It is a rainy season. Inle Lake. 2,900 ft above sea-level. The freshwater highland lake located in the Shan State. Stylizing the geographic shape of the lake, it appears like a golden drop blown by a fart of Buddha. The one-legged fishermen paddler seem to walk on the water, Captain Ahab with a fishnet in his left and more artistique, dancing the waves, not stiff by anger. The never-ending corridors of gardens planted near the shore, in the lake. The shopping stops on the boat trip for tourists. The burmese kids, starting to charge money from the bloody ignorant tourist, kneeing – Don´t touch the ground, Florence, it´s dirty! – in front of the locals, neither saying hello nor trying to communicate in a smiley way, zooming, video taping, without a spark of respect. Bargaining about 1,000 Kyat, which is more or less 1 Dollar, buying souvenirs, handcrafted. – You like it or not, don´t blame the locals for one Dollar you scumbag. Whatever.
So. The Lake. Attended by a hilly mountain area at the west and east coast. Weather is changing like in a minute, from rainstorm to tropical island sunshine.
Lazy hilltop guardians.
Falling Clouds.
Invading the valley.
Like huge fishnets.
Overcasting white.
Leaving me dripping wet.
Cursing the guardians.

Up on the hilltops, during a 2-Days Trekk, eve of creation unclosing an amazing view over the lake and the mountain area, impressing me and the rest of the group. Five altogether, accompanied by one guide and his younger brother. Stayed overnight in a small village up there whereever we arrived at a locals home. We haven´t been the first ones, that´s for sure, but kind of, and of course and unfortunately not the last. Anyway the stay was rural enough. Sleeping on the wooden floor with a planket, better as i expected, eating in a seperated room, peeing from the balcony at night, being adorned by laughs about our appearance. In a group it´s hard to keep in touch with locals after the warmly welcome by the family, counting two kids, the parents and the grandmother. At the groundfloor of their wooden home, all painted black in the inside, with just to pieces of furniture – my dream of a simple and functional architecture, they drying tabacco leaves in the harvest season, on 10 round stoves, heated by an undergrounded oven. The house pretty looks the same like the others in the village. Basic. I love it! They are all farmers, cultivating tabacco, curcuma, corn and wheat in this area around, in an ecofarming symbiose with nature, of course, they maybe never heard about ecofarming, they just do it that way, the only way to keep the soil fertile for generations. Some of the farmers are so moving from field to field, for a couple of months or more, staying in small bamboo huts.
– Can i have the Avocado Salad?
– Sorry Sir, no have, not season.
– Strawberry Juice?
– Orange Juice?
– No season.
I don´t know much about eco-farming, but viewing that surrounding you feel like diving in green. Green all-around. No words. I hope the change in Myanmar, the money, tourism and with that more and more industrialisation won´t destroy and deleting that knowledge about living in peace an balance with earth. Forcing farmers to move. Rising prices caused by imports. Selling grounds. You still see the beginning, cleared hills, the need of wood building up more and more of 5 star resorts, polluting the country with greed and high-speed capitalism. Not one of the locals i´d talked to likes that development, so they know what´s gonna happen, but feel more stucked between earning money by tourism, they hope so, and loosing their paradise.
Group travelling, if it´s just for two days and even with some really good dudes, still sucks. But sometimes you don´t have another choice, if you don´t want to run out of money as fast as possible. This group was after all properly, no complaiing, no bargaining, no worries, no questions about how much did everyone paid. And still managed to escape, in the morning, to stay with the family for a couple of minutes, joining them for breakfast, which was tasty to try – to beat a toast with egg and chips isn´t that hard. The Shan family and the tow guides gathered around the fireplace in the kitchen, like yesterday after dinner, chatting and playing games. Compaire it with a snuggery, filled up with smoke. The two opened windows didn´t help at all. Cigarette helped. I felt blackened from the inside. Smoked. Faces arising and vanishing in the black amorphous state. The kind red smiling face of the grandmother, facial wrinkles telling her story, lined by a laugh of a young girl, a touch of the simplicity and humanity of entities. – I don´t mean it like “Oh, they have nothing but are so happy, that´s great! We have consumption, envy and greed.”


Dogs chasing horses through the streets of Nyaung Shwe.
Dogs chasing dogs.
Dogs eating dog.
In the night and in daytime.
Howling, growling, baring their teeth, in their muzzles of a deathless veteran, malformed by scars to a more grotesque mask of a street fighter.
And all that in front of a monastery.
It´s a dog´s rule.

French girl worried and thinking about try to push them back in their corners.
Standing in the backyard of the guesthouse, opposite to the monastery, behind an iron gate, clenching the bars again and again, struggling with her minds. – On her gravestone written in dog bones “Killed in action”. Stupid kind of a naive one.
It´s not your pretty pinky sweet hair ribboned dog of a dog at home, bitch. It´s a dog!
Don´t blame her for her simply-hearted attitude, but what did she expect, frolicking dogs on green-wide fields, kissing cats and snatching butterflies, fluttering out of their polished asses back to life? And i am sure she had a great chicken pork whatever for dinner afterwards.
Or am i just blunted dick. Or is it because she is french. Or do dogs always eat dogs.


By bus from Yangon to Nyaung Shwe, at the shores of Inle lake. With AC, seats in fair conditions and DVD. Showing a Myanmar Movie production copying the exorcist. Hell! The audience was laughing. The whole script of the movie appears to me possessed by trash, Grinding demonized uproar. Horrible in a way.
Followed by the bedtime hit parade, jaring hip hoping popstars – part of the movie still? Outtakes?
I always ask myself if this is about the HIFI units… possessed HIFI around Southeast Asia. Forget about to kill the noise with earphones. It will be still in your – head, you just can beat it with something similar, like black metal. So, i love it!

HIFI. WIFI. – Talking about WIFI isn´t worth. It will change as fast as a click.
But even though if you are in yangon and searching for a cool and easy spot, checking mails, have a coffee and a sandwich, with proper bread, check the coffee bar, at corner of 11th street. It has the potential to get an exped meeting point, so hurry up or sorry for the advice in advance.
I don’t even like to share tips, still thinking about deleting the category from my blog. Enough travel bloggers around doing their job, recommanding and cursing places. Writing about off the beaten track. So, off-beaten but please with comfort.
Days ago i read a blog entry, similar to, you have to take the train or bus in Myanmar, otherwise it would be like traveling to italy and don’t eat a pizza. Jessas!

So departure was at 5 pm, arrived at 4.35 am.

Up north it´s more cool, more like in europe, not about temperature more about humidity. I welcome the refreshment.

After struggled with the ordinary food poisoining and dreaming on the bus of a shiny food plaza, had dinner, extra ordinary pizza in Myanmar! Shame on me. Haha, i fuckin loved it!

And why the hell are we examine our snot after blowing?