TIME OUT IN KALAW
John and I stopped in Kalaw on the way to Inle Lake for two nights. We had contemplated doing a bit of trekking but in reality all we did was wander up to a monastery on a hill and back. The food at the local Nepali restaurant, Everest, was fantastic though and I tried my first Dhal Bhat. We stayed at a place called the Golden Lily for US$3.
THE JUMPING CAT MONASTERY
If you only see one thing in Burma, make it Bagan. But if you see two things make sure the second is the Jumping Cat Monastery on Inle Lake.
Inle Lake was our final stop before heading back to Yangon (or Yangoon as many travelers seemed to call it). We had a few nights at the very nice Bright Guesthouse (US$4.50) with a massive balcony and a great breakfast of pancakes, eggs, fruit and coffee. We rented a boat and driver for the day and set out for the far southern shore along with Brian (the same one from Bagan), Pascal from Canada and an ill Frenchman called Alex. The driver took us through the mangroves and around to a few tourist sights - a cheroot making factory, a silversmith, fabric makers etc but it wasn't until after lunch that we saw what we had all come to see. The monks at one of the monasteries, obviously bored, have taught their dozen or so cats to jump through hoops on command. Most of the time the cats just lie around on the floor but they are so well trained that anyone can get these cats to jump. I have a video clip of them which I'll try and get onto the site in the near future (although it may be lost forever). It was quite a surreal sight.
Showing posts with label Myanmar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Myanmar. Show all posts
Sunday, February 16, 2003
Friday, February 14, 2003
Bagan, Myanmar
BAGAN SUNSETS
From Mandalay we floated downriver on the 5am boat to Bagan. In one of my previous postings last year I mentioned that Bagan was one of the big three temple sites of South East Asia along with Angkor and Borobudur so I was quietly anticipating what I believed would be something memorable. I wasn't disappointed. Bagan has over 2,000 separate temples built at different times and many of them could be seen from the river as we approached.
Accommodation was a twin room at the Inwa Guesthouse which Johnny and I paid US$4 each. We joined up with a few other people, Nathalie from Germany, Fabienne from France and Brian from USA and rode our bikes around the ruins for two days. On day one we were accompanied by a 14 year old self confessed guide whose name sounded something like John Menzies so we called him by his full name so as not to get confused with our original John. He was an enthusiastic young lad, short on words but eager to keep headed towards all the interesting sights. For much of the time he ran barefoot beside us as we rode but before long Fabienne let him ride her bike while she walked. When she got tired John took John Menzies under his wing and let him ride side-saddle on the frame of his bike. We bought him lunch and dinner and he seemed to get tired after 9pm so we sent him on his way. It was hard to figure him out. He mentioned that he didn't have any parents and he slept at one of the temples at night. He was very polite with the possible exception of ordering an expensive mutton curry for himself at dinner without us knowing but it was difficult to begrudge him. He had really looked out for us.
The Bagan landscape is quite unlike any other. There are so many temples in every direction that it's difficult to know where to go. Many of the temples are very small but some are huge, some are solid, some are hollow and you can walk inside, some you can climb either on the outside or from inside a narrow stairway, some are ruins others are well preserved. On both days our final aim was to make it to a quiet temple that we could climb and watch the sun go down over the river. It was overcast the first day but sunset the following day was fantastic. As if by chance we met John Menzies again late on the second day so we took him to dinner with us and paid a bit more attention to what he ordered this time.
From Mandalay we floated downriver on the 5am boat to Bagan. In one of my previous postings last year I mentioned that Bagan was one of the big three temple sites of South East Asia along with Angkor and Borobudur so I was quietly anticipating what I believed would be something memorable. I wasn't disappointed. Bagan has over 2,000 separate temples built at different times and many of them could be seen from the river as we approached.
Accommodation was a twin room at the Inwa Guesthouse which Johnny and I paid US$4 each. We joined up with a few other people, Nathalie from Germany, Fabienne from France and Brian from USA and rode our bikes around the ruins for two days. On day one we were accompanied by a 14 year old self confessed guide whose name sounded something like John Menzies so we called him by his full name so as not to get confused with our original John. He was an enthusiastic young lad, short on words but eager to keep headed towards all the interesting sights. For much of the time he ran barefoot beside us as we rode but before long Fabienne let him ride her bike while she walked. When she got tired John took John Menzies under his wing and let him ride side-saddle on the frame of his bike. We bought him lunch and dinner and he seemed to get tired after 9pm so we sent him on his way. It was hard to figure him out. He mentioned that he didn't have any parents and he slept at one of the temples at night. He was very polite with the possible exception of ordering an expensive mutton curry for himself at dinner without us knowing but it was difficult to begrudge him. He had really looked out for us.
The Bagan landscape is quite unlike any other. There are so many temples in every direction that it's difficult to know where to go. Many of the temples are very small but some are huge, some are solid, some are hollow and you can walk inside, some you can climb either on the outside or from inside a narrow stairway, some are ruins others are well preserved. On both days our final aim was to make it to a quiet temple that we could climb and watch the sun go down over the river. It was overcast the first day but sunset the following day was fantastic. As if by chance we met John Menzies again late on the second day so we took him to dinner with us and paid a bit more attention to what he ordered this time.
Friday, February 7, 2003
The many characters of Hsipaw
THE CAST OF HSIPAW
For a change of pace we decided to catch the train from Maymyo to Hsipaw with the idea of catching the bus back to Mandalay a few days later. The train is a lot slower than the bus but the scenery was a little different and we had plenty of room despite riding in the lowest class possible. The journey of about 150km took 9 hours but during that time we passed over the Gokteik viaduct which was, when completed in 1900, considered one of the finest engineering feats at the time. The bridge is a little on the shabby side now and the train creeps over slowly to lessen any stress on the aged steel. A few minutes before we reached the bridge I was playing with my digital camera, taking photos of some of the passengers and showing them the results. The conductor saw me doing this and made a point of telling me not to take any photographs of the viaduct or my camera would be confiscated.
In Hsipaw we decided to stay at the Mr Charles Guesthouse, partly because it was the only one we could pronounce but mainly because somebody from the guesthouse was waiting at the railway station for us and it seemed like a good idea. It was a rambling sort of guesthouse but the staff were friendly and the breakfast was hard to beat. At 3000 kyat per night (about US$3) it was also the cheapest we had come across yet in Burma.
Hsipaw is a town of characters and we met many of them over the next few days. The first came purely by chance as we were walking through the market. We had stopped to talk with some people to learn how to say hello and thank you in Shan and after a few minutes we were ushered through a couple of corridors down to meet someone's brother. Before long we were stood in front of a man fixing the roof of his stall after the torrential downpour the night before but when he finished he offered us tea and beckoned for us to sit with him for a while and talk. He was a softly spoken man with a permanent smile and a thoughtful turn of phrase. We told him where we were from, where we were going - two very important questions in Burma - and chatted about this and that until we got up to leave. I had noticed that he sold many hats at his stall so I jokingly said that he must be Mr Hat, but he smiled broadly and said 'Some people call me Mr Bamboo, since all of my hats are made of bamboo'. And so it was Mr Bamboo. Three days later I went to see him again and he remembered my name and John's and again invited me for tea so I drank again and took his photograph for my collection.
Next we met Mr Book, a staunch member of the National League for Democracy (NLD) and proud supporter of Aung San Su Kyi. He talked for a few hours about the standard of living and the military regime but was nervous while he did so. Twice he got up to look over his fence to see if anyone was listening and he always kept one eye on his front gate to see who might be approaching. It was uneasy at times but Mr Book, whose real name is Ko Zaw Htun, talked honestly about life in small town Burma where the people are cheerful and recover quickly from personal or domestic disaster. We wanted to talk for much longer but he had some errands to run and other tourists also wanted to talk to him.
Other characters around town were less talkative and more about business. There was Mr Bean, a bean seller in the market, Mr Food ran the best Shan restaurant in town with his brother who also goes by the name Mr Food, Mr Banana Pancake and Mrs Massage, both self explanatory but Johnny the Monk was altogether different. Although he's in his 50s he's still new to the Monk order, joining within the last few years. He talked about his kids and his life before he was given the responsibility of taking care of the local stupa and told long tales as he drew puffs on his cheroot and played with his cat. As he talked a few other travellers, two of which had sought out Johnny to help them master the art of meditation, joined us and listened intently for three hours or more.
Finally we met Fern at the Shan Palace at the eastern edge of town. Her husband's uncle was the last in a long line of Shan Princes who mysteriously disappeared in 1963 and presumably executed shortly afterwards. Fern and her husband Donald are about as close to Shan royalty as there is left these days and they will proudly tell anyone about their family and history. John asked Fern what life was like in Burma now and she replied, 'Life is very difficult. Life is getting worse. We have hope but our leader wants to make change the peaceful way so it will take a long time.'
Hsipaw is also where both John and I fell sick on the same day. We were forced to stay in town longer than we probably should and after five days it was time to catch the early bus back to Mandalay. The bus back down was much quicker than the train and within 7 hours we were back in the broad Mandalay valley near the banks of the Ayerwaddy River.
THE MOUSTACHE BROTHERS
As promised John and I returned to see the Moustache Brothers during the day so that we could ask them questions about the country, the government and in particular their own personal struggle. A couple of days earlier John and I watched the movie 'About a Boy' on DVD and in it Par Par Lay gets a mention during an Amnesty International help-line scene. I wanted to take my computer along and show it to them just in case they hadn't seen it. It turned out that they knew about it, owned the VCD but had never actually found the correct scene. When they saw it for the first time they all fell about in laughter and screamed with delight. I had to play the scene over and over again as more and more of them gathered around. Later Par Par Lay took us to their local teahouse where I showed some of the regulars and anyone else that was curious. I showed them how to find it on their own VCD player and they began their show that night by showing the scene - three times. They are all extremely proud of it. They gave us autographed photos to give to Hugh Grant and Nick Hornby (the author) the next time we see them and John promised to at least forward it to their respective agents.
John asked Lu Maw about the years that Par Par Lay and their cousin Lu Zaw spent in prison. For the first few months they were forced to perform hard labour but the last five years of their sentence they were held in solitary confinement. Par Par Lay has taken much of the media attention but his cousin served the same sentence - it shows on his face too. Regardless of past experiences their hospitality was unequaled. We had an endless supply of tea, plenty of samosas and tomato salad. All of them were up and down the whole time, fetching more tea, or maps and photographs. They were insistent that we take lots of photographs of them and they even put on a little show which I got on video.
For a change of pace we decided to catch the train from Maymyo to Hsipaw with the idea of catching the bus back to Mandalay a few days later. The train is a lot slower than the bus but the scenery was a little different and we had plenty of room despite riding in the lowest class possible. The journey of about 150km took 9 hours but during that time we passed over the Gokteik viaduct which was, when completed in 1900, considered one of the finest engineering feats at the time. The bridge is a little on the shabby side now and the train creeps over slowly to lessen any stress on the aged steel. A few minutes before we reached the bridge I was playing with my digital camera, taking photos of some of the passengers and showing them the results. The conductor saw me doing this and made a point of telling me not to take any photographs of the viaduct or my camera would be confiscated.
In Hsipaw we decided to stay at the Mr Charles Guesthouse, partly because it was the only one we could pronounce but mainly because somebody from the guesthouse was waiting at the railway station for us and it seemed like a good idea. It was a rambling sort of guesthouse but the staff were friendly and the breakfast was hard to beat. At 3000 kyat per night (about US$3) it was also the cheapest we had come across yet in Burma.
Hsipaw is a town of characters and we met many of them over the next few days. The first came purely by chance as we were walking through the market. We had stopped to talk with some people to learn how to say hello and thank you in Shan and after a few minutes we were ushered through a couple of corridors down to meet someone's brother. Before long we were stood in front of a man fixing the roof of his stall after the torrential downpour the night before but when he finished he offered us tea and beckoned for us to sit with him for a while and talk. He was a softly spoken man with a permanent smile and a thoughtful turn of phrase. We told him where we were from, where we were going - two very important questions in Burma - and chatted about this and that until we got up to leave. I had noticed that he sold many hats at his stall so I jokingly said that he must be Mr Hat, but he smiled broadly and said 'Some people call me Mr Bamboo, since all of my hats are made of bamboo'. And so it was Mr Bamboo. Three days later I went to see him again and he remembered my name and John's and again invited me for tea so I drank again and took his photograph for my collection.
Next we met Mr Book, a staunch member of the National League for Democracy (NLD) and proud supporter of Aung San Su Kyi. He talked for a few hours about the standard of living and the military regime but was nervous while he did so. Twice he got up to look over his fence to see if anyone was listening and he always kept one eye on his front gate to see who might be approaching. It was uneasy at times but Mr Book, whose real name is Ko Zaw Htun, talked honestly about life in small town Burma where the people are cheerful and recover quickly from personal or domestic disaster. We wanted to talk for much longer but he had some errands to run and other tourists also wanted to talk to him.
Other characters around town were less talkative and more about business. There was Mr Bean, a bean seller in the market, Mr Food ran the best Shan restaurant in town with his brother who also goes by the name Mr Food, Mr Banana Pancake and Mrs Massage, both self explanatory but Johnny the Monk was altogether different. Although he's in his 50s he's still new to the Monk order, joining within the last few years. He talked about his kids and his life before he was given the responsibility of taking care of the local stupa and told long tales as he drew puffs on his cheroot and played with his cat. As he talked a few other travellers, two of which had sought out Johnny to help them master the art of meditation, joined us and listened intently for three hours or more.
Finally we met Fern at the Shan Palace at the eastern edge of town. Her husband's uncle was the last in a long line of Shan Princes who mysteriously disappeared in 1963 and presumably executed shortly afterwards. Fern and her husband Donald are about as close to Shan royalty as there is left these days and they will proudly tell anyone about their family and history. John asked Fern what life was like in Burma now and she replied, 'Life is very difficult. Life is getting worse. We have hope but our leader wants to make change the peaceful way so it will take a long time.'
Local kids around Hsipaw
Hsipaw is also where both John and I fell sick on the same day. We were forced to stay in town longer than we probably should and after five days it was time to catch the early bus back to Mandalay. The bus back down was much quicker than the train and within 7 hours we were back in the broad Mandalay valley near the banks of the Ayerwaddy River.
THE MOUSTACHE BROTHERS
As promised John and I returned to see the Moustache Brothers during the day so that we could ask them questions about the country, the government and in particular their own personal struggle. A couple of days earlier John and I watched the movie 'About a Boy' on DVD and in it Par Par Lay gets a mention during an Amnesty International help-line scene. I wanted to take my computer along and show it to them just in case they hadn't seen it. It turned out that they knew about it, owned the VCD but had never actually found the correct scene. When they saw it for the first time they all fell about in laughter and screamed with delight. I had to play the scene over and over again as more and more of them gathered around. Later Par Par Lay took us to their local teahouse where I showed some of the regulars and anyone else that was curious. I showed them how to find it on their own VCD player and they began their show that night by showing the scene - three times. They are all extremely proud of it. They gave us autographed photos to give to Hugh Grant and Nick Hornby (the author) the next time we see them and John promised to at least forward it to their respective agents.
John asked Lu Maw about the years that Par Par Lay and their cousin Lu Zaw spent in prison. For the first few months they were forced to perform hard labour but the last five years of their sentence they were held in solitary confinement. Par Par Lay has taken much of the media attention but his cousin served the same sentence - it shows on his face too. Regardless of past experiences their hospitality was unequaled. We had an endless supply of tea, plenty of samosas and tomato salad. All of them were up and down the whole time, fetching more tea, or maps and photographs. They were insistent that we take lots of photographs of them and they even put on a little show which I got on video.
Sunday, February 2, 2003
Pyin O Lwin, Myanmar
THE ROAD FROM MANDALAY (to Pyin U Lwin)
After three days in the capital and another three in the next biggest city a change of pace was needed. Pick-up trucks ply the route between Mandalay and Pyin U Lwin, 68km to the east. We bought a ticket for the rear of a pick-up at the foreigners’ price of 700 kyat (about 70c, locals pay 500 kyat) and sat in the cramped confines with at least a dozen other people for three hours as we climbed 1,000m to the old British hill station formally known as Maymyo. The journey wasn't so bad - John was able to read, I played a few rounds on my electronic golf game and we both listened to Puccini and the theme from the Piano on John's mini disk player.
Maymyo is a great place to escape from the heat and the hustle of the big city. We found a very quiet guesthouse away from the main street run by a lovely older Nepali man who would later tell us about the latest Space Shuttle disaster. He also told us that 40% of all income at Burmese hotels from foreigners must be paid back to the government as tax each month. For the most part John and I have been trying to avoid Government owned and operated businesses to make sure that most of our tourist dollars benefit the average Burmese citizen but hearing this from the hotel owner was slightly deflating. The Government seems to have so many ways of making sure that they benefit directly from almost everything we buy, not least by the useless FECs that I have in my wallet and struggle to get rid of.
Later that afternoon we found the generous Family Restaurant for a massive lunch - we only ordered two items from the menu, a mutton curry and an egg curry, but we ended up with no fewer than 17 plates of food plus an endless supply of tea and poppadoms. There was more food than we could eat and the final bill came to just over $2 for the both of us. It was so good that we went back again the next day, mainly for the food but also because the family running the place made us feel so much at home.
Before leaving town we also ate at the Tea Line Milkshake Shop located in a strawberry farm just behind the golf course. The strawberry milkshakes were phenomenal but their rice salad was even better. We were there just before peak strawberry season but the berries were still pretty good if a little on the small side.
MISSING LINKS
On Monday we played our first and probably only round of golf in Myanmar. The Maymyo Golf Club had quite a good write up in the Lonely Planet guidebook so John and myself decided to check it out for something different to do. Part of the attraction was that the green fees include shoe hire, clubs and a real Burmese caddy.
The day before we went along to see the course and ended up playing cane ball on the practice green with some of the caddy's as the heat of the afternoon wore off. They invited us into the clubhouse for a drink but we had a taste for beer and all that was on offer was a dodgy rum concoction.
Prior to the round we seemed to command the attention of everyone at the course as we kitted ourselves out with shoes, gloves and a variety of tees and balls. The club inventory didn't include golf shoes big enough for John's size eleven feet so he had to play in his sandals. On the first hole the caddy's set the precedent for the rest of the round by helpfully moving our ball to a better lie and often teeing it up on a small tuft of grass on the fairway. Any shot that went out of bounds was confidently moved back into the fairway with a cheeky grin and a nod of the head as if to say "It's okay, I won't tell anybody". Over the next 18 holes we had the two caddy's searching in trees and lakes for our lost balls. Their help was wasted on us because as we continuously found just about all of the hazards that the Maymyo Golf Club had designed for the discerning golfer. After a tough three and a half hours we finally made off the course, both of us with well over a hundred on the score sheet. It was not a pretty round of golf but it's nice to say that we played golf in Burma. For the record I shot 110 and John 122.
PSYCHIC BARGAINING
We spent a day longer in Maymyo than we wanted to. We hadn't bothered to properly research our exit from the town and they day we wanted to leave the hotel owner told us at breakfast that we had already missed the only pickup truck to Hsipaw, the only bus to Hsipaw, and the only train. We wanted to go to the bus station to find out for ourselves and look into the possibility of getting there by some other means, but like most days in Burma we got distracted early on and things didn't turn out as expected. We befriended a tricycle rider who was delivering wood to somewhere under the guise that we were looking for the post office - which was also on our agenda. Rather than just pointing us in the general direction he took us there himself after delivering his cargo. The post office was not open yet but across the road we saw a familiar face. It was the first man that we met in Hsipaw three days earlier - we had chatted with him about this and that and he had helped us find the Grace Hotel (US$4 a night) with little fuss. We wandered inside his shop and looked around. I told him that I collected old paper money and he obliged by pulling out many old notes that I had never seen before. Some were still in circulation but others had been demonetised back in 1987. Although they were worthless I knew that money is money and it still holds some value if only for the collector. He happily gave me about half a dozen notes, and some old coins and didn't ask for anything in return. John and I looked around his shop for a little while and found a few items of interest, one in particular was a 10 inch tall statue of a nat made of bronze and copper which caught Johns eye. Once the shop owner saw the look in Johns eye the bargaining process began but it didn't follow the normal pattern. The owner played the familiar game of starting out high, $70, and then followed it up with some familiar phrases, "How much do you want to pay?", "It's much more expensive in Mandalay". For ten minutes John continued to examine the figure, picking it up, putting it down, walking away, admiring it from a distance, all the time not saying a word to shop owner. During this time the price began to fall, first to $60, then $50 and $40. John's patience remained steady and finally when the price dropped to $30 he decided to buy but not before I added a couple of lion statues and a teak elephant to the deal. I had never seen anyone bargain with a shop owner without actually saying a word, and I probably will never see it again.
After three days in the capital and another three in the next biggest city a change of pace was needed. Pick-up trucks ply the route between Mandalay and Pyin U Lwin, 68km to the east. We bought a ticket for the rear of a pick-up at the foreigners’ price of 700 kyat (about 70c, locals pay 500 kyat) and sat in the cramped confines with at least a dozen other people for three hours as we climbed 1,000m to the old British hill station formally known as Maymyo. The journey wasn't so bad - John was able to read, I played a few rounds on my electronic golf game and we both listened to Puccini and the theme from the Piano on John's mini disk player.
Maymyo is a great place to escape from the heat and the hustle of the big city. We found a very quiet guesthouse away from the main street run by a lovely older Nepali man who would later tell us about the latest Space Shuttle disaster. He also told us that 40% of all income at Burmese hotels from foreigners must be paid back to the government as tax each month. For the most part John and I have been trying to avoid Government owned and operated businesses to make sure that most of our tourist dollars benefit the average Burmese citizen but hearing this from the hotel owner was slightly deflating. The Government seems to have so many ways of making sure that they benefit directly from almost everything we buy, not least by the useless FECs that I have in my wallet and struggle to get rid of.
Later that afternoon we found the generous Family Restaurant for a massive lunch - we only ordered two items from the menu, a mutton curry and an egg curry, but we ended up with no fewer than 17 plates of food plus an endless supply of tea and poppadoms. There was more food than we could eat and the final bill came to just over $2 for the both of us. It was so good that we went back again the next day, mainly for the food but also because the family running the place made us feel so much at home.
Before leaving town we also ate at the Tea Line Milkshake Shop located in a strawberry farm just behind the golf course. The strawberry milkshakes were phenomenal but their rice salad was even better. We were there just before peak strawberry season but the berries were still pretty good if a little on the small side.
MISSING LINKS
On Monday we played our first and probably only round of golf in Myanmar. The Maymyo Golf Club had quite a good write up in the Lonely Planet guidebook so John and myself decided to check it out for something different to do. Part of the attraction was that the green fees include shoe hire, clubs and a real Burmese caddy.
The day before we went along to see the course and ended up playing cane ball on the practice green with some of the caddy's as the heat of the afternoon wore off. They invited us into the clubhouse for a drink but we had a taste for beer and all that was on offer was a dodgy rum concoction.
Prior to the round we seemed to command the attention of everyone at the course as we kitted ourselves out with shoes, gloves and a variety of tees and balls. The club inventory didn't include golf shoes big enough for John's size eleven feet so he had to play in his sandals. On the first hole the caddy's set the precedent for the rest of the round by helpfully moving our ball to a better lie and often teeing it up on a small tuft of grass on the fairway. Any shot that went out of bounds was confidently moved back into the fairway with a cheeky grin and a nod of the head as if to say "It's okay, I won't tell anybody". Over the next 18 holes we had the two caddy's searching in trees and lakes for our lost balls. Their help was wasted on us because as we continuously found just about all of the hazards that the Maymyo Golf Club had designed for the discerning golfer. After a tough three and a half hours we finally made off the course, both of us with well over a hundred on the score sheet. It was not a pretty round of golf but it's nice to say that we played golf in Burma. For the record I shot 110 and John 122.
Quick nap after a long round of golf
PSYCHIC BARGAINING
We spent a day longer in Maymyo than we wanted to. We hadn't bothered to properly research our exit from the town and they day we wanted to leave the hotel owner told us at breakfast that we had already missed the only pickup truck to Hsipaw, the only bus to Hsipaw, and the only train. We wanted to go to the bus station to find out for ourselves and look into the possibility of getting there by some other means, but like most days in Burma we got distracted early on and things didn't turn out as expected. We befriended a tricycle rider who was delivering wood to somewhere under the guise that we were looking for the post office - which was also on our agenda. Rather than just pointing us in the general direction he took us there himself after delivering his cargo. The post office was not open yet but across the road we saw a familiar face. It was the first man that we met in Hsipaw three days earlier - we had chatted with him about this and that and he had helped us find the Grace Hotel (US$4 a night) with little fuss. We wandered inside his shop and looked around. I told him that I collected old paper money and he obliged by pulling out many old notes that I had never seen before. Some were still in circulation but others had been demonetised back in 1987. Although they were worthless I knew that money is money and it still holds some value if only for the collector. He happily gave me about half a dozen notes, and some old coins and didn't ask for anything in return. John and I looked around his shop for a little while and found a few items of interest, one in particular was a 10 inch tall statue of a nat made of bronze and copper which caught Johns eye. Once the shop owner saw the look in Johns eye the bargaining process began but it didn't follow the normal pattern. The owner played the familiar game of starting out high, $70, and then followed it up with some familiar phrases, "How much do you want to pay?", "It's much more expensive in Mandalay". For ten minutes John continued to examine the figure, picking it up, putting it down, walking away, admiring it from a distance, all the time not saying a word to shop owner. During this time the price began to fall, first to $60, then $50 and $40. John's patience remained steady and finally when the price dropped to $30 he decided to buy but not before I added a couple of lion statues and a teak elephant to the deal. I had never seen anyone bargain with a shop owner without actually saying a word, and I probably will never see it again.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Mandalay, Myanmar
THE ROAD TO MANDALAY
The road from Yangon to Mandalay is about 700km long. When we bought our tickets we were told that the journey would take about 13 hours, maybe a little more depending on traffic. The trip took us 19 hours stopping a few times for food and once for a flat tire but on hearing stories from other travelers I considered us very fortunate. Two days later we met an English bloke whose journey took 27 hours with numerous stops for mechanical repairs including one where considerable welding was involved. I'll take the flat tire any day.
Like Yangon the Mandalay long distance bus station is a long way from the centre of town - even the airport is closer. I had heard that they had been moved recently in order to create more income for the local taxi drivers but I'm not sure of this is true or not. There were certainly plenty of taxi and trishaw drivers about but the competition is likely to keep the prices very low.
Unlike Yangon we found that there were many motorbikes in Mandalay. We didn't notice at first but it was a peculiar difference that I never figured out. Mandalay is very flat, apart from Mandalay Hill so maybe that had something to so with it.
For two days we hit the tourists sights - the Royal Palace, the clichéd Mandalay hill at sunset which was overcrowded with bus loads of tour groups, the nearby towns of Sagaing, Inwa and Amarapura crawling with monks but excellent at sunset. One of the most memorable attractions was the Moustache Brothers comedy show. Only two of the brothers have moustaches but I guess that is one of their jokes. They are a jovial lot, light on the comedy side but rich in ethnic dancing and very interested in talking to travelers and explaining their story. The oldest brother, Par Par Lay spent seven years in prison for telling anti government jokes back in 1995. He is a free man now and he laughs and smiles and speaks a little English but the years of hard labour tell on his face. The middle brother runs the show and has a great time boasting that while his brother was in jail he was number one, but now he's number two again. The profile they receive from Amnesty International means that it is unlikely that any of them would ever be arrested again but they are confined to performing in the front room of their modest house for tourists only. Afterwards we chatted with them briefly but promised to return again during the day when we could talk candidly about their history in greater detail.
The road from Yangon to Mandalay is about 700km long. When we bought our tickets we were told that the journey would take about 13 hours, maybe a little more depending on traffic. The trip took us 19 hours stopping a few times for food and once for a flat tire but on hearing stories from other travelers I considered us very fortunate. Two days later we met an English bloke whose journey took 27 hours with numerous stops for mechanical repairs including one where considerable welding was involved. I'll take the flat tire any day.
The moat in front of the Royal Palace at Mandalay
The covered walkway on Mandalay Hill
Unlike Yangon we found that there were many motorbikes in Mandalay. We didn't notice at first but it was a peculiar difference that I never figured out. Mandalay is very flat, apart from Mandalay Hill so maybe that had something to so with it.
Htilaingshin Paya at Inwa
For two days we hit the tourists sights - the Royal Palace, the clichéd Mandalay hill at sunset which was overcrowded with bus loads of tour groups, the nearby towns of Sagaing, Inwa and Amarapura crawling with monks but excellent at sunset. One of the most memorable attractions was the Moustache Brothers comedy show. Only two of the brothers have moustaches but I guess that is one of their jokes. They are a jovial lot, light on the comedy side but rich in ethnic dancing and very interested in talking to travelers and explaining their story. The oldest brother, Par Par Lay spent seven years in prison for telling anti government jokes back in 1995. He is a free man now and he laughs and smiles and speaks a little English but the years of hard labour tell on his face. The middle brother runs the show and has a great time boasting that while his brother was in jail he was number one, but now he's number two again. The profile they receive from Amnesty International means that it is unlikely that any of them would ever be arrested again but they are confined to performing in the front room of their modest house for tourists only. Afterwards we chatted with them briefly but promised to return again during the day when we could talk candidly about their history in greater detail.
Sunset at Amarapura
Monks crossing U Beins Bridge
One of the Monks
Making friends on the bridge
Sunday, January 26, 2003
Yangon, Myanmar
KIPLING
In Letters from the East (1898) Rudyard Kipling wrote the following:
Now 105 years later I am here, in part intrigued by his descriptions of the golden land and in part horrified by the human rights violations that continue to plague the country. I want to discover how one of the wealthiest countries in South East Asia could be isolated from the rest of the world and vandalised by its rulers. But further to uncover the paradox between selfless generosity and menacing greed in a country held together by love and fear.
MYANMAR OR BURMA?
At Yangon International airport I was one of the last people off the plane, which was a good thing. It meant that I was the last one on the shuttle bus and one of the first off and into the terminal. I had been warned of the bureaucratic procedures at the airport and I knew that a Thai Airways flight was due in not long after my flight so being at the front of the queue was potentially quite important. It didn't take long for the arrival hall to fill up and the foreigners queue grew alarmingly quickly behind me. It took three people to check and diligently stamp my passport but I was ushered on without much fuss. The next obstacle was the foreign exchange counter where every foreign visitor is supposed to change no less then US$200 into Foreign Exchange Certificates (FECs), Myanmar's second legal currency. This system revolves around the desire of everyone in Myanmar, including the Government, to get hold of as much hard currency as possible. Because you cannot change less than 200FEC back into dollars, this practice ensures that you spend at least $200 in Myanmar, regardless of how long you intend to stay. Of course there are always ways around this and offering a small bribe to the money changers will usually mean that you can change a lower amount. This can be important as most of the meals we were to eat over the next few months would cost less than a dollar and having too much local currency would be a waste. When John landed at Yangon two days prior he gave the money changer a $5 'present' and was allowed to change $100 instead of the full amount. I wasn't quite so diligent. I asked if I could change $100 only, but when the woman asked me how long I was going to stay in the country I gulped nervously and mumbled "28 days" under my breath. "No, $200 is good for you" came the reply so I relented and ended up with the full amount of monopoly money much to my disappointment. It took a few minutes to fill out the paperwork and I made sure to count the money carefully before moving on. Two more things to do, collect my bag and pass customs. It should be easy but I was nervous because I was carrying my laptop computer with me and knowing that the Internet is illegal and journalists are frowned upon I fully expected to have my laptop confiscated and held at the airport during my stay. The baggage took a long time to arrive but when it did my bag was among the first on the belt. After collecting it I took a little time to sort my electronic gadgets out - removing the battery from the computer, hiding the adapters for the computer and my digital camera in my other bag. I wanted to make sure that if my laptop was to be held by customs it wouldn't work and hence would not be a desirable proposition should anyone contemplate stealing it. All my fears led to naught however. The customs official wrote out a small slip of paper claiming that I had declared my computer and hence would be able to remove it legally from the country. He stapled the form into my passport and sent me on my way. Euphoric, I met up with two other travelers from my flight, Pepe and Sylvia, and shared a taxi with them to the Garden Guesthouse in central Yangon - US$3 a night. John was waiting there for me and true to form he had changed his appearance to suit the new environment. The massive handlebar moustache was gone and he wore a sensible haircut but still he looked about as conspicuous as any traveler could look due mainly to his six foot three frame and shock of red hair.
"So what do we call this place, Myanmar or Burma?" I asked him.
"I don't know. I guess we should try and find out."
SUMMERS IN RANGOON
John had already been in Rangoon for two days by the time I turned up so he had already found a good place to eat and had the low down on changing money and getting up to Mandalay. The Garden Guesthouse was the choice of accommodation but our room was dark and windowless and not very appealing. It was cheap, the breakfast was pretty ordinary and I saw a rat in the hallway but the location was excellent, just a stones throw from the Sule Paya in downtown Rangoon. The days were spent out and about in the heat and dirt and in the evenings we retired to a local bar and drank Mandalay beer for 18c a glass.
More so than any other new country I had been in I discovered many unique features about either the landscape or the people and their behaviour.
The first was at the local bar - we noticed that people we making a kissing sound to attract the attention of the waiter so on my first night I puckered my lips and kissed as loudly as I could. Instantaneously a waiter appeared in front of our table so I ordered another round of 18c beers and a plate of prawn crackers. Rather than rude, it's considered polite to attract someone's attention that way so we used it a lot during our stay.
Whenever giving or receiving something, especially money, it is a mark of respect to touch the forearm or elbow of your outstretched arm with your other hand. Every waiter does this without fail when handing change back from a meal or drink. When we started doing it back we always got a laugh.
The vast majority of women and small children wear Thanakha on their faces or usually just the cheeks. Thanakha is a light yellow sandalwood-like paste that dries on the skin, protecting it from the sun but also moisturizing as well. For many it is applied very delicately to ensure the same amount on each cheek and in the same pattern. Many babies are basically dipped in the stuff and some men will wear a tiny dot under each eye.
The Longyi is the Burmese unisex sarong-style lower garment worn and constantly retied throughout the day. They have not taken to trousers very fondly but in the hill stations where the climate is cooler some may decide to wear pants or even jeans.
Most of the cars and trucks in Burma come from either China or Singapore where drivers use the left hand side of the road. Traffic in Burma travels, albeit very slowly, on the right side of the road so there is the unique situation of having the driver nearer to the curb than the middle of the road. Worse still, whenever a bus stops the passengers are let off into traffic.
As well as smoking local made cheroots, many men chew betel nut wrapped in betel leaf with lime paste and coconut. It's a bit like chewing tobacco in that a massive wad of rolled leaf is chewed and slowly spit out over the course of an hour or so. The red fluid can be seen all over the streets but the obvious sign that someone chews betel nut is the filthy red stained teeth, which at first I mistook for bleeding gums. I am told the women find the look very attractive, but thankfully Sara likes my teeth the way they are.
For two days in Yangon we busied ourselves with the various pagodas, Buddha's and city lakes that form a feature of the city. We rose early one morning to see the Shwedagon Paya at sunrise and weren't disappointed. We got there well before the sun hit the golden stupa and stayed for a few hours, mesmerized by the beauty and changing colours, stopping for tea and Burmese lessons in the shade with a friendly gentleman. He taught us how to say "I am going to Mandalay" in Burmese which ended up as our catchphrase not only for the day but for the rest of the trip, substituting Mandalay for wherever we happened to be going that day - Bagan, Hsipaw, the toilet, breakfast etc. We would tell anyone who would listen, and even others who wouldn't but the side-splitting laughter we occasionally received was the best response and often led to other conversations. John especially was keen to move conversations of future destinations subtly to those of Burma and the people, the economy and sometimes as far as the government but people were often very cautious about what they said. A number of people would just laugh and shrug, looking around nervously to see who was about. And that was the trouble with Yangon - there were too many people about and we wanted to find out more about the country and if things were improving. Ne Win, the dictator that governed from 1962 to 1988, died last December at the age of 93 so we wanted to find out what people thought about it, was this good news, were things changing? Maybe in the smaller towns things would be different.
In Letters from the East (1898) Rudyard Kipling wrote the following:
"Then, a golden mystery up-heaved itself on the horizon - a beautiful, winking wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple spire. 'There's the old Shwedagon', said my companion. The golden dome said, 'This is Burma, and it will be quite unlike any land you know about.'"
'There's the old Shwedagon'
Now 105 years later I am here, in part intrigued by his descriptions of the golden land and in part horrified by the human rights violations that continue to plague the country. I want to discover how one of the wealthiest countries in South East Asia could be isolated from the rest of the world and vandalised by its rulers. But further to uncover the paradox between selfless generosity and menacing greed in a country held together by love and fear.
MYANMAR OR BURMA?
At Yangon International airport I was one of the last people off the plane, which was a good thing. It meant that I was the last one on the shuttle bus and one of the first off and into the terminal. I had been warned of the bureaucratic procedures at the airport and I knew that a Thai Airways flight was due in not long after my flight so being at the front of the queue was potentially quite important. It didn't take long for the arrival hall to fill up and the foreigners queue grew alarmingly quickly behind me. It took three people to check and diligently stamp my passport but I was ushered on without much fuss. The next obstacle was the foreign exchange counter where every foreign visitor is supposed to change no less then US$200 into Foreign Exchange Certificates (FECs), Myanmar's second legal currency. This system revolves around the desire of everyone in Myanmar, including the Government, to get hold of as much hard currency as possible. Because you cannot change less than 200FEC back into dollars, this practice ensures that you spend at least $200 in Myanmar, regardless of how long you intend to stay. Of course there are always ways around this and offering a small bribe to the money changers will usually mean that you can change a lower amount. This can be important as most of the meals we were to eat over the next few months would cost less than a dollar and having too much local currency would be a waste. When John landed at Yangon two days prior he gave the money changer a $5 'present' and was allowed to change $100 instead of the full amount. I wasn't quite so diligent. I asked if I could change $100 only, but when the woman asked me how long I was going to stay in the country I gulped nervously and mumbled "28 days" under my breath. "No, $200 is good for you" came the reply so I relented and ended up with the full amount of monopoly money much to my disappointment. It took a few minutes to fill out the paperwork and I made sure to count the money carefully before moving on. Two more things to do, collect my bag and pass customs. It should be easy but I was nervous because I was carrying my laptop computer with me and knowing that the Internet is illegal and journalists are frowned upon I fully expected to have my laptop confiscated and held at the airport during my stay. The baggage took a long time to arrive but when it did my bag was among the first on the belt. After collecting it I took a little time to sort my electronic gadgets out - removing the battery from the computer, hiding the adapters for the computer and my digital camera in my other bag. I wanted to make sure that if my laptop was to be held by customs it wouldn't work and hence would not be a desirable proposition should anyone contemplate stealing it. All my fears led to naught however. The customs official wrote out a small slip of paper claiming that I had declared my computer and hence would be able to remove it legally from the country. He stapled the form into my passport and sent me on my way. Euphoric, I met up with two other travelers from my flight, Pepe and Sylvia, and shared a taxi with them to the Garden Guesthouse in central Yangon - US$3 a night. John was waiting there for me and true to form he had changed his appearance to suit the new environment. The massive handlebar moustache was gone and he wore a sensible haircut but still he looked about as conspicuous as any traveler could look due mainly to his six foot three frame and shock of red hair.
"So what do we call this place, Myanmar or Burma?" I asked him.
"I don't know. I guess we should try and find out."
SUMMERS IN RANGOON
John had already been in Rangoon for two days by the time I turned up so he had already found a good place to eat and had the low down on changing money and getting up to Mandalay. The Garden Guesthouse was the choice of accommodation but our room was dark and windowless and not very appealing. It was cheap, the breakfast was pretty ordinary and I saw a rat in the hallway but the location was excellent, just a stones throw from the Sule Paya in downtown Rangoon. The days were spent out and about in the heat and dirt and in the evenings we retired to a local bar and drank Mandalay beer for 18c a glass.
More so than any other new country I had been in I discovered many unique features about either the landscape or the people and their behaviour.
The first was at the local bar - we noticed that people we making a kissing sound to attract the attention of the waiter so on my first night I puckered my lips and kissed as loudly as I could. Instantaneously a waiter appeared in front of our table so I ordered another round of 18c beers and a plate of prawn crackers. Rather than rude, it's considered polite to attract someone's attention that way so we used it a lot during our stay.
Whenever giving or receiving something, especially money, it is a mark of respect to touch the forearm or elbow of your outstretched arm with your other hand. Every waiter does this without fail when handing change back from a meal or drink. When we started doing it back we always got a laugh.
The vast majority of women and small children wear Thanakha on their faces or usually just the cheeks. Thanakha is a light yellow sandalwood-like paste that dries on the skin, protecting it from the sun but also moisturizing as well. For many it is applied very delicately to ensure the same amount on each cheek and in the same pattern. Many babies are basically dipped in the stuff and some men will wear a tiny dot under each eye.
The Longyi is the Burmese unisex sarong-style lower garment worn and constantly retied throughout the day. They have not taken to trousers very fondly but in the hill stations where the climate is cooler some may decide to wear pants or even jeans.
Most of the cars and trucks in Burma come from either China or Singapore where drivers use the left hand side of the road. Traffic in Burma travels, albeit very slowly, on the right side of the road so there is the unique situation of having the driver nearer to the curb than the middle of the road. Worse still, whenever a bus stops the passengers are let off into traffic.
As well as smoking local made cheroots, many men chew betel nut wrapped in betel leaf with lime paste and coconut. It's a bit like chewing tobacco in that a massive wad of rolled leaf is chewed and slowly spit out over the course of an hour or so. The red fluid can be seen all over the streets but the obvious sign that someone chews betel nut is the filthy red stained teeth, which at first I mistook for bleeding gums. I am told the women find the look very attractive, but thankfully Sara likes my teeth the way they are.
Yangon - Maha Wizawa
Me at Maha Wizawa
Chauktatgyi Paya reclining Buddha
Getting a Tri-Shaw ride with D'Arcy riding shotgun
MYANMAR OR BURMA (REPRISE)
At first I resisted using the word Myanmar because it was a name change enforced by the military government back in 1989. Even the local people seem to mix it up a lot, sometimes using the British name Burma and sometimes the 'new' name Myanmar. The name Burma comes from British times when they had control of the Southern portion of the country in which the Bamar people were the majority and left the north largely autonomous. It's from the Bamar that the British got the name Burma, however the name Myanmar refers to the whole country and doesn't identify the nation with only one ethnic group. Linguistically the name change seems perfectly reasonable also it seems eerily similar to the 1949 change (by a dictatorship) from Siam to Thailand. The name Myanmar isn't actually new at all - it was the official name when Marco Polo wrote about the country in the 13th century.
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