Happy when it rains: Enjoying monsoon season

Kids enjoy a monsoon shower at Shwesandaw Pagoda in Twante

When there’s nothing better to talk about, people the world over commonly resort to complaining about the weather.

In Myanmar, such grumbling reaches fever pitch in early May, when daytime temperatures in Yangon hover around, and even above, 38 degrees Celsius (100 degrees Fahrenheit). The heat can be even worse in Mandalay and other towns in central Myanmar. It’s the tail-end of the summer season, and aside from a few days of relief brought about by the splashing of water during the Thingyan Water Festival in mid-April, by early May the people of Myanmar have been dealing with intense heat for about two months. They’re ready for a change.

Fortunately, relief is on the way, and it comes in the form of monsoon season. The precise starting time of the southwestern monsoon varies from year to year, but it generally begins around mid-May in southernmost Myanmar, and advances northward to Yangon and the Ayeyarwady Delta the following week. In another week it will have covered the central regions, including Mandalay, and by early to mid-June the entire country is under the sway of the rainy season.

Rain clouds roll in over Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon

The earliest rains are usually brief and have little effect on the scorching temperatures, but day by day the strength of the monsoon intensifies. Increasing cloud cover reduces the power of the sun, and the intermittent precipitation is accompanied by cooling and refreshing winds blowing from the southwest.

As the month of May progresses, the rain ramps up and the daily high temperatures in Yangon trend downward toward more tolerable levels. In her book Flowers and Festivals Round the Myanmar Year, well-known author Khin Myo Chit (1915-1999) writes that this is a time of “lyrical dreams inspired by showers that fall like multicolored bead strings through the sun beams and fragrant vapors rising out of the sun-scorched earth, as gentle drops fall like mercy from heaven.”

Traveling through the mud at Inwa near Mandalay

These “lyrical dreams” don’t last long. The full moon of the lunar month of Nayon occurs in June, and by this time monsoon is in full swing. “Now everything is wet … just WET through and through. Dark skies, torrential rains and storms,” writes Khin Myo Chit. She describes how the booming of thunder evokes legends about Thagyamin, the king of the celestials, rallying his troops for war by playing a drum made from the shell of a giant crab, and using the crab’s claws as drumsticks. The flashing of the weapons during the battle is perceived by normal, earth-bound humans as lightning that fills the sky.

Pond with lotus flowers near Twante

One month after Nayon comes the full moon of the lunar month of Waso, and this marks the beginning of the three-month Vassa period, also known as Buddhist Lent or the Rains Retreat. During this time, monks are not allowed to travel overnight from their monasteries, and therefore they dedicate these months to intensive meditation and study of scripture. Many laypeople also adhere more closely to the Buddhist precepts by giving up meat or alcohol. Weddings are not allowed during this period, and music concerts and other public performances are frowned upon. As Khin Myo Chit writes: “It is a time for sobriety, self-denial and religious contemplation.”

Rainy day at Setse Beach, Mon State

Speaking of religious contemplation: While it might not seem immediately obvious, monsoon is a very pleasant time to visit pagodas in Myanmar. The air is fresh and breezy, and the stone tiles of the pagoda compound – which can be scorching hot at other times of the year – feel cool and invigorating on the feet. Walking barefoot on a rainy day can even invoke those carefree days of youth when it was okay to run out into the rain and splash around in the puddles. The crowds of pilgrims are also thinner during monsoon, lending a peaceful, contemplative air to the sacred surroundings. Often, the only sounds are the soft patter of precipitation and the gentle chiming of small temple bells in the wind.

A rain shower sweep toward Taungkalat at the bast of Mount Popa

It’s especially nice to visit rural pagodas set on high ground, or those designed with upper walkways that offer views of the surrounding landscape, which at this time of year will be practically glowing with flowers and bright green plant-life. This is a great time to visit the ancient city of Bagan in central Myanmar, where the emerald vibrancy of the monsoon vegetation harmonises with the huge number of red-brick pagodas that dot the plains. Shwesandaw and many smaller pagodas in Bagan have stairways that can be climbed to reach upper terraces from which amazing vistas can be seen.

Moss-covered Buddha image at mid-monsoon, Pyay

In fact, one of the keys to enjoying monsoon is to get out of the city as much as possible. In urban areas like Yangon, heavy rain brings all sorts of problems. Streets flood with water that is slick with oil and clogged with trash and other debris. Traffic jams get worse, and taxi fares skyrocket as demand increases. Most people think only of dashing from one shelter to the next, and of keeping their hairdos as dry as possible while doing so.

Out in the countryside the scene is very different. In the Ayeyarwady Delta, for example, waterlogged, wind-rippled paddy fields stretch to the horizon, and farmers, seemingly oblivious to the weather, can be observed planting the rice that will be harvested during the coming dry season. In places like Kyaing Tong and Kyaukme in Shan State, the hills are carved into utilitarian yet scenic terraces to maximize the land area on which crops can be grown. During monsoon, these terraces exhibit an amazing green hue as rice sprouts in abundance across the mountainsides.

Winding road in Shan State

The great beauty of the monsoon landscape has even prompted some guides in Kyaing Tong to insist that the rainy season is the best time for trekking in eastern Shan State. This might seem counterintuitive: There is just no way to avoid getting damp if you spend a day walking through the forest, even if you carry an umbrella. But once you’re wet, you won’t even notice the precipitation. Indeed, it can be quite enjoyable to be out in nature, feeling the warm drops on your skin, listening to rain drumming on the leaves, and gazing at sublime, panoramic visions of mist-shrouded mountains.

Monsoon starts loosening its grip during the lunar month of Tawthalin (September). The rain still falls, but sunshine increasingly finds its way through the cloud-cover. The rivers are brimming with water, and in some places the Ayeyarwady appears more like a lake than a flowing waterway. Inle Lake in Shan State is now at its highest level, and Tawthalin is the time for the lake’s famous Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival. The three-week event features boat races with teams from different villages around the lake, who propel their vessels across the water using the strange leg-rowing technique used by local fishermen.

One of the hazards of back-road travel during rainy season: A bullock cart rescues a pickup truck from a mud pit near Shwebo

The gradual change in weather during this time marks the buildup to Thadingyut (October), a magical festival of lights during which Buddhists set out candles to help guide the Buddha back to earth from the celestial realm, where he has spent the three-month Rains Retreat. The arrival of Thadingyut marks the end of Buddhist Lent, and with the skies now clear, it is the season of pagoda festivals, music concerts and weddings, with cool winter weather just around the corner. With a few rare and fleeting exceptions, the rain won’t be seen again for at least six months.

Some of Myanmar’s best sunsets occur during monsoon season

Trekking to the mountaintop in Kyaing Tong

Ethnic Lahu-shi girls in Kong Pat village, eastern Shan State, Myanmar

Treks in eastern Shan State’s Kyaing Tong region come in many shapes and sizes, from easy, 20-minute jaunts on flat terrain, to all-day journeys up the sides of mountains and back down again. It was the latter sort that Pauksi and I embarked upon during a trip to Kyaing Tong in mid-May. With foreigners still not permitted to take overnight treks in eastern Shan State, we asked our guide which day-hike he considered the most adventurous. Without missing a beat he answered, “Kong Pat village.”

Kong Pat, at more than 1500 meters above sea level, is home to the Lahu-shi ethnic group, who rarely leave their mountaintop village, and who are only occasionally visited by outsiders due to the 12-kilometer uphill walk required to get there.

Locals resting along the trail

It was the middle of the hot, dry season, and our guide, Francis (a local of Akha/Lahu descent who was raised Catholic), recommended an early departure so we could get the uphill walking finished before midday. He picked us up in his car at Princess Hotel before 7:30am, and our first stop before heading out of town was the Central Market to stock up on snacks, drinking water, and small, useful gifts for the villagers, such as soap, shampoo, and candles.

The drive to the start of the trek took less than an hour on a dirt road that wound through a landscape of bamboo groves and rice terraces carved into steep hillsides. Most of the fields were brown at the time of our trek, but Francis said that during monsoon season they would quickly turn emerald green. However, the same rain that brought abundant plant growth to the region also caused flooding that sometimes made it difficult to access the trekking areas.

Shady walking at the base of the mountain

We parked the car in a grove of shade-giving trees and started walking by 8:30am. The mid-May heat was already building, but we were able to enjoy vistas of rice fields with haze-enshrouded mountains as the backdrop. The shady trail started out flat, meandering along the edge of the wide-open fields. There were creeks flowing with water even in the midst of the driest time of the year, and we saw local kids on school holiday resting beneath a huge tree as they watched the water buffalo graze. The younger children shouted and played tag in the dry rice terraces.

Kids relaxing in the shade

It wasn’t long before the trail started to climb. We ran into a group of kids walking in the same direction as us, some of whom were sporting bleach-blonde hair (“Cheap Chinese hair products,” Francis explained). They escorted us to the ethnic Lahu-na village where they lived, and where most of the residents were Catholic and Baptist. In addition to the hair-bleaching trend, most of the residents have stopped wearing traditional clothing in favor of Western styles. All of the village dogs came out of hiding to bark at us, and we quickly walked through and out the other side, leaving the baying hounds in our wake.

Little kid, big knife

The climb steepened significantly as we walked through the second-growth, mixed deciduous forest above the village. There was no one else on the path, and the only sounds were the songs of birds in the trees and the rustle of bamboo in the mountain breeze. We felt as if we were far out in the wilderness, a sensation that increased further when Francis pointed out a baby cobra hiding in the weeds along the side of the trail. Despite its small size, we gave it a wide berth and continued onward and upward.

Kids along the trail

After about two hours of walking, we reached 1000 meters above sea level, and tall pines starting appearing among the forest’s deciduous trees. The temperature also dropped a bit and the wind picked up, providing some relief from the heat. The trail was cut into the side of the mountain, and as we walked we enjoyed incredible views of the valleys and distant mountains off to the right.

Ascending into pine tree territory

We soon rounded a corner and caught our first sight of Kong Pat, a village of about 100 people living in 22 bamboo houses with thatched roofs perched on the edge of the mountain’s peak. No wires were visible because the village did not have electricity or telephone service. We could see a Buddhist flag with faded, multicolored stripes flapping in the wind, a nod to Myanmar’s dominant religion in a village that was, according to Francis, “90 percent animist”.

First glimpse of Kong Pat village

We spent another 30 minutes or so climbing up to the village, passing a group of open-sided shelters intended as rest-houses for spirits, as well as pond around which small flags had been planted as offerings to the village’s otherworldly guardians. We were greeted at the edge of town by a handful of ferociously barking dogs, which ran for cover when I raised my camera to photograph them. I got the same reaction from the kids, who were extremely camera-shy. Unlike some other villages we had visited in the Kyaing Tong area, no one rushed out to sell us handicrafts.

Spirit rest-houses outside Kong Pat village

The Lahu-shi still wear their traditional costumes on a daily basis: simple white shirts or blouses, and eye-catching, turquoise-blue longyis or Shan-style trousers. Many wear simple but attractive necklaces, worn tightly around the neck, made of beads or woven grass.

Lahu-shi kids

Francis led us to a house where the village chief and shaman were sitting and talking. We removed our shoes, climbed a short ladder up to the veranda, and entered the dark house. We were followed by a group of children who, despite their curiosity, continued to avert or cover their faces to avoid being photographed. But a few started growing accustomed to the camera, and with Francis asking permission on our behalf, we were able to take a few pictures.

Lahu-shi kids

The shaman, who was sitting on the floor and holding a jovial child in his lap, was wearing a Smurf-like white cloth cap twisted into a point at the top. He exhibited some strange mannerisms, such as staring into the distance rather than looking people directly in the face while taking to them. Occasionally, he placed his hand against the right side of his face and mumbled a few words as if to himself. Pauksi thought he might have had a toothache, but it looked to me as if he were speaking to the spirits on an invisible mobile phone.

Lahu-shi shaman

Francis explained a few things about the Lahu-shi, including the tradition of newly married couples living with the bride’s family for 10 years (this is opposite to other villages in the region, where couples live with the groom’s family). Also, the Lahu-shi are entirely self-sufficient, subsisting on terrace-grown and wild rice, as well as wild game. In fact, the second house we visited was equipped with three front-loading muskets that the villagers used for hunting, and our hostess offered us the barbecued meat of a wild pig that had been killed the previous day.

Lahu-shi kids in the shaman’s house

I had asked earlier whether the villagers played any special traditional musical instruments, and as we ate lunch, the chief reappeared carrying a small woodwind instrument called a nawkou. It consisted of a gourd with a mouthpiece to blow into, plus five bamboo pipes affixed to the top. There was a finger-hole drilled into each of the pipes, and five more holes in the bottom of the gourd. The chief stood in the center of the room, surrounded by children, and demonstrated how to play. The sound was eerie and repetitive, but, with air passing through five bamboo pipes at once, it was far more complex than it first seemed. I felt privileged to witness the performance: It was the sort of unique music that might be in danger of disappearing from the face of the planet if younger generations don’t show interest in learning how to play the instrument.

The village chief playing the nawkou

Just as the mini-concert ended, a brief but intense rain shower blew across the mountaintop and drenched the village in the first significant precipitation of the impeding monsoon season. The kids dashed outside and ran circles around the house, shouting happily as the big drops plummeted from the sky. The clouds soon passed, leaving behind sunny skies, a pleasant breeze, and significantly cooler temperatures – perfect conditions for the two-hour walk back down the mountain to the car.

Pauksi standing near the spirit shrine at the highest point in Kong Pat village

Before returning to Kyaing Tong, we drove to the ethnic Palaung village of Wan Pauk in the flatlands at the base of the mountain. The town was fairly well-developed, and there were even some cars and two-story concrete houses in town. Most of the residents wore contemporary clothing, but a few of the women still sported attractive traditional Palaung dress, characterized by colorfully striped skirts, black tunics, and metal or bamboo hoops worn around the waist.

Pauksi and our guide Francis walking back down the mountain

We visited the house of an elderly Palaung woman who was sitting on her balcony and using a simple back-strap loom to weave traditional clothing. The woman’s sister appeared from inside the house to show us some textiles and metal bracelets she was selling. Among the goods, I was most interested in the black conical hats with sequins and bright tassels, which looked like something I might consider wearing if I were planning to ride a unicycle on a tightrope over a pool of swimming Sunderbans tigers.

Ethnic Palaung woman weaving with a back-strap loom

As we watched the elderly woman weave, we could hear preparations for a three-day wedding emanating from a nearby house. The first song they used to test the amplified sound system was South Korean singer Psy’s “Gangnam Style”, and as I sat in the middle of the Palaung village, the K-pop tune’s shockingly banal, robotic vapidity was enough to make me cringe. Despite the distance, I felt the distinct urge to walk back to the top of the mountain and sit among the villagers of Kong Pat, enjoying the infinitely more fascinating, distinctive, and organic sound of the traditional nawkou played by the Lahu-shi chief.

Ringing in Shan New Year 2107

Women arrive for the opening ceremony of the 2012 Shan New Year Festival on a misty morning in Kyaing Tong, eastern Shan State, Myanmar.

December mornings in Yangon can be pleasantly cool, and it’s not uncommon to see people wearing light jackets and even hats at that time of year. If you travel to Kyaing Tong in eastern Shan State during wintertime, the nighttime temperatures can get even colder, requiring bulky coats and even gloves, especially when traveling by motorcycle.

This was the case on the opening day of the Shan New Year Festival, which my wife Pauksi and I attended in Kyaing Tong from December 12 to 14, 2012. The event was the largest of its kind held for decades, and organizers sent out a call for Shan people throughout Myanmar and beyond – Thailand, China, the European Union, the United States and elsewhere – to come home and celebrate the arrival of Shan Year 2107.

With Kyaing Tong sitting at an elevation of 2700 feet above sea level, December 12 dawned cold and foggy. The opening ceremony for the New Year Festival was held a few miles west of town at a fairground along the Kyaing Tong-Taunggyi Road, adjacent to Kyaing Tong Degree College, and by 8am various groups of Shan people had started arriving in processions.

Shan dancer

Some of the arrivals were playing traditional long drums and cymbals, while others were waving flags and singing. The Shan are the second-biggest ethnic group in Myanmar, with numbers throughout the country estimated to range from 4-6 million. Many of the more than 30 Shan groups and subgroups were represented at the festival, including the Tai Khun, Tai Li, Tai Loi, Pa-O, Lahu, Akha, Wa and Enn. Other arriving groups were made up of members of organizations dedicated to promoting Shan culture and literature.

Each group was distinguished by the traditional costumes its members wore, from the purple and pink silk blouses and high, glittering headdresses of the Khamti Shan, to the heavy black tunics worn by the Enn. The latter appeared fresh off the farm, the men wearing rubber galoshes, the women in soil-stained sandals and sporting wildflowers in their pierced ears. They moved in a close group like a mysterious cloud that demanded attention, but smiling with betel-blackened teeth whenever a camera was pointed in their direction.

Ethnic Enn

After everyone had gathered on the field, the official opening occurred at the auspicious time of 9:09am, followed by short welcome speeches by organizers and Shan officials. Thus began the buildup to the arrival of the Year of the Small Snake, corresponding to the Year of the Snake in the Chinese zodiac. (The Shan Year of the Big Snake, or Naga, corresponds to the Chinese Year of the Dragon.)

With the festival officially underway, Pauksi and I set out to explore the fairgrounds. Across the road was the food area, where dozens of vendors had set up temporary restaurants in a vast, recently harvested paddy field. There were tents and pavilions with tables and chairs where festivalgoers could buy Shan noodles, sticky rice, barbecued meat and vegetables, and beverages ranging from soft drinks and energy drinks, to cans of Thai and Chinese beer.

The temperature rose as the day advanced, so we found a shady spot where a friendly woman from Taunngyi was making food. We ordered Shan noodles with super-fresh vegetables worthy of the fertile field in which the food area was located. The noodles were so enjoyable that we indulged in two bowls each.

Shan noodles with fresh bean sprouts and other veggies

Back on the other side of the road, we walked around the shopping area while Shan music, both traditional and contemporary, floated over the fairground. For sale were traditional Shan costumes, modern clothes from Thailand, toys, jewelry and Shan bags. There were lottery booths, games, and demonstrations of basket weaving, candle making and pottery making. Some ethnic groups, such as the Khamti Shan, had set up pavilions showcasing their traditional costumes and customs.

Pauksi posing with Shan festivalgoers

The Shan locals were extremely friendly and keen to engage with visitors from afar. In the first hour of the festival alone, I was approached by a number of smiling people, including a teenager from Kyaing Tong who was attending distant Mandalay University but had returned home to join the celebration, and an elderly man from a village near the Chinese border who sang the praises of Shan food (he was preaching to the converted) and spoke openly about the longstanding armed conflicts between the Shan people and Myanmar’s central government.

“We know all about guns and war,” he said with a laugh as he made shooting gestures with his hands. A number of the people we met had served in the Shan State Army and had spent months or years living in the jungle fighting the Myanmar army. Despite the county’s recent steps toward democracy, most of the Shan people I spoke with retained a low opinion of the government. Many of them had walked out of the fairground during the morning’s opening ceremony when a representative of the Myanmar army had taken the stage to say a few words.

Among the more eccentric people we ran into was a fellow who told us he was from Mindat in Chin State and who was riding his motorcycle around the country. He was decked out in a homemade vest and belt decorated with deer antlers, animal bones, oddly shaped stones, petrified wood, carvings, and one or two powerful slingshots made from bamboo. He had a small stone cup hanging from his belt, and told us that if we drank water from the vessel, we would gain the strength to beat anyone in a fight. As if to prove his martial prowess, he demonstrated some kung-fu moves by punching and kicking the air, and then broke into a unique jig that easily put passé K-pop Gangnam-style to shame. He let me try his vest on for size, which, although extremely heavy, was surprisingly comfortable.

Mindat Man and his homemade Vest of Many Strange Items

Leaving the Mindat man to his own strange devices, Pauksi and I set out on a quest for more food. We found a place along the highway under a big, shady tree where we drank coffee and ate some barbecue. The shop was run by a friendly family who owned the house in front of which the small restaurant was situated. They told us how they were adding another building to their property so they could run a boarding house for students at nearby Kyaing Tong Degree College. We continued wandering and sampling food here and there. At one place we ate chicken salad, and at another we indulged in sticky rice, steamed spicy fish, barbecued chicken and sour pork.

By now the sun was descending toward the horizon, the distant mountains were taking on a golden glow in the late afternoon light, and the daytime warmth was giving way to a slight chill.

Shan dancers preparing for their evening performance

At this point the volume of the recorded music from the main stage was turned up a notch. We came across a group of female dancers putting on makeup in preparation for their evening performance, and electric lights started coming on at the vending booths. More and more young Shan started arriving at the fairgrounds, dressed in their hippest clothes: For boys, the favored outfit of the season seemed to be black jeans and Converse All-Stars, while many of the girls sported short skirts and leather jackets.

The traditional Shan dance performances kicked off at 6:30pm, starting with the fan-tail kinnara and kinnari dance, accompanied by live drum and gong music. There were several other stages set up around the fairgrounds, each offering its own special category of performance. One venue featured bands playing Shan pop tunes, a mellow sort of music that might be described in the US as “adult contemporary”. There was another stage set up for all-night performances of tales from the life of the Buddha. Long before the curtain was raised, a huge crowd had gathered in front of the stage, each family staking its territory with bamboo mats and metal tiffin boxes full of the food that would get them through the night while they watched.   

Fan-tail kinnara and kinnari dance

But my favorite stage was the modest bamboo pavilion with the crackling PA system where local, mostly elderly, musicians played ethnic folk songs from the villages around Kyaing Tong. This was a unique style of music that can only be heard by traveling to eastern Shan State, and as I listened I sincerely hoped it had been recorded and passed down to younger generations, lest it disappear from the earth forever. Pauksi and I sat at a temporary restaurant near the bamboo stage, enjoying the folk music while eating even more barbecue and sipping cans of Thai beer. 

The second day of the New Year Festival featured a Shan culture and literature seminar, held at the Kyaing Tong City Hall. Nearly 20 short presentations were given by experts on a variety of topics, including the religious and cultural heritage of the Shan-related Ahom people in India, by Dr Sikhamori Gohain Borouah from Karmashree Hiteswar Saikia College in Assam, India; an anthropological study of Dr Josiah Nelson Cushing’s Shan-English dictionary, by Prof Takatani Michio from Hiroshima University in Japan; the history and culture of the Tai Leng, by Sai Kyaw Oo of the Tai Leng Literature and Cultural Association in Myitkyina; and the traditional methods used by the Khamti Shan for capturing wild elephants, by Yangon-based lawyer Sao Noi Than Sein.

Akha women

The last day of the festival was, of course, the most crowded and festive. Knowing we would be heading back to Yangon the following day, Pauksi and I once again indulged in as much delectable Shan food as we could fit into our stomachs, and we bought Shan souvenirs for ourselves and our friends back home. We also enjoyed another evening of stage performances, before the festival culminated with fireworks and the midnight release of a fleet of dazzling fire balloons, which rose into the darkness until they were mere points of light drifting across the Shan sky like animated constellations.

With the release of the balloons, the huge crowd – everyone bundled in their coats and hats against the chill of the Kyaing Tong night – let out a loud cheer: 2107, the Shan Year of the Small Snake, had arrived.

White teeth, black teeth