*March 9-11: Full Moon Party on Kho (Island in Thai) Phan Ngan. I'll leave it at that. Google it if you're interested.
*Friday the 13th (go figure) to March 17th: Myanmar (Burma)!!
Me: "You know how they say Texas is a whole 'nother country? Well, Burma really is a whole 'nother country."
Kelli: "Duh, Shayanne"
Anyway, I have a ton to say about Myanmar, so if you're not interested, just skip down a ways. If you want to see pictures, I have 2 facebook albums so check them out there. I love those pictures so much that my screensaver is actually a slideshow of my favorite pictures from the trip. The trip to Myanmar was one of my favorites--its only other rival is the long weekend to Phuket/Krabi that I already talked about. Every single moment was an experience in itself; I could literally write a short story on the 5 days I was there. I'll try to be quick though.
Day 1, skipping the hassle it took for us to get from the airport to the city center and away from our government taxi driver who would not leave us alone until a few hours later when we told him we wanted to be on our own (and then he yelled at us and caused a scene in front of everybody, rambling on about us being ungrateful for his help):
It is illegal to change money in Burma. (side note: Last I heard, there aren't any banks not owned by the government. If a Burmese were to have money in a bank, the government could seize his/her funds at any time for no explained reason; it happens too.) The official exchange rate (exchanged outside of Myanmar of course) of a Mynmar kyat ("jchet") to the USD is somewhere between 5 and 6 MK to 1 USD. However, in actuality, 1 USD is worth at least 900 kyat--and maybe up to 1200. The day we arrived, we walked around until we were offere 1000 kyat. We followed a man for a couple blocks and shoved into a room. There were 4 of us and each of us was confronted by our own moneychanger. All at once, we were all being convinced we needed more money than we were offering to exchange and that our bills starting with letter or that letter were not good bills. We were then rushed out the door. Once around the corner, I counted my money and realized that I was 13,000 kyat short. With sweaty palms, I went back in and demanded I get the right amount of money. I got it and left, thinking I had caught them at their game. However, later I realized they somehow had gotten 3 20 USD bills from me rather than the 2 I meant to exchange. ($20 may not be a lot of money in the US, but it would have gotten me lunch and dinner for whole week over there.)
After we exchanged money, we took a taxi to the bus yard. I had fallen asleep on the way and woke up to what I thought was a mob of people trying to flip our car over. Half awake, I really thought something was wrong. It turned out we were being swarmed by bus managers trying to convince us to get on their bus. For about 2 USD each, we found ourselves being shoved on to a bus for an extremely hot 3 hour bus ride on the way to a village called Bago for a good 'ol Buddhist pilgramage. The aisle was being used to transport four huge air tanks of some sort; they were piled on top of each other and rolling from side to side in between the seats--right at our feet! As it was Friday the 13th, we joked that it would be just our luck if one of them exploded. The people on the bus were really nice and a man in front came back to tell us it was our stop. Within 5 minutes of stepping off the bus, we were on motobikes being taken to a place to stay. Impressed by the western toilet and AC that would be available from 10pm to 5am (more on this later), we dropped our stuff off and spent the rest of the day with our recently acquanted motorbike taxi drivers. My driver (of the 4) was the only one who spoke English and was such a sweet old man!! Well, he probably wasn't even 45 yet, but a hard life can certainly age a person. Our first stop was the second longest reclining Buddha in the world (the first in Bangkok and third is in Malaysia, both of which I have seen). There was a large group of pilgrims from Central Myanmar who were thrilled to see us. However, it wasn't the usual "you're white and I want a photo with you." My guide explained they were all farmers and rarely saw westerns (white) people, and when they did, they were too busy for pictures. We took tons of pictures and gave a bunch of hugs. Then they all--I'd guess there were at least 30 men, women and children--crammed onto the back of a big wooden truckbed and drove away, waving and smiling at us. At the second stop (another reclining Buddha), we met 2 super cute kids who claimed to speak 6 different languages ( I believed them too). The one kid, who couldn't be any older than 10, puffed up his chest and said something like "you buy and make me very lucky man. I'm a business man and I give you good price." His short sleeves were rolled up (like in Grease, the movie) and he pounded his chest when he referred to himself as a 'man.' The 3rd stop was a pagoda on top of a hill with an amazing view of the setting sun on the country side/village, which had been amazing enough driving through on the motorbikes. Apart from the gold painted temples that haphazardly dotted the view, everything seemed to be dark and covered by a dusty red haze. It's really hard to explain what we could see from the top of the hill (i.e.: the juxtaposition of elaborate temples to makeshift huts with naked children chasing chickens on a dirt road....). We then rode into town and chatted with my driver over some tea and chinese meat pastries at a streetside teashop. Our driver told us about his 3 attempts at monkhood (one only lasted a week)and how his family spent all its money on his first wedding, leaving his brother with no money for a big wedding party and ironically, his marriage lasted only a year while his brother is still married. The laughter, however, subsided when he told us second wife of 13 or 14 years can't have children. When we asked what she did, he told us she rolls about a 1000 cigarettes a day, but that he wishes he could own his own motorcycle and make more money being a driver so that she wouldn't have to work. It might sound like he was trying to get us to pity him, but it wasn't like that. He was just so sincere and ready to answer our questions. The last place he took us to that evening was a massive pagoda surrounded by a bunch of smaller ones. There were smiling monks shuffling around; we immediately realized that the monks in Burma were a bit different than the ones in Thailand--and we liked the difference! One monk in a wheel chair stopped to ask us where we were from; this was the first of many really neat encounters with monks in Burma. In Thailand, monks just don't pay much mind to women. I know there isn't supposed to be any physical contact between monks and women, but in Thailand, I guess that bars us from conversation as well. WELL NOT IN BURMA!! :) (In Myanmar, rebellions--when there are any--are often led by monks; I'd guess you'd have to experience Buddhism/the culture to know how cool that really is.) We then returned to our small, but well-ran hotel and got kisses from a baby on his way to bed. His father carried him to each us and he gave the cutest baby kisses. Then we all blew kisses (the baby touch his palm and curled fingers to his open mouth and then making a "puh" sound) and said good night (in our own language of course).
Day 2:
We woke up at 6 and got picked up by our motorbike taxi drivers and rode to the second largest monastery in Myanmar to watch 500-800 monks walk in from the morning gathering of rice and other food (breathtaking to witness). We joined some monks in their living quarter (we were in their bedroom!! Again, this would NOT happen in Thailand) and a Q&A about Buddhism. A few of them were learning English and 2 of our drivers (another English-speaking driver switched with one of the drivers from the day before) helped translate. We walked out to their massive classroom where a bunch of monks were sitting for an exam; the monk teacher that was passing out the exam gave us each a copy—he handed it to us directly, which is also a big deal b/c monks aren’t supposed to give or receive anything directly to/from a female’s hands.It was so sweet!! I’m framing my copy! After the monastery, we were driven to a cheeroot (cigarette) “factory,” but really, it was about two dozen women sitting cross-legged on a risen bamboo platform underneath a shelter. Then we visited a nunnery, where the women were dressed in pink robes with shaven heads. One of the women was 77 and had been there for over 50 years; another woman was in her early 20s and had been there for 9 years. When we were discussing ages, one of the young girls pointed to me and then to her and gestured to imply that she was older; then a second and third none, both older than the first one and me, did the same. The youngest one looked at me with a defeated expression and laughed. On the way out, one of the older ladies held Kelli’s (my roommate) hand and walked her out. We saw one more Buddha structure and were then taken to the bus stop. It was really sad saying goodbye to our drivers. I’ll never forget my driver, Mr. Tin; he was so genuine and one of the greatest people I met in all of Southeast Asia. He encouraged us to ask questions, snuck us in the back gates of the Buddhist sites so we didn’t have to pay the entry fee (which goes to the government unfortunately), and although he didn’t dare speak of the government, the information he volunteered on issues like poverty, religion and street guys trying to make a buck really got us thinking about daily life in Myanmar.
On the bus to the next village, Kinpun, we sat in fold-out chairs in the middle row. Despite it being unbelievably hot, crowded and smelly, it was still an interesting ride. Any time we stopped and someone from behind us had to get off, we had to fold up our chairs and step to the side as much as possible to let them by. One time, it was a few monks who were getting off. I was trying to get out of their way, but they just kept walking towards me. I was literally freaking out because there was nowhere to go. Kelli, who was in front of me, was like “Shay, just scoot over.” She couldn’t go anywhere either. I finally just sucked in and tried unsuccessfully to them pass without any contact. After they got off, the four of us girls were like “OMG, we just got touched by monks!” But life goes on… At a rest stop, I convinced everyone to try a giant fried bug. It didn’t really taste like anything, but I didn’t really enjoy getting one of the legs stuck in my teeth. By the last night of the trip, however, I was eating the bugs by the handful—like peanuts!! Once in Kinpun, we set out to join hundreds of Burmese pilgrims on an up-hill journey to “Golden Rock.” There was first an hour long ride in a huge truck and then when the truck couldn’t go up the mountain any further, we got out to walk for another hour. The road was somewhat pave, but it was incredibly steep! On the way up, we paid an extra dollar and set up in the cab. On the way back, we sat on one of the 5 or 6 2x4s that served as benches with about 50 other people! We didn’t go down till dark and the driver flew down the mountain, around the sharp turns and all! It was literally just like riding a roller coaster; we even held on for ‘dear life!’ At the top of the mountain, there was of course the Golden Rock, which is a huge rock (painted gold) that is believed to be balancing on the edge of the rockcliff by one of Buddha’s hairs.< Women aren’t allowed to touch the rock—apparently the laxness of Burmese Buddhism stops at Monks being able to have conversation with women. There was this one little monk who seemed to follow me around; whenever I stopped to look at something, he would stop a few feet back and look as well. He was adorable! There were also several babies and young children who were fun to watch play. Despite all the activity, there was still a sense of calmness; this, the amazing view and the lovely breeze (rather than the scorching heat) made for a real relaxing atmosphere.
Day 3:
While 2 of the other girls caught an early bus back to the capital (Yagon), Kelli and I perused Kinpun. It barely took an hour since there’s only a 3 way intersection and none of the roads lead very far. This little young man found us and started getting us to take funny pictures with him. We figured out he was deaf mute and walked around with him for a little while. Kelli and I were laughing hysterically! Luckily, we got approving looks from the village people, as if thanking us for spending time with him. On the way back to our guesthouse, we caught the attention of some young kids, who we also took pictures with. They would pose once and then run around to see their picture on our (digital) camera. This went on forever, but we weren’t complaining. They seemed to be having the time of their lives and were so darn cute! The bus ride back to Yagon was the worst of the three, so I’m glad it was our last. The bus itself was nicer—it wasn’t falling apart at least—but the only window that opened were small ones at the top, so there was hardly any airflow, and at times, it was so crowded that people were sitting on the floor and standing on the stairs; a couple guys were even hanging out the door. We seemed to stop every five minutes and the driver honked the horn at every animal, person or vehicle we passed. There was also some sort of checkpoint; except for Kelli and me, everyone got off the bus, the bus drove through some immigration/department of commerce driveway, a man got on and asked for our passports, and then the bus drove forward a little ways, stopped, and everyone got back on the bus. It was so strange! The bus ride took nearly five hours and was right in the middle of the day; it was too uncomfortable to sleep, so I got to see a lot of the countryside. It’s definitely a developing country, no doubt about it. Once off the bus, we found a local bus stop, and with the help of a very nice man, we took a city bus to Yangon’s center. As soon as we stepped on the bus, one of the bus operators scooted people aside and made sure we had enough room on this “bench” thing. We could see the driver smiling in his mirror, as were the two bus operators. It wasn’t the creepy kind of smiling; it was as though they were so happy to have westerners on the bus that they were giddy! They of course were all too pleased to help us get off at the right stop as well. Taking a guess as to where the other two girls may have found a room, we walked down this seemingly sketchy ally and booked dorm rooms. About to walk out for dinner, we ran into them, their new Burmese tag-along Steven, and 3 middle-aged Slovakians who were also staying at the guesthouse. Odd as we were, we set out for dinner. On the way, Steven gave us a ‘slumdog’ tour of Chinatown: “This is Chinatown…this is an old Chinese temple…this is a Myanmar watermelon…these are Burmese strawberries…you know what this is? A summer flower…. It was hilarious!! If you’ve seen Slumdog Millionaire, think about the little kid acting as a Taj Mahal tour guide and then picture this scrawny Burmese man with a twangy English accent pointing out the obvious. One of us asked what religion the Chinese temple was for, and he answered, “Chinese Religion.”We were like “oh, of course, why we didn’t think of that?”He was quite the character—always grinning and constantly chatting. Although we got scammed into buying his dinner, the conversation we had at dinner was well worth it. We talked about his family, how he wants to teach English, and how he’d rather donate money to people rather than temples: “What is Buddha (the statues) going to do with money?” (I ask this question all the time, so it was neat hearing it from a Buddhist.) The only time he wasn’t smiling was when I asked him about the Bogyoke Aung San Museum, which is the house that Aung San Suu Kyi grew up in and at one time, was made into a museum celebrating her father, the country’s first democratic leader. I asked him if we could go and he was seemed really confused. I was like, “you know, the old house of the lady under house arrest--.” He cut me off immediately, told me to shut-up and not to talk so loud, that people could be listening. Then, as though nothing had happened, he started smiling again and started talking about something else. It happened so fast, I wasn’t even sure if it had happened. On the way back to our hotel (which although it was in a very sketchy alley was really cute) Michelle, Kelli and I grabbed Myanmar beer; all the women we passed started giggling because women just don’t drink beer there. Back at the guesthouse, there were some kids on the street, with ages ranging from about 2 to 18 years old. They asked if we wanted to play with them and somehow we picked up on their hand games and some version of dodgeball mixed with jackpot. When we were playing the dodgeball game, Kelli, intending to hit Natasha, accidently pelted this little girl in the face. We all felt so bad. The little girl started crying and her parents came over, and then Kelli started crying because she felt terrible about it. The alley was poorly paved and most of the kids were barefoot; it really made me appreciate playgrounds. I was running and tripped and fell right on my face. They all swarmed around me to see if I was okay; they were so cute! There hadn’t been much conversing because it seemed as none of them spoke any English. But then all of a sudden, this little girl asked in perfect English “Are you a Christian?” I was really taken back. I had been asked the same question earlier in the evening by Steven and upon saying yes, he something like “Oh, well you have your beliefs and I have mine.” I told her yes and much to my surprise, she said she was as well. She told me her name was Alice, that she was 11 y/o and not in school (according to international human right “laws,” public education is supposed to be provided to all children until age 11; apparently, Burma missed the memo—surprise, surprise), and that she lived with her dad and she wasn’t sure where her mom was. She was the cutest little girl; I wonder what her story is; even though she wasn’t in school, her English was incredible. The morning we left she left me a note at my hotel, asking me not to forget her. If you ever go to Burma and stay in the capital, you must go see her!! I’ll give you directions. :)
Day 4:
Kelli and I hung out with Steven for a good part of the day. I convinced him to take a taxi to the Bogyoke Aung San museum, the house where Aung San Suu Kyi was raised.I wrote a paper on her in my SEA Women Studies class and really wanted to go. (By the way, the verdict of her trial came a couple days ago: she was sentenced to another 18 months of house arrest b/c of the dumbass American who swam to her house; she’s such an amazing woman too!) Well, we got there and there was big chain wrapped around the gate and a couple policemen nearby. I asked Steven why it was closed, and he said, “Maybe it’s not so popular.” I asked why he thought we couldn’t go in and he snapped at me, “Shut up, come on.” I was so much as scared, but startled that he had talked to me like that. If you had met him, you’d understand why; he was always so gregarious. I hurried to the taxi and didn’t say another world. Then he took us to the most famous Buddhist meditation center in Myanmar, and then we went to a park. He started to annoy us and we were tired of having to pay for his entrance fees and food (he never even asked; he just waited for us to pay). At another entry gate at the park, we were going to have to pay for him again; I was like, “Can you just wait here and we’ll meet you when were done?” I know it sounds mean, but I was getting really frustrated. (Kelli loved this, because she predicted that would happen, and I was like “no no, he’s really helpful; it’ll be fun….) We stayed in that section of the park (which was really pretty—I couldn’t believe I was in Burma) for a while, and then although our intention wasn’t too permanently ditch Steven, we were really pleased when we went back and found he had left. We found our own way back to the hotel via local bus—so cool!!
Walking around a market, we ran into one of the Slovakians and this Russian named Ivan. It turned out to be a very interesting evening. For one thing, the Slovakian barely knew English and Ivan wasn’t exactly fluent.However, each of them spoke like 4 or 5 languages, but neither of them were fluent in each others’ native/first language. If the Slovakian needed the Russian to translate, he would say it in a mixture of the languages he knew and then Ivan would try to translate from several languages to English.Ivan made fun of him for this, but Ivan wasn’t quite all there either. Kelli and I had so much fun! I couldn’t believe we were in Burma! On the other hand, there were many reminders. I saw a lot of mothers and their children sleeping on the streets. It was so sad. A group of kids came up to our table, apparently excited to see us there. The Russian, who was living there and spoke Burmese, told me not to touch them because they had hepatitis. I was like “whaaat?” Just to spite him, I picked up this one little boy (probably 3 y/o), placed him in my lap and gave him a US Dollar; he was filthy dirty but he put on the biggest grin!
***
I absolutely loved Myanmar!! It was a weird place though. There was this eerie quietness though and people stared at us like “what the heck are they doing here?” We were never alone. The time Kelli and I had the park was the one time that we on are on. I don’t really think I can explain the…um, ‘atmosphere’ of the country. There was definitely some sort of vibe though—I’d love to talk about it if you have the time.
