It’s no longer Rangoon, Burma but goes by Yangon, Myanmar now. There are limited entry points into Myanmar and you can only enter the military led country by flying into Yangon. Actually only certain parts of the country are open to tourists at all. This includes the official new capital located more centrally within the country where the government buildings are built like bunkers, locals were restricted access, and foreigners are absolute forbidden to go near. Years ago during their last election the military leadership lost but refused to give up the seat of power so their regime of oppression remains. Outside of Myanmar there is a debate over whether or not tourists should visit the country because a portion of their spending money goes directly to support the military via government taxes and visa fees. However when you ask the Burmese the same question they can only express how much taking tourist dollars away hurts them directly. And it’s not just the income they need from foreigners but they want visitors to take take their stories out of the borders to be shared with the world. Those that are against the regime risk harm for themselves and their family. We heard stories of people divorcing their wives, moving to far off regions, cutting off all communication to their family, and even remarrying just to keep their families safe. Some have even tried to fake their own deaths in fear of retaliation of their political beliefs. All these things are not on the surface or evident on the streets. In fact walking around the various towns it looks like people are just busy trying to eke out a living, which they are. Much of the oppression is hidden from the west. The internet is heavily monitored within the country. Email sites like Yahoo, Hotmail, Gmail are all blocked out as are blogs and many international websites. The violence that resulted from the monk protests six months ago in the Rangon made headlines in the international media and has kept many people away. That was evident in walking around bustling Rangon where we saw less than ten tourists in total over several days.
We talked to monks and local people that cautiously told us that they could not openly speak out against the government. A monk briefly recalled the demonstration months ago where monks were beaten and killed to stifle the anti-government protests. Most of the people in this largely Buddhist country are impoverished and the few that have money do their shopping overseas. The shelves in markets are lacking and hold the same basic provisions. People live in the streets and those that have nothing beg from the poor. So it’s probably not surprising that as much a tenth of the population submit to the temple and don the sacred robes where they are provided with a roof, education, and food. But like I mentioned this suffering is quiet, beneath the surface of a population that has found no safe outlet for their grief so they tiptoe within the boundaries, trying not to step on the wrong toes.

It’s hard to resist cooking classes when you’re surrounded by such good local food so we signed up for a 3day/3night cooking course up in the hilly farm lands outside of Chiang Mai. It wasn’t until we looked at the poster a second time that we found out it was an organic vegetarian farm. We were worried we’d be surrounded by granolas but the people there were really friendly and fun. Okay, so we were the only two people that didn’t practice yoga, meditation and mantras daily.

There was yoga class at dawn, fresh baked bread for breakfast from the sustainable farm next door, then we would cook 3 dishes for lunch and another 3 for dinner. We even made tofu from scratch. Everything was fresh and made from raw ingredients. The kitchen was completely outdoor and had a great vista of the village and farmland below. While we were there we stayed in a hand molded mud hut right out of the flintstone’s. There is a wealth of knowledge there and a seemingly endless list of active projects. One day a group of 25 monks came by for a tour of the place and to learn how to make natural soap and shampoo. The day that we left they were mixing up organic paint. Who knew! It was easy to see how most people there were repeat and extended stay visitors.

The people that we met were part of the highlight we spent the nights laughing at everyone’s stories and screaming at rowdy card games. The Thai couple that owned and ran the cooking class were incredibly funny and awesome cooks. We made so much food that we couldn’t eat it all.

All in all it was a great time and we now we know how to make really good pad thai, tom yum soup, curry pastes, and an awesome peanut sauce among other tasty thai dishes, with or without meat.

Laos was a quiet and less populated country than its neighbors, by far. The capital Vientiane feels more like a resort town with its laid back atmosphere lack of traffic. There are plenty of expats living and thriving here to provide the comforts of western life amongst the stupas. The US embassy rep gave us a funny look for needing extra pages added to our already double wide passport.

Vang Vieng is best described as spring break for wannabe backpackers. The main street is lined with open air restaurants blaring episodes of Friends and The Simpsons. The river right outside the otherwise dusty road town is one bamboo bar after another. The locals meanwhile take advantage of the dry season and drive their tractors to the middle of the river for gravel while others stoop over to collect river weed. The river weed is dried and compressed to look like thick seaweed then roasted and sprinkled with sesame seeds. It made me hurl for 24hrs.

Luang Prabang was all about temples. Everywhere you walked there were monks going about their daily activities in their saffron robes and often matching umbrella to keep off the sun. The monk schools were packed with boys of all ages. Here more than anywhere else it seemed monkhood was a way to get an education.

To get from the northern Laos town of Luang Prabang to the Thai border we would have to endure a two day journey by slow boat up the Mekong. Each day’s cruise started at 9am and ended just after 6pm. There were no stops along the way except to drop locals at their villages so we had to bring all snacks and beverages along, as well as entertainment. At least we were going against the grain of the travelers so we had space to spread out on the wooden boat. The boats going in the opposite direction were notorious for packing in 100 passengers on a 40 capacity boat so people had to fight for room and some slept on the piles of cargo and backpacks. We had less than 20. The first night we slept in a border style town with nothing but guesthouses and snack shops. The next day was full of rain and we had to put the tarps down to stay dry. At the end of the second day we arrived after the border closed so we had to wait until the next morning to make our third entry into Thailand.

From Hanoi we were thrown into a tired bus with the locals at 7pm. The rear four aisles were jammed floor to ceiling with cargo, overflow from the roof. It was amazing that it wasn’t caving in with half of Vietnam strapped to the top. Our bags get tossed in the back and the bus guys try to shove us into seats with baggage at our feet. This is a 21 hour bus ride so there was no way we were going to compromise with legroom. The pushy punk finally takes the box out from under the seat ahead of us so we sit down. Some others weren’t so lucky. There were bags and boxes under all the seats. A few of the locals have the double seats to themselves but over the course of the night we would pick up others to fill those spots. The seats weren’t bad. There was a noticeable lumbar support and the cushion was still intact. Each seat even had a blanket. Later we found out that that was because the aircon would blast all night. The locals were prepared with their knit hats, gloves, and winter jackets. We huddle together under our two blankets draped over us. At least once every hour and a half we made a stop for petrol, food, smoking, bathroom, more passengers, and once at a mechanic for reason unknown. Of course there was onboard entertainment. Now I know what a Vietnamese award show looks like. Ugh! That was when the earplugs and eyeshades came out. Steve seem to conk out pretty early on. I read and struggled until after midnight. Even then I kept waking every twenty minutes readjusting within my confinement before finally dosing off for a longer spell. The brief moments that I open my eyes the bus was crawling in fog so thick you can barely see the back of the bus ten feet ahead of us. I knew it would be cold but I didn’t expect pea soup. One time when I opened my eyes I noticed that we weren’t moving but there was another bus next to us. The mist is so heavy that I have no idea what’s around us or where we are. I just figured it was too hard to see so we stopped.

At about 6:30am I peep out from under my shades to see Steve awake. It seems we’ve been waiting at the Vietnam border waiting for the office to open so we can exit. We must’ve been there for at least an hour, maybe two. The bus punk collects the passports without explanation and I watch him put them in a plastic bag. Next he grunts at us to leave behind the others. It is freezing outside. The thick mist is still burying us in and we follow the cajoling guards into the sparse building. We join the mob and I squeeze to the front of the counter so I can see what the guards are doing. There are stacks of passports on the inside of the glass. Doubtless from all the other buses and trucks waiting next to ours. Luckily the guards grabs our plastic bag pile first and starts to slowly check each one through. He’s being particular with which ones he fishes out first. Ten foreigner passports go through before he grabs mine. It gets stamped and he calls my name out. Before he hands it to me he demands $1. It was too early in the morning to question him about the fee so I tell Steve who is two people behind me to hand over the cash. Even he doesn’t want to deal with it either so we pay the bribe and get our passports back. Then we had to walk across the checkpoint to officially leave Vietnam. We walk into the fog not knowing where or how far to go. The mist is clinging onto every surface. I feel my backpack and it’s soaked. Finally we see another gate through the haze and the door is open. We rush through knowing there would be a mob behind us. The border guards here on the Laos side actually speak english and they’re as helpful as can be given the conditions. We pay for our visa on arrival in addition to an extra $1 that everyone has to pay. At least we get a slip of paper to make it feel like a real fee. We’ve been doing this type of free-for-all queueing so I work my way to the front of the counter and shove my hand through the opening in the glass as soon as the guard glances up. You can’t too early or it’s taken as an affront. You have to be assertive but not aggressive. It’s a fine line and the difference is getting what you want or the cold shoulder. Yay! We’re through. As soon as we see the bus at the gate we hop on and hide under our blankets. My earplugs and eye shades go back on and I sleep until Steve wakes me after 10am. The sun was out and the sky blue. What a difference a few hours make. I felt like I was coming out of the blinding cold cloud that was Vietnam and stepping onto the clear, sunny warmth of Laos.

That night Steve fell asleep pretty early. I stayed up and did some yoga. 21hrs on a bus really makes my back and butt sore. It could’ve been must worst though, we know. We’re actually quite content with this record breaking bus ride. Our previous longest bus ride title holder was when we left Bukittingi in Sumatra. That was 19hrs and this one was smoke free.

Rather than suffer through two days of buses we flew from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi. The capital was another busy and smog ridden asian city. The weather was much colder here than the south. So when we took a few days excursion to scenic Ha Long Bay we pulled out the long sleeves. The bay is dotted with thousands of sheer limestone rocks that shoot straight up out of the calm waters. Spread amongst these karst formations are small fishing villages adrift in the sea. There are caves to see and viewpoints to hike to but the main draw is sitting on the roof of the junk ship watching the rock islands cruise by. We did bike through one of the larger islands and kayak around others before the weather got too cold and we had to retreat to the sheltered cabins.