Myanmar (Burma), Kyaikh Tyo
03/12/04 Filed in: Travel
Being 'hand made' often invokes thoughts of special
little differences that make something unique.
Usually this is a good thing, not so with most of the
hand made roads in Myanmar. Roads here are built
mostly by hand, breaking and hauling baskets of rock,
cooking hot tar in small wood heated drums along the
side of the road, poured one bucket at a time.
This morning we're in the best worn out old Nissan
taxi we could hire. Rather than rolling down the
road, it's more like being beaten and dragged,
reluctantly, across an irregular, bumpy,
rock-protruding surface.
It's a four hours drive, with no air conditioning, to the place where we catch the bus up the mountain to Kyaikh Tyo (pronounced, Chai Tyo). Fortunately, the company is good (my friends Garry and Lay Wah) with plenty to see along the way. Just a little way outside Yangon the rice paddies begin to dot the landscape with the occasional small village of thatched houses. And of course, pagodas and other interesting spiritual icons spring up out of every little village and field. Further along, the fields disappear and are replaced with forests of teak and rubber trees, until finally we begin to see low rolling mountains on the horizon. Stopping at a small street market in one little village for lunch we are quickly surrounded by children, baskets on their heads. They all want us to buy some of their dried black peppers, fruits or veggies.
When finally we reach the small town where we'll catch our bus I see that it's not a bus at all, but a large open heavy truck, already being packed with people. Since it's really hot and the open truck is so over crowded we are "invited" to ride up front with the driver. The invitation costs us only few thousand extra Kyat and we're in and on our way up the mountain. It's a 45 minute ride of twists, hairpin turns and very steep grades (no guard rails) to the next station where everyone disembarks.
From here it's still another 45 minutes to an hour climb up the mountain. The twists and turns continue, as do the very steep grades, but now on foot in the heat. A small group of porters follow us and constantly ask if we want them to carry us on their bamboo palanquins. No, we tell them confidently, we can make it. But after each additional series of steep hills Lay Wah asks us to wait so she can catch her breath. Myself, I'm also happy for the break and a chance to wipe away the sweat that's now pouring in streams down my face, neck and back. Occasionally a porter will pass us carrying one or even two children in a bamboo basket strapped to his head and shoulders. Or we'll see someone being carried down the mountain on one of the bamboo palanquins, looking ever so pleased to let someone else do the work.
Numerous stops later we congratulate ourselves on reaching the top, totally exhausted and just able to find our little hotel perched on the side of the mountain. From here its just steps away to the entrance of the Kyaikh Tyo compound and the massive golden rock that balances precariously on the edge of the mountain. Even here, on top of the mountain, there are thousands of pilgrims and monks who have come from all over. A small group of monks from Vietnam ask me about where I'm from and are surprised and pleased to hear that I teach meditation and am from a community that has so many people meditating. One can feel a deep sense of quiet here and after walking around a bit we decide to meditate near the edge where the rock is situated. The experience, we all agree, was most profound, like a blessing, and more than worth the arduous trip up here.
The following morning after breakfast we hike back down the mountain, thankfully much easier than coming up. But at the place where we catch the truck back to the village we find that as soon as a truck arrives it is immediately swarmed with people going back and even the front seats are sold out. Fortunately, Lay Wah finds one truck operator that says they'll try to squeeze us in the back.
Climbing up tall makeshift wooden steps we are greeted by what appears to be an already crammed full seating area. But soon tiny spaces are cleared and we wedge ourselves as tightly as possible between the other passengers, who greet us with typical warm smiles.
Sitting
now pressed hip to hip on heavy rough wooden planks,
only 2" X 4" wide, our knees pressed firmly
against the back and sides of the person in front
(and someone against you from behind) there is
nothing to hold onto, except each other. As the
truck pulls away slowly from the dock it seems just
another 45 minute ride in the back of a big truck
filled to capacity with total strangers. But only a
moment later the driver, obviously his first time
driving, slams on the brakes and everyone lunges hard
forward against each other in a heap. The
little board I'm sitting on does not allow any
balance for my much larger frame and I am thrust
under the woman in front of me with my hands coming
to rest firmly on her backside. As everyone collects
themselves the woman in front turns around, gives me
a look that says 'you do that again and my husband
beside me will have at you. Then, suddenly, the
truck lurches forward, everyone falls backwards and
the woman in front is now in my lap with her hands on
my legs. Her husband looking on, very surprised. But
before anyone has a moment to collect themselves the
truck is again lurching and stopping in fits. The
driver now able to continue his drivers lesson, we
careen wildly down the mountain.
Out of a sense of self-preservation I'm able, with one hand, to reach under and grab the 2x4 plank under the woman in front of me. Obviously not an appropriate thing to do under normal circumstances but at this point its every man for himself (the woman glancing back and forth between her husband and myself). After a while the situation becomes so totally ridiculous that we are all laughing uncontrollably, literally in each others arms, and alternately on their backs. For the next 45 minutes we are continuously tossed about like so much loose baggage as we wind our way down the mountain in ever-increasing fits and starts.
All I can tell you is that to have reached the bottom alive and in one piece we must have received a really good blessing at the top.
Please check out all the photos on my SE Asia Portfolio page available at NavaSwan.com
It's a four hours drive, with no air conditioning, to the place where we catch the bus up the mountain to Kyaikh Tyo (pronounced, Chai Tyo). Fortunately, the company is good (my friends Garry and Lay Wah) with plenty to see along the way. Just a little way outside Yangon the rice paddies begin to dot the landscape with the occasional small village of thatched houses. And of course, pagodas and other interesting spiritual icons spring up out of every little village and field. Further along, the fields disappear and are replaced with forests of teak and rubber trees, until finally we begin to see low rolling mountains on the horizon. Stopping at a small street market in one little village for lunch we are quickly surrounded by children, baskets on their heads. They all want us to buy some of their dried black peppers, fruits or veggies.
When finally we reach the small town where we'll catch our bus I see that it's not a bus at all, but a large open heavy truck, already being packed with people. Since it's really hot and the open truck is so over crowded we are "invited" to ride up front with the driver. The invitation costs us only few thousand extra Kyat and we're in and on our way up the mountain. It's a 45 minute ride of twists, hairpin turns and very steep grades (no guard rails) to the next station where everyone disembarks.
From here it's still another 45 minutes to an hour climb up the mountain. The twists and turns continue, as do the very steep grades, but now on foot in the heat. A small group of porters follow us and constantly ask if we want them to carry us on their bamboo palanquins. No, we tell them confidently, we can make it. But after each additional series of steep hills Lay Wah asks us to wait so she can catch her breath. Myself, I'm also happy for the break and a chance to wipe away the sweat that's now pouring in streams down my face, neck and back. Occasionally a porter will pass us carrying one or even two children in a bamboo basket strapped to his head and shoulders. Or we'll see someone being carried down the mountain on one of the bamboo palanquins, looking ever so pleased to let someone else do the work.
Numerous stops later we congratulate ourselves on reaching the top, totally exhausted and just able to find our little hotel perched on the side of the mountain. From here its just steps away to the entrance of the Kyaikh Tyo compound and the massive golden rock that balances precariously on the edge of the mountain. Even here, on top of the mountain, there are thousands of pilgrims and monks who have come from all over. A small group of monks from Vietnam ask me about where I'm from and are surprised and pleased to hear that I teach meditation and am from a community that has so many people meditating. One can feel a deep sense of quiet here and after walking around a bit we decide to meditate near the edge where the rock is situated. The experience, we all agree, was most profound, like a blessing, and more than worth the arduous trip up here.
The following morning after breakfast we hike back down the mountain, thankfully much easier than coming up. But at the place where we catch the truck back to the village we find that as soon as a truck arrives it is immediately swarmed with people going back and even the front seats are sold out. Fortunately, Lay Wah finds one truck operator that says they'll try to squeeze us in the back.
Climbing up tall makeshift wooden steps we are greeted by what appears to be an already crammed full seating area. But soon tiny spaces are cleared and we wedge ourselves as tightly as possible between the other passengers, who greet us with typical warm smiles.
Out of a sense of self-preservation I'm able, with one hand, to reach under and grab the 2x4 plank under the woman in front of me. Obviously not an appropriate thing to do under normal circumstances but at this point its every man for himself (the woman glancing back and forth between her husband and myself). After a while the situation becomes so totally ridiculous that we are all laughing uncontrollably, literally in each others arms, and alternately on their backs. For the next 45 minutes we are continuously tossed about like so much loose baggage as we wind our way down the mountain in ever-increasing fits and starts.
All I can tell you is that to have reached the bottom alive and in one piece we must have received a really good blessing at the top.
Please check out all the photos on my SE Asia Portfolio page available at NavaSwan.com