Myanmar Part I: Spit, Upchuck & Chew Upon This!
Thankfully, due to the long overdue November 2010 release of Aung San Suu Kyi and the subsequent 2011 election in which her NLD political party was allowed to participate, there is also an air of openness and optimism that permeates throughout the country, which makes me feel guardedly hopeful in terms of the country's future. The face of Aung San Suu Kyi, alongside that of her father, Aung San (a communist nationalist who was assasinated by political rivals in 1947 just 6 months before Burma gained its independence) flood the streets and marketplaces. Their pictures are plastered across the walls of most small businesses and are also displayed in buses and taxis. Vendors openly hawk keychains, t-shirts, posters, and other sorts of memorabilia adorned with their faces on pretty much every street corner. In fact, when I finally got up the nerve to point to her photo and simply ask a random merchant in Yangon, "Who is she?" they matter-of-factly and seemingly without reservation replied, "That is Aung San Suu Kyi. We love her!" The use of the collective "we" did not go unnoticed, no sirree. So, in spite of the rundown buildings/infrastructure and inescapable poverty I encountered here, there & everywhere in Myanmar, I often found myself getting choked up emotionally at their openness & positive outlook (which frankly runs counter to what I have found in most other countries I have visited since the 2008 global economic crisis). Like a genie (no longer stuffed) in a bottle, it should be impossible for the government to reverse its course. God, I hope so.
One thing which rather surprised me about Myanmar was the fact that most of its adult male population wears a skirt! It is called a longyi, and is essentially a sheet of cloth wrapped around the waist which sort of resembles a sari. Burmese women wear them as well, mind you, but with less panache, ha ha. Another shocker pour moi, and this one particularly grossed me out, was discovering that Burmese men are hopelessly addicted to chewing betal nut and subsequently spitting it out (much like those in the South American Andes who addictively chew the coca leaf). I had heard of this nasty betal habit before but had never personally encountered it. When I first caught sight of the inside of the mouth of a man in Myanmar who had just finished chewing betal, I seriously thought his gums were bleeding profusely. Simply disgusting! But apparently, for men in Myanmar and lots of other countries throughout Southeast Asia, the warm, satisfying "buzz" which flows throughout the body afterwards, outweighs any negatives. Still...YUCK!
Speaking of "yuck," one final surprising thing I noticed while traveling in Myanmar is the prevalence of motion sickness on buses. Every seat on a long-distance bus there comes equipped with a small, transparent plastic barf bag. I witnessed locals upchucking not once but TWICE during my brief time there. The first time was while I was traveling from Bago to Yangon and a little girl seated across the aisle from me made quick efficient use of her sick bag after wharfing down a few boiled eggs. The second time was during my dismal overnight bus journey from Inle Lake back to Yangon. I was tragically (!!) seated next to a man who ended up puking his guts outs and then dry heaving for over two hours. The most incredibly revolting thing was the fact that the puke-filled barf bag, once full, was then tied to the back of the seat in front of this man and my eyes became fixated on it. Why? Because the barf bag kept swinging wildly to and fro due to the rough and bumpy conditions of the road we were traveling upon. My overactive and grossly overstimulated brain couldn't help but imagine the bus hitting a particularly huge pothole which would then cause the sick bag to fall to the floor in front of me and BURST open, "spewing" its contents all over my boots. I will probably have reoccurring nightmares about that swinging barf bag and now maybe you will too...sorry.
Yangon & Bago, Myanmar (June 10-12)
So what did I actually "DO" in Yangon? Well I stayed at the Motherland Inn 2, which comes highly recommended in the most recent edition of Lonely Planet's Shoestring Guide to Southeast Asia. It is hardly cheap compared to the rest of Myanmar, but a good place to stay due to its free airport shuttle service, Internet facilities and decent onsite restaurant. I stayed in my own ensuite air-conditioned room ($23), but was told that the cheaper dorms there have had bedbug problems in the past so...Budget backpackers beware!
There is a helpful walking tour provided in the aforementioned Lonely Planet guide which I followed during my first day in Yangon which takes you past the city hall and main post office, the impressive posh Strand Hotel (where I stopped, sipped & splurged on an $8 glass of red wine), the Sule Paya and finishes at Pan's Labyrinth, AKA the Bogyoke Aung San Market.
During this self-guided walking tour, I memorably stumbled across a traditional Indian wedding taking place in a Hindi temple. One of the family members spotted me at the entrance to the temple tentatively peeking inside and invited me to enter. Once there, he insisted I have a seat and partake in the vegetarian feast being served on top of banana leaves instead of plates. Naturally, I could not refuse and once seated with a leaf in front of me overflowing with food, I even managed to do as the natives do. Translation? I forsook cutlery and ate the food with my right hand! Anyone who knows me at all well should be impressed that I managed to overcome my obsessive-compulsive aversion to eating with my hands. I know I was! The family of the bride & groom were soon treating me as if I were an honored guest, even allowing me into the inner sanctum where official wedding photographs were being taken. Not only was I allowed to photograph the wedding party, but I was also asked to pose in a few pictures with the bride & groom! It wasn't until I started picking up on a vibe which suggested that certain women in the family were playing matchmaker with me that I reluctantly took leave and carried on with my Yangon walking tour.
On my second day in Yangon, I took a taxi to the Aung Mingular bus station, inconveniently located about 45 minutes outside the center of town, and bought a ticket to the amusement park, "Buddha World." Okay, okay, it wasn't actually an amusement park nor was it called "Buddha World" but it certainly proved to be a "thrilling ride" and the Buddhas were indeed bountiful. The 3000 kyat ticket to the town of Bago I purchased should have deposited me at the bus terminal in the center of Bago. Alas, it did not. Roughly 30 minutes after passing through the town of Bago, the bus stopped and the driver kicked me off the bus and brought me over to a fully-loaded songthaew. Naturally, I protested, insisting that my 3000 kyat ticket should have taken me directly to the bus station in Bago, but not a soul in my proximity understood a word I was prattling on about so, in the end, I simply surrendered to the unexpected turn of events and crossed my fingers that I would indeed get where I needed to go. The songthaew took me in reverse back to Bago where I was once again dumped nowhere near a bus terminal with no one around me who understood a syllable of English. I then hopped into the back of a tuk tuk (my 3rd mode of transportation for anyone who is counting) which drove me along the main street of Bago until stopping suddenly at an inauspicious restaurant where the tuk tuk driver recognized someone he knew who spoke some English and could communicate with me. Whew! The man at the restaurant was named Tin, but I prefer to refer to him henceforth as "Hero." Hero spoke English quite well and I had no difficulty making myself and my predicament understood. In the end, he arranged for me to hire his friend, Zew, to drive me around the sights of Bago on the back of his motorbike for 10,000 kyat and even offered to procur me a return bus ticket to Yangon. Hallelujah! Hero, in addition to his legendary heroics, was also a bit of an alcoholic romantic. He abashedly apologized to me for reeking of alcohol so early in the day, explaining that it was all down to being physically separated from the love of his life. Most people can probably empathize with such a situation (Yours truly included!), so I chose to trust the guy rather than judge him.
Zew drove me all around Bago to the various Buddha sites, the highlights of which included visits to a temple with a reclining Buddha 9m longer than Wat Pho in Bangkok, a monastery where I was allowed to photograph/record a video of the novices busy at prayer, a snake temple which was home to a supposedly 121-year-old, 13-foot long Burmese python. The locals also claim this seemingly well-fed (gulp) serpent is the reincarnation of a royal family member. Okay....if you say so. I didn't bother disputing their age/lineage claims but instead plopped myself down right next to the sleeping snake in order to get a photograph of myself seductively posing with it. Mind you, if it had been a humungous cockroach...
On my final morning in Yangon, I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 4:30 AM in order to catch a taxi to Shwedagon Paya, which is the "defining image of Yangon and (has been) a symbol of Burmese identity for 2500 years." The best times of day to see this magnificent stupa is at either sunrise or sunset, but I figured there would be fewer tourists to avoid bumping into at such an unearthly hour, which indeed proved to be the case. I snapped a disturbing amount of photos as the light cast upon the stupa subtly changed hues, but the highlight of my visit had to be the sound of the gong being repeatedly struck as a procession of monks and Buddhist worshippers slowly passed me by. Another one of those "WOW!" moments brought to you by
I am going to have to split this Myanmar narrative into 2 parts as my words have now dried up and another beer will not sufficiently loosen my tongue keyboard. I pray you stay tuned...
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