In this small town in Shan state, the first night of Thingyan, Myanmar’s New Year water festival, I spent tossing in bed through another eight-hour blackout. Over the sound of an irate beetle clattering against my window, I tried to work out whether the bangs in the distance were fireworks or gunshots.

At 5:30 the following morning, I met with two other cyclists outside the closed covered market, and we began our ascent out of the town into the Shan hills. In April, after months of being slowly scorched, the earth was cracked like terracotta. Through small villages we rode along crumbling concrete lanes and dusty dirt tracks. Wolfish dogs emerged from the underbrush and errant cockerels strutted across our path. Mostly we were alone.

• Tags: Bertie Alexander, Issue 27, Myanmar