March 20th, 2013
I got up in time to catch the sunrise over Ming-Ngo brilliant
white pagoda. I wanted to get some good pictures of the pagoda and its beatific
natural surrounds. Morning fog hung in a low thin cloud over the rice fields.
However, try and I might, I could not channel Ansel Adams. I returned to town
and grabbed some early morning tea and donuts. I was developing a great
fondness for the Burmese tea house culture. I was now able to order competently
enough to feel like one of the guys, for it was mostly men who inhabited these
places.
The tea-houses I most enjoyed were of tangibly authentic
variety; the ones in Ming-Ngo all fit the bill. All customers knew each other,
and many eyebrows were raised when I entered. I sauntered over to a table near
the back, and took a seat. I ordered a milk tea, some chapatti, some donuts,
and put my head into my book. Ensconced in second hand clothing, behind a wall
of sensible food items, appearing mentally elsewhere, I was free to let the
show begin. My ruse had worked and I was transformed into a fly on the wall.
I let my attention drift to the routines of the people. Who
was eating what? How did they look? Who chewed beetle nut, and where were they
spitting? The younger generation seemed to smoke cigarettes, while the old folk
seemed to prefer a cigar-like smokeable. Who was ordering coffee and why, the
tea was clearly better.
I watched people come and take away their daily bread, and I
pondered the lives of the store owners. Cooking the chapattis and frying the
donuts was an effervescent young man in his twenties. He managed the to-go
orders and was clearly the face of the operation. In charge of tea and coffee,
by my calculations, was his older brother, who wore a solemn face. Perhaps the
tea business not for him. An ancient woman sat at the table nearest the tea
station and preached to her older grandson. Was she driving him nuts, I
wondered. I sat for an hour or so, and warmed myself with a liter of tea. The
show was spectacular.
I walked back to my guesthouse and readied the bike, formulaically
tying my luggage to the rear. My
destination for that day was Pyin Oo Lwin, a colonial hill station about 100 km
outside of Mandalay. The town was an escape from the heat and humidity of the
big city for upper class Burmese and tourists alike. It was one of the first of
my destination that was decidedly “in the book”. As all mathematicians and travelers
know there is an inverse correlation between amount of text the guidebooks
devote to place and how enjoyable it is. Mytkyina had a page or two dedicated
to describing it, Katha was allotted several paragraphs, Namshan got an
honorable mention, and Ming-Ngo was not in the book at all. This perfect
correlation fits well with data I’ve gathered from years of travel.
It would take me 6 hours or so to reach Pyin Oo Lwin, and
most of my riding would be on the primary road which connects Mandalay with the
Shan State. I would first have to reach Chow-Meh, however. I bade a hearty farewell
to my hosts; they had been wonderful company and very kind.
The road to Chow-Meh was the best yet, which caught me off guard. The scenery
was lovely, the air was good, and the road was both well paved and empty. I
whizzed through some jungle sections, crashing into walls of cool air saturated
with herbal exhalations. I saw my first limestone karsts, which are the tall
vine covered flat faces of the mountain. Natural pots would form and fill with
earth. Large, isolated trees were contentedly biding their time in arboreal
purgatory; existing on a sheer vertical rock face, neither part of the forest
above or below. How long would they last? They didn’t seem to mind at all.
The most thrilling part of the ride was the final exit into
Chow-Meh. The road had descended somewhat, and there remained one last ridge to
climb. The road was well paved, indicating my proximity to civilization. I
ascended via a series of switchbacks with hairpin turns at either end. For the
first time, I was able to race through the gears and have a bit of fun. Over
the ridge, I descended for the final time into the town of Chow-Meh.
Chow-Meh is a large city, supporting nearly 150,000 residents. From my elevated vantage point, I could see the sprawling city. I was immediately happy to have spent the night in Ming-Ngo. I wound my way into town, and spotted a noodle station along the main road. I made a U-turn and parked the bike. Across the street were some other tourists, walking with their noses in the guidebook. They looked very lost. I dismounted and removed my concealing layers. A foreign couple at the noodle stand noticed my ridiculous get up and laughed. I asked to eat with them, and we had a wonderful conversation. They were married, but had yet to have children. They worked in San Francisco, and both had great jobs. Travel was a passion they both shared, and they seemed to do it well. We chatted about topics in the forefront of most travellers minds. We deliberated over which of the 7 billion lives currently being lived was truly best, and why. We praised the virtues of travel, the notions it liberates, the truths it dispels.
“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” - Aldous Huxley
I left Chow-Meh in a good mood, and made my way to the main
road. Several days riding on the bike had, for better or worse, given me confidence.
I rode comfortably on the highway. I was in top gear most of the time, with the
throttle nearly wide open. Going about 45 mph, the wind howled and the engine made
a fervent buzzing sound. The circular chrome apparatus I took to be the engine
may well have been a some sort of mechanical bee’s nest. “Robotic bee’s on
treadmills…” I thought. “Could Chinese engineers be so diabolical?!”. I never
did find out.
There were two lanes of traffic; a mixture of ancient lumbering
trucks, new and speedy buses, motorbikes, and farm equipment. I took notice
that I was moving far faster than most other motorbikes, a fact I couldn’t make
sense of. There were exceptions, relative speed daemons that I tried to keep
pace with. I was in no hurry, but the mind does get invent games, which it then
tries to “win”. I had noticed this a few times in Indonesia when I was
compelled to make some very assertive passes of slow moving trucks for no reason
whatsoever. I’m traveling for years, and hence should rarely find myself in a
hurry. Yet, I was observing here that my mind was compelling my body to drive
faster.
The ride to Pyin Oo Lwin was fairly uneventful. I was left
with ample time to watch my thoughts wander to and fro under my helmet. I pondered
the paradox of the head within. Why did this device so often fail to have its
own best interest at heart? Clearly, it’s a defective machine. Unfortunately,
there are no returns or exchanges, which leaves only one option: repair. I ran
some diagnostics.
Test: “Was I driving too fast?”
Result: “Probably not. You feel comfortable and there are
other reasons to explain why most of motorbikes are going slowly.”
Test: “Am I driving recklessly.”
Result: “Perhaps. You are not in a rush, and shouldn’t risk
anything to go faster. No more risky maneuvers.”
Test: “Is my engine powered by robotic bee’s?”
Result: “It certainly sounds like it. If an Invisible Pink
Unicorn or a Flying Spaghetti Monster are the logical equivalent of the biblical
God then sure, until you look, you’re free to believe that your engine is run
by robotic bees attached to gears. Bonus: Even if you do look, who’s to say the
bee’s weren’t transubstantiated into an engine? Just have faith, you’re riding
a bee powered motorcycle… Weeeeeeeeeeeee.” Awesome.
Test “What should I be doing with my life?”
Result: “Hahahaha. I don’t have a friggin clue!” Damn.
Accommodation in Pyin Oo Lwin was somewhat hard to find. Almost
everything was booked. The city was most certainly on Myanmar’s narrowly
defined tourist trail, a fact which made itself obvious the moment I pulled
into town. I had come across less than a dozen tourists during my journey into
the mountains. Flocks of my Caucasian counterparts were now everywhere. Upscale
café’s overflowed, boutique hotels promoted themselves with extravagant signs.
I longed for the chicken coop for humans I had in Ming-Ngo. I found a place on
the main road with a very fair price of $6 a night, and began to look for a place
to eat.
I was a bit irritated by the look of the place, and regretted
my decision to leave Ming-Ngo so quickly. However, like most judgments, these
too were completely useless. The town was as it was; blameless. My initial
dislike of the city was a fabrication of my mind. Pyin Oo Lwin isn’t intrinsically
disagreeable. Why was I so determined to sully my own subjective experience
with judgments? Another defect of the mind, the remedy of which is acceptance
of what is. I loosed the phantoms I had created, and started enjoying the city
as it was.
I found a roti stand, got food, and wandered around
aimlessly. I wasn’t sure what to do in Pyin Oo Lwin, but I decided to dedicate
the next day to checking off some “must-do” items, which can be fun sometimes. The following day I did just that. There was a
waterfall to see, and some colonial building to admire. I spent the day amused. Not every day can be
among the “best”. In fact, I think discarding specious notions of best and
worst, good and evil, and right and wrong is the only way to be truly free.
Free from affect, free of the mind which judges neutral input to be this way,
or that way. To eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? Our minds feed
us the forbidden friend each and every moment.
“The kingdom of the Father is spread out upon the earth, but man does not see it”. The Thomas Gospel.
I don’t believe in the biblical God any more than I believe in a Flying Spaghetti Monster (I'm not Pastafarian). But, that is not to say I don't make efforts to be more Christ-ian; more Christ-ish. I do want to real-ize my own divine nature, and the poetry of the bible can sometimes point the way. Eden is here an now. Everything is perfect as it, a fact the differential machine of my mind cannot process.
With all the list checking complete, I meandered in and out
of the tea shops I loved so much and wrote in my journal. I contemplated my
impending Big Trip: Vietnam to Portugal. Most everything was in order, but I
was conflicted. I was having difficulty letting go simply making a decision. I
was enjoying my mini-moto journey immensely. But, I thought, I didn’t need it. As
Nietzsche said “He who has a strong enough why can bear almost any how.” That’s
precisely what I didn’t have: an explicit why. I had ideas about a larger project
on happiness, but was having doubts. Lost in a world of indecision and
illusion, I ate my chapatti then left.
As for my current journey, I had two options: press on
towards to Mandalay and see if I can make it to Inle Lake, a tourist mega
attraction, or go back to Ming-Ngo and spend the following day relaxing. To me,
it was an easy decision, and I happily committed myself to going back to
Ming-Ngo.