cows

Sometimes when I'm driving, especially in the hills, I turn a corner and have to slow way down and honk the horn to get the cows to move out of the way. Up until last week, this had been my only direct interaction with cows. I confess I did not hold them in high esteem.

As I was preparing for my trip to Bago Yoma, I was also in the throes of pneumonia recovery. I anticipated needing to hike about 4 hours to reach one of the villages we planned to visit. This was about 3.5 hours farther than my realistic lung capacity at the time. My parents suggested that I request a donkey or an elephant or some other creature to transport me instead of using my legs. It was a good idea in theory, but I doubted that it was a realistic possibility. I suppose that didn't stop them praying for something of the kind.

A few days later, our team arrived at the trail head. Our van dropped us off by a little roadside hut, and we started pulling on hiking boots and slathering on sunblock. I hardly noticed the cows nearby, munching contentedly on their weeds.

"Would you like to ride on the ox-cart, Heidi?"

Would I like to what?! Could I really? Yes!

And so it transpired that I arranged my limbs amid the load of backpacks on the cart and was subsequently transported 4 hours to our destination - and eventually 4 hours back, that time accompanied by some of my teammates.

What a ride.

Our cart frame was made of tamarind wood, our seat of 6 bamboo halves lashed together with tough palm fronds (and large gaps between them). The wheels were 4 feet in diameter, the size of which served as the cart's only suspension system. Two cows were harnessed to a yoke at the front, and the driver directed them using varied vocalizations, a rope attached to their nostrils, and a skinny little stick for poking and swatting their backsides.

As we jostled along, I found ways to occupy myself. I sang. I chatted with the driver in Karen. I planned escape routes in case the cart should tip over (which it never considered), and formulated ways to murder snakes using the machete next to me in the event that one should fall from a tree (which it didn't). I studied ox-cart driving technique, thinking it might come in handy someday. In case you're curious, you click your tongue to get the cows moving and make kissing noises to stop them. But mostly, I spent my time simply marveling at the cows.

Those animals completely blew me away. They squelched through sticky mud 2 ft deep. They climbed up and down incredibly steep slopes. They took on boulders and rivers and fallen trees with steady, patient strength - and all that with a heavy, loaded cart in tow, and in impressive tandem with each other. Watching them gave me a completely new appreciation for the necessity of being "equally yoked." It definitely matters. I am now a firm believer in the merits of ox-cart travel, my friends. They go places no other vehicle I know of could possibly go. And they're environmentally friendly - all repair materials are available for free along the road, and the animals eat and drink (and distribute fertilizer) as they go!

I will admit that this method of travel does not rank high on the comfort scale. The experience was equal parts settler wagon, slow motion roller coaster, and bucking bronco. My skeletal muscles got a handsome workout, I accumulated bruises in all sorts of unexpected places, and I was rather sore in the days following. But my lungs? Ah, they were not the least bit overtaxed. God must have been listening to my parents.

And as for my opinion of cows - well, they have certainly earned my respect. Now when I see them along the roadside (or in the middle of it) I cannot think of them as a nuisance. Instead, I announce to anyone who will listen that they are amazing animals, and that ox-cart is the way to go.