Dave's Travel Journal

Unfortunately the government here in the Union of Myanmar has deemed access to Hotmail dangerous to their grip on power. Therefore I will not be able to view, or reply to any messages sent to my Hotmail account. Sorry folks.

For family, friends and assorted others, here is a rough itinerary which covers me until I return to Bangkok.

23rd Feb - Yangon - Mandalay, Bus
26th Feb - Mandalay - Bagan, Boat
28th Feb - Mount Popa, Day trip, local Bus
2nd Mar - Bagan - Kalaw, Bus
3,4(,5) Mar - Trek, Kalaw to Inle Lake
8th Mar - Inle Lake (Taunggyi) to Yangon
11th Mar - Yangon to Bangkok, flight, Bangkok "no crashes this week" Airways

Naturally this will probably change to some extent. It is however unlikely the destinations or order in which I will visit them will be altered.

These puns are going to get tiresome!

My flight from Mumbai arrived in Bangkok in the afternoon of 10th February. I immediately took a taxi to Khao Sarn Road and applied, via a travel agent for my Myanmar visa. Unfortunately I was told it would not be ready until the 15th February due to the weekend being followed by and preceded by, a public holiday. During those 4 days, I went to see a Muay Thai (Thai Boxing) event, explored the city and went drinking with fellow backpackers. My passport, with the visa contained within, was returned to me, as promised in the evening of the 15th, and that very night I left on an overnight coach for Ranong.

The crossing between Ranong (Thailand) and Kawthong (Myanmar) is completed in a small, rickety, wooden boat, the type propelled by a noisy, smoky outboard motor which is connected to the propeller via a long shaft. All of the other people crossing into Myanmar were ex-pats living in Bangkok completing their monthly "visa run." It is for this task the border seems to cater best, and it took much convincing before officials realised I was intending to stay in Myanmar.

The heat of the town is stifling (35 C +) and after finding accommodation and changing sufficient money into the local currency (Kyat, pronounced chat), I decided to find a beach. After a brief 'discussion' with a motorcycle taxi driver which involved me pointing to the Burmese word for beach in my not-so-trusty Lonely Planet, we set off.

The drive to the beach took us down a winding lane, then across a 200m wooden bridge connecting an island to the mainland. On the island lay a small village, comprised entirely of wooden huts on stilts. I would believe it if I were told it hadn't changed for 100 years.

The beach was beautiful; dotted about the horizon were islands of the vast Mergui Archipelago, whilst local fishing ships and a small group of local children playing in the crystal-clear water comprised the foreground. I went for a swim. Upon leaving the water I was beckoned over to a group of about 5 villagers, sitting at a table outside a hut. They insisted on plying me with an, as-yet-unknown alcoholic beverage, whilst we communicated as best we could. They were clearly celebrating something, eventually I understood it to be the Chinese New Year, but I am still not certain. They invited me back to the other side of the Island, which was facilitated by motorcycle, naturally with a drunken driver and 2 pillions! In the village I was taken to one of their houses where the entire community had seemed to gather, food was prepared, music was playing and drink was flowing. I was treated as a guest of honour, it was obvious that very few, if any, tourists get to the island. We ate fresh seafood, before returning for another swim in the waters of the Andaman Sea. Early in the evening I returned to Kawthong to book the speedboat ride to Dawei (Tavoy) the following morning. What an introduction to an amazing country.

I booked the speed boat ride with the assistance of the manager of the hotel at which I was staying; he went to the length of sending his son with me to obtain the tickets. I had to be up and ready to board the boat at 3am the following morning.

My account of events;

17th February,
3:00am Arrived at Kawthong dock.
3:30am Boarded the boat.
5:30am Depart Kawthong headed for Myeik followed by Dawei.
Unfortunately and bizarrely I appear to have been seated in the mothers and babies section.
Forgot to bring food or drink for the 13 hour journey. Bugger!

1300hrs
Arrived in Myeik, half way. Luckily had a couple of hours relief from the crèche, as I managed to get out onto the dangerously narrow deck. Clung on for dear life prior to returning inside just as we docked at Myeik.

Myeik
1300hrs – 1330hrs
Some of the mothers and babies appear to have left the boat, only to be replaced by new mothers and babies. Still no food for me, although I did manage to purchase some mineral water from a member of staff on the boat, exciting stuff.

1700hrs
Arrival at Dawei, bus takes an hour before leaving, elderly monk blows cigarette smoke at me from behind. He is smoking whilst chewing bettlenub!

1830hrs
Finally arrived at hotel, rooms are dirty and cell-like, fortunately it has an attached restaurant. Checked in.

to be continued.....

Ahh, Mumbai...

After spending some 2 weeks in Goa, a couple of days at Anjuna and the remainder at the more sedate and much more beautiful Palolem beach. I had to leave via coach for Mumbai in order to catch a flight to Bangkok. It was an overnight 12 hour journey, the type to which I have become accustom.

I checked into the backpackers mainstay, the Salvation Army hostel, which is more than a little institutionalised. I had a total of 5 days to spend in Mumbai before my flight to Goa. The first day I spent strolling around, as I have made a habit of doing upon arriving in a new city. The second day, I awoke nice and early, and upon leaving the hostel was approached by an English speaking Indian lad, a little older than me asking me if I wanted to appear in a Bollywood production..........Of course I do!

It is fairly common for westerners to be recruited from outside (usually budget) accommodation to appear in Indian television and film productions so I was not concerned.

The first day's filming was on an very low budget local channel, and all that was required of me was to sport a dashing fake beard, a tan beret and look angrily at the gentlemen talking. To add difficulty to this task, the other westerner who was appearing in this series and was also recruited from outside the S.A, had to speak. Les, a Londoner in his mid 50's with a slight lisp decided his character "just had to have a limp," which he effected when returning to his seat after his line. So the most difficult aspect of my role was maintaining a straight face.

After this day's filming and receiving my hefty pay packed equal to 4.50GBP I returned back to the city, pleased with my work and ready to hang my acting……..erm…….fake moustache up. However, later that very evening I was approached by the same lad and asked if I wanted to appear with a speaking role in a nation soap, on Star Plus…….Hell Yes! I was playing an English doctor. How apt.

The filming didn’t begin until about 6 in the evening, so I went with my “agent” for the rest of the day, back to the same set at which I filmed the previous day, and which I now consider far beneath my dignity, to watch some western girls who had been recruited.

When we arrived at the set at which I would be filmed. I was immediately given a suit, stethoscope (which to my dismay was later taken from me) and my lines to learn. Whilst make-up was liberally applied to my face. I was then sitting around for about 2-3 hours, trying, but failing to remember the few lines I was given. When the time came to shoot my scene, I was petrified. I was sat in front of stage lighting, the director, and about 5 others, who I think were there merely to make me nervous and the camera. Remarkably it only took 2 takes, and in my humble opinion, I would rate my performance as nothing less than magnificent. The television program I appeared on was called Kavyanjali, and my episode was to be broadcast the very next night.

I spent the following day visiting Elephanta Caves, anything to kill the time before my moment of fame!

As promised, it was broadcast on Star Plus at 2130hrs on 9th Feb. I recorded it with my digital camera held up to the screen of the television, although, I am told it will eventually be broadcast in the UK on our very own version of Star Plus.

The demographic at which this blog is targeted is, I understand also the demographic which Star Plus aims for. Keep an eye out folks!

The digital camera recording of my performace, together with stills of me in the beret and fake beard have been sent home and are avaliable on request. For a small fee, of course!

The following 2-3 weeks were spent motorcycling across the sub-continent. From Agra we headed west into Rajasthan, before turning south through the Great Thar Desert on a road which runs near to and parallel to the Pakistan border. After crossing the Rajasthan/Gujurat border we went at full speed south, our target was Goa. Here are some of the highlights of this trip.

After failing to find accommodation one evening near Phalodi, Rajasthan, we decided to spend a night under the stars, out on the sand dunes. This was an incredible experience (although most of the evening seemed to be spent collecting wood for our pitiful camp fire.) We awoke, early in the morning, to find two local gentlemen had appeared and began to relight our fire for us. It's strange that even in the depths of the desert, where ever one stops, people appear, curious as to why you have stopped and offering help.

Only a couple of days later, after a long day in the saddle, we arrived in Udaipur, a small city renowned for it’s beautiful lakeside location. On completing a U-turn in the city, the front wheel slipped on the a sandy road surface and the full weight of the bike, luggage and pillion, fell upon my leg, the point of the contact was the exhaust, which was hot after 4 hours of almost constant use. The bike didn’t fall to the ground but the exhaust burnt the inside of my calf. I have since been informed that this wound will produce a scar, common among Enfield pilots, known as the ‘Enfield Tattoo.’

We arrived in Goa around the 24th of January and immediately set about sampling the local nightlife, which lived up to it’s reputation.

Forgive the pun, but I couldn't resist!

Our last evening in Delhi wasn't exactly the early night we were planning and hoping for, and as a direct result of that our start wasn't quite the "0600 bright and breezy" which we spoke (into the early hours) about, but a dazed and confused 0930. Not ideal!

Once we loaded the bikes and set off in the general direction of Agra (south, navigating by the sun), we soon found out how difficult route finding in the cities of India was going to be. We didn't escape the poorly sign-posted and extremely busy metropolis of Delhi until gone noon. I wasn't convinced we would reach Agra in a day!

Once we reached the comparatively safe and well maintained National Highways, things brightened up. For a couple of hours we averaged around 60km an hour. Then disaster struck! Whilst on a duel carriageway cruising along at around 70km/hour, a truck, apparently not seeing our overloaded machine on the road, pulled out directly in front of us, crossing our path and driving us onto a sand lay by at dangerous speeds. We bounced along, luckily maintaining control and missing the trees which scattered the lay by, until Doris, with Marika and I still aboard came to a halt. I was furious and raged over to the truck cursing and demanding an explanation, a crowd of around 20 locals appeared from nowhere. The driver alighted, he was a chubby middle aged man dressed all in white linen. He said to me, with a face so amiable my anger had already gone, "It was my mistake, I’m sorry." I immediately felt guilty for my previous display of rage, shook hands and returned to Doris, who was now, stubbornly refusing to start. The crowd of locals, who always seem to appear whenever, and where ever one stops in India, followed and watched intently as I attempted to kick start Doris back into life, but to no avail.

Just as my despondency was growing, Doris burst into life and we proceeded to catch up with Glenn and Annie who had stopped about a kilometer further on after noticing we were no longer behind them. We continued for a further 30 minutes until the golden arches of McDonald's appeared by the side of the road, temptation won, hand signals were exchanged between bikes, and we stopped. Our bike again refused to start after our lunch break and we needed to bump start her with the help of a local boy. We reached Agra that evening. Shattered!