Burmese Days
This desert inaccessible under the shade of melancholy boughs. As you like it.
-George Orwell, Burmese Days
Myanmar has no friends
....but everyone loves Burma.
December 31st, 2007
Flight FD 3770
Bangkok, Thailand– Yangon, Myanmar (Burma)
It’s 7:13 AM. and we’re preparing to taxi towards the runway, headed for that bitter sweet land of enchantment.
Because of the Myanmar (formerly Burma) government’s oppressive black out on email, it’ll be at least 14 days or so before I’ll be able to post a blog of which I anticipate this to be a real whopper by the time I get back to Bangkok to wrap up this amazing Asian adventure and get on back to my sweet little family and all of my friends.
I was so excited the day that I got my Myanmar visa that I immediately went to the Siam bank here in Bangkok and started the tedious process of transferring travelers cheques to Thai Baht (a big expensive & unavoidable rip-off) then to US green backs which is the only form of outside currency that Myanmar will accept (and they better be crispy and new too…and the $100’s serial number better not start with a CB either or they will not accept it) other than their own which is called Kyat (pronounced “chat”.)
It’s been an hour and 15 minutes and we are already descending towards Yangon… That’s a mighty short time to go to be so far away from the rest of the world.
I can already see at least a half dozen shiny pagodas popping up through the dense forest’s tree tops like gold buttons on dark green felt upholstery…
This is Stupa land.
In between the forest areas are big patches of water that mirror the blue sky and sparkling sun. Rice paddies and green planted rows of farming land contrasted by other patches of red dirt land that look like it might be really dusty and dry. It appears to be pretty flat around Yangon and upon approach, I can tell that a large percentage of all of those those trees I was mentioning are palms…I love palm trees, how about you?
Screeech! Were here….Yay, we made it!
Mingla va means “Hello”
Jay zoo dim bade’ means “Thank you”
I used to know how to say the big compliment for here that translates as: “My, you’re looking very fat!” Too bad I can’t remember it anymore, they like that one.
For some reason, I just began thinking about how I was just laying there in bed seven long hours ago trying to drift back for one more hopeful dose of R.E.M. but I was just too excited about getting to return to Burma. I can’t believe that this is happening and that I get to be doing this again…I am so lucky in my life.
I was feeling good about already being packed, with about 1 sq. ft. of free space reserved for my trusty binky. My blog was finally all done, photos were downloading pretty well this time, and by the skin of my teeth, and only 4 minutes left to go on the internet meter, the cranky “blue i” on internet finally relented and launched my report into cyberspace and is now headed towards daybreak in the western hemisphere for my beloved readers to enjoy for new year’s eve back home. A taxi had even been arranged to pick me up at 4:30AM and now it was time for “lights out”.
I don’t know if it was the weird dream or the mosquito bite that woke me up at 2:30.. but just within a few seconds, my consciousness had fully surfaced, and there I was laying there, restless as all get out. My mind was dashing through the cosmos like a google search engine, scanning for any possible glitches in my packing or plans.
Oh crap I forgot to get the tripod! It’s in storage over at the Shanti….and I should change last night’s blog to include something about being able to find my CD on itunes in the part where I’m being interviewed by Jazz on the radio, so people can hear it if they want to…and Coffee!!! I gotta have my coffee…
I looked at my watch and it was now 2:47. I vowed to myself to just lay there till 3:15, but 2:53 got there first and I just had to get up. Within 10 minutes, I had already gotten into one storage room and cut open my latest box full of stuff so I could get a key to go over and get into the Shanti storage room too get into past boxes of stuff….Once I was outside, The air was heavy with a pervasive aroma of cat piss, stale beer and cigarette butts. I encountered a few people that were drunk and still partying around small plastic card tables in the street, singing and toasting each and then to me, as I walked past them and down the dim amber street lit block over to the Shanti Lodge. A couple of the graveyard staff were up and starting to decorate the place for the new years party that would be happening there that night. The Shanti Lodge loves to throw a party.. I made my way back to that hot ol’ Shanti storage room piled 6 ft. high with traveler’s backpacks and duffle bags and those cheap and colorful zippered plastic bags that everyone crams their stuff into around this part of the world. I’d planned early for all of this chaos by chaining my bag to a pole right by the door so I wouldn’t have to dig for 30 minutes to find my stuff.
The planning paid off too, there they are!
As I recalled, the coffee sucks in Burma, they only have good tea there…Oh man, where’s that freeze dried expresso that I got at HEB?? This is what I got it for..Where the hell is it?! I scrounge until my mission is accomplished.
You see, I’m addicted to caffeine, but as long as I’m prepared, it’s not a problem. But if I get into a fix -without a fix, two things happen. First, I start into an obsessive little tizzy because I’m afraid that I’ll suffer from that dreaded non-caffeinated malaise and throbbing headache that comes on like cold turkey after about an hour of being deprived of my scheduled, morning cup. And second, well, I can’t remember what the second thing is..
A coffee story from the trail.
Early one very cold and rainy November morning, a couple of years ago in the small Tibetan city of Litang, which is known as one of the highest cities in the world - around 12,000 ft., and also as one of the many birthplaces or reincarnation sites of the present Dalai Lama.) Patti and I were wanting to catch a bus headed south towards the famous “Tiger Leaping Gorge”, (home of the infamous story where I benevolently fed about two pounds of wild marijuana to the immensely long winded British ex-ambassador to Yemen’s pony, who was described later that day by the limping diplomat as “literally keeling over on the trail and landing on his bloody leg”…whoops, sorry dude!)
This is a long story so before I start, here are some photos for you to look at:
A coffee story from our travels.
It was dawn, and daylight revealed to me, a bus with bald tires. I felt quite uncomfortable at the lack of tread on the Greyhound size bus’ tires that we were to soon be boarding, and unfortunately for us, there really was no alternative but to ride.
Inside the coach, it was totally and typically full of people of whom, in the old Chinese tradition, were not at all shy to draw up a big lugy of snot from deep down in their throats and then hawk it on the floor or in the aisle which was as usual, piled high with various big heavy metal machine parts, coils of rope and wooden crates full of God knows what…I was apprehensive to go, but did, and away we went. Within an hour the rain had formed to ice and the year’s first snow was beginning to fall.
Inside the bus, it was freezing cold and the air was thick with cigarette smoke, courtesy of about 80% of the male passengers (lucky for us, women don’t tend to smoke in Asia.)
I have to confess that it wouldn’t have been quite as cold if I hadn’t kept sliding open the half jammed window with my foot every time someone lit up a cigarette. I was trying point out through conditioned response that we needed some fresh air to compensate for the heavy miasma of blue grey smoke (that you could cut with a knife..) No one was getting my “re-education” technique, so I assume that they just figured I was either a total asshole - foreigner, or maybe retarded, or both. In either case, Patti, bless her heart, was once again embarrassed at my “inappropriate” behavior, as every one around us continued to light up.
There is a really funny photo of us in our parkas and wooly hats sporting these big white ANSI rated mesh face masks that I’d brought along out of my previous SARS paranoia.
I was just simply vying for basic creature comfort and our birth rite of a breath or two of fresh fucking air!
Buffalo woman Nat (guardian of fresh fucking air)Way out west, in Sichuan, the middle of nowhere, the vast high plains landscape looked to be very pristine and flat and snowy white with black and brown patches of short dark grass, like tundra. It looked as if it went on indefinitely in every direction. So here we were, trapped inside a capsule of pollution traveling through some of the only fresh air in China.
The only relief that came as far as the air quality was when the bus pulled over in the silence of this beautiful barren wasteland for a pee stop. It stayed peaceful too, as the bus driver turned the engine over to start it, but wouldn’t fire as the starter slowed in its revolutions due to the cold and dying battery.
As I stood outside the bus holding my frozen winkie, I looked around at this infinite landscape and realized that if that bus didn’t start, the only resource out here was snow. Then I scanned all of the passengers and thought of all of the needs that we were going to be having really soon. Then I saw Patti and thought of that old cartoon where the natives cook the white folk in a big boiling caldron for dinner, only this time it’d be over a burning spare tire and diesel fuel fire. This was the first time on that trip that I wanted my mommy.
By the grace of God, and with last gasp of the battery’s energy, that bus did finally start and with a great sigh of relief, we all climbed back onboard “old smokey”…For a while the O2 level stayed tolerable and then I felt that yucky feeling from caffeine deprivation start to creep in. I realized that we weren’t going to be stopping again anytime soon and since we boarded the bus so early, I hadn’t had a chance to have my daily “cup”.
I would always carry a film can full of “Nescafe” freeze dried coffee in my back pack for emergencies such as this… I also found that we were getting pretty low on water so how was I to make a cup of coffee? Well, here’s an idea…I’ll use my mouth as the mixing chamber, pour in some coffee and a little water, swish it around a little and voila! ..coffee is born. Well there you have it..confessions of a coffee fiend.
I’m trying to stick to the “coffee” point of this story so I will spare you the part where upon decent from that high plain, those slick tires caused the bus to begin fishtailing around the windy icy mountain road within an inch of our lives where even the stoic Tibetans were screaming bloody murder… Cabin boy, fetch me my brown pants!”. This was the second time that I wanted my mommy…
In order to stay on point, I will say that the next day’s bus ride after our awesome mountain road “powerslide” was much more relaxing, because in order to stave off any “post -near death experience stress”, I substituted that caffeine with Xanax. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!
Ahhh, so reminicent of those Quaalude infused “Fleche Rojas” bus trips through Oaxaca back in my surfer 70’s.
If given the opportunity, one might as well laugh right in death’s face, no?
Okay, enough already!
Shit, I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet in the story. I’ve got to get up.. There is a TON to report!
I am finally in Myanmar and it is once again a very sensuously and socially exotic experience for me to be in this bitter sweet paradise. But because of the childlike innocence of this remarkably friendly, hospitable, curious, open minded, literate, tolerant, polite and dignified people, It is mostly sweet (for me.) Because of this and the amazingly unspoiled natural environs, I have to say that in my extremely limited and naïve life experience, I vote this place as my #1 favorite in the world.
Day 1.
From the fancy new Yangon airport, which I was surprised to see, I made an appointment for a taxi driver. His name was Win, and his gentle demeanor, genuine smile and willingness to help me immediately recalibrated my psyche for this wonderland of human excellence that this country so paradoxically produces when you consider the wretched military dictatorship that so oppressively governs them.
Despite my lack of sleep and burning desire to crash, I asked Win if he had ever heard of a glass factory that was somewhere between the airport and my hotel, he had, and so that’s where we were bound. My new pal from Bangkok, Anne Miniscloux had mentioned this place to me as an off beat “must see”. Annie is a delightful and warm hearted sprite. She is a talented graphic designer who knows how to make a great looking book. I was referred to her by our mutual friend and adopted little sister, Jenny Dubin. Jenny is who first turned me on to the obscure destination of Myanmar.
Jenny is a Tasmanian devil-girl who I originally met in Kathmandu where she used to live. She kind of reminds me of Amelia Erhardt in her amazing spirit of curiosity and adventure. If you happened to catch a 60 minutes episode recently about the resurgence of elephant poaching in Africa for the ivory demands of China’s “disgusting new rich” or many documentary films about Nepal or a great big beautiful photo essay of Sherpas in Outside magazine, you can thank her for that…This young woman’s akashic record should be published as a New York Times best seller.
The glass factory is located just under a forest of teak and banyan trees. There are a maze of trails that seems to form a kind of random labyrinth that is remarkably lined on either side with seemingly endless linear piles of dusty clear, brown, green and blue broken glass that are about 2 – 3 ft high and stretch for as far as the eye can follow. Some piles are older than others because they are buried under a thick blanket of green leafy vines.
We approached the big red dirt kiln where all the action happens, but unfortunately it was down for repair for about five days. What was remarkable about that was that the kiln was still hot after all that time.The person who was there was a jovial fellow. I always underestimate the age of the Burman because they usually look younger than they really are.. He welcomed me with that lovely old British-Burmese accent, a proud smile and traditional left hand supporting the right elbow handshake. He gave me the 10 cent tour and was happy that I knew a little something about glass. Then we went inside and he produced the name and contact of someone who had the local neon shop in Yangon called “Rainbow neon” I’d like to see that place. The gentleman claimed that the factory had once tried to make tubing for him once but it didn’t work out, the glass just wasn’t right for the job because it takes too much annealing.
Thanks to the government’s brutality, Yangon and the rest of Myanmar is a tourist ghost town. The lights are on (sometimes) but nobody’s home.
The people who try to make a living here are calling this a tourist crisis, because the place is absolutely desolate unless you go downtown where it’s buzzing as usual with street vendors and little tea stands where locals sit and drink tea and talk for hours. Downtown Yangon is a crowded, messy, frenetic, broken and dirty organism that somehow manages to function just fine with a strange purity. I think it’s kind of how I’d imagine a small downtown in India to be but maybe with a lot less people. That last statement may disqualify my comparison…
My hotel,
I was greeted by friendly and smiling faces. It was great to be back again. It was a little different though. They had built a fancy new wing on to the place just in time for no business….Much to my chagrin, the Nat room (A Nat is one of 37 or more,spirit forms found here in Burma, and why I am here…The Nat is a far more intricate and complex supernatural concept than I find the spirits in Indochina to be.) was replaced by local monks at the hotel’s opening ceremony with an all Buddhist alter, (these monks don’t go for the superstitious Nat stuff too much.) ….Dang! I was really excited to get to see and photograph the statue of the cigarette smoking Nat who looked just like Johnny Cash, but he was gone because the monks hauled him off…Maybe they sent him to Nashville...
Johnny Cash -the Nat in black
I went out to find Patti’s and my favorite old Chinese restaurant, but when I found it, it was totally abandoned and the building itself was actually falling apart..whoa…The pitfalls of this Junta oppressed reality were beginning to appear extremely real.
Soldiers on the street hung out at little rusty metal street stations. They were sporting AK-47’s. I piped up a hearty Mingla-va to see if I could raise a smile and of course did.
What I have come to understand a little bit more about the Myanmar military rule from seemingly reliable sources in the last week.
Many of the soldiers are recruited or forced as children and indoctrinated so deeply that they are certain that they are doing a great thing for their country. I learned that the ones who were brought into Yangon for the protests were from the eastern part of the country and they were told that the monks who were protesting were imposters and that they were an enemy to Myanmar, and that they were trying to break down the peacefulness that the government keeps in check. The soldiers in Mandalay are from Mandalay so the reason why there was a lot less violence there was because the soldiers and the monks knew each other. But as I just heard from two new friends, who are an undercover reporter & photographer here to investigate for Paris Match magazine, (and others), that the military are still raiding homes at night and taking suspected activists and members of the Democratic party to jail for imprisonment and or torture which often results in death. Many monks are just missing, or are known to have fled the monasteries and are in hiding or have made it to safety in Thailand or India.
Last night, A Russian tourist told me that this is a lot like Russia was 30 years ago when he was a kid. I am told by many local people that the way of Buddha is non violent, and therefore much slower. The only weapon that the people do possess is the emotion of hate, which they consistently project onto individual soldiers or small groups of them with a powerful “stink eye” stare. This tactic seems to be powerful enough to intimidate soldiers enough to ward them off of the neighborhood beats and back to the main roads.
So off I went, a very weary and hungry traveler, looking for the only restaurant that was within walking distance. There it was, a huge Chinese family restaurant that was open, but completely empty. More evidence of the Burman's misfortune.
I sensed that they were really happy to see me…The host ushered me into that old familiar Chinese classic – “special room”. There I sat, all alone at a huge round table with a lazy Susan in the middle. The host closed the door and with a big hospitable smile, he pulled a green string that led to the old air conditioner and it clunked on. Within about 5 minutes or so the climate went from temperate to tropical as it became extremely stuffy and the temperature had to have reached 90 degrees. The a/c was chugging away but apparently all that noise didn’t include the compressor. The young man was so excited to be treating me to such a luxurious experience as a/c (working or not) that I just smiled at him and nodded my head in thanks as he showed me his big silver tooth in an ear to ear grin of satisfaction from having just pleased his one and only guest. Sweat actually dripped off of my nose onto my bowl of rice, as I sat there eating in this stuffy vacuum of silence, while “my boy” stood over me silently, at full attention, staring at my every move ready to please.
I tells ya, it gets lonely being king..
I had been up since before 3AM and by now I was totally wiped out and the walk back to the hotel seemed dreamlike. I fell into bed and slept like I’d been shot with a tranquilizer dart.
I woke up in a groggy stupor at around dusk and tried to gather myself and my camera gear in order to capture Shwe Dagon, which is arguably the most gorgeous religious structure in the world. The bell alone of the 300+ft tall pagoda is covered with 60,000lbs. of pure gold..On today’s market, that’s 1.2 billion dollars worth!
Hey, who needs food and shelter for the needy when you can honor Buddha’s dharma of lessening the suffering in the world with all of this beauty?!
We are such a bunch of funny little critters aren’t we..
The manager, suggested that instead of running all the way down to the pagoda to get a photo, I should go up and check out the view from the hotel’s new roof..I agreed, and he ushered me up three narrow flights of stairs and then up a bamboo ladder and onto the roof. Oh man, there it was, in all of its golden splendor against a magnificent backdrop of the pink evening sky. Finally, my 99 cent eBay tripod and shutter release paid off as I shot photos until twilight.
Take a gander at this!
The great Shwedagon PagodaThen I loaded up my trusty photo rig and hopped on a “trishaw” as the dear fellow wheeled me up the main road (sort of like going up Congress avenue towards the capital) towards the great and stunning golden pagoda.
There is a wonderful vitality and pungent aroma of cardamom and curry and diesel in the air here in the thick of the Burmese - Buddhist traditional lifestyle that has been going on this way for centuries. It is as commonplace to them as a little league baseball game is to us on a summer’s night. I’d wage a bet that this is one of the great epicenters of the most essential Burmese experiences.
Classic Burmese pagoda "umbrella finial"
There are religious icon shops that sell gold and silver umbrellas and lots of gold leafed paper mache’ owls, who ..Get it ..who, who.. in pairs, bring good luck and hundreds of all sized Buddha statues, made of brass and marble and even a large selection of metal trunks to ship them in. Food and tea vendors line the street. Their candle lit stalls are filled with various meats, noodles and vegetables, steaming away in big pots over an open fire and a huge variety of condiments for the many curries that give an indigenous signature aroma and flavor to the many soups that they sell. And then there are the bookseller’s carts (the Burmese love to read.) This is where the people like to hover after the eating and tea drinking and worship or meditating at the pagoda is done.
I think it was either the same kids or the little brothers and sisters of the same kids that accosted Patti & I on the steps of the Pagoda, wanting to sell us plastic bags for 2 cents each..Why? because you have to take your shoes off before you ascend the incredibly long flight of stairs up to the Pagoda. I’d forgotten about that and thought that the kids were just trying to sell anything that they could find in the street. It’s easy to loose your mind when being swarmed by a bunch of begging kids. It’s easy to become preoccupied with gestures of refusal in order to protect yourself from having to deal with yourself in such a situation. That 2 cent bag would have caused me a lot less grief than having my shoes wagging and falling from my back pack all night at the Pagoda,
not to mention promoting these destitute kids trying to earn money rather than beg for it.
The strange dream that is Shwedagon Pagoda
Stairway to heavenWhen I arrived at the top I was greeted by a rather militant older guy when asked for my ticket. I said “what ticket”? He looked disgruntled and said “you must pay $5 to be here”. I said, “to who”? He said “to the guards down at the bottom of the stairs”. “They didn’t charge me”, I said. And then I repeated “who is this money for? the government or the Pagoda?” another dude standing by, piped up and said, ”the monks and the Pagoda.’ I said to the grumpy old fart, “the Buddha would like you to say please..” (I guess it’s a good thing that Patti’s not here)..His eyebrows raised as stuck out his open palm for collection with a sense of entitlement that I would have never expected at a Buddhist monastery…I repeated with returned raised eyebrows…”C’mon mister, you gotta say please first” .. It got pretty tense for the young turk sidekick as me and the old man continued our little standoff. I held my ground with a smile and said “does this room come with a hot shower and a free breakfast?” The old man’s cold hard stare melted into a grin. I think that he might have been my lunch waiter’s father because I swear, he had exactly the same big silver tooth. I started to giggle at the victory of our new road to friendship as some kind of ice had broken between this man and his strange projection of me. Then I found out that ticket sales do go to the government..Damn! so I dropped an additional sum into one of the many many real donation boxes that the monastery hauls off on carts at the end of each night. I don’t think that the monasteries are suffering for funds at all, there is a lot of money in the boxes. Like all religions, it’s the people who bare the financial burden of the institution, so the poor Burmese people are the ones who appear to be willing to give their last dime for the sake of Buddha and their karma, so they are the ones in need of help.
Butter lamps at Shwedagon
I had a lot of fun trying to capture this amazing place with a camera. It’s extremely challenging because of the short distances between and strange angles that everything is set at. And then there is the lighting, which is that really yucky and depressing amber sodium vapor street lighting which turns nirvana into Havana at the flip of a switch.
This place is such a trip that I finally decided to give in and show it as it was..like a weird dream, I have this cool little lens called a “lens baby”. It is a little bellows lens that gives the effect of a pinhole camera. I love this little lens, it takes me one step closer to my photo hero - Debra Sugerman’s style. Thanks “D”, see you down at the PJQ.
Here’s an example of how sweet the people are here.
Happy family & reclining Buddha
I was taking a picture of a family that was just sitting around a table eating dinner at the monastery in front of the big reclining Buddha. Suddenly, the family sees me and they all start to wave at me. Out of embarrassment (from not asking if I could take the photo) I ignored them like an idiot. Then a woman and her daughter got up and brought me two sticky rice and coconut treats, smiled and said “ hello, present for you...”God, I love these people..
It was New Years eve and as I walked after closing down Shwedagon Pagoda, I could hear just a few faint hints of music in the air. This included the “Winner 38 KTV bar” (KTV = Karaoke) which has one of the only two neon signs that I’ve seen in Myanmar.
Winner 38 KTV bar was all dressed up with Christmas lights and advertising for the new year’s party but as I walked by at around 10PM, there wasn’t a soul there except for two guards at the big steel gate mumbling under the buzz of the under rated neon transformer. The neighborhood Nat were having a party though, I could tell because of the way that they put one little glowing light bulb in the Nat’s house.
I sat on the curb and ate my sticky rice & coconut treat while hanging out with other tourists, talking about things that we can’t talk about when “vipers” (informers) are around.
Then this youngish guy wearing big gold chains around his neck and unusually long hair for a Burman came outside the main door of the hotel with only a bath towel wrapped around his waist. I didn’t know what to make of him…Was he the owner’s family? I just couldn’t draw a bead on this dude.
Then he said in a thick Burmese accent..”hello man, hou ah you?” I said “fine, thank you”. Then he took my hand for a greeting, and gave me a really distorted soul shake for way too long of a time as he stared me in the eye and gave me this really shallow look of sincerity as he said ..”Cool Mahn, cool!” I smiled politely and then he said, “How ‘bou you come in my room and have whiskey party and then help me fuck my woman?”
Whoa! …I don’t get flabbergasted very often, but I have to say, that one got me good…
The energy had definitely changed in the room…as the nice boys who I had been talking with were suddenly frozen in a state of paralysis… I think that time stood still for a moment for them as they all turned their heads towards me to with wide eyes, waiting for my reply….. I sensed a great sigh of relief from them as I graciously refused this sleaze bag’s offer.
With that I was ready to call it a night. And by the sound of things, I don’t think Mr. Party guy needed any help with his woman…
HAPPY NEW YEAR & T.M.I.!
Day 2 Yangon:
Breakfast is lovely little garden spot, perfect weather and that fabulous cup of imported coffee that I am so happy to have dug deep to find at the Shanti. I am writing in peace with the exception of amazingly loud car alarm sounding songs of the exotic Burmese “ohr” birds and the raven’s caw. What more could one ask for other than my dear one to be here next to me.
Tanaka bodi leavesI met a local man downtown who speaks good English and minces no words criticizing his or my dastardly government. I was surprised at his confidence. He asked me about something that heard George Bush say over the Voice of America radio program last night as he gave a New Years address on the air. He wanted to know about an Idiom that Bush used that frightened him…He told me that he heard Bush say that we were going to have a “BIG DIE in 2008!” He was imagining that that meant that we were definitely going to escalate our war with Iraq. It dawned on me that the Texas imposter had stated that we were gonna have a BIG TIME in 2008… Good one! Then he followed up with two other idioms that seemed appropriate to the president…”Baby kisser and crocodile tears.”
Now it’s time for the hard part of the trip..Planning, I hate planning because it means that you:
A: Might be having a really great time where you are and then have to go.
or
B: Be really ready to get the f-heck outta there and can’t.
I didn’t plan very well, so I basically just picked one of the three big destinations out of the hat which happened to be Inle Lake..My favorite! Imagine that..Oh boy, dessert first!
The taxi driver outside the hotel was on the same band wagon and wanted to charge me an exorbitant rate to get downtown. The price dropped by 50% when I walked into the street and hailed my own cab. That’s fine for Idée Amin or whoever else hangs out here, but not for me…Haste la vista baby!
The place tha I was looking for was hard to find. I think that he designed it that way. Amid the chaotic Yangon street scene there is a dingy old door with dirty glass, and above that dirty glass there is a small white scalloped sign with a broken word.
I met an intellectual who is remarkably versed in the Burmese culture and language arrived through the door. He has been writing a book on the Burmese Marionette which is an incredibly beautiful and ornate puppet used to tell cultural stories over the centuries.
So the King and the monks came up with a system where they designated, named and numbered 37 Nat spirits..That’s it, no more, that was the deal. And so it was, and is.
I have a lot to learn…so, more later.
It’s now 1-5-2008, so I have to work backwards for a while to the day I arrived here.
Inle LakeBut right now, I have arrived at Inle Lake and I am staying at a wonderful guest house in a little town called Nyaung-Shwe in the southern Shan state of Myanmar. Now that the morning fog and chill has burned off, I’m sitting here writing to you in the pleasant 10AM sun. I have to squint my eyes as I look at a radiant explosion of light reflecting from the 40 ft. pagoda at the main dock just across the channel, which is completely clad with mirror mosaic and anchored to the ground here under the beautiful and clear blue Burmese sky. The air is pure and fine and the humidty is low. It’s that perfect temperature that makes healthy humans feel good and positive about life, where shorts and a tee shirt are just right in the sun, but in the shade, you might get a little chilly.
I’m kicked back on the porch of my woven grass bungalow and drinking from a pot of Burmese green tea while my cheroot burns a long ash as it hangs off the edge of this home made teak table between drags. It’s a lazy day here on the long channel that leads a mile or two to Inle lake. I can see several dark skinned men and women wearing only their longy, (sarong) bathing from the many primitively built crooked teak piers that poke out into the channel as they rinse the suds from their long black hair with pails full of lake water.
Inle beauty palor
This vast and picturesque Inle lake is about 5 miles wide by 10 miles long and is somewhere around 3000ft. above sea level.
Because it is so quiet, I was surprised to find that there is a population of 150,000 people who live all around the lake, many of them live on floating villages where they have quite an amazing resource of cottage craft industries like blacksmiths, paper & umbrella makers, weavers that make cloth out of the fiber from lotus flower stems. Patti and I bought our wedding rings from the silversmith right here.
Patti's wedding rings
I found out that the founding father of the silver smith shop also made the “Shin U Pagot” himself. That’s the “spirit house in the middle of Inle lake…Look familiar?
Shin U PagotThey’ve even managed to create acres and acres of hydroponic gardens that sit on top of huge floating mats that have been woven from water hyacinth. Then seaweed is harvested from the lake and piled on top where it composts into a very fertile soil where tons of really fantastic vegetables thrive. One of them being something that I’d never heard of, the “Chinese artichoke”, which is a short and fat little “Michelin Man” looking bean that actually tastes just like an artichoke. Swear to God!
A boy & his oxNow where’s that cheroot?
I spent yesterday on one of these long tail boats with my new friend Jimmy the Chinese Australian math tutor. What a great guy. He saw that I had brought all of these toothbrushes, penlights and pencils to hand out to the needy. The tooth brushes are courtesy of my buddy and “Meyer’s Mountain Man” sponsor, Dr Jerry Katz DDS in Austin..
Thank you Dr. Katz!
And the first annual tooth care award goes to the #1 student
Jimmy decided to get on the charity bandwagon too. I found out when he does something, this fellow goes all out!
I think he bought out all of the paper and pencils that the market was selling in order to prepare for this outing. The plan was to find schools to distribute it all to.
Primary school (in session)
Jimmy goes to school
Jimmy preparing recipients for the "dole"
Jimmy buys out the market
Jimmy feeds the hungryTaking on charity like this can quickly become a full time job as we were about to find out. We started out with our faithful boat driver Zaw Myo towards the Wednesday market village, which is one of the five weekday markets. This is a very interesting market circuit that travels and serves each one of the five Intha, Pa’o & Mon villages around the lake every day, one village at a time. As far as the schools and kids are concerned, Finding the need certainly wasn't a problem, it was keeping up the supply that was...It turns out that the teachers were really grateful for all of the school supplies and footballs, but what we found was that the kids really needed something to eat...Patti says it's hard to fill a kid's head when their belly is empty....So off to the market we went..Jimmy cleaned the place out, he must have bought every thing that the market offered as far as prepared foods like samosas and thick pancakes stuffed with sweet bean paste, not to mention the bag loads of plums and apples. I think that this was the first time in history that the tourists didn't get lunch and the local kids did...Good on you Jimmy, you're not such a tightwad after all ; ^)
It was amazing to be hauling off that kind of volume...I tried to think of something that I could contribute and found that a nice medicine kit for the school filled with antibiotics and bandages and rehydration salts might be a good idea and aparantly it was.
Once we arrived back at the school, the kids picked up the scent from all the goodies and we were suddenly swarmed. It was like a shark frenzy of very excited and hungry kids whose good behavior had suddenly become overwhelmed by their survival instincts. Here are a bunch of these adorable kids
Buddha baby
My favorite photo EVER!
Oh happy day
It takes about 45 minutes to get all the way across the lake and then another 20 to go up intricate series of narrow channels that are surrounded by these amazing floating farms. We bogged down as we cut our way through blooming purple water lily plants that creep across the channels where they narrow and pass by many Intha fishermen who employ a very unique rowing style with their leg so as to keep their hands free for handling their nets.
Sons of Inle Lake
Fish wacking 1
Fish wacking 2
The colorful Mon wardrobe is unmistakable. Women wear black robes with beautiful woven red shawls with yellow edges and matching red turban like hats. They are handsomely appointed with gobs of silver baubles.
Fish wacking 1
Fish wacking 2
Monastery Master of hackey sack
In pursuit of Cheroot!I am really excited about restocking my coffers with this fine smoke! I’m critically low at home and could have justified my return to Burma on this fact alone. The cheroot factory is so cool. It’s a little stilt legged building in one of the many lake villages. There are about six girls who sit on the floor with a trays on their laps filled with tobacco, cheroot tree leaves and other rolling supplies like filters that are made of rolled up newspaper and corn husks. After they roll these little cigars with incredible speed, they glue the leaf shut with stick rice paste. Then they come in a beautiful teak or lacquer box.
That's what I'm talkin' about!
Did I mention the “Jumping Cat Monastery??? This monastary supports itself by training the orphan cats that it adopts to put on a show every time a tourist comes .
Ready, set.....
Boing!!!9:57PM, January, 7 Mandalay.
Laying in the scantily clothed bed of my little $3 a night hovel after I scrounged enough hot water out of the thermos to mix down for a 1.5 liter warm water bath. My plans for better living arrangements were spoiled after our flight from Inle were scrubbed yesterday due to a bad airplane battery. (I remembered that I forgot to do my qi gong meditation thing as the plane started turning around to go back to the gate.)
The lay over accommodations were better than I’d treat myself to so that was good but the problem was that my room was reserved for last night, but not tonight. Strangely, every room in town is taken so I felt that it was best if I just settled for this room that they had available. There was just enough time to take a trishaw to Mandalay hill and climb the 700 + feet of stairs up to the top to see the sunset. I like Mandalay hill a lot. It is a multi level temple. It must be a place of pilgrimage because there are always people living here, camping out and cooking over contained fires under the many big sprawling open air cement canopy roofs. There are hundreds of Buddha statues in every imaginable configuration in niches and sitting or standing out on there own all over the place. There is even one really awesome birth through death scene that is inside a cage made of the usual life sized painted cement figures. This scene begins with a mother reclining on a bed breast feeding her baby, then behind her is a monk who is meditating in front of a fully clothed dead man who is deep into state of decay. His mouth is open and grey inside and his eyes are missing as blood has drained down the side of his face from the sockets. There are vultures standing on his distended belly ready to begin feasting on him. Behind him are two really old guys who look to be next in line to the dead guy. This is life and death portrayed for all to get used to. I like this idea, I think the circle of life and death and impermanence is a pretty necessary thing for us all to get right with...Don’t you?
I lost my chill on Mandalay hill
Camp kitchen on Mandalay hill
Giant white lions entry gate
South entrance stairway of Mandalay hillOnward and upward I climb in my bare feet, dodging the bright red splatters of betel nut spit on the tile steps…The stairs are longer and easier in some places and shorter and steeper in others. Depending on the icon represented on whatever level that you end up on. This varied arrangement seems to be a moving metaphor for life’s journey towards enlightenment. Pretty awesome environmental art if you ask me. The only curatorial comparison I can think of was at the Guggenheim years ago, where they hung very delicately gestured 2d work at the top, and as you descended the long spiral ramp, the work became more intense and harder in content and form, until it was full on 3d sculpture on the bottom floor. Now that I think about it, that seems like a rather shallow comparison.
Shiny mirror mosaics glisten in the many hallways on Mandalay hill PagodaI guess it’s because they have thousands of years of cultural recourses to draw from, and we, as children of the industrial revolution, exhibit our individualism by groping and gouging to mark our 15 minutes of fame in the chronology of art history by simply inventing a “better mouse trap”.
Martians must get a big kick out of all of us down here.
What is special about this trip to Mandalay and the hill is that I have a purpose. The Nat is everywhere and the grand poo bah of the Mandalay Nat world happens to reside on Mandalay hill.
His name is Po Po Gyi. He is said to own the city of Mandalay. His shrine and figure is praised and celebrated by many. There is constant chanting ceremony as a steady stream of worshipers come to pay their respects (and money) and food offerings to Po Po Gyi in trade for the usual..good luck.I had never known a Nat could be such a featured spectacle, especially in such a predominantly Buddhist location, but here he was in full regalia, kind of like the Maximo figure in Guatemala.. There are many Nat festivals that happen all over Burma, called Nat Pwe. This is where people work themselves up into trances and become “possessed” by the Nat. I think there was a very good article in National Geographic about this a few years ago.
Tomorrow I will go outside Mandalay to a place called Amarapura which is an area where there are many Nat houses and Nat activity. That ought to be good.
I have found a driver who is a very gentle spirit and is really up on the Nat thing. He speaks pretty good English. His name is #11, he is very excited that I would be interested in the spirit world and has a lot to share with me about this subject.
Like this ancient pornogliph, he took me to special places that he says “tourists are never interested in”.The Burman have a very strong connection to nature and belief in supernatural spiritual powers that can make or break the physical world as we know it, but when I asked him “why isn’t the Nat protecting them from the military?” The well informed gentleman laughed and said “Even the Nat is scared of the government”.
I love the way these folks personify and project their own feelings onto the Nat.
As I continued to ascend Mandalay hill, the path crossed a street where several young men were walking by and all loudly and happily singing that old Asian classic..
“TA MEA HOM
CONTWREA LOAD,
TO A PACE
I BERONG,
WEA VIRGINYA,
MONTIN MAMA…
TA MEA HOM!”
These guys make me proud to be from the home of John Denver.
I was so happy to find the artist who makes the gasoline and ink landscapes paintings with a razor blade. I really like his work. It smells like the exorbitant price of gas has affected him too, he’s using turpentine now which is a good thing, because his work really stunk up my backpack last time.
Together we watched the big orange fireball sun set as it was slowly eclipsed by the Mandalay landscape, and then it’s last glowing reflection sank into the hot pink Irrawaddy river. On the other side of the sky the famous Mandalay moon was rising.
It was a long way down the hill in very vague light. My trishaw driver, Myint Than was faithfully waiting for me, right where he said he would be, at the base of the hill between the two great white lions, and he being a Burman, I wasn’t surprised. It was a 30 minute ride back to the hotel in almost total darkness. I am so glad that I brought a bag full of these powerful little LED penlights to hand out to folks like this guy. That tiny little light was actually bright enough to get us home. Amazing!
Too bad I waited till 9PM to go out to find something to eat because this town is really short on reliable food, and apparently, they roll up before 9, so I was to go to bed hungry that night. I could loose some serious weight here in this town.
Jan 8, 9:41AM
I have been waking up so early every morning since I’ve been in Burma, like at around 4:30. If I go for a walk in the quiet dark streets then I wake up all of the dogs that start barking like crazy and it breaks the silence, not to mention, I didn’t get a rabies vaccine. So I try to write, but I mostly just end up editing past entries. My mind is so full of obscure and detailed information that it is beginning to all run together before I can get it down and organized. The “Nat” is turning this leisurely little “spirit house” tour of mine into a complicated and tedious wild goose chase that I am imagining contains far more details and information than me or my audience would ever care to really know…This is the place that separates the academics from the artist. I am by no means an academic, but the Burmese definitely are, and they are very intent on teaching me all this stuff in detail…Uuug!
The taxi drivers are like professors that lecture me on Nat spiritualism, history and politics.. Many nice people tell me a lot of very interesting things with very difficult pronunciations all day long. I just can’t retain this data for more than a couple of seconds anymore. I feel my hard drive is full and I don’t have a spare moment to just chill & delete files (literally and figuratively.) Man, this photo journalism thing is damn hard work! You have to be “on” all of the time.
I am dreading the fact that I have hired a taxi driver and am going to go out again today…I am soo foggy headed that I can’t remember what memory cards I did or didn’t back up before I erase them for another outing..Not only that, but my photos really stink when I’m this tired, because my reflexes are slow and my aesthetic is dull. I gotta push on though, this is it…I’m on the home stretch… C’mon Ben, get up!!!…Joni Ho, mother fucker!
My driver..If he can, then so can I.I guess Bangkok will be my wi-fi cocoon where I can pull myself & my stuff together before shoving off for the Motherland.
3" long silk shuttles
1-9-08
I spoke too soon about chilling out in Bangkok. I am now in the lovely ancient city of Bagan, one of the great archeological treasures of the world. And because it is also one of the great places in the world to relax in the glow of it’s gentle and comfortable - Inle like vibe. So here I rest happy to have gotten here and bought myself some comfy down-time. With no moldy smell, clean sheets that aren’t creepy, good light through windows that I actually can see out of (and that operate), a real hot shower and my own toilet. I tell you, sometimes it’s worth treating yourself right and just going ahead and forking out the big bucks for a nice place to rest. It’s worth every penny of $7.00! Hell, I’d give em’ $8 if they’d of asked for it.
Thank God I decided NOT to take the slow boat this morning from Mandalay to get here, which would have taken from 5:30 AM till 8PM this evening. I realized that this was not the wonderful boat trip that Patti & I took down the Irrawaddy river two years ago. This was basically a working freighter, where the locals pile on and sit on the deck if there’s room. Whoops, wrong boat folks. I don’t have enough time left on the trip, or the inclination to endure the great possibility of standing and being miserable for 14 hours, so I opted for a $40.00 - 25 minute flight instead, and now at 11:22AM, I am in a real place of luxury after that little $3.00 shit box of a “Todos Santos” jail cell I got stuck with for the last two nights in Mandalay. I tell you it’s worth forking out the and getting the good room and just $7.00.
The typical Mandalay set up is always a burden for a tourist to deal with. No electricity and no hot water except between 12PM and 5PM except for some generated power that is only for minimal lighting in the hotel and only until 10PM. I quickly made my bedtime bath with a thermos full of hot water and a cut off plastic water bottle to mix it down to a cooler temperature from a leaky spigot. It was like a Nepalese teahouse, but in the middle of the city.
Bagan, what a relief after Mandalay…Mandalay has a vibe that is pretty difficult for me to take. I suppose it’d take a while and a good local witch to ward off the Nats that make this place rather inhospitable for me. I’d like it a lot better if Patti were here to laugh with me about it…
On that note I have to report that thanks to the Nat, the Burmese have a good thing going because they don’t really have to claim any responsibility for the way things are, as they can just blame it on the Nat. Depending on the mood of a local Nat or whether it is a good or evil one, A Nat can make your day, mood, or health anywhere between great or miserable..
Today at 2PM I have a taxi scheduled to schlep me up to Mt. Popa where all 37 Nats are enshrined. there and I found out last night that my favorite Nat, “Johnny Cash” whose real name is Bo Main Kuang is from Mt. Popa and actually died there.. I am excited for two reasons. One is because this is THE Mecca of the Nat. and two, because this is it, the end of the line, finished, kaput, Fin! I have done the deed, and this is all she wrote. I am so excited to cross this finish line! I am totally “stupa’d.
There’s a point in traveling where one gets jaded to phenomenal tourist’s attractions. I remember traveling with my girlfriend Jodie through Europe in 1985 in an old Datsun that I bought for $370. After several months of awesome sightseeing, I recall realizing that there was little difference between a good photograph postcard and the actual place itself.
We were in Vatican city, headed to Paris on our way back from Greece. We were really, really low on funds and we found ourselves faced with a choice between the paying the fee to see the Sistine Chapel or having dinner that night….We looked at each other, touched the tips of our fingers together as if we were God & Jesus, laughed, turned an about face from the long line of devout Catholics and went to eat dinner.
Myanmar government's "teak holocaust" for the greedy Chinese richIn a way, I think that it’s too bad that I didn’t come to Burma first, when I was really passionate and full of insightful descriptions about most everything I encountered. Burma is by far the most intricate and fascinating of all of the SE Asian cultures if you ask me. Unfortunately, for me and you, at this point in my travel experience, I am so topped off with information that it’s just going to take a while to sort it all out. The super curious about everything, data gathering free for all feels like it is officially over and my brain has decided that it’s time for the processing begin. I think that my fancy camera has become possessed by evil Nats because it’s not functioning properly anymore. It has served me well until now though and consistently reminds me that I am by no means a photographer, only a lucky beginner with a good but slow eye who gets the occasional good shot like a crap shoot as I fumble with the controls.
That’s kind of how I’m feeling about my writing any more..But all in all, I will say that I have found “the word” to be a very powerful medium as an artist though. I can carve the dead wood off of sentences and paragraphs until I am satisfied with the content and context of my final composition. It’s fun to paint with words! The only problem is that it tends to keep me in my head and a bit separated from the actual experience of just being. Not to mention that all this sitting around for hours at a time is really killing my lower back. I’m trying to imagine a way to deal with sitting up for twenty some odd hours on the way home.
As far as my getting what I needed from the 2005 trip, I certainly got a whole lot more than I bargained for. All I can say is the usual, “Be careful what you ask for”.
Mt. Popa.
Mt. Popa at the wrong time of day for a picture.
Mt. Popa is about an hour and a half from Bagan. It is definitely a pilgrimage destination for many.. The village of Popa is a Burmese tourist trap where they have there version of “Ripley’s believe it or not” Nat exhibits complete with the strangest souvenirs of the Nats themselves. Unfortunately there wasn’t going to be one square inch of space left in my bag so I had to forgo the great little figurine of Johnny Cash...Oh well…
I don’t know how to describe Mt. Popa other than it is an unmistakable landmark that is similar in shape and far less spectacular than the “Tiger’s Nest temple in Bhutan”. It’s a really steep hill that pokes straight up about 300 feet or so from the village of Popa. It is a long staircase through series of many levels with temples on each, all the way to the top (a lot like Mandalay Hill, but without John Denver.)
Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting the muse here like I thought and hoped that I might, and felt a little disappointed by that, and also by my ability to capture the place on film…Oh well, can’t win em’all.…
I really like the little orange & red doll on the leftBut all 37 of these buggers are here in the form of multi-sized dolls and mannequins, dressed in full “Woolworth’s dollar store - colorfully styled” regalia for all to behold, worship and of course give tons of money to. subsequently, I have to tell you that all Nats died an unnatural death.
Monk & Nat waiting for alms
Mandalay waterin' hole
Just for posterity, here’s an abbreviated example of a Nat’s story
Min Mahagiri is the “house Nat” He guards the house and is the most famous of all the Nat. He was a blacksmith whose mane was U Tin De. He was famous for his great strength. Out of fear that he may ensue rebellion against the king’s empire, So the king had him burned to death at the stake. Out of remorse for unknowingly instigating this execution, U Tin De’s sister who was the queen, threw herself onto the fire and died with her brother. The only remains left were their heads. (Who comes up with this shit??) So all offerings to either of these Nats must be things that are cool and soothing to burns like coconut juice, banana, sticky rice, sandalwood, jaggery (palm sugar) pickled tea leaf (yum!), cooked plain rice and water. One must NEVER light a candle!
There’s a Nat who fell from a swing and broke his neck, there’s even a Nat who died from a bad allergy to onions..
There is: Village Nat, Mother’s side and father’s side Nat
Public works Nat and so on…
And then there is Is Sat Kaw Na, He is from a whole different category of semi Nat simply called a “noble person” . He was the kings alchemist, and is very famous in Burma. He looks like a monk but with a stone that he made with magic powers turns every thing that he touches with it to gold..As I understand, the story goes like this: He guaranteed his Midas powers to the King with the deal that if his magic didn’t work, then the king could have his eyes..YIKES! Long story short, he screwed up and lost his peepers. He retained enough power as the Stevie Wonder of Burma to have a young monk go to the market and find those eyes of his.. The monk looked everywhere but couldn’t find them anywhere, so he opted to just get ‘er done and just take back a goat and an ox’s eyeball. He took them back to the old guy and he popped them in and started seeing again right away..Lucky for him they didn’t have mirrors back in those days!
I wonder if Aung San Suu Kyi will be one of these “noble persons” some day? She does have the nobel prize..
Her father, the great national hero, General Aung San who was assassinated is not considered to have the spiritual power of a “noble person” for some reason. He and eight other patriots are considered a martyrs. They won Burma’s independence from Britain and were shot down in cold blood by an earlier version of today’s ruthless military regime back in the 50’s.
Burma's hero, General Aung Sang...(Aung Sang Suu Kyi's father)
National League for Democracy ransacked by the Myanmar junta
National League for Democracy Nat house...(spared by the Junta)Poor Burma…If the people could just get ½ a chance..
What was a truly great surprise was that there were more monkeys here at Mt. Popa than I have ever seen in one place ever, anywhere. These were good monkeys too. They were different than others I’ve been around, they didn’t beg and they weren’t rude or mean like monkeys can be. They must have been “monks”.
These monkeys were really delightful to be around. They seem very content and spend a lot of playing with each other all around the steps and jumping on and off of the roof with really loud banging when they land. They are fabulous acrobats and clowns. I watched one actually ride a double – center banister rail all the way down a flight of stairs. That was awesome!
So the Nats were a bit of a disappointment but the monkeys made it all worth while. I think the thing is that I am really tired of inanimate objects.
Nanny nanny poo poo
Monkey business
"Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were."
I have to say that my interaction people, elephants and monkeys have easily been my favorite part of this trip.
So what else is new, right?
1-10-08 Bagan
I have become a compulsive reporter. I can’t say that I particularly like this station in life that much anymore as I’m finding I am missing something by always being busy creating a composition from reality, instead of just letting it pass through me as it is..but it’s the place that I’ve assigned myself out of feeling just the opposite way two years ago..
Is the grass is always greener? Or is it possible to strike a balance..
What it actually boils down to is that this book is all I have to talk to. Burma is a lonely place to be alone. That’s not really a bad thing at all really, except, for example, it’s a little weird always walking into recommended restaurants and being the only customer.
Right now, I am in one of these restaurants. The guy who’s watching the place had to go next door to get the cook. So I went into the kitchen to check it out since I can’t judge the place’s quality by it’s popularity. A woman just lit the cook stove’s fire using a bunch of peanut shells. Then she began stoking it by stuffing plastic bags and other various consumables from her garbage can down the shoot as fast as she could, for the only meal that I’m sure they’ll be selling today..Sad.
But today I am just going to do whatever I want and try to wean myself off of this photo journaling impulse. I am going to rent a bike and just go whichever way the wind blows.
Later on:
Great big "ant proof" water urns for sale at Ananda temple
I ended up retracing Patti & my old footsteps from this little town where I’m staying called Nyaung U to “Old Bagan”. That’s where the critical mass of over 2300 stupas and pagodas are located within about a three square mile area. These beautiful pagodas that crowd this area are the architectural aftermath from the first ruler, King Amaranth’s empire back in the 12th century. The reason that they are there is because the Buddhist leaders made it known that it was of great religious merit to build a pagoda, so this place became a karmic gold rush where the rich could buy themselves a place in heaven by commissioning the building of a pagoda or temple…. Some things never change…
I’m relaying a little bit of history for you so you won’t think I’m a total slacker but I have to confess that the real reason that I went to this part of town was to eat at a good vegetarian restaurant (that actually burned wood in their stove) where a local artist that I like, sells his thanka paintings, and then go over to the great Ananda temple to maybe buy a little lacquer tea set for Patti and me to enjoy at home out on the patio.
This lacquer tea set story is where the strange and sad underbelly of my trip to Burma unfolds.
I remembered the small family of lacquer dealers at the entrance of the Ananda temple. I recalled that there prices were good and that I had made a note to visit them again if I were to return, so I did. And of course, there they were sitting around their displays of fine and not so fine lacquer-ware that they claim to make themselves at home. Aye Aye holds her bic lighter flame to one of her cups to prove how durable it is. “Yes, yes”, I say..”I know, I know”. She smiles and says the usual, “where you come from?” I say “America… Do you remember me?” and she replied, “Yes, of course.” Then she said, “I want to give you a present, please pick one, anything you want.” I was confused by her offer and said “you choose.” Then she was confused, and asked me which one I liked. Since I was in the market for a small tray and two covered tea cups. She gave me the tray and I bought the cups with out bargaining.. Then I “gave her a present” (as they say) I produced one of the last of my great little LED penlights that I brought just for times like these. I then I paid her $10 and felt that we were even. Then her cousin came over and asked me to come and look at his stuff, and he began to offer up freebies as he started describing that there is no tourist’s business and that he is going to have to sell his scooter to help pay for his son’s university tuition.
Aye Aye, came over to where we were and asked if I would join her for dinner. I was I a little apprehensive as I was projecting the parasite count of Burmese home cooking by a destitute lacquer vendor. But it seemed like such a sweet offer that I accepted, (if for no other reason but the sheer experience.) Then the cousin insists that he gets to take me to lunch the next day as his helper is wrapping up presents for me.. I just couldn’t help but thinking that something is a little bit funny here.
It’s times like this that my mind and heart gets confused and I feel a little guilty for my suspicions of others’ less than honorable intentions towards me.
It was a long ride to go back to meet Aye Aye for dinner. I didn’t really feel like it by our planned time of 7:00. It get’s chilly at night and it’s a long dark ride home on my bike, but, oh, whet the hell I thought to myself, If I don’t get run over by a horse cart and die, then it’s probably good fodder for a story.
So there Aye Aye was, waiting for me at the Ananda temple gate with her daughter, Shwe Shwe. I just realized that there names rhyme in English. Aye Aye translates as “cold” and Shwe means “gold”
So Cold Cold and Gold Gold and I start walking. There wasn’t a whole lot to talk about. Then to my surprise, Aye Aye turned into a restaurant.
I thought this was going to be one of those “open fire home cooked dinners”, where you sit on the dirt floor while the whole family smiles with pride and stares at your every move as you don’t know what the fuck to do when everyone begins eating with there hands.
But this wasn’t the case at all, and now I was really confused. This was going to cost money and I knew that she didn’t have any.
Then the food started coming, and lots of it, I mean a lot! I should have taken a photo.
Aye Aye began describing her living situation and how hard that it has been for her to survive ever since her husband left her two years ago when she was 4 months pregnant with the last of her four children.
Like her cousin’s story of selling his scooter to pay for his son’s college, Aye Aye spoke of selling her bicycle so she could raise money to buy bamboo to build a hut on a piece of land that she owned in New Bagan.
My usual thing to do in a long silence like this is to show my picture of Patti & me. That usually breaks the ice and foils any idea that I might be available as a potential sugar daddy. Aye Aye asked me if we had children, and I smiled as usual and said “yes I have a lovely 25 year old daughter” Aye Aye jumped up from the table and said I want to give her a present!” And with that she took off for Ananda. There I was with Shwe Shwe, who didn’t speak. I thought that she understood some English, since she implied that English was her favorite subject in school, but every time I’d ask her a question, she’d just say “yes”. I thought about having some fun with that, and see what kind of absurdities that I could get her to agree to, but then I decided it’d be best to be kind and just smile until her mother came back. The huge spread of curry etc was getting cold as Aye Aye was taking quite a long time away. I didn’t want to start eating without her so we waited. Finally she came and with a bag full of goodies for Autumn…like two odd sized pairs of ultra suede sandals that would never fit her, a painting and a lacquer bowl. I was really perplexed now…
The two women gestured for me to begin eating and with that they did too. I asked if they ate like this all of the time, and she said no, meat was too expensive and that they eat rice and beans as they barely picked off there plates with hardly anything on them.
As a Leo with the moon in Pieces, I am such a total sucker when my heartstrings get pulled. I hate to be alone with out Patti in this position because I easily believe a sad story and as a result, I feel so sympathetic that I begin to imagine selling everything just to make it better for the needy.
I reflected on the situation of wealthy people at home and how they must feel as they have to deal with this situation a lot as constant prey for opportunists and scammers looking for a quick buck. But here, it’s down to the bone, people really are destitute. Children really are hungry and are delighted at the gift of a morsel of food.
Therein lies the question, and the answer.
When asked about giving charity to the beggar, the Zen master replied, “the man has everything that he needs in his life”.
That to me in my projection, that is a cold and hard and yet a sensible perspective, and though I could spend my life trying to plug the ever leaky bucket of mankind, I have learned that it is good to do what I can, but it is also a little arrogant to think that I, myself, can or should decide what to change as far as the way things are.
I conjured up a way to exit this sad quagmire that I had gotten myself into by explaining that I had a long bicycle ride home in the dark and I needed to return the bike to where I had hired it within the hour.
Aye Aye tried to get me to commit to meeting up at the Ananda temple tomorrow as I skated around the answer by changing the subject and saying, “ohh it’s really become quite cool, hasn’t it?”
Naga warrior figurineHe told me that I had bought lacquer from her then I shouldn’t feel like I owe her anything and maybe it’s best if I didn’t return. So I gave him the sandals to give to someone who can use them and will try and get the bowl and painting into my incredibly overstuffed backpack and home to my sweet young in’ Autumn.
This was a long story but I needed to work it out by writing about it…What do you think about your being in this type situation?
To me, this is one of the really challenging growing pains that comes with traveling alone..
1-11-08
Last night, my trishaw driver asked if I’d like for him to pick me up at 5AM so he could pedal me over to a very popular tall pagoda in order to watch the sun rise. I thought since it was my last day in Bagan, I should try and catch this awesome ancient tourist’s spectacle at dawn..Then the knock at the door woke me up from a great dream with a whole other perspective. It was still dark and I don’t usually sleep this good so that’s when I reached into my pocket, grabbed a dollar and shoved it through the door to the hotel manager to pay the nice punctual driver to go away..What was I thinking??? This is on par with one of the best UNESCO world heritage sites…forget it! No way, you can’t make me go!
In case you don’t know, I have a whole list of famous world class and UNESCO sights that I have been within spitting distance of, but missed for one reason or another. It’s usually because I am “going through something” as Patti calls it.
No regrets..In fact, now I wear this obscure credential like a badge and and today I am proud to add this one to the list just because I didn’t feel like getting up…
I am so in command of my life, I am soo cool!
It was around 11:30 when I finally got up and moving today. I went next door and rented a bike so I could get over to a favorite restaurant for lunch. I like that place and the people who work there. I was greeted by the owner.
He remembers me & Patti because last time we were here, we ate dinner at his restaurant. In conversation, he told us that he was trying to get some cash money to members of his family in another town but every time he gave some to a taxi or bus driver, it would never make it to it destination. So he asked us two perfect strangers if we would be his couriers, sure, no problem we agreed. Then the propriator walked us across the street from his restaurant, woke up the horseman who lived there and convinced him to mount up his buggy and give us a ride home. He handed Patti an envelope containing $80 dollars and bid us farewell.
Next day at noon, the money was faithfully delivered.
Can you imagine a leap of faith like that? Now base your calculation on the fact that the average yearly income is around $300 - $400 dollars or around $1000 for skilled labor like a carpenter.
Today though, I was at that restaurant again hoping for a tasty last lunch in a quiet place before leaving. Suddenly, a parade of vehicles with dancing kids in badly done traditional Burmese outfits arrive in front of the restaurant. They were on top of make shift floats that were all decked out in bright yellow cloth banners. There were enormous speaker horns that blared deafeningly loud and distorted traditional music that provided the beat for the kids to dance and play their many traditional “air instruments” to.
Since I have become so hardened and jaded in the last 24 hours. I thought that this was a merely a means to raise money, because a lot of the performing children had necklaces of paper money pinned to the collars of their shirts. Oh man, I am getting weary of all this hardship I thought.. Then I asked the owner what was up and he said that this was a tribute to a local student who just won all seven awards in school. The town makes a big celebration whenever someone is this good in school…Then came the little truck that was all decorated with the celebrated scholar who looked to be about 10 years old and decked out with so much money pinned to her clothes, it looked like several feather boas around her neck…Everyone clapped and cheered her on as she went by…I am such an idiot!
Then as I was eating lunch, the owner approached me and showed me a letter from a couple that was from New Orleans stating that “if he and his family ever might need any help, that they would be on board.
Then the owner's son asked me if I might help him fashion a letter to this American couple because the time has come to send up the SOS... Life has gotten so hard that one of their two restaurants has closed and this one has almost no business and will soon close too in 3 months when they loose their lease.
Here was my chance to redeem myself..
I asked them what “help” actually means to them. The man's wife said that their life was half over but she wanted desperately to get her two children out of Myanmar “before it was too late”.. I don’t know what that meant, but I can hear desperation in a mother’s voice.
I had an Idea, since her English isn’t very good and I only had an hour before my taxi to the airport, I wrote a letter for her to copy in her own handwriting which was simply a plea for help for her children. I will call these people when I get home to let them know what happened, get their address and then mail them the letter. Meanwhile in Bangkok, I’ll email them to let them know what’s up.
I told the man and his family a story of my grandfather and how he helped unknown relatives get out of Nazi Germany before the war. It is such an awesome story, and whenever I tell it I have to hold back my tears of pride of him.
As far as I know, a letter came from Germany in the late thirty’s or early forties from a man who claimed to be a relative of my Mom’s father’s mother’s side of the family. This stranger was pleading for help to get his family out of a really bad place as grace was getting scarce and danger was imminent. Legend has it that the desperate gentleman also stated that if my grandfather were to help him and his family make it out of the country to safety, he would somehow, in some way repay him.
I can only imagine the deep feelings that might have been evoked in my grandfather from this call to moral duty…
He responded in kind and within some time the mailman in our little town of Victoria, Texas delivered a big box full of good intentions and exotic animal skins, namely leopard as an offering of gratitude for my grandfather’s help in saving this family’s life.
I guess that they made it to Africa and the man became a merchant..I have a very small piece of this leopard skin as a memento that marks this great act of benevolence in my family. I have a dream to one day find these people and go to meet them. Wherever they might be in this world, I would go there to meet them for what I’d imagine to be one of the great family events ever. I would go anywhere in the world to make this connection. I hope that it somehow happens in my lifetime. Unfortunately there is very little information to go on…
I hope a similar fate for this family as they are faced with a very similar situation as they tell me that their politically active friends or friends of friends are systematically being drug from their homes in the night by the brutal police and never seen again…
I tell you what, now that I have scratched the underbelly of this “tourist friendly” beast, it’s ugly head is something that my naïve and insulated experience as a citizen of a more free world is having a very hard time wrapping my head and heart around.
There’s a hot wind’s a comin’ and blossoms are barely hanging on the vine.
A hot wind’s a comin’ and flowers dyin’ on the vine
Last time I looked down,
I was bleedin’ from this poor heart of mine.
I had long decided not to go back to Ananda temple to be potentially sucked further into Aye Aye’s “scam”. Instead, I resigned to retreat to my hotel, go up on the roof where it’s cool and shady and I can be left alone to write down this amazing story until its was time to go to the airport.
Suddenly, the house boy appeared and he kept saying something over and over that I couldn’t understand and then pointing down at the floor with his finger….All I could imagine was that I should go and see what was happening down stairs. I gave a deep sigh as I had a good writing groove going. I packed up and descended the staircase (with my clothes on..That’s an art joke..get it??)
Oh my God, there in the lobby sat Aye Aye….What now??
When she saw me coming around the corner, she smiled as her eyes lit up and she said Hello.….“Hi there Aye Aye, so nice to see you” I said nervously. She said that she had gotten a ride from a friend who was coming there to Nyaung U, and since I hadn’t made it to Ananda as I said that I would, she wanted to check and see if I was okay. She said that she was worried that I may be sick. I scrambled for words….I told her that I was so sorry to not to have come to Ananda as planned, but that I had to write all day….And out the sheer inertia of my suspicious mind, I added with a anxious tone, that I only had a few minutes to finish before I had to go to the airport. As I listened to myself speak with controlling conviction so as to cut off any possibility of her last chance to request my charity, I realized that at the same time, I was at a total loss and completely baffled, especially after all of the hubbub from my conversation with the manager last night and further justification of this common type of behavior from Raju just an hour ago.
We stood up together, as I took her hand and thanked her for her kind generosity from yesterday and then I gave her some bus money to get home.
Just when you think you think you might have an understanding of something..But I must confess, that that’s really just how I wanted to understand this situation. It is much more convenient to create a framework in order to neatly categorize and put a situation into to keep myself from having to deal with the pain that comes from falling too deeply into yet another layer of an unforeseen dark reality.
What I really want, is a way to get to a happy ending to this story but I’ll have to settle for no ending instead..
So be it, I don’t really know what else that am able to learn from this right now, other than just reflecting and putting myself in her position and feeling compassion for whatever was going on..I guess more understanding will come one day…I will forever wonder.
Sorry ladies...
Village guardian Nat in a Bodi tree
I miss Patti!
Gramps hops the "B" train
Ox cart
A well kept Nat
Guardian Nat of the football court
Dressed to kill!
2 comments:
Hey Ben,
Glad your back! The photos look great; you have a couple of real winners in there. I love the smoky bus story ... sounds like another song! (?). I'll read the rest when MY caffeine buzz kicks in. Love you good, see ya soon!
Yer pal,
Kev
Yikes Ben,
It seems just a few weeks ago we convinced you to blog this journey - I seem to recall this - 'Oh I'd never write anything...' routine.
And now, we find the world's longest posting! You go, Ben. Size matters.
Can't wait to get to work so I can read the full juice.
Cheers
Lynsey
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