Our last day of our
jaunt to the southern areas began much like the last one, breakfast, great
coffee with a slightly sore back from the less than comfortable sleep. Packing
was made easy after we had a load of washing done the day before (very cheaply
may I add), so our clothes were folded to perfection. I took a last look from
the bedroom balcony to the shiny pagodas up on the hill behind town before
zipping my case and closing the hotel door behind us.
I was a little sad to
end this part of our trip, and looking back at my photos, I’m feeling deep
regret for not taking more shots of the people and towns, as well as more of
the temples and Buddhas. Sure I had taken a few, but honestly, it was so hot
most of the time that I had become lazy. Oh well, gives me the perfect excuse
to return (not that I need one).
Kyaw picked us up around
8:30 to take us to a place a little off the beaten path, Nwar La Boh, or “hump”
pagoda. From the moment I had read about it on Trip Advisor I knew I wanted to
see it (in the same way as Golden rock). Half the reason I travel is to
experience unique cultural sites and activities, and the less touristy the
better. It was to the north of Mawlamyine, sort-of on the way back to Yangon.
Kyaw suggested we get there pretty early in the morning with the hope there was
a truck going up the mountain to the rocky temple.
A row of tin-roofed
shacks sat on a crumbling asphalt road marking the starting point of the
journey. Up a little way, a tray truck, set up like the ones we rode in at Mount Kyaiktiyo, sat waiting under an open-sided
shed. Compared to the Kinpun
truck stop of Golden Rock, it was very basic. In peak times, the stalls and eateries
would cater for may pilgrims, serving food and selling supplies. Unfortunately
for us, as it was the start of the wet season, so there was no-one else here
apart from a couple of families who lived here. We took a seat at one of the
stalls while Kyaw talked with the locals. Retuning with his characteristic
chuckle, he told us that a truck will go once there were at least eight people.
“No problem. Just wait little time”. J and I were not at all worried, and
enjoyed just relaxing.
Out of the shade, it was
approaching 40 under that blazing sun. Little kids ran in and out, smiling
shyly at us while we waited. And waited… and waited. We chatted about various
sights around Myanmar as I thumbed my LP guide book, as Kyaw gave me little
local insider tips of what to see and when best to go. He also told me what I
believe to be a local rumour (whether true or not, I have no idea). The monk
who founded this pagoda was the very competitive brother of the monk who
founded Golden Rock. He was so jealous of the fame his brother achieved with
establishing Golden Rock, he set out to find an even more impressive rock
formation to make a into a temple, and so established this site.
An hour later, a car
pulled up with four people. Shortly after, another four people walked in from
the local town. Yey! That made ten. “OK you pay the driver 8,000 kyats each”,
Kyaw explained. “Not so many people so cost more. Sorry for bit expensive”.
Near the truck, some of the passengers were trying to haggle with the truck
driver. Hard to know the outcome, but we all climbed up onto the truck’s plank
bench seats, greeting each other with smiles. Unlike the previous truck trip,
we had all the room we needed. Though I’m sure that at peak pilgrimage season, we
would have been crammed in like sardines.
Just like our trip up to
Golden Rock, the ride itself was reminiscent of a roller coaster. Actually, it
was worse. The road was an unsealed dirt track with hundreds of deep potholes.
It was steeper and windier. And more scenic with amazing views back to
Mawlamyine and surrounding ranges. Holding onto our hats, we laughed and
shrieked along with the other passengers as the truck bumped and grinded its
way up.
At the top, a golden
gateway, framed by a pair of clinthes, marked
the entrance. We climbed from the truck onto a covered concrete platform that
allowed easy access on and off. A short stroll up a paved walkway with a few
sets of stairs lead us to a small monastery building. The locals stopped while
an elderly monk recited prayers over them as they bowed their heads. Further
up, another monk greeted us under a shaded pergola. Making appropriate hand gestures, he
signalled that we needed to pay a camera fee, stuttering “Photo. Five hundred
kyats”.
Leaving J to pay, I
wondered over to the holy rocks. Nwar La Boh is even more remarkable than Golden
rock, with three skinny boulders perched precariously on top of each other.
Legend has it that, like Golden rock, Buddha Hair relics have been placed in
between the rocks to miraculously hold them in place. Like its more famous
cousin, the rocks had been gilded in gold leaf.
A number of tiled
terraces provided viewing platforms to see the rock formations from a number of
different angles. From some angles, the stack looked larger and more
impressive, but at the top, you didn’t quite see just how perilously they
rested. Off to the side, a set of stairs lead down to a flattened earthen
clearing with a few small stupas, shrines, and a small building, presumably for
solitary meditation retreats. Unlike all other stupas we’d seen, one was coated
in silver rather than gold, which seems very different to us.
Our travel
companions had made their offerings and prayers at the rocks, and were now
exploring this area and wondering off into the bush, leaving J and I alone in
this unique site. Two foreigners, alone at a sacred site like this, surely
didn’t happen every day – if ever. The rarity of this event was certainly not
lost on us.
Walking around the tiled
pathway that encircled the rocks, J and I quietly examined and explored the
other few shrines and statues, as well as took a heap of photos. Returning to
the main alter area before the rock, a stunning blue lizard or iguana was
resting on the rock near the top. Another plainer one scurried around the base
below. I guess with most of the visitors departed, they had felt safe enough to
come out again.
For almost an hour, we
wondered around and simply enjoyed the magnificent view. The others hadn’t come
back, so J and I headed back to the truck stop, worried that maybe they had
returned and the truck left without us. However, there was no sign of them back
there either. Only a little stall with a family enjoying a meal. The truck was
still parked at the loading platform, and the driver was over the way, also eating
his midday meal. OK. They haven’t left without us. But where did the others go?
Last I saw them, they were heading into the bushes near the top.
We waited in the shade
of the truck stop shelter, sipping water. By now the day was outrageously hot. Gee,
I hope they’re OK I thought, wondering how I would ever be able to communicate to
the locals that they had gone missing and to organise a search party. But,
after a further fifteen minutes, the group appeared from the trees behind the
stall. They were laughing and joking around among themselves. It appears they
had gone gathering betel leaves (or so J and I concluded).
Climbing onto the truck,
they nodded and made fanning gestures indicating how hot they were from their
little bush walk. We were sweltering simply sitting in the shade so I could
imagine how hot they were. The trip back was quicker, and scarier, than the
trip up as the truck travelled much faster down hill than up. Coupled with the
ruts and potholes, the uneven track bounced us out of our seats a number of
times, causing a few stifled screams followed by giggles of delight. It really was
a relief to be back at the base. With a few waves and “Bye-bye’s” to our fellow
travellers, we set off back toward Yangon.
Back in the car, I started
feeling a little unwell. Sort of funny in the tummy. Having not eaten since
breakfast, I put it down to hunger and heat. We stopped at a little town for a
late lunch after an hour, where the steamed rice and stir fried veggies hit the
spot. The owner brought out beers for us, while his two sons practised their
English with us as we ate. “Happy happy” said the owner, seemingly pleased to
have had foreigners in his establishment. Small puppies circled at our feet as
we enjoyed the cool beer. A few younger children from the neighbouring stalls
popped their heads around the corner to see us foreigners, running away
giggling when we smiled at them with a little finger wave. All the while,
scooters and tractor-jalopy of various sizes came and went from the petrol
station and other hardware stands. The town was like a hundred other along the
road, the name of which I can’t find or see on any map (and I forgot to ask
Kyaw), but the food and hospitality of the host were quite memorable.
It took over four hours to
return to the outskirts of Yangon. A new major highway made the last part very
quick – that is until we hit the ‘no motor cycle zone’. You see, the local
government banned motorbikes in the main city of Yangon. Not far from the
airport, there was a very distinctive difference to the traffic once we crossed
that point. Suddenly, we were in the midst of a sea of cars; literally bumper
to bumper. That last few kilometres to the Myanmar Life hotel close to Yangon
airport took almost an hour.
Time to bid a farewell
to Kyaw, our jolly driver of the last five days. J and I had put aside a decent
tip for him, with us both enjoying his careful and patient driving, as well as
taking us to many lesser known places. “When you come back Yangon, you ring me
I come drive you”. No problems. We actually arranged for Kyaw to pick us up
from the airport in a few weeks when we returned for our last night in Myanmar
before flying home.
Check in was smooth, and
our room a little non-descript but adequate. I flopped onto the firm bed quite
exhausted from our travel. Don’t you find it extraordinary that sitting in a
car or plane for hours in transit can be so tiring? That upset tummy feeling
had returned, and I knew that this time it was not hunger. O-oh… please no
travellers gastro. J went for a wonder up the local street to find some drinks
and cigarettes, while I tried to relax. By the time he returned, my digestive
system had hit a turning point – literally, making for a less than ideal
night’s sleep. Oh well, nothing like a funny tummy for a 6am flight!
- K
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