Gary’s Burma Blog:

A compilation of blog posts and photos from

my 2010 trip to Myanmar and Thailand
SUNDAY, JANUARY 10. 2010

Map of Burma (Myanmar)

Burma (now called Myanmar) is a southeast asian country to the north of India and west of China, Laos
and Thailand. It's population is approximately 47 million.
The main areas on my itinerary will be Yangon, Bagan, Inle Lake, Kalaw, Mrauk U, and Mandalay. Above
is a a map of the region.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 30, 2010

Off I go!
So much thought and planning goes into a trip like this that it seems ironic when the moment arrives, you
sometimes second guess yourself. “What the hell am I doing! I’m going to a rural country with an oppres-
sive government, where I don’t know a soul, 7900 miles away with nothing but a small backpack.”
There are second thoughts: the recognition that you’re older, maybe less adventurous than 20 years ago
and that you’re really pushing the edge of your comfort zone this time around. The trick is getting on
the plane, clicking the seatbelt and then there’s no turning back. Shortly after reaching that “point of
no return”, if I remember correctly, is when you start remembering why you decided to go in the first
place- and hopefully it’s when you start having a great adventure.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2010

A Mercifully Brief time on Khosan Road

BANGKOK, THAILAND:

I had been flying 17 out of the last 23 hours that I had been up. So I splurged and took the easy $58 hotel
near the airport. One king-size bed with A/C and my own bathroom and TV. But even that bathroom still
had the shower-merged-with-bathroom so characteristic of low-budget Thai guesthouses. This makes it
so every time you go into the bathroom the floor is wet because the shower floor and the bathroom floor
are one in the same.
This morning it was 8:30am and overcast and already the margarine with my continental breakfast was
starting to melt. I decided to head out to Khao San Road - a hectic, bizarre, backpacker (i.e. low-budget)
tourist section of Bangkok. The street might as well be officially closed off to traffic. A few taxis and
tuk-tuks (Thai mini three-wheeled taxis) painstakingly make their way through throngs of bohemian
tourists shopping for cheap clothes, jewelry, bootleg CDs and other fare. It is very much a carnival-like
atmosphere. The temporary ‘residents’ there seem to on one hand, resent other people like themselves
and on the other are comforted by the familiar- westerners. At least I don’t think I’m the only one here
that has that contradictory sentiment. Not a place one wants to hang out for too long.
At 4:30am -on my way to the airport to catch my plane to Yangon-it seems nobody has gone to sleep.
The restaurants seem as packed with people as the did the night before. And these 20 and 30 somethings
sitting at the outside tables with who knows how many Singha beers under their belts seem as happy and
animated as when I went to bed at 9pm.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 2010

Masala Yangon

YANGON,MYANMAR:

Within five minutes of walking through Yangon, one is in little doubt they are in a truly “third-world”
country. Electric cables and phone lines drape on and around buildings like cobwebs. Sidewalks occasion-
ally crumble into rubble and dirt. On many of the older buildings vegetation in the form of ficus and ferns
take advantage of every crack and wet spot so that scattered plants can be seen sprouting spontaneously
throughout their facades. It is a city whose infrastructure exudes decay.
The air is filled with an aroma of combined dust, smoke, exaust, frying oil, spices and rotting vegetation.
As one moves through the everchanging hordes of vendors, the aroma morphs from more fruity to spicey
to barbeque and back again. The ears are bombarded by an orgy of music- modern and traditonal, cars
honking, vendors hawking their wares, birdcalls and the sing song Burmese dialect. And then of course
there are the ubiquitous generators. Yangon is notorious for regular power outages checkered throughout
the city. So, many shops, offices and hotels have their own generators.
Yangon is a city notable for its intermingling of divergent classes, ethnic groups and religions. Monks seem
almost as visible as street vendors. They cross the street in their orange-red robes -part of which is often
gathered up over their bald heads, protecting them from the noon-day sun if they have no umbrella.
Though Buddhist pagodas are peppered throughout the city, mosques, Hindu temples and Christian cathe-
drals have a definite presence here as well. There is no separation between the sacred and the profane in
Yangon it seems. Pagodas and mosques seem as if they are built on top of shops and businesses. It’s hard
to see where the actual entrance to the holy place is.
There is a large contingent of both Chinese and Indian immigrants, many of whom tend to dominate the
city’s commerce. Trying to find an “average Myanmar citizen” on the streets is an almost impossible
quest- probably next only to trying to find an “average American citizen” in the US. Before Myanmar had
large infusions of Indian and Chinese, it was a hodge-podge of ethnic groups. Bamar, Mon, Chin, Kachin,
Karen, Naga, Rakhaing and Shan are the main ones.
It’s seems to be a culture with few of the positive effects of globalization. At every street corner there
seems to be a guy sitting at a table with a landline phone. People pay a fee to use these phones just like
a phone booth. In many other third world countries many of the poor have cell. Not here.
Social safety nets are non-existent. People with no legs beg on the street. A man passes me with cancer-
ous growths on his face and neck that make his face appear to be a melting liquid mass.
But being a closed-off society until relatively lately Myanmar appears to have retained much of their
traditional culture. Many of the men wear longyis (sarongs) - like a long dress for men. Women carry all
kinds of ungainly loads on their heads. And the general homongenization of their culture seems much
slower than in other parts of Southeast Asia.
I’m going out now to see the famous Shwedagon Pagoda. Tomorrow I fly to Mandalay in the north. I’ll use
that as a base for several days to see things in that part of Myanmar.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2010

Mr. Wen

MANDALAY, MYANMAR

I decided to forego the 15 hour bus trip to Mandalay and go by air instead. I used Yangon Airways. The
plane was almost half the size of the large airline jetliners. Seemed safe enough- from whatever one can
tell from a superficial perusal of the the plane’s interior. But the airline’s oxymoronic logo of elephant-
with-wings didn’t engender a lot of confidence.
As we descend on Mandalay I see what I believe are the reflections of gold stupas. It seems the gold-plat-
ed stupas brightly reflect the noonday sun like sparsely scattered rhinestones on the pastoral Burmese
tapestry below. Later I realize that the reflections I was seeing were mostly the corrugated steel roofs
that top many of the houses in Myanmar.
Last night in Yangon I spoke with an older American man at my guesthouse. He was a seasoned Southeast
Asia traveler who speaks Burmese. He had been waiting for his friend for a half an hour and was getting
impatient. “He’s on Burmese time”, the man winked and smiled. The next morning I spoke with a Cana-
dian man about the differences between attitudes about time in Myanmar and the West. I mention that
in the US time equals money. “Here”, he says “time- is just time.”
This concept is once again driven home even more to me when I strike up a conversation with a local in
the street in Mandalay today. He introduces himself as Mr. Wen. We walk and talk as we wind in and
out of passing motorbikes and people. He’s a very chatty, friendly guy, the likes of whom I’ve read some
about recently in my guidebook. Mr. Wen seems very willing to show me some true Burmese hospitality
and show me around his city. I suggest that I wouldn’t want to waste his time.
“You’re in Mandalay, Gary. That’s - ‘Man delay “. He smiles and laughs.
Mr. Wen’s English is quite good. He tells me that he is a English teacher but now only does private lessons.
Being a professor just wasn’t worth the poor pay. Mr. Wen is very opinionated about politics throughout
the world.He likes Obama and saw George W. Bush as a bully. He says that the Burmese people need to
have dialoque with and scrutiny from the West. He seems unconcerned about openly talking with a for-
eigner about such subjects on the street. He is one of those old-school Burmese people who prefer the
name “Burma” over “Myanmar” and “Rangoon” over “Yangon”. It seems the new names- though more
ethnically-correct are tainted by virtue of their being re-introduced by the oppressive regime. He men-
tions that many people in and outside Myanmar are anticipating the upcoming elections. But at the same
time he and many other Myanmar citizens are very doubtful that they will be free and fair- or will bring
about any real change.
Later while sitting in a cafe Mr. Wen confirms the truth of a Burmese saying told to me by the American
in Yangon. The saying is “The Burmese people are number one. The government is number eight.” In
Burmese eight is pronounced “shit”.
Speaking of numbers, it seems many Burmese people take a lot of stock in numerology. The number eight
is again associated negatively with the military dicatorship as “8-8-88”. August 8, 1988 was the date of
the quashing of one of the most significant pro-democracy demonstrations in Myanmar resulting in at
least 3000 deaths. One of the many things that led to these protests was General Ne Win’s abrupt de-
monitization of Myanmar currency, the kyat. In this process he decided that 25, 35 and 75 kyats bills were
to be dissolved without compensating anyone with new bills in exchange. Thus millions throughout the
country lost much of the savings that they had. This was all precipated by Ne Win’s belief in numerology.
The new denominations were 45K and 90K which are divisible by 9 - Ne Win’s lucky number.

Burmese character for the number 8

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 2010

Tatmadaw

MANDALAY, MYANMAR:

I have not been sleeping well in Mandalay. This is partially due to the fact that my second floor room at
the Garden Hotel is on the corner facing the street. Of course the almost constant drone of the genera-
tor below and a crowd of locals bursting into song for an hour across the street at 11:30pm the first night
didn’t help. So I get a late start this morning and decide to a take a tri-shaw for the day’s activities. A
tri-shaw is a bicycle with a side seat and a third wheel. Nothing makes you feel like a colonialist more
than sitting back in a tri-shaw and telling the driver where you to go. But the fact that I was tired and
that this is how these guys put food on their table did little to assuage the guilt of making someone in
flip-flops and and a longyi (sarong) pedal you around a on a creaky one-speed bike. Sometimes tri-shaw
drivers get several customers a day. More often they get none. You often see them on street corners in
the shade looking desperate and dejected- or sometimes just resigned. Resignation is common sentiment
in Myanmar.
Today I decide just to get out and see more of the town which is very easy to do in a tri-shaw. You’re
never going too fast read signs, watch people and say an occasional hello. I ask the driver to take me to
Mandalay Fort. Mandalay Fort’s walls surround the palace that was lived in by two 19th century Burmese
kings- the second of whom was the very last king Myanmar would ever have. Then the British invaded
Myanmar, ousted and jailed it’s king and changed the country’s name to Burma.
The walls of Mandalay Fort are 2 miles long and are surrounded by a 230 foot wide moat. Now- in addtion
to the palace rebuilt after being destroyed during World War II- Myanmar soldiers use the part of the fort
compound for barracks.
Part of the reason I wanted to see the fort was for it’s historical significance. But the main reason was
because of the large banners with Orwellian declarations in front of the entrances for each side of the
fort. The south side’s banner reads:”Tatmadaw and the People cooperate and crush all those harming
the Union.” (Tatmadaw is the name for Myanmar’s military.) Across the street from this is a billboard
reading:

“People’s Desire:
Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views.
• Oppose tose trying to jeopardize stability of the State and progress of the nation
• Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of State.
• Crush internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy“

With each wall banner stop, the driver waits patiently for me. One time he walks off to a nearby street
vendor. He comes back with a little bag with a folded-up leaf and some milky liquid in it.
“Betelnut?”, he says with a smile, and offers me some.
But that smile and the smile of just about every working person in Myanmar are exactly why I would
not want to ever try betelnut. Betel stains the teeth and gums a blood-red color. Users- most of whom
already have very poor dental health- look as if they’ve just been punch several times in the mouth. The
use of betel as a stimulant (similar to snuff in the West) is pervasive thoughout Myanmar, India and some
other West and Southeast Asian countries. But for someone like my driver- a guy who lives on long hours,
little sleep, rice and little protein- it makes sense. When you run out of calories, you keep going on the
betelnut high.
At the last banner containing another ridiculous aphorism I’m trying to get a photo without the trees
obstructing my view. The banner says, “Only When Tatmadaw is strong will the nation be strong.” The
soldier seemingly proud of the banner motions me to move closer so I can get the shot. The sign behind
him says,”Foreigners prohibited beyond this point.” I say “ce-zu-beh” (thank you) and move closer. I then
turn around toward him and do a double-take. He has a green vest on top of his fatigues that says “U.S.
Army”. It seems to be a cheap Chinese knock-off and not the real thing. I bring my camera up and mo-
tion to take his photo though I know this is prohibited. (I guess the government is so paranoid of security
breaches that even photos of their half-assed uniformed officers are off-limits.)
“You’re wearing my country’s army uniform and I can’t even take your picture?”, I protest somewhat
in jest - though I kinow he doesn’t understand me. The soldier shakes his head and gives me a betel-
stained, crook-toothed grin and I walk away.

Mandalay Fort

Propaganda billboard near Mandalay Fort

Girl laborer in downtown Mandalay Tri-shaw rider Sunset from Mandalay Hill

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 2010

The Roads from Mandalay

MANDALAY/BAGAN, MYANMAR:

Crossing streets in Mandalay one takes their life their own hands. In most of central Mandalay there is a
continuous, cluttered onslaught of tri-shaws, bikes, motorbikes and cars every time one ventures out.
To be fair, it is very much the same in Yangon. The main difference is that in Mandalay there are few, if
any traffic lights. The second difference is that in Mandalay everything is more condensed- the buildings
shorter and the streets more narrow. One would think that this would be an advantage when crossing the
street. But in reality the narrow streets create a blind spot making it harder to see what’s coming up the
road. This is made much worse at night time. Though there seem to be street lights in some areas I’ve
never seen them on. So vehicles, lightless bikes and pedestrians share the road virtually blind but for the
occasional dim glow of a small roadside shop.
Most people here – whether they drive a bike, motorbike or car- seem to be defensive drivers. But they
are not driving defensively as we define it in the US. They are defensive in that they drive as if any rules
that might exist will constantly be broken. They are driving unpredictably and they know everyone else
will be driving unpredictably as well. So traffic is always fluid. Seemingly, drivers don’t insist or even ex-
pect rules to be followed. If a bike is crossing in front of you, you just drive around. If a car goes through
an intersection, you just drive around.
Another oddity in Myanmar traffic is what vehicles and bikes will carry. Motorbikes will carry plastic
pipe- sometimes lengthwise, sometimes width-wise. Tri-shaws will carry all sorts of boxes, truck wheels
and miscellaneous supplies in the side seat. A bicycle will carry boxes piled 5 feet tall on top of the rear
rack. Trucks piled high with bags of rice will carry workmen and monks on top of their freight. Anything
in any amount seems fair game.
The same can be said for the cargo borne on humans (primarily women’s) heads. A small coiled-up cloth
atop the head is usually used to buffer the load. It is very common to see women walking the streets car-
rying three foot wide platters of finger foods, fruit or alms for sale. Water, boxes and baskets of all man-
ner of things are also carried this way. On a construction site in Mandalay, young women carried bricks
two wide and five high on top of their heads and proceeded to carry them this way up a spiral staircase.
No, I’m not kidding.
But now in here in Nuang U, all that frenetic pace and craziness seems to melt away. Nuang U is a bu-
colic, quiet town on the outskirts of Bagan, the largest site of Myanmar’s ancient temples. Horsecarts
and bicycles can be seen meandering down the sleepy streets. Nuang U is a unique combination – simple,
quiet and tourist-oriented.
I have decided to splurge and take a $15 room at the New Park Guest House. It’s a spacious room- king
size bed, wood floors and best of all- a very clean bathroom with bathtub and shower separate from the
sink and toilet. This is quite a luxury – even in mid-range priced guest house. Nuang U has many restau-
rants that cater to tourists. In Mandalay and Yangon I usually chose to go to traditional hole-in-the-wall
eateries. But after a tasty but ill-fated trip to one such buffet left me with diarrhea in Mandalay, today
I opt for the safe but somewhat bland tourist fare. Tomorrow I venture out to see some of the ancient
temples of Bagan.
 Shwe Laik Tue Temple Buddhas at Thatbyinnyu Temple Htilominlo relief detail

FRIDAY FEBRUARY 12, 2010

Temple-Hopping in Bagan

BAGAN, MYANMAR:

Four thousand, four hundred temples are scattered across the plain of Bagan in an area the size of Man-
hattan. The temples were built over a period of 230 years (from the 9th through the 13th centuries.) This
is fairly amazing considering the size and architectural and artistic intricacy of many of these buildings.
I set out around 9am by horse cart. In that my priority is good early lighting for photography with as many
temples as possible, I decide against taking a bike. The bikes are one-speed, clunky, cruiser-type models
that often get bogged down in the sandy areas on dirt roads. The horse cart by contrast, is an open but
covered cart with a thick foam pad in the back. With a good imagination, I could picture myself as one
of the Burmese kings reclining in my coach, being fed slices of jackfruit as I survey the monuments my
slaves have built for me. But I don’t have that good an imagination.
Speaking of the kings who ordered the construction of these temples, some were quite horrific characters.
In fact they were not unlike many of the narcissistic meglomanics who were having cathedrals built for
their legacies in Europe around the same time period. The following are some examples of a few of these
early Burmese kings. Upon conversion to Theraveda Buddhism, King Anawratha demanded that the monk
who converted him hand over the classic Buddhist texts and relics. When the monk refused, Anawratha
sent an army to the monastery and stole them. He then proceeded to build Buddhist temples. King Nara-
thu decreed that the bricks in his mortarless Dhammayangyi Temple fit together so tightly that not even a
pin could pass between them. He then decided that he didn’t want anyone to ever build a temple similar
to Dhammayangyi. So he had all of the people killed who were instrumental in its design.
Many of these structures consist of a centered finial or sikhara (a corncob-like tower) surrounded by halls
on all four sides, each containing a large Buddha statue. Sometimes the tower is a stupa or zedi (a solid,
cylindrical cone) and sometimes it is surrounded by a number of smaller stupas on the corners of each
tier of the temple. A few temples such as Dhammayangyi, almost resemble a Mayan pyramid in their ba-
sic shape. Many have some variation on the Indian-influenced sikhara or tower. Of course this is a great
simplification for the temples in Bagan are quite diverse in their size, design and detail.
All of the temples are in varying states of disrepair, as you might think they would be after 600-1000
years. Some appear to have been almost completely rebuilt with new bricks and concrete. Unfortunately,
time is not the only thing that has taken its toll on these buildings. Earthquakes, (especially a 6.5 on
the Richter in 1975) have significantly sped up the process of decay. Fortunately though, renovation and
reinforcement of the temples have been greatly helped by UNESCO.
So after two days of taking horse carts out the temple grounds, I decide to take a bike. It’s getting close
to 4:30pm and I want to get out to the popular Shwesandaw Paya before sunset. Shwesandaw itself is
a relatively simple stupa-type structure, but near sundown it becomes a tourist mecca because of the
great sunset views with many of the other temples that it affords. After several wrong turns with help-
ful locals trying to tell me “it’s just down the road”, I find what I believe is the right turnoff. It’s an
uneven dirt road. I curse as the rickety old bike bogs down in patches of sand as I make my way through
the magical, temple-dotted landscape. A young woman up the road carries two full buckets on each side
suspended from a bamboo shaft across her shoulders.
“Shwesandaw?” I ask pointing at the large stupa ahead. She confirms I’m going the right direction. I pull
up, park and lock my bike and then slowly scramble up the steps. The steps are about 14 inches high
(reminding me of my Yangon guesthouse which seems to have used the same architect) going up about a
70 degree grade. It makes Half-Dome in Yosemite seem like a breeze. These steps only have one railing.
A terrified-looking, Japanese tourist passes me going down sideways and very slowly. Busloads of tourists
are arriving and people are steadily making their way up the stairways on all four sides to the middle and
top tiers of Shwesandaw. We all watch as the sun sinks into the mountains behind the Ayerwaddy River.
Looking back, I see orange highlights on the already sienna temples spread across the eastern Bagan
plain. It’s a perfect way to end a day- my last in the wonder that is Bagan.

Me at sundown from Shwe Laik Tue Temple Sunset from Shwesandaw Temple
Cucumber harvest in Than Taung Francis and Rhea with Carrying a load near Than Taung
Flame of the Forest tree in background

FEBRUARY 14, 2010

Trekking to Kalaw
INLE LAKE, MYANMAR:

A three-day trip in two days? The woman at Thu Thu Travel says if I go on this trek I can share the cost
with the people who requested it. They are a Belgian couple, Francis and Rhea- a pair of friendly, opti-
mistic, low-budget backpackers. They tell me they try to travel somewhere in the world every year for
about 3 months.
The trip is an Inle Lake to Kalaw trek. Most trekkers start in Kalaw and go to Inle Lake because there is
more downhill that direction. We are going the opposite direction. After two and a half weeks of travel
and twice that without any real exercise, I have some qualms. But I will only carry my day pack and
it’s just for one night. The overnights are in either a local house or monastery. Blankets and pillows are
provided.
I decide to go for it. The next morning the three of us and our guides take a motorboat across the lake.
We are headed to Than Taung, a village on the west side of the lake. Inle Lake has no distinct shore-
line. Instead the marsh vegetation just gets thicker as one nears dry land. Life on and around the lake
is constantly blurring standard notions of conventional uses for water and land. We pass large gardens
of vegetables in which the beds exist as islands and the “paths” are canals traveled by canoe. (See Inle
Lake: Life on the Water post for more detail.) The canal we are in bottoms out somewhat prematurely
because the water is especially low in the lake this year. We are at the trailhead.
We set out walking the berm paths between rice paddies. These berms are the “seams” in a patchwork of
fields varying in size and crop type. Eventually we hit a wider trail leading through the shade of 40 foot
stands of bamboo. Through occasional clearings on the trail we can see patches of cropland stretching
across the Inle plain. In a shallow canal bordering the trail we see an occasional water buffalo rolling in
the water.
As we near the village of Than Taung we keep noticing large leafless trees ablaze with bright orange
flowers. There are actually two different types of trees. From a distance they look very much alike- both
about the same height and same color. But on closer inspection we can see they have very different flow-
ers. The first has clusters of parrot beak-like flowers. It is appropriately named “Flame of the Forest”
(Butea mondosperma). The other is called a Cotton Tree (Bombax ceiba) for the white tufts produced
when it fruits. Our guide says the pistil, stamen and anthers of this large, tulip-like flower are edible.
A megaphone-like speaker is blasting what I believe to be traditional Pa’O music as we enter Than Taung.
It seems amazing to me that a place as rural as this actually has electricity. Children are playing in the
small, dirt schoolyard. Some smile at us. Others just look curiously.
Further down the road more people are gathering in an open area behind a building. A radio or boombox
is playing techno-pop which seems to compete with the traditional music. Our guide tells us today is a
ceremony for the initiation of “novices” or new, young monks. Soon we hear the rhythmic sound of drums
and gongs. A long line of the Pa’ O tribe – with their characteristic red head scarves and black clothing
–make their way down a winding path on a hill. Some of the men are beating drums or gongs. They make
this ceremonial procession across the trail and into the village.
For lunch we stop at the small village of Nguet. A group of people sit in the shade weaving baskets made
from strips of bamboo. These baskets are everywhere throughout Myanmar and are used for everything
from laundry to produce.
After a satisfying meal of noodle and vegetable soup I ask to use the “restroom”. I am directed to the
outhouse in the back with a plastic fixture on the floor. These squat-type toilets are typical throughout
Southeast Asia (except in businesses that cater to Westerners.) The unique thing about this this outhouse
is the door- or rather the lack thereof. Instead of a door there is a piece of sheet metal about three
feet high suspended between two vertical, 1 x 4 pieces of wood. This is to be propped up in front of the
doorway in order to hide the bottom half of your body from viewers.
Back on the trail we run across several guys who are each hauling two large (approximately 30 gallon)
baskets suspended on a bamboo rod which rests on their shoulder. It seems like an incredibly heavy load
until we see the cargo. In the baskets are roasted, tortilla-size rice crackers. Still these guys are hauling
this awkward load up steep dirt trails in flip flops. We buy a few to lighten their load and give us some
energy for hills ahead.
Eventually we come to another schoolyard with children in the front playing. I go for the hard-candies in
the pocket of my cargo pants- purchased for just this purpose. I hand one out and then the kids gather

Pa’O man Pa’O ceremony in Than Taung DaNu girl

 DaNu Farmer Old woman and child from DaNu tribe DaNu woman frying peanuts in home

quickly around me and thrust their little hands at me. I hand out some more candy and take some photos
of the kids. Some are wearing thanakah on their faces, the traditional wood-based paste that women
and kids throughout Myanmar use tradtionally for skin protection. Every time we take pictures out here
whether its kids or adults, they want us to show them the image on the camera. They gather around and
coo and laugh as they see the images on the camera screen.
Later that day we pass by fields where women with bright red head scarves till the fields with large hoes.
These are women from the DaNu tribe. Out this far there is no electricity and the people work- as they
have for centuries- with the light of day. When the sun is up, so are they. We the sun goes down, they
head for bed.
We stop for the evening in the village of Khon Hla where DaNu people live. An old woman with a yellow
head scarf smiles from the window of a bamboo house. She is our host. We take off our shoes and socks
before climbing the stairs. Our legs and feet are covered with the red Myanmar dust that we’ve been
plodding through for the past eight hours. The children in the house look at us for a long time seemingly
fascinated with…what? Our clothes? Our electronic gadgets? Our white skin? It’s hard to say. But it strikes
me that they are just as voyeuristic about our lives as we are of theirs.
Behind the house there is a 50 gallon drum laying horizontally on an old wooden cart. The spigot from the
end of the drum empties into a large bucket the size of a half-wine barrel. The water is murky, but it’s
wet. This is our bathing area. When Francis and Rhea are finished I go out back with my towel and change
of clothes. I take off my clothes. The old woman comes out on the back porch. I am in plain view but she
continues nonchalantly with her duties. I splash the water on my thighs, calves and feet trying wash off
some of the red dust. The Brahma bull five feet away from me urinates on the ground.
Back inside the house we find our sleeping quarters-grass mats on a hard wood floor. I’m given two cotton
blankets and two hard pillows. I arrange the extra pillow, my empty day pack and the mosquito netting I
have to act as a mattress of sorts. I lay the extra blanket over this. Fortunately I have brought lightweight
long underwear, a lightweight polyester hoodie and a polypro cap. But as the restless night goes on, the
temperature drops to about 50 F. I am never shivering but I am always just bordering on cold as I cross
my legs, keep my arms close to my body and pull the blanket over my head. When the morning comes we
are all glad. Though Rhea and Francis had a fleece blanket and shared each other’s warmth, they slept
directly on the grass mats with no cushion. We have a filling breakfast of tea, eggs, toast and some pieces
of something like French toast. Soon we are on our way.
We continue through dry rice paddies and vegetable fields. Slash and burn farming is common throughout
Myanmar. Farmers use manure for their nitrogen source and ash for potassium. As in other parts of Myan-
mar fields are often seen with evenly spaced piles of manure and ash. Cultivation and dragging of fields
are done with ox and plough. Sometimes the beast pulling a cart or plow is a brahma bull, sometimes a
water buffalo.
This area and many parts of Myanmar are very dry. It seems there is currently a drought throughout the
country. Sure it’s the dry season. It’s also true that this area has several plants such as agave which are
characteristic of arid regions. But this is an especially dry season. So when trees and vegetation die
prematurely (or are removed by humans), the soil has no root structure to hold it in place. Erosion is a
common problem. We pass several gullies that are becoming alarmingly wider and wider as each succes-
sive, monsoon rain comes.
In the afternoon we reach the summit over Kalaw at 4800 ft. From there we wind down into the small,
trekking mecca of Kalaw. It was a tough two days but we saw part of Myanmar’s indigenous country life
that we would not have seen otherwise. I was glad for the experience.

Flame of the Forest blossom Bamboo and Agave on the trail to Kalaw

Boy with oxcart on the trail to Kalaw

 Motorboat driver on Inle Lake Mine Thauk Farmer’s Market Fisherman on Inle Lake

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2010

Inle Lake: Life on the Water

NUANG SHWE, MYANMAR:

Inle Lake is an area located almost directly in the center of Myanmar. Nuang Shwe is the closest town
that caters to travelers. I get a room at the Teakwood Guest House, a friendly place with an interesting
layout. It has several small gardens and a communal mediation area near the dining room.
To get anywhere of interest around Inle Lake one must hire out a motorboat. The motorboats are essen-
tially long canoes with a propeller engine on the back. The driver hand cranks the engine and we slowly
head out.
Despite having a thriving tourism industry (being one of the top five places to visit in Myanmar) the vast
majority of people in Inle lake work as farmers or fishermen. The first stop we make is at is appropriately
a farmers’ market. The markets rotate to a different village every day throughout the week. This one is
in Mine Thauk. Jewelry and dried goods are also sold at this market. There are many fruits and vegetables
that aren’t familiar to me. I find that in Myanmar (and other Southeast Asian countries) vegetation from
plants not typically used as food in West is eaten here. Sometimes this vegetation is also sold as offerings
to Buddha at the local pagoda. But many types of vegetation- cucumber leaves, pea leaves and some
types of morning glory- are used as a food source. Dried fish is a popular item as well. There are also
curds, candies, desserts, curries and spices .
Out on the lake the Intha people use flat-bottomed canoes propelled by a single paddle. In a unique
balancing act, they use one leg wrapped around the oar while the other remains standing on the stern
of the boat. The oar dips, pulls and winds in a rhythmic fashion. These boatmen are fishermen who seem
to spend their lives almost completely on the water. Before fishing they beat the water with the oar sev-
eral times- presumably to scare the fish into the aquatic weeds just below the surface. They then take a
large, conical bamboo basket and submerge it upside down on top of the aquatic weeds. Next they use a
long, trident-like skewer to retrieve the fish emerging from the weeds. I saw some fishermen using nets
as well.
People also live in “floating” villages on the lake. Actually these are bamboo houses supported by stilt-
like posts anchored to the lake bottom. The houses are arranged in blocks with canals serving as the
“streets” much like a neighborhood on land.
Out on the lake there are also all kinds of local businesses. There are jewelers and silk-weavers where the
handicrafts are made on-site. Restaurants and hotels with great views of the sunset are also on the lake.
This may sound like a sort of commercial blight that is taking over the traditional people’s culture. Actu-
ally all of these businesses (many run by people from local ethnic groups) fit in surprisingly well without
the neon, bright lights or modern structures that often come with garish modernization.
In the afternoon we head to Inthein, a village in the southwestern part of the lake, Inthein is also one of
the villages used for the farmers’ markets. But the main reason to visit here is the ruined stupas from the
17th and 18th centuries- though they seem even older. There are several areas with pagoda ruins. The
complex on a hill that I visit has a very otherworldly feel about it. I take photos of partially toppled stu-
pas as the sun begins to set. There are intricate reliefs with divas and peacock motifs. Devas or chinthe
(griffin-like creatures) guard the pahto (or shrine) entrance. All are in varying states of disrepair.
All around is farmland. One can tell that farming technology hasn’t changed a lot since when these
temples were built. A friendly farmer tills his field with water buffalo and plow. He pauses and jumps up
on the beast for a photo as the sienna light on his skin blends with the color of the soil. I can tell he’s
done this before.
Back on the boat we patrol the floating gardens of Inle Lake as the sun sets. These gardens were devised
by the ingenious Intha people. The garden beds rest on mats which float on the waters surface. Toma-
toes, squash, onions, cucumbers and other vegetables are grown this way by the Intha. The gardens are
accessed by canoes through narrow canals between the beds.
As we head back across the lake, fishermen on their boats are silhouetted against the sun which sinks
into the mountains beyond the lake. The driver turns off his motor and we watch the orange disc disap-
pear. The lake chills off quickly when the sun goes down here. I put on my hoodie and we speed back to
Nuang Shwe.

Me at one of the Intein temple ruins Inthein farmer Sunset on Inle Lake
 Ceremony at Swedagon Pagoda The Stupa at Swedagon with bamboo Buddha in south pavillion
scaffolding for regilding work

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2010

Swedagon Pagoda: Myanmar Mecca

YANGON, MYANMAR

If one has been in Yangon long enough and travels with any of the Buddhist faithful anywhere close to
Swedagon Paya (Pagoda) they realize its sacredness to the people of Myanmar. Within 200 yards of a taxi’s
approach to Swedagon, the driver will pay homage to it. He places his hands together in prayer on top of
the steering wheel, bows his head briefly and whispers some words. Actually most Buddhists here show
this physical reverence for many of the sacred, older temples. But it is especially true of Swedagon, for
it is the most revered Buddhist site in all of Myanmar.
Swedagon Pagoda is on a hill 190 ft. above sea level and on a platform covering 12 acres. The gigantic,
gold-plated stupa (cone-like structure) rests on a plinthe (base) which is 21 ft above the main platform.
The actual stupa rises 322 ft. above this base. The stupa is topped off with the hti or the multi-tiered
golden umbrella.The vane at the top of the hti is gold and silver plated. It has 1100 diamonds along with
other precious stones. This is topped by a golden sphere containing 4351 diamonds. The main stupa is
encircled by a myriad of stupa altars that face outward toward the main platform. There is a large pavil-
ion or worship hall facing outward for each of the four directions. Each of these lead to an entrance hall
with a series of multi-leveled roofs, each getting progressively smaller as it goes up. The golden trim on
these roofs has reliefs with intricate designs. All around on the main platform are other smaller stupas
and small pagodas in varying but similar styles.
Archeologists say that the original Swedagon stupa was built sometime between the 6th and 10th cen-
turies. Legend holds that it is 2500 years old. The stupa has had various forms over the years. It has had
multiple layers added and repairs due primarily to earthquake damage. Each year the stupa is regilded
with thousands of one foot square gold plates. When I visited the first time upon arriving in Myanmar, the
bell of the giant stupa was covered with bamboo scaffolding. Two and a half weeks later now, the scaf-
folding is gone and a new layer of gold plates adorn the stupa. It is nearing 5:30pm as the suns starts to
set around Swedagon. This is one of the most popular times to visit. Tourists and locals with families wan-
der around the main platform. The faithful bow before the stupa or participate in various rituals in the
shrines around the base. As the sun sets, the floodlights directed at the stupa from all directions turn on.
The small shrines encircling the stupa emit an eerie green glow from the florescent lamps inside. All the
while an elder monk’s mantra is broadcast throughout the temple grounds through large megaphone-like
speakers. Each night Swedagon embodies some of the most important values of Myanmar culture- family
and reverence for the Buddha.

Stupas and pavillions on north side of Swedagon Pagoda One of many altars at Swedagon

Swedagon stupa at night Buddhist nun at Swedagon Stupa at night from north entrance
 Ngwe Saung Beach Small stupas on rock at Ngwe Saung Beach

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2010:

Ngwe Saung: a quiet tropical paradise

NGWE SAUNG, MYANMAR:

“A place of sinking sunsets and tomorrows that never come.”

This was the somewhat poetic and affected description from the usually cut-and-dry Lonely Planet guide-
book. But that one sentence in a flowery paragraph describing Ngwe Saung sold me.
After the past two and a half weeks of trying to cram in as much stuff in Myanmar as possible, this seemed
like a good way to end this trip. Besides it would be a much-needed respite from the noise, grime and
bustle of Yangon. The nine hour bus trip leaves at 9pm- so I was told. But the prospect of nine hours in
a cramped bus during the hours I like to sleep was a dim one. So I opt for the much more expensive taxi
ride. After all it’s the end of the trip.
I get a quote for $240 for Friday through Monday- a two day layover in Ngwe Saung. (An earlier quote
was for $300 !) Tin Hlaing (who I meet on the street outside my hotel offers to be a guide and arrange
the taxi. He says he thinks we should get a “permission” from the Myanmar Department of Travel and
Tourism (though no such permission has been mentioned by any travel agency or guidebook.) After the
devastation caused by Cyclone Nargis in May 2008, much of the Ayeyarwady delta area was closed off to
travelers. Now the government supposedly requires that travelers have a permission which allows them
to keep track of you. This is the very flimsy rationale for it. Never mind that hundreds of tourists go to
this region every week by bus without any such a permission. As with many rules in Myanmar, these are
inconsistently enforced. Interestingly though, nowhere on the permission form you must sign does it have
any mention of Cyclone Nargis. In fact the most noteworthy sentence on this form (which I’m told is true
of most Myanmar forms for foreigners) states that one “assures that I will not engage in political matters”
while there. The big scandal after Cyclone Nargis was that the government refused to allow foreign relief
planes to deliver aid to over two million survivors left without food, drinking water or shelter. Of course
this fact was not lost on the locals who were outraged that government prevented its people from get-
ting the help they so desperately needed. Though I don’t know it for sure, I have to imagine that because
of this the Ayeyarwady delta area was fertile grounds for dissent and that’s why the “political matters”
clause might be in the form.
Friday morning I meet Tin and his driver and we head off to Ngwe Saung. There is sporadic roadwork be-
ing done through much of the trip. Some of the repair work is due to damage done by the cyclone. But
not all. Tin points out one area between Yangon and Pathein that was particularly hard hit by the storm.
Most of the homes were bamboo huts that blew away during the storm. So new ones have been built since
then.The only evidence I can see of the damage is the roadwork being done. Here roads (like just about
everything else) are built with very few machines. No gravel spreaders or even wheelbarrows are being
used. Work crews of men and women carry rocks about 2-3 inches in diameter in wide, shallow baskets.
They dump them, spread them out, then go back and pick up more. A tedious process to say the least.
After a seven and half hour drive over 175 miles of road we finally arrive in Ngwe Saung. At the southern
end of the beach I finally choose my guest house. Shwe Hin Tha is a simple place with clean bamboo huts
with porches that line the beach. This is what I came for. It’s quite an idyllic setting. The coconut palms
rustle in the breeze as the sun beats down. The steady sound of the surf soothes away any tension. I go
out for an afternoon swim in the ocean with water as warm as a swimming pool. I can walk out at least
60 ft and still be standing with my head above the water. It’s perfect.
The next day I find that most of the tourists at Shwe Hin Tha took a 6:30am bus from Yangon which ar-
rived in about 6 hours. The bus trip ends up costing about $23 round trip if you include the taxi rides to
and from the station on outskirts of Yangon. This despite confirmation by three travel-oriented sources in
Yangon that the 9 hour, 9 PM bus was the only bus to Ngwe Saung. Two of the sources I asked were travel
agencies. One was a hotel that called the wrong bus station. An Italian woman who has lived in Myanmar
for a year tells me she has found many travel agencies in the country to be fairly incompetent.(Actually
until now I have got good information from several agencies here.) I just wasted $187 because of the
incompetence of some of the bad ones. But I’m glad to be here in this wonderful place and I refuse to
let the loss of money ruin my stay.
I give the taxi driver the $200 I owe him and say they’re free to go back to Yangon. If they stayed another
day it would’ve cost another $40. By staying another day and taking the bus back, I’ll get there earlier in
day and save $26. A little late to be “nickel and diming” things but what’s done is done.
The next day I do some snorkeling in rather rough waters and decide that body surfing is a more pleas-
ant water sport here. Reading, writing, walking the beach and having a banana lassi drink watching the
ocean. That evening I listen to the breeze with bamboo wind chimes clopping in the background and
watch the sun sink into the Bay of Bengal. That’s why they call this a vacation, right?

Shwe Hin Tha Resort huts Ngwe Saung beach at sunset

 Wat Chaiwatthanaram Wat Yai Chai Mongkhon buddha Wat Ratchaburana

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2010

Ayuttaya: Khmer influence in an ancient Thai city

AYUTTAYA, THAILAND:

I had planned to escape Bangkok once I returned to Thailand. Three days in the hectic, tourist-jaded,
highly commercial capital was not the way to end my time in Southeast Asia. So I decide to retreat to
Ayuttaya, former capital of Thailand. The main draw for tourists here are the array of ancient temples
built between the 14th and 17th centuries. In spite of it being a tourist destination, Ayuttaya does not
have near the volume of tourists nor the quantity of tourist-oriented blight of Bangkok.
I’m staying at a place called Promtong Mansion- a very quiet, clean, spacious and quite new hotel with
all the mid-range amenities- AC, Cable TV, fridge and private bathroom. No bath but it still has got to be
the best deal since the New Park Hotel in Bagan, Myanmar. And best of all there’s a swimming pool next
door. I plan to take a dip tomorrow.
The city of Ayuttaya is actually an island surrounded by three rivers. It was founded by King U Thong in
1350 AD as the capital Thailand and remained so for 417 years. It was the only internationalized city-state
in Asia in the 17th century.
Theravada Buddhism was introduced to Ayuttaya from Sri Lanka. But many of the architectural and even
some political styles were influenced by Khmer culture. Sure enough when I look at Ayuttaya’s temples I
can see remarkable similarities to the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Ayuttaya’s acceptance of the
“God-King” -where the monarch himself was viewed as a god- was also a Khmer concept.
Since I have just been to Bagan, Myanmar I am making comparisons to the temples there. Both have the
heavy influence of Theraveda Buddhism and some animist beliefs. Both were built with brick and stucco
during essentially the same time period. But the temples of Ayuttaya are in somewhat of a worse state of
repair. To a certain extent part of their allure lies in the fact that many are crumbling and overgrown with
weeds. Still the temples in Ayuttaya are said to represent the broadest range of Buddhist architectural
styles- more diverse than Bagan or Angkor Wat.
Though the styles in Ayuttaya vary a lot, the basic elements are included in most of the larger temples.
 Buddha at Wat Mahatat Monks sweeping at Wat Thammikarat

These include the prang, chedi and viharn.The prang is the Thai version of the Indian sikhara- a corn-cob
like tower that is often at the center of a temple. Sometimes there are more than just one prang. The
central prang often has three to four porticoes or steps leading up to an entrance. Sometimes the porti-
coes actually lead up to an altar where a buddha statue sits. Another common element in most temples
is the chedi, also called a stupa. These are conical towers that vary in number and size. In Burma these
generally have a much broader bell (bottom half of the cone). Thai chedis are more narrow. Temples
herer also usually include a viharn or rectangular sermon hall.
Wat Dhamikaraj is a temple that has a row of singha (lions) encircling the principal chedis. (Again I rec-
ognized the singha as similar to those in Angkor Wat.) Some evidence suggests that this was one of the
temples destroyed by fire in the second attack of the Burmese on Ayuttaya.
Wat Chai Wattanaram was built relatively late in Ayuttaya’s statehood in 1630. In that it was built outside
the city many feel that it must have doubled as a garrison. Archeological digs have uncovered cannonballs
and pieces of cannon destroyed during one of the wars with Burma. King Prasat Thong who commissioned
it’s construction later ordered a residential hall be built nearby. He sent his craftsmen to Angkor to bor-
row ideas from the Khmer architecture.
My personal impression of Wat Chai Wattarnaram was that it was one of the most interesting and com-
plete temples in Ayuttaya. Like many other large temples with lots of prangs and chedis it has become
a habitat for a variety of kinds of birds. One thing one notices at many of these temples is the constant
chatter of birds.
But temple-hopping wasn’t all I did in Ayuttaya. I got a chance to see some working elephants and to
saddle one up. Actually I just hopped on got a few photos taken and hopped off. I opted not to go on the
elephant ride. It was little out of my price range.
To sum it up, Ayuttaya was a good way to spend my last days in Southeast Asia. For anyone visiting Thai-
land who has any interest in it’s history, Ayuttaya is a must.
By the way just for fun I just dug up this poem I wrote after my visit to Ayuttaya in 1988. It’s called
Restoration:

Thailand
outskirts of Ayuttaya
rubble of Babel
decays
while reaching
to grasp
nirvana

Tumble-down
temple prangs
and chedis
shift
to become one
with the earth

Laborers cover
their eyes
from the sunlight-
cover the meaning
with the mortar
of reverence

“Buddha with
bodhi tree
sprouting
where its head
should be”

Meditating
he seems to
smile
though he has
no face
As he offers
though he has
no hand
And I have
received
though I have
no gift

Tomorrow a worker
will snip
the growth-
replace it
with a head
filling in
the past
 Thunbergia grandiflora near Inle Lake Boy selling birds at temple- to be freed for good karma

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2010

Post-trip Impressions...

BANGKOK, THAILAND:

I arrive at the Ayuttaya train station with people eating Thai finger foods and snacks in an area just off
from the platform. I can’t get the song “Last train to Clarksville” by the Monkees out of my head. But it
seems so incongruous with the sea of brown faces and signs in Thai on the platform. A woman has a hand-
bag that says in English,”Wildness is in my breath”. A pre-teen boy walks by with a t-shirt with a large
Playboy bunny on the front and “Playboy” embroidered on the back. I seem to be continually reminded
of how little our cultures understand each other.
I sit and wait for the train which is supposed to be 40 minutes late. A woman behind me is reciting a
mantra out loud from a book. Kids tease each other and take each other’s picture with a point and shoot.
When the train arrives I get on and sit across from an old woman who only has about five teeth in her
mouth. Now I know what people mean when they say “long in the tooth”. This woman’s lower teeth ex-
tend about one inch beyond the gums and stick out of her mouth like fangs.
It’s a two hour ride to Bangkok. The interior of the train is institution green. As we get closer to the city
the scrap wood and corrugated metal shanties increase in number. As we enter Bangkok the sun is setting
and Prince Palace Hotel rises in the ethereal light behind the squalor of the shantytowns scattered along
the tracks.
The latest news from Thailand if you haven’t heard is that the Thai Supreme Court has seized the assets
of former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. The funds were frozen by the court when a military coup
took control of the government in 2006. They are only going to seize that portion of his assets which
they believe were obtained illegally while in office. Shinawatra is currently living in exile in Dubai and
tells his supporters (of whom there are many) that the ruling is a “joke” and that he has done nothing
wrong. There is a warrant for his arrest if he comes back to Thailand. The so-colled “red shirts” are the
faction that seem to fanatically support Shinawatra and protests have been happening on and off for the
past few days in Bangkok. But many of these “supporters” are actually paid agitators rather than true
believers. Anyhow things have cooled-off for the time being and I’m out of here around 1 am tomorrow
morning.
When one observes different cultures, the ironies - which all cultures have- seem to stick out the most.
In Myanmar it was always strange how all our US Dollars - that we used like travelers checks- had to be in
pristine condition. If there was an ink mark or a fold in the bill most Myanmar businesspeople would not
accept it. So you were always paranoid about dog-earring or folding your US bills. In contrast the kyats
(Myanmar currency) that were given to you in change often looked like it had been stuck in a blender. All
the time I received kyat bills that had holes in them. Bills were often so mashed over that they seemed
more like used cleanex than currency. Another seeming irony (on a completely different aspect of Myan-
mar life): I understood in both Myanmar and Thailand (as in many Asian countries) that the feet are seen
to be the lowest and most spiritually “unclean” part of the body. Yet in the temples where there are
reclining Buddhas, the bottoms of the Buddha’s feet are where all the holy scriptures are engraved.
But the people of Myanmar were great. They were very helpful and always tried to please. They seemed
to put up with social conditions - sporadic power outages, slow or non-existent internet, roads with very
little asphalt and all kinds of bureaucratic abuses by the government. The people just seemed to be very
resilient. With the incredible ineptitude and brutality of it’s government, Myanmar people seemed to
keep plugging away. Sometimes I think it was more resignation than resilience. But maybe resilience on
some level comes when you’re resigned to the fact that things are very screwed up and will remain that
way for the foreseeable future.
I thought the people of Myanmar even in their traditional ways of working were very innovative. The
creativity that comes with making due what you’ve got was obvious whether it was the floating gardens
of Inle Lake or the intricate mastery of lacquerware, silk or jewelry craftspeople.
Yes, the people of Myanmar are number one and the government is definitely eight (“shit” in Burmese.)
Many shied away from expressing opinions on the government for obvious reasons. But I had enough
people who went out of their way to talk about government abuse and how the world needed to know
what was going on there that I thought it was quite remarkable.
Thailand is a different country than Myanmar. It’s infrastructure and economy are so much better that
it there is really no comparison when it comes to the ease and efficiency of traveling. But Thailand has
it problems as I’ve alluded to: poverty, lack of social nets and government unpredictability. Actually you
can almost predict that if you wait long enough in Thailand eventually there will be a relatively bloodless
military coup. Seems like that’s the way things are done here. Well ...I’m heading home.

First stage: Lacquerware engraving Silkweaving in Mandalay

Bamboo construction of lacquerware