Amurapura by Bike

July 14

We decided to bike down to the town of Amurapura from Mandalay. The street between the two towns is dirty, noisy and full of vehicles, but once in Amurapura there was a lot to see. Our original plan was to head down to U Bein Bridge but we never made it there. This was probably for the better, as we later discovered that the bridge had flooded, as it often does during the rainy season.

Our first stop was at some pagodas near the lake. We wandered around the white washed structures with some children, who were adorable. Of course, they wanted us to buy their souvenirs, but they didn't get around to showing us their wares until we were ready to leave. Mostly, they followed us around chit-chatting and showing off the many languages they could speak, which was quite impressive. They could make polite introductions in many Western languages including Spanish and Italian. They seemed like carefree kids, who enjoyed meeting with foreigners. The best part was that they didn't seem all that interested in selling souvenirs, which meant that when we politely declined they gave up relatively easily.

I must admit by this time I was reaching my pagoda threshold, but one oddly shaped structure caught my attention - the beehive. It was one of the most unusual pagodas I'd seen in a while. From a distance it did indeed look like a beehive and upclose I noticed that in each cell a miniature Buddha was tucked away like a immature bee.

We waved goodbye to the children and headed off taking a turn down a sandy path that butted up against the lake. Here memories of the Philippines floated back to us as we meandered through a large bamboo squatter village that was teeming with grunting pigs, children and trash.

On a barren inlet was a large brick factory where men, women and children gathered clay, shaped the bricks, lined them up to dry and p ut them in the large wood-fired earthen and brick kilns. We ogled the workers as they dug the clay out of the banks of the lake. The passed large clay-laden baskets to women who hoisted them on their heads. I swear you could see their necks sink a couple of inches with the weight of the clay. The women carried the clay to the only machine on the premises, which smoothed and mixed it with sand, which was continually shovelled by a pre-teen boy. Children portioned out the clay and handed it to men and women who quickly slapped it in a mold and place it on a board, which was packed onto a wheelbarrow and shipped to the end of the long lines of drying bricks. Other whellbarrows picked up the already dried bricks and brought them to shacks to await the kiln. Occassionally men hopped onto the tall kilns and fed it wood. We soon left as we were clearly slowing down the production line as everyone stopped to ogle us.

Nearby, there was a small herd of plain grey cows with calves. As I watched, a woman allowed a calf to suckle each tit for only a few moments before a man with a pail ied up the back legs of the cow and squatted next to her to milk her. The milk dropped into the pail that was suspended above the ground by the strength of the man's knees.

Soon our wanderings found us in the middle of an isloated village. Judging by the number of mosques and lack of pagodas we gathered this was a rather sizable Muslim village. It was quite apparent that although numerous tourists visit the lake and U Bein Bridge, they don't takes detours. Everyone was turning and staring.

From some of the narrow streets we could hear the clacking of looms. Amurapura is famous for its cloth, which is made into traditional longyi. We rode past various colors of thread hanging in the sun to dry, draped over bamboo poles, lining the streets like streamers.

This was the trip I had been dreaming of - a chance to get off the beaten track to see the everyday life of Myanmar. While it wasn't exciting or breathtakingly beautiful, but it was real. And that was what made the day so special.