February 8th, 2013
I retreated from Mytkyina by train, backtracking towards
Mandalay, exiting in Naba. From there it was a short bus ride to the town of
Katha, a port-town on the Irrawaddy which I had initially to travel to by boat.
Katha’s claim to fame was that a one-time British officer used it as the
setting for his book Burmese Days. The author? Eric Blair, better known as
George Orwell.
Contemporary Katha is no idyllic city; its charms are few
and far between. However, to the discerning eye of a travel hound like myself,
its veritable paradise. Katha resembles a typical town in the developing world.
Buildings are gritty in the most severe sense of the word. The roads that are
paved are in poor condition, and often lined with garbage. There’s a limited
variety of nameless stores, and they all sell the same things. Merchandise and food
tables explode onto the street during the day, only to be put back inside each
night. And, in most out of the way towns, there are few tourists, everything is
cheap, and the people are generally happy to see you.
I arrived in the late afternoon, but didn’t actually see
another tourist until the following morning. It was a French couple, and I
asked to join their table for breakfast. They too were on long trips, and we
seemed to understand each other from the start. I find that most long term
travelers interact with people in the most genuine of way. They never ask for
your name; formalities are dispensed of. Talks about where you’re from, where
you’ve been, and where you’re going are seen as a chore that can be put off
until later. Only the present tense is considered.
“Can I join you for breakfast?” Was my introduction to these
complete strangers.
“Please. Take a seat. They have good bread.”
“What are you guys doing today?”
“We thought we’d rent bikes. Want to join?”
And so, shortly thereafter, the three of us were off to
explore the neighboring villages. After an hour or so of riding, we took rest
in an vacant roadside shade structure . The open air hut sat in a shallow
valley which was now a patchwork of rice fields. The main road cut through the
agricultural quilt; the road itself was bisected by a small stream. It was hot,
dry, still, and silent, save the odd truck that puttered by.
We launched into a philosophical discussion about how to
live life. Unsurprisingly, our mutual philosophies were closely aligned. Why
most people didn’t travel for years at a time confused us to no end. The
strivings of the career oriented were lost on us. Approaching the line between
expanded horizons and aimless wandering is not without its risks, but to never
have tried seems far more hazardous and irresponsible. The couple, Julian and Femica, had spent two
years working and travelling in Australia, where they met. They had saved
enough money to travel comfortably for a year. Many of their friends back home
were unemployed or in debt, yet they still marveled at how the two could be so
irresponsible! We had a laugh and finally Julian said “By the way, what is your
name”? Good people.
The villages were a real treat. Although they were
supposedly comprised of a distinct ethnic group, the Shan people, to us they
were indistinguishable from the people in town, who were Bamar. Nevertheless,
the outlying villages were quaint and innocent; one road, one-horse towns with
modest wooden abodes. We happened upon a group of kids playing soccer in the
street, and the game disbanded immediately as they showered with “hellos” and enthusiastic
intrigue. They motioned for us to start taking pictures, which we did. They
really got into it, cheering and lining up in different arrangements for the
camera. To observe the creation of joy from nothing is to watch magic happen.
The chance encounter of distinct and individually uninteresting phenomena
created so much joy. Smiles and enthusiasm begat more smiles and enthusiasm.
Where does it all come from?
Everywhere we went we were greeted by the people that looked
quite happy. I’ve noticed this trend before in the developing world, that
within certain countries the villagers appear much happier than the city folk.
This is a generalization to be sure, and I have no data to back it up directly.
But observation confirms, and there is, I think, reason to it. The first few
phases of modernization are not so pleasant; cities are polluted, expensive,
and fierce. Eventually, cities can produce enough economic output where people
can afford comforts, but this can take decades. Even today, what is it like to
struggle in NYC, on of the most successful cities on the planet? How many of
its residents are struggling today?
It’s a curious thing to contemplate, but if an empirical
study could be made, who would be the happier group: the city dwellers of
Detroit, or the villagers surrounding Katha? A more firm point is made by
asking this question: if the villagers of Katha appear, to me at least, to be
living reasonably happy lives with few material resources at their disposal,
and if we desire add happiness to our own lives, then don’t those who are forced
to conjure happiness out of thin are have much to teach us? I think they do.
We rode back to Katha, and bought our tickets for the ferry
back to Mandalay. The 200km boat ride was expected to take between 20 and 40
hours. Obviously, we weren’t in it for the efficiency. We bought some
provisions for the journey, and got to bed early to wake up in time for the
scheduled 7am departure. As I drifted off to an easy sleep, I reaffirmed my
love of travel. For me, travel is the school of life. Where else can lessons
about how to live be so apparent?