Drifting with Burma's Sea Gypsies (Part 2)
Paddling with the Mergui Archipelago’s
Moken Boat Nomads
Blue Magazine March 2003

PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE, THE REST IS POLITICS

In the last two hundred years, their "country" has changed hands several times - been ruled by different governments and different religions, been closed and opened and closed again to outsiders, and, through it all, the Moken culture has endured.

Burma is surrounded by Bangladesh, India, China, Laos and Thailand. The British ruled Burma from 1825 until 1948. Before 123 years of occupation, the country was called Myanmar. The military regime retaking power in 1989 renamed the country Myanmar, which many people understandably associate with today's enduring oppression. Burmese people still use both names in conversation; the Bangkok Post only mentions Burma.

The Mergui Archipelago was closed to outsiders by the post-1948 isolationist regime. A military dictatorship's coup d'etat further sealed off the country to outsiders in 1962. It remained closed until 1997. For decades the world media has reported on the regime's human rights violations against the ethnic Shan, Lisu and Karen hill tribe people. Universities were closed in 1988 (now reopened). In January 2000, a hostage standoff occurred in Thailand when Thai security forces stormed a hospital killing nine heavily armed insurgents from a Myanmar group called Burma's God's Army - young teenagers - who trapped hundreds of patients, visitors and staff to repay alleged Thai government collusion in the mistreatment of Burmese minority groups. The president Aung San Suu Kyi was elected, then put under house arrest.

There usually are two sides to a story. Exploring countries that commit human rights violations may be irresponsible, since tourism dollars could fuel the evil ways of an incumbent power-at-large (though buying a meal from Burmese street merchants doesn't seem like a government transaction). Lonely Planet and other travel guides are feeling pressure to pull their Burma editions from shelves worldwide.

Another point of view: visiting such countries positively contributes to local economies and acts as an international "eye" on the situation. But, regardless of where, kayaking is a primitive thing to do. The appeal is stripping away the shackles of civilization.

The handful of marine outfitters permitted into southwest Burma's Mergui Archipelago contend that other regionally touristed countries, including Thailand, Cambodia and Indonesia, are also guilty of human rights violations, but since they don't suffer US trade embargoes it makes Burma an easier target for media pummeling. Four wrongs make nothing right, but pro Burma tourism guides - there is no way to visit these waters without a guide - argue that foreign visitation benefits locals financially and by connecting Burmese ears to the outside world.

Unlike other SE Asian countries, where tourism empires were built on the back of nomadic 1970-80's backpackers, Burma aims to jumpstart their economy with solvent vacationers. One reason may be eliminating any chance for anti-government types to create dissent. Heroin border conflicts in the Golden Triangle (Burma, Thailand, Laos) boil on, especially between Thai troops and the Shan rebel's Shan State Army (SSA) - chronic instability on par with the Northern Ireland and Israeli-Palestine nightmares.

Political minefields sidestepped herein... Possibly, an irresponsible foray, I bring Burma's Mergui island marvel and its Andaman Sea gypsies to this page. When paddling, you travel back in history - to a time before any of this political controversy existed.


PADDLING BACK IN HISTORY

After WWII, the Mergui Archipelago was declared militarily sensitive by the Burmese government and was forbidden territory until the 50 year ban on tourism was lifted and a British family-run liveaboard dive outfitter expanded their operation from Thai, Indonesian and Indian seas. A few more commercial enterprises have followed, though we saw no other leisure boat in a month.

To get in there we motored across the border channel between Ranong, Thailand and Kawthaung in one of the omnipresent long-tail boats - all -purpose, regional "mini-vans" that haul everything. These long, narrow wooden boats have noisy engines with extended propeller "tails" whose muffler-less exhaust outroars even the baddest-ass modified Harley-Davidson pipes. Try to sit up front.

Once ashore in Burma, rewind a century.

From Kawthaung, we motored slowly and quietly out into the archipelago in a trimaran for ten hours through the night to Lampi, an island the size of Phuket, Thailand. Under moonlight, past carnival-lit squid boats with streamlines of light bulbs strung above the boat and over the water to attract squid at night. The random night boats bobbed above and below the undulating Andaman sea horizon, creating soft, repeating moonlike rises. The high road to the world's end. In the morning I saw that these intermittent, canoeish netfishing boats were dark, 12-feet long, and carrying 2-4 very tan guys keeping no sunblock data.

The region is kayaker Holy Grail; a medley of mountainous islands, rocky coastlines, beaches, steep-sided limestone pinnacles, conical up thrusts with jungle- forested caps and jagged rock formations. Some islands' shorelines are blessed with two story high entrances to sea caves.

Kayaking requires minimal effort to cruise along at a brisk walking pace, silently. We paddled around stadium-sized rock tower islands, their facades tide-chiseled with one-way caves, and through tunnels allowing powerful surf to ebb and flow. While circling these rock- rimmed islands there was a continuing optical illusion of rising and falling, a magic carpet ride with soundtrack made by the tunnels gurgling and roaring with frothing seawash. The in and out water vales in these cave tunnels produced a guttural chorus that would scare Godzilla. The strong tide action alerted mud-skippers (salamander fish) and rock crabs to scuttle up and down the stone facades. Herons posed still, peering while eagles circled above. Whenever we found a beach between the rock faces of nameless pinnacles we'd see monkeys scampering about, and pull in for a Frisbee toss.

This island zone of blue-green water is unpierced by tourism but replete with parakeets, blue herons, hornbills, flying fox, jungle-dogs and eagles swooping to catch fish. The hills and mountains are smothered in evergreen vegetation. There is a surprising absence of palm trees, which dominate most of the SE Asian landscape.

The archipelago's human inhabitants had not yet come into sight, so we sat down to a bowl of rice after snorkeling from beaches wedged between canyons. I sensed we were falling into an incredibly satisfying situation. The only time I thought about Manhattan during the trip was while snorkeling against a fierce tide, playing bumper pool with stinging dinosaur jellyfish: traffic.