Photos, videos and docs of m̌ ḫ, with the keywords: "2012"

Trees

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 16:51:48 +0000

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Trees

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 16:51:51 +0000

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Draft animals in a changing state

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Thu, 09 Jul 2026 18:11:44 +0000

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In the uplands of Shan State, the hill tribes have long depended on water buffalo for the everyday mechanics of life: ploughing terraced fields, hauling crops and firewood, and moving people between scattered villages along narrow dirt tracks. These animals are not just “traditional” but part of a political economy shaped by altitude, marginal roads and decades of limited state investment, which kept motor vehicles rare and made animal power the practical technology of choice. When this photograph was made in 2012, Myanmar had only recently begun to open after military rule, and places like Hsipaw were emerging as launch points for short treks with one overnight stay into Palaung villages — bringing a small number of outsiders onto paths that had until then served almost exclusively local agrarian needs.

Building a hut

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 08 Jul 2026 19:24:28 +0000

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In Shan State we signed up for a “hill‑tribe trek,” a phrase that for many people suggests a wild journey to hidden villages deep in untouched jungle. What we actually found was more ordinary, and more honest. The walk began at the edge of town, past tea shops, concrete houses and small roadside stalls, then slowly turned into dirt tracks between fields and low, sometimes burned hills. It was still a change of world, just not the postcard one.

The “remote” villages we reached were clusters of wooden or bamboo houses on stilts, a concrete water tank in the middle, maybe a tiny shop with instant noodles and cigarettes, people working in the fields, children watching the newcomers. When we stayed overnight, we slept on thin mattresses laid on wooden floors under mosquito nets, with simple toilets and short bursts of electricity from a small generator. Less a wild expedition than a quiet look at how ordinary hill‑country life actually works.

Kite Festival

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 21:05:52 +0000

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Trikes everywhere 1

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:18:52 +0000

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Back in 2012, pedal cargo trikes were just part of everyday life here. Men on three wheels carried rice, vegetables, timber, metal rods – and probably a few things that never really belonged on a trike – weaving through back lanes and market alleys, always weighing up in their heads how far they could go and how much their legs had left.

What they do now, I can only guess. Maybe some still handle those short, awkward stretches between truck and market stall, or reach the corners where fuel is too costly and roads are too narrow for anything bigger. Others have likely been pushed aside by motorbikes and small cargo trikes, and a few are probably standing quiet in courtyards, waiting for better days or a new owner with strong legs. The old rhythms are still there somewhere, just lighter, more broken, and easier to overlook unless you really go looking for them.

Trikes everwhere 2 (Perfect)

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:18:47 +0000

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Carried on Heads 2

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:18:42 +0000

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Men and women both carry on their heads – baskets of vegetables, firewood, water, sacks of rice – but it often falls more to women for market work and household tasks, and to men for bulkier or longer hauls.

Mitsubishi

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:22:38 +0000

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You’d never see these old Japanese buses in Japan now; by the time they reached Myanmar they were already decades past their prime. They were built for calm, left‑side traffic, but Myanmar suddenly switched from left to right in 1970 while most imported vehicles still came from Japan with right‑hand steering. That created an odd mix: buses driving on the right, with the driver sitting on the “wrong” side, patched and repainted, extra doors cut in and others sealed. When you get off you have to be careful, because you often step straight into the traffic lane rather than onto a safe kerb.

Carried on Heads 1

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:18:44 +0000

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Traffic seen from a rickshaw

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:18:31 +0000

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Between the pillars

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 19:36:47 +0000

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Oh no... the bridge again!!!... I should probably apologise, but I cannot.

U Bein Bridge is not a place that fits into a few images. What seems simple at first reveals layers of life, light, and movement. People pass, pause, and return; the same scene shifts with every moment.

It is more than a structure. It is routine, history, and quiet human theatre. Each photo captures only a fragment, but together, they come closer to what the bridge truly feels like.

This bridge before sunset

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 18:36:06 +0000

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U Bein Bridge can never be grasped from a single viewpoint, because its character is woven from light, movement, and context that shift constantly. From the shore, the bridge appears as a fragile wooden line, emphasizing its improbable 1.2‑kilometre span across Taungthaman Lake and the rhythm of more than a thousand posts. From the lake in a boat, the same structure becomes a forest of teak pillars, the reflections doubling and distorting its geometry until it feels almost abstract.

Under the bridge

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Thu, 28 May 2026 16:26:25 +0000

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A thousand teak logs jammed in ancient mud, 
Recycled from a palace — what a stud. 
The joints don’t need a nail, just faith and fit, 
While concrete neighbors say, “You’re full of… grit.
Eight centuries of footsteps, floods, and fuss
 The bridge still stands. Can’t say the same for us.

More about U Bein Bridge at stickymangorice.com/2023/11/01/u-bein-bridge

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nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 27 May 2026 16:27:58 +0000

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39650002

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:38:01 +0000

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Way of travelling here

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:39:54 +0000

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A very authentic scene of cramped local transport in Northern Thailand on the road to Mae Salong, with people packed into a songthaew or small minibus — a village perched high on Doi Mae Salong ridge, near the Myanmar border, whose access roads were little more than mountain tracks barely paved in time for vehicles to replace pack horses.

In 2012, the minibus service ran only until early afternoon and public transport remained notoriously sparse, leaving hill tribe communities — Akha, Lahu, Lisu, and the Chinese descendants of KMT soldiers — with no real alternative to squeezing into whatever shared truck happened to be making the climb.

Spending time efficiently

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:39:49 +0000

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DoF

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:39:42 +0000

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Checking the hair

nobody@ipernity.com (m̌ ḫ) — Wed, 18 Mar 2026 18:39:34 +0000

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