April 4, 2011
Traveling Myanmar (Burma) was a beautiful and difficult journey. There is so much to write and I’ve been on the move and overwhelmed by the task that I am only just beginning to write about Myanmar while I’m waiting at the Mumbai airport for a flight south. I’ve written this blog with chapters so if you want to read some and come back to it you might find it easier to spot where you left off (it’s the teacher in me!). Or if you only look at the pictures no hard feelings!!!
The country is now up there with Indonesia and Laos for my favorites stops so far. It’s the friendliest country I’ve ever been to and the scenery and sights are beautiful. And of course, having fewer tourists makes it all the more enjoyable and less corrupted by the influx. Walking down the street men, women and children smile and often use what little English they know. They want to be friendly, but sometimes the words and phrases they know surprise you: “Hey you,” “I like you,” “I love you,” Where you going,” and “where you from.” It’s hard to imagine that a country filled with such friendly, generous people can give life to such a horrid government.
Being out of practice of posting my blog I realized the pictures are posted in reverse order. Sorry! Just keep that in mind.
Chapter 1/“Living Under the Gun”
This was my first visit into a military state and I immediately felt the difference. I felt the need to watch what I said and wrote. At least I’m fortunate it was only for a short amount of time. I don’t always have to live silenced. My first stop, Yangon/Rangoon wasn’t teeming with soldiers all about, but booksellers on the sidewalk had a wildly outdated stock to sell. Censorship and access to books was clearly at play as most books were rebound and mended. Many seemed to date back to the colonial days and the more recent ones were benign in every way. I met a couple of people along the way who craved movies, documentaries and books. One man desperately wanted to get ahold of “The Killing Fields” and documentaries on Hitler. Another was happy to receive an historical fiction book I had just finished on the American Revolution. There is a thirst for more knowledge and no way to quench it.
My first attempt at using the internet in Rangoon also revealed the political repression and economic desperation. I couldn’t log into my gmail account, but oddly Facebook was available. Some email companies are entirely banned. Fortunately, in other places I was able to log in, but always with problems. The connections are extremely slow, which I think in part is the low grade connections available, but also the manipulation of the government. I could be totally off the mark, but it seemed to me that my computer – running a foreign email address and FB – was much slower and had more problems than the locals next to me. They were able to talk to one another on video (not Skype) and use google chat without problems, but the second I went to send one email I had connection problems. It usually took me 20-30 minutes to send a quick email. I went to one meditation center website that has locations in Myanmar and all of a sudden that site ran quickly! I guess they have their preapproved sites… I just have a feeling the government was monitoring my stuff closely. Once I left the country I changed all my passwords! I was also told the internet was especially bad during my visit because a democracy movement leader in the north had just “accidentally” died. Apparently when this happens the government sporadically shuts the internet off to impede communication.
When I arrived Egyptian rebels were still trying to overthrow Mubarak. I was curious how much information was being let into Myanmar and was surprised it was covered on satellite TV. The newspaper in English I saw only covered extremely fluffy stories and one bashing the US involvement in Iraq, but no coverage of the revolutions. The main news sights I go to on the internet – NYT & BBC – were blocked. I also heard that Michael Jackson seems to be alive and well in Myanmar! Many people seemed to be unaware of his death. Oh, and Justin Biber (sp?) is huge there!
The first part of my trip seemed to be more intense in terms of government oversight and meeting locals who wanted to vent their frustrations. In Mawlamyine, I saw many police and military compounds. As I whizzed by on a motorbike I saw one young man being grabbed and forced into one compound. I have no idea his crime or even if it’s something democratic nations would consider a crime, but it was a sobering sight. It was also eerily quiet as I heard no shouts, just the swift movements of the man resisting and the officers (?) in plain clothes pushing him further from freedom. Unlike in the US, where everyone gawks at such events and create road jams, here no passerby even acknowledged what was happening. I’m sure it’s safer just to keep your head down. I was also told the old marketplace was burned down by the government because of strikes.
Apparently, the Red Cross used to be in Mawlamyine and elsewhere in Myanmar, but now is only in Yangon. They government roused them out of the other locations.
As I traveled the government kept tabs on me, but in a haphazard way. Some areas must have more military installations that they oversee more tightly. In some cities, like Mawlamyine, tourists cannot rent a moto, while others you can, but you can’t drive to certain areas. In Hpa-an I did a tour, but I met a couple that rented a moto and set out. They had been told if there were guards at the bridge they would not be allowed to pass (fascinating caves are across the bridge). I went through this area with my guide and three other travelers and we had to give a copy of our passport when we crossed and returned. There were also barricades in part of the road so a car couldn’t just drive straight. Well, later I found out that the couple of the moto just put their heads down and drove through. They were obviously tourists and heard shouts and whistles, but no one chased after them. I wouldn’t have chosen this method, but it worked out for them.
Sometimes buses would stop for a checkpoint and people (or most) would pile out to show their IDs. I did this the first time, but realized not everyone, even foreigners, registered so after that I never got off and no one came to get me. So there’s this strange iron fist, but used erratically.
Only certain hotels are licensed to accept foreigners and they submit your info to the government (Vietnam did this as well). I was told each hotel has a government appointed spy – oops, manager – assigned to watch over things. The hotel owner gets to choose one manager themselves and the other is this government designated one. And apparently if you are caught taking pictures of certain things (checkpoints – I snuck one here, police or military areas, uniformed people and even schools) they will not only come for your camera, but might also covertly search your room. I think this is because they try to keep foreign journalists out. I kept notes of my days in order to better write this blog and I started to just always keep it on me in case they searched my room. I also wrote the anti-government comments of the locals in a section separate from my chronological recordings of sights because I didn’t want to leave an easy trail back to these folks. It is also one reason why I have this general sections rather than weaving into my location accounts the stories and comments I heard. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t want harm to come to the friends I made and people I met. As one of them told me, they are “living under the gun.”
I talked to another traveler who was taking scenic pictures of farmers in a rice field. He had noticed the scene was a bit odd. They were all men with their heads always down and a foreman type person standing by. Soon a policeman came rushing towards the traveler and his local driver told him to quickly follow him. They sped away on the moto and again weren’t followed. Apparently, the farmers were prisoners doing forced labor. I heard a lot about forced labor being used in a variety of ways. There was one tourist sight I avoided because forced labor built it a few years ago.
Sadly, the spirit of the person who made the comment about “living under the gun” is so broken from the government oppression and the economic hardship he faces. Another person named him as the government hotel manager, but I can’t believe it. There is another man who might have been the spy, but looking into this person’s eyes all you see is pain and a loss of all hope. He complained so much to me about the situation and did so when we were in a public place. He whispered and used his hand to cover his mouth. At one point he said, “I hope I’m okay” - meaning he hoped no dangerous ears were listening. When people told me their political grievances I listened and tried to be sympathetic, but also restrained myself from saying too much. It was the crazy cloak and dagger feeling that a spy could be saying these things just to get me to reveal something incriminating.
Another person told me he had been detained three times for talking too openly – obviously the arrests didn’t change his behavior! :) His stays were short – about a month. He didn’t detail his detainment, but they seemed to be a badge of honor for him.
Just deciding to visit Myanmar is a political question. Aung San Suu Kyi has told people not to visit because the government will financially benefit. I understand her point, but I also feel and hope that with more tourists the locals will have more interaction with the outside world and that might indirectly lead to change. It seemed to have played a part in the Soviet Union’s downfall. How long will the people put up with their government when they have right in front of them proof of people living with freedoms and wealth? The Burmese people have tried at various times to revolt, but with no success as of yet. So I did my best to not give the government more money than required and hoped that having more open borders will push change.
One effect of the government being so oppressive and unforgiving is that crime among civilians is very low. You can go into a restaurant, bus station or shop and see the owner or worker with a huge wad of cash. The cash isn’t kept in a locked box or register. It’s usually in a drawer, tray or pocket. I felt very safe here in this respect and had a rude awakening my first night back in Thailand when I had money stolen.
Chapter 2/Currency in Need of Repair
The currency in Myanmar, the kyats (pronounced chet), reveals the state of the economy. Until recently the largest bill was 1000 denomination – just over $1. On the black market in Yangon I got 850 kyats for $1. Now they have a 5000 bill, but I only received it once and I think other travelers never even saw one. There are coins for 5 kyats. The small bills are in terrible repair and are frequently taped together. Some are so bad they have been sealed in plastic and exchanged this way. I’ve never seen currency in such poor shape and only in such small amounts.
There are no ATMs and only a few places in the entire country take credit card – none where I went. For hotels and some transport US dollars are used and these must be clean with absolutely no tears. A funny contrast to their money!
Apparently there is a huge gap between the rich and poor and only a small middle class exists. Of course top government people fall into the former category.
The lack of cash is seen in the fact that cigarettes are sold individually – not single packets, but a single cigarette. Phones are available for use from street vendors, which make me guess that many people don’t have phones in their homes. Cell phones are definitely uncommon. I don’t know what it costs them, but enough most don’t have one. For tourists to get a SIM card I was told it was $50! …Probably another way for the government to try to dissuade communication. It also seemed that many homes didn’t have TVs. Instead people gathered in public places to watch the news, movies, and sports.
Also, even when electricity is available for a fan it usually isn’t run. I noticed people are hot, but I think they’d rather save on the electricity bill. I noticed this elsewhere in SE Asia too. The electricity goes out frequently also so once again my headlamp came in handy. People are often eager to trade things with foreigners. I was asked to give or trade lipstick, shampoo, my watch (postcards for my diving watch! lol), headlamp, backpack (don’t worry sis I kept it), and perfume. Many items aren’t available because of the embargos or the prices are just so high – Revlon mascara was $20 or $30! – and many people don’t have extra cash anyway so they’d rather get a gift or trade something they made. Unfortunately, I just have the bare bones of what I need and since I am not at the end of my trip I can’t go without.
Most people get a basic education – though censored – and many try to learn English. I don’t think native English speakers are allowed to teach in Myanmar and the English teachers I met were maybe at intermediate level. One I could hardly communicate with. Many people do speak English well though and they are the ones who work in tourism and practice with the travelers. School for children is free, but the families must pay for books and uniforms. This is a heavy burden for many. Teachers also tutor to make ends meet – like in the US. A few people go to university, but that doesn’t guarantee much. I met one vendor at the temples in Bagan who is studying engineering, but he said he’ll just work full-time as a vendor when he’s done. I asked another student what he’d do when he finished and he replied that it depended on what his country is like.
The economy also affects family size. Children abounded and I guess teenage pregnancy is a problem, but I was also told that many women have a hysterectomy after 1-2 children. Men tend to wait until they are about 18 to marry so they can earn some money and women are about 16. This is at least in the area around Mawlamyine. I even had a couple of mothers want me to take their child back to the US with me. They just knew the child would have a hard life staying in Myanmar.
The country would have a lot of trouble functioning if it weren’t for trade with Thailand and China. A lot of Burmese legally and illegally go overseas to live and work. Koh Tao, an island in Thailand, had loads of Burmese workers. I befriended one and he has been gone a couple of years, but misses his family so plans on going back next year. I think he left illegally or at least overstayed his leave so I don’t know what the consequences might be. I guess not too harsh if he’s willing to go back.
Chapter 3/Yangon (Rangoon): Bustling Worn City
The architecture of Yangon bespeaks the colonial era and I felt a bit transported to that time. Now the buildings are dirty and in need of repair. Even the exterior of a still grand colonial hotel was dirty. The inside definitely was a time wrap to the days of British rule – the furniture, the décor and even the people.
I toured this crumbling city with a friend I made at the airport. Our first stop was a temple, Sule Paya, with a bamboo covering on the stupa. We put many kilometers on our treads to see temples, old colonial buildings and just wander. The highlight was the Shwedagon Paya. It’s a massive gold covered stupa with the tip covered in diamonds and stones. One of the rituals you see includes washing Buddha. Buckets of water are poured over statues made for this purpose. I also saw believers sweeping around the stupa as a way to earn merit.
Monks are very common throughout Myanmar as men will often become monks for a short period of time at different points in their lives or remain one for life. Nuns are also more common than the other SE Asian countries I visited. Nuns and monks abounded at the Paya as it is a pilgrimage sight. One began talking to my friend – being a guy that was more acceptable. He got a kick out of having my friend try the beetle nut and watching him quickly spit it out. As a woman my behavior around monks is different from men, but some countries seem a bit more flexible. For instance, I am not supposed to sit next to a monk or touch him. If I had to give or receive something from a monk the item must be placed on a table first rather than directly given by hand. This last rule didn’t always seem to apply because in Hpa-an a monk took my entrance fee directly from my hand and gave me the change back the same way. I didn’t test the sitting next to a monk rule. Some monks were more willing to smile and talk to me than others though. Anyway, this paya (temple) was beautiful and it was cool to see and feel all the religious fervor and worship.
Most men still wear the traditional longyi (like a long skirt) and most everyone wears tenecka (don’t know how to spell it), which is a yellow paste that acts as sunscreen and for women make-up. It’s originally made from wood, but now you can also get a synthetic version with perfume. You can see at one temple I’m getting it put on. My friend was just trying to ask what it was and they misunderstood and ran around to get the materials to make some for us. I got a lot of attention that day! Chewing beetle nut is also extremely common. It’s chewed in some of the neighboring countries, but not to the same extent. Here I had to watch where I stepped because the blood looking juice was just spit on the ground. On one bus ride my neighbor chewed it and spit into a clear (!) plastic bag the whole trip and then threw it out the window. Spitting in general is huge here. On one boat ride a man asked me to move over so he could spit over the side. Again, it’s common in much of Asia, but just seemed to be more so here. Some cultural differences are easier to live with than others.
Chapter 4/The Golden Rock: Beauty and Adventure
One day in Yangon was enough to see everything and the city itself isn’t an inviting place to linger so I hopped on a bus to Kinpun, near the Golden Rock. The non-AC bus was delayed in leaving because dozens of steel bars were loaded into the aisles. The buses really are all-purpose. As with many of my bus rides in Myanmar I was the only foreigner so got lots of looks and people randomly practicing their English on me. Most of the time I wasn’t sure if they were speaking English or Burmese! You can also see that I was lucky not to be on the bus that broke down and the male passengers had to push it quite a ways to kick start it. There are also very nice buses, but they cost much more. You can also see in some of my pictures that people are riding on top of buses and boats when there is overfill. You’ll also notice there are no women. Women are considered inferior to men so they cannot sit above men. So I had no adventures of sitting on the roof!
Anyway, I sweat my way to Kinpun and arrived to have two locals trying to sell their hotels. The big difference from other countries was that neither one was pushy. One young man even said to look at the other place and then at his if I liked. It was a relief not to have people barking at me. I looked at the nearest place and found the Lonely Planet was right in describing their cheap rooms as “crime scene” like. They had other affordable rooms that were nicer, but I decided to check the other place out. It was a bit more expensive, but I didn’t want to haul all my stuff back down the street again and I liked the family. It worked out well because I also made friends here. Since I arrived in the evening I just walked the village and it seems to only exist because of the Golden Rock.
The GR is the most sacred sight in Myanmar and all Burmese Buddhists are expected to make a pilgrimage at least once. There are two – well three – ways to get to the GR, which is on top of a mountain. You can climb the whole way, which would probably take six hours, but would provide the suffering one is expected to endure as part of a pilgrimage. For an adrenaline rush with less suffering you can take a truck nearly to the top and then walk the last half hour. The third option for those who don’t want to suffer at all, but don’t mind inflicting suffering is to hire a sedan chair to carry you those last 30 minutes. It does provide work for people, but what back breaking work. Given my budget and aversion to being “served” to such an extreme I walked with my friend, Richard, from the hotel.
The truck ride was like a roller coaster, but more scary because you aren’t strapped in. You sit in the bed of the huge truck on benches like sardines. We were in the back so felt the bumps even more sharply. We did have a brief reprieve from the crazy driving because the assistant needed to eat his breakfast. :) We of course had to pay more than the locals. The tourist price is always much higher than the local – sometimes 2-3 times as much. The tourist price goes for hotels, food, buses, cabs, temples, etc.
After the arduous climb the Golden Rock came into view and it was more impressive than I expected. Other tourists said it wasn’t worth seeing, but I loved it. The GR balances on another rock because, as the story goes, a hair of Buddha is under the rock and has balanced it. I guess Buddha’s hair isn’t enough because now concrete gives extra stability to the balance. It is beautifully perched high on the mountain with a valley and other mountains as the backdrop. It was filled with people, but this is not a touristy site. During the 12 hours I spent around the GR that day I only saw maybe four tourists. The thousands of people I saw were pilgrims.
I loved seeing the pilgrims pray and touch the rock, often adding more gold leaf to it. Unfortunately, as a woman I am not allowed to touch it, let alone get closer than maybe 20 feet. Apparently, because women menstruate we are considered impure and cannot touch the rock or the other most holy sites. Clearly, men who wanted to subordinate women came up with this notion because you could look at this fact of life from a different angle since it does allow the wonder of giving human life (how dirty!). Can you tell I don’t like this rule? :) Maybe if you come with papers that you have gone through menopause or had a hysterectomy you would be allowed to touch the rock – umh… Or maybe menstruation causes perpetual unending filthiness. I especially felt badly for the nuns who have dedicated their lives, or part of their lives, to the religion and Buddha yet cannot touch the holiest sites.
My friend touched the rock and felt powerful energy coming from it. He tried to describe it to me without being smug. He took my camera so I’d have at least some close pictures of the rock and the pilgrims. Later, as we walked around a monk getting his picture taken in a balcony area only for men called to my friend. We were confused at first what his intention was or if he was just trying to get Richard out of the way. Instead he wanted Richard to pose with him. A few days later I had a monk stop me to talk and then wanted me to take his picture. It tickles me.
After circling “The Rock’ for a while we walked along the ridgeline, which is filled with vendors and more pagodas. Some of the vendors were selling illegal items like elephant teeth, tiger teeth, monkey skulls and other animal parts. Of course they wouldn’t allow photos, but they are sold out in the open so the police must not care – and likely get bribed.
On this walk we came to a smaller version of the Golden Rock and this measly one I was allowed to touch. You can see me taking this opportunity, but not feeling any unearthly energy. At the various stupas and pagodas we were asked to give donations, buy the gold leaf, and pay to hang a bell on top of the stupa. At the last stupa I wanted to get the bell just so I could climb up, but the tourist price was too steep. So no good karma earned for me.
Richard and I decided to walk back to Kinpun so found the walking trail which had stairs cut into the earth. Along the walk there were villages, vendors and rest places for pilgrims. Only pilgrims can overnight on the mountain (except at a couple overpriced hotels at the top). We actually hardly saw anyone and those we saw were villagers carrying heavy buckets of water and such. The pilgrims seem to prefer the truck ride. The walk took us much longer than expected and my sarong (the appropriate attire for the visit) was always in the way. After four hours and aches in my knees and feet we made it to the village. My headlamp came in handy yet again because the sun had already set. It was a 12 hour day and I’m glad we walked back, but I’m also glad we took the truck in the morning!
Chapter 5/Mawlamyine: Beneath the Surface of Burmese Life and Politics
I took another hot and packed bus to continue heading south. Once I arrived in Mawlamyine I quickly whizzed off to see the largest reclining Buddha in the world (or so I was told). It is still under construction so I got to climb inside Buddha! I was in his arm mostly. Here I saw monks at work – doing serious hard labor. I saw it in other places as well. For some reason I hadn’t expected this. I just imagined them studying and meditating. On the way back is when I saw the teenager being arrested.
The next day I did a tour with two other travelers to Ogre Island just off the mainland (by the way Mawlamyine is on the river). It was the Peasant Day holiday so public boats weren’t running and as foreigners we weren’t allowed on one of the private boats that was ferrying lots of people. Instead we were forced to hire a boat just for us and pay a high tourist price. We passed by some military boats that we were strictly forbidden to take photos of. They were unimpressive boats.
When we got to port (that makes it sound more formal than it was) we had to give copies of our passports to the government officials before we climbed into a horse-cart. It was a nice tour to see what life was like on the island. The people who inhabit the island are mostly from the Mon tribe and have their own language. There seemed to be a range of wealth and activities were quiet because no farming could occur during the dry season. The island does make the slates for schools all over Myanmar. There is also a rubber band factory. Making rubber seemed common here and you can see in one picture sheets of rubber drying.
Everyone was very friendly on the island and the children absolutely loved having their picture taken – even more so when they saw it replayed on the screen. One man stopped me on the street and asked me to take a photo of his children – even going so far as to call one down from the porch.
The ride back to the mainland was an adventure as the first boat we got into was too full. There was a second boat that could’ve been filled too, but the operators wanted to maximize their profit. Fortunately, they realized this was a bit much so we ALL moved to the other larger boat.
That evening I walked to Kyaikthanalan Paya to see the sunset. I asked a woman for directions and she suggested hiring a moto driver because she didn’t speak English well enough to give the directions. I said I had no money and she still found a driver would took me at least part way. After making a few turns he dropped me at a street where I just had to walk straight from there. In the other countries I visited no driver would take tourists anywhere for free! This seemed to be a real sign of the friendliness of the Burmese.
The sunset wasn’t spectacular so I soon started my walk back down the mountain. I tried to take a short cut, but it landed me next to a huge prison! I felt uneasy being there even though there seemed to be a well-trodden path. So I tried to make a quick exit, but found walls built up around. Oddly there were homes within the walls so one of the residents showed me how to get out. I let out a sigh of relief once I was outside those walls! On my walk down the street a man gave me a fruit that he had drawn a face on. Strange gift, but nice. You can see me posing with my fruity friend. Then another older man with a serious face – no smile – stopped and asked me ‘where from?” “where going?” Was he being friendly or a spy checking up on me? Then another guy coming from futbol offered me a ride. I declined and I’m sure it would’ve been safe, but I felt better walking back.
My last day in Mawlamyine was full of surprises. A man at the hotel said his friend would like to invite me for breakfast. My host later told me his does this every three months or so with tourists. I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but maybe traveling solo helped because it’s cheaper for him. I decided to say yes, but was a bit curious. A man 71 years old picked me up on a moto in the morning and took me for a quick breakfast. He had heard I wanted to visit Nwa-Lo-Bo pagoda outside of town and decided to escort me there. We took a local bus (i.e. truck) to the base of the temple and then another truck. It was a rough ride and for the girl sitting next to me very uncomfortable. Poor girl got sick. I also later saw monks getting of a large bus and one was sick. He truly was suffering for his pilgrimage!
The highlight of this pagoda was not the golden rock because it paled in comparison to “The Golden Rock,” but rather the people I met. The visitors were curious about me and many of the girls and ladies asked to have pictures with me. Now they don’t have their own cameras so they paid the temple photographer a couple of dollars to have a picture with me! Later I had a drink with some of the ladies as we waited for the truck to leave. Even the photographer’s assistant posed in one with me. Later he showed me the picture and my escort thought he was giving it to me, but no he wanted it for himself. :) You can see I also took some pictures with my new friends. Even the bus driver took a liking to this strange foreigner so we sat up in the cab with him and chatted on the way down the mountain. A woman and her baby were there with us, but her poor husband had to sit in the back since we were in the front.
While we waited for the local bus to take us back to Mawlamyine I met several women asking for temple donations alongside the road. I’d seen this in other places and since I had a translator with me was able to learn more. Six villages surround this temple and they rotate who volunteers to ask for donations from those driving by. The color of the clothing they wear is coordinated and also changes. Only the women are expected to volunteer. They do get some donations – often as the driver whizzes by and throws it out the window. They were very friendly and asked the usual questions – age, marital status, job, and where I’m from.
My time with my new friend still wasn’t over. He was very sweet and wanted to show me all around. I did feel a bit hijacked though. :) He knew everyone it seemed or at least enjoyed talking with everyone. We had lunch at his regular joint. It was a little place at someone’s home. The women working there were very friendly and we got a photo together (I later had a copy made and my friend took it to them). I visited his home and met his sister and wife. He has a nice home and rents out the front of it to a store. He took me to his friends next door as well for a visit. Everyone was very sweet and welcoming.
He also took me to a market because I had asked about a longyi (sp?). I didn’t find one to buy, but it was fun to squeeze through the stalls and look. They have many designs imported from Bali as well as their own. We also stopped at a stall for sugar cane juice. It has a nice flavor and he was craving it. There was a young boy there who stared at me and when I looked at him (not meanly!) he ran away. All the other customers laughed. Apparently, I’m quite scary. He kept facing his fear and looking at me and coming closer. Finally, I gave him a couple of jelly bracelets and that seemed to ease him.
I also tried the beetle nut chew from a stand my friend knew. The nut is mixed with things, including a lime paste and then folded in a leaf. I immediately spit it out (thank goodness spitting is acceptable here!). It had a bit of a menthol effect, numbing my mouth. It is definitely a taste I cannot describe. That part of my mouth stayed red for the rest of the day. But when in Rome…
My friend and I were both exhausted at this point so we parted ways, but only for four hours! He came to pick me up later for an after dinner beer. His student (my friend teaches English on the side) drove us to a large outdoor restaurant on the river. The student and I hadn’t had dinner so we ordered some delicious eggs (the do a nice hardboiled egg with curry sauce) and such. Actually I had tried to eat dinner, but was only finding high tourist priced food. I inquired at once place that seemed to have all male customers and was told I wouldn’t like the food. I guess they didn’t want me there. This was the first rudeness I experienced in the country. Anyway, the student was a physics major, but has no job and has to sleep at a monastery. I don’t know what the unemployment rate is, but it’s huge and educated people seem underutilized.
The next morning my friend was going to meet me again for breakfast, but his gout was acting up so he didn’t show up. He did meet me at my ferry though to see me off. It was a $2 boat ride north to Hpa-an about five hours away. Locals and tourists were on it, but most of the locals got off at villages in between the two cities. The first couple of hours were hot with pretty, but monotonous scenery. It was flat and dry with fishing boats scattered here and there. But the landscape suddenly changed to reveal karsts and mountains. It was stunning scenery and houses and people were scattered thinly along it. I lucked out doing this trip northward because the trip southward starts before sunrise and light doesn’t come through until you’re past the scenic part. The boat also only runs on Mondays and Fridays. It was a wonderful ride though. I passed the time reading, writing, taking photos and enjoying the landscape.
Chapter 6/Hpa-an: Religion in Every Crevice and on Every Peak
This small town was fun to walk and I found some delicious food. Most of the food in Myanmar was repetitive and bland because I was usually buying the cheapest I could find, but here even the cheapest was wonderful. In one restaurant I had inquired about the cost of the chicken, but then ordered the cheaper eggplant. The owner also gave me the chicken. Again, surprising generosity. All of it was yummy and I left feeling vastly overfed. I later tried what’s called Sky Beer. It isn't alcoholic, but is made from palm trees. The taste had many layers and changed, but it was horrid. The only taste I could at all place was of rotten eggs.
I did another tour with three other travelers and had a spectacular day seeing the religious sites and scenery. In Myanmar, nature is strongly incorporated into their religion. In Hpa-an, the wonder of mountain peaks and caves is used to honor Buddha. The first cave, Kawgyn Cave, was the most impressive. The temple dates back to the 7th century. Mini clay Buddhas have been affixed to the cave walls and ceilings. There are hundreds of generally identical Buddhas because the number gives more honors to Buddha and different people made these offerings.
I got into the heart of the temple before the others and there was a young monk of maybe 10 years old who attached himself to me. I’m not sure if he was acting as a security guard or was just curious. He did seem to like to see the pictures I was taking. Unfortunately, he didn’t speak English, but we still had a nice time. When the others caught up to me we swapped taking pictures of one another. I got the feeling the young monk wanted a picture so I asked if he’d take one with me. He smiled and came next to me. Now he had been all smiles while we walked around, but the moment he posed he took on his serious monk face.
We were also able to walk through the cave and come to an opening that overlooked a beautiful plain. The landscape of Myanmar is so varied and just continually awed me. We had left our shoes at the entrance to the temple and didn’t realize we could have put them back on to walk through the cave. Some locals saw us and laughed. I laughed along because it wasn’t a big deal to me. My feet are getting tough from these travels so I managed okay. The other woman though cut her toe quite badly.
We visited three other caves and none rivaled this first one in terms of the religious décor, but they were beautiful in other ways. After walking about 30 minutes through Saddar Cave we opened onto a small lake. It was a lovely setting and a family lives here during the dry season. For the wet season they paddle 45 minutes back to their village. We paid for him to take us around in a boat. The lake has two ends and is separated by a low hanging cliff that we could just fit under.
We drove to Mt. Zwegabin where 1150 identical Buddha statues fill the base of the mountain. They were built in 1995, but an older monastery sits on top of the mountain. It’s a steep climb of stairs and that’s the only way to get up there. I had hoped to stay there one night, but was running out of time so skipped it. Next trip! We stopped quickly at another temple and saw a dining hall where people can come for free meals. Companies and individuals make donations of food.
At our lunch stop there were two pools and the top one only allowed males. Again, the water was pure (it hadn’t trickled into the bottom one). It was hot and would’ve been nice to take a dip (we had our suits), but our driver said there would be a place later. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the other place the temperature had cooled and we weren’t in the mood. I did wade though – as you can see.
Along the drive we passed villages and you can see one man was wetting the dirt so that cars and motos wouldn’t push dust into his home/store. During the wet season I’m not sure how passable many of these dirt roads are.
Again, many people along the road or in villages smiled and waved – mostly children, but even the adults would respond in kind if I smiled or waved. In one scenic rice field, we met university students who – surprise – wanted their picture with all the foreigners. So we posed and swapped people in and out.
Chapter 7/Hspiaw: A Rough Road There But Worth It
Upon leaving Hpa-an I had intended to go to Inle Lake and felt lucky when I got the last ticket to Bago where I would need to change buses. That was as far as my luck went. The AC bus never ran the AC and when I got to Bago I ran into difficulties. I asked a moto driver to take me to the bus station, but instead he took me to his friend who sold tickets. I was annoyed, but he had an available ticket at a price I had been quoted in Hpa-an so I bought it.
I had time to kill so I spent a few dollars to get a tour of the area. I had previously heard Bago wasn’t worth staying in and I agree. I saw a few highlights – a reclining Buddha and a large temple – but after my earlier stops these weren’t special. The only thing that stood out was seeing a “monk university.” At the monastery this room was full of monks all studying on the floor. I was allowed to walk around and I got many stares. The younger monks, throughout my visit, were more willing to smile and engage me. I hated to take a picture, but my guide kept insisting I should so I quickly snapped the one you see here.
I got back to the store where I bought the ticket and waited around for the bus. The only nice thing about this bus ticket exchange was the ladies running the store. A mother and daughter were very sweet and the daughter especially wanted to speak with me. After a while the man took me took the bus station where I waited more. The bus came, but I was refused entry because I had been sold a middle seat and the driver wouldn’t allow tourists in it. This is an overnight bus and apparently the middle seat isn’t comfortable – it’s just a little flip out seat – and tourists have complained before. I would not have enjoyed the ride, but no other seats were available and I did not want to overnight in Bago. The woman working at the bus office fought on my behalf with two buses, but none would take me. Throughout this period I was walking to all the bus vendors, but they all sell tickets for the same bus so it was useless.
One vendor spoke excellent English and explained I could take another bus to a particular town and then get a van to Inle Lake. He called and there was a ticket left so I rushed to back to the woman and got my ticket refunded, which was surprising. Unlucky for me, while I was away someone else had called in and bought the ticket. Determined not to waste a night in Bago I bought a ticket to Mandalay with the intent of getting another bus to Hsipaw. I had wanted to go to Hsipaw, but after Inle Lake. As it turned out I ran out of time and never made it to Inle Lake. There were so many places I missed.
After waiting at the bus station for 7 hours – I am getting very good at patiently passing the time – I climbed onto a comfortable overnight bus. I was happy to have my blanket because of the blasting AC. My seatmate kept slumping over on me. He was a slight man, but his dead weight was hard to push off of me and I kept waking him up. We made one pit stop, which was just pulling over on the side of the road – have gotten used to this too.
I got into Mandalay before daybreak and got the local, budget bus to Hspiaw. I think my male seatmate was complaining to the assistant that I was sitting next to him. He was stuck with me. Then I almost missed my stop. I had tried to ask about my stop, but never got much of a response and the driver and assistant weren’t as helpful as most. Usually, they know where I’m getting off and tell me when we’re there. At one stop the assistant said something in Burmese and I thought I heard Hspiaw, but I had trouble getting his attention to ask. Finally, as we were pulling away I asked and that was my stop. So my luck turned around, I guess. I walked almost a mile to my hotel, but happily ran into an older Scottish gentleman I had dined with in Yangon. He showed me the way to the hotel and after 30 hours and 3 buses I finally settled into my hotel.
This town in much further north – hence 3 buses and 30 hours – and has more tourists than down south. But it is nice to walk around the town and there is a café on the river that is nice to relax at. On the way there I saw a nat shrine in a tree (I included a picture). The nats are spirits and the notion existed before Buddhism came to the area. When Buddhism was spread by the king he allowed the nats to blend with Buddhism in order for the people to convert. By the shrine there were women who spent all day cutting lemons and drying them. So much of the work is repetitive, tedious and physically demanding.
After sleeping in on my first full day in Hsipaw I rented a bicycle and visited a bamboo Buddha, Little Bagan and some Shan villages. The Buddha is in a small monastery and it’s famous for being uniquely bamboo. However, you can’t tell by looking at it that it’s bamboo, but when they carry it I’m sure it’s a refreshing difference. Little Bagan is a small – really piddly – reminder of Bagan. I’ll write more on Bagan later, but basically over 4,400 temples and stupas were built in an area the size of Manhattan. I visited this area after Hspiaw, which was good because Little Bagan was little!
The highlight of Hsipaw is the landscape. The Shan villages had mountains, a river and fields as their backdrop. I also tried in vain to find my way to a hot spring. I had a map, but couldn’t find the stop and when I asked people they continued to send me further along the main road (mistake). Actually one man I asked said he was Nepalese, but has never been there. His father or grandfather was brought by the British during the colonial era and his family has never had the money to return.
After going down a steep hill and hitting a toll booth I turned around and headed back. I was proud that I didn’t have to walk the bike up the hill and even passed a very slow truck. I grabbed lunch back in town and figured I’d then try the second route to the hot springs. At lunch I started talking with two men. One was a bit tipsy and spent much of his time bashing China and saying that China controls Myanmar. He said the Chinese in Myanmar are rich and the Myanmar people are poor. He said China is strong there because they don’t want Europe encroaching. Not sure of the accuracy, but a little insight into some politics of the area.
I told the men I had tried to find this hot spring and one offered to take me. I tried to refuse and they practically sat me down on the moto. Soon we stopped for gas and I was expected to pay – shocker. He hadn’t been to the springs before, but was able to get the right directions and we found our way. The springs weren’t anything special, but the scenery was lovely with mountains and a valley. Unfortunately, on the way back he got creepy and I swiftly had to remove his hand from my leg. With that I was anxious to get back to town. He insisted we stop for tea at his friend’s shop and I tried to protest saying I wasn’t feeling well (not a complete lie). Ignoring me we stopped there and he had tea. I refused to drink or sit down and was about to start walking to flag down a ride when he was ready to leave. He dropped me back at the restaurant and off he went. Relief. My mood brightened when later that evening I ran into my friend from the Golden Rock.
One thing that is different about this town is that people are friendly, but not quite as much. Apparently, the reason is that a wave of arrests happened in 2005 and it made people wary of interacting too much with tourists. Some, like my lunch “buddies,” had no qualms with it, but there were many who didn’t smile or engage foreigners like in other areas.
Chapter 8/Bagan: A Wonder of the World
I would have liked to stay in Hspiaw longer to do some trekking (as they say on the backpacker circuit), but my days were running short and I definitely did not want to miss Bagan. As bum luck would have it the only bus to Mandalay (for the transfer bus to Bagan) left at 5am (not sure if that was the truth). I slept most of the ride, but again had a seatmate (larger this time) who fell into me as the bus turned – and he snored. Once in Mandalay, three other travelers and I found a 1pm bus to take – no AC (ugh!). An AC bus wasn’t available for another five hours so we sucked it up and bought our tickets. There were several other tourists on the bus. I noticed that further north this wasn’t uncommon whereas down south I was always the only one. And Bagan is a stop that all tourists to Myanmar make. The bus was packed down the aisles with passengers sitting on plastic stools and more men on the roof.
Happily, we arrived two hours before I expected. Two of the other travelers were paired up to share a room so I shared with my seatmate. He is French and gave me great amusement when one night he came into the room drunk and kept making passes at me. He kept crawling into bed with me and then retreating with his tail between his legs. He didn’t make me nervous, but just found the situation funny. It was even more hilarious the next morning when I woke up to him naked in his bed. At least he was in his bed!
I ran into another friend I had made in Hspiaw. She had left the morning before me and arrived in Bagan a few hours after I did. She had taken the train, which is oddly always slower than the bus, and then a boat that meandered. The boat was so cramped she had to spend the whole night on a chair with her legs bent to her chest. So glad I didn’t opt for her route!
To start my exploring of Bagan I shared a horsecart with a Spanish tourist and then my roommate and another traveler were in another horsecart. The driver took us to many of the highlights for the temples and stupas. They were built between the 11th and 14th centuries. Sadly, a 1975 earthquake destroyed about 1000 of the structures and damaged others. With help from UNESCO they are being repaired and rebuilt. The horizon is just incredible with these earth colored (for the most part) temples piercing the skyline. You can turn a full circle and see them all around you. They are of different sizes and styles, which makes them more interesting. The grandest ones were built by royalty, but individuals also built them. The temples all – at one time at least – included one or more statues of Buddha. Other than that most of the interior decoration was painted. In some places it is still visible and beautifully done. Villages were scattered throughout the area, but they were made of wood and have since disappeared.
For the second day I wanted the freedom a bicycle could offer and headed out on my own. The path to many of the temples are simply sand so I pushed the bike much of the way. But given the nuisance of these roads there were no other visitors. I had these magnificent temples all to myself to pretend I was the one just discovering them after centuries of neglect. It wasn’t hard to imagine this when thorns and burrs stabbed me as I walked around. Inside the temples you must go barefoot and that was sometimes a bit prickly too. Some of them have stairways that led me to the top and enticed me to linger and savor the views. Near one temple was a cave monastery that is still used. There are niches carved out with cots for the monks.
At one temple I lingered to study – and purchase – a few sand paintings. There’s tons of sand available for the taking and it’s dyed and mixed with natural glue. The sand paint is applied to a cotton cloth and it can be folded, washed and ironed! Many of the designs are taken from the murals in the temples. I also found out vendors have licenses to only sell at a particular temple so this painter had to convince those who passed by to visit his temple because though beautiful it is neglected. I also got a better deal because I came by a bicycle rather than a horsecart or bus, in which case he would have to pay a commission to the driver.
I wandered to the neighboring temple and happened to get there as the vendors were getting their lunch together. They invited me to join them and after politely refusing and being asked again I finally joined them. There were four men all pitching food into the potluck lunch. It was spicy for me and some dishes were whole little fish – I managed to swallow a few. I only had cookies to offer to the pile and most didn’t have any. One man had fun trying on my sunglasses – as you can see. :) At one point it looked like a bus was pulling up on the dirt road, but the guys said it was lunch time and they wouldn’t be working. After lunch most went inside the temple to nap. I was invited, but declined this one. The young man who had initially invited me to lunch showed me his stand, but he wasn’t pushy about me buying anything. I was looking for a gift and found a beautiful one. It was a bit awkward negotiating after becoming friends. Given later negotiations with someone on a similar item, I think I got a good deal. He also gave me a little lacquer box as a gift. It was a nice surprising afternoon.
I rode my bike around more and explored a few more temples – finding one where I could read and write up on the roof. On my way back to the hotel a moto driver pulled up and started making small talk. I responded, but without interest and finally he got to his purpose – selling paintings. Can you believe it – driving up to people and hounding them on your moto! Only in Bagan does this happen in Myanmar. It’s a sad foreshadowing of what’s likely to come as more tourists go.
The next morning I woke early and headed to Mount Popa with two other tourists. It’s 1 ½ hours away from Bagan and has a temple on top. The temple itself wasn’t very impressive and with the dry season and harsh lighting the scenery wasn’t that beautiful. The outside of the temple was pretty, but being on the mount we couldn’t see that part. It would have been better to climb a nearby mountain and look over at the temple. The main amusement on the mount was an older monk who seemed to break all the rules – touching women (no, not like that!), smoking and wearing sunglasses.
The coolest part of this outing was seeing the nat statues. They are the ones of people all dressed differently and lined up together. The nat, Lord Kyawswa, sits on top of a horse with bottles of rum and whiskey attached. Not surprisingly he is known as the “Drunk Nat.” He was born on Mt. Popa and spent years gambling on cock fights and drinking. He now is the guardian of gamblers and drunks. I thought maybe Mandalay Bay in Vegas should have a statue of him, but then they wouldn’t want all the gamblers to start winning! There is a sweeter nat who is the protector of children. She is given toys at exam time.
Also, on the way back to Bagan we stopped at a palm sugar and peanut place. They make whiskey that is 40 proof! I took one sip and definitely felt the burn. The palm sugar candy is good though and reminds me of maple sugar candy. You eat theirs with some sesame seeds.
My last day in Bagan was a half day and I wandered the market and back neighborhoods. In the neighborhood some kids started walking with me and playing. They liked saying “hello.” A woman, maybe in her 50s, walked by and started talking. She invited me to her brother’s house and so I said goodbye to the kids. I met two generations of the extended family. Two of the women were visiting and most of the family members are teachers. They were so generous offering me lime juice (yum!) and a snack of tea leaves in oil with peanut and sesame seeds. I had tried this at the sugar palm shop and it is tasty. They also had some of the palm sugar candy for me. They wanted me to stay for lunch, but I had to check out of my hotel. So they invited me to dinner, but by that time I’d be on the bus. It was unfortunate timing, but I felt lucky to have met them.
One of the women visiting sells stones and jewelry (gems are big here) and showed some to me. I said I couldn’t buy anything because I’d spent all my money. They all laughed and then I think wanted to give me a piece. I said it was too big of a gift, but thanked them. They said we are now family and I am always welcome back. The woman who is in her late 20s would like to come to the US and I would love to host her, but doubt she’ll ever be able to come. We exchanged info, though none had email, and I’ve sent them the photos we took together (just hope they get through the censors). They sent me on my way with a huge bag of tamarind candy. I had nothing to give them, but a small sheet of stickers of the American West (thank you Mommom!). It was a pitiful gift for all they’d done and one I’d meant for children, but at least something.
I caught the overnight bus to Yangon and arrived bleary eyed at maybe 5am. I bargained as best I could with a taxi driver to get to the airport and then slept there until check-in time. In Bangkok I had to wait a few hours until an overnight bus to the port for Koh Tao. All in all I traveled two nights and a day and a half. I’ll write later about Koh Tao. If you made it this far I am shocked and very happy! Hopefully, I won’t have such a long black out period again, but Myanmar was worth it!
Now, after a week in India I’m in Munnar and finishing this text, but still have loads of pictures to upload so I might be in Delhi when this finally goes live!
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