Inle Lake, Myanmar

We decide to get a taxi from Kalaw to Inle as the train is going to be minimum 2 1/2 hours late, and quite likely later. We are also warned by the stationmaster that as it is a narrow gauge train, the ride has become dangerous because the rain has made the track very slick. We are closely listening to our sense of caution. We are aware that the number of road fatalities is fantastically high. We are aware that the road is very curvy. We are aware that drivers in Myanmar have a very macho attitude toward overtaking and being overtaken. We are aware that the stationmaster and the taxi driver likely know each other and the driver will kickback to the stationmaster if he sends business his way because all the money for the train goes to the government and the money for the taxi goes to the pocket. The taxi is an extortionate amount of money, but we can control the speed of the car and make the rules about when and where to overtake. This will not be the last time this decision must be made. I should mention that I am posting these out of order because I had to write down by hand all of these posts due to power outages and crap Internet, so I wrote as I remembered to write, not as it happened. The ride in the taxi had us feeling quite certain we had made the right decision, it is through the mountains where if there is a straight line in the road, you've just driven off the road, likely down a cliff. Just gorgeous views of the mountains and valleys if you can bite back the fear of impending doom. We arrive in Inle perilously close to safe and sound. The hotel is a construction site. They are laying new sewage lines which means first they must dig the old ones from underneath the driveway. Sigh. We walk a very short way before we discover a French restaurant serving pancakes and all manner of western food and a smattering of Burmese food at preposterous prices. We pay it. The town is loaded with tourist luring shops from restaurants to souvenirs to tours and cooking classes. The real lure of the place is a boat down river and onto Inle Lake. In high season there is a market which is built on stilts on the lake itself, but as it's low season the water is too low so the market is set up inland. The market itself is simply table after table of the same things, none of which appeal. Dominic and I go by ourselves because Siobhan's fears now extend to boats. Life jackets on and off we go for one of the most lovely, leisurely and picturesque trips of our whole adventure. We ask the boatsman to avoid as many shops as he can which cuts the trip in about half and the remaining sights are at the back of shops or at least one has to run a gauntlet of salespeople before you get to the points of interest. Sales avoided, we make it to the back of a very long shop, where we visit the longneck tribeswomen, and they actually have long necks due to the increasing number of brass rings they wear. One story is that they initially started wearing the rings to prevent tigers from biting their necks, bur I think it was an aesthetic thing which has become a cultural thing. Whatever the reason, it is quite a startling sight at first, but they make such a fuss over Dominic, a running theme here in southeast Asia, that they lose the mystique quite quickly and join the Dominic fan club, talking to him and holding him and kissing him, and I think he is beginning to enjoy it to the point where he is asking to go over to the ladies so he can be fawned over. Next stop is the temple in the lake. A big and beautiful gold thing, inside there are what appears to be five gold blobs at the centre of the temple. As it happens, the blobs are Buddha icons that have so much gold leaf on them that they now look like five sets of two gold rocks balanced on each other or 5 big gold gourds. The surprise is the big gold boats moored nearby the temple. Gold ceremonial barques just at the ready for special occasions Back away from the temple are the fishing villages, built on stilts on the lake itself, called floating villages. The trip through the villages is extremely calm and serene. The opportunity to watch life go by in the village cannot be missed. One gets a sense that things have remained the same here for a very long time and were it not for the motors on the back of the family boats and the occasional motorcycle parked in the middle of the house (how exactly did they manage to get it there?), one could be forgiven for thinking one had found a window back through time. Those who are doing the fishing are out on the lake in either traditional long skinny boats piled high with nets or recently collected seaweed or vegetables grown on the lake, the one-man jobs being paddled not with the hands but the feet. The leg is wrapped around the oar while standing, leaving the hands free to handle the nets. Quite ingenious actually. It's a very strange sight, but it makes a lot of sense. Now it's time to head back, so across the lake and down the river we go and sadly one of the most peaceful few hours I have ever spent are over. A quick walk back into town takes me into the market which is half for locals and half for tourists. The dividing line seems to be the dogfights which break out sporadically. I am constantly surprised by the number of dogs just roaming the streets. They don't bark or bite, but you just feel that the numbers say one will soon snack on your leg. Another thing I notice, and it's very hard not to, is the truly revolting habit of chewing betel nut. Most men in Burma chew betel nut rather than smoke as it is a mild stimulant. The problem is that it stains the mouth and teeth red so it makes it look like everyone has been punched in the mouth, and then, like chewing tobacco, they have to spit the juice. A lot. It is such a prevalent habit that there are bins on streetcorners and in offices and shops and government buildings dedicated to betel nut spit. Most people don't use these bins however, and just spit in street and if you 're really lucky, on your leg and shoes. Quite the most revolting thing I have seen in a long time, and it just never stops. All day long they chew it, they talk with a mouth so full of it you have no idea what they just said, and when they realise you have no idea because their mouths are so very full, they smile a great bloody smile at you, apologise, and spit a giant red gob on the floor or street, and carry on like there's nothing horribly revolting about it at all. It is. It really is. I just can 't say it enough. Ew. Anyway, Inle is a very charming little town, and it is a little more set up for tourists because it is Myanmar's most popular tourist site. Next up is Bagan, and we again decide on a taxi because over half the ride is through mountains again, so safety first. They should really consider investing in a road safety programme in this part of the world. Little signs that say things like, "Don't strap your baby to your chest and get on a motorbike if you're going to speed, overtake, text, and eat breakfast all without wearing a helmet". Or something like that.