Chin villages, tattoos and curiosities

Chin villages, tattoos and curiosities

24. November 2016 0 By

The next mor­ning we start calm­ly, becau­se today we con­ti­nue to Mrauk U or as it´s also said: Miauuuu. At the air­port in Thand­we the usu­al cha­os reig­ns only with the dif­fe­rence that this time the­re is no litt­le man hol­ding up a sign on which the flight num­ber is writ­ten. The­re is sim­ply no one who can help you. In bet­ween, some peo­p­le just lea­ve their places and walk towards the run­way. When it’s our turn? I don’t know! After 5 groups have left the wai­ting area, I get a bit ner­vous and we ask them. The next pla­ne it is, we learn in half Eng­lish and half Bur­me­se. Well, It’s not, of cour­se. And every time we ask, we get the same ans­wer. The next one is. Even­tual­ly, the­re will be a man, the one from the check-in. Sin­ce we are the only white ones on the flight any­way, it is not quite so hard for him to reco­gni­ze us. I don’t know how the Bur­me­se do it, he real­ly can’t remem­ber so many faces.

The flight is quite short, lasts only one hour and is rela­tively quiet despi­te the pro­pel­ler engi­ne. When we land Mir­ko hims­elf picks up our back­packs direct­ly from the lug­ga­ge van. By the way, nobo­dy cares if we have the right lug­ga­ge. A grim-loo­king offi­ci­al inter­views us again befo­re the ent­ry about whe­re exact­ly we want to go, becau­se here some are­as are com­ple­te­ly clo­sed for tou­rists. Short­ly after­wards, our gui­de, whom I recrui­ted from Ger­ma­ny via Trip Advi­sor, wel­co­mes us and we head towards Mrauk U. The jour­ney takes about 4 hours and on lar­ger parts of the rou­te the­re is no road at all. But in return we see the con­s­truc­tion work on a new road. Very inte­res­t­ing by the way, becau­se here a con­cre­te lay­er is sim­ply appli­ed to the old one. First only one side of the road is built, so that the cars can still dri­ve on the old, bro­ken side, or bet­ter said in the dust. It’s also nice that on the side of the new­ly built road half the steel bars look out and every car dri­ving too clo­se will tear open at least 2 tires in 100% of the cases. Road con­s­truc­tion in Myan­mar is tra­di­tio­nal women’s work, by the way. Ever­y­whe­re at the edge you can see women of all ages sit­ting tur­ning lar­ge bould­ers into gra­vel with small ham­mers. In terms of effi­ci­en­cy, I can­not ima­gi­ne that the road will be finis­hed within the next 10 years.

What also stands out is that there’s an awful lot of mili­ta­ry here. Felt the­re is some guard­ed bar­ri­er every 10 meters. We even see a brand-new mili­ta­ry heli­c­op­ter, which I find quite stran­ge. When we final­ly reach our hotel in the evening we are real­ly finis­hed and only want 2 things, name­ly what food and then to bed. After the first inspec­tion of our room I’m not quite sure if I want to go to bed, becau­se this looks more like a com­ple­te dump and has the ugliest bedside lamp in the world a pink mons­ter inclu­ding an alarm clock with a kit­schy dol­phin. That’s the ugliest thing anyo­ne could ever think of. At least the phe­no­me­nal lamp dis­tracts from the cle­an­li­ne­ss of the rest of the room. At least 30 very, very fat and well nou­ris­hed mos­qui­toes live here, which feed exclu­si­ve­ly on wes­tern tou­rist blood, and the­re is also Cin­de­r­el­la, the appro­xi­m­ate­ly palm-sized spi­der in our bath­room. Oh, and the holes in our bun­ga­low door are expert­ly fil­led with toi­let paper. At least there’s elec­tri­ci­ty and hot water. Well, let’s say „most­ly“, becau­se we have at least half the night power outage.

The Chin Villages

The next mor­ning we meet our gui­de Myint and want to visit the Chin vil­la­ges tog­e­ther. But first we dri­ve to the medi­ci­ne man’s vil­la­ge, whe­re all pre­scrip­ti­on drugs are of cour­se available wit­hout pre­scrip­ti­on and exclu­si­ve­ly in indi­vi­du­al pills. You just show the medi­ci­ne man fami­ly what you have and they pack a pack of useful medi­ci­nes. Body lan­guage is of cour­se due to a lack of Eng­lish skills here in the advan­ced level to mas­ter. Mir­ko has two rather bad­ly infla­med open fle­sh wounds, which have mean­while taken the size of a 2 Euro pie­ce. At the begin­ning we suspec­ted that it might have been a burn from the Taung­gyi Fes­ti­val, becau­se we were stan­ding in the midd­le of the rai­ning fire­works. But we’­re not real­ly sure, it could have been a nasty mos­qui­to that cau­sed the inflamm­a­ti­on. Of cour­se, I had to talk him into it for three days befo­re he let Sis­ter Moni in. Only alco­hol, iod­i­ne tinc­tu­re and zinc pow­der with anti­bio­tics can help. We also purcha­se some gau­ze ban­da­ges in case of emer­gen­cy and some plas­ters. The Bur­me­si­che name is: „Sri Flas Tar“ and for the who­le bag full of things we pay about one Euro. Any­bo­dy else need medication?

A special Tuk Tuk

Then it goes about 2 hours over the abso­lut­e­ly worst road we have seen so far. In Ger­ma­ny one would dri­ve on this road exclu­si­ve­ly with an all-wheel dri­ve vehic­le or howe­ver with a trac­tor, here it goes also with a Pick Up Tuk Tuk in the first cour­se. By the way, the Tuk Tuk is a total high­light. Actual­ly we should have a real car, but sin­ce our dri­ver from yes­ter­day has other things to do, we dri­ve with the pick­up, which was spe­ci­al­ly con­ver­ted for spoi­led Euro­peans. On the loa­ding area the­re are not the usu­al 2 ben­ches on the sides but the­re are 2 real wel­ded car seats espe­ci­al­ly for us in dri­ving direc­tion. I almost burst into tears laug­hing, that’s the hot­test thing I’ve ever seen. After we have let our­sel­ves be rocked the who­le distance by the vil­la­ge, seve­ral goats and dogs turn around, which have loo­ked for a shady place in the pot­ho­les of the street and natu­ral­ly also after pene­t­ra­ting hon­king not want to get up, we arri­ve at the „port“. The har­bour, howe­ver, is a river fork whe­re a few unsui­ta­ble boats lie. After­wards we dri­ve at least 2 more hours with exact­ly such a boat upri­ver to get to the Chin vil­la­ges. I say at least we have pret­ty white curta­ins with blue pril flowers.

The Chin are a mino­ri­ty in Myan­mar who have their vil­la­ges on the edge of the river. They speak both Bur­me­se and Chin, so they speak their own lan­guage. The­re are about 30 older ladies here with face tat­toos. I read in my gui­de that tat­toos are now for­bidden, but my gui­de amu­ses me. Nowa­days nobo­dy wants to have them from the young women any­mo­re and the­re is no one left who can do the­se tra­di­tio­nal tat­toos. In gene­ral, he finds the idea of a tat­too ban quite ins­a­ne, becau­se after all, ever­yo­ne in the next big city can get tat­toos. I have to say, Myint is toal­ly right! It used to have a mea­ning, by the way. On the one hand each vil­la­ge had its own tat­too pat­tern and on the other hand the women could not sim­ply be sto­len from other vil­la­ges. The peo­p­le live right next to the river­bed on which ever­y­thing can be cul­ti­va­ted becau­se of the fer­ti­le soil. Today I real­ly see for the first time what the plant of a pea­nut looks like. Pret­ty embar­ras­sing is that so far I was of the opi­ni­on that the­re is a pea­nut bush at which the things grow. It makes a lot of sen­se, which is why a pea­nut is cal­led „earth nut“ in ger­man, if it does not grow in the soil. Well, in my defen­se, I might be able to argue that I’m not a farmer’s daugh­ter, but a locksmith’s daughter.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Our gui­de brought a pack of coo­kies for the child­ren in the vil­la­ge and it does­n’t take long befo­re a who­le hor­de has gathe­red around us. Ever­yo­ne gets 2 coo­kies in turn and all of them are very good and hold out their hands just once. So while we are wal­king through the vil­la­ge with Myint as the Pied Piper from Hame­lin, about 4 meters away sits a three-year-old who is about to open a coco­nut with a mache­te. Any mother in Ger­ma­ny would pro­ba­b­ly have torn the thing out of the small one’s hand in 3 mil­li­se­conds. But here it all seems per­fect­ly nor­mal. Lucki­ly, we can dis­tract him with the coo­kie befo­re he cuts off his fingers.

The rest of the vil­la­ge just left. The men are hun­ting in the jungle and the women are cut­ting down bam­boo. An older tat­to­oed lady is slee­ping under her house in the sha­de and of cour­se we don’t want to dis­turb her.

One vil­la­ge fur­ther on we are lucky, becau­se one of the tat­too ladies wants to have a litt­le chat. She asks us to sit with her on a pla­s­tic tar­pau­lin next to a baby swing. While she pushes the litt­le girl next to her slight­ly she has a lot of ques­ti­ons for us.

Whe­ther I have child­ren she wants to know. I want to know if she has child­ren. This ques­ti­on leads to the fact that in the next 10 minu­tes half the vil­la­ge gathers around us, becau­se the older lady has a very com­pli­ca­ted fami­ly histo­ry. She once had a hus­band… until then our gui­de can trans­la­te. Then a small argu­ment breaks out over how the fami­ly rela­ti­onships real­ly are and the trans­la­ti­on fails becau­se of the sheer com­ple­xi­ty of her pedi­gree. She also wants to know more about my fami­ly histo­ry, becau­se she does­n’t real­ly want to belie­ve that I am Ger­man – or as it says in Bur­me­se: Ger­ma­nin­ga. She’s more into Thai­land. So I tell a Bur­me­se lady in the back of the jungle that the­re actual­ly is a fami­ly sto­ry about a for­mer ances­tor, that was a con­sul in Bor­neo and she is very interested.

It seems a litt­le hard to our gui­de with the mean­while 10 women who have gathe­red here and are babb­ling non stop, becau­se he now wants to slow­ly make his way to the next vil­la­ge. Can’t bla­me the poor man. After all, the ladies have a lot to talk about.

We reach the next vil­la­ge after a short dri­ve with our boat. The­re are 6 tat­to­oed ladies living here, all of whom know exact­ly how to do busi­ness. Of cour­se it does­n’t take long until 3 of the ladies hang on my heels and all of them want to sell me their self-woven scar­ves. The ladies are pret­ty tough nego­tia­ting and coun­ting does­n’t quite work with them yet, by the way. Unfort­u­na­te­ly I did­n’t attend the cour­se in advan­ced body lan­guage and need our gui­de to trans­la­te again and again.

Mean­while Mir­ko has a lot of fun wat­ching my pathe­tic nego­tia­ti­on attempts and is also not rea­dy to step in as a res­cuer in the emer­gen­cy. Ins­tead, he pre­fers to enjoy hims­elf and take pic­tures of what’s hap­pe­ning. After a very, very long round of nego­tia­ti­ons we final­ly agree, so for 8,000 Kyi­at I buy a much too colourful scarf that looks more like a table­cloth. The smi­le on the lady’s face is pri­ce­l­ess. So it was all worth it.

Then we move on through the vil­la­ge, past a bunch of kids play­ing cane­ball. A Ratan Ball is car­ri­ed over a net exclu­si­ve­ly with legs and feet and the­r­e­fo­re all kinds of dis­lo­ca­ti­ons and defi­ni­te­ly some con­di­ti­on are neces­sa­ry. But Mir­ko refu­ses to play along, pre­su­ma­b­ly he would have pul­led his leg and bro­ken his ank­le. Sin­ce the next doc­tor is half a day’s jour­ney away, I am quite hap­py about it.

Final­ly we visit the school of the vil­la­ge, a simp­le stone buil­ding wit­hout win­dows and doors, with a small black­board on the wall. Here the child­ren also sit in the after­noon and paint in their note­books or fol­low the Eng­lish let­ters on the black­board with colorful chalk. I ral­ly wish that I had brought some­thing with me to spoil the sweet kids and I do feel sligh­ly guil­ty that I haven´t. For­t­u­na­te­ly we have Myint and his coo­kies! We are real­ly bles­sed to have him.

After a very long dri­ve back we watch the sun­set in Mrauk U. After a short dri­ve through the vil­la­ge we reach some temp­les and climb a loo­kout point on a hill. From here you have a good view over the temp­le land­scape, which nest­les bet­ween the dry grass­lands and palm trees.

It just looks ins­a­nely gre­at from up here. The who­le thing is espe­ci­al­ly beau­tiful, becau­se a mys­te­rious fog rai­ses and slow­ly makes its way through palm trees and temp­les. Unfort­u­na­te­ly our gui­de spoils the mood, becau­se he explains to us that unfort­u­na­te­ly it is not a roman­tic evening mist, but smo­ke, which comes from the cook places and the small pri­va­te gar­ba­ge inci­ne­ra­ti­on plants in vil­la­ges. Well, just think it’s roman­tic fog coming in on time for sun­set. And after all it is a view that I will never for­get for the rest of my life. What a beau­tiful place this is!

Con­ti­nue: Across the jungle