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| The small temple in Kalaw |
Myanmar, nicknamed “The Golden Land,” is overwhelmingly beautiful. It
is difficult and probably ineffective to retrace our trip. The genuine
impressions would be lost in a retelling, but I would like to share the
highlights. We stayed one night in Yangon before heading north to Kalaw
in the Shan Province. The hills surrounding Kalaw, dotted with the
bright golden pagodas in the region's small agricultural communities,
make the military town a popular destination for hikers or “trekkers.”
((Pagoda is a term used to describe any tiered tower. Stupa and temple
are more specific. You can walk inside of a temple but a stupa is solid
and cannot be entered. Both stupas and temples can be described as
pagodas. This was a little confusing initially.)) The landscape, minus
the gold of course, brought back memories of the tea-covered hills of
Manow. My favorite pagoda was near the market in Kalaw, a fact that
would probably make our guide, Palai, laugh. Palai travelled with us as
our guide from Yangon to Mandalay. With just the three of us we were one
of her smallest tours, which, I like to think, allowed us to have a
closer and definitely more humorous relationship with her. Palai lives
in Yangon with her husband and two sons but as a tour guide, travels
with groups around the country, visiting the same temples and historic
sites. In all the places we visited Palai always saw a friend, another
guide on the tourism loop.
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| Boys playing in the temple in Kalaw |
We
saw hundreds of pagodas, new ones, gold ones, ancient ones, stone ones,
but the small temple in Kalaw was covered in a mosaic of tiny pieces of
mirror, giving it a more humble glitter than its more majestic
relatives. Inside there were four brightly colored statues of the Buddha
surrounded by equally beautiful offerings of fresh flowers, fruit, and
glasses of water. Four boys were playing a loud game of tag inside the
temples, using the four pillars as safeties.
Our
next destination was the famous Inle Lake, also known as “Tomato Lake”
because of the enormous amount of tomatoes grown in the lake’s floating
gardens. At local markets, Palai always noted the difference between the
deep red, ripe tomatoes of Inle Lake and the harder, yellowish tomatoes
that were grown on land around the country. Unfortunately, I spent our
first day at the lake sick in bed. While Grandma read George Orwell’s
Burmese Days,
I dozed in and out, my dreams turning the motorized boats outside my
gently swaying room into helicopters flying to different villages around
the massive lake. Palai also continuously came to check on me. She
brought medicine that she had from the local pharmacy and water, which
she poured into my mouth while sitting next to me in bed. Her closeness
and lack of concern to the gross state I was in was such a comfort. I’m
sure she’s an incredible mom.
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| Extracting lotus fibers that will be spun and woven into fabric |
The
next day, determined to make up for lost time, Palai brought us to see
silversmiths, blacksmiths, traditional silk and lotus weaving, and boat
building using versatile teak wood. In between these quick visits we
floated by the placid floating gardens of vegetables and flowers. I was
struck by the abilities of the people living at Inle to live entirely on
the water. The varieties of ways humans have adapted to live in the
most unaccommodating landscapes are really unbelievable. It reminded me
of days spent puttering up the steep hills of Seattle in my sad, dying
Volvo.
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| Monkeys at Phowintaung |
In
Mandalay, Palai pushed our limits on the pagoda-visiting front.
Throughout the long days of sightseeing, we visited what seemed like an
endless number of pagodas, each with its own story about the monk or
king who had earned merits through its construction. “One more, I think
you’ll really like this one,” Palai would say each time we climbed back
into the van, an undecipherable combination of sarcasm and honesty in
her voice. When we arrived at Kuthodaw Pagoda, which to the uneducated
eye appears to be another large, elaborate place of worship, Palai
exclaimed, “NO! It’s a book, not a pagoda.” The 729 stupas, each housing
a marble slab inscribed with Buddhist scriptures, make up the world’s
largest book.
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| Kuthodaw Pagoda: The World's Largest Book |
My favorites from Mandalay were the free school in Sagaing and caves outside of Monywa where there are 12
th century Buddhist frescos and monkeys that will pull off your skirt for a watermelon snack.
Next
we left for Bagan, where Palai warned us we would see thousands more
pagodas. We traveled to Bagan on a boat full of proper Europeans. The
civilized feel of the boat was shattered after dinner when we ran back
to our rooms through the thickest cloud of insects I have ever
witnessed. Small, long winged grey flies created a moving blanket over
everything on the boat. They were quick to cover everything in your room
if you made the easy mistake of opening your door without first
switching off the lights.
We arrived the next morning in Bagan, the romantic, yet somewhat eerie ancient city. Eager to explore the thousands of 12
th
century pagodas of Bagan, we turned down the tour and rented bikes.
Although the ride ended rather quickly when Grandma’s tire popped, it
was fun trying to find a place to get it fixed and, when it couldn’t be
fixed, a replacement bike was delivered on the back of a motorbike. The
problem-solving of travel without a guide so often leads to the most
memorable experiences within a different culture. On our last day in
Bagan we decided to get up early and revisit some of the temples we’d
seen earlier in the trip. When the light was soft and the majority of
tourists were still asleep, we walked through the now quiet temples. We
also encountered the bats that live in the temples’ tall ceilings, and
whose waste is still wet early in the morning. The discovery of wet bat
waste as we walked barefoot around the empty temples also solved the
mystery of the terrible smell in our clothes after our visits the day
before.
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| Fishing beach outside of Ngapali |
Our last destination was Ngapali Beach, where we ate the freshest
seafood and traveled on motorbikes through the jungle to meet a couple
of incredible elephants. We also got a tour of the local fishing
villages from a Costa Rican man who is starting a culinary school to
teach locals who can work in the tourist restaurants. After moving to
Myanmar about 10 years ago, he bought land under someone else’s name and
has been working in the restaurants ever since. He showed us the beach
where all of the fish and seafood comes in. It was a busy beach,
littered with trash and parts of fresh and dried fish. The stench of
fish was thick and unavoidable. People were everywhere: pulling in a
fresh catch with the help of some water buffalo, spreading fish out to
dry, or sorting a catch for the best fish. One girl, who was sorting
through a massive pile of small silver fish found a little squid and
quickly tried to hide it before anyone saw, but a woman next to her saw
the treasure and threw it into another pile. Stray dogs also wandered
around the business deals, looking for scraps of food and getting caught
in the fish netting. It was a place that overwhelmed all of my senses
and yet we went relatively unnoticed in all of the bustle.
Our very last day
was spent in Yangon. We visited the famous Strand hotel, where many
famous guests have stayed, Rudyard Kipling and Sir Mick Jagger among
them. It was unbelievably hot in Yangon and I spent most of our day
there speaking nonsense in the heat and taking photos of the street
food.
Our
next destination was the famous Inle Lake, also known as “Tomato Lake”
because of the enormous amount of tomatoes grown in the lake’s floating
gardens. At local markets, Palai always noted the difference between the
deep red, ripe tomatoes of Inle Lake and the harder, yellowish tomatoes
that were grown on land around the country. Unfortunately, I spent our
first day at the lake sick in bed. While Grandma read George Orwell’s Burmese Days,
I dozed in and out, my dreams turning the motorized boats outside my
gently swaying room into helicopters flying to different villages around
the massive lake. Palai also continuously came to check on me. She
brought medicine that she had from the local pharmacy and water, which
she poured into my mouth while sitting next to me in bed. Her closeness
and lack of concern to the gross state I was in was such a comfort. I’m
sure she’s an incredible mom.
We arrived the next morning in Bagan, the romantic, yet somewhat eerie ancient city. Eager to explore the thousands of 12th
century pagodas of Bagan, we turned down the tour and rented bikes.
Although the ride ended rather quickly when Grandma’s tire popped, it
was fun trying to find a place to get it fixed and, when it couldn’t be
fixed, a replacement bike was delivered on the back of a motorbike. The
problem-solving of travel without a guide so often leads to the most
memorable experiences within a different culture. On our last day in
Bagan we decided to get up early and revisit some of the temples we’d
seen earlier in the trip. When the light was soft and the majority of
tourists were still asleep, we walked through the now quiet temples. We
also encountered the bats that live in the temples’ tall ceilings, and
whose waste is still wet early in the morning. The discovery of wet bat
waste as we walked barefoot around the empty temples also solved the
mystery of the terrible smell in our clothes after our visits the day
before.
