Myanmar
PART 1
Sitting in Bangkok’s Khaosan road district surrounded by a sea of amusements and adornments designed and provided for today’s backpackers, Myanmar with it’s all its peculiarities already seems a somewhat distant adventure, Like waking from a strange and wonderful dream to discover the morning as ordinary as ever.
Having been abandoned by Anusha in favour of a bout of Dengue Fever I ventured alone to what I expected to be a military state with guns, police and cowering locals. Arriving in Yangon conscious of the wad of USD in my pocket (required due to the complete absence of ATMS in Myanmar) it quickly became evident that Myanmar wasn’t quite like anywhere else. Immigration was somewhat slow but did not prove any more painful than other border crossings and I soon found myself sheparded with most of the tourists from my plane onto the waiting shuttle to Motherland Inn 2 my hostel. The shuttle, a rusty shell of a bus manufactured by some minor Chinese company in the early eighties or before was to prove prescient of the modes of transport in Myanmar.
The next day with some new found friends from the hostel we set of to explore downtown Yangon including the magnificent SCHEDEGON pagoda that rises above the city with it’s’ jewel encrusted top. We first headed up the Hitachi tower for a panoramic view of the city and an overpriced diet coke (side note Coca Cola, Sprite etc are irregularly available and cost at least 4 times that of the Myanmar knockoffs Star Cola, Fantasy and Crusher so unsurprisingly most of the trip was spent discovering the variety of knockoffs available including a redbull one). Before heading to the main event the SCHEDEGON pagoda we quickly visited the Sule Pagoda as the first introduction to Myanmar’s love affair with gold leaf and distaste for dental hygiene. Upon entering the pagoda we were quickly met by a monk with astonishing ear hair and teeth that showed a life time of betel nut chewing does not a pleasant smile make. Nonetheless he showed us around the Pagoda that was littered with locals hiding out for the torrential midday showers with enthusiasm. The SCHEDOGON Pagoda was the next stop and is filled with numerous shrines both small and large with a mixture of different artistic style. The smaller shrines allowed worshippers to pray alone and if they so choose even crawl into the shrine and sit face to face with the Buddha image. The larger shrines housed gold plated Buddha’s ringed in neon lighting resembling a casino and oddly televisions placed near the Buddha statue projecting recorded images of the statue for some unclear purpose, perhaps that worshippers not in direct eye line of the statue could view it via the screen but given the propensity of statues to stay still it seemed rather pointless.
The next day I wandered Yangon admiring the fading Colonial buildings; lively street stands as well as watching the parade of men in traditional longyi (a sarong like item tied with a knot at the front) and women in traditional Burmese make up/sunscreen that resembles a yellow chalk across their cheeks. Interspersing the crumbling apartments and potholed streets are shining new houses mostly belonging to the Generals and government aligned businessmen. Along the streets fancy new four wheeled drives overtake the myriad of battered rusted out taxis but unusually for Asia no motorbikes as they have been banished from Yangon by the Generals decree after he dreamt he was shot by a motorcyclist. Along my meandering wander I saw very few police/military men far fewer than in Thailand and much less than my cursory knowledge of Myanmar had lead me to believe. Although I did not visit “The Lady” as locals surreptiously refer to the much admired Aung San Suu Kyi whose home prison is along University Street and is heavily guarded my military police. Equally surprising was the almost complete absence of other tourists even the SCHEDEGON Pagoda contained only four or five pasty westerners with cameras.
On the Road to Mandalay I elected to take the overnight bus as the train is government run and renowned for delays lasting from hours to days. The bus proved as usual freezing cold and uncomfortable enough to allow dozing but not sleeping however like most things in Myanmar it proved odd and unique even amongst the stranger bus rides in Asia. The bus had two television both playing karaoke dvds (though sadly not the Burmese singer who remakes Bon Jovi songs) until the dinner stop at 10:30 where we rolled up to a casino like restaurant with neon flashing lights attracting swarms of moths. Being as it was late I choose only to have some popcorn which clearly was not considered a sufficient meal as a lovely Burmese lady took pity on me and I ended up with a hearty dinner of home cooked fish curry, vegetables and rice. Heading back to the bus I dozed on and off until the 4:30 breakfast stop meaning I missed viewing the new capital which is built smack bang in the middle of the jungle as the General became concerned about American invaders and had astrologers advise where would be a good spot for a new capital. After breakfast a dvd of a monk saying what seemed like an especially monotonous prayer was played for the remaining two hours until we reached Mandalay.
Mandalay does not quite meet the rather romantic imagery I had in my head being as it’s a grid based town filled with motorcyclists and bicycles trying to pin you to the road and not a country estate from the novel Rebecca. I ended up with three days in Mandalay with the highlight being a motorcycle tour around the nearby ancient cities of AMURPUR, SAIGAI and ???? Myanmar is known as the land of the golden Pagoda and from the top of SAIGAI hill you can spot numerous Pagodas in every direction. Mandalay is home to over half the monks and nuns in Myanmar and you will find it hard to not spot them walking the streets with alms bowls, riding along in taxis or even watching football at the pub. AMURPUR is home to the Buddhist university and each day you can witness around 1500 monks being lining up for lunch which provides plenty of opportunities for photos though sadly I was too slow to get the monk with his ipod or the young novice monk kicking another.
Having spent some time in Asia you become suspicious of persons striking up conversations with you as invariably it leads to a request to visit a shop, buy some knickknack or simply give them money (even from monks), pleasantly in Myanmar people genuinely wished to talk to you. At Saigai hill we were invited by a monk to visit his monastery (SAIGAI surroundings are home to over 5000 monks) which turned out essentially to be a small house with a large vegetable garden where he and four other monks resided. Despite the lack of running water and electricity in his home he did provide his gmail account should we wish to keep in contact.
Leaving Mandalay behind I boarded another bus to take me to Bagan, home of over 4400 pagodas, temples, stupas and shrines. On the bus I met a wonderful American couple Michael and Charlene who were to be my companions for the days in Bagan. We began with a horse cart ride to watch the sunset. As with Angkor Wat or the Taj Mahal seeing pictures beforehand simply does not prepare you for the splendour of the valley of Bagan. An almost inconceivable preponderance of temples dot the landscape in every direction rising from amongst the goats and crops of the surrounding farmland. Size and style vary from plain brick shrines no bigger than an outside toilet to four story architectural wonders. After taking around 100 pictures most utterly failing to capture the staggering surrounds we retired for a Myanmar beer (remarkably good) in preparation for our day of cycling. Cycling is by far the best way to see Bagan as the area is mostly flat and there isn’t much traffic, between the temples some of the dirt paths can prove challenging as sandy sections will bog you down especially if you are as uncoordinated on a bike as I am. Even given my extreme lack of skill on a bike it was an amazing way to view temple after temple. We ended up with two young boys guiding us amongst the temples and to their home village where Charlene and I had our faces painted in the traditional bark sunscreen. At the end of the day we watched another sunset before making our way back to town in the dark which I wouldn’t recommend given the almost complete lack of streetlights in Bagan. The final day in Bagan I explored the family run lacquer ware stores and visited a home where the renown lacquer ware was being made (including pieces made of horse hair!).
Leaving Bagan behind I rose early to catch my 4:30a.m. bus to Kalaw where I hoped to join a hike to Inle Lake. The bus was a local bus unlike the previous coaches I had caught which meant even at only 5’6” my knees were rammed against the seat in front of me as we navigated what I can definitively say is the worst road I’ve travelled in Asia…possibly the world. Barely wider than one lane of potholed bitumen shared with giant logging trucks and frequently turning to dirt for sections the bus bumped along until around six hours in something broke. Standing by side of the road as the driver and crew stared pensively at the back wheel before retiring to a roadside phone to sit languidly and chew betel nut while making loud phone calls. As no one on the bus spoke English the small group of tourists on the bus was unclear as to what was going on until around two hours later a large truck was pulled over by the driver and the cargo strapped to the top of our broken down bus began to be moved into the truck. After two hours on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere you would assume the prospect of transport any transport would be a positive but glancing in the open topped back of the semi-trailer soon revealed a very small space for the bus passengers to stand for the remainder of their trip (which was three hours for me) between boxes and a pile of wood with nails sticking out at dubious angles. Given my lack of stability at the best of times it seemed clear to me that I would likely end up reclining in the pile of broken wood with nails puncturing me in uneven intervals. Thankfully just as I was resigned to having to explain small puncture wounds a pick-up pulled up and I and the American couple Tram and Lisa were able to negotiate a ride to Kalaw. The pick-up was a ute with two bench seats in the back facing the cabin which we were lucky enough to have to ourselves and our backpacks. Shortly after the pick-up headed off it became clear that the bumpy broken road we had experienced in the bus was simply an introduction to the jolting ride where knees became bruised and heads bashed against the low ceiling leading to a slumped tensed riding position. Thankfully after three hours with a mountain of firewood under our feet and a load of charcoal threatening to tip us over on each corner we arrived at cool tranquil Kalaw.
