Blues in Bagan

16th Feb 2008

Yesterday I arrived in Bagan, Myanmar on a bus from Inle, Myanmar. I am at a low. There is little inspiration or enthusiasm in my blood. I am tiring of the travel and of the long periods of loneliness. I long for the company of my family and friends. I know there is no short cut to that. I still have much ground to cover, aspects of life to confront and many solutions to find. I will need to plunder the depths of my inner resources to address them.

In many respects the travel I have committed to has been a postponement of decisions about future life, particularly about where to live, what work to take when I decide to work, and about whether to take a 'life' partner should the opportunity arise... and I know it will when I start allowing it to.

I have however enjoyed the time in Inle. Inle Lake is full of wonderful sights and mellow people. The atmosphere is quiet and serene. Early morning mists and warm evening dusks bring contrasting moods to picturesque settings that appear to be from an age long departed in other parts of this world. I had the added pleasure of spending much of the Inle time with a couple that I met in Kalaw.

Kalaw is an almost car less town. It exudes the back packer atmosphere and nestles in the hills maybe 40km from Inle. Many visitors to Kalaw choose to take a 3 day, 2 night trek to reach the lake. One overnight stop is apparently at a monastery and rumour has it that the predawn chorus one awakes to is of the monks chanting their worshipful verse. I missed that. I took the soft option and chickened out on the 3 day trek in favour of a shared taxi from Kalaw to Inle. At least my knees still work!

It was during the early afternoon of the 11th February that I had the pleasure of meeting Juan and Connie. Hailing from Majorca now but originally Spain (Barcelona) and Holland respectively they were like old friends within hours. A chance meeting in the quiet Kalaw streets led to a coffee at a nearby shop then dinner in the evening and the shared taxi the following day to Nyaungshwe, Inle.

Juan's sense of humour ran completely adjacent to my own and we found ourselves chuckling about sightings such as the hustle of small boats in a remote spot of the Inle lake that were positioned with afts to the hustle centre and the captains perched on their haunches at the afts deep in conversation. They're talking politics was the witty comment from Juan..no microphones there! The day trip on a boat across the lake to take in the floating market, lunch and finally to collect their Dutch friends at the end of their 3 day hike from Kalaw to Inle lake was a notable pleasure. Connie was warm, friendly and caring. A lovely couple. I have an invite to Majorca. Bless them!

I followed the lake boat trip on the 13th with what was described as a 5 hour trek from my guest house on the 14th. Enquires made of the guest house, Aquarious, owner reassured me that the trek was gentle and did not need a guide. I set off solo in the morning armed with suncream, water and the little rough map that the guest house had presented me with. Two hours later I had begun to get the feeling that I had missed a turn somewhere. I had been climbing gently and in some places not so gently for most of the 2 hours. The sun was strong and I was panting for much of that time. There were breathtaking views of the lake and the little town I had walked from but I had not come across the English speaking, cave dwelling monk who was supposed to have shown himself according to the position marked on the map at between 1and 2 hours. I began to think that I would go to three hours and if I was still of the opinion that I was incorrectly routed I would turn and make my way back. At least it would all be down hill and would probably be less than a three hour walk back. I continued to climb and felt that I was probably close to the peak of what appeared to be one of the highest hills around. At almost the three hour point I happened across a small village with a distinct absence of people. Just one old guy working on some bamboo who completely ignored me. I wandered across some flatland between basic woven walled dwellings toward what appeared to be a place of worship under construction. That was also deserted. I noticed a couple of children watching me from a distance. A few paces away from the part constructed shrine was a more elaborate timber structure with an open window. I called a couple of gentle hello's. Then I clocked a couple of novice monks in the shade inside the timber structure who were clearly eating and when they noticed me made the hand to mouth sign that suggested they were taking food. Don't mind me I thought. I'm just lost in space.

A more senior monk came to the window and with a series of hand signs, aaah's and ohh's I was given to believe the village I should have been at by now was a long, long way over to the west. I tried to explain to the monk that I would like him to write down the name of this village. He put pen to paper in the form of Myanmar symbols. I am not sure it will be of any use to me now but it was a nice thought at the time. I will take a photo of the map and of his writing and put into my Picasa album for the Feb 08.

I turned round from the window with my many thankyou's echoing in the air to see that the couple of children had multiplied to about 30. That and what followed made the whole walk worthwhile for me. I reached for my camera and made indications that I would like to take their photo. Immediately they fell cheerily into one straight line and I became convinced that this was not the first time they had had this request. I became even more convinced when, as I inspected the camera after the photo event, I was almost knocked over by the rush of the whole cheering group of children to my feet wanting to share the inspection with me. As I write this now I am again flushed with warmth that those happy children brought to me that afternoon. The photo will be in my Picasa Feb 08 album. My walk back was gentle. My boots were pinching my feet in a couple of places and I was sure that I would have some stiff muscles for a couple of days after but it would be a small price to pay for that experience.

That walk was to bring my Inle Lake visit to a close. I had bought a ticket for the bus to Bagan for the 15th February. 12500 Kjyet. A little over 10USD.

Before I leave Inle in this narrative I feel compelled to mention another lady that I met at the Aquarius guest house in Inle as I thought she was quite remarkable and had a lovely friendly way. Her name was Lola and she hails from Weymouth in Dorset, England. I want to mention this because I spent many family holidays in Weymouth. Lola actually owned and ran the Sandcombe Hotel close to the Esplanade Gardens for many years. Lola has retired from that business now but still spends the summers in Dorset. I have the impression that she spends most of her European winters in Asia and has spent a considerable time travelling in India. It was especially nice to hear that she still visits most of the South of England music festivals including Gladstonbury during the summers and she was keen to point out that she was old enough to be my mother. My admiration for others is pushed to new heights!

The roads are so bad here that it takes an age to get anywhere. I had to rise at 4.15am for the taxi at 4.30am to the bus stop at Taunggyi junction to take the 12 hour ride to Bagan. That bus ride was quite simply an endurance test. The bus had seats but little else that fell into the comfort category. It was incredibly dusty - inside the bus! The door didn't close properly which was a problem for the first three or four hours as the outside and inside temperature was well below 10deg C and I wore shorts and sandals. As the day went by the temperature climbed to well over the other side of 25deg C and the door needed to be open but unfortunately that meant that the internal dust count frequently rose to haze levels inside the bus. As we came to the latter half of the day the passenger count exceeded seat count by a mutliple previously unheard of but it didn't stop a gaggle of schoolgirls singing their way through the last three hot dusty hours to Bagan. As is the way in Myanmar we had some bold individuals travelling atop the bus for large lengths of the journey also. At Nyaung U, Bagan, I collected an almost unrecognisable brown Myanmar dust coloured backpack from the underside of the rattley old Isuzu bus and accepted the first offer of transport into the guest house area, a pony and trap. I am at the New Heaven guest house for 6usd a night inc breakfast. After that bus ride I can confirm it is aptly named.

I will adjourn for a beer now and be back at the keyboard over the next couple of days to record some experiences from the Bagan days. The writing has lifted my spirits a little as it always does. Nevertheless it is getting close to the time when I need to make some hard decisions about life beyond this period of travel.