palimpsest

Tokyo

2011-11-10T17:33:00.000-05:00

My first trip to Tokyo, was a brief, one-day experience. I had arrived early in the morning, after an overnight flight. I don't recall much of that trip. Although I was wide-eyed in wonder, I was also sleep deprived and much of that wonder may have been hallucination. Having over a week in and near the city meant that I could really see it ... or so I thought.

My adventure began in my hotel. Instead of a terrycloth robe hanging in my closet, I was provided with a traditional yukata. I wasted no time in trying it on. Although beautifully appointed, the room was certainly the smallest I'd ever seen in the Marriott chain. I was not planning to spend much time there, so I didn't much care. Interestingly, it had the smallest bathroom I've ever seen outside an airplane. It was just large enough to accommodate a sink, toilet and shower stall. Again, not a place where I spend a lot of time ... until I sat down on the toilet. It was one of those famous automatic toilets. While American hotels concentrate on adjustable beds and televisions with a hundred channels, the Japanese put their efforts into toilets that make you happy to be awake. I was compelled to explore every option on the device's repertoire. I was not disappointed.

The other interesting thing about my hotel was the birds. There weren't any birds, but there were bird songs. Hidden speakers located near the ceiling played the chirping of birds, just audible over the other ambient noises of the hotel. The sounds were remarkably real and delightfully relaxing; especially since their source could not be easily identified.

Ginza district at night.

I spent my first morning exploring the nearby Tokyo Fish Market and the area around it. Although I saw no "sights," everyday life in Japan is enough to pique my curiosity. In the afternoon, I explored the Ginza district. To my delight, they had closed off the street to traffic and there were cafe-style tables set up. Unfortunately, there was no coffee or tea being served and no market shops set up. Still, it made for great people watching.

Ginza district closes the street to traffic.

Side streets lit by neon signs.

In the evening, I took the train to Akihabara Electric Town, hoping to acquire some interesting electronic gadget. Getting off the main street, there are numerous side streets and passageways, packed with stores and closed to traffic. I popped into many of the electronics stores but was, quite frankly, bewildered by the displays. With the exception of high-tech rice cookers, there was nothing there that I didn't think I could find back home. There may well have been marvelous items, but not being able to understand the labels and promotional text, I had no way of knowing. What few devices I knew well, camera equipment mainly, I could buy more cheaply on the domestic market. The specialization of the stores impressed me, though. For example, one store sold only lights. Not table lights and floor lamps, just bulbs and their fixtures. Every imaginable bulb shape and color.

The layout of these stores is what really intrigued me. Even the larger department stores had limited street space, so they build the shops tall. A store that would pass a quaint boutique-size shop anywhere else, is equipped with escalators that enabled expansion to seven and more floors. Each floor is then dedicated to a different type of product. Mind you, these are all electronics products, so there's a lot to see!

Much like the Ginza district, "Akiba" is lit primarily by neon signs, the most colorful (or annoying) of which belong to the pachinko parlors. These places are overwhelmed by sound: music from the parlor public address system, the music from the individual machines and the sound effects each produce. On a busy evening, it is all but impossible to speak without yelling. I've been to quieter rock concerts.

Inside a pachinko parlor

Cute girls, dressed in alluring clothing, handed out fliers in front of many of the larger establishments. I spotted a clutch of girls dressed in provocative maid attire. Something tugged at the back of my mind and I knew I had to see whatever restaurant they were promoting. After making my way up some dark, narrow and slightly scary stairs, I stepped into a brightly lit room with small tables with a score of customers and maids rushing about serving them. I recalled reading about a maid café, but never expected to see one in person. It's like a regular café, but served by women who act like household maids, garbed in a caricature of English or French maid attire. There's nothing untoward about the place, just a novel dinning experience. I later learned that it was the very first ever maid café I discovered. I so wanted to photograph the place, but they were adamant about their "no photography" rule, so I left empty handed.

The next morning, I walked past the Ginza district and made my way toward the royal palace. The city abruptly came to an end at a moat with a stone wall, beyond which was a serene park.

Looking at the city from across the moat.

I had no idea what time the palace opened for tours, so I wandered through the splendid grounds until I found what looked like an entrance. It was at that time I learned that the emperor lives in the palace and that he didn't really care for visitors. With so many royal palaces open to the public, it's too easy to forget that there are still royal personages living in some of them! I contented myself by enjoying the grounds and watching the numerous locals use the cobbled road around the moat for their morning exercises.

As close as I came to the royal palace.

Near the palace, I discovered a garden park. It was fairly quiet at that early hour of the morning, but there were still people there exercising and enjoying the beautiful light.

The early morning light in Hibiya park.

Hibiya park is an interesting mix of things. There are areas that appear as sacred shrines, there are tennis courts, there are ponds, there are semi-feral house cats, and there are lovely gardens.

Beautiful fall colors.

I walked back to the Ginza district to find some breakfast. Unable to find anything suitably appealing, I settled for a coffee and danish at a very Parisian looking cafe, attended by some surprisingly Parisian looking patrons.

Having coffee in the cafe.

In the various department stores I visited, they all had a special section with gift items. In some stores, it would take up an entire floor. The gifts were unusual in that they were so heavily packaged. The most common were consumables, including dried fruits and nuts and coffees. Each was packed in a beautiful container and wrapped in layers of colorful plastic and foil. The prices, of course, reflected the care each product was given. I learned that our western Christmas roughly coincides with a gift-giving time in Japan. The gifts tend to be on the elaborate side and are very often given to bosses.

Inside the Liz Lisa boutique.

I continued my exploration of the shopping spaces. Most of the larger centers had boutiques inside that sold particular brands. Each of these boutiques were decorated in that brand's style ... and some were particularly stylish ... with a very Japanese style.

I thought it might be a good idea to buy a kimono. The shop I visited had a selection of the robes on display. They were beautiful. They would better decorate a wall than any painting or photo. I looked at the price and had to look again. My rough mental calculation of yen to dollars suggested that the particular kimono I was examining was in excess of $500. It was way more than I wanted to spend, of course, but it was certainly worth that price. It wasn't even the most impressive or most expensive, but it was the one that most appealed to me. There was a gentle click-click-click as my brain slowly chewed over the cost, then there was an almost audible "bing!" This kimono was not five hundred bucks, this kimono was more than five thousand bucks. I would not be hanging this kimono on my wall ... but I thought briefly about a fur tapestry.

Romantic streets.

That evening, I stopped at the Sagami-Ōno train station on the way to my accommodations. The shopping area near the station is as typical as one can find in Japan. There were no tourists in sight, just people going about their business, shopping, etc. I was mostly looking for interesting souvenirs and good food.

What I really like about Tokyo is the fact that cars are not the rulers of the city. The area where I was walking around had almost no cars. There are plenty of bicycles, of course, but few cars getting in the way of everything. The roads were practically alleys, they were so narrow, and people walked through the streets like Americans walk through the mall corridors.

Having experienced crowded trains on the weekend, I could not imagine what the weekday commute is like. On a Saturday morning, I took the train to Asakusa to see the most famous shrine in the city, Sensō-ji. The train was packed with people. I got off the train too soon and found myself in the middle of ... well, wherever I was in Tokyo, but probably not the middle. I was fortunate to fine a policeman who knew enough English to point me in the right direction. In the end I was lucky to have exited when I did as it afforded opportunity to see more of the city.

Outside the Bandai headquarters

One of the first things I stumbled upon was the headquarters of Bandai, Japan's biggest toy manufacturer. I was not alone in admiring the building. Many Japanese tourists stood with their noses pressed against the glass, looking at the showroom lobby. Outside the building stand many oversize versions of Bandai's characters (including my childhood hero, Ultraman).

When I arrived at Sensō-ji, I was a bit overwhelmed. After passing through the first enormous gate, I found myself in a lane leading up to the shrine, each side of which was crowded with shops. I was actually pleased to see so many potential souvenir items in one place, but I thought it a bit odd that a sacred place would be so commercial. I later learned that since ancient times, the merchants had been allowed to set up their small shops in exchange for looking after the temple grounds.

Visitors pull incense smoke toward themselves near the shrine gate.

I barely made it to the first gate when I was approached by three college students. They wanted to be my guides at the shrine because it gave them an opportunity to practice their English. I was quite suspect, but dropped my guard when I realized they were sincere. As they told me about the gate we were standing beneath, I was distracted by small groups of people walking with, what looked like, fishing poles in bags. I asked my guides to help me figure out what they were doing. We learned they were all coming from an archery tournament held at a recreation center near the river. This was my chance to see one of Japan's most famous art forms!

The archer's equipment.

I told my guides I was changing plans and they offered to accompany me. We spend a good bit of time trying to find the tournament. It was being held in the largest recreation center I've ever seen. Such places in the US are spread out over acres of land. In Tokyo, the only way to expand is to go up. The building looked like a huge office block. We climbed about five floors to find the archery competitors, all dressed in traditional outfits, preparing for the competition.

In a room as long as a bowling alley, a group of six immaculately dressed archers methodically took their place at the shooting area with their great seven-foot bows. They went through a bit of a ritual as they knelt down to prepare their arrows, then slowly stood to take their shot. With the help of my interpreter guides, I gained permission to photograph them unobtrusively.

Preparing for the shot.

I spent as long as I dared, not wanting to distract the competitors with my presence as I moved behind them, looking very out of place with my western garb. My guides took me back to the shrine and we continued where we left off.

Once we had completed the tour of the shrine, my young guides asked my permission to return to the entrance so they could meet more more English speakers. I was quite taken aback by this, but they were the epitome of politeness. I was worried that I ran them off their feet, but they admitted that they had fun. They wished me good luck and took off through the crowd, back to the first gate.

My guides.

My next concern was for money. My guides were unable to locate a usable bank machine or money changer, so I headed in to the heart of Asakusa, in hopes of finding services catering to foreign tourists. I could find nothing.

I have no idea what he was selling.

Japanese shops compete for customers through various techniques. My favorite was the giant plush-toy character. You would think that an enormous cute creature would be promoting products targeted toward kids, but these things were touting everything from refrigerators to gambling halls.

While I did not see a lot of them, the ones I did see were very professional looking. Any one of them could have an entire animated TV program dedicated to them, but here, they were the American equivalent of sign flippers.

I stopped a young couple as they were entering some sort of bank. Fortunately, they spoke English. The bank, as it turned out, was a karaoke place ... so much for my powers of observation and deduction. He pulled out his smart phone and used the map application to identify bank machines. The three of us followed the directions, going from bank to bank, all of which lacked the service I required.

I was impressed by the guy's stylish attire and asked his girlfriend if he was a musician. She assured me he was. "Ah-ha, he is a singer in a rock band, isn't he?" I claimed. The two of them laughed. She said he was a singer, but that he sang opera. Now it was my turn to laugh, but she assured me that he sang opera. To test him, I (badly) hummed the opening bars of my favorite aria, Nessun dorma. He picked it up right away and began singing the lyrics in a quite, but powerful, voice. I stopped dead in my tracks. He really was an opera singer!

Opera singer and girlfriend.

By this point, I'd taken up a lot of their time and did not want to further intrude on their evening. I'd yet to find somewhere to change money, but he suspected that I could do so somewhere near the train station. I bid them a good evening and eventually did get some money. Time to shop!

I returned to the shrine, and picked up some souvenirs. Then, I headed back to the bar areas of Asakusa. I was unable to find a restaurant that really appealed to me, but was entranced by the many hole-in-the-wall eating establishements in the many alleyways.

One of the many little bars in Asakusa.

Still hungry, I returned, yet again, to the shrine. With the sun down, the place looked magical. Although there were fewer people, there were still a lot of people and the shops were still doing business.

Sensō-ji at night.

The next day, it was time to leave Japan. I took the train to the airport and arrived early enough to wander around the shopping area. There were plenty of interesting things to buy, including this unusual flavor of Kit Kat.

Soy sauce flavored Kit Kat bars? Only in Japan

See more photos from Tokyo here.

A brief tour of Shōnan, Japan

2011-11-02T16:57:00.001-04:00

My two colleagues and I had a free day to explore. They had discussed the idea of going to Kyoto, but the logistics were cost and time prohibitive. We settled on a trip south, to the region of Shōnan. My knowledge of the area was as lacking as my knowledge of the rest of Japan's geography, but I knew there would be plenty of opportunity to learn.

The way to travel around the Tokyo region is by train. According to my calculations, it would take about an hour and half to get to Enoshima island in Sagami Bay. Of course, that would be a ninety minute trip for people who knew where they were going and how to get there. We arrived at the train station and relied on the gracious ticket agents to explain how to get to our destination. The trip required changing trains at a nearby station, then changing railroads at another station. This required another patient ticket agent to assure us we were on the right track, literally and figuratively.

Looking out the windows, we watched as the buildings changed from apartment towers and office blocks to smaller row houses. We were approaching the coast.

The view from the front of the train as we rode toward Enoshima.

Leaving the train station, we crossed a bridge under which dark brown water churned its way to the bay. The river was flowing so quickly, I was half convinced the boats tied to the concrete channel might be swept away. We walked across the causeway leading to the island.

Care for some tasty little fish?

It was clear that Enoshima was a tourist destination. The road at the end of the causeway was lined with shops and restaurants. I learned that the culinary specialty of the area was a sardine. We soon found a restaurant specializing in this dish, but I was intrigued by whatever it was that they were offering free samples. It appeared to be some sort of short, white, noodly substance. Customers were buying bagfuls of the stuff. The restauranteur proffered me a spoonful as I asked him what it was. After a few attempts, I learned that it was the very sardine I had been told about. The little white noodle was actually a very tiny, fully formed, fish. I expected it to taste fishy, but it tasted more like a noodle than anything. I'm not a big fish eater, but I figured this was an opportunity that should not be passed up. My colleagues agreed and we went inside to have lunch.

The restaurant included simple wooden tables but also a closed-in area with mats on the floor. Our hostess wisely didn't bother to ask us if we wanted to sit on the mats. We were fortunately that the menu included pictures so we were able to pick out what we wanted to eat. Out meal consisted of rice or noodle with the sardine and other items. It was tasty, but not particularly memorable.

Afterward, we headed up along the commercial street on the hill to the shrine. On the way, I engaged a friendly cat. Moments later, a man approached me, holding a calico cat, laughing and saying "Ah, a present for you!" and handed me the cat. His colleagues chortled at this and I went along, accepting the furry gift. The cat purred as I held it and scratched it behind the ears.

A young woman, who noted the exchanged, came up and told me I had a very beautiful cat. "Oh, a present for you!" I said, and handed her the cat. She accepted it with a smile. The other shop keepers gave laughing approval.

I spotted a group of girls eating something on skewers. It looked like meat, but it could just as easily have been a sweet of some sort. As I tried to ask them what it was, they looked at my camera and giggled in delight then posed for a photo! I never did find out what they were eating, but I did manage to get them to hold them for the picture.

I don't know what they were eating, but it looked delicious.

The stone stairway and cobbled walk leading up to the shrine was lined in red banners. By ignoring the fact that the banners were nylon and hoisted on plastic poles, I could imagine that I was walking back in time. Near the entrance, worshipers were engaged in a cleansing ritual. They used a dipper to wash their hands and some took a sip and spit it on the ground.

The ritual cleansing fountain.

Shrine attendants sell souviners and items of adoration to worshipers at a sort of kiosk done up in very traditional style.

A shrine attendant patiently poses for my camera.

There were areas where people tie wishes to a fence or attach wooden charms to a frame.

A frame with wooden charms left by worshipers.

We wandered around the island, looking at the various viewpoints and passing through the tall trees and lush bamboo stands. There was not enough time to enjoy the parks and other diversions, though, as we wanted to see more of Shōnan.

We walked back across the causeway. The wind had picked up and the surf was churning. Some brave and foolhardy surfers were enjoying the chilly water. We returned to the station from which we arrived and discovered that we had to go back across the bridge and walk to an alternate railroad line. That gave us more opportunity to see the town.

The other train station had a unique feature. There are four metal birds attached to the railing at the station. Someone takes the time to dress them up according to the season.

Birds on the station railing, all dressed up for Christmas.

The train from Enoshima runs along the water, so we had an excellent view of the bay. There was not much to see but windy waves. Our next destination was Kamakura, home to one of Japan's most memorable landmarks.

The enormous statue sits imperturbable.

The great bronze Kamakura Daibutsu stand (sits, really) more than thirteen meters high. Standing on the grounds around the statue, it's difficult to imagine what it was like back in the thirteenth century. Back then, it was inside a temple. That structure was destroyed by a tsunami and it has sat outside for nearly five hundred years.

I stood at the foot of this serene giant and watched the shadows crawl up as the sun descended behind the hills. It's hard to know if he's got his eyes closed or watching the people walking up the stone terraces through slitted eyes. I imagined how he looked when the waters flowed around him so long ago.

Ginkgo leaves carpet the pavement.

As imposing as the statue is, it was the grounds around it that caught my attention. The leaves of the ancient ginkgo trees were turning yellow and dropping to the ground. Old women in bonnets were sweeping the leaves with gigantic brooms made from reeds. Little pools and fountains were scattered among the decorative foliage and walls held doors to secret places forbidden to tourists.

We decided to stop by another shrine before returning to the train station. This was a forested hill with numerous statuary dispersed throughout the gardens. I would love to see the place in the spring, but the autumn colors were something to behold.

Miniature stone monks stand serenely.

The Cadillac of rickshaws.

Outside the shrine, I discovered which career I would next like to have: rickshaw driver. The gentleman who was pulling this beautiful cart was as fit as any athlete. Just think, create and deliver training for eight months of the year and spend the summers getting in fantastic shape! When he told me that his rickshaw cost as much as a small car, I admit that I reconsidered this career option. Still, it would likely last longer than most gym memberships.

As the sun went down, we made our way back to the train station. After a brief visit to a soba noodle shop, we return to our domiciles and to a well-earned rest.

See more photos from Shōnan here.

Tokyo Fish Market

2011-05-19T15:58:00.002-04:00

A fishmonger stalks the cobblestone interior of the fish market.

The hotel desk clerk gave me some pointers about where to go in the morning. He thought that the fish market might be a bit far to walk, but I was keen for the exercise and the sightseeing. It took a while to get there, but only because I was gawking at the buildings and poking my nose in the various shops along the way. The entrance to the enormous Tokyo Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market (Tsukiji Market) is a bit deceiving; it is, essentially a big parking lot and drive way. Trucks of all shapes and sizes were going in every which direction. The building itself was an industrial looking thing, that actually consists of s series of building. Most of the vehicles were belching forth from the various entrances around the paved area.

Inside was organized mayhem. People and vehicles were moving in every direction and at every speed. Motor carts honked, men yelled, boxes crashed to the floor. There were large boulevards through which small vehicles moved. Branching from those were smaller "streets" separating the various fish stalls. These passageways were crowded with buyers, sellers and a few tourists. I've been in plenty of crowded markets and figured I'd seen it all when I stopped in amazement at the sight of this thing.

One of the many motor carts hauling fish through the market.

Inspecting a fine piece of tuna.

This unusual cart hauls fish between the large roads and the smaller stalls inside. The bed is standard enough, as far as motorized carts go, I suppose, but the drive mechanism is ingenious. The barrel shape at the front houses both the engine and the drive wheel. To drive, the operator pushes down a large ring at the top. A sturdy outer ring serves as the wheel. It can turn 360 degrees, enabling it to navigate the narrow passageways between the stalls. I did my best to find a driver willing to let me try it out, but I was unsuccessful.

I arrived at the market much too late to see the fish auction. The tuna is laid out around 4AM and everything is over within a few hours. I later learned that the auction has been closed to tourists. I did get a chance to see the tuna being processed, however.

A fishmonger uses a sword-length knife to slice the tuna.

It was still mid-morning, but the shops were actively closing down. The fish had been prepared and packed and the buyers were few and far between. The merchants were cleaning up and settling their accounts.

A vendor completes his bookwork for the morning's sales.

Outside the market, Styrofoam boxes were being collected in a large pile. These were fed into a hopper where they were melted into blocks for recycling.

There were still seafood delights to enjoy nearby. Only a couple of blocks from the Tsukji market is a consumer market, complete with fish stalls, restaurants and shops. I wandered through the alleyways of the market, on the look out for delicious things to eat and potential souvenirs.

Horrifying in appearance, but surprisingly delicious.

I was determined to have some fresh, authentic sushi. The little shops in the market were really small, sometimes seating only a dozen people. I found one shop that looked promising and squeezed in at the counter. I ordered three pieces of sashimi and a small saki. The bill came to over twenty bucks! Yes, Tokyo is certainly expensive.

While a lot of Western tourists go for traditional Samurai swords as a high-end souvenir, being more practical, I was interested in picking up a sushi knife. There were a few shops selling them, and even making them. I took the time to inspect the various types of knives on offer. The prices were staggering, so I consoled myself with an organic brush instead.

I enjoyed sampling the various teas from the friendly vendors. They had a staggering assortment of green teas ... all of which tasted, well green.

Like most markets, the vendors are more than happy to let you sample their goods. Some make elaborate displays to do so. What I most enjoyed, was listening to this woman invite passersby to sample the shop's seaweed paper.

See more photos of the fish market, and Tokyo, here.

Visiting Hoi An, Vietnam

2011-05-17T15:14:00.008-04:00

Getting to Vietnam was more difficult than I had expected. Their visa policy required a specific start date and had to be purchased in advance. This is great for a tour group, but rather inconvenient for the Bohemian tourist. This provided few opportunities for creative adventuring.

I arrived in Ho Chi Min City in the early evening. The plan was to take the train to Hanoi. Years earlier, a traveling companion raved about the wonderful train ride, complete with real linen in the sleeper cars. I was all about sleeper cars so I booked a ticket the moment I arrived. The train departed two hours later so I saw little of city.

I settled back in my bunk, turned on the little light provided and read my pocket book. The train pulled out around 11pm and I was ready for a good sleep. The train stopped a few times during the night, but I was content to wait for sunrise before exploring the rest of the train.

In the morning, I wandered up through the train to see the other cars. The coach section looked quite comfortable, but the restaurant car was rather utilitarian.

The view out the window was interesting, but didn’t change much; mile after mile of rich green rice farms. When we stopped later that morning, I gathered my belongings and made my way through the station. The train is some distance from Hoi An. Having no clue about local buses, I negotiated a taxi ride. We drove through the town then past beautiful China Beach before turning in to Hoi An.

The town is a glorious throwback to a bygone age. The somewhat rundown colonial buildings have the traditional South East Asian pastel colorings. I decided to go with the first appealing hotel I saw, the Huy Hoang Hotel.

The town has numerous restaurants and little shops. Most of those commercial establishments cater to tourists, both foreign and domestic. There were many tempting options for eating, including one shop that served frothy draft beer. The shops carried the usual touristic kitch, but there are also much more interesting options like artist galleries. I was most interested in the silk lamps. As tempting as they were, I could not risk damaging them during the rest of my trip and had to satisfy myself with a few photos.

The town is fascinating with it’s oil painting worthy views, its narrow streets and tiny building. In the middle of the day, the high overhead sun was too harsh for really good light. However, I found the river harbor had some very interesting from a photographic perspective. Numerous wooden boats were tied up or anchored. Only a few fishermen were at work and I took full advantage of the photo opportunities.

Come evening, the lights come on in the town. There is little traffic, so walking in the street is usually an option.

I paid another visit to the lantern shop to admire their colors as they lit up the street.

The next morning, I woke well before dawn. The streets were already busy with people going to work and preparing the market. My interest was seeing the beach. I had never seen the sun rise over the Pacific, so I hoped on my motor bike and headed east. I was not surprised at the amount of traffic on the road, but I was quite surprised to see so many people on the beach at that early hour.

When I parked the bike and walked through the trees to the water, I could see dozens of people walking and exercising on the shore. There were a few sitting down, waiting for the sun to rise. In the water, I could see a few people swimming! Understand that the sun had yet to rise at this point. The locals were certainly taking advantage of the beach.

I had only a few hours remaining in Hoi An. I returned to the hotel and explored breakfast options. There were a few places catering to western tastes, so I made the most of them (food on the train is limited to rice, noodles and snacks). On the street, I met a guy on a motorcycle who offered to take me on a tour. I declined, but agreed to him taking me to the train station.

It was a bit tricky getting the two of us on his motorbike with all my gear, but he balanced my backpack on the front and held on precariously in the back. We made a stop at the local marble quarry and another stop at China Beach.

I arrived at the station too early to board, so I wandered around the neighborhood. I bunch of locals offered me a beer as they relaxed on the sidewalk. The beer was as warm as the welcome I received. I did my best to converse with my new pals, but none of them understood English. As the train departure time drew near, I bid goodbye to my pals and got back to the train.

See more images here.

Phnom Penh

2010-05-01T22:51:00.001-04:00

Arriving in the city at the bus station, I hopped aboard one of my favorite vehicles, the three-wheeled Phnom Penh cyclo. My goal was find an inexpensive guest house. I'd had such great luck at one particular place. It's on a side street behind a monastery and only a short walk from the main road along the river. What was, two years earlier, a hidden gem of a guest house, was now a bustling tourist hotel. I negotiated a reasonable rate and walked up the four flights to my room.

I didn't intend to spend more than a couple of days in the city. I'm rather fond of Phnom Penh, but only because I remember how run-down it was on my first visit in 2002. I'm a big fan of old and decrepit (which is a good thing as I'm personally destined to be both). Fortunately, the railroads have remained untouched for decades (which is also unfortunate because it's almost impossible to take a train trip anywhere).

Life on the other side of the river hasn't changed much. There are more houses, but the ramshackle buildings held up by bamboo poles still cling to the riverbank.

Driving along another side street, I saw a makeshift pavilion. Recorded music was being blasted out through public address speakers. It was not until I got close that I realized I'd stumbled upon a traditional wedding ceremony. Well, maybe it's not quite traditional because I have no idea what sort of traditions might have been supplanted by western ideology, but the jewelery and silks were most certainly Khmer.

I really wanted to hang around and see if I could get a formal pose of the bride and groom. However, they did have a young photographer shooting the wedding and another doing video and I didn't want to impose. Ideally, I would have assisted the fellow in getting good poses (I used to shoot weddings), but I was unable to explain to him my idea as his English was so poor.

One type of individual I can always count on for a good pose is the stone statue. There is a studio right on the street near the national museum. It's a great spot for pictures just after sun rise.

There is a large park near the Royal Palace. At sunset, many people gather here at the riverbank to buy food from the street vendors or buy offerings for the shrine there. It's also the time when the local semi-professional photographers try to get locals to buy a posed photo. I turned the table on these two gentlemen, insisting that I photograph them. They were most pleased to comply with my request.

Monks are always a popular subject. I chatted with these fellows for several minutes. They appreciated the opportunity to practice their English.

The next day, it was time to bid farewell to Cambodia. I had one more tour through the streets on my cyclo before boarding a bus to Vietnam.

See a few more photos here.

Kuang Si Waterfall

2010-04-10T20:16:00.001-04:00

Walk to the outskirts of downtown Luang Prabang and you might find a little shop that rents motorbikes. Be sure to get one with a basket, though, it's much easier for carrying your picnic supplies (or camera gear). Next, get directions to Kuang Si waterfall ... or just "the waterfall," everyone knows which one it is. Kuang Si is nearly thirty kilometers south of the city. It's not that hard to find as there are helpful signs along the way. If you're not sure of your directions, it's easy enough to follow one of the many tuk-tuks or little tour buses heading that way. Any vehicle packed with young Caucasians is heading to Kuang Si waterfall.

At the end of the road there is a large parking lot and many kiosks selling souvenirs and snacks. Walk up the hill and pay about a dollar for entrance to the site. A mud path leads through the underbrush beneath the huge trees. You'll walk over a few streams on your way to the first pool. It looks inviting, but keeping going up river.

You will pass half a dozen inviting cascades flowing into murky turquoise pools. The formations are the result of a high limestone content in the water. The mushy looking surface is actually hard rock. It's safe to walk through the water. In fact, the pools are terrific for swimming. Wear sandals though, because the riverbed has numerous rough rocks beneath the surface.

When you arrive at the main cascade, you'll recognize it immediately. It flows fifty meters down the hillside, in a series of falls, short and tall. On a breezy day, the wind kicks up a fine mist and blows it everywhere. At the bottom of the falls there are a number of vantage points to admire the cascade. The locals have provided short bridges and even picnic benches on which to relax and admire the view. My favorite view is to climb to the top.

The toughest route to the top is on the north-west (right hand) side. The path is not maintained and can be very slick from mist. Good footwear and steady footing is required to climb the steep path. The top is most rewarding, however. There are many shallow pools that converge to pour over the side of the cliff. The top is also a nice to place to explore if you want to wander through some untouched Laos jungle.

After walking through the pools on top of the cliff, going down the south-east side of the falls is a breeze. The locals have maintained the path with steps and even a couple of benches for resting. You can access some of the pools right on the cliff face, as well. Although signs strenuously advice against it, you can occasionally find daring Europeans going for a thrill swim near the precipice.

After exploring up and down the falls, I went for a swim at the bottom-most pool. Here, a tree extends out over a large, and reasonably deep, pool. It makes for an excellent diving platform. Someone took the trouble to tie a rope to one of the upper branches making a rope swing. This is where most of the tourists swim. It's a great spot to catch up on the news of the world with other backpackers ... or just take in the sights.

See more photos of the falls here.

Morning Monks of Luang Prabang

2010-04-07T21:53:00.001-04:00

Sometimes you want to sleep away the morning during your travels, but sometimes you simply must wake before the dawn and greet the sun. That's the photographer's life, but more so when in Luang Prabang. The ancient capital of Laos is the monastic heart of the country and every morning countless monks go through the streets collecting alms.

Shortly before sunrise, the monks gather at the courtyard of the various monasteries and temples as they prepare for their walk. The younger boys mill about, passing time making sure their fellows' robes are twisted and draped properly. The air is cool at that early hour, but they are all barefoot and uncomplaining.

On the street, meanwhile, individuals and small groups gather on the sidewalk. They roll mats on the pavement and kneel, or just bring along a low stool. With a basket of rice beside them, they await the arrival of the monks.

Back in the temple grounds, the monks line up in single file. On some signal I failed to witness every time I witnessed the event, the monks quickly walk from their gates to meet the waiting offerings. As they file past the locals, they open their begging bowls to receive a small portion of rice, barely a mouthful. While seemingly a meagre amount, the number of offerings soon grow. With tourists taking part in the offering ceremony, most monks are actually overburdened and pass much of their collected food to someone who distributes it to the needy.

The tourists certainly do get involved. The main rode is practically clogged with kneeling foreigners, traditional sticky-rice provided by their tour leaders. An army of photographers also greet the procession.

The tourists can hardly be blamed for their enthusiasm. There are some terrific photo opportunities here.

Although the most interesting background, the white wall, is on the main road, the side roads offer fewer crowds to get in the way.

Once they finish their tour through the town, the monks return to their monasteries. Within sight of their home, they visibly relax, no longer walking stiffly, but almost ambling the final few hundred paces to the gates. They finally break the silence of their march and begin to talk quietly but animatedly among themselves.

They have a bit of free tie prior to their morning studies. This is the best time to get photos of the young men. Many of them find a quiet spot to meditate before attending class. I surprised more than a few as I explored some of the areas around the various temples. Of course, it's not all seriousness for these fellows. I would often meet boys eager to practice their English skills. These make particularly good photo subjects because they're all too happy to pose.

A few years ago, I managed to get a nice shot of two monks in front of their temple. On the off chance I would run into one of them, I packed the photo with me. Sure enough, some of the monks at the monastery identified him and searched the buildings until they found him. He was a bit perplexed over the image. I wasn't sure if he'd ever seen himself photographed. When I finally made clear to him that the photo was for him to keep, he was quite pleased. I handed out a few more photos during my trip, but most of the people I sought could not be located.

With morning break over, the monks settle into the classrooms. The younger ones study, the elders and laity teach.

See plenty more photos of the monks of Luang Prabang here.

Luang Prabang - Ancient Capital of the Kingdom

2010-04-02T19:20:00.003-04:00

Luang Prabang is like no other city in South East Asia. Where the Nam Khan river meets the Mekong, a sort of peninsula is formed. a tall hill dominates the skyline here. The town is centered at this spot, consisting of four main roads and numerous intersecting alleys. The architecture is a fusion of French provincial and traditional Asian style. The town is also home to numerous monasteries and temples. There are few vehicles in the city, but this will soon change as more and more tourists discover this location.

My bus pulled in shortly before sunset. That gave me little time to find a decent place to spend the night. I headed through the town center to the back alleys I had explored a few years earlier. The high-end hotels are located at the north-east part of town, but there are some equally expensive places squeezed between the other streets. I managed to find a place that served primarily as a tour group restaurant that had a couple of nice rooms in the back. I negotiated a reasonable rate and dumped my stuff. On the way out I met my immediate neighbors. A couple of guys sitting on the floor of their room playing cards. I always think of playing cards as something you do when you have absolutely nothing else to do. I could not understand how cards could hold more appeal than just standing on a street in Luang Prabang. I mean, you can play cards anywhere, any time, but you can only do Luang Prabang stuff right now.

The main drag, Sakkarine Rd., is one of my favorite for a stroll. It is lined with guest houses, temples, curious shops and restaurants. At night, a large portion of the road is cleared of traffic and a night market established. Here can be found some of my favorite silk scarves in all Asia. I did a quick tour of the place just to get familiar with what was being produced. It had the usual fabrics, t-shirts and knickknacks as well as some nice handicrafts and antiques.

The bank to the river is very steep. The townspeople manage to produce gardens in the rich muddy soil during the dry season. Enterprising restaurateurs build terraced seating on the top of the bank so dinners can enjoy the spectacular sunset every night. This is where I spent every supper hour.

I planned to spend a few days in the town, so I was no rush to get anything done. I did have a plan, though. Every morning was dedicated to following the monks, every evening exploring the market. Day times were mostly open, but I was determined to visit the local waterfalls. To this end I had to rent a motor bike. After a couple of days of exploring, I ran into trouble with the local constabulary.

I had just turned off the main road and took a side street to another road leading to another part of town. A small group of policemen had gathered at the intersection. I proceeded toward them with some suspicion. I could see no reason why they were gathered there. Bike inspection? They waved me over and I pulled up. Through waves and gesticulations, they alerted me to the fact that the road was one-way. Of course, there was no sign indicating that the road was one-way and I politely pointed out this fact. Furthermore, there were plenty of locals dashing up the road not fifty meters away. Would I be let off with a warning or was this a plain ol' shake-down? I brought up the camera to confirm my suspicion.

Yeah, they did not want proof of who was conducting freelance tourist assistance. I asked how much they wanted; twenty bucks. Aside from being way too much, I had no small bills in my wallet (otherwise I'd hand over a five dollar bill and be on my way). I decided to stand my ground. I sat on my bike, shrugged my shoulders and pointed out the local violators. To the only cop who spoke English, I complained of the lack of signage. After several minutes of me not handing over any cash, he got fed up and had me follow him on his bike. I figured we were going to the main police station (fine by me), but he took me to the far end of town where a "don't turn here" sign was posted. Some lot of good that did when almost no one came up this far. I had him follow me to the road I came down, where there was no signage at all. He wasn't interested and kept driving. Now I'm on my own. The cops might still be staked out at the bottom of the hill, so I made my way around the other way and drove off into the countryside.

Arriving back in town at the end of the day, I decided to return the motorcycle in case I should run into that lot again.

See more photos here.

Vang Vieng - Party Capital of Laos

2010-03-13T13:17:00.001-05:00

A few hours bus ride north of the Laos capital is the little town of Vang Vieng. Visually, it is quite interesting; karst hills jut from the landscape like moss covered teeth. The streets are also interesting if you're looking for fun.

During the Vietnam war, the US built a runway in the valley and used it as a supply depot. Today, it sits unused, testament to troubled past. Instead of airmen, the town is frequented by backpackers looking for the opposite of war. The town is full of guest houses and funky restaurants where visitors lounge away the day watching DVD's of American TV shows or prepare for expeditions into the nearby countryside. The beach-town feel to the place is heightened by the numerous young people decked out in in shorts, sandals and t-shirts.

It's not the airstrip or hills that attract them, but the river. Vang Vieng is now the inner-tubing epicenter of Laos. In the morning, trucks loaded with tubes, kayaks and party-goers head up-river to release their charges into the river. A few hours, and quite a few drinks, later, they arrive back in town, wet, sunburned and happy ... and nearly unable to walk.

The river is on the far side of town. It looks quite peaceful during the dry season, but during the rainy season it can move very fast. In response to the popularity of the town with visitors, the locals have expanded by building guest houses on the far shore; while some distance from the "action," they tend to be more quiet. A rickety bamboo bridge facilitates the crossing.

The far side of the river is rural farmland. The rice paddies are dry, but cows and water buffalo make the most of the minimal grazing opportunities.

Of particular interest to me were the obvious shell craters in the middle of fields, another reminder of the country's recent history.

A terrific place to chill out for a few days, Vang Vieng is an ideal stop over between more adventurous places in Laos.

See larger photos here.

Vientiane - Capital of Laos

2010-03-08T20:59:00.001-05:00

I had visited the capital of Laos once before, but I was not impressed. A lot of people really like the place, but it doesn't do much for me. However, flying in from a cold week in China, I was just happy to be somewhere warm with good food. I hung around the airport waiting for another backpacker heading into town so we could share the cost and swap stories. Unfortunately, the flight was full of business people or package tour types and everyone was being met at the airport. I met a Scandinavian couple on their way to their flight when they realized that they left something important back at their guest house. We jumped into a cab and they told me about their experiences. They thought, as I did, that Vientiane was not particularly interesting. I vowed to stay only a single night.

It seems that Vientiane had taken on a new popularity after the trouble in Bangkok. There were many new shops and restaurants open. Most of the guest houses were full, but I did manage to find one after a few interviews with other backpackers.

That evening, I attended a local dance troupe's performance. A group of about twenty young dancers put on a show to demonstrate Laos dancing and music. The auditorium is a large open room where everyone sits on makeshift seats and where the stage is just the polished wooden floor in front of the seats. Backstage is just the area behind a heavy red velvet curtain, the theater's most notable decoration. Before each musician or dancer takes the stage, a young woman reads from a cue card in faltering English to explain the next act. The performers are quite talented and give it their all despite an audience smaller than the troupe itself.

After a few weeks of buses and trains and taxis, I was ready for some personal transportation. The next morning I outfitted myself with a rented motorbike and scooted around town to take in the sights. Even with the new development, it was still somewhat run down, but pleasant enough. Now, there are a lot of interesting and unusual things in Vientiane, but I was not particularly inspired on this trip and the typical snapshots just don't do the place justice. For example, Laos most sacred pagoda is in Vientiane, but it's not very interesting looking and makes for a lousy photo. Really. Just look at this. I can't work with this.

Now, I have seen good shots of the place, but they were at night during important Buddhist ceremonies but I wasn't planning to stay that long.

I checked out the used book store, visited the market (that was slowly being converted into a western-style mall), checked e-mail and ate some good food. As I paused on one street, I noticed a typical street dog confronting a kitten on the sidewalk. The kitten was puffed up and hissing and spitting for all it was worth. I decided to rescue the poor thing from it's assailant. The dog quickly backed away as I approached and I scooped up the kitten. I didn't think it was possible that it could get even more frightened and angry, but it cranked up the hissing and spitting a notch. Then it bit down on my thumb. Hard! The little hellion drew blood - if it wasn't hanging on by fang and claw I might has dropped it as I suppressed a scream. I extracted myself from its grip and set it up on a short wall out of the dog's reach. The dog was looking at me with a "better you than me" look. The kitten, now safe, never let up on the hissy fit. I squeezed my thumb to draw out more blood, ever so wary of infection. One thing I noticed about the cat was that it was awfully skinny. I had no food and there was nowhere to buy anything close by. This one would have to be satisfied with what little sustenance it got from me when it tried to eat my thumb.

While I was slightly concerned about infection, it didn't occur to me until later that that would be a minor inconvenience. I started wondering why that kitten was so angry ... mad even. Mad? Was it rabid? You must get a rabies shot within a certain number of days of being bitten. I didn't know how many days, but I knew the shots were hard to get and very, very expensive. I lost sleep calculating the slim probability of being infected against the very real probability of suffering physically and financially as the result of getting shots (even if I could find a clinic who could provide the service). I took the chance ... and survived!

After my tour of the town, I rode south along the river through villages that rarely see foreigners. I didn't stop for much other than photographic opportunities like a group of monks being invested into the community monastery.

Local fishermen catching the tiny riel fish from the shore using an ancient technique.

I was most interested in seeing the Buddha park somewhere south of the city. I drove down the highway, past numerous industrial parks making everything from cement to beer, until I found the bridge to Thailand. I knew the place was somewhere nearby. I found a train station (I didn't even know Laos had a train) then I discovered something with a wall and gate that looked like it could have been a park. It was closed, however. There was a narrow side gate that was open, so I drove the bike through and entered the lost world.

This was not the Buddha park some sort of theme park that had long ago been abandoned. Little theme restaurants were scattered about large picnic grounds with cement cast tables and benches done in a rustic wooden motif. There were several buildings outfitted as traditional Laos dwellings, one for each of the major ethnic peoples, and the shell of a exhibition center that was suppose to represent a palace or ancient wat. It was all so very Laos. What I saw next really took me for a loop.

Seeing those statues, there was no doubt that I was not in the Buddha park. Although a bit corny looking, I have to admit that the work was pretty impressive. That monster on the right was a good four meters tall.

The park had a pretty heavy investment in it, obviously, but I never learned what happened. I never found the Buddha park, either, but my lost world was plenty interesting.

Back in the city, I decided to spend one more night. The thing to do in the evening is grab some supper on the river and watch the sun go down on Thailand. There are a dozens of little outdoor restaurants on the Mekong bank. They all have the same view so you base your choice on what they've got cooking. I placed my order and stretched out on the bamboo mats.

The next morning, I did manage to get a nice shot of the presidential palace.

Vientiane is a nice spot for lounging, but there's a much better place just north of the city. I made plans to leave for Vang Vieng that afternoon.

Life on Inle Lake

2010-01-28T12:40:00.001-05:00

Between a ridge of mountains, on the Eastern side of Myanmar, lies a long and shallow lake divided into two parts. Like all lakes in temperate climes, it is home to many people on its shores. Inle is unique in that it has communities living on the lake in stilt homes and artificial islands.

Another unusual characteristic of Inle is the lack of wind. You might see at least one sailboat on any other good-size lake, but not on Inle. To get around here you need an engine or a paddle. The Inle people have developed an unusual paddling technique. By standing and wrapping a leg around the paddle, they can get additional leverage denied to a seated rower. The standing position also enables them to see over the low vegetation separating many of the canals, making it easier to navigate.

A man demonstrates the leg rowing technique.

Fishing, naturally, is the principle pastime of the lake people. In addition to traditional method of catching fish such as nets and lures, the shallow water provides for another technique. When a fisherman spots movement in the water, he will drop a cone shaped basket over the area and spear the fish on a pole.

This young man is pleased to display his recent catch.

Fishing this way can be an individual undertaking, one boat stalking individual fish, or a group effort when several men try to herd the animals.

One of the more curious fishing expeditions I witnessed on the lake brought the workers a boat-load of ... mud.

By the time they are done, the boat is full to the gunwale with heavy mud.

Using baskets on long poles, they dredge up the rich sediment mud on the lake bottom. This is used to fertilize their gardens. Of course, they don't exactly have normal gardens in the lake. While some homes have small island plots, most create floating rafts of vegetation to grow produce for the markets. These are arranged in neat rows and staked to the lake bed with long poles. The farmers attend to their crop by canoe.

A boy makes his way from the floating gardens beside his home.

The homes on the lake are typically modest. They are constructed with bamboo framework covered by woven mat walls and a thin thatched roof. There are many solid wood homes and businesses on the lake as well, but the bamboo hut is the most prevalent.

Drying shallots.

Paddling past one of the grand old homes of Ywama village.

Walk to school? Not in Inle!

There are many, many more photos of Inle Lake here.

Craft workshops of Inle Lake

2010-01-24T20:47:00.003-05:00

While the people living on Inle Lake primarily fish and grow vegetables, there is a thriving crafts trade as well.

One of my favorites is silk spinning. Much of the raw silk is brought in from China (and possibly Thailand). On the lake it is dyed and woven into scarves and shawls. The silk weaving shops are easy to find; the sounds of the large looms can be easily heard from the canals. Once you've heard the rhythmic wooden clack of the loom, you'll not forget it. The weavers also tended to be in large wooden structures (as opposed to the more prevalent bamboo buildings found everywhere on the lake).

Young women typically operate the looms while the crones spin the dyed silk on to spools (note the old bicycle wheel).

Inle has another type of silk - lotus silk. The stems of the lotus flower are cut and a fine silk thread is pulled from its core. The resulting result is a brownish thread that, when woven, looks like fine burlap. The texture, however, is that of raw silk. This fabric is typically used to create monks robes or ceremonial wraps for the Buddha images.

I was rather keen to posses the fabric - I could imagine myself in a lotus silk monk's robe - but they had none in stock. They did have simple scarves, however. Once I learned the price (over sixty dollars), I decided to go with a tasteful silk design (as modeled by the shop clerk here).

The village of Ywama, in addition to its famed floating market, is home to a number of cheroot shops. These rough looking green stogies are individually rolled by young women sitting on straw mats.

The cut tobacco is placed in a shallow basket on their laps. They take the green wrapper, rolled in white paper, and stuff it with the loose leaf before tamping it down, trimming it with industrial-strength scissors and folding over the ends.

The finished cheroots are packed into bundles of ten, fifty or even a hundred, then sent off to market.

The non-touristic cheroot shop is a very relaxed set-up, with women sitting haphazardly. The tourist cheroot "factory" is quite orderly with walls lined with souvenirs and fancy wooden boxes stuffed with row upon row of stogies.

I have to admit that the tourist shop had much better lighting conditions for the photographer, if not for the workers.

I see boats of all sorts in South East Asia. Most of them look like they've been around for decades (if not centuries!). So it was a surprise to find a shipyard (to use the term loosely) that built longboats for Inle. They start with long logs about a foot in diameter. A team of men, one above and one below, saw the logs in to rough but straight planks. Different carpenters carve the planks and form them into a boat. The unpainted craft is splendid. It's a pity they're all painted black (although some have red or green trim). It never occurred to me to ask why all the large boats on the lake were black.

Another common craft on the lake is silver-smithing. There are a few in Ywama village. The shop I visited specialized in an articulated fish (intended as necklace, charm or earring). These shops are also the best place to get money changed. The shops are usually one quarter smithy and three-quarters display case. The pieces are typically rich in filigree - and set at prices for tour-group tourists.

One of my favorite crafts of Inle is the old fashion blacksmith. I saw no full-size forges on my travels, but the market usually has one stall set up with a true smith. The bellows consists of two bamboo cylinders with plungers made of chicken feathers. By moving them in rhythm, the bellows produce a steady air flow into the small furnace where the smith prepares his metal. His anvil is a cylinder of steel wedged into a log.

While walking near the lake one afternoon, I heard the distinct putt-putt-putt of a single stroke gas engine. It sounded like an ancient fishing boat, but I was too far from the water. Making my way through a bamboo grove, I discovered a small sugar mill.

Hand cranked cane juice extractors can be found all over South East Asia, but this was the first time I'd seen an industrial process like this. The sugar water was fed into a series of bamboo vats. The liquid boiled in the first then is routed to the next in a cascading series. Once it's reduced to a certain degree, the thin syrup is poured into a metal drum.

The whole process is powered by the dried out remains of the crushed sugar cane. A metal pole is used to shove the fiber into the small furnace that boils the liquid.

There were so many more craft workshops to visit, but there simply was not enough time. On my next trip I intend to see the straw weavers, potters and wood carvers at work.

See more photos here.

Khaungdine Market

2010-01-21T09:18:00.001-05:00

The closest village to Nyaung Shwe on Inle Lake is Khaungdine. It's in the north-west corner of the lake. While I did not explore the village itself, I did get the opportunity to visit during market day.

The dock is located beside the village monastery, some distance from the market. This means anyone arrive by water has to haul their goods by hand. These two women struggled with baskets second only to those found hanging from hot air balloons. Fortunately, they were filled with rice cakes and much lighter than they looked.

The market is on a bit of a slope. The market area consists of a number of metal-roofed concrete pavilions. It was obvious that this is a long established market. Presumably the regular vendors set up shop in their usual spot, but plenty of merchants lay out their goods on whatever space is free. Vegitables farmers camped out on the top of the slope, fish mongers lay out their catch between pavilions and lining the road at the bottom of the hill were a number of villagers with rolled up woven floor mats. I dearly wish I could have purchased some, they have a delightful texture.

Khaungdine had more fish than any other market I'd seen. Strings of small fish are laid out on plastic or banana leaves waiting for buyers.

The market certainly gets plenty of tourists - there were a number of tables set up with various tourist trinkets - so I didn't attract much attention. This enabled me to sneak around and get candid shots. Most people were oblivious of getting their photo taken, but I got caught plenty of times. Fortunately, getting photographed is seen as a good thing by the natives.

This market had the most diverse looking people of any I'd seen on the lake. Not that I can tell the difference between the various tribes, but in terms of characters, Khaungdine had them all, from young to old.

After browsing and shooting, I decided to give in to the pressure of the souvenir vendors "No buy, OK, just looking!" I found a distinctive necklace made up of five silver coins. I later learned that the coins were not Burmese, but Indian, and bore the effigy of George VI.

Before returning to the boat, I visited the monastery. It was typically quiet, but I soon discovered that one of the local families had arrived to have a picnic with one of the young monks; presumably a sibling. They sat on the floor and shared food brought in metal cylinders. Meanwhile, the other monks went about their studies.

See lots more photos here.

Jumping Cat Monastery

2010-01-18T23:57:00.003-05:00

Nga Phe Kyaung is one of thousands of monasteries in Myanmar and dozens on Inle lake. It's a place of reflection for the people living in the nearby village. In recent years it has become famous - not for meditation or spiritual guidance, but for cats that jump through hoops. About twenty years ago, a monk with a bit of time on his hands, decided to train a few of the cats. For some reason, cats are found in just about every monastery in South East Asia.

What started as an idle hobby for one monk soon became a movement as more and more cats earned their meals by leaping through a hoop. As word got out, more tourists started to visit the monastery to watch the show. As part of Ywama village, the only way to get to monastery is by boat.

I arrived at a particularly good time. A meditation session with the head monk was in progress. I quietly made my way to the back of the crowd. The villagers, mostly women, were seated on a the floor in front of an open space before the monk. He was intoning and chanting and the congregation sat with heads bowed. On the vinyl-tiled floor about a dozen young cats sat as if deep meditation.

The session the monk broke up around the time a tourist laden boat arrived. As the villagers offered their thanks to the monk and chatted as they wandered out, the tourists sat along the wall and waited. A tour guide spoke to a woman and she began to organize the feline circus.

She shook a small can of dry food and the cats approached. It didn't take much effort to get them to jump. She mostly organized them so they would each get a turn and rewarded the small group whenever a cat leaped through the wire hoop she held out. The audience applauded every effort. The cats were primarily interested in eating. Once the cats had completed their show, everyone hung around to meet the performers. Like most temple cats, they were not particularly friendly and rebuffed every attempt to pet them.

On my last trip I managed to get some spectacular shots of the show, but this time I created a video, so no shots of cats in action. Not that they were particularly active. A few years ago, the monk who directed the cats had them jumping a lot more. Those cats were also more mature. These cats were quite young. I learned that the cats had all died a few years ago and the monastery had to train a new batch. You'd think it would be a bit frivolous, but the monastery was well aware of the draw of the cats and the tourist dollars they bring. In addition to the donations, a sizable tourist market was now established on the monastery grounds.

I asked a monk about another monk I had met on my last trip. It turns out that he had left the order. That's not particularly unusual, most Buddhist monks may serve only for a few years and go back to secular life.

The cats, on the other hand, serve the order for life (at least one of nine, presumably).

See larger images here.

Revered Thaung Tho Pagoda

2010-01-16T21:42:00.001-05:00

There are lots of pagoda complexes and monasteries on Inle Lake, but one caught my eye a few times. It appeared so similar to Indein pagoda that I was convinced my pilot had guided our boat there by some inconceivable back way. Like Indein, Thaung Tho sits on a low hill, is surrounded by white stupas and has a long covered walk leading to the summit. However, it is considerably smaller.

Getting off the boat, I noticed numerous bamboo stalls beside the shore. Just like Chaing Kham, from where I had just come, this site is part of the rotating market on the lake. It looked abandoned. I made my way up the covered stair, missing the vendors that were so prevalent in Indein pagoda and stepped out into an immaculate pavilion.

Where Indein is nearly a ruin, Thaung Tho is lovingly maintained; the stupas all in good order and the paths were regularly swept clean. Although weather-beaten, the white paint was brilliant under the noon sky. The gold paint trimmings were particularly nice.

Of greatest interest to me were the beautiful crowns (called hti) atop each spire. They were intact and resplendent with bells. Unfortunately, there was no breeze to make music at that time of the day.

It was obvious that Thaung Tho was used on a regular basis. It's not surprising given the number of people living in the area. I later learned that the site is host to two annual Buddhist events. On a nearby hill, I could see workers repairing another stupa.

Even though the site is frequently used and well maintained, there was evidence that nature had no problem getting a toe-hold on anything constructed by humans in this environment. I wondered how long those plants had been growing from the tower (and what sort of damage it might have caused beneath the surface). Keeping this place in good shape is a serious task and a time consuming one for people who spend their days hard at work.

See more photos here.

Chaing Kham Market

2010-01-13T12:24:00.002-05:00

At the south eastern shore of Inle Lake is Chaing Kham. I woke well before dawn one day to travel to the town in order to see one of the more isolated markets on the lake. Getting to Nampan was a bit of an adventure. In addition to being so far from Nyaung Shwe, a heavy mist lay across the surface of the lake, making navigation a serious challenge as we maneuverered through what could best be described as a swamp with channels. Out of the mist, the market appeared on the shore.

The Chaing Kham residents typically arrive at the market with tobacco leaves, enormous bamboo poles and firewood; resources requiring land. They trade with the Ywama villagers, and others living on the lake, for produce, fish, cheroots and other finished goods.The market is divided into two parts. Near the water's edge, the larger items are exchanged. Things like firewood and bamboo are loaded from ox cart directly to the boats.

About 25m from the shore, the bamboo stalls mark the traditional market with all the smaller goods and services.

I recognized most of the goods on sale. Some products, like the bundles of green grass, were of questionable utility, but at least I recognized them. What mystified me, however, were peculiar brown cones. They had a distinct uniform in shape, were pliable, but held their shape as they were moved and picked up; I was able to pinch off the material if required. They were also odorless. The gentlemen selling them were unable to make clear their purpose. I was quickly informed that they were not edible as I mimed taking a bite out of one. They laughed and shook their heads vigorously. The mysterious cones remain a mystery to this day.

Chaing Kham is so appealing because it really feels like a crossroads between the land and the lake. It also has the least number of items apealing to tourists. There are few handicrafts and no antiques at all. Instead, you get lake people and hill people coming together to trade goods with each other.

It's also a good time for catching up on gossip and getting access to service. The market has at least one pharmacist, a couple of restaurants, a barber and two seamstresses. This woman sat in the hot sun all morning working away on her foot powered sewing machine, stitching sacks together. Before I left the market, I gave her my baseball hat to keep the sun off her head. I was rewarded with a big, thankful smile.

As I wondered toward the residential area of Chaing Kham, I met a group of women coming from the market. They were obviously heading home and smiled as they passed by. Assuming they were not traveling too far, being on a narrow path and not a road, I decided to follow and see their destination.

Despite being loaded down with market goods, and having a stride considerably less then my own, these women were soon pulling ahead of me. I gave up after twenty minutes and watched them quick march through the village. I had to sit down to catch my breath.

I happened by a monastery on the way back. The monk in charge was barely twenty years old. He had a crew of at least a dozen novices.

As mid day approached, the market was slowing down and people were heading home. It was time to see what other mysteries lay on the shores of Inle Lake.

See lots more photos here!

Floating market of Ywama village

2010-01-10T17:55:00.003-05:00

Inle, like many lakes, has numerous communities surrounding it. What makes it unusual, however, is that it also has communities on it. On the western side of the lake sits the Venice of Myanmar: Ywama. The local people have built their homes and buildings on wooden piles and bamboo poles driven into the lake bed. Some are, admittedly, rickety affairs, but there are also beautiful teak buildings of one and two floors.

One morning, on my way to Indein Pagoda, I had the good fortune to pass through when the village hosted the rotating market. Because no single village can realistically maintain a daily market, each community takes a turn. Ywama's market is particularly appealing to tourists because much of it takes place in boats on the water.

I was undoubtedly the first recognizable foreigner to arrive because the women in boats made a beeline for my craft. I was quickly surrounded by merchants presenting their various handicrafts. All hope of getting through was lost when I made the fatal mistake of mentioning that I was looking for a necklace. They were clambering over one another to present their best necklaces, one even climbed into my boat with a arm load of them. Eventually, I settled on two necklaces from two merchants.

During the haggling, a couple of other tourist-laden boats came through the channel and were quickly pounced upon. Their pilots, more comfortable in the situation than mine, pushed through the picket and put their boats ashore.

The Ywama community is not quite without land. Over the years, some villagers have piled up the soil from the bottom of the lake to make islands. Several of these are used for monastery and pagoda complexes. Ywama's market is held beside the land occupied by one of these.

People selling food items gather near the shore while durable goods (and tourist items) are found closer to the temple, away from the lake. The merchants near the water stake out their territory with bamboo mats or vinyl tarpaulins. They would then carefully arrange their produce and wait for customers.

In addition to carvings and other locally produced items, the market is also a good place to acquire exotic antiques. I was quite fascinated by the collection of ancient records. Some were clearly from India, but did Burma once have a major recording industry? It certainly does today, but it would have been interesting to hear the music on those platters.

My never-ending quest for interesting necklaces lead me to a woman with something unlike any of the others I'd seen. Most of the necklaces on the tables and in the boats were of the same styles. This one, however, was quite different. It consisted of heavy porcelain beads with primitive designs. My understanding was that it came not from Inle, but from the Chin people, far to the west. To this day, I'm still suspect of my understanding and wonder if it's not, in fact, from the nearby Shan people in the east.

We settled on a fair price and I acquired a new treasure. I put it around my neck and continued my walk through the market area. I immediately noticed a change in the people when they saw my necklace. I received approving smiles and nodes as they pointed to my new acquisition. "Ah, you Chin man!"

While the market was the typical frenzy one comes to expect, I was surprised at how quiet things near the monastery. Except for the Buddha in the middle, the building was vacant. The smoothly polished floor indicated that it was used frequently. In the grounds around the building, small groups of people lounged in the shade or ate their breakfast around the stupas. The most prevalent item in the picnic baskets, or on every tables, was a thermos of tea.

By the time I completed a second circuit of the market, more tourists had arrived. The sun was getting higher and it was time to explore more of the lake.

See more photos here.

Shwe Indein Pagoda

2010-01-08T21:18:00.001-05:00

One of the most impressive pagoda and stupa collections outside of Yangon is located on the west side of Inle Lake: Shwe Indein Pagoda. Getting to Indein village requires navigating a boat up a winding stream. This trip is well worth it if only for the slice of life views as the boat passes small farms and homes. Farmers draw water from the stream, kids swimming and water-buffalo cooling off. The rich soil on this flat level land is testament to the receding shores of the shallow lake. It has been slowing silting up over the centuries, leaving behind a very fertile valley.

As the stream narrows, it becomes more rapid and unnavigable. As a result, the dock serving the community is some distance from the village. A few tourist shops have established themselves here, hawking local souvenirs. This is also where villagers take their goods for transportation to other markets.

As I arrived, a troop of ethnic Intha women were hauling great bundles of reed to the dock. I saw this material at the market, but had no idea as to its purpose. I wondered how they cut it to such precise lengths.

The grounds just beyond the dock area are set up for Indein's market. On my arrival, the bamboo stalls were vacant and the ground littered with the refuse of a previous day. A few merchants made permanent shops on the road to beside the village.

Wandering through the abandoned market, I happened upon a local woman making her way from the stream. She carried an empty basket. I have a great affinity to well used baskets and, through pantomime, convinced her that I really wanted to buy her basket. She was ecstatic with her windfall of about ten dollars (more than a few days wage), but became formal when I asked to take her photo.

I crossed the short bridge and made my way past the monastary. Here, an impressive covered walk, about 800m in length, leads up the hillside to the pagodas. I saw similar structures in Bagan and Sagiang, but in no other country. Merchants make use of the space to display various handicrafts and antiques. The covering makes for a much more pleasant walk, out of the sun, and the decorative arts on display make for a much more interesting walk as well.

Looking between the columns, the first impression of the Indein pagoda complex is intriguing. Vines and brush had covered most of the monuments over the years, but much of it has been cut back to reveal beautiful designs.

Unfortunately, years of neglect had reduced most of the monuments to bare brick and, in some cases, rubble. They are still, however, impressive. The damage at least revealed how they were built. The stupas have a brick base upon which cement has been applied and molded into rings, patterns and designs. This was then painted white or gold, then topped with a metal crown.

Given the alternating tropical and arid climate, it's difficult to know just how long it takes for the local jungle to overtake the works of humankind here, but it has certainly done a good job. Although there are no massive trees growing from the ruins as is the case in Angkor, there's no denying mother nature isn't trying.

I'm quite sure that the popularity of the site among tourists helped spur the local officials into cleaning up the ruins. The growth had been cut away from nearly all the structures. While some stupas further down the hill are choked with vegetation, just keeping the plants trimmed on the cleared areas is a significant undertaking. Wandering around the ruins I saw several people busy at the task.

They are also working hard to restore the structures. Small teams are busy repairing the brick and mortar of the bases while others apply fresh paint and new trimmings. With bamboo scaffolding up the sides, the deteriorating metal crowns are also replaced.

The finished work is remarkable.

It also makes for some impressive photos.

Walking between the ancient stupas is an interesting experience. The structures closest to the top are the first to be restored, but a few others have been singled out for reasons unknown. The top is my favorite place to wander as I hope for a bit of a breeze.

Hanging from the gold-colored crowns are tiny bells. A slight movement in the air will cause a few of them to tinkle. Trudging around, looking for things to photograph, I didn't pay any attention at first. My ears kept picking up the gentle sound until I paused and took notice. After that, I walked quietly and enjoyed the experience. Few of the stupas have crowns. I could not help wonder how nice it would sound if they were all so equipped (as they had been in the past).

In the pagoda at the top of the hill, I met a number of gentlemen sitting on the woven-mat floor having tea. I politely made my way past but they gestured for me to join them. No one spoke English, but as I shared tea with them, I managed to let them know where I was from and what I was doing. They were particularly interested in knowing if I had any children. At a loss as to how to converse, I fell back on a favorite technique and sang the Canadian national anthem for them. They seemed not in the least bothered by my inability to carry a tune!

Back outside, as I walked back through the complex, I saw an unusual sight: a young monk with an umbrella. I see a lot of monks and I see a lot of umbrellas, but I rarely see monks using an umbrella such as sold to the tourists (and never a young monk). Well, such an opportunity should not be wasted!

Moments later, the three boys were followed by a fully kitted-out European photographer and his two local guides. I recognized him as a fellow I saw on the boat ride way into Indein. He was shooting monks jumping into the creak. It then occurred to me that I saw him a week earlier in Bagan during the Ananda festival. While myself and the dozen other camera jockeys were running around, looking for the best shots, he stayed in one place, seeming to concentrate on some specific type of shot. It was apparent he was a pro and had arranged for this boys to have that umbrella so he could shoot them among the stupas. I never thought to simply hire people to help arrange photographic opportunities. I was struck dumb by the idea. It feels like cheating, but why? I'd seen plenty of obviously arranged shots on my travels; they were quite impressive. Why do I feel a need to shoot something "natural?"

On my way back to the boat I noticed a few women washing up after the day's labors. I thought about how I might choose to set up such a shot and how I'd go about arranging it. Perhaps I would get lower to the ground or closer to the subject or go somewhere with a different background. Maybe include a water buffalo. Perhaps I might select young models for my photo. I could have had them splashing each other in play. So many possibilities. Before long, only one woman was left. She stood up and poured a ladle of water over her face and down her front. Not a perfect shot, but perfectly inspired.

See more photos here!

Nyaung Shwe, Gateway to Inle Lake

2010-01-06T22:16:00.003-05:00

Inle Lake is one of my favorite places. It's a large lake located between low mountains to the northeast of Yangon. To get to the lake, you must first visit the town of Nyaung Shwe. While it's possible to find accommodations on the lake, it's usually expensive and you're then at the mercy of the hotel for dining and at the mercy of the overpriced boatmen serving the overpriced hotel. I spent a few days exploring the town between excursions to the lake.

Nyaung Shwe consists of one main road with several side streets. Along the road are several restaurants, numerous small shops, three large stupas and a market. At the end of the road, a bridge spans the channel leading to the lake. The principal means of transportation in the town is bicycle.

It's the largest town on the lake and many businesses cater to the tourists who visit. Rooms can be had for as little ten dollars a night. This is also the place to hire a boat for the day. These fast long boats are equally cheap, going for ten to fifteen dollars a day. The best time to get out on the water is well before sunrise. Those early hours are chilly and a heavy mist lays over the water until dawn, creating an unearthly feeling.

Walking through the back streets, I was not surprised by all the kites in the sky. I was surprised, however, at who was flying them. These gentlemen were intently coaxing their kite to a height that easily drew out 400m of chord from the reel. The paper kite is only two hand-spans across, so it was in impressive feat!

Meeting locals is easy. Many speak English (once essential to the country's education system). Conversation, on the other hand, is quite difficult. People seem to know only rudimentary English and could rarely venture beyond commercial transactions.

The further you wander from the tourist track, the greater the opportunity to catch the locals in action - literally. I wandered into an abandoned factory to find a troop of monks at play.

Although each of the largest villages around the lake has a market, there is a main market that is hosted by each town in turn. This scheduled roaming market caters to locals and attracts people from other parts of the lake. The market at Nyaung Shwe is the largest. Boats from around the lake arrive well before sunrise, the nearby villagers arrive by bicycle and foot.

The market has two main components: there is the typical market that caters to just about everyone, but there is a wholesale area beside the canal leading to the market that tourists rarely see. Here, local farmers bring in bushels of tomatoes and other produce destined for the distant towns and cities. Young men carry the goods from the boats and load them onto trucks.

The regular market takes place inside a square ring of shops and walls. Vendors take up the central space with stalls constructed from bamboo and tarpaulin sheeting overhead. From here they sell a variety of items, but produce and flowers are the most prominent.

I'm used to seeing monks in South East Asia, but nuns are an unusual sight. As I wandered around the market I noticed pink and orange-sherbet clad young women with shaved heads making their way between the stalls. They used a small plastic water bottle to collect a bit of oil from each vendor. A saw another small group collecting a bundle of white flowers from one of the sellers. Others were acquiring vegetables. While monks might have to rely on handouts, the nuns, apparently, cook for themselves.

By early afternoon the market has winded down, the shoppers heading back to their homes and villages. In the evening, there are few restaurants open, but the town gets very quiet. These folks are morning people.

You can see a lot more photos from Nyaung Shwe here.

Up into the hills to Pyin U Lwin

2009-12-31T17:44:00.002-05:00

Pyin U Lwin started out as a military outpost. It took off when a rail link from Mandalay was established and the British colonial government of Rangoon moved to the town during the annual hot season. It was originally called Maymyo after Colonel May, the commander there in the late 1800's. Today it is home to a mix of local Shan people with Indian and Nepalese left over from colonial times.

Walking around the town has a peculiar British feel to it. Though many of the buildings are of a more practical Asian style (i.e. not particularly interesting), there are still remnants of right-proper English architecture. Off the main street you see numerous mock Tudor houses with metal roofs and surrounded by determined shrubbery. I kept expecting to see a lady with a parasol and a gentleman with a cane walking along the dusty road. Of course the presence of all the tropical foliage throws off the effect.

The main street possesses one of my favorite buildings in the country. Whether the pastel color scheme, the Indian influenced architecture, or just my love for value and cheapness, I'm always drawn to this magnificent general store.

Looking down the street, you can just make out the tower clock. Purcel Tower was built in 1936, not long before the Japanese took over the country. After all the stupas of Yangon, it felt odd not to see any in this part of the country. It did not seem odd, however, to see mosques. This one, just down the road from the general store, shows it's Mogul heritage.

The first thing you notice about the town is the unusual form of transportation. There are cars and trucks, of course, and the number of motorbikes are quickly gaining on the number of bicycles, but there is something unusual about the colorful horse-drawn carriages of the town.

When I first laid eyes on them, I was convinced they were weird replicas of old wild-west stage coaches. I imagined a British soldier giving a drawing or photograph of a western coach to a local craftsman who then started a trend in the town. I kept looking for evidence to support this theory, but I must admit that the real story is probably much less dramatic. The coach design is undoubtedly based on a standard English coach, which the British would have brought to Burma. The bright colors are likely the influence of the Indian aesthetics.

The coachmen take great pride in their carriages. When not carrying a fare, I often saw the men carefully polishing the brass fittings or cleaning the dust from the brightly painted wood.

The amount of workmanship that go into these things is astonishing. As they're the best way to get around town, I had a chance to see many of them up close. They are decorated with tiny designs, decals and pinstripes everywhere. Some of the fittings are downright ancient. My only complaint is that the carriages are simply too small. While I could sit myself inside comfortably, my head was pressed against the thin wooden roof. Although the roofs had been raised slightly, the frame was such that I could not see outside the carriage unless I hunched over.

The town is the home of a traditional botanic garden with an impressive collection of orchids. Although it is well maintained, I can imagine how beautiful it must have been back in the 1930's. A few years ago, a tower was built on the hill on the western side of the park. From it, you can watch the sun set. Today is it sadly run down. It seems that the government enters into ambitious projects with great promise simply does not follow through with maintenance.

Pyin U Lwin, in keeping with the original military purpose, is home to one of the government's largest military schools. Young soldiers, dressed in chemical-green uniforms, congregate around the school entrance in the south west. They tended to be a bit leery of foreigners.

It was the people of the town who interested me most. Pyin U Lwin has a very diverse population given it's size; but that is to be expected given the influence of the British and their Indian troops. The mix of Indian, Shan and a few Chinese are seen everywhere. It also makes for more variety when it comes to eating. I found an Indian restaurant on a side street that served a most delicious meal for
paltry sum. Everything was cooked while I waited - and watched Indian TV programing beamed in by satellite.

The big appeal for some travelers is the railroad. The line from Mandalay is very unusual in that it uses switchbacks to zig-zag up the hill. Rail aficionados can't miss this attraction, but it means leaving Mandalay at 4:30 in the morning!

The train from Mandalay arrives not long after sun rise. Local vendors arrive just after dawn to offer food and drink to the passengers continuing on to the towns of Hsipaw or Lashio. Flowers, particularly chrysanthemums are also offered to the travelers. Train enthusiasts, fresh from their switchback experience on the way up, remain on board to visit the impressive Gokteik Viaduct spanning a gorge further up the line.

With the train is in the station, I had amble time to wander around and get photos of the passengers and attendants. it's an excellent time to meet people and take photos. There are plenty of families on board, of course, but I was pleased to see that the few soldiers going home after studies were much more friendly (although English is certainly no longer on the curriculum).

Just before the train pulls out, passengers scramble aboard any way they can!

See more photos here!

Mandalay Pole Climbers

2009-12-20T21:43:00.001-05:00

The way to get around Mandalay is by pedal cab, the three-wheel sidecar rickshaws are everywhere. If you have to get any great distance, it's worth hiring a cab for a few hours. A cab, I should point out, is actually a small truck with a covered bed. It can hold six people squeezed in tight. I hired a guy from my hotel and we agreed on a price of seven dollars. He wanted more, naturally, but I made sure to check the prices with a few other travelers and with the hotel. We agreed on the spots where we would stop and and where I would end my journey. I've learned to spell things out with such vendors to avoid confusion and, far too frequently, from being ripped off.

Near the end of our journey, the driver asked if I would mind if he made a short detour. I didn't mind. He stopped near a sort of village near the river. A group of locals were up to something near the road. I suggested I would have a look and he could collect me when he was ready.

What I saw was a large group of people gathered around a polished wooden pole (bamboo?) sticking a good five meters into the air. From the top, connected by a pulley to the ground so it could be raised and lowered, was a ring. From the ring fluttered pieces of paper.

As I approached, a group of boys were trying to climb it. They were unable to do so individually, but they soon figured out to form a crude pyramid ladder. This allowed a couple of boys to get closer, but still not close enough. On the ground, someone lowered the ring to encourage a few more to try to climb harder.

The boys wore shorts, but the one who wore a longyi wrapped up close soon found himself in a awkward position. As he clung to the pole, the longyi came loose. He couldn't let go to fix it. Meanwhile, other boys were scrambling over him. By the time he got clear of them and started down, he was completely compromised. What would have mortified me as a boy didn't bother him one bit. He laughed as he got redressed and laughed along with everyone else.

Eventually, one intrepid climber made it to the ring and grabbed an envelope.

Now it was the young men's turn. They were better climbers, but they quickly organized a pyramid. The ring had also moved higher up the bamboo pole. Standing on shoulders and heads, they climbed over each other to reach the ring.

One very clever fellow used a spare longyi and twisted it around the pole. A tight twist enable him to use it as a sort of climbing base. Loosening it, he could slide it up and tighten it again to climb a bit higher. In this way he made it to the top and swiped an envelope.

When he arrived on the ground, he opened the envelope to reveal his prize. It contained a coupon. Some one took the coupon and returned with a new longyi! He was genuinely pleased with the reward and everyone cheered when he held it aloft.

My driver showed up at this point and we went back to the cab. He took me a few hundred meters down the road to a restaurant by the river, telling me it was a good place to see the sunset. I reminded him that we agreed on a different destination, about two kilometers up the road. He insisted this was a good spot, but I held firm. He begrudgingly drove me to my destination.

I got out, counted seven dollars out of my wallet and handed it to him as I put on my camera gear and organized my tripod. He held the money in his hand and looked at me with confusion. I returned the confused look. “Seven dollars” he said. I nodded. He fanned out four bills. I short changed him? Huh! I pulled out three dollars and gave it to him. He got into the cab and drove off as I put away my wallet.

How could I have have miscounted four as seven? I could not recall ever miscounting with so few bills. Miscount one bill? Maybe. Miscount two? Unlikely. Miscount three? I opened my wallet and started counting back my purchases of the day. I could account for every expenditure but three dollars. The sneak palmed three bucks and managed to con me into giving him three more. I vowed not to get distracted when making any sort of payment. I knew there were rip-off artists in Yangon, but I had become too trusting of the regular folks in my travels that I let down my guard. Lesson learned.

See more photos here.

The Monastic City of Sagaing

2009-11-01T21:51:00.001-05:00

In a bend in the Irrawaddy, just downriver of Mandalay, a ridge of hills rises along the western bank. Upon these hills is the city of Sagaing. The landscape is crowded with large trees and even larger pagodas, temples, stupas and other religious shrines, for this is the monastic heart of the country. There are a few proper roads through the area, but the cobbled trails, dusty paths and covered walkways entice any visitor to explore.

The city was built in the early fourteenth century, not long after the Mongols sacked Bagan. It remained the capital of the kingdom for fifty years before moving to another city, in the typical Burmese tradition of moving capitals. Today the city is home to thousands of monks, novices and nuns — and hundreds of ancient monasteries to support them.

The path to the highest point, Sagaing Hill, is a covered stairway running up the steep sides. From this radiates numerous other paths, some leading to nearby religious buildings, others leading off to distance locations and other hilltops. Climbing the stairs, monks and workers make their way to prayers and chores.

While it provides shade — and shelter in the rainy season — the canopy also blocks the view of the countryside. Ducking out from beneath offers glimpses of vistas.

The top of Sagaing Hill sits the magnificent Soon U Ponya Shin Pagoda, its accompanying stupa and the magnificent tile-work that surrounds it.

It was behind this stupa that I heard the plaintive mew of a kitten. I discovered a skinny wretch of Siamese huddled among a pile of constructions supplies. When I came close, it wailed louder. The pitiful thing was clearly starving. I walked back to a food vendor I had passed some minutes earlier. The only meat they had was a soft candied jerky of some sort, about half the size of a traditional hot dog. I bought one and headed back to the forlorn feline. I handed the meat to the hungry cat who started chewing it immediately. Satisfied I had earned some Buddhist merit, I glanced around for more things to photograph. The kitten was mewing again. I turned back and saw the empty plastic bag that held the food. I fed it less than a minute ago. I concluded that a bird must of have swooped in and grabbed the meat. I walked back to the vendor and bought two more pieces of meat. I laid them out for the kitten and watched the eaves for marauding avians. I glanced down to see the last bit of the first meat strip disappear into the staving cat; the second followed less than a minute later. A bird had not snatched the meat, the kitten was that hungry. I was rewarded with a purr that nearly shook the ground upon which I stood.

The whole top Sagaing Hill is a colorful complex of terraces, covered areas, areas to meditate and areas to take in the fantastic views of the river and the city.

In addition to the monks and occasional nuns, local pilgrims spend much time on the hill. It took a bit of coaxing to get these woman to break from their formal countenance and give me a smile.

Despite the few tourists the country receives, enough of them make it to Sagaing that locals are not at all surprised. Westerners typically stick to well-traveled paths in Sagaing. Exploring the back streets opens up plenty of possibilities for meeting the people. I passed countless monasteries and schools. The schools were the most fun because the children in the yards run to the gate to say hello and goodbye, the only two English words they had know.

The back ways also provided access rarely visited stupas and to some of the lower hills with their seldom-scene views.

The hidden monasteries always provide at least a few monks eager to practice their English ... and who are more than happy to pose for a photo as well.

See more photos here.

Mandalay Artisans

2009-10-24T13:58:00.001-04:00

Mandalay is the artistic capital of Myanmar. While you can find artisans at work all over the country, the greatest concentration is found here. In addition to gold beating, there is a marble carving, bronze casting and tapestry making.

The most noticeable of the craft shops is an entire area of the city devoted to stone carving. Buddhas and Nat deities carved from marble, line the small road on both sides, some ready for shipping, some still incomplete. While most of them are lifesize and slightly smaller, a few tower three meters or more in height.

Workers squat beside their statues. The sound of electric grinders drown out the tapping of the chisels as the carvers prepare the marble. A surprising number of statues are completely carved except for the face. This remains as a rough block of stone. Presumably, a more skilled artisan would complete the face. Perhaps it requires some customization such as to carve it into the appearance of the buyer?

The whole area is covered in marble chips and dust. The ground near the carvers is a gravelly beach of marble rocks and sand. The air, too, is full of marble and it takes only a few minutes to start accumulating white dust on clothes and hair.

The artisans work in small teams, each person specializing in a particular technique or a particular part of the sculpture. Men do the actual carving while the women generally do the polishing and finishing. The statues are nearly all Buddhas and the local Burmese deity, the Nats. They all take a similar form, the traditional poses of "The Enlightened One." The Nats are a bit more novel as the finished version is usually given some paint highlights.

Not far from the marble carving area is the bronze foundry area. A dozen small shops cast everything from souvenirs to prayer bells to larger than life bronze Buddhas. There are few statues on display here; probably because the work is created to order. There are, however, plenty of brown clay models and molds.

Most shops use an in genious makeshift apparatus for polishing the metal. The device consists of an electric motor turning a cable inside a stiff hose. To the end is attached a wire wheel or whatever abrasive/polishing device they need. Sometimes they'll take the electric motor, pop a polishing wheel to the end of it and just use the whole contraption by hand. While not as powerful or versatile as a regular grinder, it gets the job done cheaply.

Tapestries are also big in Mandalay. Small teams of women gather around wooden frames stretched with red fabric. By the light of the window, they guild threads of bright color and gold through the cloth.

The complete tapestry is a rectangle about one by two meters. It contains Hindu and Buddhist scenes from history or allegory.

See the larger images here.

Irrawaddy Riverbank Life

2009-10-17T20:32:00.001-04:00

Compared to Yangon, Mandalay is laid back and peaceful. However, to see some organized chaos, you have but to wander down to the river.
The sandy banks are practically overrun with bamboo huts. I'm tempted
to call them makeshift, but many of them have a feel of semi-permanence
about them. I'm sure a lot of them survive the wet season when the
Irrawaddy swells. Others are rebuilt year after year.

The banks of the Irrawaddy are lined with boats for as far as the eye
can see. There are no dock facilities, no jetty, just boats pressed
against the shore - and to each other.

While quite a few are used as informal houseboats, most are in the process of unloading cargo.

Finished goods arrive from Yangon while raw materials, mainly wood, travel downriver from various places. When it's time to unload the vessels, everyone pitches in. Baskets are the prefered way of moving smaller items.

Here a family loads a local truck with bamboo brought from up river. The riverbank has quite an industry cutting and preparing these poles.

The early morning light makes for gorgeous photos. On the top of the bank, along the roadside, I tried to get a group of kids to pose as they sat on the stone wall, but they were surprisingly shy. These two girls, working at a tea shop, happily volunteered.

Just about everything of potential value is reused on the riverbank. These oil drums, for example, have been battered, beaten and repaired countless times.

The storage areas on shore also provide excellent photo opportunities.

One of the more unusual raw materials arriving at Mandalay is one that is in abundance along the river: sand. Construction projects continue in the city and sand is a vital component of the concrete. The sand from the many islands in the middle of the river are best since they are free of organic matter (unlike that on the shore where I stood). Most of the small boat operators haul the sand to the bank by the basket load, but the more technologically advanced use a water pump to draw the sand through heavy hoses. It provides the local kids an opportune place to play.

Just a bit upriver from the "commercial bank," an inlet acts a bit of a harbor. It's not deep enough to let the larger boats in, but it makes a fine place to organize an prepare floating materials such as these logs.

People walk across the log rafts as they would a sidewalk. It is quite common to see people fishing from them and it's the ideal location to wash your clothes or whatever else needs a good scrubbing.

The most interesting thing about these log rafts is that not only do people work on them, they actually live on them. I saw numerous lean-to and hut dwellings, complete with cooking fires.

There's a small village on the other side of the inlet. Several boats ply between the shores, taking people to work and kids to school. The rowers use a peculiar crossed oar method to power their boats.

As the sun sets on the other side of the Irrawaddy, I'm given one more beautiful vista to enjoy.

See the full size photos here.

Mandalay Gold Beaters

2009-10-05T19:56:00.001-04:00

Gold leaf is one of the most common materials in a Buddhist temple. In addition to statuary and sacred items being layered in gold leaf, it's also used by worshipers. They take tiny squares and carefully apply it to statues and other items as a way of making merit. Some items, like the sacred Buddha images of Inle Lake have had so much gold leaf applied to them that they appear as shapeless blobs. Gold leaf is in demand and this particular Mandalay shop employs a large staff to prepare it.

In the final product, small squares of gold leaf are cut from a larger round piece and carefully places on the yellow paper. The squares are then stacked in a box. A box of twenty-five squares may sell for between fifteen and twenty dollars depending on the price of gold. You're not actually paying for gold so much as the labor that goes into the preparation.

The round pieces of gold have been pounded against sheets of heavy bamboo parchment. Here, the shop's top gold trimmer shows the product as it comes from the gold beaters.

The process begins with a ribbon of gold about 0.025 mm thick. This is cut into squares of about 3 cm and sandwiched between sheets of specially prepared bamboo parchment. Preparing this paper is a task unto itself and requires a few days, from soaking select bamboo pieces to pounding out the finished product. Pounding the bamboo sheets is performed by a group of women squatting in a small, very noisy, dimly lit and very humid basement room. They pound the parchment until it is the right consistency for the next phase of the process.

Upstairs, the men go to work on the gold. Numerous squares are sandwiched between layers of parchment and wrapped in sheepskin before being tied against a large stone.

Leaning against a wooden rail, the men begin a rhythmic beating of the packages. Although they each start with their own cadence, they inevitably form a constant beat that is remarkably musical. A small bowl with a hole in the bottom is placed in a jar of water to measure the amount of time the gold is pounded. When the bowl sinks, the men reposition the packages to ensure even distribution.

Each man has his own personal hammer. He usually begins in his teens as a sort of apprentice, spending a few weeks practicing the pounding technique on packages of bamboo sheets without gold. Once the masters are satisfied with his abilities, he is given his first gold to beat. After a few years of this, they are in remarkably good physical condition.

I was granted the opportunity to try my hand at the task, with a dummy package, of course. In bare feet, I positioned myself over the stone. One of the men tied the package and showed me how to strike it. The hammer is understandably heavy, but when I hit the sheepskin-wrapped package, I was pleasantly surprised; the hammer bounced. Instead of having to physically haul the hammer back to the overhead position, I had only to maintain the momentum and start the downward swing. It was like beating a very large drum. I kept up with the rest of the crew for a few minutes until the bowl sank in the jar.

I had the guys gather for a formal portrait. It took several attempts because they could not help laughing.

As I left, I ran into one of the senior gold beaters and had him pose with his hammer. Years of work have carved him into a gold pounding machine with a physique envied by any westerner of his age. As monotenous as the job may be, I can't help but wonder if it might not be a good retirement option: move to Mandalay and get into shape by taking up gold beating.

It beats the hell out of golf, that's for sure.

See more photos here.

Mingun Morning

2009-09-15T11:51:00.002-04:00

Mingun is a town, for lack of a better word, located eleven kilometers upriver of Mandalay. It's worth seeing for a few reasons. It has the largest ringing bell in the world. I would have had the largest stupa in the world had the project to build it been completed. Now it is the largest pile of bricks in the world. It also has an architecturally unique, white temple mountain.

My objective was to photograph the stupa as the sun was coming up. If you arrive at the river before dawn, as any good photographer would do, you're told that the boats going to Mingun don't leave until 9AM. My plan was to rent a whole boat and leave when I damned well wanted to. In order to accomplish this, I solicited my fellow hotel guests. Anyone wanting to go to Mingun should arrive at the lobby just before 6AM and we would take a taxi to the river. We ended up with eight, altogether.

At the river, we met with a number of captains willing to take us and we agreed on a price of about $25. That was close to what it would have cost had we each bought a ticket at 9AM. We scrambled across the boats, tied up side by side, and boarded ours. The crew cast off and drifted out into the current as the engines got going. It was now just under an hour before the sun rose. By the time we arrived at Mingun, I should be able to get my photo of the sunrise on the stupa.

Our pilot was a girl of about seventeen. She handled the boat like a pro.

Then we got stuck on a sandbar. There are a lot of sandbars in the river during dry season. They have a nasty habit of shifting around and it was our misfortune to discover one. The crew did their best to try to free us.

By now, the sun was just cresting the horizon. The monochrome morning was giving way to the golden light of dawn. The captain had called for a relief boat and we transfered from our stricken vessel to the rescue craft and continued up the river. Other boats were making their way up or down, providing lots of interesting photographic subjects.

We arrived at the riverbank in Mingun. Just up the river I spotted a white ceremonial staircase leading to a small pogoda.

There was my magnificent ruin. At 450 feet across, it was planned to be over 500 feet tall. It would truly have been spectacular. It's awe inspiring when you consider that since the creation of the pyramids of the Egyptian and Inca, no one has attempted to create such a massive brick structure.

The king started construction on the stupa in 1791, but work was abandoned when he died in 1819. In 1838, an earthquake cracked the very foundation of the unfinished stupa. Another earthquake in 1956 caused further devastation. On the west side, a huge fissure runs up the structure, exposing the brick construction. There are still four entrances into niches on each side, however. These continue to attract worshipers.

It's possible to walk to the top, along a jumble of fallen brickwork. Many locals do so on a regular basis. From the top of the old stupa, I could see the nearby Myatheindan Pagoda, built in 1816.

It's not hard to see why this pagoda is nicked named "the wedding cake pagoda."

At sunrise or sunset, this building makes for fantastic photos. When the sun is too high, though, it looks washed out.

The locals were busy going about their morning chores and pretty much ignoring me and my fellow travelers as we explored the ancient buildings. There are plenty of curious places to visit in Mingun, but when traveling with a group, it's necessary to make plans and stick with them. I hope to return and spend a few days in Mingun to see whatever else I can.

In addition to capturing the morning light, the other advantage of arriving early is that there are no tourists. Every vista was mercifully free of floppy hat sporting gawkers. By 10AM, however, the tourist boats were arriving. By that time, the local trinket hawkers who all but ignored me on my arrival were in full operation mode and I could not pass a stall without being offered a miniature bell or some other souvenir.

I would have very much liked to have a souvenir of the great bell, but the ones being sold looked nothing like the monster housed its own enclosure between the stupa ruin and the wedding cake. At 90 tons, this gargantuan bell stands 12 feet high and fifty feet in circumference. It's supported by a huge girder held up by two massive iron columns bolted together. The bell leans against a wooden bumper to keep it from touching the column; it appears to have shifted since it was first put in place. While it's possible to ring the bell with the short club provided, I would dearly love to hear a tree-trunk size clanger hammer into the side of this particular bell. I have no doubt that when it first rang a hundred years ago, it could have been heard for miles up and down the Irrawaddy. Fantastic.

See more photos from Mingun here.

U Bein Bridge

2009-08-31T10:57:00.001-04:00

One of the more unusual tourist attractions near Mandalay is the U Bein bridge (or U Bein's bridge), a teak structure running 1200m across a long, shallow lake.

The Burmese have an interesting habit of changing the location of their national capital every once in a while. Back in the late 1700's, the capital was moved to Amarapura. When the city of Mandalay was constructed in the mid 1800's, the capital moved north. This move left plenty of abandoned buildings and U Bein, a government official, decided to use the salvaged timber to build a bridge.

Since then, the bridge has been in constant use. It's as much a social meeting point as a way to get across the lake. Numerous locals stoll across the bridge to enjoy the breeze or just relax on the many benches and pavilions.

The area has a few monasteries, so monks and nuns are frequently seen on the bridge.

I arrived at the bridge about an hour before sunset. A few people from my Mandalay guest house were willing to share a taxi ride so we all traveled together. While the two couples went off on their own, I explored the west side of the bridge. As a popular tourist attraction, several restaurants are located on both sides of the bridge and some vendors have set up food stalls under the pavilions. The west side also has a numerous vendors selling various trinkets and souvenirs. The Thais are well known for selling captive birds which you can release for merit, but I'd never before seen a captive owl. The creature was not much larger than my hand.

The souvenir vendors can be persistent, but never cross the line to pushy. The bridge has one unique feature that's difficult to avoid:
Cute girls guard the entrance to the bridge. They're well versed in English and do their best to stick with you all the way across and back. Their goal is to sell you a necklace or some other small item. There were few tourists on this visit and this kid decided to follow me and convince me of the advantages of buying something from her.

I was wearing the duplicate of one of the necklaces she was carrying, so she tried to convince me to buy a different one. "I need only one!" I told her. Undetered, she was convinced I should buy one for a family member and named each relative. For each, my response was "I don't have" and told her I was abandoned as a child and raised by bears in the wilderness. I almost convinced her but she insisted I buy necklaces for the bears.

She gave up after a while, but I agreed to hire her as a guide. I didn't actually need a guide for a bridge that runs from one side of the lake to the other, but it was fun getting her perspective on life in Myanmar and the tourists she meets. She also proved an effective spy by telling me what the locals were saying. It's no wonder the topic of conversation in each group of passersby was the foreign tourist walking on their bridge! She told me the locals were always curious about the foreigners but were too shy to talk or could not speak English.

The old bridge looks rather rickety and very worn with age, but it's solid and full of character. The grain in the dark wood is very deep from years of exposure to the sun and monsoon rains. The structure is well maintained by Myanmar standards. At first glance, the bridge looks like it was constructed in a haphazard fashion as it's not perfectly straight. It might well have been constructed by locals without a proper surveying tools, but it is quite sound. About half way across, the bridge takes a slight bend. I suspect the original architects wanted to connect to a small island there. Now, however, there are quite a few islands!

It feels a bit odd using a bridge that does not cross much water. What little water beneath is so shallow it's possible to walk across with no difficulty. Of course it's now the dry season and in a few months the lake will be swollen. When it was first built, the water was much deeper and boats could row out to the river from the old capital.

By the time I reached the other side, the sun was quite low. I regretted not arriving earlier so I could explore the east side and the remnants of ancient Amarapura. The sun was very low and if I wanted sunset photos, I had to head back soon.

I made arrangements with one of my traveling companions to meet up on the east side where we could take a boat across the lake. They were waiting there, with the boat, as were several other tourists. Walking across and boating back is the way to see the U Bein bridge.

The sun creates beautiful silhouettes of the bridge.

One trick I've learned about sunsets is that you should wait a while after the sun goes down. There is frequently an encore presentation of color!

See more photos here.

Up the Irrawaddy River

2009-08-24T08:49:00.001-04:00

A boat is the most civilized way to travel. A jet may get you there fast, but you don't see anything. A boat, on the other hand, moves at a leisurely pace, enabling you to observe life, not just fly over it while watching a poor video facsimile. Even a river barge can be luxurious if only because you can get up and walk around.

There is no question about how I would go from Bagan to Mandalay, it is question of when. Normally there are numerous choices, but with the river running low, there was one option and it leaves at six the next morning.

At 5AM, shuffling feet in the hall alert me to the impending wake up knock on my guest-room door. The proprietors were used to my early rising and so was I - I had been up for twenty minutes repacking my gear. I settle my bill and step out into the night. It's deathly quiet and still. Only a few windows show evidence of light. The desk clerk looks up and down the road for the horse cart they booked for me the night before. After making some tut-tut noises, he tells me to wait and dashes off into the darkness. A few minutes later he returns and the sounds of a distance horse clop down the road.

I thought that the boat left from the landing at the north side of the town, so I was surprised when the driver turned his horse toward the temples. It would not have been the first time a driver shifted to auto-pilot in taking a tourist on a sightseeing trip. The clerk assures me that he was going the right way and off we go into the darkness. We pass by the Ananda festival market and the place is lively with lamp-lit market stalls and people walking about. I don't know if they kept going all night or if they rose even earlier than I had imagined.

A few minutes later, I know exactly where we were. The speed boat landing is just below the monastery I visited a few days earlier. At the top of the stairs, one of the sailors tries to take my bags, but I'm already comfortably wearing my backpack and camera bag. He insists on carrying my tripod down to the boat. The full moon is just above the horizon and glorious in a cloud mottled sky. My ride for the day is pressed against the bank throbbing like a diesel powered amphibian dinosaur. It looks fast.

Below us rests the old paddle-wheeler, sitting there in all its decaying majesty. A tired river queen powerless to thwart the young usurper a hundred meters upstream.

I'm the first passenger to arrive. That six o'clock departure time is really just to get the lazy tourists out of bed at a descent hour. After stowing my bag, I go back ashore. Other passengers arrive; maybe a dozen in all. The captain soon blasts the horn and I scramble back up the gangplank and make my way to the stern. The crew cast off the lines and push the boat into the current. The eastern sky is turning pink. To the west, the moon is an orange globe hanging over a blue green horizon.

As the rumbling engines power the boat into the middle of the river, I see large cliffs in the distance. Two pagodas stand in silhouette against the brightening sky. Bagan was once much larger, but a long time ago the Irrawaddy decided to change course and washed away nearly a third of the ancient city and it's splendid architecture. These pagodas were spared ... for now. The sun crawls lazily out of bed to wish us a good morning.

Few of my fellow passengers speak. We're all watching the sun as it bounces across the top of the cliffs. The forward motion of the boat and the jagged horizon makes it appear as if the sun was moving along the river playing hide and seek. I switch from lens to lens as the light and subjects changed. I occasionally review the images to make sure my exposure is correct. Some of the photos appear as blanks in thew viewer. That's odd. Others appear, disappear and reappear again. I figure I must have accidentally changed some image viewing setting and continue shooting. I realized later that I should have switched to a different storage card. By the time I got to Mandalay, I had a corrupt card and would have lost every photo were it not for bank of image recover tools I used to salvage the corrupt files.

It's not long before the sun is well clear of the horizon. At this latitude, at this time of the year, it practically flies up like a balloon. Speaking of which, I had intended to go for a ride across Bagan on a hot air balloon. The company running the service keeps very odd hours and I managed to miss them. I could have been up there this very morning, but the choice was between a balloon and going to Mandalay by boat. Delaying the trip would mean waiting three or four days for the next boat or taking the bus or a plane. Off in the distance, I could see the silhouettes of the balloons as they ascended and cross the plain. I'm sorry I'm not up there.

Most of the traffic on the river consists of oar powered fishing boats and people crossing from shore to shore. A quick wave from our railings is all that's needed to get big smiles and waves from the little boats.

To avoid getting stuck on the shifting shoals, the captain keeps our boat at half throttle. It's no leisurely pace; we cruise by other up-bound commercial craft with ease. Most of the boats we pass are the steam boats that have been converted to diesel. They still have their old smoke stacks.

The larger riverboats are, of course much more romantic.

Being well up above the water surface gives a much better perspective of the other boats and the scenes on the river banks. There are numerous encampments on the sandy islands left when the monsoon swollen river subsided. People fill their boats with clean river sands and send them to Yangon for construction projects.

As the sun rises too high to get good photos, I get comfortable on one of the wicker chairs on the upper deck. It's hot, but so long as I'm out of the sun, the fast moving boat provides enough of a breeze. The other passengers are a mix of Europeans, mostly older couples who pretty much keep to themselves.

I introduce myself to the only other serious photographer. He's a Torontonian who was a plant manager for an international firm. They had him on expatriate status for a few years but decided he should accept a local wage for a job in India if he wanted to stay on. He quit and has been spending the past year traveling through Asia. I give him some tips on Myanmar and he, in turn, provides me with all sorts of valuable info on China, practically running an itinerary for me.

Looking upstream, a line of rafts catches my eye. It's a dredging project, but it's not to clear a channel for the boats. As we come alongside, I realize it's a gold mining operation using the river to sift the bottom sediment.

The boat cruises by many small towns and smaller villages. Most of them have a few pagodas and a few have guardian lions sitting on the shore. Occasionally, we can see pagodas off in the distance. Myanmar is littered with ancient temples and ruins.

The boat provides free tea but sells food and cold drinks for those willing to pay the premium price. This is typical of most boats and I was prepared for it, having picked up an assortment of snacks the evening before. I offer my Canadian friend some food. He gratefully accepts the fruit and cookies and buys me a beer.

We spot a barge caught on the shifting shoals of the river. It looks like it carries petroleum. A tugboat pushes the barge in a circle in an attempt to free it from the submerged obstruction. We soon leave it behind but another barge is stuck ahead. Its tug is running full throttle to push it free; we can hear the sound of it's engine above our own as it spews black exhaust from its stack. A third stuck barge appears ahead of us. A tug navigates a wide circle around as it attempts to find a proper channel.

The fast boat takes a full day to navigate up the river. Some of the passengers complain that they were told it would only take half a day. I don't know why they're in such a hurry. I'd rather take our time then get stuck.

When I see the monasteries of Sagaing, I know we're near our destination.

Behind our boat, the sun casts a fiery red on the water.

At this point we pass beneath the only bridges we have seen that cross the Irrawaddy. I discover later that's its actually illegal to photograph them, but everyone aboard was shooting that magnificent sunset.

One of the last sights we see before arriving in Mandalay is a cargo operation unloading logs. One of the crew mentions that it's teak.The logs are three to four feet across. I wonder how they look before they fall to the chain saw. In all my travels in Myanmar, I have seen nothing that resembles an old growth forest. Looking at the wood being hauled in from the water, I wonder if I ever will.

View the full-size images here.

Villager Encampment

2009-07-26T10:34:00.002-04:00

With hundreds of families attending the Ananda Festival, there is no way the local guest houses could accommodate them (even if those families could afford it). Instead, the visiting villagers set up camps around the temple and a makeshift town springs up on the plain of Bagan. The camps are typically arranged by putting the ox carts in a circle and stretching tarps over the center if there are no trees to provide shade from the blistering sun.

With a population this size, personal needs can be somewhat difficult to manage. There are numerous latrines around the temple grounds. Laundry is typically hauled to the nearby river for washing. There is also at least one station where the villagers can bathe. The men do so in the open, wearing their longyis for modesty.

Cooking takes place on open fires burning whatever scrap wood they can find, or using charcoal purchased at the market.

Water for cooking and washing must be hauled to the camps in a familiar way.

One group of villagers set up camp outside the north wall of the temple. This provided some shade and enabled them to use the wall for part of their temporary homes. The framework of the huts consist of bamboo poles tied together with bamboo cord. The walls consist of woven bamboo while reed matting covered the floor space (and sometimes the walls as well).

One morning, as I wandered through the makeshift village, I saw a group of women preparing tanaka.

When they saw me eavesdropping, they invited me to enter the area inside the circle of carts to sit on the woven mat. Through gestures, I had them demonstrate how they went about preparing the wood. They wet a special grinding stone then rubbed the pale tanaka stick against it before carefully applying the resulting paste to their faces with the aid of a small mirror.

Laughingly, they offered to apply the makeup to me as well, but I graciously declined. I was well aware that tanaka is worn almost exclusively by women and children. I suspected, by their grins, that they wanted to pull a trick on the strange visitor.

One of the women called for snacks and a girl brought out a bowel of some type of crisp bean cracker. A few moments later another of the girls brought a small basket of peanuts. While I did my best to pantomime conversation with everyone there, the girls cracked the nuts, blew off the skins and handed them to me a few at a time.

By the time they had completed their preparations, most of the kids had joined in and a few of the men drifted by to see what was happening. Outside the cart circle, neighbors had also peeked in. Before I left I took a group photo. Looking at the two lovely girls in the center, I'm struck by how they think that tanaka makes them more appealing. A western mind-set can be be both a foundation and a wall.

That afternoon, I went back to pay a visit to the family. I wanted to return that morning's hospitality with gifts of my own. I had brought with me some pink nail color and lip gloss for just this purpose. I knew such items would be a total luxury item for them and presented my gifts with no ceremony. My offerings were met with astonished delight. It took me a few moments, however, to convince them I was giving them the cosmetics, not just letting them have a look. I realized soon after that they thought I was giving the gifts to each specific person as a few of them looked rather disappointed. I did my best to make it clear that the cosmetics were for all of them to share.

I also brought along some bars of scented soap. I'd planned to use them myself, but knew they'd be a big hit. Besides, I didn't want to make the men feel left out. The senior-most male had a good sniff of the soap and proclaimed his approval.

As the girls tried the nail color and lip gloss, I struggled for some way to get the communication lines open. I figured the one thing that would work was music. I experimented with a couple of tunes, hoping that my lack of musical ability would be overlooked. Each song was met with polite smiles. One of the older women tried to convince some of the kids to sing, but everyone was overcome by shyness.

I stayed a bit longer, politely nibbling on the proffered bean crackers before begging my leave.

It only occurred to me later that I should have hired one of the numerous English speakers in the town to act as informal interpreter for me. Next time.

See the full size images here.

Ananda Festival Morning

2009-07-22T15:01:00.001-04:00

Five days of celebration around the Ananda Temple culminates on the morning of the full moon. The villagers leave their encampments bearing gift baskets for the monks. These are arranged on a great table in the South Eastern courtyard of the temple to be distributed to the monks after sunrise.

The offerings range from a humble bowel of rice or peanuts in a woven basket to complete care packages in monk's begging bowel with snacks, soap and toothpaste or maybe an elaborately contrived money trees using the colorful local currency.

In the North Eastern temple courtyard, the monks have gathered. Many of them had spent the night inside or huddled together for warmth beneath the trees. By sunrise, most of them had already paid their respects to the Buddhas inside and were waiting patiently for the ceremony.

Around 7am, senior monks from the temple started organizing the few hundred monks who had gathered in the courtyard. Everyone left their resting places and took care of that most important duty: wrapping themselves in their robes properly. This included winding an edge of the fabric into a tight coil and folding everything properly. The old men were most meticulous in their robes while the young boys were as young boys are. I often saw their masters instructing them on how to rearrange their robes.

The monks started to form a single line, but it was soon divided into two lines. It was not clear how it was organized, but it's safe to assume that individual monasteries stayed together. Plastic instruction cards were handed out to all the monks.

They were jammed together really tight. I don't know if was eagerness to receive their alms or an attempt to help combat the morning chill.

The monks tended to cluster in groups of their own age.

However, the most interesting photos were the young monks squeezed between their older brothers.

The line-up of monks was an amazing opportunity for interesting photographs. While the older monks remained serene throughout, the young monks were quite curious over the attention and fascinated by the foreign photographers happily snapping away.

Of course the long wait also meant that plenty of them got bored.

The rising sun was most cooperative with a clear bright sky and the perfect "golden hour" light.

With such terrific photographic conditions, I'm always amazed at how few tourists attend the event. In 2009 there were perhaps a score of photographers dashing about. Many were from Myanmar, but the majority were from Europe. I watched one particular professional spend the entire morning focused on a small group of monks off to one side. He seemed to be focusing on small details. A Japanese photographer earned my admiration by having a group of young monks stand around him for a photo. While I could not bring myself to steal his excellent idea, I did manage to grab a unique photo myself!

You would think this was a very solemn occasion, but it's really a celebration. While the older men waited patiently, the young monks were happy to fool around and enjoy the morning as best they could.

After a couple of hours, most of the monks had made their way from the North courtyard to the South. In single file, they received their basket from one of the numerous lay people distributing the gifts.

As they walked past the table, some people were providing additional offerings to the monks by stacking a few more items on top of their load. Some received so many additional items, the stack was threatening to topple over.

Once the monks had passed through, they were on their own to enjoy their gift basket. Most were happily munching on peanuts, bananas and oranges or examining the non-perishable items in their collection.

Many of the villagers were interacting with the monks, most likely family members. Eventually, people started wandering back to the market, making their way to their encampment or paying their respects to the temple Buddhas. While the market would remain for a few more days, many of the villagers packed up their ox carts and headed home that morning.

See lots more photos here!

Ananda Temple

2009-07-08T22:08:00.001-04:00

A jewel among dusty pebbles, the Ananda temple rises above the plain of Bagan. Its white wedding cake terraces are crowned by a golden spire rising fifty meters above the surrounding land.

The nine hundred year old temple is a square with gates facing the cardinal points of the compass. Long whitewashed corridors with ornately carved porticos and gigantic teak doors lead to the center.

Facing each entrance stands a twelve meter tall gilded Buddha figure. Each figure is different, representing the four enlightened ones. Two of the great teak statues are originals; I was unable to find out what happened to the other two, but their modern replacements look every bit as authentic as their ancient brethren. Individuals and groups of villagers gather at their feet to seek enlightenment and provide offerings.

A corridor running around the interior houses numerous other Buddha figures in gilt niches.

Even the Indian- style spire has niches with Buddha images. Everywhere you look, Buddhas.

I spent three days between the market and the temple, watching barefoot worshipers and tourists come and go, and admiring the historic architecture.

Hundreds of monks arrived for the Ananda festival. They took turns leading followers in prayer and chanting into a public address system. this required some organization, of course.

One of the things that struck me about the design of two of the statues was the shape of the mouth. It is very peculiar looking. I remember seeing a small Buddha statue as a child and wondered why it looked so odd. Now I know. It's a sort of optical illusion that only works for extra-large statues. Imagine walking into the chamber and seeing the Buddha from the corridor. Note the serene smile as he looks down at the people sitting before him.

As you walk closer and sit at his feet, he has a remarkably different look. The smile become a look of contemplation. Very clever.

See plenty more photos in my new Smugmug gallery!

Ananda Festival Market

2009-06-27T14:23:00.001-04:00

The Ananda Festival draws hundreds of monks. People from villages all over travel in for the event. For most, this is the biggest gathering of people all year and they make a real event of the festival. Whole families pile into ox carts and move in for the week. Villages travel together and set up makeshift camps all around the Ananda temple. The place has a medieval feel to it.

This huge influx of people attracts business, of course, and a temporary market becomes the center of attention for the week. A large boulevard extends from the temple entrance. Shops set up on either side and the center is filled with mats upon which vendors lay their goods.

Branching from the central boulevard are several corridors of vendors neatly lined up on the parched grass and sandy soil. The stalls are made almost entirely of bamboo. Poles support woven mat walls and roofing. By mutual consent, the vendors extend their roofs over the center of the corridors to provide a shady walk for shoppers.

On the east side of the market, carnival rides and theatrical performances provide entertainment for all ages. Restaurants line the south side of the market, but food stalls are scattered here and there all around. There are numerous fruit and vegetable vendors on the west side, closest to the road.

All day, and well into the evening, villagers walked between their encampments and the market hauling water, purchases or supplies. The women typically carried their items balance on their heads.

The most popular category of mercantile goods is clothing. Everything from coats to underwear, from hats to sandals are on sale in scores of vendor stalls throughout the market. Many of the products are recognizable brands. They're mostly knockoffs but I suspect some are imperfect goods sent over from Thai, Chinese and Malaysian factories. Most of the t-shirts were emblazoned with English phrases; something I saw all over South East Asia.

The second most popular is manufactured goods, mostly kitchenware and farming implementation. Pots and pans and kitchen knives shared space with shovels and watering cans and oil lamps. The quality of the metallurgy was poor, but it got the job done for a price the locals could afford. I was quite surprised to have encountered one very large stall selling large electric appliances including air conditioners, generators and refrigerators.

Fabric vendors displayed assortments of brilliant cloth bolts and ever-popular terrycloth towels. Burmese women tend toward the more colorful patterns while the men stick with subdued earth tones. A few of the more entrepreneurial vendors had set up tailoring services beside the fabric stalls. Buy your cloth and have a longyi sewed while you wait. This enterprising young woman was kept busy all day at work on her sewing machine.

It was the locally produced items that interested me the most. Woven basket goods were the most predominant. Although labor intensive, the raw material is abundant. Whole sections of the market were packed with baskets, trays and boxes. The boxes were my favorite, although crude in comparison to the more elaborate items, I appreciated their simplicity and functionality.

Woven mats took up the most space. These were arranged by size and style, laid out in several vendor stalls.

The villagers took their time choosing the one appropriate to their needs. They'd roll them up and carry them off to their camp. They'd end up as flooring, walls or roofs.

There were also plenty of ceramic products. While I liked crude animal figurines and vases, the most spectacular sight was located in the north west section of the market. Hundreds of huge water cisterns were laid out on the ground. Each one was large enough to conceal a large man. I watched many men wander through the selection and taping the gigantic pots to identify the best one.

In addition to the "official" stalls located in the market, there were numerous freelance merchants hawking easily moved items. I noticed this young woman in several locations one day. She would lay out a small worn piece of nylon tarpaulin and lay out her supply of tanaka wood and patiently wait for a customer. After a while she'd pack everything into her little bag and move on to a different spot.

There were some rather curious things for sale in the market. Some I quite expected, like a couple of music shops - except they were selling cassette tapes. I had seen poster shops quite frequently and these prove a fascinating cultural window. To add some color into the homes of the locals, they buy posters of various sizes. They are typically portraits of Burmese movie stars or singers, but there are some curious anomalies.For some reason, tennis star Maria Sharapova and pop star Avril Lavigne posters were everywhere.

Of course the whole purpose of the Ananda gathering is to support the temple and the monks, so it's not surprising to see monks wandering among the stalls during the day. Occasionally I'd see older men with their heads bowed as they walked, and sometimes young monks in tow behind a solemn master. More often it was just boys being boys. I don't recall ever seeing any of them in the evening but they frequently visited the movie theater to escape the heat of the sun. I suspect that most of them had never seen a movie before.

Of course the festival attracts plenty of tourists, but not nearly as many as you'd expect. Most tourists explore the temples and pagodas and don't spend much time in the market. Tour groups do come in but they're usually led by a hotel guide. It was fun to watch some of the younger locals practising their English with the foreign visitors.

At the end of the festival, the villagers pack up their belongings and make their way home.

See more photos here!

Bagan Monastery

2009-06-17T19:09:00.002-04:00

I didn't want to go back to Nuang U, knowing they had no power, and I didn't really want to go romping about the temples during the mid day period. I asked my horse cart driver where else I could go to take photos. He suggested a nearby monastery and I gladly accepted his suggestion. Despite seeing more than a lifetime's supply of monks at the Ananda festival, I figured I could get some great shots of monks at their studies. I didn't see a monk anywhere near the place. Presumably they were all at the festival.

Of course what I did see was vendors. Vendors seem to inhabit every corner of Bagan and this monastery was no exception. No sooner had I crawled off the horse cart when three teens ran up to show me their selection of shirts for sale. They were lovely hand-made shirts made from a fabric that looked like course linen. It always breaks my heart to say no to them because I know how few sales they make. Furthermore, their crafts are nearly always delightful and really are wonderful souvenirs. I begged off the girls and made my way into the monastery.

The floors of ancient structure were worn smooth by generations of bare monk feet. The teak walls, banisters and beams were intricately carved with patterns and monkey, bird and floral motifs. Those areas exposed to decades of relentless sun were badly worn, the grain distinctly raised, though the carvings were still quite apparent.

The interior was fairly typical in that it consisted of a few large open areas. The monks would typically gather around the Buddha image in the center or go off to the various corners to study. I found it curious that the builders had taken the time to carve some of the crossbeams supporting the ceiling but the vertical timbers remained untouched.

In one area I saw several lacquered and carved caskets whose purpose remains a mystery.

Back outside, I decided to wander around in case there were other things to see. I knew I was near the river and noticed a large staircase platform, no doubt leading to the bank. As I started toward it, my teenage vendors spotted me and rushed over to see if now I was ready to buy a shirt. "No. Thank you. I don't need a shirt." I walked down to the river and did a double take when I discovered the old paddle wheel steamboat (see Baking in Nuang U). The girls followed me all the way down and waited for my return. "Aren't you afraid you're going to miss a customer?" I asked them. They assured me that I was the only customer today and that they had no sales and only wanted small money. Sigh. They continued their pitch as we climbed the stairs.

Once I had convinced them that I really didn't want a shirt, they decided that I should buy one for a family member. I assured them I was an orphan. Wife? Girlfriend? I told them I was single but I was looking for a girlfriend. "You want to be my girlfriend?" I said with a grin and wagging my eyebrows for effect. They laughed but one of them quickly found the chink in my armor.

"OK! I be girlfriend for you. You buy shirt and give to me!" she squealed in delight. Hoisted by my own petard!
This carried on until we were back to the monastery. I told them that I did want souvenirs but I had to travel light and that I didn't want to buy so many things. I explained that I took a lot of photos and at one point I likened it to souvenirs that were free. My "girlfriend" lit up at this and said she would give me a good souvenir. She picked up a small stone from the ground and solemnly handed it to me. "Ah, this is very valuable, yes?" I asked. She nodded and the other two laughed.

They wouldn't give up with the shirts no matter what I did. Finally, I decided I'd throw them a low-ball offer, five dollars. They'd started the negotiations at fifteen or twenty dollars but figured they'd settle for ten. There was no way they'd go for five. When I announced my offer they all grinned and nodded in agreement. Oh well, I guess I could use one more shirt. I settled on a black short-sleeve shirt that looked like it would do well in a hot climate. It turned out that I was to wear that shirt a lot during my journeys. It was one of the best purchases I'd made on the trip.

When I got back to the horse cart, I had a couple more vendors waiting to pounce. Presumably my driver had been gossiping to the local gem dealers. He had seen me looking at a ruby at our last location and assumed that I was in the market for a gem. I had turned down the previous guy and did so again to these fellows. I know nothing about gems and knew that I was going to get ripped off no matter what. It's much better to just walk away. They continued with their sales pitch while I made arguments against the purchase. They had two cut and polished stones. "I don't know if that rock is valuable" I insisted. They assured me that it really was valuable. I remembered what I had in my pocket and pulled it out. "I'll trade you this valuable stone for that valuable stone." They looked at the stone given to me earlier, looked at me and then looked at each other. "Is valuable. Sure!" They gave me a lopsided smile and continued to extol the virtues of the rubies.

One of them took the ruby and held it against a large flat rock on the ground. He hefted a grapefruit size rock and smashed it down on the ruby. It was no delicate knock but a full-out bash. The ruby pulverized part of the rock but was unblemished. OK, even not knowing anything about gems, I was impressed. They had started out at around a hundred and fifty bucks for both gems, but were down to fifty by now. "Ten bucks" I said as I started to put my gear in the horse cart. They dropped to thirty-five then thirty then twenty-five then twenty. Maybe I could have gotten it for fifteen, but twenty seemed like a reasonable price for a couple of rubies even if I was getting ripped off. I wrapped them in a piece of paper and stashed it in my camera bag. A few weeks later I showed them to a dealer in Laos. He said they were worth about fifty bucks there. Hey, not bad!

Just before I left, another lone tourist arrived. "Listen," I told him. "When the girls show up to sell you a shirt, offer to trade this for one." I handed him the stone the girl had given me. He looked at me quizzically. "Trust me, you'll get a huge laugh from them."

See full size images here.

Rickety Ferris Wheel

2009-06-08T20:47:00.001-04:00

The Ananda Festival market has all the trappings of a carnival with beer halls and side shows and cotton candy and towering above it all, a Ferris wheel. It didn't look like much during the day, but it gave me ample opportunity to see how it was put together. I'm glad it's not bigger than it is; I noticed a crucial piece of equipment was missing.

Arriving after sunset, I was pleased to see the whole thing lit up. It made for some interesting shots like this one (made with multiple images stacked one upon the other).

They really get the thing going fast, but this time exposure makes it look like it's about to take off.

I estimate that the wheel is a good ten meters high at the top. Not bad for something they haul around in the back of a truck. I could find no marking to indicate the age of the device, but it was certainly bordering on antique status.

What really piqued my interest was the lack of a drive mechanism; it had no motor. I couldn't figure out what they did to get it turning. When I saw the wheel in action that evening, the solution was obvious. Half a dozen young men climbed up into the framework and crawled out to one edge of the wheel to counterbalance the people getting on. That would get it started. They'd jump off and join their friends on the ground pushing the wheel as it went by.

Stopping the wheel was simply a matter of letting it slow down. If they didn't have customers right away, it was easy enough to get the first few people off, but then the wheel wanted to swing around. This required the boys to hang on until the next few people got off. They certainly had their work cut out for them!

No, was not the least bit tempted to go for a ride.

See larger images here.

Nomadic Movie Theater

2009-06-02T11:47:00.001-04:00

One of the big annual events on the Bagan plain is the Ananda Festival (more about this in another post). It draws villagers from all over, therefore it also draws vendors from all over, to an ad-hoc market. One of the more interesting makeshift market structures was an enormous hall made entirely of bamboo polls supporting woven matting. It towered above the regular market stalls. It was obvious what it was as the sides of the building were festooned with movie posters. At the entrance, a display provides a list of the various movies being shown. I didn't see any indication of the time each movie was being shown, but people were coming and going through the entrance.

I was very curious to see this woven bamboo mat theater from the inside. Seeing my camera equipment, the doorman waved me though and stepped through the light baffling entrance-way. Inside, a domestic TV crew had just finished taping a story.

My eyes soon adjusted to the dim light and I could clearly look around the interior. It was most certainly not dark inside, but the overhead matting cut out enough light to allow the movie projection. A few large vinyl movie posters hung on the inside wall helped reduce the light filtering through the bamboo structure near the screen. The patrons sat on floor mats and watched the screen.

The movie was a locally produced drama. It was surprising well done from what I could see. It had the same production values as the TV shows I had seen.

Looking around, I knew the place could not cater to a blockbuster movie (although it would hold a lot of people). Of course, it wasn't supposed too. I read about how back in the fifties people used to go to movies just to escape the heat. This place is pretty much the same thing. People here were just getting out of the sun and lounging. While most people watched the screen, some spoke quietly or even read the paper in the dim light. One monk used the occasion to play his hand-held game.

After watching for a little while, I was determined to see the source of this moving picture and went through another light baffling system to get to the projection room. Here, three antique movie projectors were mounted on a platform raised about three feet from the ground. As they clattered away, they projected the movie through small holes cut in the matting. Wires connecting the sound system and the power ran every which way.The technicians operating the system would lounge for several minutes then pounce on one of the projectors to make adjustments to it. They required a considerable amount of attention.

Ever inspired by this land of working antiques, I tried to find some information on the projectors. The oldest model is labeled "The Regal Kalee Type NL" while I could not make out the more recent projectors. I know the Kalee model was used in the second world war and would not be at all surprised if this unit had been used to entertain the troops in those days.

On the way out, I took some time to see how the place was actually constructed. The builders used a series of booms to hold up the cross braces supporting the ceiling. There were no nails. Everything was held together using strips of bamboo twine. An impressive feat for those of us all to familiar with prefabricated structures.

See larger photos here.

Baking in Nuang U

2009-05-27T20:27:00.003-04:00

When the sun beats down on the pagodas of Bagan, it's time to see shade. On my first trip I stayed inside the temples, but this time I was smart, or so I thought. I planned to spend the hot noon hours in a cool, air-conditioned internet cafe uploading photos and notes. The Myanmar government, seemingly aware of this situation, decided to thwart me by cutting power to the town every day during the daylight hours. So, instead of sitting in front of a computer, I was forced to explore Nuang U. I'm glad it worked out that way.

The town is not particularly big, but being stretched out along two main roads, it takes quite a while to explore. The buildings, like so many in Myanmar, have a dusty pastel color. Most of the structures were built since the 1980's and the older ones suffer from obvious structural defects (like massive cracks in their foundations). The trees themselves are heavy with dust in the dry season. The market, at the intersection of the two main roads, is the town hub.

After a couple days in Bagan, I fell into a routine: watch the sunrise over the pagodas, then back to the guest house for a leisurely breakfast on their rooftop restaurant. While not one for routine, I really appreciated the hot omelet breakfast. What's more, I delighted in the opportunity to have the kitchen staff sample the English tea I brought along. Unfortunately, they were not quite as excited by the experience as I'd hoped, but the effort was certainly appreciated. I'd then take to the street, being careful to stay in the shade. A two-liter bottle of water would get me through the morning, but inevitably, I'd end up buying another in the afternoon. Dry season is so named for good reason.

From a tourisitic perspective, Nuang U has few distractions beyond the market and restaurants. There are some interesting shops, and some of them are also workshops.

My favorite was a lacquer shop at the end of town. The front is a typical tourist shop with rows of shelves stocked with crafts, but head to the back yard and you can see the wares being created. The workshop employs at least a dozen people mixing lacquer, weaving bamboo into baskets or boxes, etching designs and applying finishes to a wide selection of products. They sit in the shade on bamboo mats or low wooden stools, painstakingly applying their trade. Even having a stranger photographing them didn't distract them from their tasks. They were so intent that I didn't want to disturb them with questions. The youngest work on projects that require little skill, like mixing the lacquer. As their skills progress, they learn to make the boxes and baskets then how to decorate them, the most detailed work.

Up at the northern end of town is something referred to as the port or the dock or the terminal. What it really is a riverbank where boats stop. I never saw any proper port facilities outside of Yangon, so it was very nearly state of the art. This area has a few restaurants with nice views of the river, however. It's a comfortable place to while away the afternoon drinking gin or beer. It's also a good place to watch sports on TV as at least one of the bars usually has a generator going. My attention was drawn to the boats. Now, I know that the British scuttled every boat they could find before abandoning the country to the invading Japanese, so I knew that there were almost no boats older than 1945. It was interesting to see that boats arriving after the war were fitted out as steam boats. Note the short smokestack. Although now converted to diesel, once upon a time, these boats operated with coal or wood.

Further downriver, I had another surprise, an honest-to-god paddle wheeler! Much to my disappointment, it was no longer in operation, but I did get a tour of the ship. An old fellow, who might well have grown up working on the vessel, showed me the paddles and the boiler. I wandered around on the huge boat for some time, wondering what it was like when it first plied the river. I made note of the registry, it was built by Yarrow and Company in Glasgow. A bit of research revealed that it was one of three ships. Accoring to the Clydebuilt database, it was either the Minlat, the Mingalay or the Minthamee. These three ships were built by the Yarrow yard and sent to Burma in 1947. I'm sorry I could not find the exact name, it would have been nice to update the database accordingly.

A lot of people travel to and from Nuang U by boat. This is a particularly good choice for tourists going between here and Mandalay. Life on the river is picturesque. While there are daily flights to the town, most people go by land transportation. That would either be by rickety old bus or by simply loading into the back of a truck. Whatever works!

Nuang U gets a lot of tourists, but the kids are still fascinated by foreigners and are more than happy to pose for a photo.

The local school was always a good place to find interesting compositions. Every morning, the kids line up for role-call and announcements before going to class. Sometimes they perform synchronized calisthenics.

One morning, walking past, I saw a man leading his daughter from the school grounds. She was dressed in an elaborate dance costume with hair and makeup done and lots of jewelery. Neither father nor daughter could speak English so I was unable to ascertain the purpose of her costume. I could see no other children thus garbed and could only surmise that she was on her way to an event of some sort. Her dad encouraged her to demonstrate her dance skill. It wasn't until the next day that I figured out what was going on.

One of the features of life in Myanmar is a tiny truck with one or more over-sized megaphones mounted on top. These roll through the streets and blare out announcements of some sort. Even if I could understand Burmese, I doubt I could understand the message it's so badly distorted. So, when I heard one of the trucks, I didn't pay any attention. I did note, however, that everyone else was. That was very unusual. I headed out to the street to see a small convoy of trucks moving slowly down the street. These carried any number of children dressed in the fanciest costume, many with money pinned to their attire. Now I knew why the girl I met the day before was dressed up. She was undoubtedly part of whatever celebration was taking place.

The truck would stop every so often and music would issue forth from the speakers. The kids would then perform a dance routine on the back of the truck.

Some trucks carried what could only be described as little beauty queens. Their parents either road in back with them or walked alongside administering water to the kids as needed.

It took the better part of an hour for the procession to move down the street. Traffic, meanwhile, backed up behind them. Fortunately, the parade gave them room to pass.

There is an enormous pagoda complex just outside of town. In fact, only Yangon's Shwedagon Pagoda tops it. There are two rather dramatic entrances to the site; through covered passageways.

Unfortunately, one is expected to walk barefoot and I was not eager to remove my boots just yet. I elected to walk along the outside of the corridor. Up ahead, I spotted a few women talking among themselves. I thought nothing of it until they spotted me and started heading my way. It soon became apparent that they were all souvenir vendors. They each wanted to give me a gift, but I declined saying I had no gift to give in return. I knew exactly what they were up to; if they give me a trinket, I would be expected to give them money in return. The gifts they were offering were butterflies: three tiny pieces of thin painted cardboard, cut to a butterfly shape, wired to a safety pin. I kept refusing the gift and they kept insisting I accept and that they didn't want a gift in return. I finally agreed and they pinned the trinkets to my shirt. "OK," I told them, "I know a gift I can give you." I paused for dramatic effect. "I will give you each a kiss!" They laughed at this and waved their hands in reproach. I, meanwhile, was digging around in my bag and pulled out four hard candies. They were wrapped in plastic with the word "Kiss" printed above a set of lips. I handed them each a kiss and was rewarded with laughs.

The golden pagoda is stunning under a mid day sun.

Although my main reason for being in Nuang U was to use the town as a rest spot between trips to the plain of Bagan, I found plenty to keep me occupied, amused and fascinated.

See more photos here.

Field test: ThinkTank belt system

2009-05-20T20:02:00.010-04:00

After years of hauling around a compartmentalized bag, I was determined to get something with a slimmer profile: a courier style bag. Unfortunately I could not find one that held my full-frame camera with three lenses and flash. A fellow photographer introduced me to the ThinkTank line a year ago. While I could not find a single bag that met my requirements, I was able to build my own using their modular system that used smaller bags attached to a belt. After several weeks of testing, I can recommend the system with some reservations.

The Belt

The foundation of the system is a belt. I chose the thickly padded Steroid Speed Belt because I needed to carry a lot of weight. The first problem I encountered was the size of the belt. The large size was too small for my ample waist. Oddly enough, the extra large size was too large (I had to cinch it up as much as possible). Large is listed as 35" to 41" but that, apparently, only holds is you're shooting naked. Add a pair of pants and a shirt to a size 38 waist and you're now a size 42.

This necessitated a shoulder harness to support the belt. I recommend using a harness anyway as the belt is liable to slip if you attach much weight to it.

The second complaint I have about the belt is the poor cinching mechanism. The clasp is a fairly standard quick release mechanism, but the tightening system is inadequate. To tighten the belt of my hiking backpack, for example, I simply pull the strap (loosening it is a simple matter of tugging the buckle). The ThinkTank belt, however, requires threading the strap through the buckle and clasp to tighten or loosen it. If you put on a jacket, expect to spend five to ten minutes adjusting the belt (instead of five to ten seconds).

The padded belt is equipped with a semi-rigid exterior strip to which attaches pockets or small bags (how many depends on the size of the belt and the bags). The selection of bags is formidable. I chose four different bags for my needs. All four came with waterproof covers. I am disappointed that the bags are not already waterproof but this is likely a design consideration given the different methods for closing the bags.

To keep the belt from slipping, I attached the Pixel Racing Harness. This has two thinly padded shoulder straps that join to form a single strap at the back. The padding is not really required as it supports very little weight. The two straps at the front are equipped with D rings and two small elastic pockets.

The Bags

I chose the Digital Holster 30 as my main camera compartment. It's just large enough to hold a Canon 5D with a long lens. In fact, it can handle a very long lens as the bag has a zippered extension system to increase it's depth. It is actually deep enough without the extension that I was able to keep two filters at the bottom. The bag's thin, closed-cell, padding protects the camera from bumps and jars. It includes a Velcro divider for the interior should you have a smaller lens. The bag also has a long, slim interior pocket and a smaller exterior pocket (ideal for holding media cards).

The zippered lid opens away from your body and has a small translucent pocket on top for an ID card and a larger zipped pocket on the inside (large enough to hold a passport). This bag is a good stand-alone solution for minimum requirements as it comes with a detachable shoulder strap.

While the holster sits on my left hip, the Skin 75 Pop Down holds my medium telephoto on my right hip. This is an unpadded sack with a very long flap top held in place by a generous amount of Velcro. The opening is equipped with an elastic draw string that easily keeps large items from falling out. The sack has an ample zipped pocket on the exterior flap and a large pocket between the flap and bag exterior (large enough to hold a case for sunglasses). At the very bottom of the bag is a small zippered compartment.

Although ThinkTank makes bags specifically for lenses (the Lens Changer line), I had trouble getting my extra-wide lens in and out of the bag easily. I was determined to leave the hood on the lens and this made it too wide. The Skin 75 is very flexible; its large opening accomades my wide lens and it's deep enough to hold even my long telephoto.

I used a Lens Changer bag for my long telephoto lens. The LC 75 Pop Down bag is made with closed-cell padding and has an elastic draw string to keep the lens inside (a fabric flap helps keep out the dust) . The exterior of the bag includes two mesh pockets. Like the holster, the Lens Changer 75 include the ability to extend the length of the bag. Attached to the belt, the bag sits over my back right pocket.

My flash and other accessories go into the Slim Chimp Cage next to the holster bag. This sack is simply a wider version of the Slim 75 Pop Down – which make me wonder why they didn't name it the Wide 75 Pop Down. The bag holds a surprising amount of stuff.

The System In Action

Wearing the complete setup is a delight. With the twenty-five pounds of camera equipment resting on my hips instead of my shoulders, I was able to comfortably spend a full day walking around and shooting without the usual fatigue. The system, I should note, is very ostentatious; don't expect to walk around unnoticed while wearing it. In addition to its vaguely military appearance, your arms don't hang at your side but against the bags.

Picture a cowboy in a showdown in an old western – your arms sort of look like that. The gear bags add six to ten inches to your width so you'll have to turn sideways to get through crowds and other tight spots.

Changing lenses is fast. With the camera around my neck, I could remove the lens and put it into a sack while pulling out and attaching the next lens. It became so second nature that I was able to perform this task in less than ten seconds (while walking through a busy market).

I did not use the system for excursions, but as my main camera bag for three months of extensive shooting. With the bags properly organized and closed, there was no fear of any items falling out. Going shooting meant sliding into the harness and closing the belt.

Occasionally I left the belt unclasped and let the harness carry the weight on my shoulders. I found this balanced the load and was much more comfortable than a single bag on one shoulder. Furthermore, because the harness was supporting weight at the front of my body, it proved to be even more comfortable than a standard backpack.

Holding it from the harness, I found that the belt coiled neatly when I set it down. This kept the kit tidy and easy to put on when I was ready for shooting. The harness was also an excellent way of keeping the bags off the ground by hooking it on a convenient protuberance. While it hung this way, I was able to access all the bags with no difficulty.

Traveling with a tripod turned out to be easier than I had imagined. After some weeks of carrying it in my hands, I discovered that I could carry it on the system with no difficulty. I slid two legs of the tripod between my back and the rear strap. The weight rested on the belt and closing the leg held the tripod in place. This is a viable solution for small or light tripods.

Apart from the excellent design, I appreciate the effort ThinkTank has put into the details. Unobtrusive pockets, cords on every zipper, expandable bags and other details help to make this a flexible system. Apart from issues with the belt, I found no complaints when using this system and have no qualms about recommending it to a serious shooter on the go.

Bangkok Movie Theater

2009-05-12T18:43:00.002-04:00

I like movies. I don't see a lot of movies, but I manage to get out to the theater to watch big screen movies whenever something appeals to me. I get the impression that Hollywood doesn't really want me to go to the movies, though. The ticket price is on the expensive side, the concession stand snacks are outrageously expensive, the seats are mostly adequate and finally, we are subjected to at least half a dozen commercials (which we've already seen on TV) before we even see the previews. While I appreciate the effort of using the Imax screens for blockbuster films, that is as innovative as they get ... at least in North America.

Going to the movies in Bangkok can be a wondrous experience. The past several years have seen the introduction of some impressive movie theaters in the city. Going to a movie in one of the high-end malls is a real experience. The lobby, for starters, is a great place to explore. In addition to the numerous screens showing previews of current films and coming events, various merchants from the mall and brand vendors have booths set up with special discounts and promotions. Show your ticket to a particular movie, for example, and you get a chance to win an instant prize or a discount to something related to the film.

In addition to drawing the entertainment seeking crowd for movies, the theaters have figured out that their venues can be used for other media events as well. While American theaters nobly experimented with such things as live broadcasts of opera and wrestling, in Bangkok the theaters use their spacious lobbies to host media events. One evening I witnessed the tail end of a presentation that included a number of Thai celebrities.

Walking up to what I thought was an information booth, in one establishment, turned out to be a concierge booth. I wasn't quite sure what their role was, but the fact that they had one implied that this theater is actually thinking about how to serve their customers, not just get money from them. There are typically two different lines to get a ticket. The regular line is manned by three or four ticket sellers while a red carpet line is dedicated to frequent movie-goes holding a special pass. Buying a ticket is not a simple matter of handing over your money and getting a receipt. The ticket seller uses a screen to show you a schematic of the theater so you can pick out the seat you want! No more rushing to find a good seat. You can take your time - which means you'll probably visit the concession stand.

Now, the snacks might be my only complaint about the Bangkok movie-going experience because Thais are not into popcorn quite as much as North Americans (which is probably a good thing). However, if you get to the cinema early enough, you can enjoy a quick meal at the restaurant inside the complex. The restaurant is not a last minute idea, but a tasteful, modern design.

The very best part of the experience is the fact that you have more choice when going to the movies. The regular theater has comfortable seats, but spend a few bucks more and you have an option to choose from a limited number of reclining seats, complete with leg rest, or even a love seat. It gets better. You have the option of picking a premium theater.

Instead of waiting in the regular lobby, there is a plush waiting room at the entrance of each of the movies for the premium ticket holders. Some even provide a complimentary beverage and snack. When the theater has been cleaned from the previous showing, an attendant ushers everyone inside at a leisurely pace.

If the lobbies are not incentive enough, these premium theaters have even more seating options. Rather than a reclining chair, you have the option of a reclining love seat (red), a cushioned day bed that holds up to four people (gray), or even bean bag chairs! Each option, of course, has a separate price.

No sticky cement floors in this place, they actually go out of their way to lay a very artistic carpet. Need a drink refill while watching the film? Just get the attention of the attendant and someone will run out to the concession stand so you don't have to miss a thing.

While the audience is still subjected to two or three commercials before the film, they're not the typical TV commercials. They're designed for the big screen and are usually entertaining even without understanding the language.

While Hollywood demands that we hand over money for the privilege of watching whatever they've churned out lately, the Bangkok establishments recognize that going to the movies is a social event and have worked hard to make that experience a pleasant one ... regardless of the quality of the film.

See larger versions of the images here.

Myanmar Dinner Theater

2009-05-02T19:58:00.001-04:00

My guidebook described Karaweik palace as a garish tourist attraction, so I didn't plan to visit. Curiously enough, in all my travels I had met no one who had gone. Finding myself hungry one afternoon, I decided to take a chance on the place. The taxi dropped me off at the entrance to the park where the two great golden ducks sat on the lake facing the setting sun. I was stopped at the gate and told that I must pay a nominal fee (about two USD) to enter the park. "But I'm going to the restaurant," I pleaded. I was trying to figure out if this was a tourist tax because I could not imagine the locals strolling through park paying such a hefty sum (yes, two dollars is comparable to ten dollars in Myanmar). The girl got on the radio and spoke with someone. A moment later I was let through but had to wear a colored sticker. I noticed that other people were also wearing them, but theirs had different colors. I could not figure out what the color signified.

I made my way to the duck's butt - yeah, that's the entrance - and was stopped again. I learned that the restaurant didn't open for almost an hour. I was starving by this time, but had no choice but to wait. Of course that gave me an opportunity to wander around the park. The place was chock full of little outdoor restaurants. It was tempting to eat at one of these places because they all looked so inviting. I had to contend myself with a beer while watching the sun drop over the horizon. I did note, however, that there were very few visitors and the restaurants were all but empty. Perhaps more people arrived after sunset? I wasn't sure.

After the sun had set, I made my way back to the restaurant and was greeted by two hostesses dressed in splendid white garb. One took me along the ramp to the entrance proper. The place was as opulent (or garish, if you will) inside as outside. The hall had a royal appearance to it with walls decorated in red and gold and trimmed with elaborate carvings. Careful examination, however, revealed that the facade was somewhat faded. This was, after all, a tourist attraction, not a regal building.

I was seated three tables from the stage. The only other dinners were two couples at a table some distance away. I was a bit worried that I had arrived much too early to see the show, but my gracious host assured me that the performance would soon begin. Within moments the musicians started to appear behind the thin fabric screen on the stage. Meanwhile, I escorted to the buffet table where I choose a number of Asian dishes and a few European choices (I had not had macaroni and cheese in a long, long time). Back at my table, I confirmed that the food was not particularly good, but well worth the price of the show.

I noticed one of the waitresses held something behind he back. I couldn't quite make out what it was and why she was trying to hide it. Then, without warning, she revealed the plastic paddle device by waving it in the air a moment then hiding it again. I was baffled. As I ate, I watched again as she waved what looked like a small tennis racquet in the air and hid it once more. On the third go, I figured out what was going on. I'd seen that tennis racquet in the street market but didn't make the connection with the mosquito on the package cover. It was a mosquito racquet. As soon as she saw one of the little beasts flying indoors, she smacked the bug with the wire mesh. The electrified mesh zaps the mosquito. Once I was clued in, I started looking for the bugs myself and directing her attention to them. It became a game to see who would spot the mosquito first. She won, of course.

The first performer came on stage. She wore a dress that was entirely too long as it trailed out a good two feet behind her. She stood on a dais and began to dance. The hand and body movements were very similar to the dances I saw in Thailand and Cambodia.

The extra-long dress was a common trait among many of the women on stage that evening. In fact, the dance would often include a back kicking motion to free the long hem from their feet, enabling them to move sideways. Very peculiar.

What Myanmar has that the other countries do not, is puppetry. Thai markets are full of Burmese puppets but you are unlikely to find a puppet show anywhere East of Myanmar. I had tried to attend such a show in Mandalay and in Inle Lake, but couldn't make it. So, I was very pleased to see a marionette theatre being rolled onto the stage.

The fellow did a very good job making the little clown dance. What I found very interesting, however, was the coordinated performance of a girl dressed in a clown costume attempting to mimic the motions of the puppet. She too, did a very good job!

As the show began, a few more people arrived at the restaurant and filled a few more tables. One group appeared to be a contingent of a dozen Japanese and Burmese business people around a few tables pushed together. The two tables in front of me were still empty but had "Reserved" signs on them. The business people tended to ignore the performance as they talked among themselves.

No traditional dance performance is complete without at least one love story. I lost track of how many love story dances there were that night, but there were quite a few - including another puppet plus live dancer performance.

Notice the costume and makeup of the men? Not exactly masculine, is it? This is an interesting characteristic about the culture. In many of the artworks and traditions, men of note seem to be, how do I put this, a bit over done. Thai period movies show the Burmese leaders resplendent in jeweled earrings, gold rings on their fingers and excessive eyeliner. I had suspected that this was a way to belittle the Siamese's ancient nemesis, but it is not so. A good deal of the Burmese art show this very trait. Their religious deities, the Nats, are quite feminine as well. I much preferred the attire of the women. Note the extra long hem on the woman above. The traditional outfits, below, maintain a conservative hemline, but one which is not as restrictive.

Half way through the show, two couples took over the tables in front of mine. I couldn't help wonder where they had been, seeing as how they missed half the acts. One couple were very well dressed and the other appeared as if they had just returned from an elephant safari. The business people, having finished their meal, were now paying attention to the performers on stage. A quick count revealed that there were more people on stage than in the audience. I counted up how much the restaurant would make that evening. It was a wonder they could keep the restaurant afloat ... so to speak. I vowed to leave a generous tip.

There was a bit of commotion at one point. The business people were looking down the great hall. At the entrance was a decoupage elephant. It shambled its way to the stage and climbed up. The two men inside then performed a ritual dance with a spear man battling the great pachyderm. As the elephant left the stage, with a bit of acrobatics, the diners began attaching money to its trunk. Whether this was a tip or just for good luck, I put a few bills in as well.

I finally gave in to the drink waiter and ordered a local whisky. I had to have him repeat the price to me a few times. A shot of whisky cost about fifty cents. It wasn't great whisky, but it was good enough. It's a good thing I didn't visit during my college days. It's hard to imagine going on a bender for ten bucks.

At the end of the show, the diners all filed out. I was expecting the performers to appear one more time on stage for a curtain call, but no such luck. I had wanted to meet some of them, but the curtain was closed tight. I had one of the hostesses give me a tour of the rest of the building. As big as it is on the outside, it's much smaller on the inside. I was hoping there were numerous private rooms for catered parties, but the only such room was little more than a storage space set above the dining halls below. I did get a nice shot of the front of the restaurant, though.

Back in the park, I saw Shwedagon again. That building is magnificent in day or night, but the reflections of the lights on the calm lake made it extra special.

As I was shooting the pagoda, a family passed behind me. It was apparent that they were talking about me. So, I was not surprised when one of the kids came up and said hello. This was the typical English practice conversation I had run into in other countries and I always enjoy the experience. The kids were quite good speakers while the parents obviously struggled to keep up. They left but came back a few minutes later to talk some more. With their parents' urging, they actually invited me to their home. Unfortunately, it was too late to visit that evening and I was leaving the next day. It would have been terrific to have visited with them, but I had to suffice with a group photo.

Larger images from the restaurant can be seen here.

Bagan Morning Market

2009-04-27T14:45:00.003-04:00

While dawn should be spent watching the amazing sunrise on the plane of Bagan, the early morning can then be dedicated to wandering around the market. There are actually three towns around Bagan. Old Bagan has few commercial interests. New Bagan and its stately hotel complexes is a bit too high end. Nuang U is the town where backpacking visitors typically stay when seeing the temples. It is a thriving community with numerous guest houses, restaurants and shops, but it's the market that appeals to me the most. While the formal market area has plenty of craft items for tourists, every morning the locals come out in force to buy and sell produce on a dusty patch of ground between the ramshackle buildings making up the permanent market of Nuang U.

The market is made up primarily of women, both buying and selling. The items for sale were pretty much limited to produce but I did see a few handicrafts and you can always count on the neatly stacked tanaka wood with which the women paint their faces.

At first glance, the market seems to be a haphazard affair with folks dropping their goods in whatever free space is available. I assume that certain rules apply to keep the traffic flowing, but I discovered that there is a degree of organization. A rather ordinary woman was going around telling people to move and keeping vendors clear of the bit of road space that ran past the market. I don't the rules for the organization, but there were a few times where she made vendors vacate an area which was then filled by a different vendor. The two sisters shown here were kicked out of their spot soon after they carefully arranged their plants and flowers.

Although there were relatively few touristic items for sale, the locals were well aware of the presence of tourists and what appealed to us. Quite a few had figured out that we love to photograph unusual people. As a result, I found quite a crew of characters hanging out at the market entrance. I didn't make the connection until I lifted my camera and framed the shot. As soon as they saw me do this, out went the hands in an upraised gesture of "give me money." I realized that they weren't simply attending the market, but arrived to put on a show for foreigners and make some money. I'm not opposed to people making money, but I'm not keen on being deceived either. So, I choose not to photograph the old crone with a giant cheroot or the women whose kids have the elaborately decorated tanaka faces. There are plenty of interesting people at the market.

Occasionally, someone in the market really catches my eye. I photographed the woman below several times as I made my way around the market. I hadn't even realized it was the same girl until I reviewed my photos.

While the men are rarely seen inside the market, you can sure enough find them outside the market. Dozens of tricycle bikes wait for shoppers looking for a ride home.

When the morning market winds down, there's still plenty to see as the regular market is right next door. It's full of touristic stuff, but there's also plenty of dry-goods products that cater to the local needs. It's another great spot for photography.

See more photos from the market here.

Yangon

2009-04-19T16:48:00.004-04:00

A tour of Myanmar normally begins with Yangon (mispronounced as Rangoon when the British arrived). The only way to get to there is by plane. The land crossings are generally closed to foreigners for reasons known only to the Myanmar government.

The heart of Yangon is the gigantic Shwedagon Pagoda, a bright golden spire rising above the city. With its size and all its supporting temples and stupas, Shwedagon is a small town unto itself.

The taxi ride from the airport takes you down double-lane roads past markets and shopping areas and fairsize modern towers. There are a few distinct neighborhoods in the city, but downtown is my favorite area. I am inexorably drawn to its moldering colonial buildings and chaotic street life. Having fallenunder British rule for so many years, the buildings have a distinct look about them. Unfortunately, they have been much neglected over the decades and most of them, including the magnificent governmentbuildings, are literally falling apart.

While Shwedagonis gets all the action, there are other pagodas in the city. Shule Pagoda, right next to the stylish town hall, is a major downtown landmark.

After the decrepit edifices, the thing I found most immediately striking about the city is the numerous tea shops on the street. Instead of “proper” tables and chairs, and maybe watercress sandwiches, the Burmese tea shop consists of low plastic or wooden stools around small tables. You rarely find such a shop indoors; they're almost always right out on the sidewalk. The tea varies in quality, but it's quite inexpensive. It's primarily men who hang out at such places, discussing business and such.

While the tea shops certainly serve food, I prefer a full fledge restaurant – except that in Yangon there are few restaurants that resemble that which we of the West are familiar. No, here the restaurants are street vendors with a few squat stools and tables. The food is usually prepared right out in the open so choosing your meal is simply a matter of pointing to whatyou want. I rarely knew what I was eating, but it was generally pretty good (and most certainly cheap).

Of course, if you want to blow a lot of money needlessly, you could check out a few of the high-end hotels and their bars and restaurants. The two landmark hotels of the city are Traders and the Strand. Dying for a bit of air conditioning one afternoon, I ordered a beer in the Traders Hotel lounge. The place was not particularly impressive, certainly not by Thai standards, and the beer was four times the price of anywhere else I'd eaten. I had a look at the Strand's restaurant. It was quite colonial looking, but the price of a meal would be costly even by North American standards.

Every time I walked past the Strand hotel, I was accosted by precocious kids hawking postcards. They circle the place like vultures, looking for tourists. While they sell them at two to three times the price as you'd find them anywhere else, they're so cheap it's tough to pass them up. Every single kid has the same story though, “Me no money today. No sell. Need lucky money!”

Taxis are very inexpensive in Yangon, but there are other ways to travel. If you know what you're doing, you might take a chance on riding one of the antique buses. These things have been around since the second world war. I'd get on one and see where it would take me because I could easily get a taxi ride back to my guest house.

My absolute favorite way to travel in the city was by trishaw. Where ancient Asia was full of rickshaws, the bicycle version has since taken over. In Myanmar, they have a unique design. It's basically a bicycle with an open sidecar with seats facing forward and back.

What's really odd about Myanmar is that the country is generally considered to be poor, but you can buy any number of gemstones or gold right on the street. There are rows and rows of jewelery shops offering elaborate gold necklaces and bracelets while the sidewalks have vendors selling gems like trinkets. While the gold sells for just above market price (a real deal), the stones seem to be ridiculously inexpensive. Mind you, I know nothing of gemstones, but they sure look impressive.

Although there are plenty of markets in the city, the sidewalks are literally spilling over with vendors on the more popular streets. In addition to gemstones, you can find everything from to weigh stations to secretaries. I forget how many times I saw a woman squatting on the sidewalk with an old bathroom scale carefully placed on a sheet of old cardboard waiting for people willing to spend a few cents to weigh themselves. There were a few areas clustered with people at makeshift desks and old manual typewriters filling out forms. I simply could not figure out what it was they did other than type out information from a form in to the beautiful Burmese script.

Yangon is a sidewalk city. Everything seems to take place out on the street. While there are plenty of umbrellas to keep the sun off, the design of the city buildings help. Most of the North-South streets are very narrow with tall thin buildings. This keeps the sidewalks in the shade for all but a few hours of the day.

I generally tell people that two or three days is enough time to see Yangon, but it really depends on what appeals to you. Having visited the city on four different occasions, I recognize that there are still a lot of interesting back alleys, markets, buildings and neighborhoods to explore.

See more images in my Yangon album.

The Daring Attempt to Cross the Irrawaddy

2009-04-13T20:53:00.003-04:00

The Irrawaddy is the main river of Myanmar. A great deal of commerce flows up and down the river, usually in relatively small boats. In the dry season, the river gets very shallow, making navigation difficult. Around Yangon, however, it's deep enough for sea-going vessels to dock. There's a regular ferry that traverses the river. There's honestly not too much to see on the other side, but it's worth a look if only to travel to the pottery village of Twante. Although I planned to return to Twante on this trip, there simply wasn't enough time.

I like staying in backpacker guest houses. I frequently meet interesting travelers and occasionally team up for short adventures. Having breakfast one morning, I met Alistair, from England, and Yvonne, from China. Both were quite familiar with Southern China and were happy to give me tips on where to go and what to do. I was able to offer suggestions with regard to Myanmar; I recommended Twante. On my last day in Myanmar, I arranged to meet Alistair, Yvonne and her companion for a sunrise cruise across the river (which takes about twenty minutes). The three of them would then continue on to Twante village by bus and I would return to Yangon to catch an afternoon flight to Kunming, China.

I was up well before dawn and walked to the pier while they showed up a few minutes later by cab. Five years earlier, I had to pay a premium to take the ferry across the river, but it was only a dollar.

As we approached the gate leading to the ferry dock (an old barge), the young man there waved us away; we needed special permission to cross. “So? Give us special permission.” It was simply a matter of showing a passport to an official there, getting a slip of paper, and ten minutes later you were on your way.

The gatekeeper explained that the document could be obtained from somewhere around the nearby Shule Pagoda. We were all keen to see the sunrise from the river so we were in a bit of a rush. I noticed numerous small boats crossing the river from a nearby landing. Instead of the official ferry, perhaps we could hire a boat?

We walked over to the small boat terminal, which is basically a concrete ramp running into the river, and approached a boatman waiting there. He shook his head and pointed to the big ferry boat terminal. We tried every pilot there, but none would take us across. It seems that foreigners are not allowed to use the small craft and there was no way they were going to let us cross with them. I assume that they'd be turned in to local officials if they dared transgress the rule.

I don't know why they don't allow foreigners to cross the river without special permission. The paranoid Myanmar government has lots of travel restrictions in place and this is just one of them. Unlike most countries in the area, the locals tend to follow the law rather rigidly; undoubtedly for their own good.

We did manage to see the sunrise, but from the docks.

At a loss, we piled into a taxi and dashed off to the pagoda. I ran to the first touristic place I saw and asked them where we could get permission to cross the river. The proprietor had no idea. The taxi driver took us to the police station just up the street from the pagoda. Surely they would help us, right?

Walking into the police station was slightly surreal. The the policemen fast asleep at their desks. Now, this is not at all what you'd think; they were not snoozing in their chairs with their heads folded in the arms. These policemen were laying on top of their desks, beneath blankets, still wearing their uniforms and boots. We weren't sure if they were on call all night or simply lived at the police station for days at a time before returning home. Fortunately, one of the men were up and on duty to help us … or not as it turned out.

We tried to explain that we were looking for the place to get permission to cross the river. Speaking no English, the officer struggled to understand us. One of the girls noticed that there was a second police station right beside the first. We're not sure how that worked, but the second police office seemed to be the official station. It even had a sign beside the door: “How can I help you?”

The fellow there was more helpful, but again could speak no English. He pulled out a city map and we pantomimed our desires. He was baffled. I was trying to figure out some way to get him to come to the ferry terminal with us. As we talked, policemen toting antique-looking rifles were coming and going. If I could get an armed police escort to cross the river with us, who would stop us?

Alister was both frustrated and amused by the whole affair. With his translation book and passport, he did his best to get the officer to understand that we needed some sort of document to give to the ferry terminal guy so we could cross the river. I suppose the cop had no idea we needed such a thing and was simply baffled by our request.

Yvonne disappeared for several minutes while we tried, in vain, to explain our situation. She returned with a man who seemed to understand English a bit better, but we were unable to sort out the official river crossing requirements. Yvonne dashed off again and soon produced a professional looking young woman who spoke excellent English. I asked how she found her. Yvonne, being brilliant, just stood on the sidewalk and looked for someone on the way to work who was well dressed and who probably worked at a hotel. It took her no time to
find an excellent candidate!

After much three-way discussion, we came to the conclusion that the office that creates the official travel documents was closed on Sunday morning. Our trip across the river was not to be. By now we were beyond disheartened and were just happy to have reached a conclusion to the whole mess – even though it meant we could not traverse the river. That left only one priority, coffee for Alister and me, tea for the women.

It turned out that the most popular coffee place in the city didn't open until 10AM. We met the owner, a Frenchman, and he agreed to let us relax on the terrace. He later served us some excellent coffee and tea.

I learned that Alister was quite the seasoned traveler and had even written a few travel books. Check out his blog here .For more Yangon photos, click here.

Riding the Chinese Cattle Car

2009-03-28T17:05:00.005-04:00

I'd planned to take the bus from the Stone Forest back into Kunming. I learned that the train was full, but my new Dutch friends convinced me that it was easy to get a ticket. We arrived at the station about half an hour before the train was scheduled to pass through. With some trepidation, I approached the ticket window and asked for a ticket. One of the girls leaned over and spoke a few words of Chinese and the woman behind the window asked for a paltry amount of money. I had my ticket!

We weren't allowed to go out onto the platform to wait, but instead had to stay inside or cross the parking lot to the cluster of standing stones around which a small park had been constructed. When the train approached, the doors were opened and we all filed out onto the platform.

People were queuing up orderly lines painted on the concrete. Looking at the ticket, I could see that I had an assigned car and it corresponded to the lines. “Clever bastards, these Chinese,” I though, misquoting Peter Sellers. My car was not the same as the girls, but they assured me it didn't matter as there was no assigned seating.

I got up near the tracks to get a long shot of the train coming in. The uniformed station conductors started blowing their whistles gesturing me to get well back from the dotted line on the ground. Sheesh, I mean, the train is no where in sight!

I noticed that the woman in front of our line had a particularly nice basket. For some reason, I've acquired a fetish for baskets lately and a Chinese basket would fit nicely in my collection (of one basket so far). There wasn't much in it so I thought she might be willing to part with it. Between myself and the Dutch girls, were were unable to make her understand that I wanted to buy her basket. Well, there are bound to be more on the train.

When the train finally approached, everyone stood very still. The half dozen or so female conductors on the platform stood at attention, facing the train. As it pulled in, they all did a snappy left turn to face the train. Cool.

The moment it stopped and the doors open, mayhem, total mayhem erupted. The neat lines dissolved in chaos as the passengers dashed for whatever open door was nearest. Never mind the people trying to get out of the train, these folks wanted in as quick as possible. I looked back to see if some unspeakable horror had entered the station and prompted the panicked flight to the train. Nothing.

We tried to find a door that was not so tightly corked with people. The last car looked promising. There were very few people at the rear of that car. The door, however, was clogged with passengers. I asked the conductor if she would open the back door. No doing. I pointed out that the front of the car was sardine packed while the rear was nearly vacant. It was like the train came to a screeching halt and all the passengers were thrown up to the front end. Her response was to start shouting at the people to move back. They just stood and stared, not moving.

The girls managed to squeeze in. I was the last person on the platform and in real danger of being left behind. Were it not for my backpack, I would have grabbed the sides of the doors and climbed over the top of the people inside. Hey, if they want the pleasure of being in the doorway, they can experience the pleasure of my knees on their shoulders.

The conductor was not going to open that rear door for me, so I took off my pack, held it overhead and barged into the throng of people blocking the door. Seeing there was no stopping me, they made room and I plowed through the lot of them.

Once I'd run that gauntlet, all that remained was to make my way to the rear of the car. It was then I saw what I'd really gotten myself into; I was in a stripped down sleeper car. The ceiling was a good three meters from the metal plate floor. Simple wooden benches lined the walls and racks supported baggage overhead. The passengers squeezed onto the bench while the rest squatted on the floor or sat on whatever bags they had. Trash was scattered about the floor.

Train bumped and cranked to a start and we were rolling through the countryside. Since there was no where to sit, we stood at the end of the car. Our attention was equally divided between the marvel of the karst landscape we were passing through and the curious people with whom we were traveling.

After an hour of standing, I turned to my companions. “I forgot to ask how long this ride lasts.” They thought it was around three hours. Ouch. We passed a lake I saw from the bus. I figured the lake was only a half hour from the stone forest. That meant it was taking about three times as long as the bus!

We went through a few tunnels and turns. Looking out the window again, I saw another lake. It looked … familiar. I didn't recall two lakes on the trip out. Seeing the power plant on the north side of the lake confirmed it was the same lake. I realized that for the past hour we were simply snaking our way up to the top of the mountain to the east of the lake. Ouch.

There was a girl trying to get into the toilet behind us. It was locked and there didn't seem to be anyone inside. A few people tried to open it, but it was sealed with a mechanism that required a triangular socket wrench. We all took turns using a pocket knife, keys, bottle caps and pen caps to get the door open. When we next stopped, I gestured for assistance from one of the station conductors. She shook her head, unwilling to come aboard or loan me her wrench. Eventually, someone managed to pry the door open and a lineup for the toilet immediately formed. I guess there were more than a few people in the car with watery eyes!

People occupied themselves in whatever distraction they could. Between conversations, playing games, talking or texting on their cell phones, listening to music on their MP3 players, those who could, managed to snooze while propped up against a friend. In front of us was a group of about eight people playing cards (some played while other watched). After observing them for twenty minutes, I concluded that I had absolutely no idea as to the rules or objective of the game.

Arriving in Kunming, the passengers all crowded for the door at the front of our car. One of the Dutch girls wisely elected to exit by way of the window. In the station we followed the crowd through the passageway to the exit. There were a lot of people tying to get out; old, young, peasants, well dressed city folk, lots of different people.

Some people struggled with loads too big to manage. How they got them on the train is a mystery. One woman was trying to juggle a baby and a heavy box while carrying her luggage. As we came to a long stairway, I took the box from her. My hands were free so I could carry it to the top. She tried to resist my assistance, but quickly capitulated when I gestured to the top of the stair. I carried the box up and she took it from me gratefully. I didn't see a lot of people helping each other.

Apart from the crowded car and having to stand for three and half hours, the trip was an interesting slice into Chinese culture. We saw a bit of the countryside and watched the locals interact. Certainly an adventure, however tame it might be.

Stone Forest of Yunnan

2009-03-24T23:00:00.003-04:00

Before leaving Kunming, there was one more place I had to visit: the Stone Forest. From the pictures I saw on numerous advertisements, it's an area where stones rise vertically from the ground. I'd seen images of monoliths in Ireland and assumed this was something similar. I was quite mistaken.

Other travelers had informed me that the official site was heavily developed with paved walkways leading between the various sites. My guidebook explained that there were numerous karst stone forests in the region and it was easy enough to find a “wild” area to explore. I also learned that the tourists generally arrived midmorning and departed in the afternoon. I decided to spend the night in the area so I could experience the evening light and dawn.

I spent about half an hour dashing between the various bus stations in Kunming to find the next available ride to the Stone Forest area, about 120km East of Kunming. The trip cost about seven dollars and took close to three hours.

I got off the main road into the park and walked into the first guest house I saw. I was in a bit of a hurry to get to the forest while there was good light so I wasn't fussy about the hotel. The room was adequate and less expensive than any of the other places I'd stayed in China, so I was satisfied. I grabbed my camera gear and headed down the hill to the shilin (Chinese for “stone forest”).

Just past the entrance, I saw tall, sharp edged rocks, each more than three meters high, in every direction – including several in the large pond leading into the area.

Wanting to see something different, and generally being contrary, I dashed off the paved trails, over the lawns, and into the surrounding countryside. Here, I watched an old woman preparing for planting by hacking away the turf between the rocks. Outside the park proper, life goes on.

Back on the paved paths, I made my way around the forest. The park was more or less designed around a central grouping of rock a few hundred meters across. In the center, a pagoda-shaped tower blends in remarkably well.

There were quite a few groupings of stones with paths leading between and through them. There were also numerous signs providing information about the formations and, um, rather poetic requests to keep off the grass.

By the time I had circumnavigated the place, the sun was setting and it was time to go back to my hotel. I was eager to wake early and watch the sunrise over the stones.

I found a quiet restaurant near my hotel. Actually, they were all quiet as there were no tourists anywhere to be seen. When I left the park there were only a few scatterings of locals and a few bus tourists. I had the little town to myself. That is, until two Dutch girls showed up in a panic. “Do you know where we can stay that won't need our passports?” They left their passports in Kunming to get a visa or something. Hotels always insist you show your passport to get a room. I took them to my hotel and explained to the proprietor, in pantomime of course, that they were my friends and needed a room. Five minutes later they had their room and were greatly relieved.

Rising at the crack of dawn, I was greeted by an overcast sky. My wonderful sunrise was not to be. In fact, I was frustrated that I could take none of the photos I'd mentally composed the afternoon before. Without the sun falling on the rocks, they took on a uniform drabness in two dimensions.

Having visited the outskirts of the park, it was time to explore the interior. The Dutch girls knew their way around and led me to some of the more interesting places.

For all the complaints my fellow travelers had with regard to the pavement within the park, I was quite pleased and impressed with the way the place had been laid out. This was not a simple matter of laying sidewalks between clumps of rocks. The geological structures I explored included rock faces that towered a good fifty meters high. Standing at the edge of the forest, there was no way to appreciate just how staggeringly deep were the chasms between the rocks.

The place was remarkably clean and quite peaceful … until encountering a bus tour group. We would be wandering through the narrow passageways thinking we were the only people in the world when we'd run into a guided tour with fifty Chinese tourists on a mission to see the whole place. There were numerous places where you could sit down and just enjoy the landscape. They even included several spots to accommodate picnickers.

I wandered out to visit the village to the northeast of the park. My presence in the town was quite unusual. I understood that few tourists ever bother to take the time to look beyond the stones.

Every open door seemed to have someone working on a craft of some sort. Undoubtedly, the townspeople make a good portion of their income from the tourists. There are numerous kiosks throughout the park. Most sell some trinket or other, but one area provides Yi costumes for visitors to have their photo taken.

I spotted two women carrying great loads of something balanced on a bamboo yoke.

When they stopped for a brief rest, I learned that they were weighed down with dry pine needles. What these were intended for, I have no idea, but I convinced one of them to let me try carrying it. I could barely lift the thing! There was no way I was going to attempt walking lest I upset the well balanced load. The two woman, surely in their late fifties and standing no taller than five feet, proceeded to pick up their burdens and dash down the road at a pace that would humble a trail hiker.

See more images here.

The Overnight Bus to Kunming

2009-03-16T08:34:00.002-04:00

If I had planned things better, I would not have left a package at my hotel in Kunming. From Lijiang I had an opportunity to travel to a few other cities that would have taken me farther and farther from the parcel I had left behind. So, I had no choice but return. This did, however, give me an opportunity to take the train from Dali to Kunming … except there was no way to get a ticket. That left the bus.

There are quite a few night buses making the trip from Lijiang to Kunming.It wasn't until I went to a ticket office that I learned what kindof buss. Walking pass the behemoth I marveled at its modern stylingbut stopped in my tracks when I figured out what was going on inside the windows. The bus was equipped with bunk beds!

My Tiger Leaping Gorge guide, Lee-oh, accompanied me so I left him in charge of getting me a ticket. Unfortunately I could not travel on that particular bus, but he assured me the bus at the depot would be thesame model and have beds. I was gleeful at the thought of sleeping the night away while traveling to my destination.

The bus station was some distance from the old city so it was necesarry to take a city bus to get there. We walked to the other side of the city and waited on the side of the street for one particular bus. After a considerable wait and a reasonably long ride, we arrived at the bus station.

Leaving my backpack at the left-luggage room, we headed across the street to eat supper. Several restaurants, all catering to bus travelers, vied for our business. I was eager to eat something substantial, something tasty and not overcooked. I failed at this endeavor but managed to satiate my hunger.

Night had fallen and it was time to go to the bus. I bid farewell to Lee-oh, picked up my bags and made my way through security - yes, they run your bag through an x-ray machine. My backpack went into the hold of the bus and took my camera bag and overnight bag on board with me.

I'd taken far too many overnight buses where I was forced to sit upright and hope that I was seated next to someone smaller than me. The thought of having my own little bunk was quite exciting. I was a bit concerned at the fact that it might very well be a tight fit, but I figured I could curl up and make the most of it. Ticket in hand, I boarded the bus.

This bus was the sister of the one I saw earlier. It had three rows of double-decker stainless steel bunk beds. Nearly all the other passengers had taken to their beds and were busy organizing their belongings and chatting away. They watched me make my way through the
narrow aisle to my bunk. I couldn't find it.

Although Arabic numbers were used, the bunk numbering system was mystifying. I kept an eye out for an empty bunk hoping it matched the number of my ticket. I still couldn't find it. I showed my ticked to one of the helpful passengers and he pointed to the other aisle and way to the back.

I made my way to the back of the bus and realized that my bed was very different from the others I'd seen. The back of the bus was set up with two huge beds stretching from one side of the bus to the other, where the passengers sleep shoulder to should. My spot was one in the middle.

Thoughts of a pleasant journey evaporated as I realized that I'd be squeezed in between two other people. Dejected, I hauled myself up into the upper bed and got arranged. I was able to stuff my bags next to the window at my head and my boots fit into a shelf at my feet.

I introduced myself to the three other guys laying there by offering them each a piece of gum. None of them spoke English, which is just as well as I was not in a mood to talk. I put on my MP3 player and tried to put myself in a positive mood.

The bus was ready to leave, but the back bed was not yet full. My spirits lifted. If the spot beside me was not taken, I would have a much larger sleeping area. I shifted to the left to test out my new comfort zone. Oh, no.

The back beds were designed to make sure you kept to your own spot. The thin mattress pads were separated by a steel ridge. It wasn't high enough to be painful, but it was high enough to be really uncomfortable. I tested out a few strategies to make use of the extra
space. Curling up, I could put my head on the other bed if I padded the spot below my knees. Not exactly like home, but it was a lot more comfortable than laying straight out.

My newfound pleasures were soon dampened as two other people made their way to the back. One of them was a teenage girl who was quite upset at the prospect of sleeping with all those strange men in the back. She sat on the edge of the bed as the bus moved along, and complained to the other passengers. It was clear that she was trying to browbeat
one of the other young men to change places with her. After about an hour, one of them gave up his bunk and swapped with her.

lay on my back and tried to relax. I was uncomfortably aware of the two young men trying to sleep on either side of me. They managed, some how. I took a few melatonin to help ease the transition and listened to an audio book.

I really thought I could sleep. While I was barely comfortable, I was certainly tired and the melatonin made me drowsy. Unfortunately, the bus had a tendency to shake. It was not the steady motion of a typical car or bus ride, but a sort of rhythmic sway. Furthermore,
whenever it hit a rough spot in the road, or the driver dodged something, the jolt was amplified by our distance from the ground. A small wiggle of the tires translated into a resonating jostle at the top of the bus. This would happen every fifteen or twenty minutes. About every hour, the bus would hit a pothole and we poor fellows in the back were knocked awake.

Of course it didn't help that my bedmates would occasionally change position and I had to deal with an elbow or knee poking at me. I used my spare blanket to fend off these intrusions into my territory.

Somewhere, in the middle of the night, the bus stopped for a bathroom break. It was not until then that I realized there was no toilet aboard. Being an old had at overnight trips, I eschewed the consumption of liquids since the afternoon. Fortunately, my bedmates didn't have to go either so we actually got a good bit of sleep.

The bus stopped again and people started moving about. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Something didn't seem right. My bedmates had departed. I looked up and noted that just about everyone had left the bus. Those that remained were packing their belongings. I looked out the window and noted that we were not in a bus station but on the street. My clock indicated that it was four in the morning. Apparently, the bus arrived early.

I gathered my things, made my way out of the bus and picked up my backpack. The street was lined with long-distance buses and thronged with people. Some folks sat curled up on the pavement, probably waiting for a bus, while others made their way one direction or the other. I skipped the taxi offering and just started walking in a random direction, hoping that I would gain my bearings. Eventually, I figured out that I was not far from the train station.

From the station, I knew I could walk to the hotel where my bag was stored. It was a long walk, but I had plenty of time and really needed to work out the kinks.

Heading up a side street, I noticed a familiar neon sign. It was in Chinese, but I had a suspicion I knew what was inside. This might well be one of the few establishments open twenty-four hours a day in a Chinese city. I followed the broad stairway down into the bowels of the building – the people who came here had no need for windows. I stepped into a large, dimly lit, room. This is one of those businesses barely tolerated by the Chinese government. Young men flock to these places for entertainment. I was standing in the biggest internet gaming shop I'd ever seen.

The shop easily held two or three hundred modern computers with modern desks and comfortable chairs. I grabbed the first machine I saw and stated transferring my photos to my hard drives. There were perhaps a score of people using the computers at that early hour, so I had the place nearly to myself, comparatively speaking.

One of the staff dropped by and gave me a cup of tea. This was promptly refilled every time I emptied it. I drank a lot of tea that morning. I managed to pick the computer that received a steady draft of cold air from the open doors. I didn't realize this until after I started the complicated process of file transfers, so I wrapped my blanket about myself and went to work like some modern monk.

After a few hours of catching up on my e-mail and reading the latest news, I walked back to the hotel and settled down to a hearty breakfast. I needed to plan my next destination. I was, quite frankly, too damn cold. I had to decide if I wanted to continue my trip in China, or go elsewhere. As exotic as the place is, I really didn't want to spend my holiday in the cold.

My preference was to get to Vietnam, but my visa did not start for another two or three weeks. (Dear Vietnam, please be more flexible with your visas. Surely a one-month visa could begin upon arrival and not on a specific date?) Myanmar was not an option so that left Laos and Thailand. I wanted to go back to see the monks at Luang Probang, so Laos it was. However, there was still one thing left to see in Kunming: the Stone Forest.

Kunming in the morning

Lijiang City

2009-02-25T08:32:00.004-05:00

Eight hundred years ago, Lijiang was a major stop on a tea trading route. Now it's a major stop on the tourist trail ... and for good reason. Walking into the northern part of the old town, I was struck with the thought "Man, there are a lot of tourists here." Flags and umbrellas waved by tour operators led small throngs of Chinese tourists like a mother duck doting on her brood. The main entrance into the old city has two enormous, and much out-of-place, waterwheels slowly turning in a stream running beneath the road at the top of the town. The water in the stream looks quite clear and has numerous goldfish.

I could see a number of wooden oriental buildings off to the left as I walked up to the convenient tourism booth. The attendant spoke excellent English. I was looking for an inexpensive hotel and pointed to the names in my guide book. He suggested that he call the guest house and ask one of their staff to meet me. I thought this was an excellent idea, but suggested he first call to find out if they had rooms and to find out how much those rooms cost. This idea was totally foreign to him and he kept offering to call whatever hotel I wanted and have them send someone over. "I'll just take a look around" I suggested.

I knew there were some hotels along the east side of the hill. I walked into the first one I saw to inquire as to the price of a room. The entrance led into a central courtyard surrounded by two floors of rooms. The rooms faced into the central common square.

Most of the hotels I examined had a very tasteful square, but a few really went all out and included a pool in the center of the complex.

After rejecting a few places for their relatively high prices (about fifty bucks a night) and a few for decrepitude, I settled on one with a curious feature. The better part of the extended family were occupying the courtyard having their supper.

Once it was established that I would be staying in the hotel, I was encouraged to join them for supper. I was quite eager to see what they were eating. As I examined the table, one of the girls handed me what can only be described as a giant rice cracker. With a giggle, another handed me what I thought was a deep fried chicken leg. I balanced the meat on the cracker until I could find a seat. It wasn't until I was able to squeeze in at one of the tables did I have a good look at the chicken leg; it was, in fact, a deep fried duck head. I had no idea what to do with it. Had I a clue as to how to eat it, I might have, but didn't really want to. Fortunately one of the elders took pity on me, grabbed the food from my hand and gave me a bowl of rice and greens.

I picked from numerous dishes on the table. It was simple fare, but generally good. The owner/manager of the hotel delighted in dropping things into my bowl. I could identify only a few things but far too many consisted of fish with numerous bones. I had nowhere to put the bones so my bowl was half food and half discards on top of rice. It was then that someone decided I needed to try the soup and just poured it over the whole mess in my bowl.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance. A bunch of people were entering ... including a guy waving a small flag. A tour group? The family with whom I'd been eating and attempting conversation, dashed off with their dinner bowls and headed for various parts of the courtyard. Doors and shutters were thrown open and lights turned on. I could see silver in glass cases.

It turns out that I'm staying in a hotel of some historic significance and that the family had leveraged this happenstance into a business opportunity: they gave tours of the hotel and sold silver handicrafts to the tourists. During my stay there, I was unable to learn why the hotel was tourist destination. It was not particularly unusual and certainly not beautiful.

Finding myself abandoned by my hosts, I decided to explore the city. One of the nephews, a guy in his early twenties, had no particular duties during the tour group assault and offered to wander the city with me. Unfortunately, he knew only a few words in English, but he was a pleasant enough fellow. We exited the hotel and made our way down the crowded backstreet.

Although I saw a bit of a stream when I entered the city, I had no idea how extensive the system was until I started to explore. Just past the hotel, the narrow street opened up upon what should have been a broad boulevard ... except for the stream running through the center of it. While there was a bit of a wall on one side, the other had a few benches to keep people from falling in. I liked it!

When we returned to the hotel, the tourists - or another group of tourists - were still there. My young guide, Mr. Lee, and I sat down for tea. I took the liberty of retrieving my bottle of single malt whiskey to see what he thought of it. In my room I discovered that I'd not properly sealed the bottle and half the precious liquid had leaked out in my backpack. My Chinese friends were not impressed with the liquor in any event.

In the morning, I woke early to visit the Black Dragon Pool. It's one of the most famous sights in China, appearing on the paper currency. It took me a little while to find my way to the garden. In fact, when I arrived at the entrance at 7AM, I was convinced I wandered into the bus terminal there were so many large buses present. No, it was not the bus station, the tour buses just started really early in the morning.

It was tough getting a good shot of the scene with the mountain in the background. I was able, however, to get a few good shots of locals at play.

Back in old Lijiang, I wandered around to see what what happening. There were plenty of touristic sights to see.

While some things exists to attract tourists, some interesting things are naturally attractive.

The center of Lijiang is a hilltop. The royal residence extends up the side of the hill and provides a fabulous view of the sun rise. There's a modern pagoda and restaurant at the very top, but the view of the old city and its preserved ancient tile roofs makes interesting patterns while the view of the snow mountain is quite nice.

One of the big trade items in the city is yak products. You see yak horns being used everywhere, from carved combs to the ringer inside the cow bells.

I looked everywhere to find a yak hide to take home, but to no avail. I settled on a cowbell. Actually, I made that decision after leaving the market and its very reasonable priced products. I wandered into a shop, one of many, with cowbells. As fate would have it, I picked the one with the crazy looking proprietor. I rang a couple of the brass bells and noticed something peculiar; they sounded beautiful. The owner saw my puzzled look and, in broken English, explained that he made the bells himself ... out of silver. They looked perfectly ordinary, but the tone when struck was downright inspiring. I had my first Lijiang souvenir!

After a couple of extra chilly mornings, I thought it high time to buy something to make me warm. Despite the number of shops in the city, not a one of them sold sweaters. I did find a place that made yak vests, but none fit me.

The local market had plenty of jackets to choose from, but most were either much too small or much too ugly. I had an option to pick up a Patagonia parka at a huge discount, but I really didn't need something so insulating (especially given the fact that I have a closet full of cold weather gear). What I really wanted was a down vest, something to take the chill off. I had to settle on a light jacket that cost me around twenty dollars. I hated buying it, but must admit that my mood improved considerably once I put it on and warmed up. I still didn't like the cold, though.

You can see more images here:

Lijiang

Hello Dali!

2009-02-10T02:25:00.002-05:00

After a night in Kunming, my goal was the get out as fast as I could. I donned all my shirts against the cold and walked to the nearest bus stop, gaping in amazement at the silent motorbikes ghosting by. The bus cost one Yuan (about fifteen cents).

Getting off the bus, I walked to the station. The information kiosk was equipped with a very unusual turnstile. It consisted of a horizontal set of bars that looked something like an hourglass. Stepping into it, only one person could approach the window at a time. Very weird. I obtained the information I needed about getting the night train to Dali and walked to the ticket counter.

No one was in line at the window I needed. I walked right up and leaned against the counter right in front of the money/ticket slot cut in the window and waited for the attendant to complete whatever task she was doing. She glanced up and I said "Da-LEE." She nodded and turned to her computer. Just then, a guy sidled up next to me, shoved some money into the slot, leaned over and started speaking into the grill. The guy was cutting in line while I was being served! Now I knew why the hourglass turnstile was needed. The ticket agent waved the guy away and then informed me that the train was full.

Back on the street, I checked the bus stations. There are a few of them around the train station and I found a bus heading to Dali in only an hour. I bought my ticket, put my backpack in the hold and dropped my little bag on the seat. I was hungry. I looked around inside but found only snack food. Back on the street, I found myself longing for Thailand or Myanmar as those streets are full of vendors selling tasty meals on nearly every corner. Around this part of Kunming, there was nothing. (I later discovered there are some vendors, but the food offered was not particularly appealing.) I managed to find a shop with instant noodles and had them prepare the little bucket shaped cup for me. It was spicy, but palatable. I picked up some gummy candy snacks in the bus station just in case; these I later gave away as they were much too horrible to consume.

My seat was near the front so I had a good view of the modern China. Kunming looked very modern, even if it had a Chinese style to the buildings. The bus ride was uneventful, but I did see some interesting rice paddies and villages along the way. The bus stopped at a town that was just south of old Dali. I knew I needed to get a ride to the old town.

I noticed a Chinese guy who looked a bit lost. Pijaing was Chinese but educated in the US and was heading to Dali! Between my guidebook and his communicative skills, we quickly found a pickup bus to the old city. Along the road, he told me about his experience in the US and the changes he's since since returning to China last year.

The bus dropped us off at the main entrance to the old city. It looked like something out of a Hong Kong movie. A great wall extended east and west of the magnificent gate. We walked in and spent the next hour looking for a reasonably priced guest house.

Just West of the city, a road runs past the wall. We managed to find a cheap guest house there (fifteen bucks a night) and headed back into the old town for supper. The restaurants put all their produce and meat products right out in front so you can inspect their quality. It's also useful for non-Chinese to point to the items they want.

Pijaing and I picked out some ham, mushrooms, cashews
(mok-mu-himmo-pawn in Thai) and greens. We sat with our Dali beer and
feasted on a meal that cost less then ten bucks for the two of us.

Around the corner, we discovered the pedestrian only portion of the city. It was described to me as being something out of Disneyland, but it was much more entertaining.

The old city is square and was originally surrounded by a massive wall, most of which has been lost. It was home to an empire that flourished over a thousand years ago. Today, it has been cleaned up, updated, refurbished and mostly modernized, but still maintains an ancient feel. The most interesting part of the city, for my money, are the numerous streams running through the streets. These may have served to bring fresh water down from the mountain, but today they serve a more decorative purpose - and the locals have certainly done an outstanding job with this remarkable waterworks. The main pedestrian area has a sort of stone lined trench, in which it is very easy to fall, but one of the side streets has a delightful series of cascades with numerous stepping stones.

There were a respectable number of tourists in the city that first night, but the next day the place was swarming with holiday goers. It was the first time I really felt like I was in China.

The city is on the edge of a huge lake. I could see the fertile valley floor from the bottom of the hillside on which the city is located. Huge ferry vessels traveled across the lake to the various towns. Pijang and I took a ride to the wharf so we could have a look at the goings on there. The wharf was inundated with souvenir vendors and tourists. "Where're the fishermen?" I asked. We tried to get out onto the dock, but to do so required paying about fifteen bucks to ride the tourist boats. It turns out that the wharf is really the government tourist boat dock. We could see through the gate a number of opulent tour boats ready to ferry us to the other side and back. The officials assured us that this was the wharf and denied the existence of any other boat launch. We decided to skip the official tour.

I had a chance to look at a number of hotels in the old city. They look more like temples than guest houses. The more modern structures looked more at home in the California hills than in Southern China. This place is modernizing very quickly ... too quickly. There are still plenty of traditions though. One curious thing about the Bai people is the women's penchant for boots.

Another local flavor is the colorful headdress. Although the photo here shows a child, it is worn by many of the local women (and not just for special occasions as near as I could tell).

One of the big specialties of the area is Pu-erh tea. I don't know much about it, but it is supposedly highly valued. I say supposedly because I could buy it for a bit of money or a whole lot of money. I had an opportunity to have some of the better quality tea with the merchant below. I assume Pu-erh tea is something of an acquired taste.

"For all the tea in China"? You have no idea how much tea China has. In addition to the copious quantities they drink at all hours of the day (seriously, they go through a lot of tea), they turn the tea leaves into works of art. I saw whole wall panels made of compressed tea leaves, but medallions and plaques were more common.

One of the more curious things in the city was a shop dedicated to selling matches. It actually took me a few minutes to figure this out, but it sells nothing but matches. If that is not an indicator that the Chinese smoke too much, Dali has three of these shops dedicated matches.

On my second day, in need of some exercise, I decided to take the thirteen kilometer hike across the mountain range to the West of Dali.

I used the cable car to get to the top since I had only a few hours of daylight. I had my hiking boots, some extra shirts in case the temperature went down further, and a small supply of fruit to keep me going. I realized all my preparations for an arduous walk were in vain as I encountered a couple of tourists coming the other way on the neatly paved stone path. It was a gentleman in a suit and a woman sporting high heels. I ran into a good number of be-suited Chinese men and women dressed for a night out. It was a bit unnerving, but the walk was quite pleasant.

Dali was still cold, but a lot more tolerable than Kunming. I was tempted to spend one or two more nights in the city, but also really wanted to see as much of the area as I could. I was told that the city of Lijang was really impressive, but I couldn't see how it could top Dali. Oh, how wrong I was.

See more photos from Dali here.

Tiger Leaping Gorge

2009-02-05T21:04:00.002-05:00

"What was the most memorable part of your trip?" I asked the Australian who spent the last five months wandering around Asia. When he told me it was Tiger Leaping Gorge, I decided I had to see it. The gorge is said to be the deepest in the world and plenty of folks hike through it. My guide book suggested it could be a day trip along the river or an overnight trip if you wanted to go up along the mountain. I could take a bus to one end of the gorge and hike to the other end where I could pick up another bus back to Lijang. I decided to be lazy and hire a tour service. The trip out and back, an experience guide and a room in a guest house, came to about sixty bucks. It was relatively pricey, but I worth it.

I dislike using tour services. I much prefer to set my own agenda and go where I want when I want. Furthermore, most tours offer side trips for shopping (where the tour company gets a cut of whatever overpriced goods the sheep purchase). I was assured there'd be no shopping trips so I booked the service for the next morning. I would meet the guide at a landmark at 8AM sharp.

I awoke much too early and spent a half hour watching the old town come alive. The tour operator met me at the prearranged location, explaining that I was the only one doing the overnight trip. I would travel to the site with a group of day-trippers and my guide would take me along the high route alone. Terrific! the operator introduced me to a young college student who spoke sufficient English.

After waiting around for a good half hour for the other tourists, my guide led me across the square where we looked for a specific taxi driver. We got into his mini-bus made a few stops to pick up other Chinese passengers before heading off to the gorge. Total time from meeting at the arranged location to leaving for the trip? One hour. This is why I don't like organized tours: they're organized for slow people.

On the trip to the gorge, we stopped at a sort of temple to see the mountains and the Yangtze river below. It was, I'm sorry to say, not a particularly inspiring view - I'd hope the gorge would be well worth it. We made another stop to see the "first bend" in the Yangtze river. Another uninspiring view. Some time later, we pulled into a town then pulled into a restaurant. "We have lunch here" my guide said. I didn't want lunch and certainly didn't want lunch at a tour bus stop. There were already a couple of other tour buses stopped there and I could see that others would soon arrive. My guidebook suggested that the high road was a day's climb and we'd just frittered away the morning. "We have time" he assured me. I guess he didn't know how slow I could be when climbing.

I decided I'd have a good meal to gird myself for the day's journey. I was discouraged by the lack of an English menu, but was simply flummoxed by the fact there was no menu whatsoever! "Just point to what you want," my guide assured me. Well, that's easy enough. I pointed to beef, garlic, two types of mushrooms and some fresh snow peas. The order taker held up one finger. I smiled and pointed to myself; yes, just enough for me. I looked forward to a delicious meal.

Ten minutes later my plate arrived. It was a plate of fried beef in sauce with onions and some sort of greens I could not identify; no mushrooms and no peas. As I looked at the plate, I shrugged. Then another plate appeared: two types of mushrooms in another thick sauce. Then the snow peas arrived on another large plate. Then a bucket of rice was placed before me. I kid you not, it was a wooden bucket holding at least five liters of steamed white rice. I had enough to feed a family!

Luckily, two other couples in need of a table asked to sit with me. I put some of the mushrooms and peas on my plate of beef and insisted they help themselves to the other dishes. They, in turn, offered me some of their food. The bill came to 70CNY, around ten bucks, and a lot more expensive then it should have been.

I looked around and noticed that none of the people from my bus where in the restaurant. The mini-bus was outside but I could not find my guide. I started looking around and soon located him. The others had gone on to the gorge. Hmmm, I'd have preferred to have left as well, but there you go. We moved my backpack to another vehicle so it could be dropped off at the guest house; this was the main advantage to using a tour operator. I was a bit nervous about being separated from my bag; all my rechargers and all my images were in there.

The mini-bus hugged the edge of the road as we entered the gorge. It was huge. The Yangtze river looked like a stream at the bottom.

The driver let us off and my guide directed me to a dusty gravel road that zigzagged
up the slope.

The climb up was an ordeal for my out-of-shape physique. I took it really slow and stopped for photo breaks whenever I could. My guide, Lee-oh, was as encouraging as he could be but it was no help. During our breaks I worked on his English language skills to improve his pronunciation. He didn't get a lot of opportunity to practice English.

We encountered a few villages as we ascended. Although the land is desert-like, the local Naxi people are able to grow a variety of crops with careful irrigation and contoured plots.

Eventually, we left the road and cut across the hillside on what could best be described as a goat path. It just so happened that we encountered a goat who had given birth to a kid only hours before. We also ran into a few goat herders sitting on the path and keeping an eye on their livestock.

The way was level and I was able to cruise at a good speed, but I frequently took breaks to gaze at the landscape and marvel at this particular waterfall.

After a couple of hours, we made it to the "Half Way" guest house. I enjoyed a cool beer and a hot tea while admiring the vista.

Eventually, we made our way down the slope and stopped at Tina's guest house ... which should really be called a hotel seeing as how it's three stories of rooms. Curiously enough, the windows in the rooms look out not on the spectacular view of the gorge, but on the road and other slope. Lee-oh got us checked in and took my bag to my room.

The dining area of the hotel looks out on the gorge, but I decided to eat outdoors for the best view. A young English guy joined me for a drink afterward. He was spending a year teaching English in China and gave me some insight into the employment possibilities. Licensed teachers could do quite well (relative to other Chinese).

A few days earlier I discovered something unusual about many of the hotel beds: they have electric heaters. Instead of an electric blanket, which I despise, they have an electric mattress pad. I made extensive use of this device every evening before getting into bed. The nights were miserably cold and the blankets a little too thin.

In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast in the shadow of the mountain, Lee-oh told me we would begin our hike after lunch. I told him I wanted to start early so I could take my time and shoot some photos. I knew he needed to wait for the day-hikers to arrive from Lijang but assured him I was quite capable of hiking down the gorge alone. He reluctantly agreed but asked that I wait a bit for a couple of hikers who were, as I understood it, staying at the hotel. After another hour of puttering around, we departed with two middle-age Chinese women dressed for a walk in the park.

From the hotel, we walked down the road to another guest house run by a family responsible for cutting a trail down to the gorge. They charged a nominal fee for passage, but my guide had looked after that. Lee-oh insisted that we wait for another group of hikers before descending, but I explained again that I would go it alone so I could stop for photos. Organized tours are like that too often, hurry up and wait.

I started down the gorge just as the sunlight was crawling down my side of the slope. I tried to time it so the light was about a hundred meters further up than I was. I observed the indistinct demarcation between light and shadow as the sun rose above the mountains.

The family that built the trail did an awesome job. The switchbacks were well designed and they put chains and pegs anywhere a handhold was needed. They also installed a number of wicker baskets along the trail to act as garbage cans. These were emptied by the vendors who set up drink stands at the bottom of the gorge.

I rounded a corner and stopped in sheer amazement. The family had carved a passage right through the rock to enable us hikers to get by. to the left and above, solid rock; to the right, a sheer drop to the riverbed a good 75m below. Walking through that rather unnerving.

By the time I made it to the bottom of the gorge, it was still in deep shadow.

Looking back up, I saw the bridge on which I stood the day before.I saw a postcard with this photo and assumed it was some decorative footbridge. No, it's a full size bridge, at least 50m across, over which passes cars and tour buses.

Legend tells of a a rock where a tiger crossed the river to escape a hunter. From the bridge, I was able to see the "Tiger Leaping" stone; it looked like a rock. When I arrived at the bottom, however, I was able to witness the scale of the thing.

See those tiny figures at the top of the rock? Those are people. The Tiger Leaping stone is the size of a small office building.

Lee-oh caught up with me as I was shooting and told me we had ten minutes before going back up. I was prepared to spend the better part of the day watching the sun work its way down the slope, but I also knew I'd be really slow going back up. We would not return by the trail, but by a set of ladders the family had installed downstream. I met my guide at the appointed time and he explained we were waiting for a few more hikers. Hmmm. I told him I'd start now because I'd be going slow. He wasn't happy about this, but off I went.

I made my way up the slope, guided by arrows painted onto the rock. I was slow going and I was hot (for once). Eventually, the larger tour group caught up with me, right before we arrived at the first ladder. We sat in the shelter of a vendor's shop. Some of the Chinese tourists were purchasing water, oranges and peeled cucumber to snack on. Most of them were dressed in street clothes with ordinary shoes. Astonishing.

One of the other guides started taking people up and over the shelter to the ladder. I decided to get going, not knowing how far we had to go (it's impossible to tell how high up the gorge you are). There were a few people ahead of me as we came to the ladder. They grabbed the rail and started up.

The ladder is a contraption of rebar steel welded together and held with wire attached to posts driven into the rock. I could see redundant supports and solid welds so I had no concerns for its ability to support my weight (and surely I was not the first oversize westerner to climb the ladder). I packed my camera and, holding my tripod in my right hand, started up once the people ahead of me were well up.

It wasn't practical to take the steps properly. I had to step up both feet on each rung. It was slow, but required less energy. I should have figured out a better place for my tripod. I was holding it with my thumb and forefinger, leaving only three fingers to hold the ladder.

The ladder was ascending through heavy vegetation; it was almost like crawling up a tree. After a few minutes, the ladder sort of ended and another one began. I wished I could have put the tripod somewhere, but my hands were busy holding on.

The new ladder crawled out of the brush and was exposed to the sun and breeze. The feeling of climbing a tree was gone and it felt more like climbing up a sheer rock face ... which is exactly what I was doing. Left hand up, left foot up, step up both feet together, raise right hand with tripod and use three fingers to hold the rail. I was painfully aware of how exposed I was and how small I was compared to the mountain I was scaling. The ladder just kept going and going. Left hand up, left foot up, step up, grab rail with three fingers, look closely at the welds and how the ladder is fastened to he rock with wire. I started giving myself the heebie-jeebies. I wished I'd taken the trail back to the top instead of this accursed ladder, this hodgepodge of metal clinging precariously to the rock face. I thought of the Chinese moms who'd gone up the ladder ahead of me. I focused on the steps and kept going (as surely there was no going down at this point).

Suddenly, there was no more rungs. I reached out to grab the metal post and pull myself up and over the edge, fearful that I'd slip up at this point. I walked well away from the ladder, and the edge, and sat down on a rock. I was shaken, not stirred. I thought about my camera and how I should get a photo of the ladder looking down, but I just didn't have the nerve to walk over to it.

I watched as the girl behind me came up the ladder and continued up the trail. The climb hadn't fazed her at all. Lee-oh walked over and asked me if I was OK. "Yeah," I said, "How many more of those ladders are there?" He said there was only one, but it was short. "That's a relief!" I paused for a moment. "Lee-oh, how did you get up here?" I was ahead of him at the bottom of the ladder and only two girls had come up since I arrived.

"I take the trail" he answered pointed to the path behind him. I walked over to see a trail snaking down the slope. At the junction with the trail going up, two signs were posted. The one leading to the descending switchbacks was posted as the "easy way" while the one I just came up was marked as "dangerous way." Thanks.

I continued up and managed to the next ladder with little difficulties, having secured my tripod. I was able to take a few shots going up, but nothing as impressive as the climb itself. This shot gives you an idea as to how steep the slope is. If not for the switchbacks, there'd be an awful lot of ladders.

When I finally made it to the guest house on top of the trail, I took a much needed rest and finished my water. Lee-oh was trying to hurry me to the bus so we could go. We had to pick up my bag first, so I suggested we walk over to Tina's and have the bus meet us there; I really wanted a few more minutes of admiring the view. We walked across the bridge (the one in the photo), collected my bag and walked all the way back. So much for being a hurry to leave, eh?

The bus took us back to the town ... where it stopped for dinner! Fortunately, Lee-oh managed to get us on a different bus heading back to Lijang right away.

I can't say that Tiger Leaping Gorge was the highlight of my trip, but there's no way I'll forget that accursed ladder.

Chinese New Year in Kunming

2009-01-25T21:57:00.003-05:00

What have I done? I'd deliberately planned to come to Southern China, up from Myanmar. Nearly every traveler I met, however, had little good to say about the place. I started thinking of the Indonesian islands until I met another Canadian on a long boat ride up the Irrawaddy river. He gushed about the place and went so far as to build an itinerary for me. Two weeks later I met a Chinese woman and an English guy who confirmed that Yunnan was very much worth visiting. I paid $150USD for my visa and about $500 for the ticket to Kunming.

My guidebook suggested it might be cool in Yunnan, and my traveling friends suggested I might need warm clothes if I went up into the mountain. When I got off the plane I was surprised to see people wearing heavy jackets. The moment I stepped outside, in my sandals and short-sleeve shirt, I was crestfallen. It was indeed cold.

Sucking it up, I grabbed a cab and gave the driver the name of the guest house I wanted (written in Chinese characters by a helpful tourism employee). I arrived at the Hump and met a Chinese fellow on his way in. "You're going to the Hump?" he asked. He then asked if I had a reservation. When I said no, his eyebrows shot up and looked very concerned. Not a good sign.

The Hump is rocking. It's three flights up, just past a bustling restaurant. It has a terrace that overlooks a square in which everyone is celebrating the Chinese New Year. What a great time to be in China. Skyrockets go off every few seconds and the sky is filled with red paper balloons held aloft by a small flame.

The clientele of the Hump are young backpackers drinking, smoking and generally carrying on. At the desk, which is also the bar, I'm asked if I have reservations. The young Chinese man gives me a disappointed look and tells me the place is full. He tells me there's a cheap hotel just down the road and gives me the name in Chinese characters. With my heavy backpack in place, I make my way down the road past the revelers and their fireworks.

I stop at the first hotel I see, a fairly nice one, and show the woman at the desk the note the Hump employee gave me. She starts speaking in Chinese and gesturing. I pantomime that I don't understand but she continues to speak and gesture. I point to the note and make a searching look. Her gestures are as mysterious as her speech so I wave goodbye and hope I run into the guest house further down.

Stopping at a small store, two young guys spot my note and send me right back to the hotel I just came! I smile at the receptionist, point to the note and make sleeping gestures. Her return gestures are as mysterious as before. After some effort, I figure out that the hotel is full. I manage to get her to write down the name of another hotel then have her call to make sure there's a room. Success!

Another ten minutes of hiking. People are lined up on the road launching their fireworks into the air. The cars scream in protest as their automatic alarms are triggered every few minutes.

I arrive at the hotel and note that a room is $35USD. That would get me three nights in Myanmar but I was running out of options.

The desk clerk takes my passport and fills the form and then asks for 266 CNY for the room. I have only fifty but pull out two US twenty-dollar notes. She shakes her head and indicates they only take Chinese currency. I point to the cost of the room in US dollars and gesture at the cash. She shakes her head. Then I point to the currency exchange board and gesture that I want to change the USD for CNY. No good. I ask where I can change she writes down something and points up the street from where I just came. There are no places where I can exchange money up that way.

I leave my bags behind the desk and head back up the previous hotel in hopes they might change money. They don't. I wasn't far from the Hump so I continued walking. Sitting on a step, I spot a Caucasian. He's been working in China few a few years and suggests a much cheaper hotel some distance away, but a short taxi ride. Feeling a bit better, I take the stairs up to the hump two at a time.

The desk staff are not exactly eager to change dollars for Yuan. They'll do it if they have to, but at an appalling rate. Just as I agree, an Englishman taps me on the shoulder and says he'll change it for me. He's planning a trip to Vietnam and thinks he might need it. I tell him I'm pretty sure he won't but would really appreciate his help. He's been working in China long enough to have a bank account and gives me 670CNY for my 100USD. Time to celebrate!

I go back to the Hump's terrace and make my first Chinese purchase: a beer. The fireworks continue and the balloons float up into the night sky. Kunming is really modern. The square is surrounded by neon laden shopping malls, hotels and apartment blocks. It's actually quite attractive, but not what I've come to see. I run into a few young Americans teaching up north. They love the place.

Walking back to the hotel where I left my bags, I'm struck by the fact that the Chinese really know how to celebrate new year. They don't have a fireworks show with carefully orchestrated effects in time with music, they just blow stuff up. Every parking lot is a launch platform from which the residence blast skyrockets into the night. We're not talking about the bottle rockets I remember from my childhood, but honest to god rockets that explode. In every direction, the sky lights up with star bursts.

I pick up my bags at the hotel and take a cab on the street. The Hump workers were kind enough to reserve a room at the Camilla, a budget hotel that provides a free breakfast. Outside, they're launching some of the biggest explosives I've seen all night. The highlight is the firecracker chain. I've set off small ones; they're pencil thin firecrackers as long as your pinky. The hotel is going all out. These firecrackers are larger than shotgun shells and make enough racket to wake the dead.

I'm cold.

Bagan Sunset

2009-01-20T06:23:00.002-05:00

While there's no better way to start the day in Bagan than watching the sun rise over the temples, there is no better way to end the day than to watch the sun set over the temples. There's usually a warm haze from the day's heat settling across the plane. Despite the desert conditions at this time of the year, the land is surprisingly green.

From the summit of any pagoda, the event begins as long shadows fall across the land. Soon, the color of the landscape turns to gold.

Once the sun sets behind the mountains in the Chin district, the tourists make their way to their buses, horse-carts and bicycles and head back to their lodgings for dinner. I like to stick around a bit and wait for the encore. The sky glows alight and from the ground the silhouette of the temples provides for extraordinary images.

Bagan Sunrise

2009-01-12T01:51:00.002-05:00

I could barely see my hand in front of my face, but I could detect the stone bulk of the temple, a blackness against the darkness. Fortunately, I could make out the sandy path. I slipped off my sandals and started to climb the stone steps. That part is easy since your hands do the job of finding the way up.

The carriage driver that brought me had to guide his horse with a flashlight. Although there were several temples lit up through the night and the stars were bright, it was still very, very dark.

It was sometime around 5:30 and much too early to be up for the sun rise. There was plenty of activity in the area though; trucks were rumbling along the nearby road and birds called occasionally. I could just make out the Eastern horizon. I set up my tripod and stood there in bare feet, waiting. The horizon changed from deep purple to some shade of red I can't name.

Among the half dozen lit temples, I could make out shapes on the plain; silhouettes of other pagodas and temples. Birds were more plentiful now, and so were the trucks. The landscape slowly transitioned from black to dark purple to blue. Pools of mist flowed between the trees and the light level increased.

The sun seemed to be taking its good sweet time because the whole plane was bright as daylight. Then a bright orange sliver appeared on the horizon and soon formed a crescent. The sun rises and sets fast this close to the equator. Within moments, the orb cleared the horizon and climbed.

I had the pagoda to myself, but eventually a couple of kids had spotted me and started the climb up. They would inevitably be selling postcards. I pulled some candy out of my pocket and gave it to them before they had a chance to start their sales pitch "Today business no good!" Yes, but it's only 7AM.

It took a while before the rays fell on the temples and pagodas, warming them from one side. As the sun rose, so did two balloons. They flew low enough for their baskets to be hidden in the trees - two giant heads walking among the pagodas.

In a few hours the sun will beat down on the landscape and all must seek shelter.

Arriving in Bangkok

2008-12-29T22:36:00.002-05:00

Flying is more an adventure now than it really should be. Going through the security line at 6AM on Christmas morning, I had a feeling I would have to have to tolerate some shenanigans from the staff because my camera bag consisted of a sort of utility belt. The design removes the weight from my shoulders and distributes the weight to my hips, much like a fanny pack. My other carry-on bag was a small cotton tote with my MP3 player and a few books. Sure enough, security claimed that I had too many bags and would have to check-in the "bags" attached to the belt. Thinking ahead, I put a large plastic bag in my tote. I pulled off the belt, dropped in the bag and, as far as security was concerned, I was no longer a threat to the flying public.

The initial leg of the flight was uneventful. I had an eight-hour stopover in Los Angeles. The original plan had me renting a car for the day and driving out to Hollywood, but the rain and cool weather put a damper on that idea so I crashed in the lounge for the day. Not the most productive use of my time, but I was on vacation. After a few hours, I discovered that the lounge had shower facilities; something I greatly appreciated given the long flight to Thailand I'd soon be experiencing.

Whether stepping down the stairs of a small plane or entering the skyway from a jumbo jet, your first impression of a tropical land comes through your nose. While I can not describe it, the smell of Thailand is distinct and the memories of previous trips returned as I made my way though the delightfully modern airport. After clearing customs, I ran the gauntlet of taxi drivers touting overpriced rides into the city and bought my 150THB bus ticket.

Although I had to check in early in the morning, my favorite hotel, the Bangkok JW Marriott, was able to get me into my room right away. I had mixed feeling about the room. It was gorgeous, but a bit small. It also had the typical hard mattress so favored by the Thais. I planned to do some serious sleeping in.

The biggest disappointment was the fact the hotel was doing some renovations and decided the holiday season was the best time to make it happen. The gym, one of my favorites, had been temporarily moved to allow for the installation of new flooring and the executive lounge, my very favorite was closed completely. On the plus side, the closing of the lounge enabled me to eat breakfast in the main restaurant. On the plus-plus side, Chef Dieter was back in Bangkok and in charge of the restaurant.

The Bangkok JW Marriott had my favorite brunch in the world. It was resplendent in every imaginable breakfast dish to accommodate the many nationalities the hotel hosts. Two years ago I stayed at the Jakarta Marriott as was blown away by the quality of the food and service there. I met a chef in the elevator and told him what I thought of the Bangkok Marriott and how impressed I was with his kitchen staff and their work. It turned out that he was the chef that ran the Bangkok Marriott and was now working the Jakarta property! This explained everything. I was delighted to see that he was back in Thailand, but unfortunately he was on holiday during Christmas and New Year.

One evening I got a message that the executive lounge renovation was complete and I was invited to come for breakfast in the morning. It was well worth the wait as the new look of the lounge is simply delightful and the staff were very happy to pose in their updated workspace.