Golden Rock

The with no buses going our way, our only option to get from Pha-an to Kyaikto was by “Pickup”. A pickup is as you would expect, a pickup truck, (Ute to the Aussies) usually with a roof, and loaded with as many people and as much cargo as they can load in or on before the axle breaks. We squeezed in with 10 locals and spent 2 hours bouncing down the road before being kicked off in some tiny town. The blank / confused look on our faces must have said “HELP” because the locals told us to wait a few minutes and another pickup would be along. Sure enough, 10 minutes later, the next ride whisked us away for a few more hours of butt numbing excitement on the poorly maintained road. At the end of it we had hoped to be done, but a guy told us we needed to go to the other side of town to get a bus for the last 10km, and the best way to do that was via cycle-rickshaw.

Much to the amusement of the townfolk, Jen decided she should cycle the rickshaw driver to give him a break. It must have been the funniest thing the locals had seen in ages, they were all pointing, laughing, and clapping at the sight of this white girl cycling a local boy while barely maintaining control on the bumpy dirt road. We missed the last bus by minutes and were eventually picked up by a couple of motorcycle taxis that took us to our hotel. (Quite an adventure in itself trying to balance our big backpacks on the motorcycles). We checked into a very nice $12 room and wandered through the village. The children were incredibly friendly here and we ended up playing badminton, giving airplane rides and being chased around by the kids for a couple of hours before dark.

Next morning it was time to climb the hill, (still with sore legs from the previous day’s hike) to see the golden rock. This seems to be a bit of a pilgrimage for the Burmese who visit the holy mountain by the truckload. And I mean that literally. Before we can climb the mountain we get shipped to the base via a dump truck loaded with over a hundred people. You have never experienced cattle class until you ride in a dump truck of wall to wall people weaving up and down mountain roads. This seemed to be the closest most of the locals had been to riding a rollercoaster evoking squeals and laughter each time we careened around a corner (or looks of terror from the 6 foreigners). We had an extra dose of torture being crammed in front of two mischevious monks that seemed, much to their amusement, to have a nasty case of gas… at least we weren’t behind them.

We made our way up the remainder of the mountain on wobbly legs, the golden rock visible in the distance encouraging us along. Finally we were close enough to appreciate the enormity of this gold leafed rock teetering on the edge of the cliff. It almost seemed as if one gust of wind would find it careening over the edge – hope the farting monks don’t get to close! It is said the stone was a hair of Buddha that was brought from the bottom of the ocean and then turned to stone, of course making it a very holy place to visit. We checked out the rock and hiked down for an equally thrilling and painful dump truck ride back to the village.

A wonderful friendly place but with the water festival fast approaching we booked our bus ticket for Mandalay and after a good nights rest we are on the road again.