Bagan: Myanmar Day 3

Bagan is stunning.

View from Mt Popa.

Apparently, this place was created in the 1100s, when the King of the area was convinced to switch over to Theravada Buddhism (still practiced today) from the native Hindu religion.  He celebrated, and perhaps competed with other regions or other kings, by building as many temples as he could.  At one point, or so they say, there were up to 10,000 temples in the complex.  Now, Bagan does sprawl a bit, but it’s not nearly the size of Angkor Wat, so 10,000 temples must have meant a temple every few steps.   Even now, with just 2,000 temples (many restored after earthquakes and looting by UNESCO) there is almost a temple every few steps.  Some a big and tall, some tiny and quiet, and all are surrounded with trees, farmland, and dusty dirt roads.

Crazy Italian friends.

It seems to me as well that Bagan is what Siem Reap (home of the Angkor Wat complex) once was, before it was ravaged by tourism and the “development” that it brought.  I spent a few hours on the e-bike scooter and never saw a soul on the roads, which is unlikely at Angkor except in the area where I once lived in the north.  Bagan is compact enough that you can ride around for hours and still be near to your village.  The (somewhat) small scale also gives the opportunity to see hundreds of temples from one vantage point.  It’s a miraculous site, to see the sun setting behind temple peaks.

But, back to the beginning. 

Some of the 777 stairs.

I got into Bagan Airport, after one of the easiest transits, around sunset.  The size of both the airports is such that I was out of the plane and in a taxi on the way to the city in less than 10 minutes.  I honestly can’t remember the last time that’s happened.  The drive into the city passed temple after temple right at dusk, and it stunned me at the first moment.  I asked my driver how the tourists get around, and he told me that they had banned motos for tourist after one too many accident with the locals.  This doesn’t surprise me; tourists (myself included) aren’t really known for their Myanmar street savvy, particularly on powerful machines.  What I saw was people on bicycles and e-bikes, which are small and light battery-powered scooters.  I personally found the balance of the e-bike to be a bit off, especially on the sand, but it appears that the tourists are less threatening when they are only travelling at 30 kilometers per hour (at the absolute maximum). 

I had a pleasant evening at the hostel, Ostello Bello, a lovely little refuge run by some Italians, just observing the people and getting a feel for the place.  I recommend staying with them; they have free coffee and tea at all hours, nice food, and a positive atmosphere with some foreign and local staff.  There was one staff member that I found very intriguing, an older man, perhaps 60, who wore his winter hat and longyi with a heavy jacket.  I didn’t see him crack a smile until Christmas dinner, where he was dancing and laughing with his new gift.

Obligatory Temple Shot.

In the morning, I sat down to breakfast with some other travellers, Italians, one of whom was a lively 56 (?) and one who was my age.  They said they were headed to a place called Mt. Popa, and I decided to join them.  I had no knowledge of this place, o expectations, but we set off around 9:00 and were on the road.  The air is thick with dust here, and the road to the temple was long and winding.  On one leg of the journey, we went past person after person waiting on the side of the road.  Having lived in Asia for some time, I was surprised to see this; behind these people was no village, no home.  It was never uncommon in Cambodia to see people outside their homes, watching the road for entertainment, but to see people sitting in what appears to be the dry countryside, with no work, was very odd.  It was even more odd that they had spaced themselves out, not in a group but lone figures.  Most were very old, obviously weak with age.  Some were younger, down to childhood.  Many would wave, but most would put their arms out as if begging for us to stop and help.  I regret not asking the driver about these people, but it appears that the tourism (both from foreign tourists and locals) has made begging on the dusty street an option.

We continue on our road, with a brief stop for a local palm-sugar seller and maker, and two hours later, Mt. Popa.  It’s quite incredible to drive up to this place, because it looks like a steep, rectangle ridge with this bright gold pagoda sitting on top.  Beneath, a small town with a large fruit market.  No one will go hungry here in Myanmar.  We pile out of the van and begin the walk up the 777 steps to the top of this mountain.  The whole mountain is overrun with monkeys, and tended by a huge staff asking for tea money for donations.  My Italian friends and I begin our ascent, stopping here and there for a photograph or a rest.  The younger woman is overwhelmed with excitement about the monkeys.  I’m looking at them wondering if they are going to try to steal something.  Monkeys are little thieves. 

Beautiful noodle seller.

It’s a lovely place, truly, but I’m somewhat surprised at how unclean it seems here.  The pagodas in Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos are immaculate, spotless.  Here they are not nearly so pristine, and I feel the dust on my bare feet as I walk up the stairs.  At the top is shrine after shrine dedicated to each of the 37 nats, or spirits, that watch over the mountain.  I was thrilled to see that at least one spirit is a woman.  Her mural was outside her shrine, showing her dedication to Buddha and the spiritual way.   There are tall golden temples, a gong to ring, monks, and shrine watchers.  The main draw (at least for the tourists) was the view.  Each way you look, you can see miles and miles of the Burmese countryside.  Plus, the sun is bright, but the air is cool.  Winter is actually something of winter here, and I never felt inclined to remove my sweater.

When we went down, we stopped for some quick noodles at one of the shops at the entrance.  They were delicious cold wheat noodles with some tomato sauce on top, as well as some ingredients that I would never know in English, much less Burmese.  Throughout the meal, I was watching the sellers, two women who carried a slingshot around to ward off the (thieving) monkeys.  There was never anything in the slingshot, and a swift pull in their direction was more than enough reason for them to leave.  The one seller had a stunning face, her eyes ringed with eyeliner, solemn and serious.  She kept opening a notebook and writing something, perhaps the sales of the day. 

Effing monkeys.

On the way out, the Italians acquired some bananas and attracted the attention of the monkeys while I avoided the scene with my own bananas.

This is Christmas Eve, by the way, and also the eve of some Buddhist or National holiday here in Myanmar.  As we left, we saw a group of teenaged school girls headed up to the mountain, all with emerald green longyi and bright neon ball caps.

Later that evening, I was eating and talking, as the social butterfly had emerged.  I encountered a British man who’s work brought him to Myanmar to work in the gas and crude oil industry aboard ships.  I did not like this man.  He called himself the devil with his industry (especially for green peace people like me) and I can’t help but agree.  He spoke about tragedies of human life as though they were inevitable, tragedies from his boat and sea slavery that exists in excess in this part of the world. 

I escaped him by meeting to lovely (and older) French women who were working with ActionAid, a social enterprise that brings craft work to women across the country.  They had set up a shop at the front of our hostel, and I bought far more than I needed from their table.  They had also worked in Cambodia, and they highlighted some of the differences they’d noticed in their line of work.  They said that Myanmar people were quite willing to work, to learn, to grow, and that this trait wasn’t always present in the ‘Bodge.  They also mentioned problems with malnutrition in Cambodia, with young mothers feeding rice water to their children instead of healthy fruits and milk, which may contribute to the lack of learning in the youth. 

I also met an American man, which is something of a rare find.  We Americans are not known for our travels to SE Asia, not nearly in the same scale as in Europe or Australia.  He taught digital music at a university in Miami, and we argued about race relations and musical purity (as different topics, that it). 

Steve the Pilot.

Oddly enough, this motley crew ended up together for the Christmas Eve trivia pub quiz.  Our “Dream Machine” almost won, but fell behind by one point in the final round.  Between me and the college professor, with some help from the French with the alcohol question (Brandy), and a bonus bit of help from the Italian hostel owner (Pannatonne), we did pretty well for ourselves.  The Brit was mostly useless, though I concede that he did help once or twice.

The next morning, Christmas.

I’d been planning my trip to Burma since October, so I was able to acquire a ride on a Balloon over Bagan for Christmas day.  At the moment, the hot air balloons are booked up until well into January.  It’s easily the best (and most pricey) way to see Bagan. 

LOOK AT THIS.

So, I was up at 5, wearing every bit of warm clothing that I had.  Another traveller from my hostel, a Japanese girl living in Singapore, was also going to the balloon, so naturally we chatted and sat together.  They picked us up in these old restored trucks, and we puttered down the road in absolute darkness toward the launch point.  Note: the windows were open, and many of us were obviously freezing cold.  I kept looking at this one guy in shorts and a t-shirt (only), wondering how on earth he wasn’t shivering.  He had some mad mutton chops.

It turns out that many members of our balloon were expats living abroad.  Risa, the Japanese girl, lived in Singapore and found Myanmar as cold as I did as a Bangkok expat.  Another couple was from USA/Philippines and living in Manila, and one from Scotland, in Seoul and French from Tokyo. 

Christmas hat in the sky.

We sat in a circle in the dark and drank some coffee and tea, warming ourselves up before the sun rose.  The field was bustling with activity from the lovely staff who were setting up the balloons for launch: 12 around the field.  We met our pilot, Steve, a loud Brit wearing a nice Santa hat.  He gave us our safety demonstration, which basically consisted of him telling us to listen to his instructions.  One of the thin staff members also climbed into the basket to demonstrate the landing position. He divided us up in our cubicles, four by four, with me, Risa, and the Scots in one basket and the French family in the basket in front of us. 

Temple from the sky.

Then, we got to watch the balloons inflate.  The light was just rising and the flames were making the red balloons glow.  The flames also made the weather a bit more pleasant and tolerable for those of us living in the tropics.  Most of the people were clicking photo after photo, but I was just pleased to watch and enjoy.

We climbed into the baskets (with the grace of stick figures), and our balloon was the first to set off. 

I can’t express how amazing this was.  Pictures will never do justice to the experience.  Everywhere you looked, another temple, another set of trees, another rice field, a farmer waking up to begin the day.  From afar, the sun was just peeking up from the horizon, washing the landscape in pale light.  I waved to a person tending her cows, and just gazed at the sight of Bagan from the sky.  One pagoda had a complex design from the sky, a star shape in bright white, rimmed with gold.  It was simply incredible.

#selfie

We landed in a field and watched the other balloons touch down in various locations near and far.  We drank some champagne, and talked and laughed.  At least 4 other people in my balloon were teachers, living the winter holiday in style.  I believe that I need to make a pledge to ride all the balloons in all the places that I visit.  It really is stunning, and it reminded me of home on a day that I wanted to be reminded.

In fact, when I got back to the hostel, I made an attempt to Skype into Christmas Eve with my family.  The connections on both sides were so poor that all we really saw was blurry owl eyes, but it was fun to see the kids and the cousins and visit grandma’s house on the busiest night of the year. 

There was no champagne on our head.

Risa and I decided to get an e-bike and bike around the three cities of Bagan to see the sights, since she both couldn’t really drive and only had a day to spend in Bagan.  I drove us from New Bagan, to Nyuang OO, to Old Bagan, to see some pagodas and temples.  Luckily she had a map on her phone that got us from place to place, because I had no clue where we were headed.  The upside of not knowing anything about a place when you visit is you get to discover everything with no expectations.  The downside of this approach is that sometimes you miss discoveries that may have been very cool.  C’est la Vie.

She and I pagoda hopped in the three cities, and since she is a very Asian girl, we took many a selfie.  At some point, we even took a 360 degree selfie with her GoPro, a feat I had never considered.  Pagodas are, understandably I think, not remarkably thrilling to me after 6 years in Asia, but it’s fun to see differences in behavior and tradition between the various countries. 

We found lunch in a restaurant overlooking the Ayerwaddy River, the lifeblood of the city (and arguably, the country).  The seat situation had us sitting with another foreign couple, expats living in Yangoon, the capital.  It was this conversation that made me think I was in A Christmas Carol, finding ghosts of present, past, and future.  This man, a Brit, had worked in Cambodia in 1991, with the advent of the Halo Trust.  Not just that, but his work took the mines out of my Peace Corps Village, and began the work that employs a large group of the Thmar Pouk residents.  In fact, their vans from the border always arrived in our village just a few feet away from my house, on the same corner that I lived on.  Not only did he know my area, he knew it before there was anything in it.  I’m stunned that my random tour around this old city could put me at the same table with this human, and it reminds me that the world is incredibly small. 

We headed back to the hostel for a small rest before the evening’s activities, and found ourselves stranded on the side of the road.  The problem with e-bikes? Battery.  But, this was not hardly a problem.  A nice Burmese man stopped on his moto and helped us call the company to bring another battery.  Of course, he was also asking us to visit the lacquer ware shop in his village, but he was also very kind.  We waited a bit and were quickly on our way. 

It always looks like this... every day.

A sunset.

It’s a beautiful sunset, made ethereal with the dusty air and the shadows of temples.  I met there a man trekking continents on his bicycle, looking old with his experiences and the wear on his body.

As I was waiting for Christmas dinner, I met more people.  A tall German man who lives in Tokyo, studying, and his cousin, a short, Egyptian-German man living in Jakarta.  They must see shock every time they mention their relation to one another, because I have never seen two people look more different.

And Christmas Dinner, an Italian feast.

Every Italian food you’ve ever heard of was on this buffet table, and there must have been at least 100 people vying for spots on the floor of the roof, near the buffet table.  We sat, we joked, we laughed, we ate.   I’m full just thinking about the delicious food that we had.

I took a small break from the party to enjoy Christmas morning Skype with Mom, Mike, and Grandma, and watched them open their gifts.  Two Skype sessions in one day for me, and all the Christmas packed into just a short time. 

I finished it all off by helping Risa fight off the UK humor of the biker, who was teasing her out of ease.  I sat down with Emmanuel, the owner of the hostel, and had a lovely conversation late into the evening.  I may have to visit him in Florence, where they are opening a new hostel. 

And then, a rest.  I spent the 26^th in a lazy way, sitting at the hostel.  I wrote, I talked, I ate, and celebrated the Iowa way, with small movements and too much food.

My perch on the temple.

I spent the next day driving around on the e-bike, through the city and the market, then lazing at one of the temples watching the sun slowly dip down.  The market was every market, although I find the Myanmar people to be very good salespeople.  There’s a saying about rice (and laziness) in this region.  They say that the Thais plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow, and the Vietnamese harvest it.  Some versions have the Laotians listening to the rice grow.  It is somewhat fitting… the Thais work, but not always, and the Vietnamese are fierce with their work ethic.  If I were to add Myanmar into this saying, I may say that they sell the rice. 

Temples everywhere.

In the market and the temple, I saw first hand just how sharp the sales were, with many sellers using social influence principles.  One gave me a gift so I felt compelled to reciprocate.  One put tanaka on my face for a similar reason (it feels quite cool, and supposedly deters the sun).  One had tears in her eyes begging for a sale.  One told me that there hadn’t been any sales recently.  One utilized the power of comparison.  I’m not sure where this comes from, this tenacity, but they are very effective techniques.  I’m comforted at least with the little boy (who got me to buy a sand painting… how I’ve no clue) who told me that school is on holiday for the Buddhist holiday.  At least he may not be selling at the temple every day; he was much too clever for that.

That evening ended with dinner in the backpacker part of Nyuang Oo, with some Italians from my hotel.  They lived in Shanghai, which I’m hoping is a prediction of the future for a certain friend of mine.

Bagan is truly phenomenal.  Everything about it begs for another visit.

Burma: Mandalay Part 2.

Day 3 and 4!

My last few days in Mandalay.

Waterfall off to the left there. You only see a tiny bit.

It is vacation, so I slept in.  I decided to have an adventure once I woke up, so I booked a car taxi at the front desk and told them I wanted to go to the Ancient Cities.  Now, keep in mind that I know very little about these places, and that I haven’t read anything in a guide book.  The taxi shows up, and a lovely man called Ko Aung Ko is my driver.  We run an errand at the ticket agency to get some plane tickets while I look at the pictures of these ancient cities and places we can attend by car.  

The ticket agency had its own entertainment.  All the agents are sitting on the same side of the table, and the place is the busiest I’ve seen.  At one point as I purchased my tickets, an elderly man came in wearing his warm jacket and longyi, wandering up to one of the agents and asking for something.  Of course, my Burmese is understandably limited, but he was perhaps confused, certainly hard of hearing, and his words made all the women lined up laugh and giggle.

Waterfall 2 with Ko Aung Ko.

I get back in the car and make a quick decision to not go to the Ancient cities, and to go to a place called Pyin Oo Lwin instead.  This town is a few hours out of Mandalay and was once a refuge for the British colonists in the old days, because the mountains made the town about 15 degrees cooler.  I had a feeling that I would enjoy the trip with Ko Aung Ko (the first Ko means “brother” like in Cambodia).

And so, we begin our journey.

We set off, and I request some music for the journey.  Aung Ko says he only has Burmese music (which of course what I wanted), and ends up putting a cassette tape into his car stereo and regaling me with the lovely tunes of the country.  His dashboard was covered with a thick fur, with a little bottle of perfume right in the middle. The first few songs were typical traditional sounding tunes, love songs with an old 80s vibe to them.  Then, a tune I recognized came into my ears.  “I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you….” was playing with some delightful Burmese lyrics.  I’m humming along while Aung Ko translates the lyrics for me.  They are similar to the original.  I hear “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” which is apparently also a love song here.  I don’t recall the original version themed as mainly a love song.  

But, my favorite, hands down… “Eye of the Tiger.”  By now, Aung Ko has realized how excited I am about Burmese music, and is translating the lyrics to all the songs for me.  They are mostly about love, but this one was special.  It was about the eye of the tiger being a symbol of love for the woman.  He translated something for me about “the tigre,” so there is similarities to the original.  Although, I don’t recall this being a song about love in the original.  

He also translated for me an original song, the lyrics of which I found very lovely.  It was a song about the seasons in Burma, of which there are three: rainy, cool, and hot.  The singer noted that he would be the umbrella in the rainy season, the blanket in the cool season, and the fan in the hot season for his love.  

Ko Aung Ko was very forthcoming with me about his life and his country while we were in the car.  He’s 30, married for two years, with a young son.  Driving is quite good work, it seems, though most of the money doesn’t go to him.  In Cambodia, owning a car means taking all the profits on your own, and making money day to day.  Aung Ko is salaried, making $300 a month to drive, while the rest of the money goes to his company and the owner of the car.  This is very little money, in my opinion, given that the cost of my journey to this small town was $65, a single day’s work.  He seems content with his salary, though, probably because his wife also works and may make about as much in her hotel.  

Alien on merry-go-deathtrap.

While we were on the road, we drove past a town with not one, not two, but three different military universities, a center of the military in Myanmar.  We even drove behind a few trucks filled to the brim with soldiers and their giant guns.  I saw at least 6 trucks full of soldiers, which Aung Ko believed were headed to the north.  There is some unrest in the north, with people fighting, perhaps against the government.  Or perhaps the government is fighting them first, it’s difficult to say.  

But back to the travels.  Aung Ko and I went to two waterfalls.  Well, a waterfall view from afar, and a small “resort” waterfall.  The waterfall view was incredible.  I wish I had time to hike down the mountain to see the view from the bottom, but my sleep-in made it impossible to fit everything in.  The second fall was much less impressive, though the atmosphere was very entertaining.  My favorite aspect of this place was the merry-go-round.  

Water powered system.

This merry-go-round was powered with the flow of the waterfall, so each of the small chairs was attached to a shovel that was stuck into the circular current.  The chairs were decorated with the most thrilling photos: an odd pink alien, a curious . The current never stopped, which means the chairs never stopped.  I’m quite sure that any attempt to put a child into the chairs would be fraught with danger, and I wasn’t around long enough to see my theory disproved.  I did see a young mother with a toddler who was very interested in riding in the chairs.  She gently steered him away from the idea.

And then, botanical gardens.

Giant flower cake?

Apparently, these botanical gardens were started in 1924 by some Brits, and their work rivals the national gardens in Singapore.  This is no small feat considering the state of the rest of this country.  It is the 10th anniversary of the Flower Festival as well, so there were large displays of (fake) flowers arranged in pleasing shapes.  There was a Myanmar flag, a horse cart, Big Ben?, and what appeared to be a giant cake.  And that was only the beginning.  

The botanical gardens are massive, acres and acres of green grass and local foliage.  There were pockets of bamboo, a swamp walk, a tree canopy, and a walk in aviary.  I saw a tree with its leaves falling down, something incredibly unusual for the tropics.  When Ko and I walked into the tree walk, there were deer lounging at the bottom.  Aung Ko seemed very surprised at these unusual animals, something he had never before seen.  He also hadn’t ever walked into the gardens with any of his customers, but since I was on my own, he was delighted to take photos of me as we walked around.  The deer were odd to him, though, and he was shocked to learn that my home has deer everywhere, and that I had hit them with my car on more than one occasion.  

Butterfly catcher at the museum.

There were some curious Asian things also.  The orchid garden has a small butterfly museum, well stocked with specimens from all of Asia.  They were arranged in very curious ways, though, in the shapes of hearts, upside down, and diagonals.  There was a statue of a man with a butterfly net with a lovely flowered background, and the fact that it looked like a store mannequin just made it that much better.  Very few tourists were there, just Burmese people relaxing and enjoying the cool mountain air.  Many families were wearing their traditional clothes and taking photos of themselves with the flowers and the garden, groups of young people were hanging out and playing games or music, and I even saw a few monks walking around.

Heart shaped butterflies!

It was a very pleasant afternoon.  Plus, Ko Aung Ko told me that my style and my sunglasses made me look like Michael Jackson.

That evening, I went back to Cafe Inle to get some quick food, and ended up getting a free calendar.  I’m still not sure why, but I treasure it.  Plus, the waitress at the restaurant was one of the most genuinely kind humans I’ve ever encountered.

The next morning, I wanted to head to the market to pick up some fabric, so I went to reception to ask for a moto driver to take me.  I wait a few moments for said driver to show up, and who comes to greet me but Joe again!  (Side note, I’ve since found out that he actually goes by John).  Now, this was surprising to me, but I went with it in order to keep the peace, and because it is easy to go around the city with someone who knows their way around.  I’m not sure how Joe felt, but given some of the things he said, I believe he believes that I’m incapable of getting around on my own.

Myanmar flag in fake flowers.

So, off to the market we go.  Zegyu is a large fabric market fairly far from my hotel, and it was massive.  I dragged him around to various stalls, looking for the right fit for my special skirt, and finally found one that I appreciated.  I then went to get it sewn with the seller.  And then I bought another one while I was waiting for the first one to be sewn. John doesn’t seem to know much about women’s clothing (I know, I was shocked, too).  I don’t know if he knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to reception’s request to take me around the town.  Either way, we acquired fabrics, then he took me (not really by my own choice) to the Royal Palace.  

Carriage make from fake flowers.

There’s not much to say about the Royal Palace.  It’s massive, sprawling, and full of the same style of architecture.  There was a large guard tower that gave a neat overview of the whole place, but it looks a bit ragged.  While the history of the royalty is there, it hasn’t been taken care of or curated in any logical way.  Seeing the fabrics and photos of the former Queen and King and their family, while interesting, just showed how derelict the place has become.

John and I on the tower at the Royal Palace. 

John and I stopped for lunch at Mandalay Donut, a chain restaurant serving (you guessed it) baked goods and a variety of foods.  My fried noodles were spicy and delicious, and I ordered some “fried potatoes” since John didn’t want to order anything.  I found out why, though, when I learned that he only makes $100 a month.  Now, John has tried to spend some cash on me, taking care of parking fees and food and tickets and petrol, and I’ve learned that his goal is to be a tour guide.  This helps explain some of the time he’s spent going around the town with me.  He’s improving his English, trying to get himself more lucrative work, and learning the ways of the tourists.  I’m trying to think of ways to thank him for his time.  I believe a bit of a tip and a nice card, perhaps a reference letter, may be in order.

In the evening, I made my way to the airport, which was nearly empty (and must be most of the time), and took the 25 minute trip to Bagan.  Several tourists were on the same plane, and their energy was odd and nervous and stressed.

And now, the next chapter, Bagan.

Burma: The First (Mandalay)

I’ve only been in Myanmar for a few days now.  I’m finding it to be one of the most fascinating places I’ve ever visited, which is not a small feat considering I’ve lived in South-East Asia for the majority of my adult life.  I’m only on the first leg of my trip, but it is already shaping up to be one of my best solo adventures.

So, here’s a recap of my first day in Mandalay.

"Rice with spaing onion and fish"

I got into the airport without incident, taking my time to get into check in, through the long lines of the Don Muang airport (aka hell).  The flight to Myanmar was brisk, just a few hours, and I slept most of the way.  We got in, and I was in a taxi on my way to the hotel in record time.  The visa, the money exchange, everything was incredibly smooth.  The drive from airport to town was more than I expected; about 45 minutes from point A to point B.  It struck me that the roads were so wide and so clear, like the infrastructure was matching a city more like Thailand than Mandalay.  I noticed it again on another road, that they seemed designed for quadruple the cars than were actually traveling on the road.

This lake and this tree from the bridge.

My hotel, once we reached it, seemed like it was in the middle of nowhere.  The buildings across the street felt empty, and the street caddy corner from the hotel looked deserted.  I was worried at the neighborhood and how bereft of humans it was.  But then, I checked in, stepped downstairs, and talked with the reception staff.  I mentioned I was hungry, and one of the boys walked me to a nearby restaurant, Cafe Inlay.  He did walk me there, led me the entire way.  

The place was quite nice, and I received “rice with spaing onion and fish” from the menu.  It didn’t look all that appetizing, I must say, but it was delicious. I also tried the rice crackers, but I missed the sweet sugary syrup that they use in Cambodia and ended up leaving them unfinished on the table.  

Upon returning to the hotel, the nice young man that had walked me to the restaurant asked if I wanted to go see Mandalay.  I did have reservations about heading off into the city with a stranger… “What would my mother say?”  But, I decided to let it happen and soon found myself on the back of this moto, stopping at the monastery where he lives so he could change, stopping for petrol at a gas station with far more hands on deck than necessary, then racing through the town to some unknown location.  Did I mention that the boy, Joe, spoke pretty limited English?  

The hat that I saw on the back of Joe's motorbike.

It didn’t matter, because within 15 minutes of zipping through the clustered traffic of the sprawling city, we found ourselves at a beautiful lake.  The shores were clustered with people, silhouetted by the evening sun. Fisherman were casting their nets in the water, young people were laughing together, families were sharing food.  A little bit further on the dusty roads, and we found the U Bein Bridge.  It doesn’t sound too thrilling from the description; a long, old, wooden bridge on a lake.

This bridge, and the sunshine.

This bridge, though, was fascinating.  On one side, the lake, with colorful boats puttering through the water.  On the other side, vivid green farmland, with freshly tilled soil and a curiously gnarled tree stuck in the middle of the land.  On the bridge itself, there was a full cross-section of Burmese people.  There were teens relaxing with their friends, monks in their burgundy robes, children running and playing, and older women in their traditional clothes.  Almost everyone on the bridge was bundled in at least a coat, or a hat, warding off the winter chill.

Watching a fishing boat dock.

Many women and men were wearing traditional clothes, which for men is a longyi, a sarong-like garment that ties with a large fold in the front.  It’s popular, so I’ve seen men of all different classes wearing it.  For women, the typical flowery sarong is a common sight, especially paired with a sweatshirt.  For a fancier look, they will wear a skirt with the SE Asia style; a folded wrap skirt that clasps on the left and hangs to the ground.  I’m enamored of these skirts, some are bright and colorful, some black with rainbow geometric patterns on them, some flowered and bedazzled with sparkles.  Often, the skirts match the fitted tops, with the same fabric on both.  Some women also wear tanaka, a pale foundation-like makeup that they cake onto their forehead and cheeks in subtle patterns.

Yep, here I am.

Joe and I walked across the bridge, stopping here and there for a photograph, then a coconut, then a conversation.  An older monk stopped me on the bridge to ask me where I come from.  A few girls flashed shy smiles at me.  Some young boys giggled on their way to a “hello” and Joe mentioned that they liked me.  Many people flashed me curious stares.

Traditional dress (sort of).

I spoke with Joe for some time on the bridge, however we could.  He is 20, and has a brother working for another hotel in the same city.  His mother and sisters are back in his home town, which is 10 hours away by bus.  His girlfriend is a fisher and they talk on the phone all the time.  He doesn’t support his family, but he helps his younger brother out with school with his work in the hotel.  He makes about $100 a month.  He learned English in school and through watching movies, but he only reads in Burmese.  His favorite singer is Justin Beiber. He sang me three songs to prove it.  Joe was also shocked at my status as a single and childless 29-year-old.

We walked all the way to the end of the bridge, where the land turned into a little village and temple.  I saw a few fisherman having a swim and shivering with the evening cold.  I saw one of the most beautiful sunsets ever across the bridge, with hazy air and slow colors from the higher longitude.

Pagoda at the end of the bridge.

I heard the Burmese language throughout this little jaunt, and I found that to be incredibly interesting.  The script looks very similar to Thai, Laos, and Khmer, with big loops and circles, but it is much more similar to Sanskirt, the language in which the others were based.  Burma appears to be a sum of the three influences around it, with its own cultures interspersed at will.  Burma is bordered by Bangladesh, India, Laos, and Thailand, and my ear hears more of the South Asia than the SE Asia in the language.  Even the cadence of the English reminds me more of Hindi speakers than Thai speakers.

The selection of spices at the Shan Noodle joint.

After the bridge, we zipped around the town more, stopping for Shan Noodles (the most amazing creation on earth), and at the mall for a tour (an Asian way of showing someone around).  I saw Star Wars playing with a Bollywood and Burmese horror flick.  I noticed that honking is the only acceptable way to drive here.  Traffic is noisy, and organized similar to the Khmer style, where everyone kind of knows the rules, and chooses when and how to follow them.  The city is loud, but not crowded.  There’s not nearly enough traffic on the road for anything to be a problem.  

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Creating gold leaf and muscles.

The second day in Burma, I decided to take advantage of the newfound knowledge of the city and rode a bike into town.  I found first the gold pounding workshop, where workers take small pieces of gold and pound them into the fragile gold leaf that can be adhered onto a Buddha statue.  They take little bits of soft gold, divide it across many waxy sheets, then pound it to get the right consistency.  Then, the women take the pieces from inside those waxy sheets and put it onto small, rectangle pieces of paper to secure it for ease of use.  It was fragile work, what the women were doing, but labor-intensive industries like this are common in this part of the world.

Putting irregular shapes into squares of gold.

Then, I sought coffee.  This led me to a restaurant off the beaten path, one I stumbled onto after I tried to order coffee from a beer garden.  I sat down and fielded the multitude of stares from the other patrons; this was obviously not someplace that the average foreigner arrived.  I ordered some noodles and a coffee, and when I began swatting at the mosquitos at my ankles, the owner came over, concerned.  She was 30 something, with very short hair, and I thought she may be involved with the other woman at the restaurant.  Her English was flawless, apparently because she lived in Dubai for 6 years working for DHL (of all things).  She took care of this noodle shop, and her parents took care of a bigger noodle shop a few streets away.

Creating yummy noodles for me to eat.

The next big tourist attraction was Mandalay Hill, a series of pagodas with a view of the whole town.  I biked up to the base of the mountain just in time to see a celebration brewing.  I’m still not quite certain what the ceremony was for, but it involved several beautiful people dressed in their finest silks (you can tell because the fold lines are always sharp on the skirts).  The hair and the makeup was done, and they were taking selfies on the back of their trucks.

The music was loud, blaring from a truck filled with musicians and speakers.  It took me back to my days in Cambodia, when trucks would blast music for all to hear.  I can’t be certain what ceremony was taking place; I believe it was something for novice monks, or maybe for the pagoda to fundraise.  Whatever it was, it was organized.  A quick announcement from the loud-speaker, and all the women who had previously been eating noodles on the side of the street soon found themselves on one of the many trucks to take them off to their destination.  

Taking selfies on the way to enlightenment.

I tried to follow to find their destination, but ended up on the top of Mandalay Hill instead.  I’m feeling quite lazy this week, so I took a moto to the top.  From what I can tell so far, the bulk of people in Myanmar speak just enough English to get around, but still not much.  It’s taken my skills as an ESL teacher and long time Asia resident to grasp the deeper meanings of the conversations that I’ve been having.  The moto man was telling me about the Mandalay Hill temples, and how so many monks live in the area.  I posit that there are more temples per capita here than almost anywhere; with monks to accompany them.  In fact, I’ve read that monks have been crucial here in enacting social change in a government that has quite a few issues.  

But more on that later.

Buddha corner 1.

I walk up to Mandalay Hill temple, and I’m stunned at its beauty.  This is one of the best kept pagodas that I’ve seen in the country, with open space and sparkling clean floors.  I’m walking around, in awe of the view of the whole city, in awe of the religious icons and the sounds, thrilled to see considerably more Burmese people than foreigners, most in their fancy traditional clothing.  I make eye contact and smile at everyone, because there’s something about a tall white woman with metal in her nose and short crazy hair that attracts attention (I’m not sure what).  Every smile is greeted with another smile, and perhaps even more.

Example!

I'm really tall, and really white.

I was stumbling around this temple, just glancing around, and I encounter a older Burmese woman.  Almost immediately, she takes my hand and gathers her family to ask for a photo.  She asks with hand motions, then her daughter (?) asks with a few English words.  I acquiesce, so we pose for a photo with the light blinding me in my eyes.  I know I’m squinting, and apparently the photographer (the son?) notices as well. We move to another location, and she tries very hard to get everyone in the photo, including the young boy (grandson?) who appeared very worried to be so near a tall scary white woman.

Older men looking wistfully into the distance.

Now, I have no clue why they felt the urge to take a photo with me.  I would assume that they wanted to remember the auspicious occasion of a strange looking woman in their temple.  Tourism in Myanmar is fairly limited, and single women travelers are uncommon.  Perhaps they wanted me to feel welcomed in their country (which I very much did).  Either way, they held my hand and my arm, with their beautiful clothes, and I felt like a rockstar.  This country reminds me very much of my Cambodian village, where there just wasn’t much exposure to the outside world.  

Buddha Corner 2. This man had a gong that he rang with prayers.

Until there is.  I went to buy a small souvenir of my travels for the woman watching my cat back in Bangkok, Khun Ann.  I acquired a few small gifts, and the seller told me how much he liked President Obama.  Obama has made friends with Aung San Suu Kyi, the woman currently trying to follow her father’s lead with human rights justice, and this appears to be very okay with the people of Burma.  On one of my treks in the mall, I saw a young man with a portrait tattoo of Suu Kyi on his arm, and I know she is a well-loved figure in this country.  She’s also, unfortunately, being blocked from most of her efforts by the government, a military regime that has been in power for longer than I’ve been alive.

This country, for all its beautiful people, is wracked with some of the worst problems in the region.  Corruption in the government is rampant, even more than in the other SE Asian states, with human rights abuses beyond belief.  The government has been in the news recently for its abuses against the Rohingya people, a Muslim group from near the Bangladesh border.  They are unwelcome in their own country, the government unwilling to provide them citizenship.  Their religion makes other nearby countries (like Thailand) similarly unwilling to welcome them.  

Buddha Corner 3. 

The military regime is ranked as one of the most oppressive in the world, and Suu Kyi has warned tourists to be careful where their money lands, to ensure it doesn’t support the government.  The country does welcome tourists, somewhat.  I had to get a visa online, which was easy for me as a white woman from the States, but is not always the easiest.  The country runs not dissimilarly to Cambodia, with the core group of people (like the “President” and his cronies) selling the natural resources of the land to fund their extravagant lifestyles.  The wage gap is one of the highest in the world, as well.  The President and the core military make bank while the average citizen scrapes by on next to nothing.