Travel Report 20: Bamo

Imagine any third world market, this one raised up on stilts over the same area since time out of mind, with any number of vendors selling every possible variety of goods. Longis of course, but also avocados the size of pigskins (the USA ones), and of course the all time favorite: rotten fishpaste. I know I ate that all the time without knowing it, and that doesn’t help one bit.

I manage to slow enough to purchase my first, and so far, favorite Longi. Of Kachin make, you can tell by the colors, and oh, so proud I am, to wear it in the confines of my hotel room. Below I am wearing a Burmese Longi. The colors make all the difference and should you be in Burma you can tell the Kachins, Karens, Shans, Burmese etc apart by what kind of Longi they wear. You certainly won't be able to tell them apart by their accents. I have always been partial to men-skirts such as Sarongs (it is my Pa's fault, you should see what that guy wears at home!), but these are a lot more comfortable because they are tied in such a manner that it affords one a proper step. You can see the fold at the front of it. Before you ask, no I do not wear anything under it. Young Burmese do, old Burmese don't. I won't explain to you why. But personally, I figure, if I am wearing a skirt, I might as well enjoy the good airy parts of it. Did you cringe?


I had heard about the raucous lady vendors (Marktweiber are the same wherever you may go) in these country town markets. They all seem to delight at cackling something raunchy at the backs of the foreigners, at which they crack up like mad. But the best laughs are the ones that burst forth when I pretend I understood every word. Which isn’t hard, I just react as if someone said something supremely naughty to a tall white boy. Of course my reaction is confined to meaningful looks and other nonverbal cues.

Early morning sees us on rooftop terrace of Friendship Hotel. Breakfast a strange welcome mix of Chinese, Kachin, and Fried Eggs cuisine. Mohinga remains our dish of choice. By horsedrawn buggy we go to Sister’s Order’s Location, by traveler memory (asking passersby) we manage to seek it out.On the way I encounter a strange Maria figure, with holy blinking light thingy mounted behind her holiness’s head. No, they would never copy this from the way Buddhas are sometimes adorned only to make Christianity more palatable to the locals.The grounds of the Sister’s compound is neatly tucked into a side street. Volker’s Nursery is the last thing that fit in here, and it is lovingly simple. Blockhouse style, beams crossed, in between bricks. Kiddies in it are a lot cuter than the building, and are, distressingly, encouraged to sing lovely Christmas Songs for us. We urge, after polite if happy listening to cutest Jingle Bells rendition ever, to sing some Burmese or rather Kachin songs, as it were. Since we are in Kachin state and one of the goals of Volker’s work is to retain local customs. This wish also is gladly fulfilled by sweet Maria, who nearly makes me break my vow, and whose little English is at least as adorable as the kids she kindergardens.

They already learn about their amazing brains at such a young age. This makes me feel ok about the Jinglebells.

We are then thrown into a little car to drive out to Mansi, where another Nursery/Kindergarden has just been completed. It is a romantic ride on brutal dirt road. I think in this climate any construction will always be temporary, so why waste more money on more expensive if better materials. At least that’s what I tell myself as an excuse. We fill up on gas, where I meet a Kachin fellow who lived in Tokyo when I was there. Except he was in Shinjuku instead of Roppongi. My Mauiwaui friends would say its manifest (btw it is not, it is rather selective recognition). On the way we stop at a small convent for refreshments, we have the feeling of being led on a specific tour as there is no reason for this visit. Even later I would not understand. The kind Sister here presents me with 4 neatly in a plastic bag packed eggs – Thank you. We head on to the Nursery, not without first stopping to see the priest of the parish, who is not in because he is at a Retreat Thingy. At this, Volker's latest project we are as enthusiastically greeted as in the last one. Happy little kiddies falling over themselves to get a glimpse of the strange roundeyes, or maybe even to say a shy “hello?” to which a reply of “Hello” is enough to set of gales of laughter. If you ever go to one of these countries, take lots of pictures of kids on your digital camera, and then show them the pictures. They love seeing themselves, adore this game, and can not wait to take pictures of all of their friends.


These two youg ladies are the Kindergarden Teachers. And if you dont think the kiddies are cute, you should go lie down on Siggi's couch. The one on my left wants to go to Australia to study there. All the Kindergarden Teachers study something or other, but I do not know what they will be able to do with a Chemistry Degree 30 Km from the Chinese Border, where I certainly do not see a chemistry lab in operation.

Many proof-of-work pictures and blown up airballons later Volker and I are allowed to leave, which occasion I use to crack open one of them juicy hardboiled eggs I was presented with before. CRACK … hmm… Now why would she give me raw eggs? Did she think I was going to pull out my traveling pan? Or fry it up on the side walk? Suck it raw? I told you not to ask me. On the return journey we are driven, again, through picturesque South East Asian post card landscapes. Military Compounds abound and “take all the best land”. Water Buffalo do their muddy thing, pleasurably it would seem.

Back at the main mission we are served delicious chicken and the usual variety of Burmese dishes. We are apparently to be fattened up before we go to see another area, which strangely has nothing to do with Volker’s projects. We are not sure why we are going, but find ou soon enough. Entering a large compound that seems to be preparing for some sort of festivity. Not made to wait long we found out that this is where the retreat is to take place, and priests from the surrounding area are already present. I know you want to see a picture of me hanging out with a bunch of catholic priests, so I will do you the favor.

Seriously the man in the middle, who does not look like Michael Jackson, studied at the Vatican for two years. These are all serious about their business. And they are all drinking Bud, of all things. Could they not have picked Myanmar or Lao Beer? I am of course the only one who does not stoop to low beerlevels (right, I am such the beer connoisseur). I drink the fabled Kachin Sapee, home made and served up enthusiastically by our host, not to be mistaken with Shan Sapee, which will incapacitate you within minutes or sips, whichever one comes first. Kachin Sapee is made of fermented rice, then sqeezed out liquid and mixed with water. I tell honestly, it is delicious. Has this sort of pinkish color, and if not made right, will lead to major headaches later on. The man next to my uncle urges the host (the priest we missed in Mansi because this retreat is his show. He is not on this picture) in Burmese not to give me too much to drink. At which point I am tipsy enough to understand his Burmese and to vehemently insist that this cute little concoction can not harm a large Austrian man.

The lubricated conversation quickly turns on to the subject of Barbarians, which my Uncle and I find out are the Bavarians. Much hilarity ensues (largely my fault, sorry Uncle:) as Volker painstakingly explains that his chosen place of residence is not Barbarian at all, as in fact it is the oldest united dominion in Germany. I think he is not drunk enough to understand that the priests don't care about his historically correct explanations and would rather continue to call his people Barbarians, especially since Bavarian is just too hard to pronounce correctly if you are anything Asian. By the way; Kachins are great snackers. That indefinable (I am letting sleeping dogs lie here) dish on the table was delicious.

As it is sometimes the case in international relation this sort of lubrciated hilarity actually leads to useful insights. Here we learn that the man next to my uncle, signed the 1994 KIO - SLORC peace treaty as representative of the church. God's Witness to an uneasy truce if you will. We also meet a man who is a current member of the KIO who explains quite a few interesting details to us. This border region with China is incredibly porous, Kachin live on both sides, constantly travel back and forth, and the Chinese are only too interested in a somewhat pacified region in order to do their trades along the famed Burma Road. Later we are released to meet some of the retired sisters who spend their time in this compound.

They are about four feet tall, no kidding, and display the same warmth and vivacity as all the other sisters. Must be something in the water. We are actually sitting in the corridor next to their quarters here, which are only seperated by a curtain. None of their rooms contain anything else but a bed. What do they do all day?

Volker and I are still not sure why we were shown this place except that the man-catholics (priests) would like to get a piece of Volker's pie. I assume that the sisters were forced to make at least a good faith effort to share the wealth. Man-catholics do no understand my families aversion to organized religion. Not because of any philosophical/dogmatic reasons in this case. Simply because the moneys would be a lot harder to track and my Uncle would not know what they are being used for. Be that as it may, this unplanned excursion has offered a rather deep insight into Burmese life, which I am, as I will not get tired of saying, incredibly privileged to enjoy, attached as I am to my Uncle's coat tails.


We head back towards Bamo, happy in the knowledge to have met fascinating people, and glad that my Uncle's collected money does what it is supposed to do. These thoughts are of course easier when travelling through landscapes such as above. We look forward to our evenings tropics medicines and wonder what we should do all day tomorrow as the boat down river does not go until the day after.