Hsipaw is one of the towns in Myanmar which people come to specifically for trekking. We signed up with the group at the Mr Charles hotel, which is pretty cheap and definitely well organised. As Thijs had to fly out the next day, he signed up for a one day trek whilst Clara and I signed up for a two day. We had to say goodbye. When you’ve met someone at 4am to watch the sunrise, climbed waterfalls and toured half the country on 10 types of death-defying vehicle, saying goodbye isn’t easy. I’ll have to drop by Amsterdam sometime.

Day 1

So, Clara and I found ourselves with an Israeli couple and a pair of British lads, our companions for the next two days. Our guide for this trek was called Tun Tun – when guiding he adopts the name Tom Tom, which is damned reassuring when you’re walking in an area which is partially occupied by insurgent militants, and still addled with landmines. Let’s hope Tom Tom downloaded the latest map updates.

After about 15 minutes, one of the Brits turned back, as we were walking through rice paddies, and he felt at risk of Japanese Encephalitis. The real risks are practically zero, as the mosquitoes that carry it only come out at night (and by then we’d be way up into the mountains) but once it was in his head, he was convinced the only way was home.

Plodding on, the rain on the first day was torrential. Now, I have pretty good gear. Rain jacket, waterproof boots, rain cover for the rucksack, dry bags for everything in it, and heck I even put silica gel in the dry bags, just in case.
Still. I. Was. Soaked. Water ran under my hood, down the inside of my raincoat, around the back of my rucksack, through my trousers and into my comically squelchy waterproof boots, which seemed to be doing a frustratingly good job of keeping the water IN. I’d never even SEEN this volume of rainfall before, never mind going outside during it, never mind going on a two-day trek through it. I’d have been better off with shorts and a snorkel.
I did honestly try to capture some of the unique, wonderful views (and the nutters motorbiking their way down the sodden mud paths with streaming ponchos and pillion passengers balancing their mountain vegetables) but my “waterproof” phone misted up as if it hadn’t seen a dry day since May.

A quick stop at a hilltop café for eggs and biscuits did practically nothing for our soaked gear or morale, and the faff of having to take our shoes off probably just made things worse. Still, views of clouds pouring over the mountains as locals manually work the fields in the driving storms were incredible – they really added to the intensity of the experience.

Less than an hour’s climb later, with a couple of minor gaps in the rain, we found ourselves at the homestay village. We (totally vainly) hung everything up to dry, and changed into longyis, generously lent to us by the villagers. I remark this is the first time I’ve mentioned a longyi – the traditional leg garment of Myanmar! It’s basically a large tubular sheet, which you wrap and fold around yourself like a quick-release skirt. Very comfortable, quick to dry… and airy.

Sitting by the fire, a hot lunch of rice and locally grown vegetables was provided, and we gobbled this down with tea before, shattered, we piled into the sleeping quarters and napped for a couple of hours.

Rising for a quick explore, I discovered the home owner preparing dinner. She told me that all the food she cooks comes from her back garden, or the village market. The cucumber, onion, garlic and rice she was preparing all smelled brilliant from fresh, to bubbling, to ready.
They eat very little meat here, taking their protein from insects and nuts instead, and admittedly the food here was easily the best I’ve had in Myanmar. The adorable granddaughter of the homeowner also graced us with her presence – Clara’s clearly good with kids, so I just left her to it!:

Somebody at this point suggested that playing a game of Ring of Fire by firelight was a good idea.
Two beers and a bottle of Myanmar rum (very tasty alone, or with coke) later and I drew the final King – landing myself with a half pint of beer, rice wine and rum as a nightcap.
Still, the rain drove relentlessly on, lulling us to sleep with white noise as it pounded the metal roof of the bamboo hut.
As I dozed off, I decided I’m going to Malaysia next. I miss the sea.

Day 2

It must be the fresh air, or the water, or something, but I felt great this morning. Really, no sarcasm, absolutely great. We ate a warm rice breakfast with scrambled eggs and tea, and squidged into our wet gear, which admittedly wasn’t so great.
However, stepping outside, it wasn’t raining. So far, so good.

Shortly, there were enough breaks in the cloud for me to actually get my camera out!

As the morning went on, to our relief (and astonishment), the sun actually came out! We were at that point walking through a bamboo forest, up a path which appeared to be a redirected route for the river…

Breaking free of the forest and river paths, we were offered pleasant trekking through acres of corn fields. SO many corn fields. I have no idea what they do with all this corn. Tom Tom said it was fed to their animals, but I genuinely haven’t seen enough animals in Myanmar to warrant this amount of corn. Perhaps they export a lot to China…

Early afternoon I took some time to stop and capture a few shots of the butterflies and other interesting insects on the walk. I’ll combine these with a few shots from Inle Lake and put them all in a Feature on Burmese Critters. Mainly butterflies, because they actually sit still occasionally. I’ll update this post when it’s ready!

At one point we also stumbled across a lady knocking nectarine-like fruit from a tree outside her garden. We couldn’t resist a taste, and even Tom Tom enjoyed a couple!:

The sun had really started to come out by this point, and our gear was so wet it was essentially steaming us slowly, rather than drying out. We baked as we our way through more corn fields (seriously, where does all this corn GO?!):

It was around the two hour mark when we all decided that we’d just about managed as much as we could. We were on the verge of evaporating on the spot, when all of a sudden… we found this:

It looked even better up close!

This was exactly what we needed at this point, and we all gleefully stripped to our swimming shorts (I’d learned by now that you ALWAYS carry swimming shorts!) and dived in. It doesn’t look like much, but that water really stings the shoulders! Totally worth it:

And would you believe it, there was even a noodle stand at the waterfall. My day couldn’t really get any better from there.

With the sun out, totally refreshed and feeling great, we wandered down the hill a few minutes to our lift down the highway; a tuk-tuk chicken bus!

Upon returning to Hsipaw, Clara and I spent a little time trying to find a reputed nearby natural hot spring. After a couple of hours of running into dead ends, we heard from a local that the hot spring only arises in the dry season when the water table is low.

Oh well!

There’s always tomorrow to find new waterfalls, springs and jungle adventures. But until then… there’s always Myanmar rum and cards at the hostel.

I arrived in Kalaw at 4.30am, stumbling dreary-eyed off the bus and feeling like I’d eaten a bucket of butterflies. And the butterflies all had flamethrowers, and knives. They also wanted out, in all directions, and they weren’t hanging about.

Throwing myself into the “cheapest hotel” as directed by the bus driver, I haggle a few hours sleep out of the night guard at the “Golden Lily Hostel”, dump my stuff into the sweaty little room and proceed to spend the next 5 hours either 1) in the bathroom, or 2) in bed thinking about being in the bathroom. It was not a good night, leaving me feeling like jelly and sticks. In the morning, I walked straight past the breakfast room, my brain conjuring images of the food sprouting legs and spears and threatening me to an early grave. No breakfast, thanks.

At arrival in reception I was immediately asked if I wanted to join the 3 day trek to Inle Lake, starting that morning. As my stomach turned over again, and my eyes glanced the heaving rain spewing waterfalls off the side of the reception shelter, my gut reaction was “YOLO”, which should have been the first sign that I was about to make a bad decision. I accepted, hastily separated my necessities into my daypack (I suspect this was the moment I lost my laptop charger) and joined 4 other travellers and the guide to start the tour. Here goes…

Day 1

Straight off, we introduced ourselves. There were two French girls, a German girl, an English lad, and me (or at least, my body. My brain and stomach were elsewhere). Our guide introduced himself as Saloi – easy enough! So straight away, I insisted that we pass by the market to stock up on electrolytes, unless someone was prepared to volunteer carrying me up the first hill.

Pumped and ready, we were soon off, stopping briefly by a holy “Banyan” (or “Bodi”) tree to hear a little about Buddhism, and why it was gated off to stop the kids and monkeys from nicking holy tributes. I didn’t get any photos because it was hooning it down, and I was terrified to get my camera out. This was a common occurrence throughout the trek, unfortunately.

It didn’t take us much of a climb to feel like we’d really left the city, and entered the middle of nowhere:

The weather wasn’t holding out well – there was continuous rain, as well as a mysterious fog everywhere.

The ground was suffering too; with every 3 steps forward we slipped 1 back. It was slow, gruelling progress, but often we found an alternative path by trudging through a farmer’s field or forking off the main road onto a path through the jungle.

After a few hours trekking we made it through our first village for lunch. We had the same chef for all 3 days and he did a fantastic job of keeping us well fed with hot, totally edible food. I started slowly at first, but grew to love the cooking as the trek went on. The village we stopped at was charming, and occupied by the “Pa-O” tribe, who have large presence in the area. Saloi told us about how the locals are self-sufficient, and sell surplus vegetables in bulk to the local market vendors, which brings in extra cash for building repairs and other expenses.

Setting off with a little more energy, we climbed higher into the mist and found ourselves following high ridges looking down on rice-paddy laden valleys and spectacular jungle farmland hills:

As we left the higher areas we dropped altitude towards our destination village where we’d rest for the evening. We came across a group of locals gathered in front of the Stupa (shrine). Saloi asked them what was happening, and we were told that a young monk (17 years old) had died, and that this was his funeral. They were celebrating his life, by gambling and drinking in front of the Stupa. This to us seemed strange, but the locals seemed to be having a great time in the monk’s memory, and in a way that’s undeniably a beautiful thing.

Our accommodation that night was a simple, beautiful village again occupied by the Pa-O tribe. We were told upon arrival the most important thing: the rainwater falls straight from a metal roof into a clean, large basin, and this is where all of the village gathers their drinking water. So, don’t wash your feet in it. Instead, take a bucket, scoop up what you need and use it how you wish (with the amount of rain, there’s damned plenty of it, so fill your boots) – just remember to pour away the extra, never back into the pool.

Dinner was beautifully prepared and offered, and we learned that Burmese culture requires that guests eat first, with Saloi and our host waiting until we’d finished before commencing their meal.

Darkness fell like a stone, and with 17km under our boots, we were assured a good night’s sleep.

Day 2

IT WAS BELTING IT DOWN. ALL DAY.

Nothing we’d hung inside had dried over night due to the sweltering humidity, and the rain was so relentless that after a rapid breakfast and a near-sprint to the cover of the jungle, we were all soaked to the skin.

Saloi took the initiative and hijacked a “chicken truck”, which happened to be heading in the same direction:

We then only had a short walk to the next village before we could hide inside, lapping up the time the truck saved us by playing cards and drying out over green tea:

When the rain dies down, we bring ourselves to continue walking, and climb around the valley to a viewpoint where we can see our destination that evening; a wooden monastery 15km away from Inle Lake:

First, we ascended through the pouring rain into the jungle. I couldn’t get the camera out for the downpour, but the views, experience and climb were fantastic. We didn’t see any monkeys, but we heard them!!

The rain didn’t stop until we’d dropped down the other side of the mountain jungle and entered the bamboo forest which housed our monastery:

 

The monastery itself was beautiful too. Made in wood over 200 years ago, it houses 15-17 monks full time, with 10-20 more young monks in temporary residence at any one time. We stayed, and attracted a lot of attention from the younger monks, who were intrigued by my camera’s ability to capture pictures in complete darkness:

Day 3

The final day’s trek was definitely the most interesting, as the scenery evolved around us into lush jungle and lowland rice fields during our approach to the lake. We came across a Banyan tree that had been struck by lightning, and Saloi told us that only the monks may use the wood from the hoy Banyan tree. They make ornaments, and burn the wood, though it’s very rarely used for furniture or building due to its heavy, wet texture.

A further few kilometres and we wound down our trek through a beautiful, sparse jungle, where red clay soil contrasted with the green of the leaves and trees like an alien landscape.

A final bamboo forest emerged, and at the final clearing we found ourselves at the banks of Inle Lake; exhausted, soaked inside-out, and utterly inspired by the beauty of our new-found land. I’ll show you in just a moment – don’t fall off the shadow of my boots 😉