Kalaw

As far as uncomfortable night time bus rides go, it was predictably uncomfortable. A solid ten hour journey through the Myanmar darkness. The blackness outside was lit by worryingly frequent forest fires of one kind or another. I hope it was some kind of agricultural burning.

Getting onto the right bus was probably the most interesting part of the journey. I was dropped off at the bus station around an hour before my departure time. The term ‘bus station’, as it transpired, had been rather incorrigibly attached to a crowded collection of about twenty hangers (in the style of old war-plane movies) scattered around huge puddles of varying depth. Not a lick of tarmac was to be seen, and the whole muddy complex was peppered with large, surprisingly modern, buses performing sixteen point turns to a cacophony of horn blasts.

I was dropped off at what I was assured was the right hanger, and showed my ticket to a harassed woman behind a makeshift desk. She pointed to the clock accusingly, seemingly annoyed that I’d followed the instructions on my ticket by being an hour early. She shooed me away to a dark corner where I sat on some water bottle crates to think bout what I’d done. Eventually, the bus at the entrance left, and I was able to take one of the now vacant deck chairs that lined the open faced hanger. Some kind soul even brought me an unasked for cup of tea. I noticed a couple of other confused westerners, and began to relax.

Sure enough, the right bus came at the right time, and I settled down to my first Myanmar night time bus ride. The boring journey was noteworthy only in that I watched The Matrix one and a half times, against my will. Around the half way mark, the driver thought it would be best to wake everyone up and force them to eat at a service station. The food was actually pretty good, and I felt much better afterwards. It was here that I met Marco, a pleasant German electrician with a passion for traveling. I’d end up spending the majority of my time in Myanmar with him.

Another uncomfortable stint in the bus followed, before Marco and I were woken up and unceremoniously ushered off into the night. We were assured that this was Kalaw, but it was hard to tell given that it was around three in the morning.

I’d arranged to stay in the Golden Kalaw hostel, but Marco had not. After some deliberation we banded together and struck out to find the one I’d booked. With some difficulty we managed it. Luckily, there were two beds in the room, and we promptly passed out.

All in all, it was a pretty painless journey, and I’d recommend bus travel in Myanmar as a great money saving option. As I found out later, it’s much better than the trains.

The Golden Kalaw was a good place to spend a few nights before heading off on our trek. The rooms were clean and spacious, and there was a great rooftop where we watched the sunset over the town with a few beers. There was some construction work going on at the time, but it didn't disturb us. They were also really accommodating about adding Marco to my booking at 3.30am, which was nice.

In the morning, we explored the sleepy hill town of Kalaw. Dusty streets lined with pink flowering trees and squat buildings with corrugated roofs. The mountain breeze lifted us as we wandered around the charming settlement. There’s a great outdoor market in the centre of town, and we picked up some souvenirs. I bought myself some rather fetching lounging pants from a heritage stall. Purple and orange, since you ask.

We met a Spanish girl at our hostel who suggested we head for the nearby ‘caves’. Without really knowing what to expect, we set off. On the way to the mysterious caves, we passed schools, bicycle shops and police stations. We skirted around burning tar pits and dodged errant motorbikes before reaching the caves after a hike of about three miles.

The caves were set behind a collection of stunning whitewashed pagodas. Inside were more Buddhist depictions, statues and effigies than I could count. The tunnels twisted and turned through narrow crawl spaces and larger chambers. Throughout, there was an erie sense of eyes watching you. Little Buddhas in the dark.

As well as the caves, we visited a monastery overlooking the town. Climbing up the shaded stairs and avoiding the suspicious dogs, we wandered around the peaceful compound a little self consciously. There was hardly a monk to be seen, and those we did see ignored us completely as they completed their chores in the baking sun. Unsure whether we were welcome, we explored the prayer rooms and marvelled at the dream-like depictions and statues on display behind protective glass. We left a small donation, and fond some puppies outside to play with, before descending the covered steps back down to reality.

Back in Kalaw, we found a guide easily enough, and arranged to start our three day hike to Inle Lake early the next morning.That night, we found the smallest bar in Kalaw (if not the world). It’s called Hi-bar, and I can’t recommend it highly enough. At the height of the evening, there were eight people crowed into this tiny space. Here, amidst the graffitied walls and low lights, we drank a lot of whiskey sours - the only drink options are spirit sours - and were entertained by the bartenders. As the owner’s parents lived upstairs, no music was allowed apart from that played on an old guitar. A song book was produced, and we all sang the night away leaning on the graffiti covered bar. That is, until 10pm, when word came down from upstairs that even this music had to stop.We stumbled into the night with some new friends, but soon headed back to our hostel to catch some sleep before our hike to Inle Lake.