14-19 August: Burma (Myanmar)
During KK’s ten-day dental break we need something to do. She has her temporary ‘Horse teeth” crowns and is itchy to be anywhere that is not here…
Our visa expires on August 28th, her final procedures should be completed the 26th. We think a time safety cushion is in order, in case she needs some kind of unforeseen follow up. It’s Visa Run time. Burma (Union of Myanmar, according to the ruling Junta) is just a few hours north, and has an easy visa stamp routine in place. Instead of just a day run, we figure we would get a special 14-day Burmese visa and see part of the country. Who cares about rebels, mines, rockets and secret police?
The 1st class A/C bus has video, stereo and snacks. The seats are huge and comfy for your average Thai. JD may have gone feral, but he really hasn’t physically shrunk. 4½ hours to Mae Sai, the Northernmost point in Thailand. Mae Sai is a market town, handling direct (and some not-so-direct) business and trade with Tachilek, Burma. A small river (The Mae Sai…) delineates the border. Only fifteen feet across during the rainy season (That’s now) you can easily spit into a
foreign land from one bank.On the Thai side we have a room overlooking the river in a guesthouse called Monkey Island. The little restaurant next door makes the best curry soups JD has ever had, and they deliver. The guesthouse owner, Julien, gave us some great pointers on getting into and getting around in Burma.
“Checking out” of Thailand is easy. Show your passport, sign your debarkation paper and get your stamp. ‘Checking in” to Burma is more interesting.
If we were just day-trip visa running we would get an entrance pass, have a few hours in the market, turn in the pass and get an exit stamp from Burma. This exit stamp proves you have left Thailand, and can now re-enter for another 30 days. (The extra details are here in the MAY blog).
We want to actually stay for a bit. This gets us politely escorted to a different office. Here we provide 3 passport photos, an itinerary, and twenty US dollars. No creases, tears, stamps or ink can be on the money. (Actual travel hint: in all third world countries, the hardest currency is still the dollar. In the communist-type governments (Burma and Laos for example) cash for paperwork or for changing must be new, crisp and blemish free. Serial number sequence does not seem to be an issue). Then they take your real passport and provide you with a temporary Myanmar passport. This was the single scariest thing we have done this trip. Handing over our proof of citizenship to a bureaucracy that on a whim has been known to: Change its money (1997- changed the denominations of the printed notes to
more astrologically harmonious numbers, changed it again in 2003), randomly close its borders, and arrest anyone it feels like at any time. Then we are escorted to another office where more things are stamped, additional photos are taken digitally, and more paperwork is put together.Our new visas allow us to travel all the way to Mongla, on the Chinese border, about 240 kilometers north. The rules are: We can only be on this one road, we can only sleep in Khang Tong or Mongla, and we Will Be Leaving by August 28. The original immigration officer then arranges our ride. We step down into the market to have a coffee and tea while waiting for the car to show. It was just like an Indonesian market, with a touch more charm. JD was offered knock-off Viagra and Cialis right off the bat. Side effects include: arsenic poisoning, vomiting, d
iarrhea, and impotency… Special price just for you!Our driver introduces himself as “Mr. Driver”, and this is pretty much his English. The car was not the car we had in Tassie but might be a close relative. ‘Nuf said. It takes a while to get out of town. The main road (read “paved road”) has a detour onto a dirt side street (Rainy season: Mud- and it just so happens to be the onset of the rainy season). It is a one lane alley, with a large truck and a flat tire. Things go nowhere fast. Mr. Driver hooks a fancy U-ey and whips us up the other side’s detour, against traffic. We end up at the taxi stand north of town.
Apparently we get two more passengers for the trip. It’s going to be snug. Especially since Kimberly is riding the hump in the back and the man on her left will not, if he can help it, touch a farang female. Unfortunately for him, with the condition of the roads he has no alternative at times than to be rubbed by a redhead. (Seemingly he thinks that at least if he doesn’t look at her she isn’t really there – she offers him a cookie and momentarily she can be seen, at least peripherally) The driver is fully responsible for the people in the car. This means he has all of everyone’s papers. Papers are VERY important in Burma. So are rubber stamps.Brief history:
The Union of Myanmar is a country ruled by a communist military junta. The junta forcibly took power in 1968, and renamed the country in 1973. In an approach similar to Stalin, there were nationwide “eliminations” of undesirable thoughts, actions and deeds. The Shan state, which we are in, was/is/and will continue to be a hot-bed of rebellion and sedition. The government rules with a true “iron hand”. Land, homes and young men are taken without warning or explanation or compensation. Secret prisons dot the landscape, as do military barracks. Any time there is an uprising or dissenting presence, it is dealt with speedily and with extreme prejudice. The government really doesn’t give a shit what the rest of the world thinks… as long as they can keep their military machine functioning, the people themselves are just a pliable commodity to support it and only it.
There are two sides to the debate of visiting Burma: One camp feels any tourism is an indirect thumbs up to the government, after all, if you are willing to come and spend your hard currency, you must approve of the way things are done. The other side feels that despite the revolting nature of the junta’s approach, money directly into the hands of the people gives them an opportunity to improve their own lives just a bit. All official transactions go to directly supporting the junta and crushing the citizenry. All cash transactions on the Mom & Pop level go to directly supporting the local people.
The country opened its doors to tourists in 1992. There have been 750,000 foreign visitors since then. Not 750,000 per year; 750,000 total. The junta used slave labor, in the form of political prisoners, to build tourist “corridors” in choice locations within the country. “Tourist cities” have a specific building quality, and the citizenry is sprinkled with informers and spies to make sure locals are not painting a negative picture of the government. Roads that allow tourists are built between key centers. If you want to go to an approved city that does not have a tourist road, you have to fly.
I cannot emphasize enough during this particular missive: Our lives are incredible. I mean as westerners. No matter your political or religious bend, you are free to be who you are. Petty bickering and pissing and moaning aside, whatever your country of origin/residence you are golden. No matter how much you dramatize the events in the west, you are not living in Burma. The Soviet Union of the cold war had to look at Myanmar and think “Lighten up dudes- you make us look warm and fuzzy”
The Drive North:
During the 5 hour 160-kilometer ride to Khang Tong the car stopped at seven different Travel Control Offices. The driver would grab everyone’s papers and run inside. A copy stayed there, a stamp was placed on the main sheet of all the remaining copies, and off we would go to the next control office. A few were obvious, but there were some in the smaller villages that were just an unmarked entranceway into a stonewall. Really. You’ll will have to trust our veracity on this one as we didn’t think it prudent to take pictures of any of these security stops.
This highway was dirt only five years ago. Taking this trip then could be a four or five day affair, depending on mud, landslides, and the size of anything broken down blocking the road. Perhaps faster if you were walking. It had three different phases of construction, and three different nationalities of engineers. The smooth, durable, crack and pothole free sections were designed by
Thai engineers. The slightly washboard, mildly cracked stretches were the Chinese engineers. The bone-jarring, class D forest service, yawning pothole, partially collapsed paved with stucco portions were the Myanmar engineers. Toll plazas optimistically exist at the demarcations of the three different phases. During heavy traffic periods almost 12 to 15 vehicles per hour use the highway… Most are trucks. Otherwise bicycles, water buffalo, cattle, goats and fowl are the primary traffic.The heavy rains of the previous week had caused three major mudslides and a river undercut large sections of the road. In the States, the road would be closed for a year while engineers, environmentalists and attorneys figured out a safe way to fix it. Here, you drive through the mud, avoid the precipice, and dodge the boulders. It will get fixed eventually, and if you fall into the ravine, climb out and walk.
Khang Tong:
The local currency is the “Jat”, and like the Egyptian pound in Egypt, the locals prefer almost anything but it. US Dollars, Thai Baht and even Chinese Yuan are the currencies of choice. The Sam Ywat (“Yacht”-like the boat) Guesthouse was the most affordable choice in town. US$15 per night for a somewhat long in the tooth twin room, shared bath (noted by KK to have not been cleaned in all the time we stayed) with no hot water. Crisp, not-too-creased, no tears or flaws, small denomination dollars were preferred as renumeration. There are no ATM’s in Burma, and we didn’t see any banks along our particular route. The local moneychanger was giving 1200 MMK (Jat) to the Dollar, and 34 Jat to the Baht. The “official” (Government posted) rate is 6 MMK to the Dollar…
During colonial times, Burma was under British influence. In keeping with the British approach of bending nature to mans will, a beautiful lake and surrounding park were created in the middle of
town in the 1800’s. It is a pretty walk, providing a number of views of the surrounding hillsides and the numerous Buddhist and Chinese temples. The city has a distinct dichotomy: Beautiful historic structures mixed with dirty, poorly maintained streets and buildings. The local economy is 
currently not the favorite of the junta, so it is not freeing up any cash for infrastructure maintenance. The people still manage to be pleasant and friendly. The avarice of Indonesia is not an issue here.School let out during our constitutional. A group of young people, probably 10 to 12 years old, became very excited to see westerners. They waved and in a measured canted choral unison shouted “Hello- Good day- Good-bye- Very good!” then began to giggle hysterically.
They were so genuine in their desire to use their English on apparent English speaking people, that it was easy to imagine the teacher having the class repeat the basic greetings over and over.Another group in our guesthouse introduced us to a local trekking guide. He is not an “official” guide, therefore is not locked into the specific controlled jaunts the state-approved guides follow. We negotiated a trip for the next day. Little did we know it was going to be one of the most amazing experiences of our whole trip, and then some. Multiply by 387,564.
Our guide, for security purposes I’ll call him “Harry”, has a colorful and intriguing past. Following the coup he and his mates became insurgents. They raised a bit of a ruckus through the seventies and early eighties. He spent a lot of time seeking refuge amongst the various hill tribes in the region, and became familiar with, and to, them. He speaks no less than four different tribe dialects, as well as English, Burmese, Thai, and some Chinese.
Another quick aside: This area was the heart of the Lanna Kingdom, The original northern Thai monarchy. Many Thais make a pilgrimage to the region around Khang Tong to get a taste of their heritage and cultural history. Not unlike an Irishman from the states heading to Ireland to check out a branch of the family tree.
Anyway, Harry has a brother who emigrated to Chiang Rai (Thailand). He made a trip to see him in the mid-eighties. His brother was a hill tribe trekking guide there. Harry thought that was the shit. He decided right then that if Burma ever again opened its borders to foreigners he was going to be a trekking guide. Sure enough, when the junta began allowing visitors in 1992, he began guiding.
Initially it was for the official state service through Myanmar Travel. They really directed which villages you could visit, what you could say, and kept 75% of your fees, and then taxed the rest. (Over 60% of the GDP goes directly to the military). He opted to work outside the box, as much as he could. He emphasizes education and minimal impact in his trips.We are still in a military state. Our papers need the proper stamps and copies for us to be taken out of the city. The first hour of the morning is spent driving to various official buildings to get papers in order. Additionally we need to be back in the city by 6:00pm. The checkpoints close then, and if we are not stamped back in, we are considered in violation of our visa. I don’t wish to explore the hospitality of any official buildings in this country.
Akha Hill Tribes:
Throughout the golden triangle (Burma-Laos-Thailand border region) there are three primary hill tribe groupings. Within the groupings there are sub groups, and then family villages. The tribes have been the tribes for almost a millennia. They pay scant attention to which nation “controls” the land they live on. Historically Burma, Siam (Thailand), China, and even Cambodia have laid claim and ruled this region at assorted times. Presently the junta is working a running engagement against certain factions of the Karin tribes. It is not unusual for an entire Burmese Karin village to up and relocate to northern Thailand. (Just like the one near Elephant Camp) We are visiting subsets of the Akha tribe during this trek.
The Akha’s are non-migratory and agrarian. They farm plots on the steep mountainsides, and work c
attle and buffalo in the jungle. Like the hill tribes in Thailand they are known for the distinctive silver work enhanced black headwear and outfits the women wear. Villages are patriarchal and vocations tend to be generational linear. (The men are in “charge” and you will follow in the family business…). Your little hut, farm plot, and livestock are your measure of wealth. Your male children 
are your IRA (Super for the Ozzies).The women’s daily wear is a billboard of status, eligibility, fecundity, and lineage. The specific color patterns denote family. The number and size of the larger silver beads indicate babies. The intricately worked belt pouch denotes marriage. A large silver half-moon displayed on the back of a young ladies headwear denotes two things: She has had her first period and is now suitable for courting. If there is lots of metallic silver worked into the patterns of the pieces it indicates wealth.
Young women are married as early as age 14, and rarely later than 16. The first baby is expected within the year. The engagement process is an entertaining one: During the pre-harvest festival,
usually mid-August, the village teenagers spend a bit of time on “the swing”. The swing is made from a large bamboo tripod with a rope swing tied to the apex. Young ladies sit in the sling and swing as high as they can. The rest of the village young people cheer them on. This is a society that has no idea what underwear is… Paint your own picture. “Hooking up” or “hanging out” means a whole lot more here.This segways nicely to this: The village Shaman is pretty much the man in charge. Sure there is a village headman, however nothing happens without the approval of the Shaman. At the same time the Shaman covers a lot of jobs: weatherman, seer, wise man, advisor, and teacher. As a teacher, sex-ed is part of the curriculum. During the November full moon festival the Shaman picks two of the courting 14 year olds. This lucky couple serves as the demo model for the annual how-to-breed review. In the center of the village, in front of all of the residents (and subject to critique), the Shaman has the couple perform the step-by-step actions of foreplay through consummation. Everyone gets to watch and compare notes, and see if the Shaman has learned anything new in the past year…
The first village we passed had lost its Shaman nine months ago. He died without an heir; therefore there is no more village Shaman. The village was in rapid decay. Harry felt it wouldn’t make it another full year. A village without a Shaman is adrift in a spiritual void. Only a Shaman can perform the rituals that honor the ancestors, disperse the bad spirits and attract the good ones. Any other job in the village can have an appointee in the case of no eligible children. Shamans have to follow a family line. If a young Shaman’s apprentice (Read “son”) from a different village is released from his commitment, if he decides to step up, and if the Shamanless village approves of him, then he can start a new Shamanic line. This doesn’t happen often.
The next village, another thousand feet up, was small yet vibrant. The residents all recognized Harry
and came out for a chat. He had some photographs from a prior trip to deliver. This is where we learned the significance of the different parts of the woman’s ensemble. The village women were equally intrigued by the simplicity of our wedding rings to denote marriage.On our way out of this village KK noticed JD’s ankle was bleeding. JD looks down and sees a pinky sized blood-engorged leech attached to his foot. It had already partially dislodged, so he scraped it away. Harry grabbed it and gave it a squeeze. POP goes the bloodthirsty worm… Harry had a blend of local oils to put on the wound, which did slow the bleeding quite a bit. It was still three or four hours before it stopped completely. It was a “land” leech. They live on the underside of leaves and attach to anything warm-blooded that brushes against the greenery. Had KK realized what it was when she noticed the blood, she would still be in a state…She is surprisingly prissy at times considering the fact that she is a butcher’s daughter. It is not the blood, but the leech that she finds appalling.
The final village was quite a few kilometers away, up and over a pass. It is located along a
cattle/opium “road”. This road had been the shortcut to Thailand before the new road was built a few years ago. It would only take eight days to walk to Thailand… We stop to eat before we get to the village. Dragonfruit, Mangosteens, Rambutan, and crackers are the lunch staples.This village has been here for over ten generations. The spirit gate totems trace the Shamans family for almost thirty generations. It is clean and neat, as much as thatch, dirt and livestock can
allow, and occupies a strategically viable hilltop with commanding views of the surrounding mountainsides. Harry was particularly attached to this village. This was one he spent quite a bit of time in “back in the day”. We were invited into a home, and a number of the village children appeared to check out the strange looking giants. Harry has only been bringing trekkers to this village since April. Not many of his clients are willing or able to get this far into the mountains, so the villagers still look at us with the same curiosity as we see t
hem. With Harry interpreting we make small talk and take photos. The kids (and adults) are still very new to technology. The young people become highly intrigued by their own pictures, which we show them immediately, to squeals of glee. We say our goodbyes, and move on through the village. Harry distributes a few more photographs, and then it begins to rain. That wonderful tropical Monsoon rain. Fill a giant water balloon with a few million gallons of water, then drop it from thousand feet. Hard pack Earth instantaneously becomes sticky red muck.Another villager yells to Harry “why you no visit my home?!?” He feels this would be a great way to
get out of the rain, so we do. This is a “retired” couple. They have three grown sons who now support them. This is the economic cycle of the tribes, and even Asia as a whole. You have sons, you raise the sons, they grow up and take care of you until you die, the oldest inherits the family home, gives his to the second, etc. No sons, no retirement. Our smooth skin fascinates the lady of the house. She also gave KK’s calf a squeeze and exclaimed joyously how many babies she could have had with KK’s legs… She had 8 children and felt KK should have more than ten easy. While here, another gentleman joined us on the porch. His is a heart-wrenching story:He is recently widowed. His 30-year-old unmarried son lives with him. He had four other children who had gotten sick and died. During each illness he sold off more of his land and cattle. All he has now is his small thatch home. His wife passed before she could have more babies. He has no wealth, and no prospects for the future. His son is completely unmarriageable: there is no land or commodity for him to inherit, therefore he too is paupered. Both men live at the charity of the village. Trading meager amounts of labor for food. He did not seem to be absorbed in the melancholy of his situation. He was excited to hear we were American. We explained we came from Seattle, where Boeing airplanes are made. He was quite impressed, mentioning with conviction Americans were a “bright and clever” people. He has seen and admired airplanes flying overhead.
During small talk our hosts tried to figure out how far away we lived. They did not understand distance, but they did get it when we explained it was midnight at our home when it was noon here. The rain slackened enough to start back.
The trail had become the dictionary definition of quagmire. The red clay managed to be simultaneously both frictionless and powerfully adhesive. Ever watch a cat trying to walk with water on its paw? That was us on the trek out… The clay would conglomerate onto the bottom and sides of the sandals. This would create an essentially frictionless surface. If you stepped on more mud there was no traction. You had to spot bits of rock and root to be sure you didn’t end up on your ass. We had about 14 kilometers and a few thousand feet of elevation change to overcome to get back to the car. It was a strenuous trip. Toward the end we passed through one of the secret prison camps. The guards are OK with trekkers walking by, and occasionally Harry and others will pass the prisoners some foodstuffs or smokes. As long as they don’t linger, and more importantly, Do Not Speak to the prisoners, it is allowed. The prisoners are not from the local population, and rotate through frequently. They are without identity, and no one knows their crimes.We made it back just in time, so did not have to experience the Myanmar version of the inquisition.
Other Tribal notes:
Male children have value, female children have significantly less.
Twins are a negative sign form the spirits. Only animals have multiple births. The twins are left to the elements, or more recently, dropped at a mission orphanage. The couples hut and belongings will be torched. They will have an option of annulment by the Shaman if they want.
If a marriage is not “fruitful” within the first two years, the Shaman will annul the relationship, freeing each person to marry another and try again.
For both planting and harvest, different villages will team up to make the job faster and more efficient. Classic “you scratch my field, I’ll scratch yours”.
Unsullied young ladies are necessary for the spirit gate renewal ceremony in November. They and the Shaman chant fresh juju into the spirit gate, keeping the bad spirits at bay. This happens just before the sex-ed class.
The return to Thailand:
We have four in a car for the return to Tachilek. This car is a bit worse for wear than our ride up. KK
is again on the hump. The driver threw a quart of oil in at the start of the trip. I don’t think it was enough…
We did get held up at one of the mudslides while a loader was moving mud.
Checking out of Burma was easy. Our passports were returned, unharmed and with fresh new stamps. We popped back into Mae Sai and headed back to Monkey Island. Of course a food stall stop on the way was mandatory.
For the run back to Chiang Mai we opt for the super VIP bus. An extra $4 a ticket gets us HUGE seats and a 4-hour ride straight through. There are two police checkpoints in that initial hour before Chiang Rai. At the first everyone’s carry on bags are searched for contraband. Yah Bah and other meth derivatives are a major export form Burma. The second is looking for illegal aliens. We are subject to racial profiling at this one… we, as well as the other three farangs on the bus, do not have to show our passports. The police have assumed, based solely on our physical appearance, we are not Burmese trying to sneak into Thailand. I was insulted and appalled. How incredibly non-PC.
We are happy we made the trip into Burma. It really gave us perspective on what we take for granted every day. The junta is not going to be affected by international concerns and actions, despite what you might hear on CNN. The Burmese people themselves will only bring it to heel. This will not be easy, fiscally and in human costs. The junta has been very up front in their willingness to use deadly force for the most minor of perceived wrongs. The response to a major uprising would be no less than catastrphic for teh everyday citizens.
Male children have value, female children have significantly less.
Twins are a negative sign form the spirits. Only animals have multiple births. The twins are left to the elements, or more recently, dropped at a mission orphanage. The couples hut and belongings will be torched. They will have an option of annulment by the Shaman if they want.
If a marriage is not “fruitful” within the first two years, the Shaman will annul the relationship, freeing each person to marry another and try again.
For both planting and harvest, different villages will team up to make the job faster and more efficient. Classic “you scratch my field, I’ll scratch yours”.
Unsullied young ladies are necessary for the spirit gate renewal ceremony in November. They and the Shaman chant fresh juju into the spirit gate, keeping the bad spirits at bay. This happens just before the sex-ed class.
The return to Thailand:
We have four in a car for the return to Tachilek. This car is a bit worse for wear than our ride up. KK
is again on the hump. The driver threw a quart of oil in at the start of the trip. I don’t think it was enough…We did get held up at one of the mudslides while a loader was moving mud.
Checking out of Burma was easy. Our passports were returned, unharmed and with fresh new stamps. We popped back into Mae Sai and headed back to Monkey Island. Of course a food stall stop on the way was mandatory.For the run back to Chiang Mai we opt for the super VIP bus. An extra $4 a ticket gets us HUGE seats and a 4-hour ride straight through. There are two police checkpoints in that initial hour before Chiang Rai. At the first everyone’s carry on bags are searched for contraband. Yah Bah and other meth derivatives are a major export form Burma. The second is looking for illegal aliens. We are subject to racial profiling at this one… we, as well as the other three farangs on the bus, do not have to show our passports. The police have assumed, based solely on our physical appearance, we are not Burmese trying to sneak into Thailand. I was insulted and appalled. How incredibly non-PC.
We are happy we made the trip into Burma. It really gave us perspective on what we take for granted every day. The junta is not going to be affected by international concerns and actions, despite what you might hear on CNN. The Burmese people themselves will only bring it to heel. This will not be easy, fiscally and in human costs. The junta has been very up front in their willingness to use deadly force for the most minor of perceived wrongs. The response to a major uprising would be no less than catastrphic for teh everyday citizens.
We have another ten days or so in Chiang Mai. Some friends form the East Coast (Conn) will be stopping by for a couple of days during this window.
