What's Happenin' in Hpa-an?

Finally at our destination of Mawlamyine, we extricated ourselves from our cramped seats. Before the pins and needles even had a chance to set in we had showered and were blissfully horizontal in a cheap cubby hole of a room, which in the perspective of the previous 12 hours felt like “The Ritz”.
“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey” that was our mantra as we prepared for another leg of the journey a few hours later. The next leg was actually supposed to be an enjoyable voyage, a scenic ferry trip up the river. We hauled our travel weary bodies down to the jetty to buy our ferry tickets before venturing through the neighbourhood in search of nourishment. Ordering lunch proved to be a challenge in itself. The menu was entirely in Burmese and our usual fallback method of pointing at some other customer’s plate or a big pot of something that has been prepared was impossible as there was no prepared food in sight. Time to bust out the Burmese phrasebook. Now I must point out that many Asian languages use tone and syllable stress to differentiate words. A simple alteration in emphasis can change “may I please have a glass of milk” to “shake your ta-ta’s lady”. So reading from a phrasebook is often met with a blank stare, as it was in this case. Fortunately, this cloud had a silver lining. The daughter ran off somewhere and returned with the local interpreter in tow. Over lunch this most interesting gentleman sat and chatted with us, telling us about his work for the Red Cross, his many prison sentences for speaking out against the oppressive government, and his opinion on the upcoming constitution. Even though we have all heard of political prisoners, it is an odd experience to be having a conversation with somebody that you, or more certainly they, could be arrested for. A prison sentence for having a voice. Fortunately this man is very courageous and his imprisonment has not silenced him. In fact, we encountered many people that were willing and even eager to voice their opinions. There seemed to be some hope that by telling us, they could let some of the information out of the country. This of course will require a separate post (coming soon).
This new found friend took it upon himself to escort us to the boat and even got us settled on board, chatting our ears off until the horn sounded indicating our imminent departure. The boat was a gift from the Japanese government in the 1940’s and its age showed in the rusting hull and buckling planks of the wooden floors. Our new friend asked only half jokingly if we could swim before bidding us farewell. We sat on the floor (no seats on this luxury liner) under the curious gaze of the locals on board. For most, the novelty of our presence wore off after about an hour but there was a guarantee of at least 3 little pairs of brown eyes resting on us at any given time thereafter. Curiosity and a desire to practice his English got the best of one young monk who started with a couple tentative questions and then the floodgates of inquisition opened. The eldest of the other two monks that he was travelling with us eventually got concerned that we hadn’t eaten enough during the journey and insisted that we take some of the date cookies that he offered us. The trio disembarked shortly before our stop of Hpa-an, inviting us to come and stay in their village. Regretfully, we had to decline knowing that it would be another three days before the next boat plied the river.
Our mantra rang true and the journey upstream was as picturesque as promised. Winding its way through a valley of sugar cane fields, the boat stopped at numerous tiny villages where the children would come running to greet their relatives and wave to the other passengers.
Five hours later and with virtually no passengers left, the boat reached its destination and pulled up to what should have been a jetty but was now a collection of wood in the river. Ever resourceful, the local men used some bamboo and the gangplank to rig something up, and laden with our backpacks we gingerly made our way ashore through the knee deep murky water. Pha-an was a sleepy town with little to do other than hike up the nearby 770m mountain to visit a monastery at the top. The climb was pretty tough: hot, humid and steep. It took us 2 hours to get to the top for the spectacular views, and only 40 minutes to get down. Our legs were like jelly by the time we reached the bottom and hurt for several days afterwards. Our next stop would only add insult to injury as we would be climbing another (mercifully smaller) mountain to the famous Golden Rock of Kyaiktiyo.