Chanting Monks & Singing Shans (# 2 in series)

  

First impressions of Myanmar -- monks and monsoons

Just entering the country turned into an interesting experience in Myanmar.

At 0800 I crossed the Ruak River Bridge marking the border, and stepped over to the Tachileik immigration station.  Incense sticks with fragrant smoke curling up had been set out along the way, jabbed into trees, poles, etc.  At the station itself, a backup of people waited.  Cars and trucks also were lined up, engines idling or shut off altogether.

To my surprise, five or six immigration officials in powder blue shirts were turned out on the sidewalk, heads bowed, receiving of a blessing by a monk.  Hands raised, chanting on in deep, dulcid tones, the old monk went on like this for five or six minutes.  During this time, the border essentially was shut down.

No one said a word or seemed to mind.  This included several Thai men lugging bags of golf clubs bound for the courses (and casinos) on the other side, merchants with empty push carts bound for counterfeit Chinese goods, and at least one wayward tourist from America.

When this daily ritual ended, all hands returned to their posts and movement to and fro proceeded again.

Casino in Tachileik -- home of 10 Baht (27 cent) blackjack.

Through the next few days, the would-be golfers probably spent more time at the tables than they did teeing off because the skies soon opened up and let loose.  It was the tail-end of the monsoon season and I was left scurrying to find shelter, getting soaked in the process.

Finding lodging in this bustling border town was more of a job than I'd imagined because I didn't see another white person for days and English speakers were rare.  Plus Tachileik had been closed to through travel for decades, so there weren't many places for travelers to stay.

Even most Thai people didn't know much of what goes on north of the Ruak, much less had many of them visited there.  They talked about Myanmar as if it were a land of mystery.

  

The "Singing Shan" of Mya Myinn Mo Guest House.

Eventually the gods of the road shone upon me and I sloshed into a guest house owned by one Saw Kyaw Win, a.k.a., the Singing Shan.  So named because he's of the Shan People, a tribal group here, and he's known to set up speakers out front and perform for the benefit of passers-by. 

He loves 1960s American rock and roll -- Creedence Clearwater Revival, Simon & Garfunkel, etc.  With a gentle mist falling one morning, he did Bob Dylan's "Blowin' In The Wind" as well as I've ever heard!

As a double bonus, he speaks English and yearns to practice with guests.  Plus his rooms are clean and reasonable, at about $7 U.S. per night.  Because of him and his talents, my stay in the area went from soggy to bright.    

The dreaded durian fruit, which can stink up a place for weeks!

The dreaded Chinese toilets, which, shall we say, take practice.

The dreaded betel nut chew (kun yar), which have ruined so many pearly whites here.

Now a few words about betel nuts, known locally as kun or kun yar:  Shown above are the leafs of the betel nut tree, slathered in lime juice (which reminds me of Elmer's Glue).  The nuts themselves are placed within and often topped off with a pinch of tobacco, sometimes seeped in alcohol.  Then they fold up the leaf into a neat little package and pop the whole thing down the ol' hatch.

If that doesn't make you gag, I don't know what will.  It certainly did me (especially when they splat the reddish juice out onto sidewalk).  But about half the population does this on a daily basis.  Little booths selling kun dot seemingly every corner.  Mostly men imbibe, but a fair amount of women as well.

They say that it's part of being Burmese -- thanaka cream on the faces and chewing kun.  Oh yes, and men wearing the longyi, a sarong or dress-type garment.  For these and other reasons, I won't be going native there anytime soon.

A local lass offering a chew.  Note teeth.

A monk house, with monk clothes hanging out.

Paying respects at a temple.

My stay with the Singing Shan was nice, memorable even.  But the rains limited my ability to trek about and explore the area.  And of course, it wasn't the Burma Road.  I had to head over to Lashio, a city in the heart of the Shan Highlands for that.

Due to "civil unrest" farther inland (rebel activity, I took this to mean), the government would not allow me to take a bus through the highlands, so the only way to go was by air...

On to Lashio, deep in the interior.

Through the previous days in Tachileik and its environs, monks chanting was an almost constant backdrop -- you could hear it booming from various temples on the hills, from loudspeakers placed strategically about, from radios and mobile devices...at noon, at midnight, at four in the morning!

As I snapped on my seat belt and leaned back, two monks filtered down the aisle and sat nearby in seats marked "for monks or elderly."  Sure enough, within minutes one of them was humming away... low and mumbled, but unmistakable...the sound of chanting.

All in all, not a bad way to begin a flight.

   

[PART THREE TO FOLLOW NEXT WEEKEND]