“And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet
and the winds long to play with your hair.”
-Kahlil Gibran
So the plan was to plant ourselves in the sand beneath the shade of a palm tree for three days and do nothing more than float in the ocean if the spirit so moved us. The two-week group portion of this Myanmar journey was complete, but I was staying an extra five days with two friends (hi Juan and Maureen!), and the white sand beaches along the Bay of Bengal were calling our names. Specifically, we chose Chuang Tha Beach because it was as far off the grid as we were going to be able to get. It isn't much of a foreign tourist destination, and let's just say you REALLY have to want to get there (6+ hours in a hired car from Yangon, with two of those hours being along what would only be called a 4x4 road back home). We even chose to stay in a $10-a-night guesthouse (electricity only at night, no hot water - but trust me - it was fabulous and just what we wanted!) as opposed to another hotel (granted, a couple of the five-star hotels we had stayed in up until that point truly were spectacular). This portion of the journey was all about chilling out, having no agendas, connecting with people on a very local level, and soaking up some sun. Our experiences thus far had been remarkable - heading to the beach was to be our relaxing capper to what had already been the trip of a lifetime.
And then we met this guy, Ko Htun Ngwe:
Plan abolished.
Maureen met Htun Ngwe during a solo stroll she took during our first afternoon on the beach. The two struck up a conversation, and it wasn't long before Htun Ngwe was offering to show her and her pals around his corner of the world. No strings attached - it wasn't about hustling Maureen for money - he just sincerely wanted to share his domain with new friends. He was astounded at Maureen's openness and eagerness to take him up on the offer - apparently many foreigners are suspicious of his gestures and decline more than not. So, with a promise of a meet-up the next day, Maureen made her way back to us and just like that, we had a new plan. Little did we know then that our next two days with Htun Ngwe would prove to be the most magical time of our entire Myanmar adventure.
Interestingly enough, the loosely planned meeting for the next morning didn't really happen. We made our way to the jetty at the south end of the beach - Htun Ngwe's hangout - and he wasn't there. Maureen showed his calling card around, and no one seemed to know of his whereabouts. With or without Htun Ngwe however, we knew we wanted to go to the island that was within swimming distance from shore. There was a village there of about 200 people, a monastery and temple, and you could walk the entire perimeter of the island at a leisurely pace. So we hired a flat-bottomed boat to ferry us the short distance, kicked off our shoes on the island's beach, and commenced exploring. About halfway around the island, we sprawled out in the sands and settled into a seaside lull. But wouldn't you know it? Suddenly, Htun Ngwe appeared through jungle - he had come to find us after learning from his buddies at the jetty that we had been inquiring about him.
We learned then that his family owned the majority stake in the island, which he told us is called Pokelav Island. He told the story of how 300 years ago, his great, great grandfather had basically been shipwrecked there and learned to live off the land. He eventually went to the mainland, found a bride to bring back, and the resulting generations of family have never left. Htun Ngwe specifically inherited a stunning corner of the island, where a lone Banyon tree grows atop a cliff (pictured below). He marched us up there to show off the view, and assured us that he has no plans to sell the land despite many offers from developers to build a luxury hotel on that spot.
The next stop on our island tour was to visit the home of his 92 and 93 year-old grandparents. Easily the matriarch and patriarch of the island, his grandparents welcomed us to their immaculate thatch compound, surrounded by lush rice paddies and coconut palms. (Pictures inside their home are shown below.) Htun Ngwe's grandfather fastened two long bamboo poles together and harvested coconuts for us, which Htun Ngwe macheteed open and served to us fresh from the tree. (I thought I'd had fresh coconut before... I hadn't. The coconuts had the most amazing, soft-fleshed fruit that you could scoop out of the shell with a spoon.)
We learned more about Htun Ngwe as the day went along. He was born and grew up in Chuang Tha Beach, and knows everyone there within at least a 100-mile radius (as we would continue to find out). However, he married a woman from the Myanmar Delta region south of Yangon and was living there with his wife and son when the entire area was destroyed by Cyclone Nargis in 2008. He lost everything, including many friends and family members. He and his family came back to his childhood home to rebuild. He saved enough to eventually buy a motorbike, and worked hard at learning English by speaking to tourists, so he can now supplement his wages as a satellite tv technician (which can only be done for about four hours in the evenings when electricity is available) by acting as a guide to tourists like us. He's industrious, smart, and hell-bent on making a nice life for his family - without selling out his most precious asset, the island property, despite the wealth it would bring him.
At any rate, the visit to his grandparent's home was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the special places that Htun Ngwe would eventually take us.
After the island excursion, he loaded us all up on motorbikes and drove us north on the white sand beaches to a pristine snorkeling location. Maureen and I snorkeled for hours in the warm water, astounded at the stunning array of tropical fish darting in and out of the coral reefs (we were also a curiosity to the locals - only men snorkel in Myanamar). En route back to our guesthouse, we stopped at the Gyi Gi village one-room monastery, where his cousin is the resident monk in charge. Six novitiates had just arrived at the monastery the day before - all of them cousins - and their mothers had come from the village to visit and feed them. The entire troupe crowded into the open-sided building, and sat patiently and curiously as the head monk served us tea. Before we knew it, the day was over. It had been a full one - but we were ready to spend more time with Htun Ngwe. Lucky for us, he agreed to spend the entire next day with us and take us on an adventure of his own design. Morning couldn't come quick enough!
When it did though, we piled on the back of motorbikes once again, and set off for a ride through the jungle, the inland route to Ngwe Saung Beach. The 50+-mile ride proved that a motorbike was the most elegant way to travel those small, rutted jungle roads (the same that we had to traverse by car to arrive at the beach), but it still took us all morning to arrive at our destination. En route, however, we stopped at an elephant camp and a mobile school, much to our delight. We had the chance to spend an hour lolling on Ngwe Saung Beach - another beautiful white sand beach to rival any in the world - and then we were off again, ready to return to Chuang Tha via the coastline. We rode the motorbikes on the beach the entire way back, with many, many stops along the way (a fishing village, a monastery, more invitations to tea that couldn't respectfully be refused...) - we were completely in Htung Ngwe's hands, and were thrilled to see whatever he wanted to show us. One of the most interesting aspects of traveling via the beach was that we had to ford three or four rivers. The drivers would load the bikes onto the small boats - the only way to get them across. It was in itself a sight to behold.
At any rate, my words and pictures will never do justice to the time we spent in Htun Ngwe's care. What I do know, is that if and when I ever go back to Myanmar, I'm heading straight for Chuang Tha Beach to do it all again and then some. I feel as though I made a new friend, and it is my sincere hope that our paths will cross again. Thank you Ko Htun Ngwe - I will never forget you.
