Dawei, Myanmar
It was getting dark as we left Moulmein south for Dawei. The road was pavement for a while then broke into a partially paved, bumpy narrow single lane highway eventually turning to dust and dirt. The bus was sold out and isle seats popped out of one side from one side of the existing chairs and people filled them. If you sat in the back and had to get out at any point, everyone in the isle would have to get up, fold up their seat and try and get out of your way to let you by. Those who paid full fair and got isle seats were not happy and then they figured out that they over booked the bus. As the bus filled up the German elder sitting next to me decided to get up and look for his friend who was supposed to be on the same bus. Everyone in front had to fold their seats and get out of his way. He proceeded to tell the ‘seating conductor’ the story about how his friend bought her ticket at the other bus station and is running late and would he hold the bus. The Burmese don’t speak that much English but one word they do know is ‘yes’, no matter what you ask. ‘How far to the next station?’ A response might be, ‘yes’. The bus left as soon as everyone was seated including the German who came back to his seat just after everyone unfolded the in-isle seats and sat back down. She missed the bus and there were no empty seats.
Five hours into the ride and the driver still had not stopped for a break. If you have to relieve yourself, you’re in trouble. Just getting to the front of the bus is an adventure. My seat on the bus, with my back flat against the chair, my knees hit the chair in front of me and after 10 hours produced bruises. Sometimes people in front of you decide abruptly to recline the back of the chair and then you are really in for it. There are two types of buses; local buses the Myanmar government doesn’t want tourists to ride on and then there are the tourist buses with ‘AC’ and cost considerably more than the local buses. There are a few different tourist bus companies and usually owned by someone who is in one generation or relation away from the military with money enough to buy buses.
After a dinner break at midnight the bus climbed over a mountain pass laden with piles of varying sizes of rock along the side of the road. Considering the existing road was made from forced labor, those that work now make very little money and live in poor conditions in thatch shanty roadside camps buried in dust. The road is a series of treacherous swtich-backs and cliffs.
We arrived at 630 am and rode in a tuk-tuk to town for 1000 Kyat per person. The driver dropped us off at the Garden Guest House that only had rooms for $40/night. That’s out of my financial range. With a little negotiating and explanation I could stay for $30 for one night and then move to a $10/night room for the second night. There are approximately 64 guest houses in Dawei but only four are registered for tourists. The other guest houses are for locals and considerably cheaper.
Half the day is shot due to lack of sleep but after a short nap I teamed up with a pair of Northern Italians that spoke German to each other. We caught a tuk-tuk over the hill to a beach that had no one on it and it was Chinese New Year. While walking down the empty beach I noticed 10 or so small concrete houses for rent on the beach for $23.00/night. They are two bedroom, bathroom, and a simple kitchen and 50 meters from the waters edge. These are totally worth checking out if you are heading to Dawei. I walked for two hours down and back on the beach and saw only two fishermen wading in the water, two motorcycles and one ATV. There are a few simple restaurants and souvenir shops and some thatch cabanas on the beach to watch the sun go down and to eat lunch or dinner.
When we arrived back at the Garden Guest House we spoke to another tuk-tuk driver named Samuel who offered to take us to a fishing village the following day. We had dinner together and he explained the itinerary stopping in a few cottage industry villages along the way.
We had a leisurely breakfast of garlic and onion soup, Shan noodles and some Burmese bread and loose-leaf tea. By 10 am I was sweating due to the spicy breakfast even in the morning cool temperatures. The hot season is in April when they have their Water Festival. This girl above is spinning a wheel by hand and making pots for the water festival.
Samuel drove us for an hour southwest through dry rice fields and roadside villages. Many children wave frantically at us as we pass and their parents go about their cottage industry or sit in their shops. All over Burma there seems to be a major road expansion program going on with mostly women and children doing the heavy lifting. Men manually split rocks with a sledgehammer and other people separate the smaller rocks into like size piles. Maybe it’s due to the upcoming 2015 elections.
Samuel drove us into a network of side street cottage industries making floor mats, baskets and shallow platters for sifting rice or separating husks. I didn’t see any men so I asked and one woman said they were all dead. The other women nodded. I didn’t take it any further. We drove on to where we had to change from tuk-tuk to motorbike because of the road condition being dirt and bumpy.
The motorcycles sputtered up over a pass and back down the other side to the fishing village. The ride was only really bumpy over the palm tree half log bridges over dry creek beds and sandy flood plains. When we could see the ocean again the water was deep blue and clear with great visibility. The beach was covered with fish drying stations and an ice factory at the far end. We wandered around the waters edge over some old granite boulders and went for a swim away from the fishing boats. The only thing I regretted was not bringing snorkeling gear. The water was clearer than anything I had seen in Thailand.
On our return to Dawei we took a wander around town attempting to get lost and succeeded. We pulled into a beer station and ordered beer and food as the crescent moon drew its fingernail across the stars in the night sky.
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