Returning to Kalaw

I've already shared our experience of the 14 hour journey up country to Kalaw, but have failed to express the encounters once we arrived.  So here I am transporting myself back to those days that were filled with laughter, tears, and story, after story, after story.

Though our time in Kalaw was brief, it was clear that for my family, it was here, where most of their memories rest.  Kalaw was, and still is, the heart of their impressionable years as eager and open children.  The vivid memories that they carry with them are embedded in their former homes, school, and places of business.  Words like Dove Road, Grandfather's house, St. Agnes's Convent and Banyan tree all hold a very special place in their hearts.

One unforgettable place was their home on Dove Road.  As we traveled towards it, the roadway had digressed into an overgrown trail making it difficult to imagine that there was life somewhere down the way.  As brush and branches scraped the side of the bus, our skepticism of whether or not we were on the right track grew.  But how could they forget the way to this house? They couldn't.  They knew it was there.  And it was. 

Dove Road House; Kalaw, Burma; January 2011

Like all of the places we visited, the current occupants understood this journey we were on and welcomed us into their home.  Here, they allowed us to take our time to walk through each and every room, to take pictures and reminisce on how the place used to be, used to be arranged, used to feel.  Much of the Dove Road house was still the same in structure and foundation and the signature letters under the peaked roof line are still proudly standing.  

Inside Dove Road House

The house is minimalistic in furnishings. Only basic necessities are present.  It was clean and orderly, but was missing the hustle and bustle of a young, active and vibrant family.  The family told us that it is currently listed for sale and in hearing this, I saw the twinkle in my family's eyes, their minds silently thinking...what if?  It could be so meaningful, so easily, once again.  

Pathway at back of Dove Road House

Outside, we scattered throughout the large plot of land surrounding the house.  There was a pathway at the back where my mom and uncle used to play and some crazy stories emerged as we walked down...stories of sibling rivalry, neighbourly spats, and, well, others. 

Grandfathers house was another visit. Grandfather, meaning my Grandma's Dad.  This was a full house.  A full house, mourning the passing of their relative just days prior.  But yet, they welcomed us.  And allowed us to sit and stay a while.  The way this home was designed is unique.  It is on the second level.  And when you reach the top of the staircase you enter a great room and around the perimeter are the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathroom.  There is a back stairway that leads to a large storage room that exits to the back alley.  Down these stairs, more stories of the past unfolded. Stories of young love that lay next to the piles of rice bags.

The balconies of this house were remembered as the favorite spots for relatives to spend their days.  To think that throughout time, layers of memories are built within the same kitchen, the same storage room, the same staircase of the same house...by different families.  I guess in life, some things need to remain constant to support the chaos that human interaction and life can present.  As each of them looked into the rooms and saw past visions of times gone by, new life was swirling around.  The memories are still alive, but only visible to those that experienced them, years before. The new family can only wonder what this house meant and the happiness it supported so long ago.  As we took our last round and emptied their house, they followed us to the stairway and sent us on our way with a bag of hot samosas!

And where did these children learn?  Boarding school of course.  Who taught them?  Nuns.  At St. Agnes's Convent.  My uncle and mom remember their lessons here clearly.  And although the school no longer seemed as intimidating, it still had an air of discipline and order.  Once again, the simplicity of life and material possessions were apparent.  As we observed their former classrooms we saw emptiness, except for the requirements of a place to sit, write and teach.   

St. Agnes's Convent, Kalaw, Burma, Jan 2011

St. Agnes's Convent, Kalaw, Burma, Jan 2011

Inside classroom of St. Agnes's Convent

How news travels in Kalaw is yet another story in itself.  Do you ever wonder how you would make contact without a phone?  Well, in Kalaw, you pass the word, from person to person.  But you must have faith that your message will reach the intended, untainted.  We spent two hours at a local Nepalese restaurant eating mouth watering, authentic dishes and waited for a long lost acquaintance to arrive.  She arrived, late at night, not knowing who had requested her presence.  Unfortunately, she wasn't "the one".  Some things just can't be found.

And then, the next day, a lovely dressed lady walked onto our bus and asked for "Sister Shirley" because "Teacher Gladys" used to be her teacher and she had heard we were in town.  The local doctor also recalled "Teacher Gladys", "Teacher Zeenat" and "Teacher Lorna".  The town was interested to know why we had returned and how their teachers and sisters of the past were fairing.  It was obvious our family had left an impression on the town and were still remembered 45 years later.

Who would have imagined a trip like this would have been possible.  And those friends from years ago, were there, unchanged, and still friends.  As for the memories, are they best left in the time that they were created? It depends.  For Kalaw, I think the return was heart warming.  But this wasn't always the case.

Kalaw Street against mountain backdrop