Kayah State is a Land Like None You Know About

Kipling spent a total of only three days in this country but it left a long impression. After first entering Rangoon in 1889 he wrote that “a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon,… a shape that was neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple spire…. The golden dome said: "This is Burma, and it will be quite unlike any land you know about."

Our small group of bicyclists felt something similar this past week on a lovely trip upcountry to Kayah State. None of us had ever been to this smallest of Myanmar’s seven ethnic states that lies along the country’s eastern border. Only recently has the government lifted its formerly strict restrictions about foreigners going there. The area has seen a good deal of fighting during the past several decades.

We began in Shan State and rode south through a fertile valley along a mostly-paved road that was wide enough for one truck. Mysteries upheaved themselves on the horizon. Every few miles, for instance, the people seemed to change costume. Were these the Palaung? The Pa’O? Perhaps the Karenni (who, like many of the groups here, go by more than one name)? Everyone was bundled up like we were—cold morning temperatures meant we started riding each day in long sleeves and full-fingered gloves. Their headgear came in as many different colors as our helmets, depending on tribe or marriage or probably many categories that would never occur to me.

Limestone bulged out of the valley in bunches the size of several trees. Towns seemed to form around the oddest-shaped rock pitches, many of which were topped with small pagodas whose temple bells tinkled and flashed at sunset. When we learned that our first night’s hotel only switched on the electricity after 7pm, we climbed to the rooftop and delighted in the shapes surrounding us that were “neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple spire.”

The next morning, we were greeted as we walked around town by another fine shrine, captured in this great photo by Lisa O’Donnell. Later, as we rode from Shan State to Kayah State, Roman Catholic churches began to pop up. Italian priests in the 19th century had converted many animists. Not long after passing a massive cathedral, we came across a small patch of open ground that was peppered with tall poles. In this spot, those who worship natural objects hold their annual reading-the-chicken-bones ritual. I wondered how many of the local people hedged their bets and showed up at both venues.

A local fellow explained these ceremonies to us. We had noticed him following us on a motorcycle

throughout the third day. He hung back, always in view but never passing. By this time we had reached Loikaw, the capital of Kayah State. Our presence had been noted as we circled the city and followed the old railroad line that carries a four-car passenger train once a day in each direction between Kayah State and Shan State. It felt a little strange to have a minder, but we had heard that the local police were still a bit wary of outsiders. After a while we forgot about our escort. He seemed harmless enough to us, and we must have seemed the same to him, because when we stopped to look at the poles, he caught up and more or less became our guide.

Altogether we rode about 200 miles, to and around Loikaw. Not many roads lead there, so we had to go back the way we came, eventually joining up with the road that goes to Mandalay. It felt a shame to leave. As Kipling wrote, "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."