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Burma amazes and surprises, beginning what I believe will be a life-long relationship. Wish I had arrived earlier. OK everyone, hold on because this is going to be a long one. I began with the impressions that my friend shared with me — a fascinating landscape that requires significant time and patience, but one that rewards with visual splendor. There is a steady trickle of tourists, more than you would expect in certain areas, and some of the locals have quickly adapted to interaction with tourists, in ways both positive and negative. It is also a vast place, with a population of almost 60 million, and an infrastructure that albeit improving, remains very vexsome to a traveler like me, who prefers to have a plan with advance reservations. I worked with a travel agency to establish the broad outlines of my trip — and to importantly get me flight tickets — which you can not buy online and are actually twice the price if you buy directly from the airlines. But the agency was not able to fill in all my plans, and that proved an adventure, but also part of the experience. Sadly, there is no way for me to describe many of the small details that woven together created the tapestry of my experience there. But I shall endeavor to give you a taste of this place. First a word on the money situation, because that has been much discussed. The official exchange rate is 6. The rate seems to be better in Yangon, less so in smaller cities, and significantly smaller when dealing with individual merchants. So I got in Yangon exchange houses, in Yangon restaurants, but at times had to use a few dollars at rates closer to I incorrectly thought it was like Cambodia, where the dollar is the de facto currency and their rials are used primarily for change. It was one of the most confusing currency situations I have ever been in. And it led me to underestimate the number of kyat I would need — well, that, and the prices in Inle Lake. Overriding all this is the particular rules they have about which bills they will accept. As a general rule, only series and newer bills are accepted. Bills must have no markings, tears, smudges, inkings, folds, etc. And C-notes with CB series numbers are also rejected, because apparently there was excessive counterfeiting a while back. These were rejected — see the tiny marks on the right? I knew this going in, and had prepared by madly withdrawing money via ATMs and exchanging them for dollars, but still ended up with well over a thousand in unchangeable bills. Needless to say, there are no international ATMs and credit cards are not accepted, so the only way to get kyat is to bring dollars. I did get around it a little by pre-booking via internet and getting some hotel vouchers that were charged to my credit card, though I imagine I paid a premium for that as well. The natural cynic and born journalist in me responds to that with a dose of healthy skepticism. Still, there are some realities that reflect the lack of interaction with the West. There is much advertising, but it is essentially stripped of Western brands. You can find colas, but other than some smuggled Coke, you are limited to the local Star, Crusher, Quench and Max Plus. People are inquisitive about your country, and outside the main tourist areas are genuinely open and talkative, eager to practice English and learn why you have decided to come to Burma. Given the incredible difficulty and restrictiveness of the Burmese land borders, almost everyone enters the country in Yangon. Most people use it as a quick transfer point to other parts of the country, but I found it quite fascinating. The vast, ordered grid of streets, a remnant of the colonial period, is enhanced by two large lakes in the northern part, encircled by tree-lined boulevards. Though traffic is busy, it was orderly. Ironically, it has among the cheapest cabs in SE Asia, yet is one of the few cities that has walkable areas. The first surprise was the overwhelming anonymity I felt. Aside from a literal handful of Westerners, you are not only alone, but left alone, save the occasional money changer. Much of the city is lived in the side streets, but even the main arteries are filled with an energy and vigor. Sadly, many of the colonial buildings have been left to crumble, but the City Hall, nestled next to Sule Paya, is impressive. Look at the cars in the picture — you may have owned one 20 years ago. The favored cars on the street are rusting -ed mids Japanese four-door sedans — Toyota, Datsun, etc. Given government taxes, they are surprisingly expensive, and since most are cast-offs from Japan, the steering wheels are on the right side. Unfortunately, since the ruling junta wanted to further distance itself from its colonial past, they also mandated that cars should drive on the right, making for some massive blind spots on the left side of the car. Some buses are also boarded from the streets — but as with most things in Burma, you adjust. I got my first view at night, as it shimmered across the lake near my hotel. Yangon at night is dark — and this dominated the landscape. The brilliance of the stupa is overwhelming, to the point of distraction. Its inaccessibility makes it even more enticing, drawing your eye away from the small temples that ring its exterior, devoted to Buddhas for each day of the week. The good news is that he is the Buddha of contemplation, the bad is that his symbol is the guinea pig. But there are also large-scale projects that seem to have come straight from the pen of a totalitarian architect. One of the local lakes is dominated by the Karaweik Palace, a modern representation of a mythical ship. And after they built it, for good measure they decided to cover it in gold. It served as the backdrop for my dinner both nights in Yangon. Funny view — better food. In Burma, many things leave early — though I did my best to avoid them, some early mornings were inevitable. The first was to get my morning flight to Lake Inle. I asked for a 6am call, but woke at 5am. Turns out I answered the phone at hearing the alarm in the next room — insulation is not a strong suit in Myanmar. There are a surprising number of private airlines in Myanmar — six domestic, not including the state-run and avoided at all costs Myanma Airways. To maximize my time at the lake, I hired a taxi and first went to Pindaya, a cave at 4, feet with over 8, Buddhas, and counting. A little cheesy, but a nice diversion. The trip there and back was beautiful, rolling hills and red dirt, though the road was populated only by farm equipment, motorbikes, the occasional taxi and the preferred mode of transport, water buffalo. But nothing prepared me for Lake Inle. Many of the villages are built on the water, as are their gardens. I found it exceedingly hard to photograph — low, small buildings; tranquil lake; vast sky; stark light; and a persistent haze made it very difficult. The villages, gardens and markets are incredibly picturesque. The iconic image of the lake is of its fishermen. They use nets and baskets to catch the small lake perch, and employ a unique one-legged system of steering and rowing their boats. I admit that I stalked them like some sort of crazed paparazzo. Alas, as with much of Burma, I fear things will soon change. Inle Lake already is almost completely dominated by European tourists. Luckily, hotels are reflective of the indigenous culture and blend well with the landscape. This was the sunset view from my balcony. That, and so much more, will change though. There are already the beginnings of a rather weary market-circuit, with vendors making a beeline to all foreigners, though their pricing and negotiating skills are rudimentary. On my first day, my boat driver suggested an itinerary and I agreed, but after seeing lotus weaving, knifemaking, cigar rolling, silversmithing, boatmaking, paper making, and pottery making, I put an end to all that. And garbage, which on a floating landscape is more obvious, will inevitably increase. Unfortunately, some of the vendors use Paduang women as a lure — the ladies with the brass rings around their necks. Truly depressing site, two older women and two young girls, who do not attend school, making fabrics to lure tourists that want to take their picture. I decided not to take a picture. I resisted, and instead found this young monk. I spent as much time as possible just wandering in the villages, though they can be quite treacherous — with bamboo bridges and catwalks everywhere. I gingerly made my way across one, but almost had to give way to the year-old with a cane and no teeth who threatened to pass me. I also zonked my head pretty severely at one of the local markets — the jagged tin roofs come to about neck level on me, but instead i found a stolid wood beam to leave me a nasty bruise of a souvenir. Create a free website or blog at WordPress. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like Loading Leave a comment Cancel reply. Navigation Previous post. Next post. Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website.

Myanmar/Burma – Yangon and Inle Lake

Buy coke Inle Lake

If you have a question, or want information about yoga retreats or trainings, or to book me for a workshop at your studio, please email me by filling out the contact form. Your name. Your email. Your message optional. Inle lake is 22km long and 12 km wide and situated in northeastern Burma. The lake is home to 17 villages on stilts that are mostly inhabited by the Intha people. There is no shoreline that you can walk around. The water gets shallower and the hyacinths and marsh paddies more dense until the obstacle course becomes unnavigable and you reach solid land. There is a lovely, shady garden area for breakfast, and cocktails where one can lounge on wicker furniture before dinner. A charming French couple, and another French man who was leaving in the morning to do some trekking in the surrounding mountains, were staying there. We had dinner in a great little restaurant where we ate fresh lake fish outdoors in candlelight before catching a shadow puppet play. One can always enjoy good food, conversation and culture with the French, even in the most remote spot. The puppet play was charming and performed by a family who had been doing this for three generations. They also studied Burmese dance, which they were more than happy to demonstrate, and so the puppets moved in that particular style. They also made puppets for sale. The show cost byat 2 USD a person, which was fairly expensive compared to what everything else costs in Burma. Nuangshwe is bustling, dusty 3-road town with lots of little shops selling Burmese necessities, strange medicinal products in pharmacies, clothing stores with colourful Shan handbags worn by the men, bicycle mechanic shops, and teahouses where people relax in the shade and play chess. It was much cooler than Bagan, but still in the mids. People cook strange foods in giant woks outside restaurants; there were skewered chicken and prawn kebabs. I had a papaya lassi in a small teahouse and watched the passersby and listened to the monks chanting in the monasteries, the melodic sound broadcast on to the streets over loud speakers for Full Moon festival. I wandered down to the lakeshore to investigate the boat scene, as it was de rigueur to take a boat ride to villages along the lake. I found a boatman and agreed to take a trip the next day. I spent the late afternoon in a wooden canoe enjoying a 3-hour sunset ride. A woman graciously paddled me down small canals and past rice paddies so I could see traditional village life. I was given a necklace made from a lotus flower. The bud opened the next day. It was the most serene experience. I met another French couple at the monastery and they invited me to join them on their boat in the morning. Also joining us was a somewhat debauched, pierced and tattooed Netherlander, Ingo, who built greenhouses outside Amsterdam and spent the winters touring South East Asia. I swear his name has been branded into my mind for eternity. I think he wished he were still in Thailand as he was bemoaning the lack of nightlife and sex in Burma. He was a good laugh; much needed comic relief. So we set out in a long motorboat at dawn to catch the traditional Inle Lake fisherman, who row their flat-bottomed wooden boats by standing at the stern on one leg and wrapping the other leg around an oar, a strange technique that offers relief to the arms, which are used for rowing for the long journey across the lake. They catch fish in cone-shaped nets. The water was so still that it reflected of the mountains on the shore like a giant mirror. It was living metaphor of what the mind should be like in Buddhist meditation — calm and still- where all thoughts are suspended. Our boatman took us along quiet canals where we saw entire villages of teak and bamboo houses built on stilts. I saw women dressed in their traditional black longyi, tunic and jacket with iridescent blue and pink piping, and red shawls on their heads. We visited a weaving factory where they made silk tapestries, shawls and clothing made from the lotus flower on wooden handlooms. We saw a silver factory where they made tiny fish with gills and segments in the body that created the movement of swimming. Lunch was had in a Chinese restaurant overlooking a canal. I had a cool and fresh coconut juice, in the husk, of course. Ingo had a beer. Then back in the boat, which at this point was very hot in the noonday sun and my French pals shaded themselves under umbrellas. We saw water buffalos lounging in the river and a child crossing the river while standing on the back of these strange beasts! Inle Lake is a bird sanctuary so egrets, herons and warblers are a common site. An hour later we were at the Jumping Cat Monastery where, sure enough, the monks had enough time to train their cats to jump through hoops. We went to visit the Padaung, Long Necked tribe, where women wore brass rings around their necks, elongating them into some ideal of beauty, but unfortunately they had gone back to their village for the Moon Festival. Eventually, we emerged from the winding maze of canals and dense jungle, and arrived at Indein, an ancient place with hundreds of weather-beaten, eroding pagodas. It was a minute walk through a bamboo forest along the river to the site. It sounded like a good idea to us, after all, it was our boat and we could leave when we wanted to. So we hung out under some banyan trees laughing at his stories and drinking cold cokes and beer, probably the two most refreshing beverages in the tropics. And certainly the only place I would drink coke. I asked him how old he was and, of course, he wanted me to guess, imaging him without his beer gut. I thought he was in his early fifties and was being kind by saying he was in his mid-forties. I wanted to tell him to tell him about the benefits of yoga and how his lifestyle, and weight, would eventually take its toll on his body by the time he was 48, but decided to persuade him to join us on the walk to the pagodas telling him it would be a sight that would stay with him for life. Soon we were immersed in small pagodas with Hindu sculptures on the outside and Buddhas inside. There were thousands of them, in Inle-style religious architecture with bells on top in various states of decay surrounding a monastery. I climbed a nearby hill and got a stupendous view of the sunset. Ingo and I shared a taxi to the airport in the morning. Copyright Elton Yoga Site by Samsara. Toggle Navigation Contact. Travels to Inle Lake. June 18, Related Posts. August 3, 2 Comments. July 26, 0 Comments. July 19, 0 Comments. Share this page. Contact Use our contact form. Use our contact form. 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Buy coke Inle Lake