Naypyidaw to Bangkok – Myanmar Part 2

Reincarnation is a funny thing. One lifetime you’re a monk, the next you’re a 17 foot python. Is that an improvement or a step backwards? It’s possible to sit face to face with the 125 year old serpent/former holy man in a small monastery in Bago. We watched several worshippers offer money in return for a blessing in the form of a few flicks of its forked tongue. No cage, no glass, just a quietly chanting minder keeping an eye on everyone and making sure they don’t get too close. Every day presents a surprise in Myanmar.

The old, long snake that once was a monk in Bago
Python worshippers

21st December 2015 – 5th January 2016

Leaving Naypyidaw on our way to Bago the multi-lane, landscaped boulevards soon gives way to the more familiar dusty, handbuilt ‘main’ road. At a market a man tries to sell me a piglet but we settle for plates of miscellaneous e kawea kwei doughnuts with deep fried fruit and veg that have became our staple for 2nd breakfast. Full of taste, calories and fat, all washed down with Premier coffee.

Piglet for sale
Deep fried breakfast

At intervals the sound of terrible music can be heard at a distance, rising to a distorted racket as we approach roadside collections for the local temple. Ladies in conical hats topped with coloured pom poms rattle bowls, hoping for spare change while a monk chants into a microphone with the reverb turned far too high.

M to the O to the N to the K
Pom pom hats
Pom pom hats

The monks are intrinsically linked to the community. Every morning a procession of red robed boys with bare heads and bare feet and arranged in height order can be seen in any village or town. Their ceramic bowls are filled with food offerings by the homeowners and shopkeepers in a daily trick or treat round where the ‘trick’ would be the disapproval of Buddha.

Monks off to collect their alms

In the temples we stay in there are often villagers sitting chatting with the monks, watching their TV’s or sharing a cigar. It’s like a community centre but with gold statues and coloured flashing lights. We watch the comings and goings from behind our mosquito net in our allocated corner, sometimes with a tasty dinner provided from that morning’s food collection.

Disco Buddha
Our hosts in Taungoo
Our hosts in Nyaunglebin
In front of the football
The ladies wear pink

After Bago, with its snakes and buddhas, we forego continuing south to Yangon and instead turn east to arrive in the town of Kin Pun Sakhan. It’s Christmas Eve and for Christmas day we have a mountain to climb.

Always watching
Muslim children in Bago
Temple in Bago
Bago children resplendent in thanaka face paint

At the top of Mount Kyaiktiyo, 1100m above sea level sits a boulder that has become one of the most visited pilgrimage sites in Myanmar. The rock precariously balances on the edge of a cliff with legend claiming that it’s held in place by a strand of Buddha’s hair. Every day people make the climb to paste gold leaf onto it so it’s now known simply as The Golden Rock.

Christmas day at the Lotus Guest house, Kin Pun Sakhan
Hiking with a hand/head bag

It’s a hot, humid day and we’re joined on our hike by thousands of Burmese visitors. They laugh that we’re sweating so much in the heat so I return with some jokes about how short they all are. It’s a national holiday making this one of the busiest days of the year and we later hear claims that 20,000 people made it to the summit (most riding up on the back of a truck). The scrummage to glimpse the holy boulder is almost too much to bear, but once we’re in the crowd we get carried along without much chance to escape. Alongside us are children in baskets and the old and infirm lie on elaborate thrones carried by four long-suffering bearers.

Riding through the crowd to the golden rock
Riding in style
Into the melee

The application of the gold leaf is surprisingly haphazard with some blowing straight off in the wind. Only men are allowed to touch the gravity defying rock. Maybe if women could get to it then they’d do a neater job.

The Golden Rock
Applying gold leaf
Thousands of people camped out on the mountain top. It looked like a refugee camp.

We drop off the mountain like a rollercoaster wedged into a row of seats on one of the trucks. Luckily none of our fellow passengers get motion sickness as it’s a wild and bumpy ride.

Keep your arms and legs inside the truck at all times

Back in the town, as we settle down to our Christmas dinner of rice and chicken and avocado smoothie, a familiar face arrives. It’s Jens, who we’d crossed the border from India with. We’re also joined by two Dutch cyclists making for a great cycle tourists Christmas party.

Colourful, tasty and we have no idea what it is.

Jens joins us for the following day’s ride. It takes ages to pick our way through the traffic jams as 20,000 visitors try to leave while 20,000 more try and arrive. Tandems and bikes with trailers aren’t very manoeuvrable through traffic so it’s slow progress giving Jens time to have a coffee while he waits for us.

We cross into Karen state, home of the Karen people and the Karen National Union. They have been fighting for independence since 1949 making it the world’s longest resistance. Just outside the state capital, Hpa’An we pull into a small riverside town and find two more familiar faces. Morgan and Poreh, the two French backpackers who also crossed the border from India are there, completing our reunion. We all share stories of adventures over the last 3 weeks with the others having a few troubles with officious immigration officers. It seems we really have been lucky not to have been moved on or made to stay in hotels.

Into Karen State
To the Bat Cave Robin!

We all make our way through the grounds of a temple, following signs to ‘The Bat Cave’. As the sun sets there’s an increasing sound of flapping and then suddenly thousands of bats emerge from a cave part way up the cliff face. The cloud of grey and black wings pours out over the river and swirls up into the sky for 20 minutes. There must be hundreds of thousands of them and this amazing spectacle takes place every evening. Hungry eagles swoop down and pick off a few of the stragglers but there’s safety in numbers for most of them.

Bats at dusk
Jens (on the right, not dressed in gold) and Max

We then part company with Jens, Morgan and Poreh, who head off to a guest house and have Thailand in their sights for tomorrow while we negotiate our stay in the temple. The locals say no, the monks say yes, luckily for us the monks win.

Bedtime with Buddha

By far the most popular entry and exit point by land into Myanmar is from Thailand at Mae Sot as no permit is needed and its an easy ride/drive from Bangkok. We have time left on our visa and feel like seeing some sandy beaches so prolong our stay by riding south to a border crossing further down. We’ve also heard that New Years Eve at Dawai can be quite lively so we make that our target.

The road to Sadan cave
Buddha maintenance in Sadan Cave
Rock carvings, Sadan Cave
Boat ride, Sadan Cave

Somehow Myanmar extends in a narrow strip down the coast of the Andaman sea, depriving Thailand of most of the western sea border. The region is more sparsely populated and begins to get hotter and hotter as we ride the rolling road through forests and over rivers. The appearance of an enormous, partially built seated Buddha is no longer a surprising thing to see, he’s everywhere in this country. The building site is already sacred so the workers climb all over the structure in bare feet while inside there are hundreds of small statues overseeing the work.

Another Buddha being built, near Mawlamyine
Health and safety…
Insurance
Buddha’s eye view

That evening we have our first and only two rejections in quick succession with one set of monks giving a straightforward “no” to our accommodation request while another tells us they don’t allow women to stay. A proper bed in the nearby hotel feels like an unnecessary luxury but the absence of the early morning bells and broadcasts is more welcome. Being close to the border the army presence has increased and on the wall of one base there’s the ominous slogan “Move, Shoot, Communicate”. This could be the reason for the extra caution by the monks.

As we continue we cross the famous Saigon to Rangoon railway line, also known as the Japanese Death Railway due to the number of prisoners of war that died building it. The people we meet are more surprised to see us in this less visited region. Their English amounts to one simple phrase: “Hey You!” and we hear it shouted at us dozens of times each day.

The ‘Death Railway’
Hey You!

After an evening in a rural monastery we’re woken by a gong being rung directly above our heads. It’s been raining but still very muggy. The monks send us off with cakes and ‘M150’ energy drinks onto a road through bamboo plantations while the side of the road is lined with drying betel nuts.

Drying betel nuts
..which are then wrapped with tobacco and chewed.
….for a unique scarlet smile.

A rough climb takes us up and over into Tanintharyi, the most southern state, but the bumps have taken their toll. Our front panniers are cracked near the hooks so have to be secured with bungees. Max’s rear rim has cracked with no solution other than to ride gently and hope it lasts until Bangkok.

Warm greetings into our next state

It’s another day and a half before we reach Dawai and then the coastal town of Maungmagan. Having been away from the sea for so long it’s a wonderful feeling rolling up to the palm lined beach and running over the sand into the warm sea. We come from an island country so the sea will always have a special meaning to us. As an Austrian, Max is more of a mountain man so just sees the water as a barrier.

Kids on the beach at Maungmagan
The Andaman Sea
Sunset Dip

We stay for two nights, camped out in an old fishing shelter, drinking coconut juice and getting our fix of sugar (co)cane. Kirsty has a puffy eye and both Max and I have had upset stomachs so the rest is much needed.

Nosy neighbour on our beach hut

We’ve made it in time for the New Year celebrations which build through the evening as more families arrive and set up picnics and fires on the beach. At midnight the sky lights up with fireworks and huge paper lanterns float out over the water. The party goes on for most of the night and first thing in the morning the strangled sounds of karaoke can still be heard in the distance.

Paper lanterns sail off into the New Year

There’s now just 150km left before we cross into Thailand and we give ourselves 2.5 days so as to ease ourselves into 2016. But Myanmar likes to surprise so after leaving Dawai the road narrows and is quickly consumed by jungle. After a precarious bridge we lose the sealed surface on the road and bump over a dusty track for the remainder of the way. But the surface is manageable with caution even with our broken equipment. What is more difficult is the gradient of the hills that now hit us hard and fast. 20%, 22%, 23%, the cranks are set to break at any second!

The end of the ‘good’ road
Dusty hills

The houses have thinned out with up to 10km between any kind of civilisation. Luckily at the end of the first day we find an army checkpost who agree to let us stay. The soldiers are just boys, bored to tears by their remote posting so seem glad to have some company. We bed down next to a rifle, some ammunition and half a dozen chickens after a swim in the river to clean the dust off.

Our military hosts on the way to the border
Night time protection

Myanmar really isn’t giving up without a fight and the steep gradients continue the next day. Max now has brake issues so carries more speed down the hills than he would have liked. Luckily for him there are no elephants to get in his way though we had hoped to see some on this stretch.

With all energy reserves running dangerously low we face one last climb at the end of the day and then there it is: the last monastary in Myanmar and as usual appearing with perfect timing when we most need it. It comes complete with cats and some very welcoming hosts who prepare a tasty dinner for their weary guests. Myanmar, we’re going to miss you.

Our last evening in Myanmar

After a final climb in the morning we arrive at the border and are glad that it actually exists (Google Maps shows nothing). Once through the barrier we drop down a hill onto buttery smooth tarmac. Welcome to Thailand!

The remote border crossing to Thailand

Brits get 30 days visa free in Thailand and somehow Max gets the same, even though Austrians should only be allowed 15. The guard must have forgotten to change his stamp.

Straight away it’s clear that this country was going to be different from most of where we’d been for the last few months. As well as the perfect road surface, there are shiny new cars, 7 Eleven convenience stores selling 10 types of Red Bull, western style clothing. It’s a culture shock in many ways to be somewhere that feels so familiar.

Smooth riding in Thailand

It takes us just over two days to reach Bangkok. On the way we pass Kanchanaburi and the Bridge Over the River Kwai. A luxury train pulls in while we’re there with immaculately dressed passengers climbing off it. Looking from their pressed safari suits to our ragged shorts and t-shirts it’s clear that our travelling experiences have been slightly different. Unsurprisingly I don’t think any of us would want to swap though.

East Orient Express or Tandem Express? No contest.

If this little lot wasn’t enough for you, there are loads more in our Myanmar Gallery




Moreh to Naypyidaw – Myanmar Part 1

Myanmar is no stranger to change. It’s name for one, (though many people still refer to it as Burma). It’s capital city has shifted around the country at least four times. It’s been controlled by the Mongols, The British, been an independent democratic nation and a military dictatorship. Now with the first ‘fully democratic’ elections having just taken place and Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy winning a sweeping victory it’s now time for change once again. We were arriving just at the turning point.

Aung San Suu Kyi, the expectation is huge

7th to 21st December 2015

We eventually crossed the border from India with Max, Jens, Morgan and Poreh but being so newly opened for foreigners there were a few teething problems. For instance the Indian immigration wasn’t housed in the brand new building marked ‘immigration’ but instead was hidden in an unsigned compound 1.5km back in Moreh. Our permits hadn’t arrived from the travel agent either but the border guards made a phone call and it seemed everything was going to be OK without the paper copies. 30 minutes of waiting while passports were scrutinised and stamped then we were all waved through.

Firm but fair?

Straight onto smooth roads, quiet traffic and riding on the right. A complete contrast from what was behind us.

Good roads and gold road signs
Public transport

Our main worry for this country was accommodation. Officially only hotels with foreigners licences can offer a bed and camping is illegal making things difficult for frugal cyclists. We’d heard numerous stories of cyclists being followed by immigration officers or the police and forced to stay in expensive Tourist hotels at the end of each day. Others had tried to stealth camp but been woken in the night and moved on. But we’d also heard about a network of free accommodation that some people had been successful in using so we were going to try that, and keep looking over our shoulders.

Roadside water urns were everywhere if we got thirsty

I’m not sure how many people are traveling the world on bicycles at any one time but the degrees of separation between all of us are tiny. An encounter with another tourer on the road almost always results in an exchange of “who do you know?” and replies of “oh yes, we met them in Albania” or “he stayed in the same house in Dushanbe”. Max is one person who connects many of our traveling chums with several mutual friends showing up on Facebook. He met Reece at the border with Kazakhstan, sold some tyres to Tara in Bishkek and exchanged advice with Pete and Josh through an online chat. It’s a small world, but it takes a long time to ride around it.

Max loves to get a tow
Especially if the driver gives out free melons

The unusual convoy of tandem and Max’s laden bike with trailer set off from Tamu together having reassured the border guards we’d make it to Kaleya, the next town of any reasonable size, by the end of the day. In reality that was an unlikely target 140km away and so we planned to see how far we got before dark, then look for shelter. Apparently anywhere before Kaleya would be ” Very dangerous” according to the guard.

Ox carts get their own lane
Weird bikes draw a crowd

But it was quickly apparent that this was one of the friendliest countries we’d been to. Smiles and waves were plentiful. Kids loved to shout “bye bye!”, occasionally followed by “hello!”. When we stopped, face painted women and men in ‘longhi’ skirts were curious but not as invasive as the crowds in India. On that first day we were given coffee and cake as a gift and spent the night in a small catholic church. There was no sign of the dangerous people the border guards had warned us of and no police telling us to move on. So far so good.

The white face paint is made from wood pulp and serves as makeup and sunscreen
Longhis and leather jackets, A classic combination
Kids watching us at a coffee stop
The whole village came to make sure we were comfortable in their church.

Food in the north west of the country was very good. Flavoursome noodle soup and an endless supply of complimentary green tea accompanied each refueling stop. Dinner would be rice with several bowls of meat and vegetables to mix and match as we pleased. Soup was compulsory whether we wanted it or not and often arrived in one large bowl with 2 spoons for the three of us.

Noodles and soup. You did want soup didn’t you?

Despite entering the coffee growing tropics we could only get ‘3 in 1’ (instant coffee granules, creamer and 50% sugar) with a range of boastful brand names like ‘Super’, ‘Best’, ‘No.1’ and ‘Premiere’, or the more modest ‘OK’.

Totally tropical
Where do we start?

The universal question response was “OK OK”, which served a similar role as the Indian head wobble, meaning maybe yes, maybe no. So ordering coffee from somewhere that didn’t stock Premiere, our 3 in 1 of choice, could be confusing:
“3 coffees please”
“OK OK?”
“OK”
“OK OK”

“How do I look?”
“OK OK”

The road turned rough a few km from Kalewa, perhaps marking the end of the Indian funding. We then had two roads to choose from: a shortcut that was reported by Bjorn and Jens to be a sandy nightmare and to be avoided at all costs. Or the main road that was reported to be a hellishly hilly slog to be avoided at all costs. Looking at the map we saw that the river Chitwan conveniently joined Kalewa to Monywa, our intended destination and we’d heard rumours of a boat that could take us there.

The last bit of tarmac before Kalewa
Waiting for the boat in Kalewa

Sure enough, with tickets bought, a large, overcrowded vessel pulled into the sandy beach at 3pm and was heading downstream. Just before it landed a marauding party of several smaller boats charged into the side of it and discharged a crowd of women with plates of food on their heads. There was chaos as passengers tried to get off, we tried to get on with the bikes and the women tried to sell as much as they could to the captive audience stuck on the boat.

The floating buffet

Eventually everyone and everything was on and presumably those who needed to get off were off. We took up a position on the roof and watched the river communities drifting past as our trusty barge steamed back down the river. Two men were stationed at the front of the boat with long poles to test the depth of the shallow river. By night a huge searchlight helped to try and navigate us around the sand banks but we still got stuck twice. All to be expected it seems as we landed at 3am, just 1 hour later than planned. Just time enough for a snooze under a tree before the cafes opened for breakfast.

Loading up
Enjoying the cruise

The visibility of Myanmar’s predominantly Buddhist faith is incredibly clear. In every village there are conical, golden pagodas peeking over trees or from behind buildings. Buddha smiles at us all the time, from roadside shrines, from within a temple housing half a million icons or in the form of a huge 130m tall statue standing on a hill outside Monywa. Inside we climbed 31 floors following a set a murals depicting the path to enlightenment. Starting at some gruesome images of hell in its feet up to peace and serenity somewhere near the statues shoulders (disappointingly not in its head as we’d imagined).

Temple containing half a million Buddha statues (we didn’t count them)
Like being Buddha in a hall of mirrors
Thanboddhay Pagoda near Monywa
Thanboddhay Pagoda
31 storey Buddha

After a night amongst piles of cans and plastic in a recycling ‘centre’ hut we push on to Bagan. This must be Myanmar’s star attraction and it feels strange arriving in a town full of western tourists, something we haven’t really seen since Kathmandu. It deserves the attention though with a dusty plain punctuated with over a thousand temples and pagodas built over the course of the last thousand years. Climbing to the top of one of these monuments is like stepping into an ancient civilisation. Ornate towers rise above the tree tops. Gold pagodas catch the sunlight. Horse drawn carriages trot along the sandy tracks while farmers in bamboo hats work the land.

Our “rubbish” accommodation for the night
Bagan

We spend two nights in the Jasmine Guesthouse and on the second morning rise early to catch the famous Bagan sunrise. It’s a wonderful moment with the early morning mist adding to the atmosphere and dozens of balloons drifting over the plain.

Sunrise and balloons over the Bagan plain
Max enjoys the view
We are not alone

Also staying in the Jasmine are Didier and Kayla who of course already know Max. They chose the hilly route from Kalewa and ran into an immigration officer while trying to find somewhere to stay. He forced them into a taxi to take them to the nearest foreigners’ hotel, 60km away. An expensive evening for them and a warning for us.

The Burmese love whisky and cigars, especially at breakfast.

Being December, the cold season, the temperature is a chilly 30°C most days. The village houses are simple straw-walled constructions, often with a living area at the front with no walls at all which is ones of the benefits of living in country that has no winter. It’s an odd experience for us being used to the dark, cold, wet weather that we’d expect back in the UK at this time of year. We don’t miss it that much though

Typical Burmese straw house

A rolling desert takes us across to Mount Popa with a steep climb up to Popa village where we stay in a part built building amongst an army of statues. Mount Popa is a volcanic plug that was blown off the top of the adjacent mount Taung Ma-gyi (mother hill). On its top, up 777 steps, is a monastery that attracts monks and monkeys in equal numbers. As well as being Buddhist it also contains temples for spirits known as Nats born out of very ancient Burmese beliefs. These are depicted as wax work models that are part amusing, part disturbing and get given money and food to keep them happy.

Mount Popa
One of the Nats, Lord Kyawswa, the guardian of gamblers and drunks.
A monk taking a photo of us taking a photo of him
A monkey with his “joints” – twists of paper containing food
Meditating monkey

It’s the morning of my birthday as I watch the sun rise from outside the mountain top pagoda. Then by the end of the day we’re in Meiktilla looking at a barge in the shape of a mythical golden bird that houses a large temple.

We meet a man on a scooter who offers to help us find the local monastery, then explains to the monks that we need somewhere to stay for the night. This is the free accommodation plan that we’d been hoping to try. Sure enough we’re shown into a large room and told to make ourselves at home. Some students that are also staying there offer to make some dinner for us rounding off a wonderful start to my 38th year. The room we’re staying in is also the TV room and after a hard day of chanting monks like nothing more than watching WWE wrestling and European football while smoking cigars. The sound of the roaring crowd as Chelchester City score another goal lulls us to sleep.

Birthday boy
Golden duck barge monastery

A spine of hills runs down the centre of Myanmar. We were on the west side of it and on the east side sat Lake Inle, another Myanmar ‘must see’. The climbing was not too severe and the road surface mostly good so after two days we arrived at where we thought the lake should be. As we headed to the shore there was a commotion in a small booth by the road side. We waved, shouted Minglabar (hello) and sped past. Shortly after a boy on a scooter raced after us telling us we needed tickets. “Tickets to see a lake? You must be joking!”. We don’t stop, he gives up and we continue on. But not for long. Another scooter catches us up, this time the rider is in uniform and doesn’t look happy. “Why didn’t your stop?”, he asks. We’re liberated from $10 each for the tickets and sent on our way. It seems crazy to charge to get to a lake that is the home to thousands of people but we’re left with no choice.

We find a village, Kaung Daing, arrange the hire of a boat for the next day and spend the night in an outbuilding next to a pagoda.

Cosy pagoda

Lake Inle is a huge water borne community. Towns, villages, markets, shops and restaurants are all perched on stilts around the marshy shoreline. On the lake itself there are boats everywhere, carrying passengers, ferrying supplies or being used for fishing. Children paddle themselves to school while their mums head off to the floating market. The arrival of the outboard motor is probably the only thing that has changed this way of life for centuries.

Houses on stilts, Lake Inle
Monks off to collect their alms

The technique used by the fishermen is unique in that they stand on one leg on the bow of their boat and use the other leg to push the paddle through the water. This leaves their hands free to position their nets. It’s an extraordinary display of balance and control that presumably results in several dunkings before it’s perfected.

Leg rowing on Inle Lake
Fisherman on Inle Lake
Fisherman

The first stop on our boat trip is Nga Phe Chaung Monastery, formerly known as jumping cat monastery. Disappointingly the display of cats trained to jump through hoops no longer takes place as the abbot who trained them has died. The monks who are left must be too busy watching football to have time to train the cats.

Nga Phe Chaung monastery
Jumping cat (retired) at Nga Phe Chaung monastery

The Burmese have an obsession with gold. The pagodas, temples, shrines, statues are all painted and sometimes gilded with gold. On the lake we find a temple where 5 small Buddha statues have been transformed into amorphous blobs due to amount of gold leaf that smothers them. Devotees can buy small squares of 18 carrot leaf then carefully paste them on while saying a prayer. Like many holy sights in the country only men can get near to the statues while women stay at a safe distance and can watch on a TV screen.

Adding gold leaf to amorphous blobs. There’s a Buddha in there somewhere.

We stop at various handicraft shops, making jewellery, weaving lotus, hammering out knives, our boat driver hoping to earn commission if we buy some souvenirs. The shop keepers ask us for “lucky money” to purchase their trinkets but the panniers are already full.

Traditional dentist’s costume

One of these workshops is being operated by several women with gold rings extending their necks. It looks hugely uncomfortable but the women force a smile. There is some controversy surrounding this practice as it is largely being maintained to help bring in the tourists but it’s not clear whether the women are there willingly. Apparently they earn more money as an incentive but at the cost of a permanent deformity.

Long necked woman
Two generations of long necked women

We quickly move on and the boat driver takes us up a narrow river to view over a thousand pagodas on a small hill. The level of the river is controlled by a series of weirs that have to be negotiated by lining the boat up with a gap in the middle of the wooden dam then opening up the throttle to power us up and over.

Full throttle ahead for the weir.
Stupas at Inthein
Stupas at Inthein

The boat trip was being used to see the sights of the lake, there’s no other way to get to any of these places, but it was also taking us south. We’d brought our bikes and kit with us and asked to be dropped off at Nan Pan at the bottom end of the lake. This saved us a lengthy ride up and round from the north as there was no road down the west side of the lake.

Young boys washing in Lake Inle
Bikes on a boat

From Inle we had to get back over the hills. Our various electronic maps, online maps and paper maps all disagreed about whether there was a road heading in the direction we wanted to go but taking a Google satellite view as our most accurate source we ventured off to see what we could find.

Unlike the road to Inle this one was a bit tougher. In fact it was a lot tougher. Riding up a 22% gradient on a fully laden tandem is an exercise in brute force and determination. I’ve not tried it to be able to make an accurate comparison but i’d imagine dragging an anvil while turning your pedals through treacle would give a similar sensation. The motivation for staying on the bike and working the cranks is that walking would be even harder.

Steep hills on the road to Naypyidaw
Myanmar: a country with the most smiles and some of the worst teeth. This lady appeared to be cleaning her teeth with charcoal.

What goes up must come down, but really, must we go up again? Yes. And so it continued for 2 days. At the end of each day, the light was beginning to fade along with the energy in our legs as we looked desperately for somewhere to stay. As if by some divine intervention a monastery appeared from the twilight on both evenings just as we needed it most. The monks were more than happy to let us stay, bedding down next to a gaudy Buddha statue with coloured flashing lights burning all night.

Monks make great hosts
Temple accommodation
The last almost vertical climb before Naypyidaw

As well as being very visible, Buddhism is also very audible in Myanmar. Loud speakers broadcast songs, stories and chanting at uncomfortably high volumes from the early hours. Sleeping through it isn’t really possible, especially 2m from the speaker, so it ensures we head off early each day.

On the third morning after leaving Inle we descended for the last time and returned gratefully to the plains. The road had existed and provided a scenic, quiet route that few tourists will find, but it wasn’t easy!

The road then opened out in front of us into a four lane carriageway, then six lanes, then twelve.

16 lane highway in Naypyidaw. Watch out for the traffic there Marcus!

We were approaching the formal capital Naypyidaw, purpose built in 2006 by the military regime at a reported cost of $4bn. Most of this money seems to have been spent on an enormous road network as all the roads are vast multi-laned runways carrying very little traffic. After visiting the Uppatasanti Pagoda, an exact replica of the famous Shwedagon pagoda in Yangon only 1 foot shorter, we go in search of the city. It’s not there though. The roads lead to empty plots, an occasional park, a ‘Hotel Zone’ lined with 5 star luxury accommodation. I suspect they have more than a few rooms available.

Marcus in a longhi
Naypyidaw is a bit of a white elephant. And so are these.

Eventually we find a row of shops and restaurants indicating people do actually live here. The government thought that ‘if they built it, they will come’ but nobody wanted to move from the former capital (and in practice, actual capital) Yangon so only Government workers live here.

An elusive market

That’s not entirely true, Burak, our couch surfing host also lives here. A Turk who works for a mobile phone operator setting up base stations he’s bemused by his new home. He greats us with “Welcome to the ghost town”.

Workers sweeping the central reservation on a deserted highway

Until 2 years ago there was only 1 government owned mobile operator and if you wanted a sim card you needed deep pockets. Now things are loosening up and several companies and clambering for the rapidly expanding market. Burak’s company can’t get the network working quick enough to satisfy demand. It doesn’t help that in the still volatile north their equipment sometimes gets attacked.

Sugar cane being put through a mangle to make our new refreshment of choice: sugar cane juice.
Sugar cane juice
Burak, our host in Naypyidaw

We spend two nights in his serviced apartment, resting, washing clothes and maintaining the bikes. The staff are amazed that we are using the pool in ‘winter’. We don’t make use of the ‘KTV’ karaoke club next door though. This is very popular in Myanmar and what they lack in talent they make up for in volume. The view from the apartment is a huge, desolate wasteland. “That’s where the embassy’s will be built, if they ever move from Yangon”, Burak explains.

Whether Naypyidaw remains as the capital once the new government takes power in February 2016 remains to be seen, but as a country that likes change anything is possible.

If this little lot wasn’t enough for you, there are loads more photos in our Myanmar Gallery.