Dalama Adventures Tale of two corporate types ditching their jobs and traveling the world for 14 months... check out all photos, blogs & interesting tid bits at http://www.dalama.net

We headed out on a two day trek into the Hilltribes of the Kalaw region. En route, we were lucky enough to experience the local fresh market in Kalaw, that occurs only once every 5 days. The market was amazing. The streets were lined with hilltribe ladies and gents, displaying their goods on small tarps and mats. Fresh veggies, dry goods, fish, fruit, flowers, you name it, was present in the farmers market. Passing by the tribes folk seated on the ground, we'd call out "mingalaba" (hello in BUrmese), which would elicit huge smiles - some toothless, some red betel-nut stained teeth and gums, and an even bigger reply and "mingalaba" with huge grins and big dark eyes. Some people spoke a little English and would practice a few words with us. It was a colorful experience and we're lucky we happened to be in town for it. We met up with our guide whose been a part of this community for his entire life, and his family roots for generations have lived in this same town. We were fortunate to have such a locally established guide, whose been trekking here for nearly 20 years, and is very well versed in the local tribal dialects, language, trails, villages, customs, and is welcomed into the villages as if he were family. We headed out to the east of Kalaw, winding our way through the red-clay earthen paths, ascending through the hills and into visit several hill tribe families. We were welcomed with excitement every village we passed through. Our first visit we were invited to have tea and then lunch in a long-house. The long-house is the traditional area of residence for entire families, and often complete extended families would be living in one long house. The tribes folks like it hot, and keep their long houses closed up, with fire cranking inside (despite the fact that's it's already 90 degrees celsius outside). They especially like to keep it quite smokey, opting not to build chimneys, as they feel it's healthier to breath in the smokey fire fumes while simultaneously sucking down the local home made cigars in mass quantity. Our first stop was three and a half hours into the trek, which took us through tea and banana plantations. We sat on the floor around a very short, round wood table with the 77 year old grandmother, who doled out green tea, freshly brewed from their plantations. She made sure our cups were never empty. Soon after, we ate our lunch - Indian "takeaway" from the local Kalaw teashop that our guide had brought with him to the village - chapattis, potato and bean curry, rice and Indian sweets for a treat. We were joined by a group of Palaung tribe community members - several women, men and a heap of children. Our guide translated as we exchanged formalities of name, age, and how many children each of us had. Then came the inquisitive questions for us strange westerners - how long have we been married, why don't we have children, and are we actively trying to make babies here in Myanmar... I think they pity us for not having children, and people here that we meet always leave us with their blessings of happy, healthy life, and strong wish for many healthy children. The tribe is poor - they have nothing but the wood floor beneath their bodies that they sleep on, and a few dirty tattered clothes for the children. They live off the land and pray each year for a good harvest for their survival. We leave this beautiful village with a monetary donation, and some blow up beach balls for the kids to play with. They are especially entertained by our digital camera, and they enjoy seeing their images played back to them... When we snap a photo and zoom in on each one of them individually to share their picture with them, it elicits shrieks and laughter from all the little ones. OUr second village several hours later brings us into a monastery where our guide discusses the "albino" mystery with us. Apparently there are several villages here where albino children have been born- and of course they stand out as very different than the other dark skinned tribes-members. They believe these individuals must have had dealings with westerners in a previous life, and have reincarnated into the present with light skin and pink eyes. Many of the albino children join and live in the monastery where they seek refuge in the shade - as they would not fare so well working in the fields under the intense sun. The monks invite us to stay with them and learn to meditate, an invitation I would have quickly accepted had it not been for our limited time bound by a flight out of Myanmar. We met the village elder - a gorgeous old man of 72 years. He had a classic big, toothless grin, a couple of teeth protruding from the front right side of his upper gums, and the few teeth he had were long, and stained red from years of betel-nut consumption. He excitedly recounted for us his memories of the bombings that took place when the British and US forces were supporting the eradication of Japanese stronghold forces in Burma. He shared sharp visuals of the B52 bombers flying overhead, and the accidental bombing by the US that took the lives of 200 local villagers, including some of his relatives. This man has seen and endured decades of pain and suffering, and is a survivor here - one thing he was sure of, though, that there would probably be no change or end to the suffering for the Burmese people in his life. We made our way further into the village and were greeted by more Palaung villagers and served copious amounts of tea and bananas, and they promptly dressed me up in their local women's hilltribe outfit - pointing, laughing and talking in their language about how funny I looked with my curly hair. We met a special woman in a neighboring village on the last leg of today's trek, that invited us into her little stilted wood home. This village did not have extended families living in big long houses, but rather had individual families living in their own homes. She invited us up for more local tea. She shared with us the difficult, challenging life they all had, and how complicated the interwoven lives of all the relatives living together in the village can get. Her husband was beaten by his father when their son was accidentally burned by the fire one night when he slept a bit too close to the hot embers. The father felt his son was not properly caring for his family, and delivered the stern punishment... Quite a lesson for a young set of parents at the ripe old age of 22. Her children were beautiful. Her infant was swung to sleep in a makeshift cradle comprised of two pieces of rope and a burlap bag draped in between - that's all they have. No such thing as cribs, beds or strollers. The women sling their children onto their backs in a sheet of cotton, as they go out into the fields to work for the day. Often we'd see children carting around babies not much younger than themselves in the same method. All in the family must pitch in and care for each other so that the means of survival can be sowed in the fields each day. We left a donation with her, and she insisted that we take a gift from her of two huge avocados. It wasn't even avocado season, so these must have cost a fortune - and had been used earlier that day for puja offerings for Buddha. We thanked her, and wished she and her family health and happiness. We hustled it up a steep slope to our final destination "Viewpoint," a Nepali run guesthouse, where we took in amazing views across the hills. Our accommodations were also a very local experience - a thatched roof mud hut, and an elevated wooden platform with thing foam mats for sleeping. There's no electricity or running water here. Before dinner, we wanted to wash up, and our guide had told us there was a shower... He promptly took us over to the shower - it was a cement holding cylinder filled with dark rain water that had been accumulating and had a ton of bugs floating on the surface. We were given a tin pan to scoop out water for our bathing purposes. But I was a bit baffled - how would I take a shower in the middle of their garden cooking prep, cow farming area with no privacy partition or shower curtain to cover me? There was just me, the cement water cylinder, the muddy ground, and the cows, all out in the open for everyone to see. Our guide asked if I had brought my longyi... ha, I don't own a longyi, but really wish I had bought one on the fly. So the owners wife let me borrow hers - probably her only one - a long tube of fabric you wear like a sarong around your chest, and it covers you to your ankles. It was clear that I still didn't have the right technique, and I was too embarrassed to ask the poor woman who loaned me her longyi teach me how to shower. The longyi kept sliding down, and I was more muddy than soapy... It was really tough to suds up and rinse with such little scoops of water. Anyone watching would have had quite a good laugh. I lent the pink, flowery longyi to Darrin, and we were quickly informed of our misstep - men need to wear a male longyi; green and blue plaid, apparently the spirits would be angered if he had worn a woman's longyi. His bath was even more pitiful than mine, and he ended up dirty and sticky the entire night. Before dinner, several groups of men sauntered through the par area on their way home from work, to indulge in the fine local fruit flavored rum - which to us, tasted like sake with a bit of a a kick. Each guy pounded a bottle of 750 ml to themselves and stumbled their way out of the bar. Alcohol is banned from consumption in the villages, as it has been the cause of many domestic disputes and violent incidents. Our dinner, a beautiful daal baaht, was prepared over open fire. They had killed a chicken especially for our meal, freshly cooked vegetables from market day in town (which they had trekked 30 kilometers to get), rice cakes (ones brought by us that we had bought in town because they looked like sweet cookie treats, and once we bit into them, practically cracking our teeth, realized they weren't what we thought they were) that they fried up for us. They kept the food flowing until we finally forced them to stop - we were going to pop. The meal was capped off with super sweet mangoes - it's the season here. We watched through the light of the open fire, as they roasted (processed) today's fresh harvest of tea leaves, over the open fire in a huge iron wok. We slept on and off that night on the wooden platform, in our very dark mud hut, awaking to strange noises which we were sure were rats, going to fall from the thatched roof ceiling on us.