Bamboo Odyssey » Food | Bamboo Odyssey

Myanmar food?

Jules — Fri, 21 Feb 2014 10:27:41 +0000

Myanmar food? Exciting ….yes….. unique…… yes…. frightening… Absolutely, yes. Our first meal at a road side stall after we sidestepped rubbish and the odd sickly rat, mangy dogs….the food looked delicious, smelt scrumptious and spicy….and was served into our take away plastic bags…by hand. We survived half expected food poisoning in Uzbekistan, but here…..each morning we were to wake slightly nervous and then relived to find we are still very much….. well. After a week in the country my one and only bout of nausea, followed by the runs and vomiting hit me quickly after lunch and only lasted a few unpleasant hours. At first I had thought it was the sun…the beer….which I also thought was so very odd!
We have watched cats climb on plates and bowls to sneak away dried fish, watched flies buzz, drown in the oily slick, dogs, yet more commonly, people, sleeping on the food preparation surfaces……none of which stop the hungry cyclist from eating…..or the tired bus traveler……..food is always part of the adventure.
We drink tea from cups in the centre of tables, cups placed upside down in bowls of water to assume there cleanliness. Much of the time the water has evaporated or if not it is brown. We have also not said no to offers of drinks from communal cups, water in ceramic pots that adorn temples, the roadside, tea shops. We have no idea of the origination of this water. When not in company we sterilise water from taps with the UV light of our steripen.
Everyday, everywhere, cities, villages, farms….people cart water from wells and even the wealthy can not avoid the black outs, the frequent absence of electricity. Thus, much of the food, in this climate, makes sense.
Burmese food food has proved generally salty and oily, prepared and left to sit throughout the day, more often than not it has sat and it has sat and it is served cold. My eyes take in the sights, my nose the pleasant smells and my mind…. notes the hours allowed for bacteria to set in. Fortunately the oil does seam to preserve the food so that we avoided multiple bouts of food poisoning.
We learnt quickly that the food can be delicious, small amounts of curry and sauces mixed with lots of rice to take in the otherwise overpowering flavours. We had thought it rude not to finish the never ending bowls of food that appear each time one bowl is almost finished. It is not rude and not wise to consume an otherwise never ending banquet. Fortunately all sit down meals even in the most basic of tea shops in the smallest of villages comes with a brothy palette cleansing and thirst quenching soup….this can also be never ending….topped up in a blink of the eye. The locals also spoon this into the curry, rice concoctions which makes the heaviness of dishes somewhat more appealing.
What would have been rude was not accepting my gift of soup when we stopped for soft drink in the middle of the furnace, somewhere in the middle of Myanmar. Oh dear….I saw it coming…it was so hot that day and I was not at all hungry. OH DEAR! As I looked down at my offering….striped fowls feet, intestines, whole liver and ….All eyes upon me….I tasted the broth….not bad…. I gave Li the liver before I “enjoyed” the other bits and pieces….half gone…..all smiles…..the bowl again topped up! Well it did go down well with my first ever experience of palm wine. I was excited by what I expected was coconut or sugarcane juice in an old plastic bottle…..so the surprise at first taste was horrifying….and then refreshing and very quaffable…..and I never did finish my second bowl of guts soup!
Burmese food can be refreshing and more to our liking. Tomato salad with shallots, crushed peanuts and sesame seeds. Ginger salads with the glorious crunch of a dried and toasted assortments of beans. Fermented and tangy tea leaf salads. There can be a lot of tantalising texture.
We started seeking bastardised Chinese,Thai and Indian food which is readily available when in larger places, because it usually wasn’t swimming in oil and cooked fresh. For this reason I was looking forward to visiting Inle Lake in Shan State. Yet rather than avoid the food of Myanmar it was here that we discovered Shan Food. We had been searching for wine in the local stores when a tourist overheard us and said the wine we were looking for was available in a restaurant where he had just eaten. We asked about the food? …his eyes lit up and he literally sparkled. We headed straight to Sin Yaw for our first taste of Shan cuisine…..and we adored it.!Sun cured pork and spring onion tempura with tamarind sauce. Golden yellow crispy tofu with punchy coriander and lime sauce. White, local, seaweed salad. We returned to try more delicacies, always light, cooked fresh and immediate, and bursting with flavour.
Incidentally, near Inle we just had to cycle to both of the only wine producing vineyards in Myanmar, tasting 11 wines in total. The vintners are aiming at the local market and unfortunately getting your hands on a bottle outside of Myanmar would be difficult. Quality wine, of all shades including frizzante for the price at around $10 per bottle.
Oh…how could I forget the “donuts”. Guilt free because of our mode of travel. Many street vendors provide fried delights, samosas with hints of star anise, corn filled spring rolls, caramelised crunchy battered bananas, rings of batter with crisp palm sugared hard caramel….and our favourite, golden, soft centred donuts filled with fresh coconut and sugar. These were also a perfect gift…. along with tamarind and sticky rice flavoured cheroots, when we were granted the floor of a temple to spend the night…..our legs, nor the donuts were enough to propel us to the next town with a designated foreigner guest house where we could legitimately, legally, spend the night.
The best food comes with drama….a performance….and in this aspect the food of Myanmar is not lacking. The first time I placed my order, a young boy screamed this translated into Myanmar to a colleague….or perhaps his mum? As the order was being screamed down the line, starting a yelling match of banter back and forth….Li placed her order…..followed by the orders of our new found friends….no note pads or memory required….just a very loud cacophony of sound running through and over, and back and forth. This form of taking orders when sitting down at restaurants never ceased to delight and amuse me.
During meals and refreshment we also managed to provide entertainment. On several treasured occasions women merrily applied tanaka to our faces. Tanaka is worn by all genders but primarily the women and it is used as both make up and for sun protection. On a large stone the tree stump, (tanaka) is ground with water to make a smooth paste….and applied to the face ……”beautiful”!

Uzbekistan

Jules — Fri, 22 Nov 2013 05:44:22 +0000

Our mood has continued to flow like the bleak landscape, rays of sunshine and warmth followed by ice cold gusts and grey drabness. But this is not Uzbekistan.
It is cold here…..not so, so cold, and the desert has continued for a thousand kilometres. Not much between our journey, train, bus and flour truck to places of hotel registration.
But out of the desert evolve the Uzbeks. A kind, warm, smiling, gentle and accepting people…..also a fighting, strong people. Paying the police at every road block, stopped by unmarked police cars, constant reminders of the continued battles do not diminish the outward appearances of these people’s strength. For a thousand kilometres there is nothing, and everything……more than just the police. Ancient cities of the Silk Road surrounded by sand, rubble and people going about their daily lives. Harder lives than our struggle to negotiate without language, transport, transport for our bikes, ourselves, no maps, no signs, no fresh food, arrivals in darkness, no street lights…..intermittent electricity, water, hot water.
We are reliant on these kind people and their help to find everything. Even food shops, bus stations are void of signage…..one must open a door, go in and explore or enquire and hope for a person’s patience.
One moment this is exciting, the next……tiring, frustrating and acceptance of our dependence upon strangers.
The bikes were our independence.
And out of the desert are the cities of history…..poetic, beautiful, emotional…..cities that have inspired the imagination for centuries…..Khiva, Bukhara, Samarkand. Restored to varying degrees, it is all breathtaking and we are lucky sharing these magical colourful tiled cities rising out of the dust, sharing with no one but the local inhabitants and a very few Uzbek tourists.
We are given bread, food…..food we are warned not to eat…..everyone gets sick in Uzbekistan. So far we are not sick. The food is simple….lacking vegetables, but satisfying and often shared with us full of kindness.
We have stayed in a “hotel”…..a room with a table that is our bed and packages of old shoes…..unfortunately no registration. The squat loos can be filthy, but the people always meticulously trying to be clean. Never in the western world have I seen a bus load of men after peeing, share around a bottle of water in which to wash their hands.
In Bukhara we are gestured to please visit a woman, residing above our hotel room. After many attempts to keep the conversation of few words going I am instructed to take off my clothes. It is not often I am so pliant. Dressed and wrapped like a parcel. Wearing an Asian dress, headscarf and makeup…..complete with over the top painted eyebrows ridiculous for my hair colouring. I seldom wear dresses. We have fun, laugh and this is all the language required.
We eat sunflower seeds…..everyone eats sunflower seeds….I am slowly improving in the technique…..but sometimes impatient, I eat them husks and all. They are quite addictive.
I have also learnt to lie. Finally my husband and child have given me additional freedom. No more tutting, or disappointment, no more feeling sorry for my childless predicament. Hopefully, no more male advances, “Julia……Julia….Julia…….no boyfriend…..Julia…..I love you”……I have a husband and a daughter….she is 16….and am proud of my new ability to lie in advancement of my survival, or at least my sanity.
I will not remember Uzbekistan for my new skill to alter the truth but the countries and experiences leading up to my need to lie. I will remember Uzbekistan is difficult…..but also a country of colour, people, dreaming, history and a future. Next stop, Tashkent, the capital.

Another day in Turkey

Jules — Tue, 13 Aug 2013 12:24:14 +0000

Another day in Turkey…….”it’s time to get up, the time is five thirty”….another day, again the alarm on the cheap Nokia phone speaks to us in a language I understand despite being hazy from sleep. I get up first, fire up the stove, a small, maybe larger than I would like, burst of flame as the petrol ignites. I jump…..water put to boil. Second drip filter coffee, Li gets out of the tent where she has been rolling the mats, stuffing, compacting, sleeping bags, pulling out grass teasels and the odd bug.
We hear, comment to each other about the sound of bells, questioning the distance, where the sound travels from. Eat a breakfast of burgar wheat, apricots, sultanas, sugar, no milk…..coffee creamer. The pannier bags packed, starting to load the bikes when a dog growls, barks, fortunately holds its distance 15 meters away. We pretend to ignore it and go about our business. More bells, dust clouds and sheep appear. Fat wobbly bums and tails not at all like sheep we are familiar with. Still ….sort of ignoring the dog….and another, then another, circling us as a shepherd comes into view. He shouts a command to the dogs and we greet him. Then goats…..then a donkey….all come to have a look….the shepherd moves on, then the sheep, goats…..the donkey comes close…..nibbling…..please….not the bamboo….a cloud of dust…gone…and eventually the dogs after a final inspection of us, we all move off in alternate directions.
A petrol station, we sit, pay for and drink our juice, fill our water bags and prepare to roll. Tea is gifted, so sit a while longer.
After some long but not so steep climbs with a magnificent snow capped mountain to our right, we leave the arid , rock strewn plains, descending into a green fertile valley. Passing numerous road side stalls of fresh produce we decide to stop to purchase grapes, which have become ever present over past 100 kilometres and tomatoes. The man at the stall offers a watermelon. We are now silly enough to carry one….not in need of another. We massage ourselves, rolling the the heavy skinned flesh over our legs in a pleasurable ritual prior to eating. One is enough, we decline, the man declines our payment for the other fruit we have chosen.
Rolling on we arrive at Kayseri. I need new tyres, our second priority after cold beer…..no longer Ramazan. In a park , drinking, we laze about the grass pondering a restaurant or hotel to acquire wifi, source tyres, visas, route. Li is feeling unusually tired and aching, sore, possibly a bug. A man arrives, speaking English, enquiring….he is wonderfully eccentric, a traveler, local, local business man. Accepting an invitation of food, yes we are hungry, cyclists are always hungry, we go back to his work place, seated amidst caterpillar parts Li chats and researches our needs on his office computer. I opt to go with his son and employe on an adventure. First the supermarket, lemons, parsley, hot green peppers, these are taken to the deli department where a butcher mixes some of the peppers and spices with selected meat.
Then the bakers, the food is handed over, remaining green peppers placed upon a tray with long wooden handle and slid into the wood fired oven. Dough is stretched and the spiced meat spread on top, slid into the oven. Shortly later our fresh steaming pide is being enjoyed by all of us with handfuls of parsley and fresh lemon.
We come across a bike shop, cheap nylon tyres, would suffice if desperate but I want something to last another 7000 kilometres. Another kindly stranger phones a cycle shop, then gives directions. We are lost, really lost and need wifi. Mado, a Turkish chain of dondurma (ice cream) and other treats has wifi if we purchase something. I eat my dondurma, sticky, thick, gloriously cloying with a knife and fork. We are not going to make the bike shop before it closes……it is open…..quality tyres, Li the bike experts, second choice. So I am happy as the Romanian plastic money used as a tyre boot to reduce the bulge in the tyre wall would not surfice indefinitely.
It’s late, Li is still not 100% and we decide to find a hotel rather than pedal on searching for a place to camp. I hate haggling, we only bother with accommodation despite the practice being, for most things, the norm here. I negotiate a reduction of the hotel cost by 10 Turkish Lira. 100 to 90 TL. Breakfast no longer included. Can I call that a successful haggle? It is not my sport and I contemplate the forthcomings of another day in Turkey.
Finally a short stroll to the bazaar, the mosque before bed. A man, a cap maker greets us, invites us to see his work place, mysterious unrestored Kervansaray, crafts people still at work despite the lack of light. We are invited, tomorrow, to breakfast.

Camp cooking on tour

Jules — Sun, 11 Aug 2013 07:10:59 +0000

Turkey….I purchase the amount of eggs I want, usually 4 or 6 which are carefully placed in a plastic bag. (The first time we saw eggs uncartoned in Bulgaria we assumed they we pre hard boiled like those available in much of Europe- Li had an accident!) I love buying one, two, whatever food we chose unpackaged, only the requirements for a day…..nothing to go rotting and forgotten in the bottom of a fridge, or now, in our case, the rack pack above our rear wheel.
Tomatoes are like manna, everywhere tasting like heaven. We buy them , markets, side of the road, eat them, fresh, raw, unlimited ways to cook, eat them practically every day. There is not a lot of choice, but what is available is fresh, bursting with flavour and recently picked from the farms we pass by. Always cucumbers, onions, garlic, green peppers and capsicum, eggplant or zucchini, melons, apricots, peaches and sometimes parsley and dill. With yoghurt or cheese these few supplies married with carbs give us unlimited options for salads, egg dishes, stews, sauces, fryups. We rarely prepare the same thing twice and the flavours are so far glorious influenced by the countries so far traversed. We carry at least 2 types of carbs for options, bread is carried, regional and usually purchased, or gifted, hot. Cous cous, bulgur wheat, whole or cracked, pasta, rice…risotto rice.
These, cooked with fresh or dry fruit, cinnamon and honey, yoghurt or even milk powder, our breakfast fuels us until midday.
Fresh meat can be difficult in this heat however spicy sausages are in abundance and delicious, tinned fish and beans, turkish baked beans so much more exciting than Heinz, our other sources of regular protein.
Then of course we carry a pepper grinder….yes other cycle tourists laugh at us. Our food bag is quite heavy….pomegranate molasses, oil and vinegar, but to reduce weight we mix them in a single container, for salads, or skimming the oil off the top for other necessities. Chilli, honey, jam or peanut butter, pekmez (tahini and grape molasses). Nutella or its equivalent.
Life would be easier, the hills at least, without such a varied pantry but cooking, eating is not just essential but has become a pleasure, an important part of travel, cycling, enhancing our days. And each purchase an other encounter….and we laugh at the cycle tourists, fast, light, eating stale bread for supper.

Food on the run

Jules — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 18:19:07 +0000

Our bodies are no more than machines, misbehaving, high consumption and hopefully to become more manageable with maintenance and care. During the first 3 days on the road the meaning of food changed dramatically. Day one it was difficult to swallow over the taste of emotion. No real sustenance was consumed until about 4pm. We pedalled pretty much on exhilaration and desire alone. Soup and beer kept us somewhat warm in a wee pub in rural Surrey until we were scooped up from our mechanical mishap and taken back to London by our wonderful emergency hero. Spoilt with roast lamb and glorious silky Black Queen sparkling Shiraz, our dear friends may have been left hungry as we ate them out of house and home, a two person meal becoming a meal for 5 including 3 ravenous cyclists.
Day two saw us separate on different tasks to ensure a prompt departure from London…..again. Eating a hot dog standing on a Clapham Junction train station platform and Li a convenient tuna melt. Not sure why either of these are something to write home about? Not our usual breakfast (nor even lunch)This was eaten from necessity and convenience and food was forgotten until we passed Brighton around 6pm. Cold and exhausted and pushing for the ferry in Newhaven eventually our bodies commanded fuel. We literally stuffed frozen chocolate bars into our mouths pushing the bikes up a hill our bodies refused to tackle without nourishment. It was only the hard crunch and shatter of the chocolate that was a reminder that food was essential not just for energy but warmth. It was cold! Our second day was made all the more challenging for the abuse we gave our bodies. Dreams of traditional pub fare to see us on our way was replaced by the late hour of arrival and the warm glow of McDonald’s became our haven. Dare I say, the burgers, fries, apple pie, coke and hot chocolate was divine. 24hours earlier we would have been horrified with thoughts of Mac D being our final meal in the UK.
A beer on the ferry, some gummy meerkats, and we slept till 2.30am. Darkness and cold about 3 hours later, several must have handfuls of trail mix had us pedalling until the first village cafe opened at 7.30. Coffee and pan a chocolate x 2 and more pedalling until we made our camp site at around 2pm. Inconceivable, actually impossible to pitch tent before some protein we ordered steak, fries and a giant salad. From this point on we became fully aware that if we are to pedal even a fraction of our planned journey, a routine respect and nourishing of our bodies has to become a priority. We are foodies and learning to be touring cyclists and both these life styles must fit snugly together, to see us over the next hill and make it damn enjoyable as well.