River cruising through Myanmar

John Borthwick meanders along the rivers of Myanmar on a gracious cruiser steeped in the history of this curious and contradictory land.

“I think I’ll just sit up here and let the world come to me," says the tall passenger, pulling up a pew among us on the riverboat’s open forward deck.

An old Burma hand, his card reads, “Colonel, US Army, Retired".

He’s back, visiting Myanmar again after years on the ruling junta’s blacklist – because, I wonder, of something he did during his time here as a military attaché? He settles in and the world of the Chindwin River indeed comes to him.

Pirogues bob past, propelled by faded red sails cut from the old robes of monks. Raintree-shaded towns slip behind us in a jumble of rooftops, chai shops, bicycles and buffalo carts. The kids waving from the bank wear white thanaka face-paste and their grandmas crack betel-blood grins of stainless steel teeth and fat cheroots.

The Chindwin flows monsoon brown but its verdant shores are studded with the golden spindles and holy beehives of stupas and Buddhist pagodas. We’re on a journey upriver to the country’s remote north-west aboard RV Katha Pandaw, a pedigreed descendant of last century’s Irrawaddy steamers.

After boarding the vessel just north of Yangon (formerly Rangoon), the capital of Myanmar (formerly Burma), we head up the Ayeyarwady (formerly Irrawaddy) River to Bagan (formerly Pagan), beyond which the place-names are content to remain the same.

Bagan is Burma’s Vatican, Chartres and Benares rolled into one, with some 2500 pagodas and monasteries scattered across its plain.

I can see around 30 of them from where I’ve climbed, atop the giant Shwesandaw stupa.

From then on we compress royal Bagan’s glorious millennium of art and architecture, plus tales of the devout or demented kings who built it, into one fast-forward day.

“Are you stupa-fied yet?" quips our Burmese guide Daniel, as we gather for our evening briefing. We – 24 passengers in 16 cabins – are a mixture of British, Australian and others, including the retired colonel.

The towns and villages that we visit thrive outside the imperatives of Twitter-time and selfie upload, yet they too are in change.

Their broad river is now hurdled by giant Chinese-built bridges that connect shores still quilted with paddies and studded with temples – but the temples today have solar panels and the farmers own their first-ever telephones, mobiles.

We leave the Ayeyarwady to join the Chindwin River to witness Burma time in rewind.

Twice daily Daniel lands us ashore for well-guided rambles through towns where riverfront streets are still called The Strand and old colonial structures – warehouses, banks, even an 1887 golf course – mostly moulder, abandoned, but occasionally still function fully.

We re-board to move ever north, seeing the jungle shores from the comfort of our teak and brass cabins, and the gin and tonic bubble of the upper deck.

The journey’s highlights are… well, where to begin?

The Maha Bodhi Ta Htaung at Monywa, where there’s over a million Buddha images, plus the country’s tallest Standing Buddha (120 metres) and longest Reclining Buddha (100 metres) are so excessive that even devout Burmese call it a Buddhist Disneyland; wandering ashore in market towns or through forgotten temples dense with intricately carved art; bouncing around in a tuk-tuk with the colonel and swapping tales with the surprised driver in fluent Burmese; or just lingering in a riverside chai shop? (A 1920s traveller here noted that in such places, “A kindly indolence lingers amid the fretful restlessness of our age." The statement still holds true.)

More jungle, teak log rafts and pagodas; villages of laundry slapstones, whetstones, parasols, monasteries, longyis, babies and furious heat.

At Masein, 28 white stupas climb a ridge from the shoreline like geese ascending in flight. Meanwhile, the chefs keep us almost too well fed with delicious butterfish, pork, roasts, salads, soups and fruit. And one more banana spring roll, please.

We travel 1000 kilometres upstream to reach Homalin, the Chindwin’s northernmost navigable point for craft like ours.

The RV Katha Pandaw is a lush, air-conditioned version of the classic steamers of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company that flourished until 1942 when the fleet was scuttled in advance of Japan’s invasion. (We find the boiler of one on the bank at Sitthaung where it was sunk.)

In 1995 Scottish entrepreneur Paul Strachan raised and refurbished an original steamer, the RV Pandaw. Today his fleet of a dozen purpose-built Pandaws promises, among other pleasures, no TVs in the staterooms; no captain’s table or other such inanities. My kind of vessel.

The river is infinite, an expedition is not. We turn back to disembark at Kalewa.

The old colonel shares one more tale, about the time he held a party and tweaked the Rangoon junta’s nose with that insidious western plot, live rock – played loud, with diplomatic immunity.

Details

Getting there

Qantas, Thai Airways and Jetstar fly from major Australian cities to Yangon daily via Bangkok.

Prices vary with carrier and season.

Thai Airways starts from $1096 ex Sydney.

Bangkok Airways flies to Yangon four times daily from $146 to $460 return.

Visa

Enquire early about obtaining a visa before you depart Australia at the Embassy of Myanmar in Canberra: 02 6273 3811

Cruise details

The 18-day Pandaw Chindwin River cruise from Yangon to Kalay costs from $5664 for a twin cabin.

Domestic transfers, tours, guide, food and drinks are included; pandaw.com

The pick-up point in Yangon is the Chatrium Hotel.

Rooms from $270 per person per night; chatrium.com

The more moderately priced New Aye Yar Hotel is comfortable and located downtown.

Rooms from $53 per night. newayeyarhotel.com

When to go

Chindwin River cruises run in August when the river level is highest.

What to bring home

Laquer wear (from Yangon and Bagan) and jade, especially Imperial jade.

As with gems anywhere, remember caveat emptor.

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After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?

In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.

Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?

Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?

How tourism is changing in Nepal

Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.

Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.

“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.

Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”

Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”

CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.

A new generation demanding more

Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”

We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”

Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels — Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…

bouda stupa prayer flags — Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.

Boudha Stupa vendors — Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.

A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.

Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.

Life unfiltered in the Terai region

tharu woman — Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.

Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.

Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.

Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.

On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.

community homestay entrance — A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.

The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.

In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.

food at community homestay — Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.

The power of community homestays

community homestay owners in Nepal — Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.

“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”

The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.

Sonara community room — An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.

Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.

CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.

“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.

In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.

“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”

Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”

Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.

John Borthwick meanders along the rivers of Myanmar on a gracious cruiser steeped in the history of this curious and contradictory land.

Details

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