From the sublime...

Yesterday we took a boat ride up the Mae San Kok River, stopping at Ruannit in the heat of the early afternoon. It's a Karen tribe village whose inhabitants were converted to Christianity at some point, and the economy is completely dependent on tourism. There's an elephant camp next to the village, and everywhere there are Burmese and Reticulated Pythons in cages, to be draped around necks of tourists. It was a strange, sad, poor place, with its unfinished church and women weaving bright scarves on hand looms beside the road. We stayed for lunch and I bought an overpriced chain from a hill tribe lady.

Further up the river we stopped at another village called Akha. The economy was clearly agricultural, with water buffalo wallowing in the mud, and a herd of thin Asian cattle wandering next to the river. It was deserted, and as we walked up the hill we met the villagers returning from the fields, their tools over their shoulders.Returning to the boat, we were approached by a gnarled old lady wearing a traditional head-dress, her teeth blackened stumps, and her mouth bright red from betel juice. I'm not sure which tribe she was from, but she wasn't speaking Thai. She unfurled a cloth roll of brightly-coloured bracelets made with seeds threaded with cotton, and we bought several from her. She insisted that Sam take a photo of me standing next to her, before she waddled off. On the journey home we saw two wild elephants feeding beside the river.

An hour ago I crossed the border into Burma, receiving a two-week pass which permits me to visit the city of Kentung, accompanied by a government-registered guide. It's not an entirely comfortable feeling, knowing that my passport is in the possession of the Burmese military government.

Leaving the immigration office and walking into Tachiliek I was shocked by the contrast between the town of Mae Sai. The streets here are littered with refuse, and there are open sewers running beside the roads. Most of the men wear a  Longyi, not trousers, and cheeks of the Burmese women are painted  a creamy yellow with Thanaka. As I exited the bridge I saw a woman holding a small grey owl tethered to a stick held in her hand. The little bird turned its head as I passed, looking at me
                                       with yellow-lined eyes.

 The drivers here don't politely slow down as they approach, making the adjustment from Thailand, where they drive on the other side of the road, even more difficult. I walked into two guest houses in the city, only to be told that they couldn't offer me a room. The first proprietor explained that they weren't permitted to accommodate foreigners, that he had been waiting two years for a government response to his application to do so.

As I walked around I was offered fake Marlboro cigarettes and viagra, cocaine, methamphetamine, and children to have sex with. Nearly every Burmese child I've seen so far has smiled at me, and waved ecstatically, delighted with the opportunity to practise their 'Hello's and 'Thank you's. They appear much happier than the adults, who seem much more aware of the grim realities of the country in which they live.