perched on the top. I am arguably happiest
when I can walk uphill in an environment of stunning natural beauty, so you can
imagine how I felt striding through verdant green jungle, past small houses and the occasional school. The lush vegetation at times gave way to spectacular views over
the surrounding countryside, while sprawling Mandalay could be spotted in the
distance. When finally reaching the top we were awaited by stunning vistas, and
we took our time chilling out at the monastery and taking in all the natural
bounty beneath us. We had had breakfast in Mandalay, seen the suburbs of
Myanmar’s second city give way to paddy fields and water buffaloes, hiked uphill
for a good few hours, and were now enjoying the visual fruits of our labour.
And it was only noon.
This happy sensation was quite a
contrast with the where we found ourselves a mere half an hour later. Pyin Oo
Lwin lies at 3,445 feet altitude, compared with Mandalay at 244 feet, so we had
to climb quite a bit to get there. The road snaking around the mountains was dusty
and filled with potholes. Massive lorries were crawling their way up, leaving a
trail of dust that got into oureyes and our lunges. Overtaking these bulky
units wasn’t easy as the next bend in the road was always imminent, and the
free spaces between these monsters were filled with other motor bikes trying to get
past them. It took a while, but in the end we got there. Relieved to park the
bikes for the night we checked into the hotel, took a well-deserved shower, watched
the Manchester derby in the lobby, and enjoyed dinner and life music at a
pretty restaurant. By then everyone was yearning for their beds, and we all
tucked in for a sound eight hour night’s sleep. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The next day was more leisurely,
as Sundays are supposed to be, as we were driven by tuck-tuck from sight to
sight. These included a golden temple (what else), a pretty waterfall that we
swam next to (amazing), and a superb lunch overlooking a green valley (also
amazing). After we had swapped our defunct tuck-tuck for a sturdier vehicle we
set off towards yet another sight, having stuffed our wet clothing into bags
and pockets. Except for Laurien. Whereas the driver had questioned the wisdom of
hanging the pieces of clothing on the handle of a moving vehicle, the
temptation to let it dry in the wind rather than stink in a bag was apparently
too big. So indeed, ten minutes into the journey the clothing trembled loose of
the handle, dropped onto the road, and induced excited screams for the driver
to stop from all of us in the back of the truck. Surely thinking ‘I told them
so’, the guy reversed the few hundred meters back, while passing cars elegantly
avoided the bright yellow t-shirt and blue shorts lying helplessly on the road.
Being close enough, I got out of the car to fetch Laurien’s clothes. To
everyone’s amusement however, an exceptionally large lorry made me wait a
little longer to pursue my rescue mission, and six pairs of muddy, massive wheels
thundered over the hitherto cleanish pieces of fabric. ‘That actually hurt’,
Laurien confided, as I handed her over what now more resembled some filthy
rags. Lesson learnt?
The motor ride back to Mandalay
wasn’t as daunting as we had imagined setting off, when dusk and rain made the
journey through the mountains seem quite hazardous. We stuck to our formation;
myself and Laurien up front, followed by Benjamin and Zar Ni while Johnny and
Elena completed our little caravan. We delivered the bikes back to their
owners, expressed our thanks, picked up our luggage that Greg had so kindly
brought to Mandalay, had some dinner, and got onto the bus for the journey back
to Yangon. Another comfortable bus allowed me to catch some hours of sleep,
albeit that I could have done without the forced break at half 1 in the
morning. In order to make sure that everyone actually woke up and left the bus
into the pouring rain, we were mercilessly pulled from our dreams by agonising
music blasting from poor quality speakers. 30 disgruntled minutes passed and we
were let on again, back to sleep, only to wake up when we pulled into Yangon’s
bus station at half six in the morning. I bade my new friends goodbye, got into
a taxi, had a shower and some breakfast at home, and sat behind my desk at half
eight in the morning. Apart from the bags below my eyes and my at times dreamy
expression, one wouldn’t have been able to tell that in a mere weekend I had travelled
and experienced adventures that felt like they had lasted a fortnight. Zar Ni,
thanks again for making this magnificent experience possible! I’ll be a regular
on your future trips. Elena, Laurien, Kyi Khine, Henry, Johnny, and Ben, thanks
for the great trip. That many more may follow.
'It's so sweet that you will like it'
