Arriving in what was meant to be Kalaw at 3:30am but turned out to be Aungban I grabbed my things from the undercarriage of the bus and took a moment to think on the side of the road. Apparently there had been some miscommunication with the bus driver and we had already passed Kalaw. Unsure of where I was or how far Kalaw actually was all I knew I was somewhere between there and Schwenyuang, the junction to Inle Lake. In the darkness a moto-taxi driver approached me to ask where I was going. ‘Kalaw,’ I said. After a bit of a chit-chat I was able to decipher that Kalaw was only 15kms back the other way... about 20 minutes by motorbike. The chap to my right offered to drive me there for the outrageously inflated tourist-night-price of $5. After paying more than the locals for my bus ticket (pocket money for generals) from Yangon, I wasn’t in the mood for giving my money to people who didn’t deserve it. If I waited till light I would be able to get a pick-up (mini-truck with two metal benches down either side of the tray), shared with about 20 other locals, for about 500 kyats (about 50 cents). Moto-taxis are always more, and especially at the ungodly hour of the morning I had found myself in. So I offered the guy a very modest 1000 kyats.. I’d be lucky if he accepted even in the daytime. Because he felt sorry for me, the bus didn’t drop me off where it was meant to and I was alone, he graciously accepted my offer. I wisely donned my jacket in the crisp mountain air and we set off on our way.
By the time we arrived in Kalaw I was absolutely freezing. Shivering from head-to-toe my moto-driver stopped by a small fire lit on the side of the road by some locals where I could defrost in the pre-dawn darkness. I couldn’t be bothered getting a hotel room so I waited out until first light at a small Nepalese tea shop on the side of the road where I enjoyed (for the first time since visiting Nepal) real chai and freshly cooked samosas.
Most people come to Kalaw to begin a 3 day hike to Inle Lake through traditional Palaung villages and scenic Myanmar country-side. However, the route is set and there are many people hiking it.. I’ve come to realize that this really isn’t my style. I received alternate information from a French couple in Yangon that there was a Nepali family in the hills, 2 hours from Kalaw, that they passed for lunch on the first day of their hike and that it was possible to stay there. So at first light, with nothing but a hand sketched map and a name.. I headed into the mountains beyond Kalaw in search of them.
Passing the wooden buddha pagoda where I needed to make a ‘right’ I was invited to join the monks for tea and breakfast. Locals came in to pay their hommage to buddha and were rather more excited to pose for photos with me.. I was only happy to oblige.
A further hour into the mountains I hoped I would pass some locals who could perhaps point me in the right direction, I was looking for ‘Motie.’ Not passing any villages I wasn’t sure if I had come the right way.. there wasn’t much around but country-side and tiny pagodas dotting the mountains in the distance. I pushed on with the notion that if worse came to worse and I didn’t find them after 2 and a half hours or so I would about turn and head back to Kalaw. A short while later I passed some local women heading into the fields to pick tea. ‘Motie?’ I asked. A perplexed look on their faces. ‘Modee? Motay? Moday?’ I continued. ‘Ugh!’ They nodded and pointed up the hill. ‘Jezubeh!’ Thank-you.
Continuing and further on the road forked left and right. A dilemma in the journey.. because I've done it before, I know how much of a pain-in-the-ass it is to walk for hours in the wrong direction. As I was pondering a famer passed on his horse-drawn cart so I attempted to ask him in which direction I could find the mysterious Motie. This time he understood me immediately and pointed to the left. I smiled, I love it when things just work. Appearing ahead of me was a lone house perched on the side of a hill. This had to be it! And indeed it was. A sign proclaimed Viewpoint: Nepalese resting place.
The clinkering of pots and pans steered me to the kitchen where the family were having breakfast. ‘Mingalaba!’ Hello I proclaimed as I entered to which everyone loudly replied, ‘Namaste!’ ‘Have you had breakfast, please eat!’ Stated Motie’s beautiful wife as I dropped my bag on the dirt floor and parked on a small wooden stool around the open fire. Chai, home-made chapatti, dhal.. it was like being in Nepal again. Only better.
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| The view.. |
I set off for hours into the hills exploring local villages and visiting distant pagodas. The locals always asking, ‘Te?’ as the hold up one finger enquiring if I am ‘only one.’ Nodding and smiling as I raise a solitary finger they always smile back as they give me thumbs up or hold a fist to their chest, strong lady. I found lonely train stations, monks in monasteries atop hills and locals preparing for weddings as I hiked along narrow paths and railway tracks.
Back at the house Motie listens to BBC One as he prepares food and takes a break from chopping firewood. It is in the height of the dry season and the wet season is approaching so it’s important he gets it done this week. Next week he will burn to clean his land in preparation for the fertile seasons ahead. Watching intently as Motie cooks I take mental notes on how to recreate these wonders when I arrive somewhere with a kitchen. We eat banana flower salad, dhal, assorted curries, fruit straight from the tree, chapatti, naan, samosa, fresh milk, home-made tea.. list goes on and on and on and on. ‘Have you seen my Christmas tree?’ He asks. ‘No.’ I reply with raised eyebrows. ‘Ok remind me later tonight to show you my Christmas tree.’
Motie’s family arrived in Myanmar when his grandfather was picked up from the Indian army by the British on their colonization tour of the Indian subcontinent. The family’s old colonial house where the children grew up is still in Kalaw but Motie decided for a more peaceful life in the hills. He is happy to live off his land, make as much money as he needs to survive and support his family and lead a content and peaceful existence. Motie sits and chats with the workers from his fields for cigarettes, beer and sometimes something stronger at the end of a long working day. As friends pop past the house to buy tea you can tell he is a man well respected in the community.
As the sun falls to the horizon the smoky sky turns brilliant shades of pink and red and all is eerily quiet. In the evenings the sky is cluttered with stars. With naught a light source in sight you can see the shape of the hills on the horizon silhouetted by the brightly shining stars. In the distance you can see fire trails burning across cleared farmlands. As I walk back to the kitchen Motie beckons for me to follow him. We walk to the back of the house where he points to the forest and says, ‘There, my Christmas tree.’ Wow, the whole forest is a light with the flickering of fireflies. An absolutely amazing sight.. my eyes fixed as I sit and watch these peculiar wonders of nature.
I was truly touched to meet this amazing family and experience this magical place. Many things learnt and many things shared. A last round of chapatti before I don my backpack, say my see-you-later’s and hot foot back down the mountain. Alone, all my belongings on my back and the wind in my hair.. I’m on the road again, just how I like it.
