So I’ve encountered a few hurdles along the way, made all the more obvious for the fact that I haven’t heard from James-who was meant to meet me this morning at the bus station- in over 2 days. None the less I’ve stuck to the plan, and arrived in Mae Sot somewhat taken aback by the size of the place! Although I’d read the statistics (popn’ 120 000), I no doubt have a propensity to romanticised almost everything, and in my mind I had pictured a much smaller and arguably more quaint town, where I would have been the novel foreigner (perhaps a mild case of ‘I’m the only gay in the village!’). I’m once again humbled by the fact that this place, while not swarming with tourists of the Bangkok/Khao San road variety, has its own buzzing community of do-gooders who make my commitment of one month look particularly feeble. From what I heard this morning, most of the volunteers are here for 6 months to a year, and some of them have even brought their families! Saying that, I am still somewhat of a spectacle as foreigners of the Western variety are an obvious minority. I stand out most for the fact that, as far as I have seen, I am the youngest of the solo travellers here, made further more peculiar for the fact that I am female.
I felt a bit at odds this morning; I had no idea where my school was, nor who to contact, as I was expecting James to show me the ropes on arrival. I tried calling Than Doke (who runs the school) only to find that the number didn’t work. I explored the nearby streets and got breakfast at Krua Canadian restaurant and coffee shop; open at 7am it certainly boasts the most exhaustive menu around town, bound to satisfy the most homesick of Western palates with everything from delicious Canadian pancakes, to Mexican burritos, to bacon and eggs on toast. I myself tucked into to some scrumptious banana pancakes, accompanied by a Thai coffee with ‘thick milk’ (read: sweetened condensed milk =). Feeling a little upstream without a paddle, I retired to my room and read my book in sweet isolation, surreptitiously absorbing the startling fact that here I am!
On the Thai/Burma border, on my own, for a month.
Come lunch time and my itchy feet got the better of me, seeing that I could hire a bike from reception, I packed my bag and launched onto the busy- but not so hectic- street, on a bike whose feminine curves and easy gears felt somewhat out of place beneath my heavy hiking boots. I hadn’t a clue how close I was to the border, and scarcely 15 minutes of easy riding later, I caught my first glimpse of Burma!
It looked like any other place; it looked like another part of Thailand, and sat across the small and- at first glance- seemingly sluggish Moei river. Having heard so much about the military junta, tucked away snugly somewhere across that river while I witnessed their people ferrying to and fro, I think I expect something a lot more hostile. I half expected to be stopped somewhere short of the border and turned back, but instead found my way beneath the ‘friendship bridge’- one of the main trading routes connecting Burma and Thailand. I watched as the official traffic trudged across the border- by car, bike or on foot- while scarcely a stone’s throw away people braved the currents to cross illegally, in plain sight of the authorities.
I stood by the water and watched a stream of faces amble past me and towards the river bank. Just upstream from the bridge, lithe young men stood waist deep by massive, floating inner tubes, awaiting passengers. A concrete walkway lines the Thai side of the border, and I was told by an ethnic Karen Burmese fellow- Mah-that, during the rainy season, the Moei river lashes right up at the edge of path, making illegal passage quite a formidable undertaking. Nevertheless, the trip is a necessary one for an abundance of Burmese workers who, lacking ID and thus unable to cross officially, make the trip everyday at a great expense. Costing all of 30 baht- about an Australian dollar- such a trip generally equals more than half their average daily wages.
I have no doubt that I will make the trip to the border often enough over the next month, and look forward to the day I myself cross-by legal means- into Burma. Until then my friend Mah has promised to show me where, further downstream, much bigger things are smuggled. Apparently just a short walk from where I stood today I’ll be able to watch as people smuggle cars and all sorts of more lucrative merchandise into Burma. Satisfied with my afternoon adventure and having agreed to meet Mah again soon, I made my way back into Mae Sot craving some munchies. Things have a way of working themselves out, and Than Doke gave me a call to welcome me and to let me know that he’d pick me up tomorrow morning at 9am to take me in for my first day of school! Although neither of us have heard from James, I’m sure I am in safe hands and that the boisterous, gangly Australian fellow will turn up in no time with some remarkable story as to why he was waylaid.
By the end of tomorrow, I hope to have a better idea of exactly how much of my day will be taken up at the school and to figure out if I can squeeze in some hours volunteering at Cynthia’s clinic. A Burmese run medical center infamous for its generosity, Cynthia’s provides much needed help to Burmese workers and their families who are denied Thai medical assistance.
So I suppose its tomorrow, that this volunteering mission of a trip, will truly begin.
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