Today I Got a Bike, and Some Bad News

My friend Joe (not his Burmese name), runs a successful mountain biking operation in Kalaw. Joe is a kind, mild-mannered guy. He has two little kids, and he is one of the better English-speakers here in town. Joe runs the mountain biking wing of Green Discovery Trekking here in Kalaw, and if you ever visit the area, you should definitely stop by if you are interested in biking. He has the best, most durable bikes of anyone in town, and he is vigilant in his search for new paths in the area. I got to know him well one night in November, in the aftermath of a fight.

Most of my Burmese (or Danu, or Pa-oh, or Palaung) friends here are trekking guides. The region where I live is one of the most popular places in Myanmar for tourists, and many of the people in town make their living (in one way or another), off the dozens of foreigners who come here each day on buses and planes from Mandalay, Bagan, and Yangon.

One night, I was invited to one of the trekking shops to have some drinks to celebrate one of the trekking guides birthday’s. After a few too many drinks, two of the guides got into a classically drunken, ego-driven argument. Some punches were thrown, some drinking glasses were smashed on the pavement, and Joe and I were left to clean up the mess. During this argument, and after it, Joe kept talking to me about patience, and about trying his best not to let pride get in the way of his aspirations. Since then we’ve been pretty close friends.

About a week ago I hurt my foot playing chilone with my kids, and haven’t really been able to hike or run, so the other day I approached Joe about borrowing a bike. Joe charges $25 dollars per day for foreigners to rent his top-end mountain bikes, but because of my lack of employment, I couldn’t really afford that. I wanted to strike a deal for a long term rental, and, after a few drinks at the only bar in town, Joe offered to let me use one of his older bikes for free for as long as I want. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to repay him, but I’ll figure something out.

So, yesterday morning, after buying a hand-pump and a bike-lock, I checked out some satellite imagery in the area to the west of town (mobile data here is high-quality and very cheap), and hopped on my bike, and left Kalaw at around 10 am. A number of trekking guides had told me about a popular place to the south and west of Kalaw called “Viewpoint.” This is an incredibly popular day-hike spot, and a resting place for the 3 day hike to Inle Lake. I was determined to find it, although I wasn’t quite prepared for the challenge of getting there.

A number of times I stopped to chat with day-laborers and farmers along the way, using my broken Burmese to ask them “Viewpoint Beh-mah le?” (“Where is Viewpoint?”) or “Viewpoint way-la?” (“Is Viewpoint far away?”). My language mastery is also rich on weather related terms, so we talked about how hot it was, but that it was a pleasant day: “ya tee oo too, tai ya deh” (“The weather is pleasant, no?”).

After 4 miles of grueling uphill, bumpy, dirt-road terrain, I eventually found myself on top of a ridge, faced with a small shop selling beer and snacks. I decided to stop for a beer and some sunflower seeds, but was met by a small cadre of armed, drunk, garrulous military personnel. The leader of the group was a Lieutenant Colonel (I knew because he wore a nametag with his rank) who, when I ordered a beer in Burmese shouted loudly (in English) “Where did you learn Burmese?” I said a learned from the Burmese people. He responded, “We are soldiers for the Burma people.” After a bit of small talk about the beautiful landscape around us, he asked “What do you think of politics in our country?” Of course, faced with a Tatmadaw officer, I have to feign ignorance. “I don’t know anything about politics,” I say, “I am just here to enjoy your beautiful country.” What was I going to say? That work for an organization owned and operated by one of the most prominent leaders of the opposition party in Shan State? That I’ve learned all about the systematic and violent oppression that the military has perpetrated on the people of Myanmar over the last 70 years? No, I just smiled and tried to seem interested as they taught me words in Burmese that I already knew.

After I finished my beer I kept biking uphill until I found a small restaurant on the hillside, packed with tourists and their Burmese guides. I ate some avocado salad and chapati, and spoke with a young Australian couple about their travels. Matt is going to school to be a primary school teacher, and Abby studies film. They are the ones who encouraged me to start a blog.

When I was finished with lunch I hopped on my bike and continued on the road to Myin Dike, a small Danu train-station town to the south of Kalaw. I knew that if I could get to Myin Dike I would be able to follow a well-traveled road back to Kalaw and make a big loop.

Along the way I spotted a small hill, sticking up from thevalley, crowned by a pagoda and huge banyan trees. I decided to take a detour there, and after a steep downhill bike ride, and a short hike up to the hill, I met Win Khaing.

Win Khaing and a monk (whose name I didn’t catch) live on the top of this remote hill. Win Khaing speaks great English, has worked for the UN, and tells me that he comes out to this pagoda once every few months for a week of meditation. Win Khaing and the elderly monk live in a small brick building, and as he serves me tea he tells me about a plan to create an eco-lodge of sorts in the area. “No one stays out here in the wilderness,” he says. “Everyone hikes through here and stays in the town below.” He wants to set up a simple place where tourists can sleep for $5 a night, cook their own food, and have a permanent guide to take them on day hikes. He tells me about the hydro electric power they will get from the river in the valley below. Then he offers me the job of running the entire operation on the spot. I tell him I’ll think about it and we exchange emails.

The rest of the trip is pretty uneventful, but when I arrive home, exhausted and incredibly dirty, I’m met with some pretty sobering news.

About a week ago, one of our students (an older girl who has passed her matriculation and helps run the Children’s Home) had an emergency appendectomy. In America, appendicitis is painful, but very treatable. Here, any operation, however small, can be life-threatening. She has seemed to be recovering well, but when I arrive back at the Children’s Home I learn she has developed an infection, and that they are going to need to perform another surgery.

I took a quick, frigid bucket shower and headed to the local hospital. The hospital has two large rooms with military style beds, about 10 beds to each room. The rooms are open air, and covered by a tin roof. Tan Win (the young woman with appendicitis) is in good spirits. I tell her that it sucks she has to go back to the hospital. What else is there to say? When I ask if there is anything she needs, she requests some comic books.

I visited her again today, and she said that she’ll have her second operation tomorrow. I can tell she is scared, but that she doesn’t want to show it. I spoke to the doctor and he said that it will be a minor procedure. It doesn’t make me feel much better.

I left the hospital and went to the only place in town with a good cup of coffee, and sat down to work on a grant proposal for dress-making vocational training that I want to get done before I head to Mandalay in a few days. I didn’t get much done.

Tomorrow I’m taking a middle-aged English couple on a trip to Myin Mah Thi, and I’ll try to write something about that hike in the next day or so.