Kolkata, India

FIRST DAYS IN KOLKATA
Beppe summed it up best when he said in his thick Italian accent, 'So, this is India. Maybe next time we go to Monte Carlo'.

The airport at Kolkata was surprisingly quiet. I was expecting a heaving mess but inside the terminal is was pretty much like any other airport. The ride from the airport to the guesthouse friendly Sudder Street was hair-raising. Our big yellow taxi seemed unable to travel in a straight line for any distance regardless of whether there was traffic around or not. When I peeled myself out of the cab and donned by backpack it all began to fall into place.

Two men shepherd a herd of goats down Sudder Street, a man with no legs and withered hands gently taps my arm to ask me for five rupees, a giant poster of Sachin Tendulkar looks down from above, a beggar urinates under a tree making a puddle that trickles onto the pavement in front of me, men in cricket helmets ride motorbikes through the herd of goats, a man offers me some good hash, another busks with a one stringed guitar and another performs with a monkey that jumps over a stick. The act is awful and the stick steals the show. My senses have been assaulted. Beppe and me find a cell-like room in a cheap guesthouse and sit there looking at each other. Then we go out for a curry. The less said about the Hotel Paragon the better; we were after a cheap place and at Rs140 (about US$3) it served its purpose as well as it could.

Kids playing in the filthy water

Two days later, after an unsuccessful attempt at getting a Bangladesh visa I walked to the tourist railway booking office and bought a sleeper bound for Varanasi the following night. I wanted to go to Bangladesh first but I changed my plans and now hope to visit on my way back to Bangkok in a few months. I stopped to see the massive Howrah Bridge over the Hooghly River and walked through the flower market next to the railway lines. I carried on further south towards Fort William but I never made it that far because the Eden Gardens cricket ground stood in my way - venue for the 1987 World Cup final between England and Australia that Australia won. I had to try and sneak in somehow. I walked around the perimeter but all the entrances were closed and the guards said that if there is no match on then no-one can go inside. There was a practice area just inside the fence and about a dozen guys were bowling and batting so I watched for a while. Before long I was invited inside to join them. We talked cricket the whole time and they were amazed that I knew about the grounds history which includes the amazing partnership between Dravid and Laxman in 2001 when they batted all day against the Australians to set up a famous victory. They let me bowl a few balls but I was hopelessly out of touch and was in danger of embarrassing my country. I declined to bat. Afterwards they insisted I join them for refreshments - toast with butter and sugar, boiled eggs and some sticky sweets. The lads were all employees of India Radio and played for the company cricket team. Whenever a game was on at the Gardens they were always there. Although we were inside the broadcasting area of Eden Gardens there was no direct route to the ground itself so I couldn't actually walk out to the playing area.

 The human rickshaws of Kolkata

Dhaka, Bangladesh

BANGLADESH
At Zia International Airport in Dhaka I was greeted by a wall of mosquito's as soon the plane doors opened. Almost all of the travelers on the flight from Yangon were staying in Dhaka in transit only so we all swarmed as one to the transit desk and handed over our passports and onward tickets in exchange for hotel identification tags. I make this process sound extremely straightforward but in reality it was a mass of confusion and many people were furious at the airport officials. After about two hours we were ferried to our respective hotels (mine was the Radial Palace in Banani) accompanied by more mosquito's where again I was greeted by even more mosquito's. To say there was many mosquito's in Dhaka is like saying there are some ruins at Bagan. My insect repellent was woefully inadequate and my stay in Bangladesh featured many mid-air hand-claps, slaps to the back of the neck and wild uncontrollable towel whipping.
I shared a room with Giuseppe Jones, also known as Beppe - an Italian propane salesman whose claim to fame is that he wrote a song in 1993 that made it on to the French and Japanese Top 40 dance chart. The song is 'Do it right' by 'Juice' but he is not particularly proud of it now. He gave me a CD with some of his most recent work and it's very good, especially for someone who creates music purely as a hobby. Beppe travels with a mandolin, one change of clothes and two over-sized 1930s style caps - one of denim and the other in corduroy. His English accent could not sound any more Italian and his demeanor could not be more laid back. I first met him in Bangkok when we shared a minicab to the airport and then flew to Yangon on the same Bangladesh Biman flight. It was impossible to keep in touch with him in Burma but we met by chance in Mandalay at the same guesthouse and again in Yangon where we met up to catch our outbound flight to Kolkata via Dhaka.

The hotel, apart from the mosquito's, was very good. They fed us well, gave us tea and the manager Babu was an avid cricket fan. He quickly got me up to speed with all of the cricket world cup results and we spent much of the next day talking about who we thought would win the tournament. He was pleased that I had seen Bangladesh play in New Zealand last year but he was embarrassed by how badly the team is playing at the moment (something like 30 losses in a row).

Our flight to Kolkata the next day was cancelled but we were given plenty of notice and all of us were switched to a later flight that evening. That meant we had the best part of the day in Dhaka so I walked down to Banani Lake with Beppe and a couple of others to get a feel for the place. We walked through a shantytown, past rubbish dumps and human waste and then to a local cricket field where 40 or so games were going on. Seeing that we had stopped to watch them play many of the kids ran over to tell us their names and to ask us ours. Before long we had quite a crowd of young boys and curious adults carrying naked babies but nothing prepared us for what was to come. A bell rang and hundreds of teenage school girls in blue and white uniforms made their way in pairs onto the ground, giggling as they walked by, some saying hello, many of them very shy. Before long some of them came up to us to say hello and to ask our names and tell us theirs but unlike the boys they spoke perfect English. I had my phrasebook with me so some of them taught me how to count and say thank you in Bangla and we talked of the weather and their school and who had boyfriends etc. Within minutes Beppe, the others and myself commanded our own curious audiences. Even the young Japanese girl with the umbrella whose English was marginal had the girls in fits of laughter. One of the girls I had been talking to, Nadia gave me a beautiful red rose before I left and the others received gifts as well. It was another example of those that have the least are always the most generous. We walked back past the boys playing cricket and the women with the naked babies and through the shantytown with the stench of urine everywhere and back to the comfort of our mosquito-ridden hotel. A few hours later we left for Kolkata, accompanied in the plane by a hundred happy travelling mosquito's.

Kalaw to Inle Lake, Myanmar

TIME OUT IN KALAW
John and I stopped in Kalaw on the way to Inle Lake for two nights. We had contemplated doing a bit of trekking but in reality all we did was wander up to a monastery on a hill and back. The food at the local Nepali restaurant, Everest, was fantastic though and I tried my first Dhal Bhat. We stayed at a place called the Golden Lily for US$3.

THE JUMPING CAT MONASTERY
If you only see one thing in Burma, make it Bagan. But if you see two things make sure the second is the Jumping Cat Monastery on Inle Lake.

Inle Lake was our final stop before heading back to Yangon (or Yangoon as many travelers seemed to call it). We had a few nights at the very nice Bright Guesthouse (US$4.50) with a massive balcony and a great breakfast of pancakes, eggs, fruit and coffee. We rented a boat and driver for the day and set out for the far southern shore along with Brian (the same one from Bagan), Pascal from Canada and an ill Frenchman called Alex. The driver took us through the mangroves and around to a few tourist sights - a cheroot making factory, a silversmith, fabric makers etc but it wasn't until after lunch that we saw what we had all come to see. The monks at one of the monasteries, obviously bored, have taught their dozen or so cats to jump through hoops on command. Most of the time the cats just lie around on the floor but they are so well trained that anyone can get these cats to jump. I have a video clip of them which I'll try and get onto the site in the near future (although it may be lost forever). It was quite a surreal sight.

Bagan, Myanmar

BAGAN SUNSETS
From Mandalay we floated downriver on the 5am boat to Bagan. In one of my previous postings last year I mentioned that Bagan was one of the big three temple sites of South East Asia along with Angkor and Borobudur so I was quietly anticipating what I believed would be something memorable. I wasn't disappointed. Bagan has over 2,000 separate temples built at different times and many of them could be seen from the river as we approached.

Accommodation was a twin room at the Inwa Guesthouse which Johnny and I paid US$4 each. We joined up with a few other people, Nathalie from Germany, Fabienne from France and Brian from USA and rode our bikes around the ruins for two days. On day one we were accompanied by a 14 year old self confessed guide whose name sounded something like John Menzies so we called him by his full name so as not to get confused with our original John. He was an enthusiastic young lad, short on words but eager to keep headed towards all the interesting sights. For much of the time he ran barefoot beside us as we rode but before long Fabienne let him ride her bike while she walked. When she got tired John took John Menzies under his wing and let him ride side-saddle on the frame of his bike. We bought him lunch and dinner and he seemed to get tired after 9pm so we sent him on his way. It was hard to figure him out. He mentioned that he didn't have any parents and he slept at one of the temples at night. He was very polite with the possible exception of ordering an expensive mutton curry for himself at dinner without us knowing but it was difficult to begrudge him. He had really looked out for us.

The Bagan landscape is quite unlike any other. There are so many temples in every direction that it's difficult to know where to go. Many of the temples are very small but some are huge, some are solid, some are hollow and you can walk inside, some you can climb either on the outside or from inside a narrow stairway, some are ruins others are well preserved. On both days our final aim was to make it to a quiet temple that we could climb and watch the sun go down over the river. It was overcast the first day but sunset the following day was fantastic. As if by chance we met John Menzies again late on the second day so we took him to dinner with us and paid a bit more attention to what he ordered this time.

The many characters of Hsipaw

THE CAST OF HSIPAW
For a change of pace we decided to catch the train from Maymyo to Hsipaw with the idea of catching the bus back to Mandalay a few days later. The train is a lot slower than the bus but the scenery was a little different and we had plenty of room despite riding in the lowest class possible. The journey of about 150km took 9 hours but during that time we passed over the Gokteik viaduct which was, when completed in 1900, considered one of the finest engineering feats at the time. The bridge is a little on the shabby side now and the train creeps over slowly to lessen any stress on the aged steel. A few minutes before we reached the bridge I was playing with my digital camera, taking photos of some of the passengers and showing them the results. The conductor saw me doing this and made a point of telling me not to take any photographs of the viaduct or my camera would be confiscated.

In Hsipaw we decided to stay at the Mr Charles Guesthouse, partly because it was the only one we could pronounce but mainly because somebody from the guesthouse was waiting at the railway station for us and it seemed like a good idea. It was a rambling sort of guesthouse but the staff were friendly and the breakfast was hard to beat. At 3000 kyat per night (about US$3) it was also the cheapest we had come across yet in Burma.

Hsipaw is a town of characters and we met many of them over the next few days. The first came purely by chance as we were walking through the market. We had stopped to talk with some people to learn how to say hello and thank you in Shan and after a few minutes we were ushered through a couple of corridors down to meet someone's brother. Before long we were stood in front of a man fixing the roof of his stall after the torrential downpour the night before but when he finished he offered us tea and beckoned for us to sit with him for a while and talk. He was a softly spoken man with a permanent smile and a thoughtful turn of phrase. We told him where we were from, where we were going - two very important questions in Burma - and chatted about this and that until we got up to leave. I had noticed that he sold many hats at his stall so I jokingly said that he must be Mr Hat, but he smiled broadly and said 'Some people call me Mr Bamboo, since all of my hats are made of bamboo'. And so it was Mr Bamboo. Three days later I went to see him again and he remembered my name and John's and again invited me for tea so I drank again and took his photograph for my collection.

Next we met Mr Book, a staunch member of the National League for Democracy (NLD) and proud supporter of Aung San Su Kyi. He talked for a few hours about the standard of living and the military regime but was nervous while he did so. Twice he got up to look over his fence to see if anyone was listening and he always kept one eye on his front gate to see who might be approaching. It was uneasy at times but Mr Book, whose real name is Ko Zaw Htun, talked honestly about life in small town Burma where the people are cheerful and recover quickly from personal or domestic disaster. We wanted to talk for much longer but he had some errands to run and other tourists also wanted to talk to him.

Other characters around town were less talkative and more about business. There was Mr Bean, a bean seller in the market, Mr Food ran the best Shan restaurant in town with his brother who also goes by the name Mr Food, Mr Banana Pancake and Mrs Massage, both self explanatory but Johnny the Monk was altogether different. Although he's in his 50s he's still new to the Monk order, joining within the last few years. He talked about his kids and his life before he was given the responsibility of taking care of the local stupa and told long tales as he drew puffs on his cheroot and played with his cat. As he talked a few other travellers, two of which had sought out Johnny to help them master the art of meditation, joined us and listened intently for three hours or more.

Finally we met Fern at the Shan Palace at the eastern edge of town. Her husband's uncle was the last in a long line of Shan Princes who mysteriously disappeared in 1963 and presumably executed shortly afterwards. Fern and her husband Donald are about as close to Shan royalty as there is left these days and they will proudly tell anyone about their family and history. John asked Fern what life was like in Burma now and she replied, 'Life is very difficult. Life is getting worse. We have hope but our leader wants to make change the peaceful way so it will take a long time.'

Local kids around Hsipaw

Hsipaw is also where both John and I fell sick on the same day. We were forced to stay in town longer than we probably should and after five days it was time to catch the early bus back to Mandalay. The bus back down was much quicker than the train and within 7 hours we were back in the broad Mandalay valley near the banks of the Ayerwaddy River.

THE MOUSTACHE BROTHERS
As promised John and I returned to see the Moustache Brothers during the day so that we could ask them questions about the country, the government and in particular their own personal struggle. A couple of days earlier John and I watched the movie 'About a Boy' on DVD and in it Par Par Lay gets a mention during an Amnesty International help-line scene. I wanted to take my computer along and show it to them just in case they hadn't seen it. It turned out that they knew about it, owned the VCD but had never actually found the correct scene. When they saw it for the first time they all fell about in laughter and screamed with delight. I had to play the scene over and over again as more and more of them gathered around. Later Par Par Lay took us to their local teahouse where I showed some of the regulars and anyone else that was curious. I showed them how to find it on their own VCD player and they began their show that night by showing the scene - three times. They are all extremely proud of it. They gave us autographed photos to give to Hugh Grant and Nick Hornby (the author) the next time we see them and John promised to at least forward it to their respective agents.

John asked Lu Maw about the years that Par Par Lay and their cousin Lu Zaw spent in prison. For the first few months they were forced to perform hard labour but the last five years of their sentence they were held in solitary confinement. Par Par Lay has taken much of the media attention but his cousin served the same sentence - it shows on his face too. Regardless of past experiences their hospitality was unequaled. We had an endless supply of tea, plenty of samosas and tomato salad. All of them were up and down the whole time, fetching more tea, or maps and photographs. They were insistent that we take lots of photographs of them and they even put on a little show which I got on video.

Pyin O Lwin, Myanmar

THE ROAD FROM MANDALAY (to Pyin U Lwin)
After three days in the capital and another three in the next biggest city a change of pace was needed. Pick-up trucks ply the route between Mandalay and Pyin U Lwin, 68km to the east. We bought a ticket for the rear of a pick-up at the foreigners’ price of 700 kyat (about 70c, locals pay 500 kyat) and sat in the cramped confines with at least a dozen other people for three hours as we climbed 1,000m to the old British hill station formally known as Maymyo. The journey wasn't so bad - John was able to read, I played a few rounds on my electronic golf game and we both listened to Puccini and the theme from the Piano on John's mini disk player.
Maymyo is a great place to escape from the heat and the hustle of the big city. We found a very quiet guesthouse away from the main street run by a lovely older Nepali man who would later tell us about the latest Space Shuttle disaster. He also told us that 40% of all income at Burmese hotels from foreigners must be paid back to the government as tax each month. For the most part John and I have been trying to avoid Government owned and operated businesses to make sure that most of our tourist dollars benefit the average Burmese citizen but hearing this from the hotel owner was slightly deflating. The Government seems to have so many ways of making sure that they benefit directly from almost everything we buy, not least by the useless FECs that I have in my wallet and struggle to get rid of.
Later that afternoon we found the generous Family Restaurant for a massive lunch - we only ordered two items from the menu, a mutton curry and an egg curry, but we ended up with no fewer than 17 plates of food plus an endless supply of tea and poppadoms. There was more food than we could eat and the final bill came to just over $2 for the both of us. It was so good that we went back again the next day, mainly for the food but also because the family running the place made us feel so much at home.
Before leaving town we also ate at the Tea Line Milkshake Shop located in a strawberry farm just behind the golf course. The strawberry milkshakes were phenomenal but their rice salad was even better. We were there just before peak strawberry season but the berries were still pretty good if a little on the small side.

MISSING LINKS
On Monday we played our first and probably only round of golf in Myanmar. The Maymyo Golf Club had quite a good write up in the Lonely Planet guidebook so John and myself decided to check it out for something different to do. Part of the attraction was that the green fees include shoe hire, clubs and a real Burmese caddy.
The day before we went along to see the course and ended up playing cane ball on the practice green with some of the caddy's as the heat of the afternoon wore off. They invited us into the clubhouse for a drink but we had a taste for beer and all that was on offer was a dodgy rum concoction.
Prior to the round we seemed to command the attention of everyone at the course as we kitted ourselves out with shoes, gloves and a variety of tees and balls. The club inventory didn't include golf shoes big enough for John's size eleven feet so he had to play in his sandals. On the first hole the caddy's set the precedent for the rest of the round by helpfully moving our ball to a better lie and often teeing it up on a small tuft of grass on the fairway. Any shot that went out of bounds was confidently moved back into the fairway with a cheeky grin and a nod of the head as if to say "It's okay, I won't tell anybody". Over the next 18 holes we had the two caddy's searching in trees and lakes for our lost balls. Their help was wasted on us because as we continuously found just about all of the hazards that the Maymyo Golf Club had designed for the discerning golfer. After a tough three and a half hours we finally made off the course, both of us with well over a hundred on the score sheet. It was not a pretty round of golf but it's nice to say that we played golf in Burma. For the record I shot 110 and John 122.

Quick nap after a long round of golf

PSYCHIC BARGAINING
We spent a day longer in Maymyo than we wanted to. We hadn't bothered to properly research our exit from the town and they day we wanted to leave the hotel owner told us at breakfast that we had already missed the only pickup truck to Hsipaw, the only bus to Hsipaw, and the only train. We wanted to go to the bus station to find out for ourselves and look into the possibility of getting there by some other means, but like most days in Burma we got distracted early on and things didn't turn out as expected. We befriended a tricycle rider who was delivering wood to somewhere under the guise that we were looking for the post office - which was also on our agenda. Rather than just pointing us in the general direction he took us there himself after delivering his cargo. The post office was not open yet but across the road we saw a familiar face. It was the first man that we met in Hsipaw three days earlier - we had chatted with him about this and that and he had helped us find the Grace Hotel (US$4 a night) with little fuss. We wandered inside his shop and looked around. I told him that I collected old paper money and he obliged by pulling out many old notes that I had never seen before. Some were still in circulation but others had been demonetised back in 1987. Although they were worthless I knew that money is money and it still holds some value if only for the collector. He happily gave me about half a dozen notes, and some old coins and didn't ask for anything in return. John and I looked around his shop for a little while and found a few items of interest, one in particular was a 10 inch tall statue of a nat made of bronze and copper which caught Johns eye. Once the shop owner saw the look in Johns eye the bargaining process began but it didn't follow the normal pattern. The owner played the familiar game of starting out high, $70, and then followed it up with some familiar phrases, "How much do you want to pay?", "It's much more expensive in Mandalay". For ten minutes John continued to examine the figure, picking it up, putting it down, walking away, admiring it from a distance, all the time not saying a word to shop owner. During this time the price began to fall, first to $60, then $50 and $40. John's patience remained steady and finally when the price dropped to $30 he decided to buy but not before I added a couple of lion statues and a teak elephant to the deal. I had never seen anyone bargain with a shop owner without actually saying a word, and I probably will never see it again.