This Gurkha lady (from Nepal) ended up as my guide, taking me back along 7 miles of very dusty mountain paths to the town of Kalaw in central Burma. She spoke no English and read no Burmese (so my phrase book wasn't any use). We got along OK by drawing pictures in my notebook. It was dry there in February; fine red dust was shin-deep on the larger paths where buffalo carts passed. There were ruts 2 feet deep made by cart wheels during the rainy season and the dust would hide this until I stepped into them. This woman commuted up the mountain every day, carrying food and supplied to her family hill-top cafe in a tump-line knapsack. After I gave her $5 as a present for her children - I was told by the owner of my hotel that was about a week's revenue for the restaurant. Little wonder she was surprised and happy.