Take-Aways

Yangon, Mandalay, the Ayeyarwady river, the Shan states, how much magic and dreaming is associated with those names. They conjure up exotic and mysterious images, strange and faraway lands at the crossroads of the gulf of Bengal, the start of the Himalayas, China and the kingdom of Siam. They are images of jungles, tigers, colourful dresses, golden temples and glass palaces. Images of abundance, of exciting flowers and sweet smells. And yet this is supposed to be one of the most oppressed and closed societies in the world. A military dictatorship that has kept its most famous dissident and opposition leader, winner of a free election, under house arrest for 15 years. From the air, the land is emerald green and shiny, threaded by a brown snakelike mass of water that slithers all the way to the horizon. The shoreline of the south forms one big welcoming crescent. The airport is shiny and new and yet the first glimpse of the people is startlingly arrested in time. All the men wear the longyi, a traditional type of wraparound skirt that ties up in the front and the women have a unique kind of almost tribal looking make-up. It’s white with golden streaks and it’s spread on the cheeks in big round perfectly formed patches. Occasionally it is also worn on the ridge of the nose and underneath the eyes. It has a startling but pleasant effect. It makes their eyes look big and liquid. It can’t just be make up as every now and then children’s faces are also smeared with it. More than likely the make-up doubles up as sun protection. Yangon is leafy and green with decrepit colonial mansions, numerous satellite dishes on each building, mosques, churches, Hindu and Buddhist temples and the occasional new high-rise and residential complex. It possesses two magnificent lakes and a shiny golden stupa visible even from the plane. This is part of a magnificent golden temple that is a sacred place of pilgrimage for all Burmese. It is a very relaxed, all-inclusive sort of pilgrimage as it looks more like a Sunday outing in the park. Families have pic-nics in the middle of the temples almost in the various Buddhas’ laps. People sleep, read or talk to each other over drinks and nibbles. Some meditate while children run around and play. The temples function more like little gazebos that protect people from the scorching sun than places of awe. It has a pleasant atmosphere. It’s an intimidating city. It is larger than it feels and the heart of it is laid out in a perfect grid that makes the distances deceptive. But that is not what puts you off balance. What is unexpected is the sheer diversity of the faces. The one thing you do not expect is the sheer evidence of an immense human melting pot. Faces that look like they could come from any part of the Indian sub-continent, Polynesia, China, Southeast Asia -with features as diverse as the Thais to the Indonesians and Malaysians-, even faces that one would not be surprised to see in South America or even Africa. All of humanity’s shades of brown and occasionally black are here. Added to that is the effect of the unusual attire, the men in the long traditional skirts and the women in the alabaster/gold make-up as well as the carmine lips and teeth due to the constant chewing of betel leaves. It’s a colourful, unexpected and friendly crowd that breaks into great big red smiles as soon as eye contact is established. I think the most surprising thing is the Indian predominance. Indian movies are shown at every cinema. Indian music blares past the CD shops. Indian pastry is sold at very corner and curry and dahl are on every menu. A sanitised, tamer version of the real thing. Yangon, or Rangoon, however you want to call it, the gateway into Burma, busy and laid back, colourful and drab, green and muddy, young capital to the ancient land of Myanmar.