Oh Mae Mae Mae!

So we took the long way round - from Mae Sot, a fantastically friendly and colourful border town near Burma, onto Mae Sariang and then Mae Hong Son - following the border around the hot and arid pre-monsoon north - on the plus side there are virtually no mossies so given the malaria warnings usual for this area (including mefloquine resistance) we are happy to sweat our way around. Another major plus is it's the end of the high season and there's less 'farangs' about. In fact, there's very few on this less travelled route. When the signs and information are all absent of Roman script, we realise we are following our noses now and there's a real sense of freedom as we find our trust well-placed with local transport and friendly people.

Mae Sot was fab and we stayed for a couple of nights at a little Japanese guesthouse by the bus station, called Kame. We continued our culinary adventures checking out the rather tasty Burmese curries (almost a Thai red meets a Bengali style indian - very tasty) and Greg, a local volunteer teacher and our new found guide took us to this amazing vegetarian muslim cafe where we feasted on veggie sausages, mock chicken and mock pork, with an assortment of dahl, curry and spicy red stuff. I'm not allowed to say where it is as we have all agreed the Lonely Planet must not find out about it ;-) We had a great time in the market which had some of the cheapest goods I've seen in Asia and some great quality gear, including beautiful local embroidered handicrafts by the local Karan tribes.

There are high numbers of Burmese refugees here in Mae Sot, and there are some big camps en route to Mae Sariang. I spotted the police holding area near our guesthouse - like a giant cage with a few fans and list of visiting times posted on the fence. Greg told us that the people are held for a day after being caught trying to cross and then returned the next day. The whole process then plays out again, and again. If you have the money and the connections, many Burmese get to stay here, but they are not allowed to travel and have to stay in the area. Many of the Burmese (men and women) wear a kind of beige cream on their faces - it beautifies the skin apparently. People are so friendly to us in the market, and the numerous women smile at the children and then us, and we return the gesture. They may be Burmese muslim refugees and we may be strange farangs - but still families are universal. Lee enjoys taking pictures (with their permission) of the market traders and their somewhat exotic produce. We saw little skinned birds and fried bugs, live turtles and squirming eels. We also ate some of the best street food - a local favourite like vegetable tempura but not with any vegetable you might have heard of. Delicious!

Next stop, Mae Sariang. This is north of Mae Sot, 8 hours in a sawng-thaew. These pick up trucks have a plastic roof over two facing benches. Following the mountainous border, the sun is kept off you but the hot air blowing in is so hot it almost burns. It's also slash and burn season - that is when the farmers burn the land ready for the rains. At first appearances the transport looks potentially very uncomfortable, even with (at one point) 22 people and a motorbike in the back (he had broken down) - but this is more comfortable way to travel than some of the buses. We stop over in Mae Sariang at a rather plush little place to enjoy big comfy beds with pressed white sheets and lots of teak - unfortunately the food is not up to much but Tevo and Jackie enjoy a game of pool with a dutch man listening to a thai girl singing wonderful covers of Dido (Lee actually thought they were playing the album).

Next leg, we take two local buses, 4 hours to Mae Hong Son - with a quick stop for noodles and rice, and then another bus to Pai - 3 more hours climbing smoky mountainous roads. The border police (with big guns) are everywhere but have absolutely no interest in us whatsoever, despite being the only farangs we've seen since Mae Sariang.

15 hours travelling (not including the 2 or 3 hours sitting and waiting to leave) and two days later and we finally reach our destination. As we extricate our rucksacks from the boot of the bus (they have actually faired worse than we have) we are exhausted, hot, sweaty and dusty - always a winning combination for arriving somewhere new!