Mandalay & Hsipaw, Myanmar

The night bus isn’t always awesome. Sometimes drop off is in the wee morning hours, the moon barely comfortable in the night sky. Our ride to Mandalay was this way, and although we were fairly comfortable, we awoke more often than normal to ensure we didn’t miss our stop. The driver and his entourage didn’t speak any English, loved the music loud and temperature cold, and failed to suggest we exit the bus at the city center versus outside of town at the ‘bus station.’ It was about 3am when the bus rolled up to the dark and dusty stop and the taxi drivers started their trumpeting. We negotiated a rate, hopped in a cab, and rode to our pre-booked guest house, a cute 6 story building with free breakfast, including a nice pot of coffee, and dark wood everywhere. The hike to our little 6th-floor, fan, twin room was painful on groggy legs with packs on.

Mandalay. How can I nicely explain you? It has everything you hate about a big city without all the things you love to balance it out: garbage everywhere, poor public transportation, uncool architecture, crowded streets, bad traffic. We’ve met a few couples that really loved it here, so I assume we just stayed in the wrong part of town and didn’t get the buzz Mandalay has to offer. Or maybe it’s just not worth a trip…

We spent our few days here strolling through the city, walking to the large Palace in the city center and exploring a few temple complexes (with our kitty friend, of course). One afternoon, we rented a motorbike and rode out of town, traveling through a small village by horse and buggy, dotted with shrines, temples, and old-time charm. We met a sweet little girl who showed me how to pray in the temple, and followed us around as we snapped photos and admired Buddha.

The highlight of Mandalay was an INCREDIBLE whole fish dinner. Another one of those great examples where we pointed to something a local was eating and ordered two. The entire fish was fried, held by the spiny tail fin and dunked into a vat of bubbling hot oil. And it was amazing. I ate every bit, getting equal parts bones and meat in each bite. It was too good to bother me. I think I licked its face just to get some extra goodness.

We grabbed a few beers and rung in the New Year, reflecting on all the amazing things we experienced in 2014. We chatted about our trip, what we liked and what more we wanted to do, played a few card games, and went to bed before the clock stuck midnight to prepare for our 3am wake up call to catch a train. We kissed our last kiss for 2014, high-fived for a pretty stellar year, and slept a few hours before that annoying buzz yelled ‘GET UP!’

We opted to walk to the train station, even in the middle of the night, since it was so close to our place. A mangy dog started tailing us shortly after we turned out of our place, trotting along as we went. I eventually relaxed around the dog, who we named something clever but I can't remember, and enjoyed the company. He guarded us the entire way, yelping at other, nastier street dogs, wagging his tail as Will chatted with him. He walked us into the terminal and looked on until we got to our platform. He was a sweet dog, reminding me not every K9 is scary.

Although there are faster ways to travel to Hsipaw (pronounced SEE-PAW), we opted to take the 12-hour train cutting north through the country side. It was an incredibly beautiful ride, stopping at little towns to allow vendors to hop on and off, hawking their homemade meals to hungry riders and hot coffee and tea to sleepy heads. We grabbed a delicious meal of sticky rice and chicken, a spicy plate of fried noodles, and a few rounds of hot, sweetended condensed milky to-go coffees to keep us refreshed.

The train is old, very, very old, and the tracks are in pretty terrible confitions. There were times where we bounced so much that riding a galloping horse would have felt smoother. The cars rocked so violently that looking between two cars made you sure one woud fly of the track, swaying the opposite way of it’s connected partner and jumping on the tracks.

The highlight of the trip is a large, very deep gorge. The train stops before crossing the bridge for riders to take photos of its beauty and locals and other travelers stop by to take photos of the riders as they embark on what very well could be their last train ride ever. I haven’t heard of any fatalities or trains derailing, but the thought crossed my mined as the train creeped across the bridge. It had been so bumpy I was shocked we made it this far without jumping off the track.

We arrived in Hsipaw and followed a group to a hostel we’d read about, rushed to the front of the check-in line to ensure we could get a room, got settled and freshened, and starting planning something to do. We had heard it was beautiful here, but hadn’t made any plans. Since we were stuck in Bagan for longer than we scheduled, we didn’t have many days in Hsipaw, but trekking through the mountains and small villiages seemed like the big and highly enjoyable thing to do. We debated a few routes as we walked to dinner.

We reached an intersection and turned right (or left, I can’t recall, but bear with me, as it doesn’t matter which way we initially turned). I don’t remember why, but we ended up turning around and walking the other direction. As we strolled down the street, we saw two familiar faces sitting under a pop-up tent ‘bus stop,’ waiting for a night bus to take them to their next destination. I was in total awe to see Shakira and Tony, our friends from Bagan who we missed for dinner! We hugged and exchanged hearty hellos, laughing about our total mishap and pleased to run into each other again. I thanked them profusely for suggesting the sun rise spot in Bagan. We caught up quickly, laughed over my accidental search for a “Shakira in the UK" as they are Australian, not Brittish (oops...), and exchanged contact information. They suggested we book the tour guide who just led them on an amazing overnight trek through mountains. We took his card, wished them well, and parted ways again.

We got a hold of Axsai (pronounced Ah-Sigh), who came to meet with us at the guest house. Unfortunately for us, he had been booked for this weekend by a private French group, who had called him a YEAR ago to confirm his availablility after a successful hike years ago. But we were able to map out a little impromptu, custom tour plan; Axsai would walk us through town, then up the first part of the ascent. We would part ways after a rest in a small town he liked, then follow his hand drawn map and verbal directions to find the family that “would know it was us when we told them Axsai sent us.” We would spend the night with them, then hike back along a similar path, taking an easier, road-side route at the base of the mountain.

We rose before Mr. Sun, got dressed, packed the day pack with a few essentials, dropped our packs at the front desk for safe keeping, and were on our way. Axsai brought us all over Hsipaw, showing us the wealthy Chinese houses with covered windows “so no one knows how much money they have” and poorer Burmese homes. Concrete for Chinese. Bamboo for Burmese. It quickly became easy to tell the difference.

We stopped to smell fresh lemongrass, pick sticker plants (that stick to your shirt like a sticker, of course!), and take a mini tour of the towns noodle factory. We watched as the few men washed, ground, pressed, stretched, dried, flattened, cut, packaged, and boxed glorious rice noodles, ready to ship 20 in a box for about $1 per package.

Axsai talked the whole time. About his wife, his life, how he got started as a tour guide. He wasn’t planning to lead treks through Hsipaw. It started as a favor to a friend who needed someone familiar with the area and evolved into a way that allowed him to learn and improve his English and make a living being outdoors, doing something he’s passionate about. Axsai’s English is wonderful, and he understands humor and sarcasm very well. He cracked a few great jokes along the trek, making the steep parts less daunting and the hot hot heat feel a little friendlier.

We saw fields for rice, watermelons, and peppers. We learned a story that Buddha told a water buffalo humans only needed to eat once every three days, but the water buffalo mixed up the message, relaying to the humans that they should eat three times a day. As his punishment, the water buffalo would become a service animal, helping humans plow their fields to harvest all the food they would now be consuming from his mistake.

We stopped at a little home surrounded by rows of crops ready to harvest and snacked on bananas in the shade. Axsai handed me a banana with one peel but two crescents of sweet fruit inside. I took a bite as he explained Myanmar women avoid these because it’s said to encourage fertility for twins. I was hungry, so I ate the twin banana, thinking maybe 1 pregnancy and two babies would be a good deal. Who doesn’t love a little 2 for 1 special? Twins run in Will’s and my family. We’ll have to see if the banana cranks the odds up a notch!

It felt like the chorus of “Over the River” as we hiked through the woods, heading to some little old woman’s house far away. We made it to our rest stop, a little farmhouse in a small mountainside villiage, and had some roasted mung beans and tea. Will hadn’t been feeling the greatest, so he passed on the tea and ate very little beans. I helped myself to enough for both of us, and we parted ways with Axsai, trekking the remainder of the way on our own.

Somewhere after a steep climb and around the time we thought it was taking too long and we must be lost, Will’s stomache pains got worse and mine started to rumble. We moved on, not thinking too much of it but hoping we would make it the summit quickly and cool off.

Finally saw the sign to the little town. We marched right through the gate and started looking for a family waiting our arrival, sitting on their porch with open arms. With no such luck, we started asking around for the family, and were pointed to their door.

Neither the woman who ran the house or her children spoke much English, and honestly I do not think they were expecting us. After a little back and forth, they served us an enormous home-cooked meal of curries, rice, Burmese tofu, and all the fixings to go along with it. It looked like what Thanksgiving may have looked like if the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria made it to Burma instead of North America (which actually would have been a much more accurate voyage based on the original journey plans).

Will was feeling worse, pushing his food all over his plate, trying to make it look like he ate. I ate what I could, but my stomach was also feeling quite rumbly. We both spent some time in our hosts out-house. Luckily, I didn’t notice the giant spider until I finally departed…

We took a little nap on the porch, as another set of travelers were in the house as well. I wasn’t sure where we would sleep, but we didn’t have a bed at this point for a mid day nap. Who knew where we would be sleeping that night.

Will awoke feeling a little bit better, and we decided to follow the sounds of screaming and laughing kids to find some play time. We meandered through the windy dirt roads until we stumbled upon the school. The family that was also at our home stay was there. Will joined in an epic game of football (soccer), but elected to watch the net, as the little he ate for lunch wasn’t enjoying running.

We slowly headed back home after school was let out. I explained to the nice woman again that we were staying the night, and asked where we could sleep. The woman gestured we would go someplace else, that it would be the “same same” as the current place. Somehow we figured out her sister lived nearby, and before we could amply show our gratitude, we were confusedly being whisked off by a gregarious and outgoing woman, who although spoke little English, loved chatting with us and was very animated. She brought us to her home, served us tea and snacks that we secretly put back into the bag or dumped out the window, no joke, since we felt so ill, and faked smiles as she talked about her son who was at university and spoke good English. She was such an interesting woman, and I loved hearing her stories, we just slowly started feeling worse, especially Will, so it was getting painful to act alert and interested.

She brought us to the temple, where only men could approach the alter, and practically shoved Will to join the monks in prayer and song. And as quickly as she rushed us in, she rushed right out, saying the young neighbor girl she brought with would show us where to go next.

After a while, the little girl nudged us to go, which we happily did, ready to relax and recover, and followed her through the windy streets to another house, this time our final resting place for the day.

A beautiful, young, and shy woman met us. I am not sure if she was a sister of the first two woman or a niece, but she cooked, cleaned, lived, and helped keep house for the sweet, smiley, wrinkled old woman who was the head of the household. We walked into a humble home, one large room wall-papered with family photos and pop-star posters. A small kitchen jutted out from the back, where a small fire was the only means of cooking. A curtain on the other side of the room divided a small bedroom from the open area. One entire wall was dedicated to a prayer shrine, filled with offerings, incense, and candles. There was a nice front deck, and the entire home was on stilts. A large yard had a few herbs and veggies ready for harvest, and straw trays of hot peppers were drying in the sun.

We immediately were offered chairs and tea was rushed to greet us. Will slowly dumped his out, attempting to avoid any offense for not drinking, and I sipped a bit at a time. We quickly located the outhouse, and took turns getting to know it well. I was pretty uncomfortable, but Will was getting worse. Pale and clammy, his stomach was not enjoying our trip, almost as much as Will wasn’t enjoying his frequent outhouse runs. As the family prepared dinner, cleaned the yard, and repeatedly refused my offers to help, we sat and watched the sun set, experiencing life in the quaint little mountain top town, enjoying as best we could with grumbling, upset stomachs.

By dinner, Will was a disaster. He didn’t eat a bite. He begged me to help, eat a little more, as the family had prepared a beautiful feast for us. They had eaten earlier, simple rice and potentially nothing else, and sat eagerly, watching us stare with lackluster at this beautiful meal. Will’s eyes were full of sorrow, feeling horrible at the thought that the family would think he wasn’t enjoying himself. We faked it as best we could, messed up our plates like picky eaters forced to eat green beans, and somehow made it through dinner.

We were exhausted, still making frequent trips to the outhouse, grateful they at least had toilet paper. After the family cleaned up dinner, they brought a dessert of dried bananas and mixed nuts, made a big bed for us in the living room, and we all sat together, Will playing with the young girl, and the family exchanging friendly conversation. After a while, another sister came to see her mother, and we learned their were 6 girls in the family; 4 still living in the town and 2 that moved away. Their father had died (I think…) and this sweet old woman, the matriarch, was the boss now. You could tell she was a hard worker, still performing physical labor and yard work with her hunched back and crippled hands. She was still strong, both in body and mind, and didn’t skip a beat of her normal routine, even with guests. She prayed, cooked, ate, and relaxed as if we weren’t even there. It was so nice to just be with her. Her eyes were wise. She was a beautiful woman.

The moon shone brightly and the stars were impeccable. As much as we loved this journey and experience, we craved sleep. Dehydrated and wanting to let our guards down and be alone, we couldn’t help but laugh when the family circled around the old TV on top of a dresser, hooked it up to a car battery, and started playing a Myanmar DVD. It was something like you would see in a museum, “A brief History of Myanmar” with tourism and cultural factoids. Luckily, the family fast-forwarded to their favorite parts, quickly progressing to the musical performance section. The highlight was a little Burmese rapper who rapped “H-I-P-H-O-P HIP-HOP” in English. Every time this part of the song was rapped, big eyes and big grins shined back at us. “Do you see this?! See, we know English too!” We laughed and nodded along, encouragingly. When they turned back around, our eyelids struggled to stay open, and our heads bobbed as sleep started to win.

Around 11pm, the mom/grandma/cute old woman signaled it was bed time, and the little girl who showed us the way, the shy young woman, and the old woman departed together behind the curtain and went to bed. Will and I climbed under all the blankets, snuggled close, and tried to stay warm. Neither of us slept well.

In the middle of having our breakfast prepared, we quickly departed, barely explaining why we were rushing off, and although the women tried to help by offering a red powder medicine, letting me know she knew we were having issues by her charades act of something shooting out of both ends, we gave much gratitude and left ASAP. We passed some school kids on our way out of town. This cutie punched WIll in the stomach. Bad move, kid...

The hike down was long. And bad. And, instead of sharing the graphic and humiliating details of what happened on that little Burmese mountain, I’ll leave you with this:

Make what you will of it.

From Hsipaw, with Love,

Sara + Will