Deeper Into The Soul of Pyay

We woke early to appreciate the dawn bidding the banks of the Irrawaddy a good morning. The phrase that came to mind when trying to capture what I saw, was idyllic gentleness. It appeared on the water and against the trees. It smothered the old bicycles in golden light. Shrouding them in a cloak of importance against the backdrop of nature. This was their moment of glory for the day. It only lasted a couple of minutes.

After a hearty breakfast consisting of noodles immersed in a savoury broth, purple onions and pickles,  I was ready to venture further. To explore more of what Pyay had to offer. Our breakfast was served to us by the loveliest family. Seated at a knee-high table, on plastic chairs, we consumed the chunks of crispy deep-fried dough. The delicious flavours mingling with my taste buds. The ambience of the early morning routine going on around me was captivating. I was truly happy. A quiet sense of pride engulfed me. For what I had achieved with regards to my travels. Never had I imagined to be sitting there, amongst perfect strangers. In a perfectly foreign country. The warmth of friendship hugged me tighter.

The simple structure, which housed the family-run business, welcomed the hordes wanting to savour this specific dish of nourishment. The chatter was loud and happy. Smiles were in abundance. Aromas wafted amongst hungry bellies.  Enticing folk to take of the delicious meal.  It was clear to me that these people of Pyay lived simple lives. Lives that were rich in every other way, besides financially. Their togetherness was tangible. To be valued and cherished. 

In the late nineteenth century, The British Irrawaddy Flotilla Company established the town of Pyay on the banks of the Irrawaddy. It was to serve as a link for the transporting of cargo between the northern and southern parts of the country, as well as a trade centre for the Ayeyarwady Delta and the Rakhine State. As I sipped the last of the scrumptious broth, I wondered if the employees of that British company had enjoyed the same culinary pleasures back then.

Driving slowly through the streets of Pyay, the odd colonial buildings held the secrets of the past. As is often the case in South East Asia, the past, present and future live side by side. In one small area, remnants from bygone eras can be found mingling with today’s bicycle repair shop. Or more likely, the mobile phone shop. This interaction produces a richness, adding character and intrigue to the soul of the place. Pyay was testimony to this. The narrow streets were busy. Filled with people going about their daily lives. Bamboo structures and homes stood with pride having weathered the climate. Bright colours lifted the spirits of dusty pathways. Those of local dismal depots too.

Stopping off at Htet Htet’s family home to greet her parents was an entirely loving encounter. Her parents, elegant and kind people. Welcoming me into their home. I felt I belonged. A charming home, it was clearly adored and valued. Love and nurturing exuded from the cool darkness of the interior. A small group of young monks stood respectfully at the garden gate. Their curiosity as to the tall stranger with blonde hair was apparent. No words were needed at that moment. Simple smiles and hands clasped together in prayer sufficed.

To be continued …