Yangon Day One

So before I delve into Burma I want to say a few words about this place an my decision to come here. Burma, or Myanmar as it is now called, is surely the worst government in Asia and perhaps the worst in the world. This is a military dictatorship/kleptocracy that has ruled with an ion fist for decades, imprisoning thousands of peaceful protesters form monks and nuns to students and even comedians. A government that kills monks and journalists in the street. Tortures prisoners. Mines it's own territory in ongoing ethnic conflicts that are fueled by the illegal mining, timber, and oil, as well as heroin and meth trades much of which are with forced labor of prisoners. A war fought by conscripted child soldiers, human minesweepers, in which villages are burned and buddhist nuns raped at gunpoint. Meanwhile the people are kept in poverty while the generals have multimillion dollar weddings, inexplicably move the capital of the nation for billions of dollars based on the advice of their astrologers, and fight a war with a billion dollars a year in military aid from China. If you don't know much about the situation, or figures like Aung San Suu Kyi, I encourage you to educate yourself with a simple google search.

At the same time I have always wanted to visit one of the most actively Buddhist countries in the world, one of the most closed and isolated countries in the world, talk o the monks and the people, and see the Shwedagon Pagoda and the temples plains of Bagan. I also want to educate people on the outside, readers of my blog, etc about how truly fucked up a place this has been and continues to be as the world ignores the situation.

I also planned to spend minimal money, giving little or nothing to the government (ie, no railroads for me, and sneaking into sites where possible), and donating equivalent money to Burma awareness and activist groups abroad afterwards. Suggestions would be much appreciated.

So anyway, I'm here in Yangon. Up and out this morning proceeded to get completely lost. The streets are completely potholed messes, a la Cuba or Cambodia. I don't know if its Nargis or neglect, but it basically looks like someone walked up and down the street pushing a jackhammer, and then added garbage and mud to the whole thing. Theres some crumbling colonial glory, but mostly it looks like much of the developing world. That is to say, to paraphrase a journalist I met once in Phnom Penh, "Mildewed cement buildings with metal rebar sticking out of the top." (and in wealthier ones, not Burma, Blue glass and tiles on said buildings.) I soon discovered there are no street signs in my neighborhood, or anywhere in the city, and a lot less text in English than I expected. Monks and nuns wander around begging bowls open, and trishaws ply the streets along with a few ancient cars and jeeps. The women and men wear a kind of pale yellow makeup as well as sarongs called Long-Yi, and I don't mean a few people, I mean the vast majority dress like that. Stumbled into a wonderful temple and just sat and tried to calm myself down after getting completely lost and a little overwhelmed and get my bearings amidst the serenity and the stares in the shady pagoda. Decided to start walking again and found a big street, and looked for addresses to no avail, until finally one building said it
was Bogyoko Aung San, (a big street) and I was then able to get a vague sense of where I was, until finally a few streets with numbers appeared.

It was around then that a Burmese guy about my age approached me and started chatting in English, and offered to show me around- I was initially very hesitant, all my travel instincts said no, stay away, this is a scam, but my people instincts suggested he was genuine and earnest, just wanting to show me the city in exchange for English practice, and he mentioned that he worked as a guide during the touristy season. He seemed genuine, so I went along with it. We walked past Shule Pagoda, though skipped it, given that its supposedly so-so, and the fee goes straight to the government. Admired the fortune tellers and incense sellers outside, along with the women guarding laundry baskets filled with songbirds (you can buy one and release it for luck or a wish. They fly into a tree, but I have a sneaking suspicion they just end up back in the same laundry basket the next day). We passed by a Hindu temple to Kali, which was kind of a fun flashback to India, seeing the bellringers and colorful and crazy statues of the gods. There were also fortune tellers everywhere inside and around the whole colonial neighborhood surrounding Shule. He explained a lot about the superstitions, astrology and numerology beliefs here that are fairly intense, including the recent decisions by the government on advice of their astrologers to move the capital and to make a new flag.

From there we boarded a city bus, which was quite the experience. Imagine a "bus" with about a five and a half foot ceiling, wooden floors and a few scattered wooden benches, and PACKED with dozens of Burmese people, who were utterly fascinated by my presence. It was fun, to be sure, but I cant say I was too sorry to unwedge myself from where I was jammed in (the sweat at least helped me dislodge) and get off the bus at the bottom of the hill beneath the massive, 300something foot solid gold stupa of the Shwedagon pagoda. And impressive it is, dating back, legend has it 2500 years, when the Buddha gave some of his hairs for the place's founding, and has only grown and gilded since then, and is basically blinding in the tropical noonday sun- but what do you expect for a massive solid gold stupa?

Wandered past the planetary shrines, where worshippers pray and wash depending on what day of the week they were born (mom, do you remember?). Others left gifts for the Buddha and spirits called nat, usually on the recommendation of astrologers, but the gifts are funny- "you must leave three pieces of bread, a glass of milk, and a jar of jam" and variations like that. Stopped by one of the many shrines inside and bought some gold leaf for a few kyat, which I applied to a Gautama Buddha for merit and a wish.

Briefly stopped and watched a close circuit image of another Buddha sculpture, which my friend explained was a statue that a group of people had allegedly seen blink five years ago, and so now it was placed in a secret cave but a closed circuit camera was trained on it 24/7 and all could watch if it blinked again. (Insert terrible joke about surveillance state here!) So the whole complex is a series of smaller shrines and stupas surrounding the big one, and Buddhas and pilgrims everywhere, and amazingly, only maybe six westerners, though a few other Asian tourists. The grand stupa itself as I said is 322 feet high, I think it was 60 tons of gold (I need to check on that) and the top crown is covered in 1100 diamonds, 1383 rubies and emeralds, then that crown is crowned with 4351 MORE diamonds, and then tipped with a fist-sized 75 carot diamond! Photos at the museum showed when it was briefly taken down, and bejeweled with more donated gemstones (though, there are a lot here in Burma, but still...), many of which are people's family rings, jewelry, earrings etc that then hung before it was hoisted back up. Pretty incredible, and brilliant in the sun. And, my guide who I'd agreed to was extremely knowledgeable, and I was thinking he maybe was pretty genuine and worked for a real company.

We left the Shwedagon, sweating and panting, and returned to the bus and hit up the market, mostly full of ruby and jade shops (which he declared were legit, not fakes) and a few assorted trinkets and t-shrts, along with traditional clothes, food, and everything else one finds in such a market. We did get into a few interesting antique stalls, selling old bells, gongs and the occasional opium weight, all of which are cool, but I'm trying to decommission stuff, so not sure if I'll go back and buy anything or not.

From there my guide suggested a lunch spot he knew, and I was starving and exhausted, and now at which point I started to get nervous, having read in China, Vietnam and other books countless warnings about the "friendly" locals who want to practice English and then stick you with an insane tea or lunch bill. We browsed the thali selections at the place (a very larger Indian population here in Yangon, legacy of the colonial era), and I decided against the pig intestine curry and the goat brain curry and went veg and mutton. As soon as we sat down and I started to get nervous, kept asking how much everything cost, and then alternatively feeling plagued with liberal white guilt for being doubting of his generosity, and feeling hungry, dehydrated, starving, anxious about the quality (or the spice!) of the mutton I was scarfing down, mouth stinging from the extremely sour lemon pickle on everything, wondering if my sweat was anxiety, heat fatigue, sunstroke or what, and generally feeling paranoid and weird. Every time the waiter came around to offer more food, my host kept insisting it was all-you-can-eat, but I declined, imagining an ever growing bill, and wondering whether I'd have to stay in Yangon and be broke, (no atms, no credit cards here) or just pay a massive bill and be left with minimal travel cash, or be arrested for not paying and ending up in a Myanmar jail or.... But it was all okay. The bill was about four dollars, and white liberal guilt trumped my traveller's cynicism, for a nice change of pace.

From there we walked most of the way back to the hotel, where he also pointed out all of the not-so subtle undercover police, and explained that the reason things had been so clean at the Shwedagon today was because a dignitary from China was probably visiting, also probably the reason for all the police everywhere. He stopped and bought some betel nut to chew, and I asked him to show me how, which he and the street vendor also found uproariously funny and interesting, and bought me a leaf which was painted with lime, filled with betel, tobacco and
cardomom, and I proceeded to chew with no notable (ill or good) effect, save for the fact that I was now, like the locals all over Asia and the subcontinent, was spitting red every thirty seconds. "Do I spit like a local?" "Yes, very good!" he laughed. I'm sure I blended right in!

Back to hotel, and greeted by the Burmese women, who giggled at each other and the only words I could make out were "Harry Potter"and ""American." Seriously, everywhere I go in the world, I put on my NOT ROUND glasses, and I get either Dr. Who or Harry Potter. Wandered out to dinner at the surprisingly decent "New Style" restaurant, where I was the only white person, and had every waiter in the place at my table the whole time, and every time I looked up, all eyes on me. I got a decent enough stir fry, (thank god for the Asian penchant for photo menus), and ate some peanuts.. were they peanuts, suddenly I worried they were some kind of larva appetizer I'd read about in the lonely planet, no wait, okay, they were peanuts after all. The owner wanted to talk soccer, but his English was not so great, and hard to hear over the blaring Burmese rap music and video being shown of gangsta Burmese hip-hoppers, who seem to have a penchant for the "Little Miss ___" t-shirts and who's video's otherwise display a strong influence of American 80's music videos.

Anyway, there is a lot more to write about, particularly some political situations here that I don't want to write about until I'm in Thailand. Let's just say that there's a joke here about George Orwell- that he wrote three books about Burma: Burmese a, 1984 and Animal Farm...

Back now at my hotel trying to decide whether I should take the evil bad karma train owned by the government early in the morning tomorrow, or the good karma bus which goes overnight and thus is rather unpleasant. I think I might have missed the train opportunity, so might not even matter.