Living just a few kilometers away from the bustling settlements and well-worn paths around Myanmar’s Inle Lake are villages that still live off the grid. A strong sense of community has helped them adapt to the modern world and continue to subsist in a fast-changing country.
My connecting-the-dots from the popular Inle Lake to Shan Hills started as I wandered the streets in search of things to do in the area. A travel-agency boldly announced trekking options, but a smaller sign that talked about a ‘home-stay’ got me interested. The deal was made in minutes and my plans for the next two days was set. I was heading to the hills next morning and stay in a village inhabited PaO people, one of the many indigenous communities in Shan state.
Shan Hills, as seen from Inle Lake.
We began early next morning. It was a pleasant post-monsoon dawn when a thin layer of clouds kept the air crisp – perfect for the long walk ahead. We quickly put behind us the line of restaurants and lodges on the edge of Inle Lake and hiked up the green hills to the east. The path took us up the gentle slopes through the clearings, past wooded sections, occasional opening into corn fields and subsequently through cheerful grassland slopes with a scattering of colourful flowers. The few hamlets we saw along the way were small, with only a handful of houses located adjacent to the fields.
A version of this story was published in a travel magazine four years ago.
No one warned me that the hills can be an addiction impossible to get rid of.
Many years ago, over a long walk in search of grassy meadows and windy peaks high on the hills of the Brahmagiri Ranges, I sweated profusely and dragged my tired legs through the steep slopes that took me past thickly wooded surroundings. With a shoulder tired of a heavy backpack and legs worn out by the trying slopes, I wasn’t exactly in an ebullient mood half way up the journey. I coaxed my uncooperative body to keep going, cursing the hills at the same time for being so steep and testing to its visitors.
Emerging out of the treeline hours later, I was suddenly standing at the edge of a vast stretch of lush grass hugging the undulating slopes, which slowly faded and merged into the hazy sky. The addiction to the hills kicked in that precise moment and has refused to subside ever since. In the years that followed, I tramped up and down these hills as if overpowered by an enchantment that demands me to pay a homage to the slopes at intervals growing more regular every year.
Here is wishing everyone a very happy 2015. May the new year bring you a lot of happiness, many exciting journeys and experiences that you will remember fondly.
Looking back at the year that went by, it has been for me a year of many journeys and a diverse set of experiences. I started 2014 by travelling high in the Himalayas in bitter cold weather, experiencing temperatures as low as -25C in landscapes that are so beautiful that heart aches to leave them behind. On the contrast, I spent a month in the low-lands of Myanmar and Cambodia exploring some of the wettest regions of South East Asia. SEA charmed me with its vibrant cultural landscape–friendliest of smiles, genial monks, green carpets of rice paddies and a life that is still waking up to the rat-raced modern culture.
When it comes to cherished interactions, I spent time with shepherds of the highlands of Ladakh, lived with monks in high Himalayas of Himachal, gazed on air bubbles and crystalline formations in a frozen lake, interacted with farmers in rural Bhutan, picked sweet-peas in a Himalayas farm, watched the sun come up over a mirror-like calm lake amidst the mountains, sat in a carpet of wildflowers overlooking snow-peaks, watched ebullient young monks play joyfully with little concern for the world, flew on two brand new airlines that were born this year in India, enjoyed some beach-side holidays, sat pillion with great anxiety riding a two-wheeler on a train track, walked on the world’s longest teak-bridge which has an air of romance all over its length, made friends with a talkative monk, attempted to learn the heart of an elephant and felt the emotions of a caring mahout, flew on some tiny aircrafts and walked careless on a tiny airport tarmac, went on day-long boat journeys on rivers, met and chatted with the friendliest folks I have ever seen in the countrysides of South East Asia, witnessed nature’s slow and persistent dominance over man made edifices, lived in the remotest parts of India, got first hand insights into lives of people in the farthest parts of the country, watched an incredible event that is often dubbed as the ‘festival of festivals’, saw and learned how they make salt and spent the last few days of the year basking in some glorious sunrises and sunsets among gentle camel and colourful dancers in the deserts.
I couldn’t have asked more, but more did come my way. In the end of all these journeys, I came back a wee bit wiser, as people whom I encountered all along the way taught me a lesson unknowingly to them – that one doesn’t need all these experiences to be happy and yet, one must search and wander to learn this lesson.
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Here is a collection of images and experiences I accumulated in the last twelve months.
In January 2014, I was travelling through Changthang Plateau in the highlands of Ladakh. It was a relatively mild winter, and yet, the evening hour temperatures were in the order of ten degrees below zero. Just before sunset, we arrived at a grassland coveted by ChangPa shepherds. It was time for the sheep and goats to return home from the day of grazing. A thousand or more of them kicked up dust from the parched land and until the air gathered the colour of earth. Last rays of the sun bounced off from the thick wooly hide of the sheep even when the setting sun was momentarily subdued by thick dust. The scene of a thousand sheep walking home in the evening light was an extraordinary moment.