Bamboo Odyssey » bike touring | Bamboo Odyssey

The start, Myawaddy

Jules — Thu, 30 Jan 2014 01:13:55 +0000

Myawaddy, our shortest cycling distance of this this trip. 7 kilometres from the border town of Maesot in Thailand and into Myanmar (Burma). The plan was to get up early and ride 73 km to the next town with a guest house that will allow foreigners.
We woke before the sun and pedalled 5 kilometres to friendship bridge. The border was not open so we enjoyed watching the increasing crowd as we ate a breakfast of rice noodles at a local eatery. We were not hurrying, content to watch as the first people strolled leisurely from the Myanmar side.
Today I was slightly nervous as I always am when switching passports. Being a dual national I am fortunate enough to hold both a British and Australian passport. I entered Thailand on my British passport…..I get an additional 15 days in the country with this. My visa for Myanmar is in my Aussie passport….maybe I should have thought about it earlier and used my British as I am quickly running out of pages. Visiting central Asian countries is much more economical using my Aussie passport but the official looking visas and stamps really gobble up the pages. We have met some folks having real difficulties getting new passports on the road when the pages are depleted while the document has not expired. So to save money…..and pages….I will continue to fluctuate my identity.
Anyway….we planned to cycle…..no problems with passport control…..for me. Li was taking a while and eventually met me where I was waiting with the somewhat famous bamboo bikes. “They may not let me back into Thailand”
Oh…oh…..we will worry about that somewhere between tomorrow and 28days. Li has had several slight delays when border control authorities become confused by her british nationality, Danish surname and having been born in Hong Kong.
We are in Myawaddy and planned to cycle west….but today the traffic goes east. There is only one road, one narrow road and to ensure it flows, the direction of traffic is changed daily. So after 7km in total we book into a guest house, the River View.
From here we view Friendship Bridge and a trickle of pedestrians, motorcycles and the occasional truck crossing the border. From here we also view a small long boat, 100 meters up river from the bridge. More people appear to be crossing from Burma into Thailand, Thailand into Burma via this boat that has no authorities, no fence, just a dusty track winding up from the bank on both sides. There are men with machine guns in sandbag bunkers under the bridge but no one seems bothered by what appears unchecked passage. Later we watch children swim and it is evident anyone could easily walk across the sandy and gently flowing short expanse.
And…just a stones throw from Thailand….already….Myanmar is a place so very, very different.

Tak to Mae Sot

Jules — Sun, 26 Jan 2014 08:56:50 +0000

Standing by the side of the road we polished off 10 bananas between us and contemplated our options. It was still 30 degrees and the sun was a fiery red ball , the tarmac was shining rose pink and a tangle of telephone lines golden like the vines encasing the landscape of jagged mountains, palms and a monastery all close by. It would be dark in 40 minutes and we were sore and out on a limb. We could hitch, ask to sleep at the monastery, camp without our tent, or continue riding another 18km, possibly in the dark in unknown terrain amidst signs of road works. The bananas giving us the encouragement of monkeys we decided to ride….and the hills, the climbs of the past 70 kilometres…. the steep ascents, they disappeared. Instead a beautiful, cooling descent towards the setting sun, weaving and twisting, just the right pace to avoid the pot holes and arriving in Mae Sot and our booked hotel just as the light went out. Plink!

Traveling by bicycle

Jules — Fri, 24 Jan 2014 11:20:05 +0000

Have you ever been painfully attracted to someone…..but don’t particularly like them…..blissfully enthralled by their company.? That feeling for me, i can liken to the feeling of hill climbs when on my bicycle. But in between the lust there is the whole journey,….euphoria. A feeling so strong it can be like marriage, like being with someone You can not be without. I am in love…..not with Thailand which is beautiful, desirable, full of passion….. colour, taste, touch and smell….a country and people that can fulfil many persons dreams. Thailand is indeed wonderful.
But I am in love….. in love with riding my bicycle…..Travelling by bicycle. It is a difficult relationship….but in contrast….so easy. A country changes as you pedal with your own steam, while you don’t always have the time to see the “must” see tourist sights. The bleak and unmajestic becomes alive, blowing through your hair (when I am fast enough) blowing through your hair ( if the headwind is horrible enough) , muscles, joints, skin, mind, tingling with effort. And the people you meet….they all appreciate the effort. And You….you appreciate the effort so that everything is new, the unseen, forgotten or just ignored is in full bloom, vibrant and alive. One moment in the middle of undocumented nowhere becomes more impressive, more magical than any “wonder of the world”.
Sometimes I listen to music to help with the climbs….or take me from my monotonous mind…..so that when I pass a bar, cafe, blazing stereo from a car…. Or more likely rickshaw…when I hear a particular tune I am taken back in time. Once apron a time to the dance floor, a euphoric moment with friends, loving, happy memories…but now these memories are intertwined, I am taken back to a mountain pass in Turkey…..a desert plain in Kazakstan….I am taken back to a different, more lonely, individual but equally euphoric moment, a moment i will forever treasure of traveling on my bicycle.
I am still not particularly good at climbing, dreading the climb until I love it. I am not particularly good at riding long distances, just many, many short distances…..but what I am good at….I am good at….loving what I do….Yes, travelling by bicycle.

Creeps and slappers

Jules — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 07:28:57 +0000

The damn wind was fierce, dangerous and exhausting. A man on a tractor, he stopped, gestured, we had thought he was seeing, understanding, our discomfort. He called us to the one place that gave refuge from the wind, a Turkish war memorial in the middle of villages.
“No problem, camp here !”
We have read, been told,…..” do not knock back an experience”….We have read, been told, experienced first hand…..that people are essentially good.
Relieved to be removed from choice, take the experience, meet a new person, finish our ride several hours early, no more torment.
We settled down, he seemed friendly, kind….then the atmosphere changed….asked if we were married…no….suddenly he groped Li’s breasts. I told him that was a “problem” one of the few words we had in common. Oh….do hope he didn’t think I meant it was “no problem!”.
He was going to go, come back with drinks at 7pm. Tried to kiss me on the mouth. “No! that is a problem!” As he left we were confused as to whether money he pulled out was to ask for money, give us money….either way we refused.
He left. Unsettled we wanted to leave. He would be several hours. We would rest, eat, leave with plenty of time before he returned.
He came back 2 hours early. With drinks. Unsealed drinks. Fortunately he did not understand when I told Li not to drink. Maybe there was nothing wrong with his alcohol, but he would not drink it. Ramazan. But he ate and drank cola…and sex was on his agenda. We do not understand all the rules and individual interpretations of Ramazan (Ramadan) but this made absolutely no sense to us and fuelled more distrust.
Our fear, the drinks were spiked. Li feigned allergy and drank the sealed cola. I secreted my wine….mixed with cola…and then raki,onto the ground during false pretences to obtain things from my bike or distractions from Li. In appearance I was the only one that drank alcohol. He kept up his persistence, “drink….drink!”
“Why you not camp? ”
“The wind is less and we need to move on”…..well this is what we signed and gestured to the best of our ability…..it was still blowing a gale.
In a last attempt to persuade us he pulled out his wallet and it was made very clear that he wished to pay for sex.
Traveling, illiterate, unable to speak or understand and still gain an idea of culture, customs, new experience, friendship…..I become a child again. My intuition is shot, my, our, sixth sense is not what it should be.
The following day, entering a village I am slapped, I assume by a woman with a learning disability. She had been trying to communicate with me. My intuition, understanding is non existent.
I welcome comments of other people’s experience, particularly other women travellers experience, wisdom, ways to accept invitations, not think the worst, stay safe, remain humble and giving in return.