With my food poisoning cleared up, I celebrated the best way I know how: drinking beer. The hostel had organised a game of bingo for the guests, so with drink in hand, I sat down to play.

“32”

“No”

“16”

“No”

“74”

“No”

And so it went on. After three rounds of the game, I had failed…spectacularly, on the final round only getting one number. Nonetheless, I was in high spirits and good company. We made our way to a restaurant only a few steps from the hostel.

I didn’t expect the chaos that would ensue.

An American in our party was suffering from an unfortunate bout of being too drunk and spent most of the meal sat quietly in her chair.

“Please drink some water” the three of us closest to her urged. “You will feel terrible if you don’t”

“I want to be sick”

“Better to drink some water”

Eventually she made her way to the bathroom as the waiters were bringing out the food (and some more water)

CRASH

“What was that?”

It sounded as if a plate had been broken. If only it had been. As our drunken friend emerged and returned to the table, she made great use of the passive voice to absolve herself of the blame.

“The sink fell.”

To skip over the evening and get back to the beauty of Bagan, I’ll just say this: She had to pay 20,000 kyat (£10). When we got back to the hostel, she went straight to bed and looked a little worse for wear the following day. The rest of us stayed up and spoke for a few hours before going to bed.

*

At 7:30AM, I woke for breakfast. The hostels in Myanmar seem to offer some excellent breakfasts and this was no exception: eggs, rice, toast, jam, butter and watermelon, as well as tea, coffee and juice, plus some strange sweet-salty rice cracker.

After a quick breakfast we jumped on our e-bikes and began to explore Began. The city puts restrictions on foreigners’ use of scooters and we are limited to these e-bikes. As we made our way out of the city toward the temples though, we could talk quite easily to one another.

At our first temple our guide gave us a deluge of information.

“There are normally four entrances for the four Buddhas, but this one has five. One extra for the Buddha that will come. Now, explore the temple, take some pictures and I’ll meet you back at the bikes”

Viktoria and I, as you may know, quite enjoy our photography.

“Okay. I need you to take a picture. Hold the camera here. I’ll stand there”

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

“How do they look?”

“Yeah. They’re okay. I’ll be able to edit them”

“What do you think of this one?”

“Oh yeah, it’s really beautiful”

After many many photos, we left the temple only to be greeted by our guide shouting at us to get on our bikes..the whole group was waiting for us. Through their helmets I could feel their stares and glares cutting into us. As quick as we could, we jumped on our bikes and followed the pack to the next temple.

As always, we slipped off our shoes and ascended the staircase. At the top, I expected to see a beautiful view of Bagan; the temples cuddles by trees. Instead, there were several people selling pictures, cloths and some children with hand-drawn postcards.

“No thank you.”

“Oh, it’s very beautiful.”

“But no thank you.”

The landscape was amazing, but the experience was ruined by all these people trying to sell things.

*

“I bought something…” As I was stood by my bike waiting for the rest of the group to return, I turned to see Viktoria holding a shining pair of blue trousers.

“They’re really nice, but do you have space for them?”

“Yeah….I know…”

Our next temple had an interesting story behind it. Built by the king to be the biggest in all of Bagan, he chopped of the hands of the builders so as to prevent such a similar temple being built.

Oh, and he killed his dad…

…and his older brother…

…and his wife.

Very Game of Thrones.

The interior was sealed off from the public, and as in Hpa-An, bats could be seen and heard overhead.

As we got back on our bikes, I was beginning to feel my tiredness creep up on me. I really needed some energy in my body. Fortunately, when we arrived at the Ruby Temple, our guide gave us ten minutes to stock up on snacks, have a quick toilet break and grab a coca-cola. Never before have I felt so relieved to drink a coca-cola. Immediately, I perked up and enjoyed the stroll around this temple.

A few more photos and our guide took us on a long bike ride, over some bumpy dirt paths, until we reached a corner. I was near the back of the line, but could see something was wrong: everybody had stopped. As I rounded the corner, I saw the reason why: horses and carts, carrying a large group of tourists, were travelling toward us. The road was narrow, so we pulled our bikes up off the road and on to a field, before the 20 or so carriages passed.

Eventually, we reached a white temple eager to explore. It had been the longest ride we’d had yet and we wanted to see something different. The temple was built not by the Burmese, but by Indians, so was reminiscent of my time in Rajasthan. In the burning sun, we tried to take a few photos, but could only stand on the ground for a few seconds before pain surged in the soles of our feet.

We explored the temple, but at one point I got separated from the others. Initially, I followed my intuition, circling around the temple to where I assumed the guide had led the others, but I only ran into a few more lost travellers. We discussed it for a minute, before deciding on waiting outside this part of the temple, hoping, praying that he would return.

But he didn’t…

“They could all be waiting outside for us…”

“Hmmm. If they’re not, we can wait for them there.”

We hurried out of the complex, through a closed indoor market, until we found our companions waiting at the bikes!

“LUNCHTIME!” shouted our guide excitedly. We took our bikes along the road losing the others again after one corner. Luckily, our guide came and found us very quickly this time. We sat down to enjoy a delicious mix of vegetarian food, including, for the first time in a long time, guacamole.

“Holy guacamole!” I joked as I saw the huge plate of the green ambrosia.

“You’ve been waiting to say that since you ordered it, haven’t you?”

“No….not at all…”

Along with my dip, I ate a veggie burger, filled with spice, potato and a variety of vegetables (of course). And, naturally, I had another coca-cola; my energy had dropped again. During the lunch, I managed to offend an Italian several times, with my take on her national cuisine.

“I don’t put tomatoes into the bolognese”

“….” Her eyes were filled with that Italian fire.

“Oh, and I put the pasta in cold water.”

“…..” She reached for her fork, almost certainly wanting to kill me.

“I put spinach and pesto together”

“What is wrong with you?” She queried, showing both anger and sympathy for my foolishness.

Our final destination was a temple recommended by our guide as a great place to watch the sunset. With apprehension, I took out my phone and saved it for later. Perhaps, I will watch a sunset here, but not today.

*

That’s it for part 1, but stay tuned for part 2!!! Thank you for reading. If you’ve enjoyed it, please share, like or leave a comment!

Warning: This post is going to describe some of the negative sides of travelling and will at parts be ‘disgusting’. Please don’t let this put you off or make you think that I’m unhappy with my decision to travel. These things happen, you deal with them and you get on with your trip. So…without further ado…

*

“Sorry, I’ve taken someone else. I’ll cancel it now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We’ve got to get to our bus, which is over an hour away and you’re cancelling the trip only now? I looked down at my phone. He still hadn’t cancelled it.

“Can you cancel it, please?”
“Yes, yes. Cancel now.” At least his English was clear enough that we didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to decipher what he was saying.

I should have realised that this was not the worst thing to happen on this leg of the journey.

*

“Where is he?” Viktoria, who I’d met a couple of days before, was travelling with me to Bagan. Our re-arranged taxi had missed our street and gone down the next one, only to turn back on himself.
“Let’s just walk up there and wave at him when he comes past.” The road I was referring to was only a few steps away, but Viktoria had several bags, so it wasn’t exactly easy to transport all our stuff. Fortunately, another guest at the hostel saw our plight and eased the burden.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” said the taxi driver, smiling all the while as he loaded our backpacks into the taxi. “Bus station?”
“Yes, yes. Bus station.”

*

“Man Shwe Pyi” said the taxi driver, pointing at a dilapidated garage at Yangon’s main bus station.
“Thank you so much.” We’d managed to arrive on time. In fact, we were 55 minutes early. Maybe, things are going to be okay.

They weren’t…

“No ticket.”
“But we’ve bought the ticket. Look, we have an invoice”
“No ticket. No seat.”
“How? We paid for the seats yesterday. The money is gone.”
“Here,” The woman at the counter passed me a phone, corded and incredibly quiet. On the other end was a man who spoke pretty good English, but that’s about the only complement I could give him.

“We do not have a confirmation from you.”
“But the money is not in my account. We bought the tickets.”
“But there are no seats”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“There are no seats…”
“Then what can we do?”
“There are no seats…”

He was useless and of no help. Over the next 45 minutes I tried calling the company that had sold me the tickets online, Viktoria and I both spoke to the man and worst of all, our bus left.

We were stuck at Yangon bus station at 9PM in the rain.

*

“So what now?” Our backpacks were sat outside the sales centre. We were covered by one metre of roof as the rain poured down harder and harder.
“Maybe there’s another company?” As Viktoria stood guarding the bags I darted around the various agencies. At first I had the patience to say “Hello”, smile, “Do you speak English?” “No? Hmm…. Bus? Mandalay? Bagan?”

Every time I was met with “No”, a smile and a shake of the head (or hand once or twice). By the sixth agency, I was down to “Mandalay? Bagan?” But always the same result. Except for once, when the guy at the counter promisingly responded with “Bagan – yes”

EXCELLENT!

“Oh, no. No ticket today.”

…

When I returned to Viktoria, I found her craving a cigarette, and eager to leave Yangon more so than me. Our options seemed to be:

1. Go back to the hostel, sleep and hitchhike to Mandalay or Bagan the next day (all the buses were sold out for the next few days)
2. Get a bus anywhere
3. Hitchhike in the pouring rain

So what do you think we chose dear reader? I’ll give you a moment to think…

…

..

.

We chose to hitchhike in the rain. We got our bags and walked toward the highway, trying to make sure that none of our electronics would get wet, eventually finding a woman who looked to be selling food and had a cover to keep our bags dry.

“No.”

Could things really be getting this bad? Was she really not going to let us keep our bags here as we hitchhiked (well, tried to).
“No food.” AHHHHHHHH!!!! PHEWWW!!!!

We stood out in the road with our thumbs out, the rain coming down on our coats, our smiles waining. Over the next ten minutes, several people who had been eating at this lady’s restaurant were kind enough to help us, trying to stop any bus that came past. Eventually, after 20 minutes a bus stopped, going to Mandalay. After a tough conversation, we found out that there was only one seat available.

“We are not splitting up. I can’t leave you here by yourself. Besides, you’re the one that really wanted to leave Yangon. You go.” said I.
“No. Don’t be stupid. You get on. I can get a ride easily.”
“I’m sure you can, but we are not separating. What happens if you get stuck here. No”
“Stop wasting time. Just get on.”
“No. You get on!”

Looking back, I can’t believe that either of us wanted to stay at this highway in the middle of the night in the rain, but fortunately, we didn’t have to.
“One in the chair, one on the floor” we asked. The driver hesitated, unsure whether he should allow us to do this, but after a few seconds we got the “okay” we’d been dreaming of and excitedly loaded our backpacks on to the bus. In the madness, we forgot to get any warm clothes. If you’ve read my previous posts, you’ll know how freezing cold these Asian buses can be.

We got on, the rain dripping from our clothes all over the bus, possibly on to some poor passengers who had hoped to sleep. Looking at the available choices, I took the ledge at the very back of the bus, while Viktoria took the seat. The two men on the seat on the other side smiled and tried to talk with us, but alas, neither of us speak Mandarin, except for a “hello” and “Chinese?”

I tried to lay down at the back, folding my raincoat into a pillow and using a blanket provided by the bus as my make shift bed. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

*

“You must get off.” I glanced down at my phone: 01:00 AM.
“Huh?” We said simultaneously, sleepy and without energy.
“Thirty minutes. Everybody off”
“Please. We just want to sleep”
“No no” he smiled.

Begrudgingly we got off the bus, the door closing behind. Words cannot explain the hate we were feeling in that moment, but looking at each other we both knew we were regretting our decision to board this bus. Viktoria definitely felt worse than me though. When I came back from the bathroom, I saw her sat like a frog at the side of the road.

“Is everything okay?”
“No. Not really. There is something in my throat. I think I have to throw up.” She turned around again, back into the froggy pose and put her fingers down her throat. I heard what happened, and unfortunately caught a glimpse of it too: the lunch…not a good omen.

When we finally got back on the bus, we decided to switch ‘seats’, with me taking the proper chair and Viktoria taking the ledge, as I couldn’t sleep on it with my back issues and Viktoria finding the ledge more comfortable. Finally, we could get some sleep.

*

“We’re here”
“Are we close?”
“Yeah, maybe 10 minutes” Outside, I could see a city shrouded in greyness. Slowly we meandered down the muddy road toward the bus station.

“I really need the bathroom. Like….really need the bathroom” I knew instantly that, much like Viktoria, I had got food poisoning and my stomach was unimpressed. I packed my things up frantically, and made my way to the front of the bus, ready to be the first one off. When we eventually stopped, I ran to the inside of the agency and into their bathroom. I’ll spare you the details.

*

Over the next two hours I would run in and out of that bathroom, turning it into a second home of sorts, all the while considering what exactly to do and how we could make our way to Bagan. When I felt better, I explored the station, but the next bus for Bagan was not for another 3 hours.

“Hitch?”
“Okay. Let’s make a sign.” As I ran back to the bathroom one last time, Viktoria enlisted some help from people at the station and wrote out a beautiful sign with ‘Bagan’. We ordered a Grab to take us to the outskirts of the city and set up our hitching spot.

*

“Bagan?”
“Yes! Bagan” Just 10 minutes after starting, we were able to find ourselves a ride in the back of a van going all the way to Bagan. Over the next 4 hours, we watched the world go by, tried to entertain the young child sat in the back (who only seemed to smile at cows, not at us) and ignored my stomach problems. When we got to the hostel, it was only natural to sleep. We planned to wake up at 6PM to get some food, but on waking up, I felt even worse, so I decided to drink some water with electrolytes while Viktoria went off socialising. As I write this, it is the following day, and I am happy to say that I am feeling A LOT better. Ultimately, these things happen when you travel and when they do you just have to rest, rest and rest. Tomorrow, I will begin exploring Bagan (which my computer’s autocorrect keeps trying to change to Began) and am already excited to share this stage of my adventure.

 

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Today I woke up to nothing. I just woke up. At 4:45AM.

4:45AM

Normally, this would bother me, but Viktoria (who I’ve been exploring Yangon with) and I had decided to arise early in order to experience the sunrise in Bogyoke Park.

Quietly and carefully, I made my way out of bed and moved my backpacks out of the room, into the corridor. It’s a delicate procedure waking up early in a hostel. You don’t want to disturb the other people. I’d already packed my things, so it was just a matter of transporting. Of course, some people are not so forward thinking or empathetic of others in shared dooms; they turn on the lights, talk or worst of all, rustle carrier bags. Evil evil people…

*

“Morning” I whispered.

“Morning.” Neither of us were in particularly great moods: This was an unnatural hour. As silently as possible, we brushed our teeth and washed our faces before getting in the lift and heading to the reception of the hostel.

“You’re gonna have to wake him up” said Viktoria as we stood outside the room.

“Yeah, yeah, I know” I lifted my hand to slide the door open, but things cannot always go according to plan when one travels.

SCREEECH!

Somehow, and I still have no idea how this happened, I managed to pull the door off of its own slider.

“Ah…” At least I’d woken up the porter. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry sorry!!!” He didn’t look happy…

“We’re going for the sunrise and need to check out today. Can we leave our bags here?”

“Okay…” He said, still with sleep on his mind.

Narrow roads, grass, trees and a lake, the park had everything necessary for a beautiful sunrise. Alas, the weather did not want to provide us with such a wonderful start to the day, instead giving us cloud, cloud and more cloud. As the sun rose, groups of about five Burmese stood in circles performing a wake up stretch routine. Over large audio speakers, it sounded as if instructions were being given, but as neither of us speak Burmese, it could have been anything.

We walked around the park a little more, stopping at a crossroads, deciding whether to turn right and try to get to the Schwedagon Pagoda earlier, or straight ahead to see a little more of the park. We decided to walk straight and boy oh boy was that the right decision. In the distance, 40 women were dancing along to some modern pop song (I’m not sure what, sorry) while a young man stood at the front, energetically shouting instructions in English.

“Hands up!’

“1, 2, 3, 4”

“Cha-cha-CHA”

“Sexy!!!”

We left, feeling enthused by the energy of the dancers. It’s fascinating how different cultures deal with the mornings. In the west, we seem to be coffee coffee coffee, whereas here, a lot of people wake up early and start their day. Everyone was all smiles as we walked around the rest of the park and I can only put it down to such activity.

After another coffee (and yes, I’m drinking another one while writing this), we went to perhaps the most famous of Yangon’s sites, the Schwedagon Pagoda. We stepped out the taxi and…

“NO SHOES!” Immediately, a guard told us to take off our shoes. Well, of course we were going to. We didn’t really have much of a chance to do so before this! We ascended the steps to the pagoda with souvenir shops on both sides. Bracelets, rings, trinkets and kids’ toys. The entrance was ten thousand kyat (about five pounds) and unlike in most holy places in Asia, I, the man, had to cover my knees. This meant renting (and later purchasing) a longyi, an item of clothing commonly worn by men in Myanmar. I was very impressed by how comfortable it felt and instantly understood why Burmese men all wear them!

“Ahhhh! My phone is in my pocket.” I’d left my shorts on underneath. Lifting up the longyi, I got my phone to take a couple of pictures, before realising I could slide it between my body and my new garment so I didn’t have to carry it all the time.

As with the day before, we went to Tuesday’s shrine to pour water on the Buddha and the lion and had several photo sessions. It wasn’t as simple as I’d have liked, because, for the first time since India I heard.

“Picture?”

“Selfie?”

“What’s your country?”

Of course, being a blonde white girl, 99% of the time, these questions were directed at Viktoria, but at the end, one woman wanted a selfie with me. The smile I gave in that photo was completely genuine that finally someone wanted a picture with me!

Legend has it that the Buddha gave eight of his hairs to two brothers who were sent to build the pagoda in Myanmar. Whether this is true or not, who knows, but what is for sure is that this is one of the most incredibly pieces of architecture that I have seen in Asia. From within the confines of the pagoda area, it is difficult to get a photo without losing the context of scale. Even when there, one can’t truly appreciate just how large it is from a glance. It’s only when one sees the tiny workers repairing it, that one can understand.

*

After losing the umbrella we’d been lent so kindly from the hostel, we stopped for lunch, sheltering away in yet another noodle house. Filled with a mix of westerners and Burmese, this was an incredibly popular stop and the food was a wonderful mix of flavours. With the rain pouring down outside though and our umbrella lost forever, we hid in one more coffee shop, as we went through our photos and I wrote out more for this blog. From here, we went back to the hostel in preparation for one of the most eventful bus journeys of our lives.

Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed this post. If you have, please share it around. Thanks!

There are two parts to this post, because so much was packed into the two days.

*

“Are you ready?” I was ready. I’d woken up at 6AM with the sounds of cockadoodledoo still in my subconscious, eaten breakfast and dressed (well done me). Viktoria, an Austrian who I’d met the night before was going to explore Yangon with me. “I need coffee” she added. I’d already enjoyed two coffees with my breakfast, but didn’t want to rub it in.

We put on our backpacks equipped with cameras and entered the elevator (yes, the hostel was so modern it had an elevator, and a very good one at that.) First stop, coffee. No, wait, I need a haircut. I really need a haircut. My hair had grown almost out of control in the two months since I’d left England. On the opposite side of the road stood a barbershop.

“How long?” I tapped my watch.

“3,000.”

“No, no. How long?”

“15 minute”

“Now?”

“Yes, come.” The Burmese barber spoke surprisingly sufficient English.

“Two. Buzz. Here – this.” I indicated the small fraction I wanted.

If you’ve ever had a haircut in a country where you don’t speak the language, you’ll know how awkward and difficult it is to explain what you want. There is one perk though: no small talk. I settled into my chair.

The haircut was a success and for such a low price, I was greatly impressed. Viktoria was still in the hunt for coffee, so we walked in the direction of a pagoda located in downtown Yangon. Viktoria is a keen photographer and was happy to show me a few tips and tricks as we passed a pair of banana shops. You read that right, banana shops. Shops selling bananas. And coconuts. But mainly bananas. For ten minutes we posed our new models in a variety of ways, until we’d had enough and Viktoria’s coffee cravings became even stronger.

Eventually we found Cafe KSS, just a stone’s throw away from the Sale Pagoda. The menu was incredibly varied, with shakes, smoothies, coffees, tea, cakes and bubble tea. I chose an iced mocha (because I wanted to treat myself after the hair cut) and over coffee, we decided it was already time for lunch.

999 Shan Noodle Shop is well renowned for delicious noodles (well of course noodles, it’s in the name) and it was just around the corner from the pagoda. We walked past the pagoda, knowing we’d return sooner and ate some noodles (duhhh, that’s what they sell). I tried some shan sticky noodles, a speciality in the region and found them to be incredibly sticky (the Burmese are good at naming things for what they are, it seems), but perhaps a bit too much as they clumped together to create one noodly blob.

As with many other places in Asia, we were asked to remove our shoes and socks before entering the pagoda.

“Where are you from? Would you like a guide? I can show you around the pagoda.” These words were repeated several times (and would echo throughout Yangon as we visited other places), but we decided to explore for ourselves. As we were wandering around a monk approached us.

“What day of the week were you born?”

“Tuesday” I answered immediately. I have a knack for remembering information that rarely helps me in life and was proud this time it came in handy.

“You are a lion. Me too. You must go to the Tuesday shrine.”

By chance, Viktoria had also been born on a Tuesday, so the monk ushered us to both go to this shrine. A Buddha sat on a pedestal with a small sink filled with water in front of him. Down below stood a lion.

“Five times you give water to Buddha.” He poured five cups of water from the sink on to the Buddha’s head. “And three times on the lion.” Again he poured the water, this time on the lion below. “Now you”

I must say, it was a strange experience. Not least because I was annoyed about my feet getting wet, but nonetheless I dipped the shot sized glass into the water and allowed it to drip on to the two statues.

“Now, follow me.” Further around the pagoda we went until we stopped at a bell about 70cm tall. BONG. He hit the bell with a blunt instrument. BONG. “Three times you must hit it” BONG. “Now you.” Not wanting to cause too loud a noise, or even worse, break the bell, my first hit was delicate. Bing…..the bell went. “STRONG” he shouted. BONG…..BONG. I can’t say that I felt entirely spiritual from the experience, but it was interesting to participate in a part of the local culture.

As we finished seeing the statues in the pagoda we felt the first spots of rain. Maybe our karma wasn’t that good. Maybe I didn’t DONG the bell correctly…There was one sight nearby that we wanted to see, the Independence Monument so we agreed to go there before hiding in a coffee shop while the rain passed. Exiting the pagoda, we crossed the road to be greeted by a 50 metre high white obelisk pointing toward the sky. After a quick photo or two we went for another coffee. (While writing this post, I am in another coffee shop. Myanmar has excellent tea, being an ex-UK colony and excellent coffee – everyone’s happy!)

There were just two more stops on our trip around Yangon. First of all, the Armenian Church and second, St. Mary’s Cathedral.

“Okay, it should be just on the next street”

“Is that it?”

I looked down at my phone…”Yes….”

“It’s….”

“Awful?”

“Yeah…”

I’ll be honest with you, I was expecting an interesting church with some nice architecture and a perfect cute little photo moment. Instead we saw a building that represented nothing more than a church function hall. It was disappointing and not even photo worthy in my opinion. I know, dear reader, that you would like to see it for yourself in order to judge it, but really, it was just not worth it. If you really want to see it, get on a plane and go to Yangon, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“Cathedral?”

“Cathedral”

*

‘GALLERY’ showed a sign hanging above a doorway on the road to the cathedral.

“Let’s go in and take a look.” The door was difficult to open and screeched worse than the bats in Hpa-An, but up we went to visit the gallery. Up one flight of stairs and around the corner…

“Oops!” I heard him before I saw him. A Burmese man painting the wall outside his gallery with no t-shirt on. Quickly, he scurried back inside and put on some clothes, before showing us the beautiful art. A small collection, it was a nice break in the walk. If you do ever visit Yangon, take a look at 43 Art Gallery.

As we left, the heavens opened again and we ran from cover to cover on our way to the cathedral. When we arrived, it felt like I was back in Europe. Words are not needed for this one, so I’ll let you take a look at the pictures instead. Unfortunately, as there was a service on at the time, I was not allowed to take pictures inside, but carved on the sides one could see pictures of Jesus carrying the cross, beautiful stained glass windows and statues portraying several saints.

And that was it! The rest of the evening, we relaxed, ate a bit more food, saw a rat and planned the rest of our time in Yangon (more on that soon). Oh, yeah. The rat. Well, as we were eating, the rain came pouring down again. From my seat I saw something small run toward the restaurant. When it arrived, it peeked its head up and inside (much like the mouse in Fawlty Towers) before running away again.

*

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this post. If you have, please share it with friends and family. Yangon and Myanmar in general are fantastic and I’d love for more people to know about how amazing it is.

I still haven’t figured out exactly how to pronounce the name of this city, though I believe it is something like ‘Paaan’

In stark contrast to the day before, I woke up in almost complete darkness.

‘CockadoodleDOOOOO’

More like cockadoodle DON’T. I reached over to my phone. 05:30AM – far too early. I’m going back to sleep.

‘CockadoodleDOOOOO’

Groans went up across the room. Clearly I wasn’t the only person distubed by the bird. Myanmar, beautiful as it is, needs to deal with its alarm clock system in hostels because I really wanted some rest.  Despite this, I’m not sure how, but I was able to sleep through until 8:00AM.

Soon I found myself in the breakfast room, for one of the best hostel breakfasts I’ve ever had. When 90% of hostels offer a paltry choice of bread, jam and butter, finding a place like this is a true luxury: croissants filled with lentil and onion, noodles with veggies, French toast AND a friend egg. What a way to start the day! Plus, it made up for that evil animal. I’d planned to leave the hostel early, but while breakfasting, Tash, who I’d spoken to the day before, joined me and soon we were talking about every Briton’s favourite subject: Brexit.

PSA: The next paragraph is about Brexit

As a British person who hopes to reside in the EU, Brexit of course directly has an effect on me, as I’m not Irish enough for one of their beautiful passports. Every day I’m reading about what’s happening. I have no idea how things will pan out, but I’m fully prepared to stop travelling in March in order to live in Europe, if that is what is required of me.

In the end, we spoke for an hour – discussing various political things. After our long conversation, I was ready to explore Hpa-An. I rented a scooter from the hostel and drive out on Burmese roads for the first time. I was very impressed. Very flat, not too busy and polite, respectful drivers. Every five minutes, I would stop to check my location until I saw the sing I was looking for: “Sadan Cave”. It was a dirt road. No more easy driving for me. I turned on to the path and began to feel like I was on a horse: up, down, left, right.

It was here I felt like I was seeing a much more local Myanmar. Women picking crops in the fields, schoolkids riding their bikes holding umbrellas and farmers leading their livestock.

“F***” I caught myself swearing as I turned one corner. Above, the sky was perfectly blue, with white clouds floating through the air. On my left stood a huge mountain coated in trees and to my right were various islands, each with their own collection of greenery. All of this was reflected in the pristine mirror like water on both sides of the road.

When I reached my first destination, Sadan Cave, I had to spend a few minutes composing myself. This was easily the most beautiful country I’ve ever been to. I parked my bike and climbed the steps to enter the cave.

And took off my shoes.

And my socks.

“What?”

The cave houses a temple and like all temples in South East Asia, that means going barefoot. Tentatively, I took my first steps on the rough ground. Initially it was dry, but that soon changed as I walked through several puddles.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, but I love it” I said to myself at one point. As I walked out of one ‘room’ into another I saw a bridge in front of me. Slowly I made my way over, nervous of the drop below and nervous of the sounds above…bats.

This cave was filled with bats, which meant two things. Firstly, the shrieks they made were incredibly off-putting, but secondly, (and if you haven’t figured this out already, then get ready to be shocked), faeces underfoot. I tried to not be put off walking, but became very careful with each step.

*

The only other people I met within the cave was a group of five Polish travellers who were shining their torches at the bats. To me, it seemed it was making them scream their unpleasant, high-pitched, car break-like screeches even louder. Passing the Poles, I rounded the corner and saw daylight peeking through a crag.

As I exited the cave and my eyes adjusted I was able to see the floor I’d been walking on. Laden with pebbles and muddy water, the floor was not to my liking. I saw my feet, toes painted by brown by what I hope was just dirt.

Tom’s Top Travel Tip: Take a towel with you on day trips. There will be several times when you want to use it.

This side of the cave was very well-hidden, but still had a lot of people. There aren’t many options in the cave – it’s a straight line, so everyone ends up here. That means there are only two options: Walk back through the excrement in the dark OR get a gondola around the side of the cave. I opted for the gondola.

Waiting at the ticket counter, I met Manuella and Emilie, who were doing a tour from their guesthouses. The boat would only depart with a minimum of three people, so I joined them and our gondolier. (Are you really a gondolier if you aren’t in Venice?)

For ten minutes we waded through the water. The only sounds being the oar leaving the water, letting the water drip back into the lake, the occasional scraping of boat on grass and camera shutters operating.

This place is too beautiful

“We’re going to the waterfall village for lunch. You should come along and join us” offered Emilie. My stomach was getting empty again.

“Sure, but….where is it?” On a semi crudely hand drawn map, Emilie showed me the approximate location, before getting in the tuk-tuk with the other members of her tour. This lead to them driving off into the distance as I got myself ready. As they hobbled along, I sped up, soon overtaking them. At one point, I stopped to take some pictures, take in the landscape and relax. After a couple of minutes, they would trundle past, smiling and waving at me. Soon, I’d be back on my scooter to repeat the whole process again.

*

The waterfall village did not live up to its name. Two pools of water, one with a Buddha statue, a few restaurants and some drinks shops, all being used by locals…but no waterfall. I took a place next to an English couple who had been travelling for several months.

“You’re going to Vietnam?” They asked.

“Yeah, I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“Be careful. We accidentally ate dog there.”

“…”

“Yeah, we went for food and when we saw it on our plate, we kind of knew. Being British, it would have been rude to not at least try it.”

“So how was it?”

“DISGUSTING!” They declared unanimously.

It’s moments like these that are perhaps some of my favourites while travelling. Meeting people for only a few minutes, sharing one anecdote, but never being able to forget it.

After lunch, the group went their own way, but I had my own plan: Zwegabin, a mountain just outside of Hpa-An, with a shrine at the top and incredible views. From the first time I considered coming to Myanmar, I knew this was something I wanted to do. Arriving at the entrance, I was greeted by thousands of Buddha statues, parked up and began my ascent.

1 minute: This will be a piece of cake!

5 minutes: BOOM BOOM BOOM. Is that my heart? Maybe I should take a rest.

10 minutes: God. I’m really sweating here. I’m not meant to get my back wet…

15 minutes: OW. My neck. Is that sunburn. I’ll take a picture of it. click. Ah….that is sunburn. BUT, I have my towel. I can cover my neck and I’ll be fine! Oh, and I’ll put on some suncream.

20 minutes: No. This is way too much, I can’t. I want to continue, but I can’t get my back wet AND sunburnt.

Reluctantly, I gave up, I’m sorry to say. Zwegabin will still be there in years to come and I shall conquer it! I returned to the hostel and began preparing for the next day: Yangon.

Thank you for reading. If you know of somewhere more beautiful than what you can see in these pictures, please leave a comment down below!

Today I was awoken not by the sound of an alarm, not by other tourists’ noises, nor by comings and goings outside. Instead, I woke up with the sunlight and was incredibly excited, for today I was going to Myanmar.

*

I got up and immediately left the hotel to take a troll around Mae Sot. It’s a small town, not very touristy, but incredibly cheap. For 40 baht (£1) I breakfasted on noodles and soup before going to 7-11 for some journey snacks. At 9AM exactly I headed to the exchange and got myself some Burmese kyat and USD (a “back-up” of sorts, but one which apparently is used in Myanmar).

Already the sun was my enemy, sweat dripping from my hair I returned to the hostel to take what I’d hoped to be a warm and refreshing shower. I was bitterly disappointed. The shower was cold and I could only deal with a few seconds under the water before giving up. Don’t worry, I washed my face thoroughly and used enough soap to not smell too bad.

From the hotel I took a cab to the Burmese border. This wasn’t the strangest border crossing I’ve ever taken. That would be travelling by boat into Bolivia from Peru, re-crossing the border back to Peru in order to officialy leave, before turning around and entering Bolivia officially.

As I walked to the Thai immigration I saw several long queues and many counters worrying me that I’d have to visit each and every one of them. I was in luck though and was sent to counter 9: FOREIGNERS. After a short wait I approached the border guard and handed over my passport. He reminded me of the protagonist of the dystopian computer game “Papers, Please” (a game well worth checking out for gamers and non-gamers alike). Sullenly he stamped my passport and I was free to leave Thailand.

*

The distance between Thai and Burmese immigration can’t have been more than two hundred metres, but this didn’t stop me feeling like I’d taken another shower. With my two backpacks and the sun stronger than ever, I was sweating after only a few steps.

Crossing over, I had the time to record an Instagram live post (follow me if you like: You’ll be able to see a few more places I’m visiting!) One of the things that rocked me were the beggars on the bridge. I’m not sure which side they had come from, but there were several women with their children sat on the path. I was surprised that neither the Thai nor Burmese authorities dealt with them.

In the distance, I saw the respite I call ‘shade’ and only a little further than that, the Burmese immigration. The gentleman who helped me here was a great introdution to Myanmar. Smiling, with simple English and blood stained teeth from chewing betel quid, he not only helped me fill in my immigration form, but he taught me how to say thank you, but much like in Thailand, after some research, I fear I may have been saying it wrong!

“Where are you going?” The first words I heard once I was in Myanmar. Usually, this would be a situation I’d walk away in. Touts standing at the border preying on tourists’ ignorance, overcharging them taxis. Having done my research though, I knew this was not a scam and in fact there was one big boss of the taxis at the border.

“Hpa-An”

“Okay. Shared taxi. 300 baht”

“Okay”

He helped me get my luggage in the back of the taxi, then told me to wait in a teahouse. Since my time in India, I’d stuck to coffee, but I wanted to try Burmese chai and it was quite nice. More bitter than the Indian variant, but less spicy, it was a tasty treat and a great way to relax after the sweltering border crossing. If you’re wondering why I took a hot drink in such weather, I was following my mum’s advice: “A hot drink cools you down” she’d said when I’d come home this summer.

In the teahouse, I met Iris, a Dutch woman who was also taking the taxi to Hpa-An. As we waited, she educated me a little on Myanmar and the customs here. Iris was conducting some research in Hpa-An and was at the border to refresh her visa.

After what felt like an hour, we were summoned to the taxi where we were made to wait for another 15 minutes with no explanation as to why. Eventually we left, only to circle around and come back to the starting spot, all the while our driver shouting “Hpa-An” from the window, hoping to find someone to take the final seat. With no takers, he reluctantly drove for the main road, but nonetheless he kept shouting “Hpa-An” for most of the rest of the trip.

OH – and right now a moment of genuine annoyance. He couldn’t decide between the air con or the window, often choosing the wrong one at the wrong time, so I was either freezing or boiling. Yeah…

The trip itself was stunning. At first, the scenery reminded me of Macedonia (or FYROM or Northern Macedonia – it’s in a complicated stage right now) with lush greenery dwarfed by mountains and cliff faces. Before long though, the lands turned flat. I wish I could speak as positively about the roads, which were bumpy, undulating and unpredictable. When we took a short comfort break for lunch, Iris and I spoke again, but otherwise the journey passed by quite uneventfully.

On arrival in Hpa-An I did two things. Firstly, I got a SIM card (a must have for any backpacker these days it seems) and secondly I ate. I’d heard mixed reviews on Burmese food, that it was too oily. I can’t say it was super tasty, but I enjoyed it. For the rest of the day, I relaxed, ready to explore Hpa-An the following day.

*

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I’m trying out a new style of writing based on some suggestions I had from a close friend of mine. This is all quite an experiment for me and any advice you can give me on my writing will be greatly appreciated. This post is photoless, because I didn’t take any picture on this day, but I hope my words are enough. I know I haven’t written much about Thailand (I got lazy), but I will do in the future. For Myanmar, I hope to document almost every day, starting with the day before. Without further ado, let’s begin.

*

“We’ve found you a driver” flashed my phone, indicating it was time to say my goodbyes. “He will be there in two minutes.” I looked at Jonas, the Belgian with whom I’d been travelling for the last two weeks.

“My taxi is almost here.” Normally, on such an ocassion, I’d open my arms for a farewell hug, but due to the problems I’d been having with my back, all I was able to accept was a light tap on the shoulder, as if we were two heterosexual males incapable of showing any feeling.

One minute

We agreed that the two weeks we’d been together had felt much longer than they were: It’s rare to meet someone who you can get along with so well and so quickly, even more so when travelling. “I’ll see you in Ho Chi Minh” hopefully It’s an idealised part of travel that you’ll meet these faces again, but rarely does it actually occur. Plans change, unexpected events arise…people change.

One minute

“Huh? The taxi hasn’t moved.” We looked at the GPS tracker provided by Grab, the Uber of Thailand. True enough, the taxi was still on the previous road.

“Maybe he’s dropping someone off” offered Jonas.

“Maybe”

Based on my experiences travelling on buses in India, one thing I knew for sure was that the temperature inside the bus would be 15 degrees cooler than outside due to what I like to call MEGA ICEY AIR CON. For this reason, I’d changed into jeans, but right now I was not in the bus, but in the hostel reception, where the heat was starting to cook my legs. I moved to stand directly under a fan.

One minute

“He’s still there!” And I was beginnning to think that I’d be spending a TENTH night in this city. (Due to the problems with my back, I was unable to leave and unable to really do anything particularly exciting. Jonas tried to hide his glee. It really was a shame to have to say goodbye, but I’d wanted to be in Myanmar a week earlier. I took another look at my phone and finally it the taxi was starting to move. Not long after it pulled up outside.

“Okay, this time it’s a proper goodbye.” Jonas and I shook hands and wished each other well, before I entered the sweetly air-conned cab.

I really hope I’m not late.

I REALLY hope I’m not late.

*

Despite my worries I arrived 30 minutes before the scheduled departure time, bought my ticket and found a sear at the platform for my bus. Patiently I sat there, reading the final chapter of the second Game of Thrones book, playing a game or two on my phone, looking around. 14:00 and no bus. Am I at the wrong platform? Did I miss it? Is it leavng at 14:00? Is it really 14:00?

It was late…Of course it was late. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Some other tourists looked even antsier than me, constantly getting up and walking around the station.

Several buses came past. With each one I thought that I’d finally get a comfortable seat and get out of this humidity. But no. Until finally, the bus arrived. Respect is key in Thailand and three monks, garbed in their orange robes were first to create a queue. Me, the Briton, was next, followed by a cavalcade of characters. After what felt like an eternity (but was only five minutes in reality) the driver returned with luggage tags in hand and the doors opened.

The monks loaded their goods under the coach and just as I was about to give my bag over the lady in charge of loading the bags, a man jumped right in front of me. I can’t say I was surprised. He looked like that kind of guy that would respect monks, but not anybody else (you know the type). Not that it really mattered, I was next on the coach.

Settling into my seat, I prepared myself for the journey ahead. The seat next to me was empty, so I put my snacks, water and charger there, say back and started watching my videos.

Tom’s Top Travel Tip: You can download tons of videos using YouTube’s download function while at your hostel. They’ll provide an excellent source of entertainment as the 6 hour journey unfolds.

Soon after departure, the smiling stewardess dressed in green wandered down the isle of the coach, providing water and a cake which ultimately turned out to be far from tasty. The journey itself was largely uneventful. For the most part I engrossed myself in the entertainment I’d brought myself, but I did sign up for Skillshare in order to improve my photography and writing skills, so look forward to better pictures and better writing in the future.

Upon reaching the city of Tak, we were only 90km from Mae Sot. Excellent, just an hour till we get there! Or so I thought.

TWO HOURS?!

Oh God. Two hours? Really? I looked closer at the journey ahead. Winding, twirly-whirly roads. With the sun setting, I instantly knew what this meant. Uncomfortableness and possible travel sickness. Initially, I tried to carry on reading, but it was to no avail. My stomach was getting furious (To be fair, I hadn’t fed it for several hours). I consigned myself to listening to some podcasts and stared out the window to calm my tummy.

*

From the seemingly endless twisting road, the landscape changed instantly into a modern city. I checked the map and we were here: Mae Sot, just 7.4km from the border with Myanmar. When we stopped on a roadside and some people got off, I approached the driver in the language all travellers know: hand gestures.

I pointed forward and pointed left. He responded with a point forward and I discerned that this was the best place to get off. As I stepped out of the bus I took a deep breath. Half expecting heat and half expecting humidity, I was delighted to find myself breathing in a refreshing cool air.

Okay. Time to take a Grab to my hotel.

We are sorry, but Grab does not operate in this area at this time.

Eurgh, fine. I’ll use Uber.

We are sorry, but Uber does not operate in this area at this time.

…

I could walk, but with my back and with it being a dark evening, it’s probably not the best idea. Maybe someone can help me.

Look around, I saw a small clothes shop just about to close. The young lady working there spoke no English, so she called the person who I imagine was her boss for help.

She also spoke no English…

“Taxi” I showed her my phone.

“DK Hotel” She recognised the location of where I wanted to go and pointed down the road, gesturing that I walk.

“No” I said while simultaneously repeating her gesture. I pointed at my back and winced, then pointed at the bag for added effect.

“Ohhh!” She scurried for her phone and made a short call. “Okay”, she smiled, before pointing at her scooter. I gathered that someone was going to take me to the hotel by scooter. The kind woman offered me a chair, but no sooner had I sat down, a scooter with a young man turned up.

I muddled my way through several Thai thank yous (I’ve now come to learn I was using the female version, not the male version whilst there) and five minutes later I was at the hotel.

“Grrrrr” I felt my stomach.

Yes yes, I’ll feed you now.

By now it was 21:00. The streets were almost empty, save for several stray dogs, some roaming, so sleeping, some howling. Nothing is open, is it?  Having walked for a couple of minutes one way down the street with no success, I doubled back on myself till I reached the only place that seemed to be open.

The menu was all in Thai, but one of the boys working there spoke enough English to offer me “noodles?”. Like a pogo stick on a trampoline my head nodded “YES, PLEASE.”

For 40 baht (about one pound), I had one of the most satisfying meals of my time in Thailand. Noodles in soup, a few veggies and meatballs. My stomach was complaining no more. I got back to the hotel full and prepared to take on the next day: Crossing the border into Myanmar.

*

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