A Trip to Izamal

The guide book I read before coming here said that Izamal is a beautiful city as every building in the Historical Center is painted gold, including the Convent. It sounds quite amazing and we are looking forward to seeing it. The drive takes a little over an hour and we pass through three attractive towns on the way. We are learning that the one problem with driving ourselves is that when we reach a town, the road automatically takes us into the central square, and leaves us there. We drive around the square and there are always eight exits (two at each corner) and none of them is ever signposted. We have to ask directions from a local. The other problem we discover is that the locals are always anxious to please and feel that an answer of “I don’t know” is rude. Consequently they just make up something, often sending us in completely the wrong direction, which they consider to be polite, but we find extremely annoying.

Izamal is the “City of the Hills” and is thought to be the oldest Spanish city in Yucatan. Its history is dominated by religious events. We live near San Francisco which is also the City of Hills. There is no comparison. The hills of Izamal are only noticeable if you are riding a bicycle. Izamal is located in the middle of the Peninsula . It was conquered by the Spanish and it was the monks in their eagerness to convert the Indians to Catholicism who gave the city its religious distinction. To this day, the people of Izamal are devoted to the Immaculate Virgin.

True to form the road takes us into the square at the heart of the city, where we realize that the guide book was using a little artistic license with the use of the word “gold”. Every building is painted a very bright sunshine yellow. It is very colourful but gives a completely different effect than the one we had expected, that of a city of gold.


The square is dominated by a Convent that was built from and over one of the Mayan Pyramids. The convent is famous for its murals and its central courtyard, which is second only in size to that of the Vatican. We are lucky enough to arrive as the monks (it’s called a convent but it is full of monks!) are congregating in a small chapel for their mid day service. The chapel is lovely, built on the top of a small hill with large double doors on both sides, open to the surrounding trees. Inside there are painted murals, an altar full of flowers and a huge statue of the Immaculate Virgin. The only jarring note is that all the chairs for the monks are red plastic chairs emblazoned with the Coca Cola logo.

The monks generously invite us to be a part of the service, and offer us our own Coca Cola Chairs. The service is quite rousing with two monks playing guitars and the congregation singing along as the Virgin is wheeled forward from her shrine. We feel a little out of place and quietly leave.

A Trip to Izamal

The guide book I read before coming here said that Izamal is a beautiful city as every building in the Historical Center is painted gold, including the Convent. It sounds quite amazing and we are looking forward to seeing it. The drive takes a little over an hour and we pass through three attractive towns on the way. We are learning that the one problem with driving ourselves is that when we reach a town, the road automatically takes us into the central square, and leaves us there. We drive around the square and there are always eight exits (two at each corner) and none of them is ever signposted. We have to ask directions from a local. The other problem we discover is that the locals are always anxious to please and feel that an answer of “I don’t know” is rude. Consequently they just make up something, often sending us in completely the wrong direction, which they consider to be polite, but we find extremely annoying.

Izamal is the “City of the Hills” and is thought to be the oldest Spanish city in Yucatan. Its history is dominated by religious events. We live near San Francisco which is also the City of Hills. There is no comparison. The hills of Izamal are only noticeable if you are riding a bicycle. Izamal is located in the middle of the Peninsula . It was conquered by the Spanish and it was the monks in their eagerness to convert the Indians to Catholicism who gave the city its religious distinction. To this day, the people of Izamal are devoted to the Immaculate Virgin.

True to form the road takes us into the square at the heart of the city, where we realize that the guide book was using a little artistic license with the use of the word “gold”. Every building is painted a very bright sunshine yellow. It is very colourful but gives a completely different effect than the one we had expected, that of a city of gold.


The square is dominated by a Convent that was built from and over one of the Mayan Pyramids. The convent is famous for its murals and its central courtyard, which is second only in size to that of the Vatican. We are lucky enough to arrive as the monks (it’s called a convent but it is full of monks!) are congregating in a small chapel for their mid day service. The chapel is lovely, built on the top of a small hill with large double doors on both sides, open to the surrounding trees. Inside there are painted murals, an altar full of flowers and a huge statue of the Immaculate Virgin. The only jarring note is that all the chairs for the monks are red plastic chairs emblazoned with the Coca Cola logo.

The monks generously invite us to be a part of the service, and offer us our own Coca Cola Chairs. The service is quite rousing with two monks playing guitars and the congregation singing along as the Virgin is wheeled forward from her shrine. We feel a little out of place and quietly leave.

The Cave at Lol Tun

Lastly we stop at the Lol Tun Caves. The caves are famous for their hand paintings dating back to over 10,000 years BC, the fossils of mammoths and other animals, wall paintings, ancient pottery and human remains.

We park in the small car park and are immediately welcomed by a very friendly and very pregnant dog. She makes a great fuss of us and follows us to the entrance.

Here a guide is compulsory as we will be walking for over 1 kilometre through these underground caves. It is not until we are nearly at the end of the walk that our guide tells us that everything we were hoping to see, other than the hand paintings, are in parts of the caves that are as yet inaccessible to tourists.


The lights throughout the caves are on separate circuits, and as we walk through the caves, the guide has to continually find the switch to turn the next few lights on. They are on timers so we cannot dawdle, or the lights go out on us. In true Mexican fashion some of the lights do not switch on. You would expect the guide to be aware of this and have a flashlight at the ready. But you would be wrong. Fortunately we have one of those tiny lights that attach to a key ring and that was our only light to guide us through some of the passageways.

We are amazed and rather touched to find that the dog has accompanied us the entire way through the tunnels. When the lights go off, she keeps quite close to us as if checking we are alright.

At the end of the tour the guide tells us that although we paid an entrance fee to go into the caves, that does not cover his charge and he expects to be paid. When we ask how much, he tells us $50 would be appropriate. Needless to say he is one very disappointed guide.

The dog, however, gets several biscuits from a package we have in the car and seems much happier than the guide.

Uxmal - More Ruins

From Uxmal we take a circular route back to Merida in order to see other Mayan ruins. But our first stop is at a village called Santa Elena where we are told there is an interesting Museum housing several mummified bodies that were found under the church floor. The museum consists of three small rooms with hardly anything in them other than four tiny bodies of children in open coffins, shown beneath a large sheet of extremely dirty glass. At the entrance are three local young women who presumably are there to take the entrance fee of ten pesos.


But they are so excited to see a foreign tourist that all they can do is giggle and blush. We try to talk to them, but they just turn an even brighter shade of red and giggle some more. The museum itself is so depressing that the giggling girls are a welcome relief.

From there we go on to Sayil, where the Palace of the Ants is found. It is a huge Palace of 90 bedrooms, but little has been restored and you are not allowed to go in or on it. Consequently very few tourists come here. In fact we are asked to sign a guest book which shows that the last visitors came three days ago. The site actually boasts a gift shop, which is a truly desultory affair, the entire stock consisting of about seven rather dirty white dresses on coat hangers, hanging from an open sided Palapa. Maybe the last guests were major shoppers and bought up everything else.


Our next stop is Xlapak, which even the tour book describes as “a site of some fourteen mounds”, which makes it sound so unimpressive that they couldn’t even be bothered to make an exact count of the mounds. We drive on by.

The next site is much more impressive. Labna used to be a Mayan city of over 2000 people. It is a large site with three partially restored buildings. Again the setting is lovely with raised streets crossing huge lawns. This site is famous for The Arch of Labna, a beautiful arch that once marked the entry to a nobleman’s house.


Labna is lovely, and we are amazed that there are only two other people here. They are a very elegant pair of Mexican women carrying huge sun umbrellas and strolling across the lawns as if they were at some garden party.

Uxmal

One of the reasons for this trip is to see the Mayan ruins . Next week we will be going to Chichen Itza and Tulum which are the more famous sites and therefore full of tourists. But there are many other sites just as impressive where there are far fewer tourists, and we set off to see some of those today.

Uxmal is a World Heritage Site where considerable restoration has taken place and is still taking place. It is an hour and a half drive from Merida. The drive is easy, as the Yucatan is almost completely flat and the roads are straight, good and fast. But because the land is flat there is no scenery.

Uxmal and the other sites we are seeing today are built in what is known as the hill country, but the hills are only a hundred or so feet high and hardly cause more than a bump in the road.

Uxmal is truly impressive, both in its design and its scale, and even more pleasing is the fact that there are only maybe 25 cars in the car park. In fact the car park is only set up to take about 100 cars. We wander around this wonderful World Heritage Site with just a handful of other tourists.

There are four major buildings that have been beautifully restored: including the Governors Palace, the Nun’s Quadrangle and the Magician’s Pyramid. The Magician’s Pyramid is what we all recognize as a Mayan temple. It is similar to an Egyptian Pyramid, but with steps up two sides and a decorated top. It is more faceted than the Egyptian Pyramids . The Mayans were, what could be called, lazy builders. They built their structures using rubble and then clad them with stone, whereas the temples of Angkor Wat were built stone by stone, each one fitting precisely into the next. The exteriors of Angkor Wat are far more elaborate with carvings and statues. The Mayans decorate the top of their buildings but the bottom half often remains plain.


The decorations are much more geometric, and indeed a deep understanding of geometry obviously pervades everything the Mayans built.

A strong sense of setting dominates Uxmal. There are manicured lawns and trees everywhere. Each building is built on a small plateau affording sweeping views of the land and the other structures.


As in all civilizations water was very important. The Yucatan receives very little water, but the Mayans developed a system of collecting the water and storing it underground that is very impressive.
Equally as impressive is the games arena that sits in the middle of this Mayan city. A large playing field has a huge sloping stone wall at either side with a hoop half way along built out of it. The hoop is set on its side and is 12 feet or so up the wall.


The game was played by two teams of seven, and the object was to get the ball through the opposing teams hoop. The major difference between this and basketball, is that in this game the losing team or team leader is sacrificed. A major incentive, I presume, to play your best game.

Merida - Our First Impression

Joany, despite the non stop talking, is a wonderful hostess and provides free wine and beer, stocked in her fridge, to which we are welcome to help ourselves. After a drink we decide to walk into the center of Merida to have dinner. We are in the Historical District and we walk through streets lined with wonderful old colonial houses, some of which are waiting to find an owner that cares enough to return them to their previous glory, and some of which have already found that person.


They are painted in wonderful deep desert colors of burnt orange, sand and green. The windows and doors are covered in intricate and beautiful iron work. The rooms are tall and large with marble floors. The front doors are double, made of beautifully carved wood and 12 feet tall. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. They call out “buy me” as we pass.

We find the main square, which is the perfect town square with beautiful colonnades on three sides filled with café tables and chairs, and on the fourth side there is an imposing cathedral, The Cathedral of San Idelfonso. It is actually the oldest Cathedral on the American continent dating back to the 16th century. The conquering Spanish dismantled all the nearby Mayan Pyramids and used the huge stones as the foundation for the Cathedral.

The center of the square is full of people enjoying the evening, and watching the clowns and musicians. The streets around the square are lined with horses pulling Victorian carriages. The carriages are all painted white and decorated with flowers. There are few tourists . It is mainly the locals enjoying all this. It is about as different from our life in Puerto Vallarta as it could be.

We end up at a restaurant called the Villa Maria Restaurant. It is highly rated in Trip Advisor and it is the first restaurant recommendation that Joany makes. She does however warn us that it is a huge restaurant and there will be very few people there, but not to let that put us off, the food is terrific.

Joany exaggerated about the number of people that would be there. The place was deserted, other than 5 waiters, all leaning against the wall, talking to each other.
Normally we would walk on by, but as we don’t know of another restaurant we go in. It is a gorgeously restored 17th century mansion with a central open courtyard with art nouveau hanging chandeliers, and beautifully presented dining tables. The waiter asks if we would like to sit there or inside . Inside there are two more dining rooms both equally elaborate in their settings. It is magnificent and deserted. We eat in the courtyard.

The restaurant has pretensions of grandeur, and everything about it appears first class, until we hear a loud bang. We turn in the direction of the kitchen and see two of the waiters dragging a large old water heater out of the kitchen and across the restaurant floor. It is too heavy for them and they keep having to drop it on the tile floor. Sweat is running down their faces. If this is a regular occurrence it might explain the lack of customers.

As for the rest of the evening, the staff is very attentive, the food is good but not excellent, and the prices are high but not exorbitant, until, that is, it comes to the wine list. Most of the wines are immediately recognizable as coming from Costco (they have a Costco in Merida), and the restaurant is charging 6 times the price they paid in Costco. It leaves an unpleasant taste in our mouths.

Breakfast

The next morning we go down for breakfast in our hotel, the Eurostars Zona Rosa Suites. It is a rather desultory affair, and each morning we hope it will get better, but it never does. It is a buffet with a few plates of fresh fruit cut into slices the previous evening, slices of cheese cut just after the fruit, individual packets of cereal, packaged sliced bread, thin slices of tinned ham, and some warming pans containing refried beans, rice and hotcakes. The hot food was obviously cooked many hours earlier and placed in the warming pans where it sits until 11.30 when it is cleared away.

This morning there is a table of three Mexicans who look a little scary. One of them must be at least 400 lbs and seems unable to sit upright, but instead slouches down at 45 degrees from the floor. We guess that sitting upright is impossible because his stomach would crush his legs. He is wearing a well worn track suit which hasn’t seen soap and water for some time. He hasn’t shaved for several days, and the last time he washed is when he had to take his track suit off to put it in the laundry. His two companions, while equally grubby are far less imposing and far smaller. We are wondering how they could afford to be staying in the hotel, when we notice that the two companions do everything for the large man. He just has to say that he wants more food and they jump up and get it for him. This obviously keeps them fit, as his calls for more are frequent. There is obviously some sort of hierarchy going on here that we know nothing of, but might explain how they can afford to stay in this hotel.

The Colonia Condessa followed by a Wonderful Dinner

Colonia Condessa is a European style neighborhood, full of trendy sidewalk cafes and restaurants, hip bars and small fashionable boutiques. It is considered “the bohemian pulse of the city” whatever that means, and is fast overtaking Zona Rosa as the place to be seen. However on a Monday morning the streets are deserted. The neighborhood dates back to the early 20th century and the architecture of the houses is a fascinating mix of Moorish and Art Deco. Here, many of the houses are renovated and the expensive cars lining the streets show it is one of the well to do suburbs. We feel quite at home and spend a leisurely few hours exploring the shopping and residential streets of the neighborhood.


In the evening we go to a small French Restaurant, Bistrot Arlequin at Rio Nilo 42, a ten minute walk from our hotel. We have read about it on the Internet and know that it is off the beaten track with no sign – you just have to listen for French being spoken.


The restaurant is tiny and is obviously in a converted two car garage. One metal roll up door serves as the entrance while the other door has been replaced with a huge window. Inside it is an ergonomic miracle, with seating for 28, a full bar, and a tiny open kitchen all crammed into the space. The tables are very close together, but the atmosphere is fun and relaxed.


We have no problem recognizing that the chef, the owner and the waiter are all French. They take very frequent breaks together and stand just outside the roll up door together chatting and smoking, the fumes wafting into the restaurant.

The waiter is young, tall and scruffy. His clothes would look better with the help of an iron. His shirt is partially untucked, hanging outside his trousers. His hair is long and lank and pushed back behind his ears. All his features are oversized, his large oval eyes are set very far apart and his Gallic nose does its best to fill the space between them. His huge hands hang limply from his wrists. It seems that his height is recently acquired as he moves rather awkwardly and appears unprepared for how far down he has to reach to pick up things. He exudes an aura of excitement that so many young people have with a new job, which only partly makes up for his inefficiency. In another example of Gallic behaviour he is eating his own dinner while serving us ours. Fortunately he is helped by two women who are friendly and excellent.

The chef is a dashingly handsome slim man around 40 years old, with his long black hair pulled tightly to the back of his head and tied in a pony tail. He has a cleft chin that Michael Douglas would envy. He wears slim cut black and white chef trousers, a black shirt and a black apron. The only colour is a dazzling gold necklace. Mon dieu!

The food is excellent and quite reasonable, and the wine list small but interesting. The restaurant is full and we can’t believe that the chef can turn out all the food in a timely manner, but he does.

The Metro

The next day, Monday, is a National Holiday and again we suspect everything will be closed. We ask our concierge at the front desk and she informs us that all the Museums are closed on Mondays anyway, but the stores will be open despite the holiday. She is wrong. The large stores are open but the smaller stores are not.

We decide to explore the Colonia Condessa, and take the Metro. It is our first experience of the Mexico City Metro system. It is the second largest subway system in the Americas, after New York, and is one of the world’s great architectural marvels. Because of the underground lake the entire 125 mile system had to be built so that it actually floats and can move up and down depending on the level of the lake. The trains run on pneumatic tires rather than steel tracks and move 5 million people a day smoothly and comfortably. It is efficient, fast and clean, and you might think all this would come at a price. But even more remarkable than its engineering is the fact that a ride of any distance is 2 pesos, about 15 cents. What more could anyone ask.

It’s three drawbacks are that at rush hour it is unbelievably crowded, there is a serious problem with pickpockets, and it is not safe for tourists at night.

The stations are often hard to find as the signage is poor, but once inside there are plenty of signs leading you to the correct platform. We wait until after 10am, hoping to avoid the crowds. The trains come every couple of minutes, but they are still amazingly busy and it is standing room only.

The system was started in the 60’s and is definitely shabby, but we are impressed by its cleanliness. There is no litter anywhere. The other noticeable difference from other major subways is all the backlit frames that line the walls are empty – there are no advertisers.

Very few of the riders are what might be called middle class: very few business suits, or well dressed women. This is transport for the working class masses.

There is one innovation that should be copied everywhere. During rush hour the front two cars are reserved for women and children only. We are also impressed to see the young give up their seats to the elderly. But unfortunately no one stands up for me.

The Blue Tile House and the Palace of Fine Arts

As we wander through the streets leading from the Zocolo, two buildings attract our attention. The first is known as the Blue Tile House. It was built in the 16th century and is covered, not surprisingly, in hand made blue tiles from that period. Inside, is a Sanborns department store with a wonderful restaurant with walls covered in murals from the 1930’s.



The second building is the Palace of Fine Arts, which is an absolutely fabulous building from the Art Deco/Beaux Arts period. Inside there are three levels all covered in Murals by famous artists of the period including Diego Rivera.


Any wall that hasn’t got a mural is clad in wonderful pink marble and edged in black. Staircases are either in black or white marble. Every detail is striking in its art deco design, even down to the small ticket office windows.


As we both collect Art Deco we are in heaven and spend two hours wandering around the building examining every amazing detail. The building houses a theatre with a famous Tiffany Curtain which we long to see, but sadly the theatre is closed for the weekend.

After lunch, we get back on the Turibus and continue round the City. We are impressed with the number and size of the parks and green areas. Many of the main streets are huge boulevards, split by a park like divide full of trees and benches. There is art everywhere: posters of famous artworks line one street, photographs of famous building line another and everywhere there are seats and benches often designed by famous artists in modern designs. If all this street art appeared in any European or North American city, it would be vandalized and covered in graffiti, but here everything is left untouched.

The city is full of statues . We spend most of the day listening on our headphones to endless descriptions of this statue of a famous Mexican President and that Statue of a famous revolutionary. But the only time we get excited is when we drive past a statue of Delores Del Rio , but no mention is made of it through our headphones.

In the evening we dine in an Argentinean restaurant – the city is full of them. Sadly it has a large screen TV inside, tuned to the Superbowl which is being played today. The restaurant is full of Mexicans all yelling and screaming for their favorite team.

Zocolo and the Palace of Fine Arts

We get off the Turibus at the area called the Zocolo . This is the historic, political and cultural heart of Mexico City. It is built on top of the remains of the centre of the Aztec Empire, which in turn was built on top of a series of lakes and canals. The Spanish drained the waterways but the land was still little more than a swamp. Since then, the soft ground and the pumping of underground water for the city’s needs has meant that much of Mexico City’s historic heart is sinking. The Catedral Metropolitana alone has sunk 7m (23ft) since it was built. It is one of the most impressive baroque cathedrals in the world. But much of it appears to be leaning at a rather alarming angle. Indeed it is hard to see some of the gorgeous interior because of all the scaffolding needed to keep the massive structure from collapsing.

The streets of the Zocolo are narrow and lined with architectural examples from every period of Mexican history. Again the streets are all closed to traffic and the area is full of pedestrians. There are sidewalk cafes and restaurants, trendy stores, street musicians and a lot of police. The police presence is strong throughout the city. Many of them ride Segways, which seems extravagant for a poor country. The number of police is actually a little alarming, as is the fact that nearly all stores and restaurants of any size employ security guards to stand at their door. Even Burger King employs security guards, which seems a little superfluous. What self respecting crook would want to steal a Burger King sandwich. We have been warned to be careful, especially at night, but we feel perfectly safe in the tourist areas.

Mexico City by Turibus

It is a beautiful sunny day with a strong breeze that keeps Mexico City’s well known smog from settling in and we have a wonderful view of the different neighborhoods from the upper deck of the Turibus. However at times, there is an element of danger as we pass under trees whose limbs smack us across our forehead if we don’t duck in time.

The centre of the city was designed and built in the 19th century by the Emperor Maximilian, a Frenchman of enormous wealth and very little intellect, who somehow found himself in Mexico. He was homesick for France and decided to build a city that reminded him of his beloved Paris. In this he was successful and today the boulevards, parks and buildings all remind us of that fabulous city.


Alongside these European streets are some wonderfully evocative Art Nouveau and Art Deco buildings that rose up during the City’s renaissance during the early 20th century. There are walls of Tiffany glass and stunning Diego Rivera murals, and entire suburbs of wonderful art deco architecture. Other wealthy suburbs are full of impressive 18th and 19th century houses and mansions.

But Mexico City also has its less glamorous side and we pass through areas that are in stark relief to the magnificence of the main streets. Many of the areas, just a couple of streets away from the European boulevards, are extremely poor , with shabby run down buildings of indeterminate age, shoddily built with cheap materials that blight the streets with their uncared for exteriors. In fact a large percentage of these buildings appear to be derelict. It is interesting to note that the endless small apartment buildings of the mid 20th century are not handling the ravages of time nearly as well as their older counterparts.

Sunday in Mexico City

Our first day is a Sunday and nothing much is open, so we decide to take the Bus Tour of the city on a double decker bus known as the Turibus. It has no roof on the top floor to allow for excellent sightseeing, costs a little over $10 and lasts three hours, plus you can get off and on as many times as you want. There is a bus stop next to the Angel de la Independencia, Mexico City’s best known monument, on Paseo de la Reforma, it’s most important thoroughfare. The monument is just three blocks from the Hotel so we walk over there at about 10 in the morning.


We are amazed to find the main avenue of the Paseo de la Reforma completely closed to traffic and handed over to cyclists and pedestrians. It’s a fabulous idea and one much appreciated by the locals who pack the street on a sunny Sunday morning. At the foot of the Angel de la Independencia there is a free aerobics class being given by an energetic young man in an extremely tight fitting outfit. He is on a stage with music blaring and a crowd of well over 100 fans following his every move. It reminds me of the compulsory exercise and Tai Chi classes that we saw every morning in China. But here the only compulsion is to be a fan of the instructor. And many are, as they seem to know every routine without waiting for his instructions. The routines are amazingly difficult and involve a great deal of gyrating of the hips which the instructor does with great style, but only a few in the crowd manage with aplomb. The excitement, and fun quotient increases greatly when Hula Hoops are handed out to the entire crowd, and the instructor begins a whole new routine using these large plastic hoops. It looks like something from a camp Broadway show. Fortunately our bus arrives just in time to stop us getting carried away and joining in.

A Trip to Mexico City

We spend several months a year in Puerto Vallarta and love it. In fact we love it so much we have never left it to explore the rest of the country. But today we are finally doing something about that. We are flying to Mexico City for three days to start off a 15 day trip to the east of the country.

We are doing all our flights on Aviacsa Airlines, one of Mexico’s new low cost airlines, and are impressed by the clean new planes, the ample leg room and the efficient service.

We have heard horror stories about Mexico City’s huge airport, and expect the worst. But we are pleasantly surprised. Admittedly we arrive at the domestic terminal, and not the International one, but we are off the plane and into a taxi, with our luggage in hand all in the space of 15 minutes.

The taxis too are a vast improvement on the ones we are used to in Puerto Vallarta. These are new, clean and metered. The driver is wearing an elegantly pressed white shirt and tie with a rather natty waistcoat.

We are staying in the Zona Rosa, which everyone tells us is a lively and safe neighborhood close to the City center. It is one of the city's most touristy areas, filled with hotels, dance clubs, restaurants, bars and live music. Zona Rosa means “the Pink Area” which is appropriate as it is home to a large gay population. Our hotel is on Londres Street which no one told us was THE gay street. It is packed with mainly young gay men. Mexico City has passed a law allowing gay unions, an extremely advanced action for a Catholic country. The young gays in the area are definitely out and proud, many holding hands as they walk along the street.

We are amused to see that the latest street fashion for these young men is extremely tight jeans often paired with white Go Go boots. Their main accessory is hair gel, which they appear to ladle on with a trowel.

We are staying at the EuroStars Zona Rosa Suites Hotel, which was obviously a very hip hotel in its day, but its day passed several years ago and now it is comfortable but fading.

Yangon - Our Last Night

We return to Mandalay and take our last flight on Bagan Air to Yangon . Once again we are met by Paris at the airport. This time he is wearing a PINK Longyi. This is quite shocking, as Burmese men only wear dark coloured longyi. He has paired it with a crisp white shirt, and a necklace worn outside the shirt. As we enter the arrivals lounge he is standing there with both arms outstretched, like a diva acknowledging applause. He takes our hands in his and walks us out of the airport. We feel like the Supremes flanking Diana Ross. People stop and gawp. Paris revels in it.

We are just there for the night and we tell Paris that we have heard of a restaurant called Le Planteur, which has been voted best restaurant in Myanmar for the last three years. We ask if he would take us to see it so that we can decide if we want to eat there. Paris is beside himself with excitement as he has never been there. When we arrive at the restaurant, we are ushered out of the car by two doormen and escorted to the desk where we pause to ask the Maitre'D if we can see the menu. Paris sweeps by us, chin held high, self esteem held even higher, longyi flowing behind him, and walks into the middle of the restaurant to survey the scene. Looking at his poise and his pose, no one would ever guess that he didn’t belong here. Paris lets us know that this is an entirely appropriate place for us, and for him.

We return later that evening, sadly without Paris, to have dinner. It is the most fabulous place. The building is a beautiful old home with a huge manicured lawn full of very old trees and a large assortment of fowl. There are geese, ducks, turkeys, guinea fowl and other birds that we do not recognize wandering the grounds. There are immense fabric lanterns on the lawn lighting the way, and tiny twinkling lights hanging from the trees. The tables are all set out on the lawn. It is a magical setting. We find ourselves dining next to Lord and Lady Laxby, at least that is how they are referred to by the staff. Paris would be in heaven.


Their credentials as eccentric English aristocracy are proved when they continue to feed the birds throughout their dinner, causing the assortment of fowl to gather round their table like begging dogs. They even manage to coax a turkey to jump up onto their table. We find it most disturbing, but they are enjoying it. We wonder what Paris would make of it.

In an extraordinary show of what money can do, even in a country like Burma, the chef produces a seven course tasting menu that includes foie gras, scallops lobster and lamb chops, and we wash it down with French champagne. There is even a Burmese Brie, which is delicious. The cost of all of this is many times the cost of any other meal we have had in Myanmar , but would be considered inexpensive anywhere else in the world.

The Akhu Tribe

The next morning we are off again. This time we visit the village of Vansai , home to the Akhu tribe. Here the women all smoke pipes made from bamboo. They have a sort of turban on their head, and they carry their pipes, tobacco and matches in the folds of this turban. Their faces show the effect that tobacco smoke can have on the skin, as many of them have deeply etched wrinkles around the mouth and cheeks, but despite this we meet a woman of 92 with her great granddaughter slung on her back.




Inexplicably, women in all these tribes live to be much older than men. We have met several women in their 80’s as well as this lady in her 90’s, but few men seem to live beyond 60. It is hard to understand why this is, as the women work every bit as hard as the men, and in this village the women smoke constantly while the men do not.
In this village we also meet several men who are at home looking after the children while the women are in the jungle looking for firewood, or tending to the animals.


The Akhu is definitely more advanced than the Enn village but not as well organized as the Akha village. This is a Baptist village that has been guided by a pastor. Not to get involved in any sort of religious conflict, but it has to be said that the Catholic missionary did a much better job with his tribe.

The Chief makes Us Welcome

All the men in the village of Banglu are busy building a new and comparatively grand home for the village chief. He is instantly recognizable as the chief, not because of anything he is wearing, but because of his bearing and demeanour. He is a most imposing man of about forty with great presence, and a huge smile.


He comes over and shakes our hand and thanks us for bringing the medicine. He invites us to see his home, which, besides having the usual dead rats hanging from the ceiling, also has a haunch of a pig hanging from the wall.


It still looks quite fresh. It will last the chiefs family many days and will go off after a few days, and smell terrible, but they will still eat it. The chief invites us to stay for lunch and promises us that we will get some meat, which is a great honour. However, there is no way either of us wants to eat anything here. We ask the guide if we can decline the offer without causing any offence, by saying we have already eaten. He explains this to the Chief, who fortunately understands.

We leave the village with the children waving goodbye and running after us. The people have been wonderfully warm and friendly, but our flesh is crawling and we want nothing more than hot water and soap. Unfortunately neither is available. We do come to a stream, where we stop and wash our hands. We have brought with us a picnic of fried rice which we sit and eat by the stream. We discover a group sharing their lunch nearby.


It is a beautiful spot, miles from the nearest road. There are huge brightly coloured butterflies all round us, and the only sounds come from the myriad of birds singing in the tropical trees, and three young children from a neighbouring village playing downstream.


Trekking is not my forte, but this is quite magical. We gather up the plastic bags, water bottles and containers that we carried our picnic up in, and give them to some passing tribes people who are thrilled. They can put them to good use in their homes. This is a true example of recycling.

Enn - Tribe

The people of Banglu have very little food, other than rice and a few vegetables. They catch whatever they can in the surrounding jungle, which is usually limited to the occasional rat. They skin the rats and leave them hanging in their homes to dry. Two or three rats will feed the entire village when added to a thin vegetable soup with rice and chilies. We visit a home where there is a collection of small animal skulls and skeletons hanging from the ceiling, the purpose of which is not made clear. A small fire is burning in the middle of the floor and a cooking pot with soup simmers on top.


The smell is not pleasant. A rattan basket holds a large amount of cooked rice which sits there for days, and the people just take what they need for each meal. Home sweet home to them, but about as far away from it as we can imagine.

On the advice of our guide we went to the local market before we left Kyaingtong and bought a huge amount of cookies for the children and an assortment of basic medicines and shampoo for the people. Word spreads quickly that tourists have arrived in the village, and the children are gathered around us within minutes. They are all filthy but full of smiles which win our hearts.


It is customary for these tribes people never to ask for anything, so although these children are hungry, have nothing, and know that we have treats that they would never normally get, they don’t beg. But when we produce the cookies they all get in a line to be given the treats, and thank us, as their turn comes for the cookies. If that doesn’t melt your heart, nothing will.

After that we all sit down in one of the huts, and the women who have health problems quietly line up to tell our guide what ails them. The guide dispenses the relevant medicine. Several of the women have diarrhea which is hardly surprising, but sadly we have not brought up any medicine for that. We are not too sure that the guide acting as a dispensing chemist is the answer to the tribe’s problems, but it is certainly better than nothing. They have not seen a tourist for three months and this is the only way they ever get medicine.

Banglu - Village

We are scheduled to do “light trekking” to visit some more tribes that are completely inaccessible by road. I know you will find the concept of me trekking as hard to believe as I did but I was persuaded by my desire to see these tribes and by the term “light”. Suffice it to say that I would not describe over 6 hours of walking up and down a small mountain as “light trekking”. However the day was riveting.

After a couple of hours walking straight up the mountain we come to the village of Banglu where the Enn tribe live. This is a collection of 24 huts each housing a large family. Each hut is made of bamboo and rush matting, which offers very little protection from the cold and it gets cold here as we are now quite high up. The homes are just a jumble of shacks in a dirt clearing in the jungle. The homes are built on stilts to protect them from the rainy season and to allow a place for their animal, if they are lucky enough to have one.


The tribes people wear black clothing decorated with brightly coloured ribbon and tiny beads of silver. But their clothing is ragged and dirty. There is no form of record keeping in this village, so no one knows how old they are. The Enn tribe is famous for its women who have black teeth and lips from their constant chewing of the betel nut. They never brush their teeth.


I had said earlier that the fishing tribe that we visited on Lake Inle were the poorest people we had ever met. Not any longer. This tribe is not only the poorest, but without doubt it is the dirtiest. They wear no shoes and their hands and feet are filthy, which presents a problem as the men all want to shake our hands. The details of their personal hygiene, or total lack of it, may offend the more delicate of you, so if this is the case you might want to skip to the next paragraph. There is no running water or plumbing, although they do have a series of horizontal bamboo pipes bringing water from the stream to the centre of the village.


They very rarely wash, but when they do, the women keep all their clothes on, presumably from a sense of modesty and because the water is so cold. The men never wash below their waist or above their thighs. That doesn’t bear thinking about. But it gets worse. There are many dogs in the village. When the people go to the toilet, they call the dogs over to lick the relevant body part of their body clean, and to clean up what they have deposited on the ground. But wait, I haven’t finished yet. Each family has acquired a few tin plates from which they eat. They never wash the plates, instead the dogs are called over after their meal to lick them clean. Try not to think about that, either.

The Paloung tribe of Northern Myanmar

Our guide for this adventure was also a little more rough and ready than we were used to. This was not Paris or A Boy named Sue. Actually we don’t know who it was, as his English was such that we never quite understood what his name was. He did manage to get across that we were his first tourists for two and a half months, but strangely enough he didn’t seem to be aware of why this was. He never mentioned politics or the generals and we felt that none of this had any relevance to his life. All he knew was that there were no tourists.

The first afternoon he took us to Wan Pao Village , home of the Paloung Tribe. This village is the only village we see that is accessible by car, albeit over an hours drive along a mud path. The village is a cluster of ramshackle huts randomly scattered over a muddy field. The tribe is known for two things. Firstly they are one of the few tribes that have huts made of mud. They make a bamboo frame and fill it with packed mud. This is great insulation against the cold, but unfortunately the ox and pigs find the mud walls appealing and tend to rub their sides on them, causing the walls to become thinner and thinner until they collapse.


The second point of interest is that all the women wear what looks like half a dozen small Hula Hoops around their waist made of silver and bamboo. They are completely inflexible and seem to be more of an annoyance than anything else. This particular village is also famous for its blacksmith, a man of 82 who is working when we get there, making shock absorbers for the local cars.


Apparently shock absorbers and springs for the old Toyotas are impossible to get hold off, and this man has learned how to make them despite the fact that there is not one car in the village, and he has never learned to drive.