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December 28, 2005
Mae Sai to Techilek to Kengtung
First thing on the 25th I packed up and headed for the border. The exit from Thailand was uneventful and I crossed over the bridge that spans the Nam Ruak river separating the two nations towards the city of Tachileik on the Burma side. Because traffic in Thailand is on the left hand side, and the opposite in Burma, we border crossers have to cross over in an X-like fashion. It being only 8:30am, the immigration office is nearly empty and I turn over three passport photos, pay the 500 Baht (it is supposed to be $10, but they screwed me on the exchange rate), turn over my US-issued passport, and receive an unsophisticated pink construction paper internal travel document with permission to travel all the way up to Mong La (Mengla.) I must turn to Tachileik to exit the country. The immigration officer tells me that it’ll be 750 Baht to Kengtung, my intended destination which contradicts my online research. Soon we’ve agreed on 500 Baht which I accept as there doesn’t seem to be many people about it being Christmas day.
Soon after changing some of my Baht into Kyat, I’m in the back of a ‘80s white right-hand drive Toyota Corolla station wagon which is as prevalent in these parts as a black cab in London. It takes until well past noon when we have an additional three passengers, small infant, and some cargo to encourage the driver to head off for the three hour drive to Kengtung at a profit. Within twenty minutes I’m fast asleep only waking for the many toll booths and three or so immigration/police check points. Some time after dark we pull into town. I’m the last to be dropped off after having the driver try to push the $40/night Prince Hotel on me. After a few minutes of insisting on Harry’s Guesthouse we make the final drive there and I check in.
Harry’s wife is up and shows me a nice $10 room, #110, which I readily agree to. I just want to get to bed. She registers me and then send off my internal travel documents to the town’s immigration office. The room has a television which I don’t use and a natural gas economy water heater that warms up the water better than any economy wall mounted water heater I’ve ever seen. Shit, shower, shave and I am quickly sound asleep. Traveling can be so exhausting.
The next morning over the inclusive breakfast of XXX, bananas and terrible coffee I meet some of my fellow guests. Everyone is over 50, from America, Canada, or the UK, on a package tour, and had flow up into Kengtung, the Shan state administrative capital, on a domestic flight. Basically, I gel with none of them.
Off I go on a walkabout back into town. Harry’s Guesthouse is in a little sub-village north of the disappointing Naung Pha Gate. (Chiang Mai’s has Tha Phae Gate has defined what a gate should be to me.) On the way into the center of town I meet Zar Zar, a fifteen-year-old girl who wants to work on her English. After some basic question and answers, she occasionally whips out a sheet of paper to refresh her memory of some English phrases and we continue talking. She offers to show me Wat Pha Jao Lung (Maha Myat Muni) to which I readily agree. It is an attractive little wat but there is not much to see. She does a little prayer, we both donate a little bit of Kyat, and continue on into town. Zar Zar works at her family’s stall in the central market where they sell mass-produced whatever from China. Nothing to interesting so I continue on exploring town.
My big, somewhat peculiar interest is in the UN Drugs Control Project building on the north side of the lake. I never find it, but do find the local anti-narcotic agency, city hall, and the International Red Cross compound on the eastern side of the lake. At the IRC there was only a guard, a job advertisement board, and a requisite white Toyota Landcruiser with underwater breathing kit installed—no people about. They day is a bit cloudy and is sprinkles on and off forcing me to take cover here and there. It is a bit spooky that there seem to be no foreigners about.
Large propaganda boards are all about town, with a few in English beneath the Burmese language slogans, lots of men in green with guns, and policemen in white jackets who constantly talk into their walkie-talkies. I imagine them saying things like “OK, subject S-420 is moving towards Yang Kham Gate Rachileik-Taunggy Road” and such. A bit of paranoia is setting in. Regardless, throughout the length of my journey I try to make eye contact and then smile to these military men. Only once did I get anything other than a blank stare or no eye contact at all—and that was only a diminutive nod.
After hours of walking and taking some pictures, I head back for Harry’s to get some money. Joyasia on Lonely Planet’s online Thorn Tree forum suggested that it would be best to change my Baht/Dollars/Kyat into Chinese Yuan at a gold dealer or money changer before getting to Mengla. (More on that later.) So, I head back for the 
market in the early afternoon only to find it closed up. Hunger is beginning to set in so I head for the Golden Banyan restaurant near Paleng Gate. There I read up on Mengla, have a ‘vegetarian’ dish that includes enough chicken bits to make me gag, and a Myanmar brand beer. After some more walkabout time it is back to Harry’s were I met Brittany, a charity worker in Thailand from the UK. We got along quit quickly and were distinctly separate from the other travelers at Harry’s Guesthouse. That evening Brittany and I head into town for a Chinese place that seems quite popular. After dinner we wonder semi aimlessly down to the lake side and find ourselves a little beer joint and split a beer.
Posted by stu at December 28, 2005 08:42 AM