Biking Burma style

Once the water festival was over my main concern was to finalise the process of publishing my book: America – Through a veil of tears. There’d been little or no internet access during the festivities, everywhere was closed down for a week. With relief the pdf was waiting for me, all I needed do was to work through listing all the relevant corrections. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read my own book, but I still found plenty of small mistakes. It wasn’t about rewriting at this stage, the whole book had been typeset for final printing, this was my last chance for getting it perfect. So holing myself up for two days I taxed my brain, and strained my eyes late into the night to get it done. A couple more photos were needed, which proved difficult to upload, by some miracle I actually managed, for the first time since arriving in Burma. I’m buggered if I could do it again for blog photos, amazingly the super slow and unreliable internet connection pulled out all the stops and for a once only opportunity went in my favour. Fortune truly was smiling on my literary attempts. I even got the cover design through and approved that, if I must say myself, it's looking good! (Photo: Typical rural homestead - Northern Myanmar)

As for Mandalay, I’ve largely ignored it. A shame that may be, but I’ve seen too many cities, too many temples, and treated it simply as sorting out the admin of my current life. From Mandalay Hill there are superb views over the whole city, so I was worth a laboriously long haul to the temple at the top. I cheated though, a local guy wanted to escort me up there, so the hour long trek up the hill was managed in 15 minutes on the back of his bike. Sunset from the highest viewpoint around, isn’t that a wonderful way to see a city. Heavy cloud cover spoilt it a touch, but I’m glad I made the effort, it’s my sole concession to sightseeing while here. I’ve made more effort mixing with some of the locals, they appreciated my dancing in the streets, loved me joining in wholeheartedly with dousing all and sundry. The people are an integral part of visiting other countries, I may not have been fortunate enough to be invited into private homes, to share family life with Burmese nationals, but joining in with their celebrations was great fun. (Photo: When you're too poor for a motorcycle - On the Road to Hsipaw, Northern Myanmar)

For my last time on this journey I arranged a motorcycle, a chance to travel independently. Prices are high here, $12.50 a day to hire a poxy little step thru, a glorified moped. As with most of Asia these are what the people rely on most heavily for daily transport. Though there are a few Japanese 125cc trail bikes, they aren’t available to hire, or not that I could obtain. I had to make the most of availability, so I arranged a week’s hire at preferable rates. My plan was simple, to do a circuitous route; north-east from Mandalay to Hsipaw, swing south then west to Inle Lake, and back up to the city. I must admit to being dubious about taking such a machine over the distances involved, but the engine wasn’t that different than what I used to ride the whole of Vietnam, Cambodia and southern Laos. A set of spare clothes was all I took, I had no rain protection, or any for my own safety either. Reckless or not, I rode in shorts and T-shirt, but I at least wore proper shoes, rather than flip-flops. (Photo: Local longhouse - Hsipaw area, Northern Myanmar)

Departure from the city was almost on the dot of 9am, I wanted to give myself plenty of time. The first leg being to Hsipaw I was faced with a journey time of 7hrs, of course with various stops and photo shoots it could prove to be a lot longer. My faith in the bike was minimal, so much so that at first I wouldn’t even fill the tank full, in case I broke down. Mandalay is not too bad as far as city traffic goes, it must be one of the calmest I’ve experienced, if only they’d add the occasional road to give some indication which roads led where. It’s good for showing where tourist sites are, but bugger all else. There again, whereabouts in the UK do road signs offer translations into a foreign language, even for tourist sites? It isn’t hard though, stop and ask, with people as friendly and helpful as the Burmese it’s never a problem. I had to resort to this a few times, but pretty soon I’d left the city far behind and the open road lay in front. (Mountain trail to Namhsan - Northern Myanmar)

For some distance from the urban conurbation the roadside played host to wealth of opportunists, a string of apparently makeshift huts lined the way. Black-market fuel was the dominant product on offer, with fuel rationing this is often the only way to obtain what is becoming a rather expensive commodity, by Asian standards anyway. Snack bars and noodle stores make for the bulk of other business interests. Whole families live in woven bamboo shelters, little bigger than your average garden shed, I’m talking smaller than 3 x 2 metres here. More room is given to lean-to shelters, shade to entice the hungry and weary travellers. They aren’t living in squalor though, I was encouraged to see tidy areas around their living space, though I’m sure hidden from sight are ugly piles of domestic refuse. Burma is one of the worst places I’ve seen for rural waste tips, every hamlet and village is liberally festooned with discarded plastic bags. With a greedy and corrupt Junta as their dictatorship for so long no effort for waste disposal has ever been made. As with countries in this part of the world, it’s an ever present problem. (Photo: The long and winding road - Namhsan, Northern Myanmar)

Pyin oo lwin is supposed to be two hours at most from the city. By the time I passed through it felt I’d been on the road for most the day, without a watch or working speedo it’s very hard to judge time. Thankfully reaching this old colonial hill station was a marked relief, the temperature in significantly less than hot and muggy Mandalay, it wasn’t quite cool enough to add a layer, but it was refreshing. The long and painfully slow climb to get there was draining, the temperature soared, unless I had air brushing past me I was bathed in sweat. No wonder the English used it as a summer retreat, it proved tempting to stop and luxuriate in the coolness. But no I was on a mission to reach a certain destination that day, and reach it I would. On reaching the Goktiel Gorge, where the road plummets through a rapid succession of precipitous switchback, the unbearable heat was back. It was more comfortable riding, it wicked away the sweat, to stop was to melt into the semi-liquid tarmac. I’m only glad traffic wasn’t a problem, the only potentially hazardous part was the trucks and buses on the steep switchbacks. They swing as wide as possible, on every turn, though once I got used to this I began to whip past on the inside of the bend, whichever side of the road it was. (Photo: Mountain top temples - Namhsan area, Northern Myanmar)

I chose Hsipaw for its proximity to mountain villages that retain the same look and traditions as yesteryear. Close to Pyin many of the abodes were wooden framed, with adobe bricks filling between the frame members, they looked like the smaller versions of the Tudor housing we’re so used to in the UK. Even there styles are mixed with the more traditional local styles and materials. Woven bamboo is the most common materials for walls, though thatching seems to depend on the available vegetation. Out on the western plains they used fan shaped palm leaves, most common on this ride was what looked like a very broad leaved grass, which I actually think is the leaves from sugar can. It stands to reason, use what’s readily available, especially if it’s for free. Construction only really changed once past Hsipaw, heading up into the mountains on a very rough and dirty track. At higher altitudes more houses were made of teak, again it was cooler up there, no doubt the whether can become quite inclement at times. However old world these villages are claimed to be though, apart from slightly grubbier and obviously less wealthy there is very little difference between them and the more modern Burmese. Gone are the facial tattoos and distinctive dress, the only thing I really noticed in one area was the wearing of canvas fatigue boots and football socks. I think the football socks are a modern replacement for the decorated leggings quite common with many indigenous peoples around the globe. (Photo: Bamboo raft, it's child's play - Nr Hsipaw, Northern Myanmar)

Any hope of a circuitous route was dispelled on reaching Hsipaw, which is why I took the trouble of the long ride into the mountains. All roads on from Hsipaw are closed due to insurgency, various factions are busy fighting the Burmese army. Not that is mattered, I stayed a few days in Namhsan, a high mountain market town. The folks there don’t get that many foreigners, a trickle is all. Spending my time riding abysmal trails was great fun, only when I came down with cronic diarrhoea were my exploits forestalled. One day of bedrest and a gutful of medication enabled me to make the return trip. I don’t like retracing my footsteps, but it had to be done. Unable to make Inle Lake without returning to Mandalay put me off. I made a snap decision, my last few days in Burma was to be relaxing on a beach within easy reach of Rangoon. I have to fly out in a week, and I deserve a little R&R before returning once more to the UK. (Photo: Stuck in colonial times - Pyin oo lwin, Myanmar)

Oh foolish man, what was I thinking? In too much of a hurry in the city I went out on the bike without a crash helmet, I’d noticed many people doing the same before. But of course that was during the water festival, when anything goes. With dripping wet dreads I simply wanted to blow-dry them. I only got two blocks before the police pulled me over. Amazing, they looked at my documents and let me go. Where in the supposed civilised world could I have gotten away with such flouting of the law? I felt so stupid, the people weren’t actually admiring my flowing dreads, no doubt they were thinking what a prat I was.