Vosmer Voyages

NEPAL: KATHMANDU

NEPAL: TREK

BURMA

Burma

Story

Big Buddha, Burma and Beyond
Magic, Madness, Mirth and Mystery in Myanmar.

2003-2004

Why Bother with Burma?
Imagine the vacation of your dreams taking place in a military dictatorship! Can’t? Well then, read on! W & H had one of their most enjoyable, easy-going trips to this exotic land. What pointed us in that direction? Was it the proximity to SARS? The reports of human rights violations? Not really. We went because we had heard from other intrepid travelers that the people of Myanmar were not to be missed. The SARS scare and the international sanctions made the price right, and hey, it’s one of the few places with a government that makes ours look good. [In addition, we are developing a taste for going wherever the Bush administration tells us not to…like Cuba last year, remember? Just got under the wire on that one.]

Guiding Lights

Since it was our tenth anniversary, we decided to treat ourselves to a luxurious adventure. Based on an excellent recommendation, we signed on with Mandalay Tours, a private Myanma company, which worked with us via e-mail to develop an itinerary. W, the guidebook devourer, researched and re-researched our route, and Mandalay Tours made all our in-country reservations. It only took 400 e-mails and five major changes in the itinerary to get our memorable three-week tour, which encompassed two festivals, large towns, the countryside, and all the major highlights of Myanmar, including Inle Lake, Bagan, the Shan State, and of course, Shwedagon. Once there, we barely had to think. It was like India without the hassles! A guide, car, and driver met us at each destination. The only thing we had to worry about was whether we were smiling enough, or whether we were handing things to people with the right hand instead of the left. [Myanma people give and receive with their right hand extended and their left hand touching their right elbow.]

Location, Location, Location

Myanmar is roughly the size of Texas, which makes it the largest mainland country in SE Asia. It is sandwiched between Thailand and Laos to the east, and Bangladesh to the west, with India and China bordering the northern border. It is shaped like a parrot facing west with a long tail running along the Thai border. Its greatest length from north to south is 2,000 kilometers, while the widest east-to-west distance is 1,000 kilometers. The center of the country is marked by expansive plains and wide rivers emptying into the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea, which form its southern boundaries. Mountains rise to the east along the Thai border and to the north, where you find the eastern most end of the Himalayas (highest elevation of 6000 meters).

Myanmar has a population of 50 million, most of who live in rural villages. Two-thirds of the population is Bamar (Bamar = Burma) who live in the flat central and southern parts of the country. The other one-third are non-Bamar, live in the highlands that ring the center of the country, and are divided into over one hundred ethnicities and dialects. It is they who are often in armed conflict with the central military, Bamar-dominated, dictatorship.

Myanmar or Burma?

Burma is now referred to as "Myanmar." Since the name was changed only in 1996, and by an unpopular regime at that, the Burmese have mixed feelings about using the name exclusively or religiously. To us, it seemed more natural to say "Burmese" than “Myanma” to refer to the people and the language of Myanmar. [As in Myanma Airlines, which leaves off the "r"] Our readings and conversations suggested that some folks are resisting the name change. The capital’s name “Rangoon” was also changed to “Yangon”.

Indecent Exposure (Yangon, southern Myanma)

We were met at Yangon International Airport by chirpy and plump guide #1 Nyang Nyang (many Burmese first names are repeated) and then whisked to an exotic first class hotel, which was a transformed teak colonial mansion, lovingly restored by a French company. As W was preparing for his first photographic orgy, he realized that he had brought the wrong camera -- this one had a broken light meter. The tragedy would have been greater had this camera not had a flash setting at 125th of a second. W made his all exposures at this one shutter speed, which is like swimming with one arm and no legs. H backed him up with a little APS camera, and the majority of the 42 rolls came out just fine.

W then noticed that he had broken his reading glasses and his sunglasses sometime during the 24-hour trip over. Only the sunglasses could be repaired in Yangon. Fortunately he had an extra pair of reading glasses (packers take note).

Serene Shwedagon

It’s one of those names that you want to say a lot and with a musical breathiness. Nyang Nyang took us there on our first day, when our heads were still reeling from jetlag. Shwedagon is a gilded, marbled, palatialy peaceful, Asian wonder -- the holiest shrine in all of Myanmar. It was humbling to behold so many worshippers padding barefoot, mostly in a clockwise direction, on the smooth marble tiles around the perimeter of the main stupa. Shwedagon spans 14 acres. We saw a group of women with light grass brooms sweeping in unison and to the rhythm of chanting. They were the Tuesday cleaning committee. Every day, there was a cleaning committee, made up of people who were born on that day. The Myanma people have an 8-day astrological week with Wednesday, Buddha's birthday, and therefore, the auspicious day, divided into two days. The actual day-of-your-birth determines one's astrological sign, and this, in turn, determines which of the 8 posts you worship at the stupa.

It was the golden hour of sunset and, therefore, ideal for photography. One wanted to stay, unnoticed and wordless, and soak it all up. But we were with Nyang Nyang, who was rapidly relating, in not very comprehensible English, the history of the temple, as well as basic of facets of the Buddhist faith. H was pretending to grasp everything by saying “ah, I see” while wishing she could just lie down. W kept disappearing with his camera. We conclude that Shwedagon is definitely up there with the Taj Mahal, Machu Picchu, and Al Aksa Mosque.

The Road to Mandalay (central Myanma)

There are many ways to get around Myanmar, and we got to use every mode of transportation at least once: propeller plane, car, van, train, ferry, river cruiser, dugout canoe, long boat, pony cart, stage coach, tri-shaw, and feet. Our way of getting to Mandalay was the airhead way. Only two days after arriving in Yangon, we were on a Yangon Airlines flight to Mandalay [we had heard that this privately owned airline crashes less frequently than the government owned airlines.] The plane took off on time. We got a snack on board. The plane landed and we got off. We were waiting docilely in line when an agent came up to us and said, "What is your destination??? This is Bagan airport!!" Oops. No one had told us that there was a stop. We were ushered past a line of tourists getting on the plane. We were grateful for the excellent service.

Our itinerary used Mandalay as a hub. Mandalay is the heartland of this country both geographically and culturally. Maybe that's why songs and books are written about it. The climate is not as lovely as the name. Most of the year it’s hot, dry and unbearable, or hot, sticky and unbearable. December, the month we were there, was dry and bearable.

Our Mandalay station guide was To To, a serious, very professional and pious type (not that W couldn't make her laugh). She liked H because H asked many questions about Buddhism. To To, as most Burmese, was a devout Buddhist. Every time we went to a stupa or temple, she would bow in devotion. She also gave alms to beggars whenever we came across one, which is not as often as one would think. [H gets hit up much more on her way to SF to work, for example.]

While waiting for our train from Maymyo, an old colonial hill station, to Hsiphaw, To To asked three nuns, who were also waiting, to give her their blessings. They sang her a Buddhist blessing right there on the platform, resplendent in their pink robes and shaved heads. It was a touching scene to watch.

On the Road

In Mandalay and its environs, we were taken to markets, a verdant botanical garden, waterfalls, a cave full of Buddhas, and more than a few distinctive temples. We were also taken to two old capitals outside Mandalay, Ava and Amarapura (the kings of old believed in changing capital cities often), as well as the religious town of Sagaing, with its 600 monasteries and nunneries, where one got a peaceful, holy feeling just being there around all that silent contemplation. The temples were glittering and gilded, some as a gift for the people and/or as part of the government's big push in 1996 to promote 'Visit Myanmar Year' which was a complete flop, as only 20,000 tourists showed up. The government spends much money on Buddhist buildings for 'good merit' in order to make people think that they too, are devout Buddhists, and not completely bad.

Natural Selection

While touring the botanical gardens at Maymyo, W was nearly impaled by an ornery stork when he got a little too close to the cranky old bird. He was doing what dedicated photographers do -- getting as close to the subject as possible, when suddenly the stork raised its 8-foot wings, aimed his formidable beak, and advanced on W, who ran for his life. Luckily, he was wearing sneakers.

No Laughing Matter

Upon arrival in Mandalay, we asked To To about seeing the famous comedians, the Mustache brothers. To To, who had obviously had this request before, told us that the Mustache Brothers had had “problems with the government” and therefore she couldn’t take us there, but she would arrange a trishaw for us. At 8 pm, a friendly and savvy tri-shaw driver showed up. His bicycle, with a side attachment and third wheel, could hold two people bigger than he was. When it started to sprinkle, he whipped out a little umbrella. It was an interesting perspective for the passenger in the back facing the on-coming traffic, at cycling speed.

Our expectations for the evening were of an outdoor stage, crowds of Burmese, and a performance in that language. Instead, we pulled up to a storefront in a quiet neighborhood with a big "Mustache Brothers" sign over it. The storefront was about the size of a garage. This was, in fact, the home of the Mustache brothers. Their storefront served as the theatre. The stage took up two-thirds of the space. Ten plastic chairs were lined up against the wall. There were many pictures of the Brothers posing with Aung Sang Suu Kyi (see paragraph below). Five tourists and one guide were already seated. The brother, Par Par Lay, a famous comedian with a fine moustache, who was nationally popular in the 1980s, was chatting with the tourists in English about his imprisonment and the government.

We had read that he and his brothers cracked subtle yet very transparent jokes about the military government when they performed in front of crowds in Burmese. Indeed, that's what got them into trouble. Par-Par Lay was first jailed for six months and then for seven years. Here, however, in his fast English (which was hard work to listen to, and we were the only native speakers), there was no subtlety in his criticism. He had an impressive English slang vocabulary. For example, he knew several slang words for prison: "clink", "slammer", "up the river," etc. He was a comedian in the sense that he chuckled and invited us to laugh while doing a monologue on his years of hard labor.

After finding out where we were all from, and showing us articles from the Western press in our respective languages about their plight, the show started. There were dancing demonstrations, explanations, slapstick comedy, and singing by Par Par Lay, his brothers, and their wives who were classically trained Burmese dancers. The wives looked tired and burned out. We tried our best to appreciate their efforts by beaming smiles and applauding robustly.

Fame Anyone?

Par Par asked us all if we had seen the Hugh Grant Movie, 'About a Boy'. We looked at him blankly. He whipped out a DVD, opened up a cupboard to reveal a TV-DVD player, and played the intro to the movie, giving us time to say, "oh yeah, THAT movie." Then, he fast-forwarded to the scene where Hugh, a frustrated rich bachelor, tries to meet women by volunteering for Amnesty International. The phone bankers are talking about Burma, saying, "Did you know that in Burma, you can be locked up for seven years, just for making ONE joke about the government?" Of course it was Par Par they were speaking about. Thanks to international pressure, including from famous comedians around the world, he was released. Now he was “free”, but not to perform for Burmese people, only to perform in his home for a small number of foreigners. Note to future tourists: The brothers appreciate donations of shampoo and books.

Shanghaied

The once reviled Communist Chinese are taking over the Myanma economy. Since the Chinese make such cheap goods affordable even to this very poor country, which nowadays has few trading partners, and the military dictatorship is desperate for hard currency and technology, the Chinese are in a very strong position and taking advantage of it. Many of the people who live in central Mandalay are Chinese, as the local Burmese cannot afford to live there. There are also an extraordinary number of duck farms in the area and the Burmese generally don't eat duck. And talking about duck soup, we found that there were actually more Chinese restaurants than Burmese ones.

Incredible Edibles

While traveling, we read a highly evocative and atmospheric book called 'Land of the Green Ghosts', by Pascal Khoo Twe, a member of one of the hill tribes, the "long necked people." In this, his autobiography, he had the following tale: When tribal insurgents capture Myanma army spies who refuse to talk during interrogation, they can be threatened with being handed over to the Wa people, a distinct hill tribe with a taste for cannibalism. Once, two Myanma soldiers were captured by the insurgents, which Pascal found himself allied with. The army types refused to talk, so some Wa were called in. They sized up the soldiers as a prospective meal by discussing the merits of the fat one (an officer) and a thin one (ordinary soldier). After much discussion, they decided to eat the thin one. The army spies quickly admitted who they really were and begged not to be eaten by the Wa (don't worry, they weren't).

Rock-n-Roll (Shan State, eastern Myanma)

In order to vary the mode of transportation around the country, we opted for a train ride from Maymyo to Hsiphaw. We imagined that it would scenic and relaxing, and that we would be able to take naps and catch up on journal writing. We were correct about the scenic part. It was a slow ride and there was no glass on the windows, so no problem about access to the view. The train, however, having been built in 1903, was on the old side. The tracks were narrow and the cars boxy, and so there was a significant rocking motion whenever the train was moving. This made reading rather difficult. Napping was also difficult except for the very small. There were about 8 other foreigners in the car. W, reminded nostalgically of Indian trains, relished trying the snacks at every stop. Before long, we had a collection of strange fruits, toasted soybeans and lephet (those cooked tea leaves with chilies, lime and crunchy things you may have read about) samples. H was a little more cautious about sampling, mostly because the toilet, for women, was unusable.

After eight hours of rocking and rolling and ample photo taking, we arrived. Our driver was there to meet us, looking happy and well rested, since he had arrived hours ago via a road. We (and all the other tourists on the train) checked into the very friendly, if simple, guesthouse. During our afternoon rest, W became violently sick (we're talking vomit projectiles forced through multiple orifices). So much for train-ing experiences.

Palace Intrigue

Lucky W! The same two days he had what we later figured out was the stomach flu, it poured down rain. The owner of the guesthouse typically took his guests on a trek in the mornings. But no one went anywhere those two days. There was nothing to do but read and talk to the other foreigners. H had the job of procuring rehydration solution and more toilet paper for W and he was able to stagger out for small walks to see some local shrines dedicated to nats. Nats are animistic spirits, which predate Buddhism. The Burmese believe that there are 37 nats in the house and 37 outside. When a couple gets married, they often have to compromise on which of their favorite nats to serve. It is important to keep nats happy. Hence the many shrines we saw, including some with little beds outfitted with fresh sheets. They looked very comfy for an elf.

Besides hiking, the other major thing to do in this town was to visit the palace of the former Shan Prince, the Sao Pha (Great Blue Sky Lord). People were allowed to “drop in” at 4pm. W managed to crawl out of bed at 5pm and over we went. "Mr. Donald", the British educated nephew of the late Shan Prince, met us. He spoke fast, idiomatic English, remarking right away that we were late. Then he launched into what was to be a fascinating, almost non-stop, two and an half hour lecture on the story of the Shan prince, and how he was "disappeared" by the government after the first military coup in 1962. This prince had met and married an Austrian woman whom he met while studying mining in Colorado in the 1950s. She had returned with him to Burma, not learning until she arrived and saw the crowds of joyous people greeting them that she had married a prince. They had two girls and a few happy years together before the coup in 1962, after which she was forced to escape with her children. [She is still alive, and has just come out with a book: Twilight over Burma: My Life As a Shan Princess by Inge Sargent].

Mr. Donald also talked about his run-ins with the government, who of course have tried to shut him up, and/or exploit his tourist attracting potential. He has remained successfully disconnected from the government in order to retain some freedom of speech. He does this lecture every night, no doubt with the same earnest passion, for a just a few tourists, asking only for a $2 donation from each. The palace (more like a mansion really, though we didn't see much of it) is in disrepair. We wished we had been more prepared in the way of presents. If you go, bring a book! He loves books.

Over the Hill

There were too many highlights of this trip to say, "the highlight of this trip was" but ONE of the highlights was definitely the three-day trek we took from the town of Kalaw to Inle Lake. For this installment of the trip, a guide named Sai Win met us at the Heho airport. Sai Win was a geek who liked to tell us about the origin of words. An example of his wisdom was the origin of the word "Shan." The Shan state is the state in Myanmar that borders Thailand. The old name for Thailand is Siam. Shan and Siam originate from the same word. Therefore:

Shan = Siem = Siam = Thai = Thailand

According to Sai Win, there wasn’t much to see in the town of Kalaw, but we did get to see the weekly market on the morning of our trek. This bountiful market had many Palaung people and formed the best of our market pictures for the trip. Also, H got to speak Nepali at a restaurant owned by a Nepali family.

At 10am it was time to start trekking. We were driven to the road head and there were three porters waiting for us. H had been agonizing over the weight of our trekking luggage. When she saw the short (but no doubt strong) porters, she felt even guiltier at the largesse of our packs. After reorganizing our bags and paring down our luggage, a driver took our big bags to Inle. We each carried daypacks, and one of the porters carried a big pack with all of our warm clothes. We had been told that it got very cold at night (8C), while in the day it was sunny and hot -- so it was hard to pack. The two other porters carried all of our food and water. The porters were friendly and at night, great cooks. Better, we thought, than the restaurants. Lunches, since they were made from leftovers, were not as satisfying, but we were grateful for anything while walking. Breakfast was, as everywhere, about white bread and eggs. The Burmese like to drink green tea with every meal. No one understood our decaffeinated perspective.

Sai Win said our first day would be five hours of walking. Easy, we thought, since daylight hours are at least twelve long, right? For our lunch, two hours into the trek, we were parked in a village home. They let us rest upstairs while the porters made us lunch. At this, as with all stops, there were many children. All of them loved to be entertained by W, except for the ones who cried with fright at his different-ness. He, camera in one hand, would run through his repertoire of funny faces and then when the children giggled and started to imitate him, he clicked away. The women in residence would gaze at us, mostly too shy to ask their burning questions about us. Once though, through the guide, a bold woman shopkeeper asked W what crops HE grew at home.

Holy Nights

We slept at on the floor of monasteries both nights during the trek. The first monastery was small, with a cranky, reclusive abbot and five novices. It was located near the local village school. The teacher and many of her students came up to visit us, another tourist couple (Italians), and our guides and porters after dinner. We were all staying in the main, very plain, monastery room. As there wasn't any electricity in the area, we tourists were the major form of entertainment for this gaggle of 11-year-old-girls. After two hours of songs, translated questions, general giggling and staring, we gently told the very sweet group that it was time for us to go to bed.

The next night's monastery was bigger, and much more of an institution. There were more novices who had their morning and evening chanting sessions in the great-pillared hall, where we were all sleeping. In addition to the Italian couple, there was a German couple whom had arrived from the Inle Lake direction. The German male was stout and he snored even louder than the guides had the previous night. Thus, when the novices abruptly started their half hour chanting (at shouting volume) at 5:30 a.m., we were half-awake already.

On the trek we learned Burmese euphemisms for urination when you are on the road and far from a toilet: for men it is called "peeping rabbit", and for women it is called "picking flowers".

The terrain rather resembled California hills. The trail was dry, dusty and uneven, though there were no vineyards or trucks and fences. Instead there were water buffaloes, sugar cane fields and rice patties. The hills were steep sometimes, but nothing like a Himalayan scale. We covered 33 miles in 3 days. H was very happy not to know the mileage before the trip started, as we hadn't done that kind of time on a trail for a while. W was not fully recovered from the stomach flu. Thus, he learned the true value of a Gatorade energy bar. Our feet were definitely ready to quit by the time we reached the canal, where a long boat with a "Mandalay Tour" sign on its bow was waiting. It was so lovely to see this boat, because represented a respite from walking. In addition, it carried our familiar luggage, which had been safely delivered. Though the scenery had been beautiful, and we had enjoyed the simplicity of life on the trail, we were ready for a break in hiking and looked forward to a hot shower!

Floating World (Inle Lake, southern Shan State)

Imagine a land of villages, markets and fields on water, where people row using their legs. Inle Lake is a large, 23 by 6 kilometer (although shrinking) lake, with a depth of only six feet in some places, of floating communities. Houses are made of mat and thatch and are perched on stilts. Fields are three feet deep floating masses of grass and soil, which are staked down by long bamboo poles. The markets are on canoes, hence the term “floating market.” We stayed in a “floating” hotel. Our cabin, like the rest of the hotel, was made of thatched palm fronds, tree bark and bamboo, propped up on stilts in the middle of the lake. Upon our arrival on the canoe, which had picked us up from our trek, we were met with gongs and drums of welcome from the dock, a clamor H found embarrassing.

The staff of the Golden Island Cottages was very versatile. By day, they worked at as hotel staff. By night, they donned their tribal costumes and became entertainers. That night, as it was Christmas Eve, we were treated to a buffet dinner (which we didn't want, but when you're staying in a floating hotel, there isn't much choice), and a Christmas pageant, complete with tribal dances, a bible-thumping preacher with an Elvis pompadour, and a fire-eater.

During our time at Inle Lake, we traveled by motorized canoe to all the tourist spots: the floating market, the weaving factory, the tobacco factory, the blacksmith, and the silversmith -- in other words, all the places one could spend money. What we enjoyed most was the Jumping Cat Monastery. Not only were the cats jumping through hoops amusing, the wood carved Buddhas were some of the most intriguing we had seen. While Sai Win was resigned to the fact that tourists seem more interested in cats than art or history, the monks looked at the phenomenon as a revenue generator.

Even more to our taste was paddling ourselves around in a small, very low-to-the-water canoe on the water lanes in between the rows of houses. Each house had a pigpen attached to the back. Of course, ducks were a natural addition to the household. Tourism has been around Inle for about 7 years. So the kids are still very friendly and wave.

Inle Lake grows 80% of the country's tomatoes. Since they are vines, tomato plants don't take much soil. Another advantage is that several crops can be harvested in a year. They also grow squash and watercress.

Only problem with mats for walls is that there is no sound barrier. Water, as you may be aware, carries sound. So when a Puay (Burmese outdoor play) started up at 4:30 am in the morning at full blast, it sounded like our next-door neighbor was playing an old movie at full volume. The question going through our minds at that hour was: "Why?! Why!?"

Fright Flight (or nearly)

Flying internally in Myanmar was actually not an unpleasant experience. On our third internal flight, from Heho to Kengtung, we thought we had the routine down. We would be placed in the care of an agent of the airport, who would handle all the ticketing, weighing and internal customs for us, while we sat and waited, all for a small tip. When said agent introduced himself at Heho airport and said "tickets please," W searched and found that he did not have the required tickets. They were gone. [We figured out later that he had ripped them up, thinking that they were old tickets.] For a minute we thought the game was up, we’d be hauled into some government office and be forced to fork over all our greenbacks. However, our ticketlessness turned out to be a minor inconvenience. The agent proved himself by getting the Yangon airways guy to "work with us" and that helped us get through the potentially sticky customs. We were very happy to double his tip. We later heard that if this had happened at an airport off the tourist trail, we could have been caught in a bureaucratic snafu for days.

The Village People (Kentung, Golden Triangle, eastern Shan State)

Guide # 4, Lok Chiang, met us at the Kengtung airport. He was 20ish, with a Bend-it-Like-Beckham spiked and frosted-tip haircut, and glasses. A serious college student, his English skills were the second worse that we had. He was new to the trade, as was the town we were visiting -- opened to tourism only two years before. The theme of Kengtung was the hill tribes. W had planned our itinerary around the annual New Year's festival of the Ahka tribes. This was definitely a photographic highlight.

We started by visiting a Silver Palaung village, accessible by a dirt road in between fields. Lok asked if we would like to bring along some candy for the children of the village. We obliged and bought a bag before we left town. The village was a great introduction to the hill tribes. There were children running around in rags, piglets squealing under the houses-on-stilts and puppies everywhere. H didn't see any latrines as we had in lowland villages (the connection between lots of puppies and no latrines was made later…). The guide said that the kids did not go to school because the closest one was too far. Peace Corps anyone?

After wandering around the village and taking pictures, Lok said that it was time to give out the candy. With the first colorful wrapper, a kid riot ensued, evidently to the surprise of Lok, despite our warning. After a bit of a struggle, H and Lok managed to organize the kids into somewhat of a line so that they could each get a tiny piece of candy. The line didn't last long and the kids ended up fighting with each other. H asked Lok if we could walk part way back and used the opportunity of the quiet dirt road in between the fields to talk about development, and the downside of teaching kids that all foreigners are good for is candy. She succeeded in raising a few valid points, but the next time we went to the village we ended up getting a jar of aspirin plus another bag of candy.

The annual festival began in the late morning on the high school grounds, which were in the shadow of a very tall Buddha statue. The Ahka people's dress was magnificent. The women of the tribes each had their own particular style of headdress, and all were adorned in mucho silver coins, beads, and intricately embroidered colorful jackets and leggings. As whole villages entered the festival grounds, they began dancing in circles. We tourists could mill around and take all the photos we wanted.

That night after dinner, we walked back to the on-going festival. There was a big stage on one end of the field with pop music for the dancing youth. On the other side were the remnants of the traditional dancers, and in between were many food stalls. It was packed with young inebriated people who assailed us with boisterous "hellos" and "how are YOUs?"

Trekking with Hill Billies

The next two days involved village sight seeing. We packed daypacks, got out our hiking boots again, and made ready for a day trek to the hill tribes. Though there were 3,000-foot hills and challengingly narrow forest trails, the trek was more about viewing villagers (and them viewing us) than it was about exercise.

We visited four villages in day one, and three in day two. On day three, when we were almost tired of villages, we saw two more. Though all of the villages were practically a stones' throw from each other, they were very different in terms of ethnic identities and religions. We saw the Akha, the "N" and the Akhu people. Some of the Akha tribes had been converted by American Baptists years before. Others were Buddhist. One village was split between Catholics and Buddhists. Others are animists. [Had the guide's English been a little better, we are sure we would have gotten an interesting story out of that one.] All of the villages had an animist flavoring, as evidenced by the little nat shrines and sacred, very pagan looking wooden gates, which served to keep evil spirits away. Lok could communicate with all the villagers, though there seemed to be 3 languages other than Burmese involved. We were often invited to sit on porches, and watch women sew, weave or smoke pipes. W easily entertained the scores of children running around in every village.

The wildest looking of all the tribes was definitely the N people. The children, though they looked well fed and seemed happy, were half-clad, covered from head to toe in dirt and had feather pierced earlobes, looking much like the Wild Boys of Peter Pan fame in W's mind. [Aspiring anthropologists take note.] When we passed by the N people's village, they were building a home for one of their own. They paid for each other's time with homemade alcohol instead of money, which was scarce in this village.

The women of most of the villages were interested in selling us some of their hand woven, beautifully embroidered clothes. Once we expressed an interest in something, however, they proved to be far tougher bargainers than any we had experienced in a marketplace, anywhere in the world. Lok's best persuasive efforts would only produce a 1% discount. After a few trials and much talking, we did end up getting a lovely hand woven jacket for a petite friend who was about to have a birthday of note, and a silver ring for W.

Oh Shit! No Shit!!

It was only in the last of these villages that H, Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, and therefore somewhat of a latrine expert, figured out why, even though there were no latrines, and no indoor toilets, there was no feces smell. It had to do with the vast number of puppies and dogs we saw, which the guide mentioned that the villagers sometimes eat. Need we say more? If you get it, then don't read the next sentence: we saw a child defecating off to the side and a puppy slurping it all up!

We had heard prior to our trip that Myanmar's poverty would depress us. Actually, it did not. Perhaps this is because we have seen worse poverty in other countries, or perhaps it was because H had lived in the equally poor, if not poorer, Nepal. The standard of living of most Burmese is nowhere near that of the West, this is true. Also, there is a dearth of public schools, and questionable sources of clean water. There is a poverty of freedom. The private sector would definitely benefit from a democratic regime. But people did not appear to be starving, or even hungry. Our guides made us realize how much we Americans need to eat. “You eat like cats, we eat like dogs” remarked one. They get along on smaller quantities, less frequently, whereas we big oafs always needed our three meals a day plus snacks.

The Golden Triangle, is locally as well as internationally famous. We noticed “Golden Triangle” cigarettes and the Golden Triangle golf course, which was for military types. FYI, the top cash crop there these days is amphetamines, not opium.

Stupafied (Bagan, western Myanma)

Our last and most magnificent stop was Bagan -- a former capital city of 11th-13th century stupas and temples, a place akin to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Imagine a 30 square kilometer plain filled with 5,000 religious monuments. So many to contemplate and only three days to do it! Fortunately, our guide in Bagan, Hla Maung (pronounced Lama), was the most experienced and knowledgeable of the five guides we had. From him we learned the definition of stupas vs. temples (solid vs. hollow). [Stupas are called wats in the areas closer to the Thai border.] We also learned about the different styles of Buddha carving which spanned the centuries. And we learned the answer to why so many religious structures were built during the same time period. Mini-stupas served as architectural models for the larger ones next to them. Decoy stupas were built to confound invading armies (such as Kublai Khan and his Golden Horde) as to the actual location of hidden treasure. Structures that were neither stupa nor temple could be libraries, ordination halls, or monasteries.

"Well then, what's a pagoda?" you may ask. That's the word the uninformed use to describe any type of Buddhist building. It's a Portuguese corruption of the Tamil word for stupa. In between all of the brick religious buildings used to be tens of thousands of wooden palaces, houses and other secular buildings. Anything wooden, however, had long disappeared. So we had to imagine it all.

The government well recognized the attraction tourists had to Bagan. As such, they had evicted all the villagers from their ancestral lands and moved them a few miles away. They also built an over-sized, overly decorated museum which Mandalay Tours, for one, refused to make part of their program (indeed we didn't see any museums while in Myanmar). Thirdly, they were embarking on a "restoration program" of all the stupas. Here we learned the difference between “restoration” and “conservation.” Conservation is what UNESCO funds. There were some magnificent frescos in some of the temples, for example, that some Italian experts from UNESCO had, by restoring, conserved.

The government's definition of restoration, however, was to rebuild. This had Hla Maung lamenting that the open-air museum ambiance of the 13th century stupas was being ruined. To see new brick on top of old brick would not beautify the area and make it more attractive to tourists (tourists like ancient stuff–everyone knew that!). The point was to keep the variety and diversity of the structures as they were. Hla Maung should know, he had been a guide for twelve years, and before that, a pony cart driver. We are sure, however, that the government will not listen to people like Hla Maung. Thus, it would be wise to see Bagan sooner rather than later, before it is totally sanitized.

Every site we were shown had different features, which were brought alive by Hla Maung's historical knowledge. Though there were many tourists visiting Bagan, we were able to avoid the concentrations of them for the most part. Though most of the temples and stupas were out of use, we still had to remove our shoes and socks at every one. This meant a lot of walking on dusty pebbly surfaces. In addition, some of the temples with very high roofs had packs of bats. Bat guano really stinks when it's concentrated. H was repelled, while W seemed attracted to the smell for some reason.

These thousands of old pointed structures made for great photography.

Local Bits of Color

The Myanma people are mostly Buddhist. You would think Buddhists are vegetarian, but most are not, at least not in Myanmar. The Myanma people are superstitious. Even the old military dictator, Ne Win, had a group of astrologers and wizards at his court. He would dress up as Burmese royalty and even took a Burmese princess as one of his wives. As electric power is either not available at all or only intermittently because of frequent power cuts, power is obtained from car batteries in the countryside and from home generators in the city.

Euro Touros

We have never seen so many Italians–there were busloads of them everywhere. We learned more words of Italian than Burmese. Germans, as a tourist faction, ran a low second, and Americans a low third. We encountered a sprinkling of Dutch, French, and Japanese. For some reason the Spanish like to come in the rainy season. Of course, WE were told that Americans are the easiest nationality to deal with. All we can say is that it certainly helped to be a native speaker of English.

Strictly for the Birds

Crows and mynah birds are important to villagers because they act as an early warning system. They make much noise when people enter a village for one thing. For another, these birds are susceptible to malaria, so their presence indicates a malaria free area. Buddhists revere the crows, as they are a symbol of impermanence, a Buddhist principle.

Aung Sang Suu Kyi

While W was reading and re-reading several guide books on Myanmar, H read a couple of books by Aung Sang Suu Kyi (affectionately called Daw Suu by her compatriots). Nobel Peace prizewinner in 1992, daughter of the national hero, Aung Sang, she is the Nelson Mandela of SE Asia. Under house arrest by the military government for six years in the 1990s, she was again arrested in May of 2003 after her motorcade was attacked, and many of her followers killed, by a pro-government mob. She refuses to leave the country or be released until all of her fellow NDL (National Democracy League) colleagues are released. Bowing to international pressure, the military recently released some NDL members in the fall and, as we write this, many more have been released. Thousands more are still in prison. Many are over 70 years old. While there was limited opportunity to ask the people of Myanmar about Daw Suu, it was obvious that the people held her in reverence.

To Go or Not To?

Should we, in good conscience, have traveled to Myanmar at all? Before leaving, we had read that Daw Suu had called for a moratorium on tourist travel to Myanmar. [One of our guides, Sai Win, understandably disagreed with her stance on tourist travel.] Being from Berkeley, and accustomed to being on the PC side of issues, we were aware that this was an interesting time to be going. In the end, we came to peace about it in this way:

• If international sanctions had harmed anyone so far, it was the people of Myanmar, not the government. The economy was already devastated by government mismanagement, and the people are barely scraping by. Our not going to Myanmar would certainly not improve their lot.
• It was possible to travel there and avoid the government. We did not use a government tour agency, and we tried not to stay in government hotels. The one time Mandalay Tour booked us in a government hotel, we insisted that they change it to a non-government hotel.
• Mr. Donald, the nephew of the Shan Prince, addressed Daw Suu's moratorium this way: He said, "if we truly want to be a democracy, we cannot go around and tell citizens from other countries what to do. If tourists want to come, they should be able to come. But they should look around them and see."
That is what we tried to do. We tried to be conscientious as much as we could. By recording what we saw and distributing this travelogue, we hope that you'll become aware of Myanmar's struggle to get out from under the yoke of a military dictatorship.

Good-Bye

After three weeks of being treated like royalty and having the privilege of visiting this special country, we were ready to go back home and work like ordinary folk.

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