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Bangladesh
Wednesday the 26-03-08
Land of the Bengali, where 83 % of the population are Muslim, where
56 % of all Banglas know to read and write
and even less of the
female population. When in 1947 Pakistan was separated from India,
the today Bangladesh known as East
Pakistan. In 1971
due to economic neglect and frustrated by West Pakistan, they
declared Independence and succeeded with
India's and the Soviet
Unions help.
Who will be on the helm of this new country was always a matter of
arguments, fights and military coups.
Sometime emergency laws
rule the nation as since 11 January 2007,to disappear hopefully
after the election, promised for December
this year. The flat and fertile
land, the dominant Ganges Brahmaputra delta although flooding
sometimes, is the rice bowl of the nation.
And we predict Oil and gas
there, as discovered in all deltas throughout the world. Egypt,
Nigeria, Angola, Amazonas, Baram, and so
forth. It is only natural that
debris of a million years settle where ancient rivers flowed.
Maybe one day soon the Bengali will take a solar shower in it is
own house, ride a car and just be rich
compared to others around.
There are 140 million of them which would welcome a financial
injection. Bangladesh is the 8th most
populous country on earth. The
Bengalis are hoping for better times.
Bengal (Bangladesh) has a 4000 years history. Everywhere we drove
through, kingdoms rose and were gone again.
The
Hindu, then with Sufi missionaries came Islam, Sultans ruled.
Then, for 200 year until
1947,the mighty British empire stretched from stony Baluchistan until today Myanmar.
From Kashmir down south to the tip of the
Indian subcontinent.
The British East Indian Company was master of all, authorized
by the crown to be the sole trader and tax
collector, suppressor and
exploiter as long as they make profit. Business with greed; - and
guns if needed, as the population resisted
several times in
uprisings and wars.
But times of British Glory are gone, the world moves on and
Bangladesh came into existence.
The border post
lorries blocked the road completely
"Where you come from?" a civilian with dark sunglasses asked us on
the border. "From there" Harun pointed
behind him to the Indian
side. "Where you go?" his voice had a commanding undertone. "To
there" Harun show him the road ahead. "But
sorry, who are you?"
Although we knew he was from state security, as all these fellows
wear sunglasses. Be it in Bushman's Africa,
in Arabic Nations or
here.
We wonder how he show a promotion? Maybe then he wear two
sunglasses at a time. "This European did not
get scared". he was
now irritated. Harun laid his arm around the man's shoulder and
said " My brother. come I show you from
where we came" and directed
him to a map on JAMBO. "Your Bangladesh is country number thirty".
A few more friendly words from our side, a
bit of listening to
him and his authority was no more "You see and he gestured to
bystanders, we are very poor". When we left
the border he waved.
All border control offices are in village huts. The Indian
officers had a passport control machine to
detect fakes. Every Bangla
entering was asked: "Where are you born? When?" . To compare his
statement with the passport he was holding.
"Many fakes come
to your table?" asked Harun. The officer nodded.
The
road south build on a dam leads through countryside's, rice
fields upon rice fields. Women break boulders by hand to widen
the road, gravel is scares here. A farmer irrigates his field with a
genius feet pump. He pushes alternate the
bamboo down and pumps
water from the well up.
for very little money they break and sieve
stones
the one man powered irrigation pump
Passing through a village we were held up by a group of young men
surrounding what it seemed to be three
status which they pushed
along the village track. Coming closer we noticed these were young
boys with dirt and red color on their body.
Motionless they
represented their heroes of the Independence war. Serious they
looked indeed..
the three Bangla heroes heavily wounded, but
victorious
double function of the road separating grain
with tires
the health conscious
and the tiered rischka driver
The
Taxi of villages or towns is the Rischka
bicycle. Up to 5 people sit on one, pedaled
often by a man worn out from miles and
hard life.
And there is one more thing we realized. Poor people smile from the
heart. You noticed it dear reader? Money
brings greed and
perverts the soul. The poor man has nothing to take from him. In
general, (with exemptions) the moneyman is worried to loose
what he
gathered.
That someone try to take from his wealth, people are only friendly because of his money. He feels like a
victim. That closes his heart.
Unable to smile from it, he becomes often arrogant too, especially when coupled with a low IQ,
You do not find this attitude among a poor men, He could also waste,
a cup of rice for instance. But he
appreciate the value, no matter
how small.
the bicycle transporter with a corrugated
roof
and six pretty Bangladesh girls, riding a
taxi for a token.
Then on it was a long and slowly
drive. The road is build on dams, on both
sides swampy rice fields in deep green, in
short intervals
villages. We do not know their names, just driving through on our
way to Dhaka. Wherever we stopped, people
gathered to look.
here we refill from our jerry cans
in the hut I try to phone our High
Commission, 50 people came to look
It
was national independence day and holiday,
our High Commission was closed which we only
learned the next day. We tried several
times but only reached a machine telling me to "dial 04" but
no one picked up.
Reaching Dhaka at night we went to our High Commission and soon
later a Bangla employee came to direct us to
a hotel in the
vicinity. It was US$ 50.-/night.
Thursday 27-3-08
The morning belonged to JAMBO and a service. Changing of oils and
greasing, a seal had to be replaced. By 3:00
pm was the photo
session and afterwards we drove with a vehicle from the High
Commission a few km around. The day was gone
in no time.
At his point we deeply apologize to His Excellency Dato Hj Abd
Rahman and the staff, for our intrusion. We
had not planned to come
to Bangladesh otherwise we would have informed you well in advance.
It was a sort of surprise for them to see
us. Moreover they never
heard of our year long travel in distant lands to make Brunei known
to the world and invite Tourists to come.
Therefore we appreciate
they found time for a short meeting and a photos session for Rampai Pagi. We sincerely hope we did not
disturb their important work
too much.
Our Brunei High Commission His Excellency
Dato Hj Abd Rahman,
and all who represent Brunei Darussalam
Mr Hj Razak Hussaini and Mr Ahmad Nokman.
In
Dhaka we shot these pictures within the
vicinity of the Embassies belt. Water is
ever-present.
Water taxi in Gulishan Lake
What a good childhood they have, playing and
swimming and knowing nothing else. When they
grew up, will they live in shanty huts or
concrete buildings? Educated, with a profession like a mechanic or
as a barefoot helper
in a restaurant?
"The answer my friend is blown with the wind..." goes a song. The
future winds will tell. Lets hope these will
not become poor mans
cyclone one day, sweeping over the land.
Dakha high risers
and water villages on stilts
At
a roadside restaurant we met these two
ladies. Shanta and Noreth. See the smile
form the heart open and free? Poor they are
yes,
but honest personalities. It is always great for me to meet such
people.
two
opposite opinions
Dhaka traffic, note the damaged buses
he sell cloth by the kilo
transporting through traffic a half ton iron
is no easy task
the
ever-present rischka
Siddiki Jame
Mosque, North Badda
Friday 28-3-08
From the breakfast room in our hotel I could
see the 8 room villa opposite, rented by
our government for one of the officers.
We remembered Oman, and Hjh Ida Fauzana the second secretary, her
and heir husbands kindness. We stay in her
house for several
days. I remember the "Brunei Petroleum Development Oman Boy's", the
dinner we had twice with them, all bright
Bruneians full of
spirit and enthusiasm, I remember the Great Hj Harun, Consul
General and surely a rising star, his deep
love for our Nation, reflected in
our RTB 24 hours Sat TV permanent on the screen.
Biting here in my toast, while thinking of the best Soto of
my life in Jeddah, the best of Saudi
Arabia or even Middle east! And the
Umrah we could perform thanks to Hj Harun.
In the UAE, we were driven for hours around and taken care off,
again saving our own funds by sleeping
in the house of the
First Secretary Hjh Noraini . "What else can we do to help in
your task?" They asked. Devoted Bruenian!
In Tehran, we were invited to the "National Day" celebrations,
by his Excellency Pengiran Haji Sahari, we the simple
people, Harun in
his African outfit.
We
remember our High Commission in India the great help we received, the kindness again, but also
the pollution they have to endure
daily.
Never open a window! What a hard live it is for them.
And no commercial activity out of Brunei! I wonder there are over
a 1000 million Indians and we never have
seen a Malays' delegation
to make some business contacts. When we are back I will ask the
Malay chamber about that. There should be
business opportunities
for sure.
And last not least the High Commission in Islamabad. Believe me
dear reader, when you leave a place with
tears in your eyes as we
did, part of your heart remains behind. Their devotion to our
beloved Brunei which we share, the
appreciation of our efforts, the smiles
and financial helps, was more than our travel-troubled heart could
take. His Excellency Pehin Datu Panglima
Col(rtd) Hj Abd Jalil,
Dayang Norahsikin, Ak Suphian you make us humble. All these are great
people, not by training but by character.
The true
Ambassadors of our small, but great Nation, of which our Ministry should take
note.
These are all young people, devoted and in love with their work and
ready to give for the sake of our beloved
home, Brunei Darussalam.
We had the honor to experience all this gratefully and
therefore love you
all.
Sitting and sipping on my tea, we discussed
the day. Not much is going to happen. We do
not like to drive around with JAMBO,
as
hungry people are impatient especially town bus drivers, one can
see that on the scrap they drive, vehicles
without windows, break
lights or trafficators. Dear reader we cannot nourish you with nice
architecture which must be surely present.
It is just too risky driving
with JAMBO in this traffic. And so we wait out the day, at least we
have shown our flag, saw with our own eyes
what life the
Bangladeshi has.
However there is good news. The hotel manager gave us another US$
5.- rebate in appreciation of our overland
journey of now approx
43.000 km. "You do a great thing" he said and smiled.
Jambo at The Asia Pacific Hotel in Dhaka
We took JAMBO for a short refueling ride into the town. People
gathered and starred at us and the vehicle.
JAMBO loaded with diesel
and stuffed with crackers and bottled water was now ready for
another sector. 100 liters diesel for
4000 rupee, the one month salary
of a worker.
I wonder what one or the other might have thought when we paid in
front of them. They are so humble and
patient. We are early
tomorrow morning out of town before the traffic rises. On our way
to southeast and the border to India, for
the third and final time.
Saturday 29-3-08
We left Dhaka
early. It was 5:00 am and the roads
were still empty. "Out of Bangladesh" we
call the series of pictures. With Wolfgang
and Eva's help we gave what we could afford.
It is
an old man bend from lifelong work who got
help
Why she give me this?
Here they line up
for rice. By 5:20 in the morning
He could not believe
I woke him up. Not even a shirt he had
She, a street sweeper
The rischka drivers home is the street, He
sleeps next to his tricycle
he is building a home
but this man had none
. 
At the Bangla Indian border
In the village, twice more kids than
chicken
By 9:00 am we crossed the border in Tripura. The road
became smaller, passing through a village. When lorries blocked
the dusty
road we stopped and
waited. "Ring ring ring ring" What is that?
It came closer. Some one was ringing a
bicycle bell. Then next
to the car a soldier
stooped, exhausted and perspiring. Out of
breath he gesticulated we must go back. "Oh " said Harun ,"Maybe we
cannot cross the
border here". Behind soil filled rice sacks
was -almost camouflaged - a army post manned
by 2 soldiers." Wait" was
the command,
they called the boss by radio.
15 minutes later came a sergeant, three
strips on the arm, to inspect what is going
on here. After satisfying we were no
threat to the
nation or smugglers, he called
his boss by mobile phone. A 20 second
he talked, no more credit. " Why they make
the charge card
that costly?" he complained and got the mobile from the soldier which
with a sour face rendered it to him. After
lengthily discussion
came green light. " pass!"
The
map indicated a main transit route through to India,
obviously wrong. What we got, was a bush border, where
birds and mosquito
move freely and everyone
else runs through a lengthily processes of
registration. We
reached the Bangla side on the outskirt of
the
village. One house made of mud bricks, 30 years ago, over painted
in white in those day back. Two window openings, one door, two
tables,
two civilians.
"Passports." Checking them lengthy they return them. "you get
to give us an exit stamp!" said Harun "No stamp here, you now go to
immigration." These were the special branch
guys again in charge for government security
and than no one take anything out of
Bangladesh, perhaps poverty.
The immigration office was at the next building, same
mud brick construction, same day of
painting. We
are always very cheerful
and do not give them a chance to have a sour face.
Handing the passport we thank them
already several times for their excellent
work, praising their country and the fine people. The
custom was simple. We had to show him where
to chop the carnet. He verified it
with his
boss who knew nothing.
Over to the Indian side "Good
afternoon thank God we are here again in
India..."
The Immigration guy was a very critical fellow, he turned page by
page of my passport, first he could
not find my particulars as the
Brunei reader know, they are at the back of our passport.
(For some unknown reason we have Arabic
letters which no Arab could
read . I was often asked "which language is that? resulting in
lengthily explanations) His eyes stuck
on the Bangla Visa.
Then he took Harun's and open the Bangla visa side.' This is only single
entry, you are here now twice"
"Correct Mr. Officer but see
here, (never say "you make a mistake") this is the India Multiple" and Harun
took the passport out of his hand. There is your visa.
Read please " INDIA MULTIPLE ENTRY"
Nothing he could do except the usual questions, where we came and
where we go. Very detailed.
Custom was easy. We brought from our fridge a cold water
bottle and the entry in the big book
was therefore "No goods to declare",.
Luck was with us, as two weeks back a Swiss couple, maybe the
same which crossed the border in Nepal,
came here along and
trained them how to fill the carnet. It was a matter of one hour we
were through, and back in India.
To Agatale a small town
it was 220 km, we found a hotel at a reasonable price.
Sunday 30-3-08
By 4:30am we were
up as by 6:00 am there was a convoy we had
to go with. The assembly point was 30 km
away. For the
Government this is an area of
disturbance. We, the tourists were
protected in front by army boys with ready
guns and at the rear by
police.
For a 90 km then all was over. In a village we met these two
fortune bringers. A boy distributed hibiscus
flowers in return came out of
our wallet the small fortune. They are to represent luck
and prosperity.
The convoy assembles
The "money drummers"
I would put her into a proper school
and him into the third chamber of a spooky
house
Nothing much
happen, the landscape is flat wherever there
is a village it is crowded and plenty rischkas.
We had chance to
photo for you some rischka painting art.
An oncoming lorry
turned towards us to avert some obstruction, came close and broke JAMBO'S mirror. Now we know first hand
why the Indian drivers fold the right side mirror.
Better not see, as to loose it. The lorry
stopped, but what can you take from a hungry
driver? Fixing our toilet mirror meanwhile,
we moved on.
temporary side mirror
houseboats
hotel room on the red sign
view from our hotel room
We slept in a village named Badapur. It was
evening we had no choice. The hotel room was a
dark hole three beds with mosquito net,
sometimes light. We were tiered and went
early to sleep. Moreover Harun had in
Dhaka a fruit platter which hit him
now that he had to
see the doctor. "No more
outside eating", we swore. The doc seem to
know what he was doing: "In India everything
is contaminated"
he said. For the visit we
paid 150 rupee that is B$ 6.- No wonder so
many Indian docs line up in Brunei for service.
They cannot get
rich here. Their
own "wellbeing" is closer as that of their people.
But he knew what he was doing, it was
a case of many. We parked JAMBO in the
police station for safekeeping and went
early to
rest. Not 30 minutes into sleep, a
bang on the door, it was the receptionist:
Harun: " What do you want" "The manager wants
to see
you. "If he want something he should
come tomorrow". Obviously he did not
understand, because 15 minutes later
he was on the door
again, hammering. This
time in loud protest and upset how come this
guest refuses the order of the manager? :
"The manager
(the president himself?) wants to see you now!"
"Tell your manager if he wants something he
must come ". Time passed then heavy banging on the door. Harun open it before they
pushed it in. It was now the manager, fat short and angry. His
helper with the registration book trying to
come in.
Harun blocked with
his body the opening. " What do you want".
Address, must put exact address. We had written
it already. But now
Norhayati added SIIMAANGG 75 ANGEREK DESA, SOUTH POLE.
He left, we had peace.
The door shut, it was 9:00 pm, light off now for a sleep and into
unknown dreams, strong
knocks on the door again. "Bloody merry
what
is now?" Harun got upset. Looking at
the watch it was 10:30 pm. Outside were
Indians four or five, one held a packet crackers in
his hand. "Excuse me sir we want to talk to
you." He stretched the friendship crackers out. "Oh no,
they want job in Brunei".
Since many hungry crowd the vehicle, someone saw "Come and visit Brunei
Darussalam" and thought yes! That is what we
do. Milk
and honey is just waiting there. This is
our chance, scrap the coins together we buy
a packet crackers and they give us work
in
Brunei. We were in no mood and could not
help anyhow ." Come tomorrow
by 9:00 am"
Monday 31-3-08
Of
course they were upset when they came and we
had left, but what to do? We shared a
breakfast with the police, in the cell
where two not so lucky thief. Leaving crackers and jam behind we
were on our way by 7:00 am into a rainy
morning, before the Indians
found us.
The road to Imphal 290 km away, was going
towards east towards Myanmar. We guess it
may take 5 hours, by 12:00 pm we are
supposed to be there but nothing of that kind. Soon there where
check points and Army. Dark skinned
soldiers from the Indian South
were on
duty here. We realized why.
The natives
here are of Tibeto Burmese stock. They are
only Indian by passport not by tribe. The
Naga people once established a
Hindu
Kingdom here around the end of the 17th
century. Fierce fighters they are hard
to master. By 1832 the Brits (here too),
tried to
control them but in vain.
A peace was finally reached in 1889. There
was trouble again when in 1930 a
self-styled prophet Mr JADONANG announced the
immediate departure of the Brits, occupying he Naga land for crown and
cash.
" What to
do with such an infamous prophet?" was
a rhetoric question only.
Hanging on a noose, he departed into the other
world, the occupiers remained.
His priestess a girl of seventeen, got
lenience, just life imprisonment by the
"masters of the land."
Breakfast at the
police station and the lowland road towards east
Slowly we climbed up into the mountains,
when the
rain subsided we had chance to see the East Indian, the very reason why there
was
heavy army presence.
Nothing in common with Indians
a mothers love
These hill tribes nesting their houses along
the slopes, grow rice in slash and burn
method.
Houses are made from bamboo which is
first burned to last.
 .
from raw material
through preservation
to the house
The road
is in a
terrible state, the least to say. we reached Imphal at 6:00 pm, that is after 11 hours
almost none stop driving.
A speed of 25 km /h. Curve upon curve stone upon stone. Soldiers
ever 500 m. On every local came three armed
men.
recording who we are, about 20 times
the road through the mountains
spectacular views from
above
and bridges of metal sheets
There was on suspension bridge we had to
sign that we are solely responsible if she
collapsed while crossing. We saw no trouble,
as
just before a bus went over.
Army boys, carefully enough they went out
of the bus for the crossing.
Army English "Horn please"
and more bridges
 
We stopped on a mountain pass ignored the
army presence and looked around. Here was
this AZUANA MEMORIAL SCHOOL.
Motto: darkness forward to Lightness. What
did he actually teach? Brain exercise
memory? How to die, go to paradise? or to
burry
someone in dignity? We were not clear.
a high ball in high mountains
an explanation of our routing
Close by some kids played volleyball I joint in for fun. They were exited and
screaming. Amazingly many spoke English
which was not
the case on our way coming. The girl studying medicine in the Imphal university was well spoken." why not
become a dentist?" Harun
asked. "You make
a lot of money, because if there is
unbearable pain, the patient will come with
ready cash for your help." Only
shortly she
thought then decided. "I study next year
Dentistry" confirming her businesslike Chinese
origin.
The Farwell after the game was one with much
friendliness, we wonder:" why is the army
here?"
Mile by
Mile first gear second gear again. No change
in the road condition. Long time came no
vehicle.
We got worried, maybe there
is a mudslide, the road is blocked. Then
finally a jeep. We stop him. How much longer
to Imphal.
"four hours still 90 km to go".
The happy moments, we have a road
repair work goes on
Breaking stones by hammer and put the sharp
edged material on the road, they can cut a
tire at ease. We were extremely careful
especially with the flanks.
here we saw the two man shovel
and houses of used drums
They made entirely from open and
flat hammered old bitumen drums. People live
in there, it is their home.
She was a happy mother, with
one more little "Indian"
and we were happy to get through. Thanks you JAMBO
High up leads the road over the land
what tree is that? anyone know?
There is a time when all troubles end. By
6:00 pm we close in on Imphal, just to meet
a marriage queen on the way to the wedding.
In front a police band played, then came the
flower procession, a decorated jeep the queen for a day,
sitting with her governess.
Motionless the face. The driver stopped for
us to take a picture of this beauty queen.
The scent of a fine
perfume drifted over to me.
Was it the "Bengal Lemongrass" or perhaps the "Secret of the
Mountains"? We cannot tell. Only, when Harun indicated,
that she
might consent to smile, she mildly
and very lightly agreed.
Here they come
what a beauty; the husband must be a lucky
man
This was his night in her arms
and in paradise, hopefully one lasting for
years.
While she open the arms for the lover, we
open humble our padlock for the managers
suite for US$ 18.-, tonight.
Also paradise, as
it had hot shower. We went to work, resting
the head at 1:00 am in the morning. It was the laundry and web page
evening.
door to our paradise
the work is one
Tuesday 1-4-08
Honorable reader, should you ever
meet someone telling you our trip is
only private fun, then please give
him our greetings with the
advise, before crown, king and court:
"He does not know what he is talking
about."
We are leaving today India for good. True we wrote critical about
the overpopulation and environment. True, we
have not seen dance
and music, not Orissa and the temples of Puri, nor Maharashtras
rock temples. Not Madhya Pradesh, their
fortified towns, stupas and
cave paintings. For this and much more we come back one day with
time and - a nose clip.
This morning we drive to the
border, three
hours away. Maybe only in Mandalay we have
chance again to write. Dear reader
who
follow us up till now, please do not worry if we are a few days
silent. JAMBO runs fine, what an excellent
machine. He is more a
companion, just like a horse and will not let us down.
Thank you for patronizing us and we know gratefully, your prayers
are with us.
The show goes on for now!
"You can stay at the border. they have hotel" said our hotel manager in Impalh, therefore we took our time, and loaded the
web page.
But what a slow speed.
The honest truth is, that a turtle, not the fastest creature on our
God given earth, could overtake a dozen
bytes moving in the telephone
line. To transfer the pictures it took four Indian
hours.
Since we had GISCOM tracker
out and the girl was curious, we said it is
a good luck charm bringing her not only a honest husband
but also a
rich one. That found her approval. "Can I
have it?" we had to decline.
The road led up into the mountains, became smaller and
potholes were as common as stones. Every few
minutes a TATA jeep paced
down overloaded with goods, veggies plastic ware mattresses and
people. There is lots of activity going
on, we concluded.
Several army check points where we entered our names. Soldiers on
every advantage point overlooking road and
land. By 5:00pm we
reached a closed
army barrier about 10 km from Moreh the
border village. The sergeant did not open it
and commanded: "Wait!" and
telephoned.
Soon, the commandant a young
and energetic Major, was almost running down from the
barracks. We explained our
purpose and
intentions, and he became relaxed, but said: "You cannot go
to Moreh, they dismantle you".
What do you mean Major?"
He started to paint a horrific picture in front of our eyes.
People have guns and rob here. Take what you
have at gunpoint. "You,
traveling that far
and as foreigner must have money." Is there
no police?" he laughs. "They want your money
too. I cannot open the
barrier for you.
Drive back to the village two km away tell the chief you want to stay there I have send you. I come later."
there we parked in the chiefs compound
kids in the morning sun and the chiefs
timber trucks
We
did what he said, the village chief was soon
found. He run out of the house asking who
send us, and since we come from the
Mayor,
he agree we park in his compound.
talking with him, we realized, he was one of
these smart
fellows who are always out for
their advantage.
Two lorries loaded with timber
parked in front of his house. Eight children
he had, two study outside the country..
He had looked after himself by illegal
logging and smuggle. His son had a car, when
the villager was happy to own one chicken.
A "rich man" obviously involved in illegal
activities.
The Major came by 8:30 pm with 15 men,
heavily armed, one carried a shoulder packed
radio. "You are OK here" he said, it is
safe.
His advise was: "Never give your passport
out of hand, avoid the police, do not stop drive through. over the bridge to the
gate."
We thought our options over: If we are
stopped by the police we try the soft
approach first: "my brother..."
If it does not work we add little
money. If not again, with threatening: "we
call our embassy, they will enquire from
boss of police, why
their nationals are held up
and threatened here" naturally he will
enquire from
your boss in Impalh which maybe is a crook
too, but
foreigners in trouble in his
division is bad news at all time. So, you
are out of this lucrative border post". That
might work, we thought,
as leaving this
cashbox would be painful news for them. They
not only extort but benefit from the
smuggled goods passing before their
eyes.
Last option, just turn around and drive
back.
This here was "Wild Indian East of the year
2008"
Wednesday
2-4-08
The sleep was light. Harun woke up as the
chief left his house around 3:00 am to Moreh.
 .
The rugged mountains around along the border
to Myanmar with perfect hide outs for
bandits.
By 6:30 am, the sun was shining, we were on
our way, tensioned and concentrated. Again
this morning the major on patrol
came to
the village to check us out. "You
are OK? Do not stop" he said and went on
with his heavily armed men.
(Only in Tamu, Myanmar we learned, that one
of his men was killed and four wounded in an
attack two weeks ago.) The driving was
tense. reaching the border village, a few
people were up at this time. Harun said " We
do not look left and right, stare straight,
if
someone wave we ignore, we always could
say we did not see him"
The houses came, driving through the market,
down a bit a bad road over a bridge and stopped at a closed barrier. "passports" a
guy
asked. "Sorry who are you?" Police.
"Gosh we run straight into the wolves den".
To shorten the tension dear reader, it
was the Myanmar side. We presented our
documents the boss came study them, they
know
nothing of us and were not advised of
our arrival. Phone calls went over he lines.
We were a case much too big to handle by the
local
boss. Thanks to copy of The
Foreign affairs approval letter and cute
Miss Khin of the Embassy in Delhi which also
wrote a
confirmation letter we had
attached, we could pass. It took us 5 hours
yes, but we got through. Besides the Malaysian
army boys
which went over with 54 men in 13
vehicles from Africa last year (we wrote
about it), they have never seen an
foreigner. We went to
Tamu town to copy our
particulars, and back again, chopped our
carnet, got our visa stamped. The divisional
director spoke to Harun
on the phone and
asked him we should see him, once we are in
Monywa.
The custom boss
presented a longyi (sarong) to Harun, which
as we see became the most exotic Myanmar
they ever saw. We join
the escort convoy
by 2:00pm on our way south into Myanmar ,
which will lead us one day soon and finally
home to our beloved
Brunei.
We with the border officers and here with our Immigration friends in Tamu all formalities done
You,
honorable reader if you like, click
Myanmar where our
journey continues.
Supported by Tourism Board, Ministry
of Industry & Primary Resources
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