Join me for a night of travel talk on Nov 27th!

Stop by the Owls Nest Bookstore in Calgary for an evening talk that explores lesser-known destinations and delves into on-the-ground insights that cut through fear and build curiosity about our diverse planet.

Our senses flickered under a storm of contradicted reality. We had walked only three blocks and had already been passed by 1950s-era Buicks, Chevrolets and Cadillacs painted in faded mauve and brilliant turquoise. In comparison, dented Ladas pointed their snout-like hoods down the road and beeped at pedestrians who might be looking for a lift.

The weather’s fickle personality seemed to feed our sense of isolation. We all turned inward, lost in our own thoughts as our feet carried us farther. Hat off. Jacket off. Jacket back on when the wind picked up again. A cluster of blue sheep scampered along the rocks in the distance. They looked more grey than their namesake hue. We hiked on. The views started to open up. Spiky peaks of the Gangla Karchung range became visible. A rumble sounded in the distance. 

Brilliant ceremonial dance costumes and mythical masks replaced the typical crimson robes of the monks. Their arms were bare, and their chests were covered only by embroidered vests that left their sides and stomachs exposed. Flowing material had been wrapped around their waists and legs to form a pant-like garment that still allowed for fluid dance moves. Yet this outfit seemed incidental compared to the wooden face masks tied with wide ribbons around their heads. Each disguise was carved into the image of a deity, evil spirit or character from local folklore. Deep tones of ochre, black and grey coloured the masks.

When: October 2017
Where: Nwaungshwe, near Inle Lake in eastern Myanmar

​We turned left onto a narrow gravel route. I nudged the kickstand back into place with my foot as, once again, a dip in the pebbly road had shaken it loose. The track curved between rice paddies still drenched from the monsoon rains that had only begun to subside. At the turnoff onto this smaller track, four women sat on the ground, peeling bamboo stalks into smooth chunks. We stopped and one lady giggled shyly when I walked over to watch her work. The bright white flesh was sure to attract potential customers heading to or from town, as it proved the stalks had been freshly peeled. These women remained along the main paved route. They did not venture onto our quiet road.