Highlights of Burma (Myanmar)
My first time to Burma was in 1996, ‘Welcome Myanmar Year’, ‘cause we need your currency to fuel or attack on the indigenous ethnics’. Not everybody understands the make up of an area called Burma or Myanmar, one in the same. There are 105 languages in Burma. Long ago the Burmese came off the Tibetan Plateau and conquered the plains and the banks of the Irrawaddy River pushing the inhabitants into the mountains where over time they morphed into the legends of today. Separated valley to valley there are differences in their languages and religious beliefs. Before Buddhism crossed the ocean from Sri Lanka to the Mon state, southern Burma, sharing a border with Thailand along the Malaysian Peninsula Mountains many believed in NATS. Nats are spirits in everything, rocks, wind, wood, fire, clouds, the sun and moon. Some spirits are good and some are bad but all of them have a sense of humor to some degree where they do the opposite of what ‘beings’ expect. Doesn’t that sound like life sometimes?
I started this blog with a series of Myanmar, Burma awareness observations and facts from a stack of resources, it’s called, ‘The Burmese Invasion Of Myanmar’. If you have time go back to the beginning and check it out. You will walk into Burma with a head full of understanding, definitely more than ‘they’ want you to have.
From 1996 and now, recently, not a lot has changed and there are reasons for that and not altogether unexpected. In the past, many moons ago, separate warlords battled it out for ‘tribute’ or total domination of the people. Then came the Mongols who beat the snot out of these so-called kings/rulers. Slaves, concubines, and wealth were the stepping-stones to power. Many of the recent rulers/governments have felt that the ‘Burmese’ people should always be ruled and democracy won’t fly here. Even Winston Churchill made comments back in his day about this very subject. When India and Gandhi were fighting for independence from Great Britain there was the document signed and delivered I believe in 1935 where India was almost free of their colonists. Burma wanted the same but Churchill thought Burma too immature and did not grant such an option for a fledgling country until after world war 2 when General Aung San did the old double cross via a British Commander named Louis Mountbatten in India on the Japanese due to among other things miss treatment of his people far worse than the English. We named our two dogs, Louis Mountbatten and Winston Churchill. Winston wouldn’t leave the property because he thought he’d miss a meal. He was a tank. Louis and I would run the foothills of Marin and I’d throw a ball randomly into the Redwoods and I’d run the harder but sure enough, he’d catch me and hand me a slobbered ball for another adventure unto himself. Winston once ate 10 pounds of raw brioche dough out of the backseat of a musician friend’s car and then came home for dinner. Just turn the roasted pig upside down and carve out countries right?
Buddhism was a re-birth of Began/Pagan and it turned out to be a way to repent for the rulers killing and enslaving the masses and for temples and pagodas. In the after life the rulers would be forgiven or have their butchery over looked and move on in reincarnate rather than become a dog or toad in their next life, the bigger the temple/pagoda the better. Bagan/Pagan is a city, old and new, on the banks of the Irrawaddy, the more recent government has made some changes without consent, go figure. Sunrise is a good time to rent a bike for a buck and bicycle yourself into the red dawn of red brick and golden pagoda spires. Watch out for the burgundy hot air balloons that come dangerously close to temple spires.
I’m sorry for wandering but you should really go back to the beginning of my blogs and check this stuff out. I’m on with the highlights of Burma/Myanmar.
My memory is showing me colors, smells, foods and the warmth of the people all under an umbrella of military government that has a tendency to shoot or hit first and not apologize later due to honor. I could begin with the democracy movement, many names, U Nu and General Aung San, father of Aung San Su Chi, but that would take me a long time and I don’t know if you care as much as I do.
So there I was, I had just spent two months in Thailand scuba diving and trekking after Vientiane, Lao, and flew into Rangoon. It took me a bit to get my visa cause I asked for same day but they wanted to look me over for the weekend. I thought they wouldn’t let me in after that. Maybe they read my first book ‘Cale Dixon And The Moguk Murders’, not. (It’s about a cop that follows my same first experience in Burma, some of it anyway. It’s a good read but I will fire the editor on hindsight.) Burmese Immigration in Bangkok let me in. I went. The hotel prices were off the charts in Rangoon but there are deals if you have the time to walk around and find them. It’s a long walk.
I didn’t have a plan cause I never do, like I’ve said before I meet people and go from there. So I went directly to ‘The Strand’ hotel and sat at the bar eating peanuts and talking to a male Nepal Guide of the British persuasion and female reporter of the Philippine persuasion. She was something.
I hadn’t been south into the Mon state before so that’s where I headed since it was relatively open. What a great experience. I spoke with a travel company in Rangoon and told them what I wanted to do and they told me the does and don’ts. I could only get as far as Dawei so that’s where I went. Of course I met people coming up the coast out of Thailand that came the other way. That passage is now shut due to Marshal Law in Thailand and the fact that the Burmese can’t account for all the curious people trying to see what their hiding, if anything.
I took a bus to the south to Moulmein in the Mon state. I passed at lunch a temple that has a really big Burmese Python in it that the locals feed numerous chickens. The snake is said to be a reincarnated Buddhist monk who took over the temple. Moulmein is a tidal river town complete with a bustling boardwalk loading and unloading supplies and products heading inland. My room cost $7. At sunset there’s an area overlooking the river where carts join together into various food restaurants. The food is cheap and very good. I met a tour guide who took me to a Pagoda way up on the hills behind town where the sunset on the golden spires was really something. The following day he took me to the largest Buddha statue in I think the world. Stairs lead up into it and the story of Buddha’s life and some of those people near him are depicted in sculptured settings. There was one last thing the tour guide wanted me to see and it involved climbing 1000 plus stairs in the heat of the day. He did not come with me he chose to sit in the shade and chat with some other idle men. I had the place to myself with great views through the sweat pouring down my face and soaking my shirt.
The following morning I jumped in a Tuk-tuk to the bus station with a few other foreigners heading south to Dawei by bus. The road was full of ups, downs, curves, and powder dirt dust. I saw many people working the road with 50 gallon barrels of hot tar and racking it of rocks. Their features were buried in caked dust. Dawei was exactly what I said before, loaded with hotels but not many available to foreigners, which means the price is high and the hotels are usually full, $32/night. There was a beach just up the road that was preparing for Chinese New Year and had concrete houses with two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom etc. for 20 $/night. There was no one there yet. The beach was empty for miles besides two fishermen wading along the surf.
In Dawei I hooked up with a tuk-tuk driver that spoke fair English and had some insight. By this time I had joined forces with a wonderful pair of Italians that spoke German and we took this guys tour that ran us into 7 buddha temples tucked in caves and under overhanging cliffs and ended in a little known fishing village with beautiful crystal clear water and a local tavern on the beach overlooking nets covered with drying fish. We hiked out the bay entrance and went for a swim with the local boys in tow at a distance. It was a good day.
The people with us were heading to a place up the road called Hpa An north of Moulmein and south of the snake temple. Hpa An was a quaint up river town with a clock tower and lots of sights to see if you had a guide. Again the place was almost totally booked up so I bunked with an English gent and we signed up for a tour of some nearby temples and caves all climaxing with a boat ride through a cave and out the other side, it was a little expensive but worth it for the photos alone. Fish were everywhere and the waterway led to vast rice fields of green. I caught a return bus ride to Rangoon for a night and off to the northern reaches where foreigners are permitted.
So off I went for Mandalay, skipping the new ‘capital’ that is set up like a town but no one lives there. All the storefronts are almost a farce and you have to see it to believe it. No one WANTS to live there, why would they. It’s a ghost town. I have begun adding two hours to the bus schedule because they are never on time, it’s part of traveling, you just have to accept it and enjoy the ride.
Mandalay is a day bus ride away and I arrived at just after dusk and in Burma it’s best to call ahead and make a reservation because they just don’t have an infrastructure to house every foreigner. Prices can get down right out of control with less offered than in Thailand or numerous other countries surrounding Burma for four times the money. Take that walk for cheaper and you will be rewarded. I’m going to say this now so you’ll understand it later. There maybe 50 hotels in a town but only so many have signed up to pay taxes to the government for foreigners to stay at their hotels. Many hotels are off limits to foreigners because the owners feel like we do, that it’s wrong. As a foreigner YOU ARE MONEY and that’s how the government sees you and so do the people. Don’t take it personally, but remember it.
My first night in Mandalay was odd, I do my best to arrive before dark but with minor delays it usually happens. I saw car lights and dirt dust trailing a line of taxis heading for the station. I stayed at a great place and ran like hell the next day to get out of a city I had seen 18 years earlier that had exploded and hardly recognizable in size. Luckily for me I found two foreigners at the train station that were laughing at the process. Go to one window, tell’em where you want to go, they send you to another window, then you go back to the first window and pay and receive your ticket. Make sure to read it because sometimes communication can be difficult and time for the is irrelevant. No one speaks English and why should he or she, except that Britain invaded and ran the country for a very long time committing economic abuses as all colonists did. No matter, my Burmese is good enough to make them smile and help. After a few window hops, I decided to join the Kiwi and the Dane. Oh my, what a ride, I mean THEM, best pair of travelers I met on the whole year tour. Smokers, drinkers, and more stories between us than fit in a book of any variety, never a dull moment.
Once we had a moment to chat at the train station they pointed me towards another hotel that was considerably cheaper and brand new and boasts ‘Wifi’ but no Internet. I went that way while they headed up to the mountain top pagoda that has changed colors since I was last here which means the government took all the good stuff and replicated the sight with cheaper materials, sorry.
The train was another adventure we all had fun with; as the train rocked side to side and lurched forward I saw mice go from vegetable package to vegetable package. And then after dark the lice and bed bugs popped out of the chairs. One ‘Burmese’ woman sitting across from me found a few on her jacket and shrieked, threw off her outer clothes and never sat down again for 7 hours. As we got up to relieve ourselves or go have a smoke by the back door, we noticed the same on our chairs. Just FWI. We arrived in Na Pa three hours earlier than our scheduled time and grabbed a tuk-tuk for the Irrawaddy River town of Katha. An hour later after numerous creek crossings and bridges and muddy dirt roads in the chill of night we arrived at something like 5 am. It was cold and we were wrapped in blankets as we jostled through the mourning market in the dark. All of town was closed except the market and a restaurant with sweet tea and roti. We pulled in with bags on shoulders and they seemed to know the look, FEED ME and TEA ME. We were the only foreigners in town at this hour. Roti and sweet tea were delivered. The woman running the show was shorter than most and stood on a stool to see over the counter and handled the money, say no more.
A guesthouse that we decided to bother until it opened took our bags and we watched the Irrawaddy flow during sunrise and the awakening of the rest of the town. Apparently there were a lot of military staying in our chosen guesthouse because they all came out in fatigues accept a few who remained for our one night stay. The ‘Tatmandaw’, the secret police, followed me for most of my walking tour through town and the market, nothing new, you just have to know how to recognize them. They usually speak fair English and want to steer you in a different direction than you want to go.
Here comes our savior, the Irrawaddy River. We hopped a boat and headed back south by water. It was a classic ride. The river was low and the captain possibly new because all the other boats went far to the east bank while we watched a patch of grass stop us in the middle of the river. Totally okay but three hours of waiting put us into Mandalay really late at night. Of course along the way, once we were towed off the sandbar, we stopped or horned at every village along the way. All they had to do was waive a shirt, bright colors worked best and with that, all the ladies in town would consume the beach in waist deep waiting to sell everything from very warm beer at exurbanite prices all the way down to fried chicken feet. I paid too much.
I wanted to go further north but the only way to get there is by plane because of ‘insurgents’. It’s funny though; those that did fly north came down by way of the Irrawaddy. I will do it next time if they let me in.
We spent a day getting clothes washed and I took a motorcycle tour around the city to some of the other sights and had a proper Shan lunch with my driver. The last time I was here I took a trishaw ride from a 70-year-old man and I felt like he should be sitting in the back.
Back on a boat and heading for Bagan/Pagan was a great way to travel. Leisurely watching the villages pass as we floated down stream under a blue sky. I was surprised to see so much Tropical Hardwood logging going on. Barges laden with stacks of prime trunks were being loaded 7 high and 20-40 feet long. Somewhere through concessions to foreign powers they are clear cutting forests at a rate I can’t even fathom.
Pagan was curious in the sense that there is now a new Pagan and an old. I don’t know the difference except that there are a lot of new roads leading to the temples and pagodas. Climb a tall one at sunrise and you will see a different world. Biking around the pagodas is a wonderful way to see them. Of course a guided tour gives you a little more information but just the peacefulness of the place is worth taking in. There are lots of rice fields in and around the pagodas all linked by oxcart trails.
From Bagan I ventured south to the town of Pyay and to the ancient city of Sri Ksetra, a mostly buried brick city surrounded by at one time high walls and narrowing gates on four sides. Many artifacts have been found and I think there are still a lot buried in the rubble of the city. The evening was interesting, a secret policeman that scared all the workers in the restaurant accosted me and I eventually fled back to Rangoon a few days early to get away from him as well. I flew back to Thailand for two months before heading to Malaysia and Borneo.
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