Spring Break Part II: Traveling through Shan State, Burma

I was on an old slow train, looking out the open window at the ruggedly verdant hills of Shan state, seeing a village in the distance and some children playing near the train tracks, that I suddenly felt this opening sensation: I love this country; I love these people; I want their best welfare.

The Burmese people are on the whole the friendliest, warmest, most welcoming people I have ever encountered. Yes, their government is authoritarian and as a result their society is plagued by corruption and paranoia; and yes, the country has struggled for centuries with violent ethnic conflict. Yet for all of the problems that burden this nation, what I saw and felt were deep reserves of compassion.

After crossing the border from China to Burma we sat in the immigration official's office for an hour or two as they worked through our paperwork. They were such friendly bureaucrats, and we spent our time joking and laughing. Zach can charm just about anyone with his Burmese language skills. From time to time people would ask us if either of us were married; Zach got great mileage out of the line: no, I don't have a girl because I don't have any money. People loved that joke.

After all the paperwork was done we got in a car where our Burmese driver drove us about 5 hours into the country to a town called Lashio. This is standard procedure for all foreigners crossing the border by foot, presumably so we don't go wandering off by ourselves into the opium fields (which northern Burma is full of). In addition to us and the driver, there was also one Swiss man in the car, as well as a large rice-cooker in a box. The appliance was made in China: a woman on the Burmese side of the border will get orders for various Chinese goods, go across the border to get them, and then send them with our chauffeur to a drop-off spot in Lashio, where they will in turn get to the customer. Zach and I love discovering the kinds of informal supply-chains that crop up in a country whose formal marketplace is so severely underdeveloped.

From Lashio we traveled to Hsipaw, and we got there by riding on the back of a bean truck. Yes, we could have taken a bus there, but we decided that would be too boring. The bean truck was going the same direction we were headed, so it worked out perfectly. There were also some large bags of dried tea leaves (Burmese tea is the best in the world, the Burmese say, and Zach agrees), as well as a few other travelers. We rode for several hours that night, and I had an old Ghurka man fall asleep on my legs. This man was a third-generation Ghurka: a Nepalese ethnicity that the British had mobilized in addition to some Indian forces when they came to reclaim Burma from the Japanese. The man had a handsome short white beard, and he wore a pith helmet that Zach and I found quite dashing. Zach complimented him so much on the hat that the man gave it to him. Zach tried to decline, but the man insisted. In exchange Zach gave him his inflatable traveler's pillow, which he would undoubtedly get more use out of that Zach.

The bean truck dropped us off in Hsipaw, and there we spent the night. We had good lodgings, and from where we slept we could hear the chanting of monks, which carried on continuously through the night and into the morning and the next day. I have never slept to chanting before in this way, but it was one of the most soothing experiences.

In the morning we walked around Hsipaw and watched the bustle of this beautiful small town. We watched a man make sandals out of tire rubber, and stumble across some other men building furniture. We found the "factory" where Zach's favorite Burmese treat is made--a sort of salty-sweet dried plum. And we walked around the markets and asked the merchants where their food came from. Then at noon we got on a train to Mandalay.

The train was built in the time of the British occupation in the early 1900's, and hasn't been modernized since then. It's called a "buffalo train," since it moves about as fast as an agitated water buffalo can walk. It is a fantastic way to see the beauty of Shan state, and the company on the train was most enjoyable.

We sat across from an old man who looked the worse for wear. He had been a soldier when he was younger, and took pleasure in telling us about all the battles he had fought against the Karen ethnicity near the Thai border, and he pointed out all the different places where shrapnel from rpg's were lodged in his body, including a piece near his spine that made him twitch occasionally. He was a sad looking man, and had recently gotten in a traffic accident. He was on the train headed towards a military hospital where he hoped to get treatment. He had even brought his twenty-year old uniform along with him, and changed into it before leaving the train. Mostly though, he drank. He bought a bottle of bad whiskey near the beginning of our train ride, and by the end--about eight hours later--he was still drinking away. He sure was a character. At one point he tried to teach me to count in Burmese, but was yelling so loudly and nonsensically as he tallied his fingers that there was no comprehending him. Zach turned to me and said, "It's like Rosetta Stone, except instead it's a crazy drunken soldier."

Later a couple of women got on the train and sat across from us. The one whom I thought was particularly beautiful I was surprised to learn was 21 and the mother of two: a four year old and a six month old. She's married to a carpenter. We learned that they were Muslim, which is unusual in a country that's 98% Buddhist. At one point the two women were giggling and whispering to each other as they pointed at me. Finally they told Zach that they thought I was very handsome. So handsome, in fact, that "I could be the child of a Muslim and a Chinese person." When Zach told me this we both started laughing so hard that we had to reassure the women that I wasn't angry. Quite to the contrary: I don't think I've ever received such a unique and flattering compliment.

The train rode on, past the grandeur that is Burma. It began to rain slightly just as the sun began to set, the amber light of evening hitting the raindrops at an angle as we rode across green hills. A few hours after night fall our train came to a stop and we got onto another big truck, this one crammed with people, and we rode the rest of the evening to Mandalay. Zach and I were on the top of the truck, lying beneath the stars. A young father was with us, and his few-year-old son, who nestled into Zach's arm to stay warm. We spent the evening looking up at cool night sky and talking about life and love and stars.

In Mandalay we slept, and in the morning we flew to Yangon. The "on the move" portion of our journey was over.