Inle Lake Trekking

With rum heavy eyes we packed our bags and trudged to the meeting point outside our guide’s office. We would only carry our daypacks for the length of the trek and would meet our heavier backpacks on the shores of Inle Lake in three days.

We met our guide and our new trekking friend Akihiro - a friendly Japanese man with boundless energy and little English. Our guide’s name was Johnny. His company is called ‘Excellent Trekking Guide Services’. We couldn’t have asked for a more knowledgeable host. What he doesn’t know about the agricultural land we passed through isn’t worth knowing.

The four of us set out from Kalaw and followed the highway out of town. Cresting a rise, we looked back over the sleepy settlement and caught our breath. On the roadside was a family making bricks, and they were more than happy to chat with our guide. The peaceful life of Kalaw continued as we headed East into the countryside.

The trekking was simple and flat for the most part. There were a few ridges to crest on that first day, but nothing too strenuous. The beautiful Myanmar countryside revealed itself as a patchwork of farms and outlying hamlets. We passed tea, tobacco and ginger plantations, and saw countless people working the fields. They were for the most part friendly, shouting a greeting without breaking their work rhythm. Our guide explained the techniques when and where he could.

We stopped for lunch at a viewpoint overlooking a lush valley covered in tea plantations. The owner brought us some Nepalese Dahl Bat and we drank lemon tea in the sun.

The accommodation during the trek was inside family homesteads. I’ve never felt more welcome in someone’s home, and after a long day of trekking it was bliss to sink onto somebody’s wooden floor, drink tea and pass out early.

Along the way we got a glimpse of agricultural life in rural Myanmar. We stopped for tea in a number of villages, and watched as our hosts continued with their tasks around us. There was an elderly man who chatted to us while holding a large, flat bowl of straw and lentils above his head. Every time he felt a gust of wind, he’d shake the bowl. The wind caught the straw and carried it away. As we left, there was an impressive pile of lentils at his feet.

In another village, there was a woman weaving vibrantly coloured bags. We watched her while we drank her tea and ate her home made fudge. I remember the children in that village being particularly fascinated with us. I snapped a picture of two of them, and they were delighted to see themselves on my little camera screen. I bought a colourful bag for around a dollar, and stowed it away to give to my stepmother.

We hiked through a patch of jungle, along a barely visible path. There were small fires all around us at one point, which Johnny explained were caused by farmers trying to clear the ground.

One thing missing was animals of any kind. We could hear one or two birds, but apart from that there was nothing. Johnny talked about the impact of poaching for a long time, which has cleared most of Myanmar of its indigenous elephant and other big game populations. Before leaving the jungle, we came upon some hanging vines, and obviously had a good swing. I can confirm it is exactly as fun as Tarzan makes it look.

Our last homestay was in a picture perfect village around three hours walk from the shores of Inle Lake. We stayed in a large farmhouse. The whole bottom floor was taken up by animals and farm equipment, while the second floor was separated in two - the common area and three family rooms inhabited by the owners. We were fed a delicious vegetarian meal by the smiling owner. He seemed genuinely proud that we were staying with him. Underneath us, a large bull bellowed intermittently. The three of us explored the village, and found a lot of similar houses. I suppose it was a wealthy farming village compared to a lot we have seen, but again I was struck by the kindness and happiness of the locals.

We came across two children sorting little pebbles on the floor. They looked nervous as we approached, but soon gestured us over to show off their toys. As the children blew through the pebbles, they gave off a piercing whistle. I tried a few, much to their delight.

The next day a short hike saw us to the shores of Inle Lake. We bade a brief farewell to our guide, who was in a hurry to get back to Kalaw. Our bags were waiting for us at the foot of a long tail boat, swaying precariously in the water. We clambered in and sped off through the network of narrow canals. We flashed by whole villages built on stilts, glimpsed through tall green reeds, and rushed through seemingly impossible gaps in pontoon bridges.

With a splash we broke out into the lake proper. The far shore was a distant blur as we headed to the main town Nyaungshwe. A multitude of fishermen and women worked the lake tirelessly. They carried long paddles which, with one leg wrapped around it, served as both oar and rudder while their hands were busy with the nets.

Within the hour, we had moored in Nyaungshwe. We stayed at the first hotel we could find. It was a large town, and very much geared towards tourists. Inle Lake is a big destination on the bourgeoning Myanmar tourist trail, and the evidence was all around us. Preparations were in full swing for the imminent New Year celebrations, and we needed to decide our next step fast or risk becoming stuck here for two weeks. But for now, the three of us checked into our room and collapsed into a glorious mid afternoon nap. It had been a good hike, and I came away feeling that I'd seen the "real" lives that are lived in rural Myanmar.

Please have a look at the gallery section for more photos of this great trek. It was completely different to my experiences in Nepal, but it its own way, just as good. The people we encountered were genuinely interested to know what we were doing there. They wanted to know where we had come from, and about our lives. Our guide was great in translating questions and introducing us to the locals in the villages. For a tast of rural Myanmar, you can't beat this trek.