Myanmar (Burma) Part 1

Myanmar (Burma) Photos

I quickly picked a place from Lonely Planet but as soon as I walked off the bus I was being asked to come with people to their guesthouses or if I needed a horse-cart (taxi). I heard someone say New Haven, which I remembered from Lonely Planet as the highest recommended place. I decided to walk up with him as it was pretty close but as soon as we got there I was told it was fully booked out. He was nice enough to walk me back to the bus station and direct me to my original destination. After 2 minutes of walking I was at ‘restaurant row’, a street in Bagan known as just that as it doesn’t actually have a street name, and decided it was best I get some food. I sat down at the busiest place (I’m such a follower) and ordered fried chicken wings, once again, and some Myanmar beer. After my food came the power went out, but fortunately I was prepared with my phone’s flashlight and continued to enjoy my meal until they switched on their generator (obviously not the first time it’s happened). I paid as it was getting late and went off to find somewhere to sleep.

20 minutes of walking later and I realized I was lost and just needed to find somewhere for the night. I passed a large place and got a room for $8. It was pretty bad, but at least the bedroom part of it was clean (don’t ask about the bathroom). I was happy to stay another night until I had the awful breakfast and found out that the toilet was completely broken. I spared their feelings and told them I was moving to the other side of Bagan, ‘New Bagan’, but that plan backfired when he saw me at the other place that night.

I rented a bike for the day (now 1500 Kyat when it was only 1000 Kyat last time Lonely Planet were there!), found a new place: Eden Motel, which is an old place but quite nice and the breakfast on the roof was really good, and started the 6km ride down into the heart of Bagan- ‘Old Bagan’. I’m not a very healthy or fit person so I won’t pretend I found it easy but I still managed and was soon surrounded by incredible pagodas. It’s quite difficult to put into words but Bagan is simply a compilation of over 4000 pagodas or temples, some very small with others huge, towering masses of beauty and history, 1000 years old. Just take a look at the photos and try to appreciate and comprehend this place. I saw just one photo at home and decided I had to visit Myanmar purely to spend some time here and I have no regrets in doing so.

I spent a couple days just cycling around, stopping to read on the top of the tall ones, take photos at the secluded and abandoned ones, and to eat, because after any amount of exercise Bryce gets hungry. I frequented the same place the entire time as they were just so nice to me, always bringing extra food for free and trying to talk to me. On my second day one of the girls even gave me a little toy Santa as a Christmas present. My only problem with Bagan was the vendors outside of all the big pagodas, trying to sell me sand paintings, books and lacquer ware. As always I appreciate being viewed as a wealthy businessman (in my old shorts, t-shirt and torn backpack), but how many 18 year olds alone in Bagan buy pottery to take home? However not all of them were that annoying, and they all still smiled back if you wouldn’t buy anything. There was one instant where a man took care of my thongs for me, moved my bike because it was in the sun and then showed me a reclining Buddha I would have missed otherwise, so I felt compelled and actually wanted to buy a book off him.

On the first day I met a really nice Slovenian guy, Martin, at the restaurant. After speaking for a bit we decided to meet up later that evening for dinner and beer. I watched the sunset from one of the pagodas with a Spanish girl and older Korean man (who ended up hating me- but that’s a story for another time) and then went back to town to meet Martin. We walked into a place but no one spoke English, so after a few minutes when someone came to translate and we were told they didn’t really have much food, we just had a beer and then went to find somewhere else. At the next place we had a little more luck, but I had a little too many chilies leaving me in agony for most of the meal. Wow, as I sit here writing this in Yangon on my last day, just waiting to catch a flight tomorrow, there’s some guy downstairs periodically yelling at the top of his voice in the street ‘Ahhhhyoahhaaraaayyy!’. He must think he’s a Pokemon or something. Anyway, it was extremely cold and getting late so we parted ways and I went to bed.

I woke up to a very nice breakfast on the roof, read for a bit (there’s really nothing else to do besides that) and then rode back to the temples for the day. Later that evening Martin and I had dinner again at a different place but went back to the previous night’s restaurant for their draft beer. It’s strange because even though it’s peak season, the streets were really empty. At times it felt like we were the only foreigners in Bagan, which is both nice and depressing.

The next day we went to the market to have a look around, where we also ate. Even though we both had almost identical dishes, mine cost double Martin’s for some reason- I’m assuming they hated me. It must be the beard. I bought some Burmese cigarellos, about 100 for $3, which I think will come in handy both as a gift and a source of extra money in Thailand. I said farewell to Martin and really did nothing for the rest of the day, which was nice.
At 6.15pm my bus came to pick me up and I was on my way back to Yangon. It was definitely not the nicest bus ride. The Burmese seem to have perfected the art of bus air-conditioning to such an extent that the entire bus is constantly freezing, there seems to be no way to turn it off, and the only way to combat it is to cover the vents with the curtain and wear a ski-suit. I left my ski-suit in Bangkok unfortunately, along with my dignity apparently as I sat there wearing 3 t-shirts and covering my legs with a small backpack. At the first stop at 9.30pm nobody spoke English so us 5 falangs just that there drinking tea, waiting for them to let us back on the bus. The next stop, at 12.45am (Why? Or at least let us stay on the bus and continue sleeping) was awful. It was the same place from the previous bus-ride TO Bagan, and I just sat there alone drinking the tea until all the little kids working there (the place is literally run by an army of 12-15 year-olds) crowded around me and were quite nice, eventually bringing me chicken fried rice. At 3.30am we arrived in Yangon (Why? Drive slower), and a group of us crammed into a taxi to save money and went to a guesthouse, where I am now. When we arrived, in order to save some money, a Polish couple (late 30’s I’m guessing) and I shared a double room, where we agreed that they’d pay $10 of the $25 cost and they could then sleep there for a few hours, shower and leave their bags until there flight this afternoon.

I’m going to wrap the post up here as I doubt much else will happen before I leave tomorrow morning as I’m exhausted and just want to get down to Ko Phangan to see everyone from home. I’ll definitely be back in Myanmar soon, but next time for longer (and ideally not alone).

Myanmar (Burma) Photos

I have a lot to write about Myanmar, so I’ve split it up into 2 posts. The second one begins with my arrival in Bagan.

There are many ways in which you can describe Myanmar (Burma); primitive, beautiful, untouched, repressive, confusing, but really the only way I can hope to explain it best to you as it really is like nothing that you’ve ever seen before. If I could have filmed my face the entire time I was there, the facial expression I wore would never change, from stepping out of the airport to boarding the plane back to Bangkok. It was an expression of complete and pure confusion. Myanmar seems to be a place where those things that you thought may never happen or could never take place actually do. I can describe to you the places I saw, the people I met, even tell you minute for minute how I spent my time there as I show you photo after photo, but it will be no use. It’s an indescribable place; unique in every single way.

I had to take my very first flight since arriving in Bangkok on the 3rd November, as entering the heart of Myanmar by land is not so easy and inevitably more expensive than flying. After the quickest flight of my life (40 minutes), I landed in Yangon International Airport and quickly went through immigration and customs. I saw two young people and approached them, asking if they’d want to split a cab into town. At $6 can you blame me? We walked past the entrance and out onto the street, as directed by Lonely Planet, and haggled until someone agreed to take us for $6 to the first place listed in Lonely Planet. We arrived and as they only had dorms, the two people left and I stayed as it seemed nice enough. I’m convinced the manager there hated me, as he didn’t even smile at my unfunny and predictable jokes, consistently ignored me and never even once smiled. I still took the bed and put my stuff down before going for a walk to try and change some money.

Money in Myanmar is a topic in itself. They have their local current, Kyat, which up until a few weeks ago could only be found by exchanging US dollars with people on the street and some stores or hotels (apparently banks will now exchange at a similar rate). These US dollars have to be perfect, brand-new, pristine, unmarked, museum-quality notes, or they will be rejected everywhere. Lonely Planet says this, forums say this, travellers say this and I am confirming this. It’s serious business. As it was already 7.30PM or so when I finally got my bed sorted, it was a little difficult getting money changed. I took $30 to the only place known to change money that late, a hotel I’ve already forgotten the name of (Central or Grand something) and got some Kyat. For guesthouses/accommodation and admission fees you will often pay in USD, but for food, drink and transport it tends to be handled in Kyat. It’s frustrating as a couple months ago it was like 1000 Kyat to $1USD, but because of peak-season and other variables, it’s now like 750-800 Kyat to $1USD, depending on how much you change. The walk from the guesthouse to the hotel to exchange money was the first time my face was in that state of utter confusion I talked about earlier. Not one foreigner on the streets in a capital city, more Indians and Muslims visible than Burmese, men wearing ‘longhis’ (traditional skirts), women and children wearing traditional cream-coloured face make-up, no-one trying to sell me anything, barely any restaurants; all this with the incredible Sule Paya temple in the background, glowing in the light as my facial expression reflected the complete strangeness of this place.

I slept like an angel that night and woke early the next morning for the complimentary noodles and mandarin breakfast, along with the instant coffee. Another thing about Myanmar: coffee is just a word used to describe what you get when you mix a satchel of ‘instant coffee’ with hot water. There are just a handful of places to get a real coffee in the country and those are apparently nothing special. It’s all about the green tea I guess as the only other tea is bad Lipton, people don’t seem to drink, and soft drinks are unbelievably expensive. This country does not make sense. I made the 15 or so minute walk down to the train station, where you can buy a bus-ticket up north to anywhere you’d like to go. In doing so I passed some depressing parts of town as well as about 5 cinemas in a row. Strange. I found somewhere that spoke some English and booked a bus ticket to Bagan (15,000 Kyat – $20), the main reason I was in Myanmar to begin with (more on that later). I would have to make my way to the bus station myself (45 minutes away) as I was alone and catching the new 7.30AM bus (in the past only later buses ran to Bagan). I cursed and went to change money and eat. With changing money I spoke to someone who approached me on the street. We went for a 5 minute walk and then I gave him/his boss the $100USD note. A minute later I was given a stack of 1000 Kyat notes, counted it a couple times to check the 75,000 was all there, and then started to leave. The changer began to follow me asking for a souvenir; some Thai money, maybe 1000 kyat or even Australian money, and eventually I just had to walk away. On the way back to the guesthouse I was approached by a couple different people trying to talk English to me to ‘practice their English’, and even if they did wish to do so for the right reasons, I was tired and hungry. I was also finding it extremely difficult to find food, so when someone outside a restaurant spoke to me in English I quickly went in and ate.

After a short sleep at the guesthouse I decided I should actually see Yangon. I walked up the street to Sule Paya, a very small stupa (temple) but still quite beautiful. I paid the $2 admission fee with a crisp $10 bill, and was given my change that I assumed was of a similar quality.

After a quick walk around the stupa and a taxi to Shwedigon Paya, where I paid a $5 admission fee, I found out that 4 of those dollars given in change were not new enough, and had to pay 1000 Kyat instead. Shwedigon Paya is an incredible place, representing 2500 years of Burmese pride and just like the country it rests in, indescribable. In the day it’s a bright, sparkling masterpiece, its size incomprehensible; at night a glowing reflection of everything Myanmar is: simple, beautiful, but really so much more beneath each layer if you just bother to look. I walked around it for a while, looking at the neighboring statues and buildings, trying to take it all in, and then sat down to relax for a little.

It was early and I really wanted to see it during sunset, as it became illuminated and the diamonds on the very tip can be seen. A young monk (25) came and sat next to me. He started speaking to me, explaining how he had been learning English at his monastery for a year and would like to practice and ask me some questions. We spoke for a little and soon his friend, also a monk, came and sat down. His friend showed me a manual/guide he had, with instructions on how to use Adobe Audition, a computer program for making music, as he loved to make music and wanted to learn how to do it himself. After a couple hours passed, the sun began to set and people flooded the complex. The monks showed me an area where you could see all the different colors of the diamonds, determined by where you stood. They then told me they wanted to take me for a sugar cane drink, so we left and walked down to one of the restaurants. Afterwards they wouldn’t even let me pay, which was just so strange and difficult to accept. We exchanged Facebook/email details even (strangest place in the world, no doubt), and parted ways. They understandably wanted a photo with me:

They invited me to come visit their monastery when I came back to Yangon, which I promised to do if I had the time. I went back to the only dinner place I’d found that spoke English and got some fried chicken wings and a hamburger as I really missed KFC, and then went back to get some sleep as I had to leave the guesthouse at 6.30AM if I was to make my bus at 7.30AM.

As many of you know I’m a huge idiot, so after hitting snooze at 6AM, I woke up at 6.30 in a panic, packed my bag and rushed downstairs. I found a taxi, negotiated with him (if I was going to miss my bus I may as well save some money), and rushed to the ‘highway bus station’: A hilarious small town filled with repair shops, restaurants, cafes and a huge array of different bus companies. The taxi ride there was just as funny, with the cab driver being quite young and having a flashing stereo system set up, even with his own remote, playing old commercial house music as we raced past other cars. We found the bus and I boarded with a few minutes to spare. I was sitting next to an older Burmese lady and presumably her two daughters. They were extremely nice, unable to speak a word of English but constantly offering me snacks and smiling. That’s the thing. Burmese people as a whole are really the kindest people I’ve ever met. I’ve met some amazing Thai, Lao, Vietnamese and Cambodian people, but with Burmese, at least the ones you have daily interactions with, they are all just so kind and friendly. There is no desire to rip you off, no real backhandedness. Most are subjected to such awful lives by a government they know nothing about, but yet they seem to be the happiest people in the world. Sadness seems to be an emotion that never made it to some parts of Myanmar, and while I don’t doubt that it exists, the people will rarely let you see it.

After a few hours we stopped at a massive bus stop, where again nobody spoke English and I walked into the crowed restaurant and sort of just sat down, clueless but careless. Some kind people sitting near me realized I was confused and yelled at the waitresses to come over and try helping me. I just said chicken, knowing that if anything they may understand that word, and was given several dishes and asked for a couple dollars. I ate what I could quickly and hurried out to the bus as I had no idea when it would leave, and didn’t really feel like being stuck at a bus-stop in the middle of Myanmar, void of a soul that could speak any English. We stopped a few more times during the ride and at 6.30PM we finally arrived in Bagan.

To Part 2