Cycling the Golden Spine;Through Myanmar’s Backroads, Borders and Beliefs
MYANMAR (2)1,256 Kilometres – 29 Days11 October – 7 November 2015
FLIP-BOOK
Prelude
Some
countries announce themselves with grandeur; others reveal their character mile
by mile. Myanmar did the latter. From the very first turn of the pedals beyond
the border, it became clear that this would not be a journey measured only in
kilometres, but in patience, sweat, small kindnesses, and moments of quiet
wonder. Roads dissolved without warning, electricity flickered like a luxury,
and curiosity followed me through villages where a lone cyclist was still
something of a spectacle. Yet beneath the challenges lay a steady rhythm of
human warmth—tea offered without words, hands reaching out to help, smiles that
bridged every language gap. This chapter begins where certainty ends: at the
border, facing a landscape—and a way of life—that demanded I slow
down, pay attention, and ride not just through Myanmar, but with it.
11
October - Maesot, Thailand to Kawkareik, Myanmar (56 km)
My
adventure kicked off with a delightful breakfast at Krua Canadian, a hidden gem
in Maesot run by an exceptionally knowledgeable Canadian expat who has made
this town his home for the past seventeen years. The food was a refreshing
change from the usual noodle soup I had grown weary of – a true feast for the
senses!
After
my forgettable attempt to reach India seven months prior, I set out with
renewed determination, cycling the short 10 kilometres to the Thailand-Myanmar
border, hoping this time to traverse into India without any passport mishaps.
The border crossing was surprisingly uneventful – I was even greeted by the
satisfying whir of the ATM dispensing 300,000 Burmese kyats. With that, I was
able to snag a Myanmar SIM card and set myself up for a few days’ adventure
ahead.
By
the time I rolled out of Myawaddy and began my ascent into the mountains, it
was well past midday. Discovering that the new road was open was a pleasant
surprise, but I quickly realised the pass was far steeper than I had anticipated.
Evidence of the road's newness flashed before my eyes as I passed two truck
accidents – a reminder for everyone to take caution.
As
I wound my way through the misty mountains, the weather took a dramatic turn.
The sky darkened ominously, and before long, a heavy downpour drenched me to
the bone. But relief was just around the corner as I finally reached Kawkareik,
a sleepy town that rarely sees foreign visitors. Checking into the only guest
house, I ventured out to explore, instantly feeling the weight of the locals'
curious stares – I was a true anomaly here.
Starving
after my ride, I quickly discovered the town had no electricity, with power
only available after 6 p.m. The quest for food proved challenging, and I
settled for a cold bite. Even the roti vendor was absent! Nevertheless, I felt
a strange sense of satisfaction that came from being in such a remote village,
experiencing life stripped to its essentials.
12-13
October - Kawkareik to Hpa-An (95 km)
The
following day’s ride to Hpa-An was exhilarating but arduous. The terrain was
rough, the roads narrow, and poorly maintained – my bicycle rattled and shook
as I navigated through the chaos. I had to constantly duck off the road to
escape the oncoming trucks and buses, making me feel like the smallest fish in
this bustling sea of traffic.
Yet,
it wasn’t all tough sailing; the roadside eateries offered me much-needed
breaks, serving up steaming cups of tea and respite from the uphill grind.
Arriving
in Hpa-An, I discovered that the power was still out, but at least food was
within reach since my guesthouse was conveniently located in the market area.
There, I found Than Lwin Pyar Guesthouse, a cosy spot with reasonably priced
ground-floor accommodations—just my style!
I
decided to linger in Hpa-An for another day, eager to soak in the exciting
attractions that awaited. There was so much to explore, and I was more than
ready to embrace every moment!
14-15
October - Hpa-An to Kyaikto (123 km)
The
route from Hpa-An to Kyaikto was a refreshing change compared to the previous
day's journey. While it was still narrow, the road's smoothness made for a
pleasant ride. Myanmar’s rural charm was palpable, with farmers out in full
force, busily planting rice and tending to their fields under the gentle
drizzle of the rainy season.
Upon
reaching Kyaikto, I couldn't resist the inviting atmosphere of the Happy
Guesthouse. Sure, it was a bit pricey, but the comfort it offered was just what
I needed. The next morning, eager to explore, I set out to visit the legendary
Mt. Kyaiktiyo, also known as Golden Rock. My adventure began with a motorbike
taxi to Kinpun. From there, I hopped onto a crowded truck heading up the steep
mountainside to Kyaiktiyo. We were packed in so tightly that it felt like a
comical sardine can, perched on hard benches barely six inches wide—not exactly
designed with comfort in mind, especially for foreign visitors!
Once
at Kyaiktiyo, I was struck by the sight of the enormous boulder that seemed to
defy gravity as it sat at the mountain's edge. Covered in gold leaves, this
rock was crowned with a stunning stupa, said to house a hair of the Buddha—an
extraordinary relic with a fascinating backstory of rescue and adventure from
the bottom of the sea, brought here by a miraculous boat that turned to stone.
Nearby, a rock resembling that very boat stood as a testament to this legend. The
atmosphere was electric, filled with pilgrims who gathered in droves to pay
their respects in hopes of witnessing the miraculous.
16
October - Kyaikto to Bago (95 km)
During
breakfast, I had the delightful opportunity to meet two fellow cyclists from Canada,
on their own journey to Thailand. It’s not every day that you cross paths with
other bike tourers, so we shared stories and laughs over steaming cups of
coffee before heading out on our separate paths. The ride from Kyaikto to Bago
was pure bliss—smooth sailing all the way, and I arrived earlier than
anticipated.
In
Bago, I found a welcoming haven at the Emperor Hotel, complete with a
ground-floor garage for my bike. However, the climb to my room was a workout in
itself, with stairs so steep they felt almost vertical! Thankfully, the
kindness of the locals always shines through in Myanmar, and I was fortunate to
have a few helping hands along the way.
17-19
October - Bago to Yangon (90 km)
Setting
off to Yangon, the ride turned out to be a bit of a challenge—highway
congestion quickly turned into a rough, bumpy detour. But once I veered off
onto a quieter road, I found peace, with the traffic chaos left behind.
Arriving in downtown Yangon, I was instantly drawn to the iconic Sule Pagoda.
This breathtaking golden temple has graced this area for over two thousand
years and serves as the vibrant heart of a bustling roundabout.
Eager
to soak in the vibrant atmosphere, I checked out a few budget accommodations in
the old district. The Ocean Pearl Inn caught my attention with its great value,
even though it wasn't the absolute cheapest option. Just as I got settled in, I
realised it was the weekend, so my Indian visa application wouldn’t be
processed until Monday. My heart sank a bit—why hadn’t I checked the calendar
before planning?
With
a few extra days on my hands, I set out to explore the vibrant streets of
Yangon on foot, immersing myself in the sights and sounds of this captivating
city. Monday rolled around, and at the embassy, the news hit me like a cold
shower: my visa photo was the wrong size. Darn! But on the bright side, I
applied for the necessary permit to enter the restricted area at the
India-Myanmar border. At $100, it was no small change, but all I walked away
with was a receipt. The lady at the embassy assured me it would reach the
border officials, but the permit had strict validity dates, which meant it
would only cover my arrival on the last day of my Myanmar visa. I could only
hope for smooth sailing ahead.
On
my way back, I made a quick stop at the world-renowned Shwedagon Paya, the
holiest site in Myanmar. This sprawling complex of temples and shrines was a sight
to behold, bustling with people eager to honour their faith. While I wasn’t a
fan of the crowds, I managed to snap a few pictures before making a hasty
retreat, leaving the throngs behind but taking with me the spirit of this
incredible place.
20
October - Yangon
On
Tuesday morning, I made my way to the Indian consulate, armed with the required
forms and photos. To my delight, I discovered that the whole application
process was free! What a fantastic surprise! The only catch? I’d have to wait
three days to collect my passport, which meant I’d be counting down the hours
until Friday.
21-22
October - Yangon
With
the passport in limbo, I decided to slow down and soak in all that Yangon had
to offer. A little trip to the Canon store worked wonders; they reset my camera
settings, and it finally sprang to life! Hallelujah!
Yangon
isn’t known for its towering skyscrapers, so I took a lift up to the 20th floor
of Sakura Tower. The view was absolutely breathtaking; a vigorous city panorama
that made the steep price of that single, luxurious cup of coffee worth every
single kyat.
I
heard whispers about a circular train that promised a unique experience, so I
jumped on the next one at the station. However, my enthusiasm quickly waned,
and the ride didn't live up to my expectations. I hopped off and opted for a
pickup taxi—a quirky little ride complete with benches and a canopy. Just like
a tiny adventure on wheels, sometimes sharing the space with live chickens
headed to market! The traffic was heavy, so I ended up walking the last couple
of kilometres.
As
I strolled through the streets, I noticed mothers lovingly checking their
children’s hair for nits. It might sound unpleasant, but the tender moments
between a mother and child were beautiful to witness. Fun fact: head lice are
pesky little critters that live solely on human scalps, but they don't pose any
health risks. I continued my walk, captivated by the sights—a monk doing
laundry, countless vibrant mobile food carts, and lively street vendors. It
felt like I was living inside a colourful tapestry of life.
23
October - Yangon
The
day had finally arrived! I was buzzing with anticipation to pick up my
passport, but there was a twist—I found out the office wouldn't open until 3
p.m. With some time to kill, I ventured to a modern complex nearby that housed
a supermarket. This area felt worlds apart from downtown Yangon—like stepping
into a different country!
After
grabbing my essentials, I returned to pick up my passport. The line for
collection was long, but oh-so-fascinating. I found myself surrounded by
Burmese nationals and fellow foreigners, each with their own stories and
journeys. I met Eric, a laid-back French-Peruvian traveller, who—like
me—followed his whims wherever they led. And then there was a free-spirited
French youth, meandering across the globe to meet his adventurous mom in India.
Later
that evening, I set off for the Vista Bar, hoping to enjoy the famed views of
the Shwedagon Pagoda illuminated at night. While the scenery was stunning, my
photography dreams didn’t exactly pan out. The speakers, vibrating to fantastic
music, weren't kind to long-exposure shots. Oh well!
The
walk back to my accommodation turned into an unexpected adventure. The streets
came alive with food stalls, and people were gathered on plastic kindergarten
chairs, relishing delicious pork offal and other traditional dishes. I felt a
rush of excitement as I absorbed the vibrant atmosphere—another captivating day
in Yangon.
24
October - Yangon to Okekan (110 km)
With
a sense of exhilaration pulsing through me, I mounted my trusty iron horse and
pedalled out of Yangon. Fortunately, the heat of the day wasn’t as relentless
as my last trip; yet, the humidity still had me sweating buckets. The road, a
patchwork of potholes, wound northward towards Mandalay. Along the way, I
passed charming little settlements where water buffalo leisurely grazed in lush
rice paddies, and oxen pulled carts heavy with freshly cut fodder, the scent of
the earth rich and inviting.
Cycling
through these villages, I often felt like an exhibit in a museum — curiosity
etched on the locals' faces as they watched me. It was a beautiful exchange of
wonder; however, on this particular day, I caused quite a stir. One startled
villager exclaimed, “Sweet Jesus!” Perhaps my weary appearance was truly
something to behold!
I
continued along my bumpy journey until I arrived at the quaint village of
Okekan—a perfect spot to rest my weary legs. The Okkan Hotel welcomed me like
royalty; an enthusiastic team rushed out to help unload my bike, their smiles
infectious. They giggled as they offered me cold water, cranked up the
air-conditioning, and ushered my bike into a secure storeroom. In that moment,
I could almost believe I was the Queen of Sheba!
25
October - Okekan to Gyobingauk (95 km)
Despite
it being a Sunday, Okekan bustled with activity, vibrant as a Saturday. The
rice harvest was in full swing, and everywhere I turned, villagers were
engrossed in the laborious but rewarding task. It was fascinating to observe
the sheer ingenuity of transportation—a bamboo pole balanced with baskets at
either end effortlessly carried goods, demonstrating an impressive rhythm I
attempted to mimic. A friendly vendor encouraged me to give it a shot, but the
weight and balance proved too challenging.
The
standout moment of the day was when I stumbled upon a forest filled with
gigantic golden orb spiders, their webs glistening like jewels in the sunlight.
These spiders were colossal—easily larger than my hand—creating a spectacular,
albeit slightly creepy, sight. As I rolled into the outskirts of Gyobingauk, I
reached the Paradise Guesthouse. While it wasn’t quite the paradise its name
suggested, it served as a convenient rest stop on my way to Pyay.
26-27
October - Gyobingauk to Pyay (100 km)
After
a hearty breakfast at a nearby café, I hit the road towards Pyay. The route was
mostly flat and boasted a concrete shoulder, making for a blissfully effortless
ride. However, one peculiar quirk of Myanmar proved challenging: locals have a
habit of clapping to get your attention! As I pedalled along, I was met with a
chorus of enthusiastic claps and exclamations of “Hey you!” It felt as if I was
coming down with a cold, and the constant attention made the ride feel more
burdensome than it should have.
The
number of bicycles I encountered along the way was astounding; the loads people
could carry were nothing short of mind-boggling. By the time I reached Pyay, I
found myself checking into a hotel that turned out to be the worst place in
town. The room was in such disarray that I felt a shiver run down my spine; I
dutifully armed myself with a can of disinfectant before settling in,
half-wondering what might crawl out from under the wobbly bed.
The
next day was a well-deserved rest in Pyay, an opportunity to shake off the
pesky cold that threatened to take hold. I sauntered around, exploring the
nearby temple and the bustling market, indulging in some much-needed vitamin C
and savouring the delights of the night market. By then, I could feel the fog
lifting, a sure sign that my spirits—and health—were improving.
28
October - Pyay to Aunglan (75 km)
As
I set off from Pyay, the excitement of the day ahead buzzed in my veins.
Myanmar’s laws make camping a challenge, so I took extra care in planning my
sleeping arrangements. Aunglan, the only nearby town with accommodation, kept
my ride relatively short.
As
I pedalled into Aunglan, I felt a mix of fatigue and anticipation. I inquired
about a room at the Win Light Guesthouse and was pleasantly surprised by the
kindness of the man who greeted me. He not only showed me the way but also
carried my heavy panniers inside! The guesthouse, located along the bustling
main street, offered spacious rooms and a lovely balcony—though at $25, it was
a bit of a splurge.
29
October - Aunglan to Magway (133 km)
The
ride to Magway turned out to be a test of endurance. The road unfolded before
me—long and undulating. I felt as if the tarmac was holding me hostage.
Thankfully, the narrow, shaded route provided a respite from the sun’s
relentless heat.
With
not much along the way to distract me, I buried my head and pushed forward. By
late afternoon, I rolled into Magway (pronounced Magwe). Exhausted, I decided
to treat myself and checked into the first hotel I encountered at the
roundabout. It wasn't the budget option—more like a treat after a long day on
the road—but given the darkness creeping in and the chaotic lack of vehicle
lights, I deemed it the safest choice.
30
October - Magway to Chauk (120 km)
The
segment between Magway and Chauk was agonisingly slow. I even stopped for a
brief brake check, wondering if my gears were playing tricks on me. Could it be
a false flat? Just past the 90-kilometre mark, I finally sensed a shift as the
road gently sloped down into Chauk.
Chauk
greeted me with its dusty, vibrant chaos. Yet, to my dismay, there was no
accommodation to be found. The police pointed me toward a nearby hotel, but it
quickly became clear that they were at full capacity. Back to the police I
went, explaining my plight. After a lengthy discussion—and a rather steep $20
fee—I secured the most basic lodgings. I couldn’t help but feel I’d been
charged more than double the average rate, but sometimes in Myanmar, that’s
just the way it goes.
31
October - Chauk to Bagan (40 km)
The
next morning, I shuffled across the street to my bike, which I had left at the
police station. I packed up and set off toward the legendary Bagan. The night
rain had transformed the path into a muddy obstacle course—thankfully, it was a
short ride, and I was glad for it because trudging uphill was not on my agenda
that day!
The
route from Chauk to Bagan was enchanting, weaving through rural landscapes
dotted with small hamlets, ancient temples, and the occasional herd of goats. I
couldn’t help but smile as I rode behind a woman leisurely herding her cattle
past thousand-year-old pagodas—no one rushed her; buses, cars, and trucks all
waited patiently until she turned off the road.
Returning
to Bagan brought a wave of nostalgia. Even though I had visited not long ago,
the sight of countless ancient temples breaking through the forest canopy took
my breath away once again. I didn’t make many stops; the drizzling rain urged
me to seek shelter rather than get drenched. It was a day filled not just with
miles, but with moments of pure wonder.
1-2
November - Bagan
Stepping
into the central plains of Bagan feels like wandering through a living museum,
where the air is thick with history and spirituality. The sheer number of
temples—each one unique in its design—creates a stunning landscape that
stretches out as far as the eye can see. I dedicated my time to exploring the
interiors of these architectural marvels, each telling its own story. Yet, I
couldn’t resist the allure of climbing one of the taller temples for a
bird’s-eye view of this extraordinary place. The moment I reached the top, I
was rewarded with a breathtaking panorama that made my heart race. Standing
there, with the sun casting a golden glow over the ancient structures, I truly
felt like I was on top of the world.
Did
you know Bagan's roots stretch back to 849 AD? Its golden age spanned 1044 to
1283 AD, when countless temples were commissioned—many of which still stand today,
a staggering legacy of approximately 2,000 temples. They echo the rich culture
and history that envelop this enchanting region.
Morning
brought an unexpected twist: my laundry was still sopping wet! Rather than rush
off, I decided to linger a little longer. Later that day, a charming
horse-drawn cart whisked me away to some outlying temples that I hadn’t yet
explored. The day was nothing short of idyllic, and I was captivated by the
sight of local life thriving amidst these ancient wonders. Farmers toiled in
their fields, children played joyfully, and villagers worshipped in these
thousand-year-old sanctuaries, all contributing to the incredible tapestry of
life in Bagan.
3
November - Bagan – Pale (130 km)
Having
spent too long in Yangon, I felt the weight of time slipping away and knew I
needed to make tracks to the border. But I couldn't help but embrace the
journey ahead, determined to see how far I could go.
Setting
off later than I intended, I found myself on a narrow, uneven road—thankfully
not too hilly. Just as I approached Pale, the road vanished for a moment before
miraculously reappearing. I rolled into Pale just as the sun dipped below the
horizon. This quaint settlement was a charming mix of a few shops lining the
main street. When I inquired about a place to stay, I was directed to a humble
building that looked more like a family residence, yet offered a few basic
rooms complete with a shared toilet and shower in the backyard.
Realising
the slow part of the journey could be better navigated with a lift, especially
since the owner was kind enough to offer assistance with the bus timetable to
Gangaw or Kale, I decided to take him up on it.
4
November - Pale – Kale (Kalay) - By Bus
However,
getting a bus proved challenging. The small, agile minivans couldn't
accommodate bicycles, while the larger bus only rolled out at 8 p.m. This
detour meant losing another precious day, but with no other choices on the
horizon, I settled into my waiting game. I was less than thrilled about a nighttime
bus ride over the mountains.
An
early morning walk turned my spirits around as I set off in search of
breakfast. I stumbled upon a hidden gem—a little restaurant with a dirt floor
and wooden tables, where locals gathered. The array of food was delightful, and
the friendly villagers snapped pictures of me as their laughter echoed around.
In a wonderful twist, they insisted on not charging me for my meal, a generous
gesture that warmed my heart.
As
the day wore on, the village buzzed with pre-election fervour. Truckloads of
enthusiastic locals cruised down the main road, massive speakers blaring music
and promises of a brighter future. Flags danced in the air, and the communal
joy was infectious.
Finally,
at 8 p.m., a bus rolled up, but it was already packed to the brim. By a stroke
of luck, the driver managed to wedge my bike into a tight spot, and we set out
on a narrow mountain road. The ride was a wild adventure—bumpy and chaotic,
with no hope of catching any sleep as the music blared on, probably more for
the driver's entertainment. After a long, uncomfortable journey, we finally
touched down in Kale at around 7 a.m., having conquered 270 kilometres over 11
long hours. What a ride!
5-6
November - Kale to Tamu (140 km)
The
moment I stepped off the bus, the adventure began. With my bike ready to roll,
I set my sights on Kale. The rumours swirling around suggested the journey
might be too ambitious for a single day — perhaps friends were angling to offer
me a ride. Ignoring the doubts, I grabbed a quick bite, the hunger gnawing at
me more than my need for sleep. It was time to hit the road, the thrill of the
unknown propelling me forward.
The
distance loomed large ahead, but the landscape was mercifully flat, allowing me
to focus on the road rather than the strain of climbing hills. As I pedalled
on, I was pleasantly surprised to encounter a fellow cyclist heading the
opposite way, a reassuring reminder that I wasn’t the only one brave—or perhaps
a little crazy—enough to tackle this remote path.
Finally
arriving in Kale just before dusk, I marvelled at the fading light as the sun
dipped below the horizon, casting everything in a golden glow. My path led me
to Tamu, where the Shwe Oakar Guesthouse came into view. It looked welcoming,
and all I could think about was a hot shower and a cold beer to toast my day’s
journey. A restful night awaited me, and I slept soundly, my mind easing into
the comfort of the unknown.
My
permit required me to cross the border on 7 November, giving me a whole day to
soak in Tamu before the next leg of my journey. As luck would have it, election
day buzzed to life around me, turning the town into a lively spectacle. The
streets were alive with truckloads of supporters, flags flapping in the breeze,
their chants ringing with hope and fervour. It was impossible not to feel the
infectious energy, though I couldn't help but notice that the lack of
electricity provided an ironic twist to the celebrations. My guesthouse had a
generator that ran from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m., and during the day, it relied on
sunlight.
7
November - Tamu, Myanmar to Moreh, Manipur, India
On
the morning I was to enter India, I rolled up to the Indian immigration office,
expecting a smooth transition. Instead, I found the door shut tight — a minor
hiccup in my plans. But patience is key in travel, so I lingered for a while.
By one o'clock, I crossed the river into Manipur, the anticipation building as
I approached the immigration office. Just my luck, it was deserted. A quick
chat with some locals led me to the nearby police station perched atop a stony
hill, accessible only via a rugged dirt track.
After
navigating the somewhat chaotic formalities, I finally set off to explore the
village. Upon reaching the Sangai Lodge, the place's energy was infectious.
This modest accommodation seemed to be the hub for wandering cyclists like
myself. The owner was a treasure trove of information and stories, helping me
feel more at home in this vibrant new environment. The sights and sounds around
me echoed with a distinctly different vibe, almost reminiscent of Africa more
than India, filling me with a sense of wonder at the diverse tapestry of
experiences this journey promised.
Epilogue
By
the time I reached the edge of India, Myanmar had already left its imprint. It
lingered in the dust still clinging to my bags, in the cadence of clapping
hands on the roadside, in the image of ancient temples rising from fields where
daily life carried on uninterrupted by history. The country had tested my
endurance and my expectations. Still, it also reshaped them—teaching me that
progress is not always smooth, that inconvenience can carry meaning, and that
hospitality often arrives unannounced and unrecorded. As I crossed the final
border, tired but fuller than when I entered, I realised that Myanmar was not
simply a place I had passed through. It was a stretch of road that altered the
journey itself, reminding me why I ride: to feel the world at human speed, and
to let it change me along the way.
