 |
| Morning on Inle Lake... |
Inle Lake is a wide, shallow lake bordered by wetlands. The lake covers a flat valley and is not deeper than twenty feet, even in the rainy season. The lake drains into the Balu Chaung River, and hence to the Salween River. The Salween reaches from the Tibetan Plateau to the Andaman sea, a water journey of 1,750 miles.
More than the sum of its geographical facts, Inle lake is one of Myanmar's big destinations, a place that is likely to be on the itinerary of any traveler to this land. Good travelers can tour the lake by chartered boat, float over the valley in a hot-air balloon, or sleep atop the very waters in a hotel on stilts. There are iconic photo opportunities, floating markets folks demonstrating local crafts, and every exit leads through the gift store. You cannot blame the locals for this; they learned it from us.
Argh, we cry! tearing our hair at the flood of tourists despoiling the land. Yet as travelers, we are the very force that brings the flood. Let us say that I find an idyllic hideout, a wonderful hamlet in the karst mountains of Laos. Returning home, I write about it in my blog. Another traveler reads the blog, then visits the same hamlet. Soon, there is a small trickle of travelers passing through. The trickle gets noticed, and the place receives a mention in Lonely Planet. It is something like the traveler's version of Einstein's Relativity: The point of view of the observer (read traveler) has a direct effect on that which is observed (the destination). My brainy physicist nephew may take issue with the analogy, but I believe it to be true: We change a place by stepping foot there.
 |
| Boats Without Tourists... |
Our boatman met us in front of the guesthouse at 7:30 sharp. A brisk twenty-minute walk brought us to the intersection of the main street and the main canal. As on the day before, there were far more empty boats than there were tourists to fill them. These are dragon-tail boats, long and narrow, with shallow drafts. The same basic design plies the waters of Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. The screw, or propeller, is mounted on the end of a long shaft. There is usually a skid-cage around the prop to keep it from hitting the bottom of the lake or river. The three-meter shaft projects far out over the stern. At the business end of the shaft is an unmuffeled car or truck engine mounted on a pivot. The boatman swings the entire assembly on the pivot, thus steering the boat. The boats make a hell of a noise, and cast a churning spume not unlike a long dragon tail. Hence the name long-tail boats.
Here is a video of one of the long-tails in action:
Heading Out Onto Inle Lake -- Video
We are skimming across the mirror of the lake, and the morning light is amazing. This is all that I want, to glide across the water and look at things. But that is not the entire tour. We must see the daily market that rotates between small villages, see the floating towns, and tour the handicraft workshops. I am okay with all of that, but my heart's desire is only to watch the light on the water.
The lake glows silver, reflecting the mountains and clouds. The scene is washed in silver light. Then the sun breaks past the clouds, and everything is shining. Fishermen stand in small boats, the iconic image from the cover of the Lonely Planet guide to Myanmar.
Lotus, meet mud. Mud, meet lotus
We arrive at a muddy bank and disembark the boat. We have come to the village market, a market that changes location around the lake depending on the day of the week. This market is very much like any other busy market, except this one has an eye to boat-tourists. The line of stalls leading in from the muddy path is full of souvenirs vendors rather than produce or fish. Once past the gauntlet, there is a normal village market, full of fruit, vegetables, wriggling eels and fish.
We walk the narrow market aisles, peruse the goods on offer. My One buys a small Buddha statue, giving a small profit to the local vendor. She takes the money and waves it over her goods, fanning them with the worn bills. It is her first sale of the day, and this ritual will bring her luck for a profitable day. It is a rite that is performed in markets around Southeast Asia.
 |
| A "Street" in the Local Village... |
Leaving the market behind, our boatman piloted us through the narrow water channels that serve for streets in one of the local villages. There are villages scattered around the shores of the lake, some on narrow strips of solid ground, others perched on stilts over the shallow waters. There are two sources of livelihood for the hamlets. There is a living to be gotten from the lake itself, growing tomatoes and other vege on berms of soil surrounded by the water. The other source of income are the tourists.
There are silversmiths, boat-makers, weavers, and small workshops that produce the local cigars, the Burmese cheroots. The boatman bring the tourists to these workshops, and the local entrepreneurs guide the tourists through the intricacies of weaving cloth from lotus stems, or rolling a small cigar from local tobacco. When the tour is completed, there is always an opportunity to purchase some of the wares. Thus is the local economy sustained.
 | |
| Setting the Pattern for a Weave... |
The weaving shops are a complete cottage industry. Using cotton, silk, or fiber obtained from the stem of lotus plants, workers create fabric with intricate patterns. Fiber is spun to thread, thread to yarn, the yarn is woven on foot-pedal looms, and all under one roof perched on stilts above the still waters of the lake.
Not immune to the lures of the gift shop, I purchased a shirt, doing my part to throw some money back into the local economy.
 |
| Rolling the Local Smokes... |
Burmese cheroots are a traditional smoke here in Myanmar. While they have been supplanted somewhat by ready-made cigarettes, there are still a great many local folks that favor these hand-rolled cigars. We departed the cigar factory, but not before I had a small bundle of cheroots tucked into my bag. If nothing else, the smoke they produce is good for chasing off mosquitoes. In truth, the cheroot is not as bad as all that, and my stock of cigars was running low. Besides, the sight of a Farrang smoking a traditional cheroot never fails to bring smiles and comments in the local tea-shop.
 |
| Heading Upriver... |
Our boatman steered the long-tail away from the lake and up a winding, muddy river. This was pure joy; the roar of the engine against the current, the jungle pressing in on both banks. The boat shot over bamboo weirs as we climbed the current, with the boatman raising the prop just enough to clear the weir. The narrow boar would hesitate against the current as we scraped over the weir, then plunge ahead as our pilot lowered the spinning prop back into the muddy water.
Our lunch stop was along the river, at a shady outdoor café. The young folks that served us were polite, friendly, and spoke English. There were no local folks. Welcome to the Tourist Trail. But the food was good, and the setting was idyllic. We paid more for our lunch than a normal joint, to be sure, but we could see where the money was going. I did not begrudge the extra few dollars spent on our meal.
 |
| Many, Many Zedi... |
The last stop on the river was the small village of Inthein. From there we set out on foot to tour the complex of the Shwe Inn Thein Paya. More than a thousand Zedi are clustered up a steep hillside surrounded by jungle. Most of the large and small pagodas date from the 17th and 18th centuries. Some are gleaming and bright, others falling to ruin and leaning at crazy angles. It is a strange place, and a wonderful location for a barefoot stroll over the sun-baked stone walkways.
 | |
| Meditative Felines... |
Workshops, markets, temples, Oh My! Back out on the lake, we stopped at the Leaping Cat Monastery. The hulking wooden structures were perched above the lake on thick pilings of teak. None of the cats that I saw were doing much leaping. It was too hot for that. I suppose they were meditating instead.
 |
| An Icon on the Water... |
The afternoon sun was hot as our boat roared back up the lake towards town. Along the marshy shores we saw the raised beds of tomatoes stretching almost as far as the eye could see. The bushy rows of tomatoes seemed to grow right out of the water. A closer look revealed carefully tended berms of water-logged soil. It was like a giant hydroponic garden.
 |
| The Money Shot... |
There was yet one more tourist obligation to fulfill. We had to stop for a photo-op with one of the local fishermen. This is the photo that everyone wants, the image emblazoned across the cover of the Lonely Planet guidebook. Here is another irony. The "Fishermen" who work closest to the route of the tour boats are more engaged in being icons than they are in fishing. To be sure, there are fishing boats scattered across the lake, and the majority of those are meant to catch fish and eels from shallow waters. The fishing boats along the water route to town, however, are after a different catch. These folks know that the tourists want that important photograph, and they are happy to play the role for a small fee.
Our boatman slowed alongside one of the fishing boats, allowing us a chance for the image. We slid up next to the smaller craft and the occupant grabbed our gunwales, holding fast with one hand while raising a small fish in the other. I obliged him with the photo you see above, and made my contribution to his fund. Everyone has got to make a living.
 |
| Everything Tastes Better on a Stick... |
Our boatman deposited us on the shore of the busy main canal. I left him a good tip, furthering my efforts to support the local community. The boatmen themselves get a relatively small cut for their efforts, while a large share of the fare goes to the booking agents. Making sure our guy got a decent cut of the profits seemed like the right thing to do.
The heat of the late afternoon was on us, and it was time to relax. Having played the good tourist, I wanted nothing more than our quiet veranda and a good cigar. Night fell while I saw to both of those needs.
My One and I set out into the sultry night, looking for food that was other than curry. We found a local Myanmar BBQ joint and settled into a meal of grilled food on sticks. It was a busy, family-run joint, open to the night air. Local folks pulled up on their scooters, ordering BBQ to go. The meal was long and slow, an altogether enjoyable evening. When our tables was covered with discarded skewers, and we could not eat another bite, we ventured back to the veranda for another chorus of the night song.
Our tour of Inle Lake was a good day, despite the oddity of being firmly set on the Tourist Trail. So it goes with travel to the Big Sights. One should not expect to be alone amongst the famous places that so many want to see. I was thankful that we have the freedom to travel in the shoulder season. I cannot imagine what Inle Lake is like in the high season of December, when the crowds descend on this quiet place. As it was, the day turned out to be a lovely balance, a mixture of destination travel and small things discovered amongst the large.
You can check it out here:
"Broken Luggage" at Five on the Fifth
Or perhaps
You can check out books, blog posts, book reviews, or even get a free book. Just look for the big button that says "FREE BOOK." It's kind of hard to miss. Happy reading!!
No comments:
Post a Comment