The below is a guest post by my husband who recently returned from a
perilous journey to Chin State. I asked him to write his impressions as
everything was still vivid in his mind, because what he told me of his trip was
remarkable and worth publishing.
"Planned several months ago,
way before the heavy monsoon rains had caused massive landslides, mudslides,
floods and other misery to one of the least visited and most pristine regions
of Myanmar, we could not have foreseen that our short journey through Chin
would offer us such a spectacle.
As Chin State has no airport, we
landed at Kale (or Kalaymyo) in Sagaing, at the gates of Chinland, situated on a
flat plain at the foot of the high Chin mountains. From there we took two
sturdy 4x4's and headed into the mountains. Our end-destination was Hakka, the
capital of Chin State (around 40-50.000 inhabitants) with a stopover in Falam,
another important city of Chin State (around 15-20.000 inhabitants).
Chinland is wild and
inaccessible. In fact there is just one single road from Kale towards Hakka,
which passes through Falam. The road is more often than not a dangerous
dirt-track dangling at a perilous elevation of 2500-3000 metres above sea level.
This brings with it breathtaking sights of deep green valleys and mountain tops
shrouded in mysterious milky white clouds that dissipate as fast as they
envelop you and the entire mountain around you.
Very often we were driving in the
actual clouds, a mix of incoming fog and mist, assorted with a light drizzle
for company in this eerie landscape. We also experienced the occasional
monsoonal downpour. There was beauty in this desolation.
The roads were dangerous. Very recent
mudslides had been cleared by bulldozer, creating mounds of rubble on each side
of the road, making it only possible for one vehicle to pass at a time. In some
cases a new improvised road had been cleared atop the mudslides, further up the
steep angle of the mountain as the road below had become utterly unusable,
being buried under dozens of meters of overturned earth and rock.
Wild torrents descending from the
mountain tops that were soaked in rain, would flow over the narrow road, more
of a dirt-path in reality, creating the dangerous illusion that the 4x4 would
be swept away in the abyss below by the sheer force of these wild streams. The
4x4's were using all the traction they could muster on the cambers and steep
slopes, gravel mounds, big rocks, knee-deep mud and the occasional cracks that
had opened up in the earth. Some of the bridges we crossed were made of wood,
iron, brick or simply held together by some spell and looked as if they could
collapse at any given time. As soon as we had gone over one everyone sighed
with relief, until the next one appeared up ahead.
Oncoming traffic was careless and
dangerous, seemingly oblivious to these bleak conditions and not so much
concerned by the possibility of hitting an unassuming vehicle, which nearly
happened. Luckily the oncoming truck, with virtually no brakes, was stopped by
a pile of gravel at the side of the road, which was the only thing that
separated the nervous smile of the truck's young driver from a plunge into the
deep green valley below. However, most traffic consisted of motorcycles which
were heavily loaded with all sorts of goods and sometimes 2-3 passengers at a
time.
And then there's the people.
Their small wooden houses built on stilts in little villages of a few houses at
a time, lining this only road through Chin. The stilts were firmly implanted
into the steep slope below, but still vulnerable to the haphazard landslides.
Children and their mothers were hiding from the rain in their houses' porch.
Small and thin. Tough and friendly at the same time. Always ready to smile and
help.
A religious folk. Crosses abound
by the side of the road and at the entrance of the small, elongated villages. Churches
built of wood or of brick, gray as the overcast sky or bright as the
multi-colour flowers in front of their houses.
When we had to leave our 4x4's
behind and continue on foot through a recent and swampy mudslide, in the dead
of night, in an unknown country, we came across a local villager with his
pick-up truck after a kilometre or so. He offered to take us 2-3 remaining
kilometers to Falam. Most of us climbed in the back of the pick-up. He showed
me the passenger seat. Out of a sense of solidarity for my fellow-travellers I declined
pointing at my dirty and muddy boots and trousers which had just had their
first serious brush with Chin mud. He shrugged and said "this is Chinland,
welcome!". I eventually took up the offer and climbed into the passenger
seat.
A resilient folk. Chin State is
the poorest and one of the most remote regions in Myanmar. Despite this its
inhabitants are tough, resilient and hard-working receiving little in return
from this inhospitable land. Since flat land is scarce, most Chin have carved
out a small plot of land under their stilt houses in the mountains' slopes
below on which they grow corn and other vegetables. They hold chicken, whilst cows
and horses seem to roam these wild lands. Occasionally pigs could be seen in
their steep backyards. The food was surprisingly good all throughout this trip
and there were no episodes of the delhi-belly, or more accurately "chin-belly". And being a religious folk, the Chin also produce an interesting
tasting, thick and sweet wine, which is rather potent, which I know for having tasted it. It
comes in recycled bottles of Myanmar or Dagon beer and is also held in big
yellow canisters usually employed for transporting petrol.
Their capital Hakka is seemingly
built on top of the world, on gentle mountain ridges with clouds reaching only
further below creating this surreal impression. The city with its colourful
houses with corrugated iron roofs has a frontier feel to it. Streets are lined
with 4x4's, pick-up trucks and tough-looking weathered people are scurrying
along in the rain.
Many shops selling all sorts of survival kits, from shovels,
to ropes, rain-coats, solar lamps, machetes, etc. Parts of the city are still freshly
scarred by the massive landslides which only a few weeks ago killed several
dozen and displaced several thousand people many of whom live in temporary
shelters in camps spread around the city.
For the tourist there are also a
few fabric shops selling the traditional longyis and other hand-woven beautiful
and multi-colour shawls, scarves, tablecloths, and fabric for clothes. Prices
are absolutely below any sense of reality considering that these items are
painstakingly hand-woven on big wooden looms for weeks at a time. Colours and
patterns range from the more modern bright and intricate, to the more traditional
darker and angular ones, with everything in-between. You will be hard-pressed
not to like them and will be tempted to return several times and buy more of
them until you run out of space in your luggage, or out of cash.
Will I return? I surely hope so.
Most tourists will probably never visit Chin during the rainy season as it is
simply too dangerous. I'm very happy that I did but I would only return during the dry
season, when this wild land is tamed somewhat. But I have been very lucky to
witness this region and its strong people at its rawest, during a treacherous
monsoon, and I can only be filled with respect for them. To use a commonly-used
Chin greeting which I want to address to all Chin people to thank them:
"God bless"."
Thank you for such an amazing
story and for sharing this unique experience!
