Myanmar – Trek to Inlay Lake

Cock-a-doodle-do!  It must have been no later than 4am.  But life in a village starts early.  We probably spent a couple of hours in the limbo of half-sleep, as the cocks crowed all around, and we could hear preparations being made for breakfast.  I got up, took my small bar of soap, and went to the shower in the garden, which was just a barrel of water with a jug you poured over yourself.  After breakfast we headed off again, spearheaded by the ever-energetic and bubbly July,  her thanaka on, who all the men of our party were secretly now in love with.

Another memorable day of trekking followed, July not just guiding us, but educating us on the surrounding nature, the power of the plants, stories of local legend.  The second evening was spent in another village.  This village, however, had already seen tourism.  The people were different – more cautious, not wanting to interact or have much to do with the tourists.  Usually on such treks travellers sleep in one of the monasteries, but the monastery was, apparently, full, which we found strange as we hadn’t seen any other tourists but us trekking this whole time.  So instead, we stayed in a thin wooden and tin shed, clearly erected to house foreigners, just outside the village.  This is what it will be like everywhere soon, I imagine.  Soulless sheds, full of tourists who want an ‘authentic’ village experience.  They won’t get it, not like we were lucky enough to get the previous night.  Instead, they’ll be put in these sheds and mix with a community of other backpackers.  That’s what happens, unfortunately.  And so we loitered around the village shop, had a shower (a pipe spurting cold water this time), ate our meal in the shed, and slept early.