“I’m so happy I need to bite my
scarf”—these were my friend's words in the midst of our trip through Myanmar (also
known as Burma). The scenery and
architecture are more than enough to warrant happiness-induced garment biting,
but it's the Burmese people who hold the real magic. At all times, I found myself surrounded by greetings and warm smiles. It was like being in a sea of
bursting painted cheeks.
Surely some readers might think I’m idealizing Myanmar, so I should make something clear: I'm under no illusions about the country’s problems; the killing and internal displacement of the Rohingya (one the most persecuted minorities in the world) is still happening at the hands of Buddhist extremists (largely inspired by Ashin Wirathu). Yes, it's true; not all Buddhists are peaceful. In fact, they have been committing what some call a "hidden genocide" for years. Myanmar also continues to experience the world's longest-running civil war (even if I had intended on going to a dangerous area, someone surely would have stopped me). These are just a few of the issues that make up the country's dark side.
I was fortunate enough to be within Myanmar's borders,
let alone see and encounter the amazing things that I did. I’m especially grateful that I got to visit the Dawei area, which, until very recently, was controlled by
the military and was off-limits to visitors.
It’s not easy to write about a place like this.
The political issues and ethnic diversity make it nearly impossible for me to grasp the country’s complexities and write in general terms. Besides, I
was there for less than two weeks. What I can say absolutely is that although
Myanmar borders Thailand (and four other countries), it is a world apart.
The journey was absolutely stimulating—perhaps
too much so (re: scarf biting). I was also fortunate to have shared the experience with a friend I met in Chiang Mai, and to have met many others along the way. For good measure, I took notes on my iphone as
we went along to remind myself of anything I thought was important. Below is
the refined culmination of those notes.
THE ROUTE
THE
PEOPLE
We brought our own drinks into a restaurant
in Yangon, and the owner reacted by offering us glasses and ice.
This is just one example of Burmese awesomeness. No matter where we went, there
were people trying to make our experience comfortable. I certainly did not come
to this country for comfort (quite the opposite if anything), but some people can't be stopped when trying to do good things. Another such encounter took place during
a very long bus trip from Dawei to Yangon. My friend and I were the only
foreigners in the bus, and were subject to relentless staring (e.g. the picture at the top of this posting), but there was
nothing uncomfortable about it. The people were genuinely curious. The staring
intensified during the food stops, and at one point the servers in a remote
mountainside restaurant gave us a different kind of stare—one of sympathy and
concern. After we spent a few minutes stretching and sitting outside the bus, the
servers just brought us food, assuming we were hungry and unaware of how to
order. We felt like poor animals, but in a good way. Even though I wasn't hungry, stuffing my face with a steamed bun was totally worth it when the smiles
came bursting from the painted faces of our servers.
Most of the Burmese girls and women wear a
yellowish paste on their faces (some males, particularly young boys, wear it too). This is called
thanaka, and it’s made from a kind of tree that grows throughout the country. For over two millennia, Burmese people have used this to cool the skin and protect it from the sun. It works—I tried it. Aside
from its health benefits, thanaka is a valuable cultural asset in Myanmar
because it is most often applied in decorative ways. It's like an
identity-booster (kind of like a culturally-consistent and valued version of piercings and tattoos).
I found that what was inside the Burmese people was even more profound than what was on the outside. By
and large, people seemed to be having fun with whatever they were doing. Smiles
were everywhere all the time. There were countless occasions when people
stopped whatever it was they were doing and gave us a smile and wave. At times
it was a bit more extreme—as in trucks jammed with workers ecstatically saying
(almost screaming) "mingalaba" as they passed. This is the Burmese equivalent of "hello," but it's much more meaningful. It literally means "good fortune be upon you / have an auspicious moment." I encountered nothing that even resembled ill-will during my short time in Myanmar. It's known to be a very safe country, and among the few travellers I met there, all agreed that there is virtually no risk of theft or other problems that arise when developing countries encounter tourists and visitors.
If I
could describe the people I encountered in one word, it would be “hard.” The
people seemed resilient, consistent, content, and fearless. The people in Myanmar are like unbreakable creations. The description came to me when, during a bike ride through a village, I saw a boy
carrying a massive dead snake on a short branch. He looked at me and simply
said, “snake,” with an explosive smile. The word “hard” seemed to make even more
sense as I saw people working all kinds of not-so-desirable jobs (from a
western perspective) in the blazing sun, while maintaining genuine smiles.
I’ve long held a theory about happiness,
and it was solidly affirmed by what I saw in Myanmar. I’ll spare you a few
thousand words and boil it down. It’s not about achieving career goals, having an
extravagant wedding, or being aesthetically beautiful. The value of these things is subject to change according to context.
Happiness, as I see it, is about three
things:
- basic needs being met (shelter, food, and health to some extent)
- reality’s relationship to one’s
expectations (often out of our control, and influenced by how and where we are raised etc.)
- cultural infrastructure (community support
networks, the importance of relationships and community well-being etc).
What I saw in Burma seemed to be precisely this this theory in
action. I didn’t see poverty; I saw simplicity. I saw people appreciating
what they had (surely because they previously had less). Most importantly,
I saw proud communities, families, and friends functioning in the moment. They
weren’t hiding in suburban homes, or driving massive automobiles alone. If they
were in a vehicle, they were often packed in and sometimes even hugging/holding hands. There was a sense of pride and contentment in the air, and on several occasions we were asked not only to have our pictures taken, but also to take pictures of local people and their families to share back home.
Perhaps I’m painting a bit too rosy a picture, but it's the truth of my experience. However, here's something for the sake of balance: I know there is a sizable class of wealthy, elite, self-secluding types in Myanmar, but it wasn’t in my reach. The country has a wealth of natural resources, so there's no ignoring the other side of the social coin. In every country there are people at the top of the pyramid. I've also heard about some places that did not seem as safe and happy as what I'm portraying here, so definitely take what you read here (and elsewhere) with a grain of salt.
I'm also still reflecting on why most of the the people I encountered in four different parts of the country seemed so ridiculously happy. Maybe it has to do with the things I mentioned above; maybe, to a greater extent, the people simply recognize that they are very fortunate to live in the safer parts of the country; maybe it's something inherent in the language (i.e. mingalaba); maybe it has something to do with decades of isolation and the end to some of the country's problems. Whatever it is, I really hope nobody messes with it.
The people were the highlight of the trip,
so unless you’re bored or intrigued, there's no need to read
beyond this. Just make sure to see the photos.
If you are planning on visiting Myanmar at some point, please read on.
ACCOMMODATIONS,
TRANSPORTATION, AND FOOD
Myanmar has a reputation for being very
expensive compared to other Southeast Asian countries. Although there is some
truth to this, there are definitely some exaggerations online and elsewhere. Hostels and dormitories can be difficult to come by, but there are plenty of budget hotels and guesthouses which tend to
charge $15-25 for a private room—most often with shared bathrooms (if you really need a private bathroom, go elsewhere). It's very wise to travel with a friend or two and split the cost.
Also, don’t hesitate to ask people to help you find your way around (i.e. people working at your
hotel/guest house); some areas are difficult to navigate.
I was impressed with the honesty and integrity of the local
people when recommending accommodations. For example, at 4:00 am in Nyaung Shwe, the cab (i.e. pickup truck) driver
recommended a hotel, and it was amazing. If this were India or Thailand, this
situation would likely mean the driver was sending us to his friend's sketchy home-stay for a small cut, but this was not the case. For $20 per night, we stayed in a brand new hotel with a private
bathroom and air conditioning (not that it was necessary). This was far better than any accommodation I’ve
yet had on this continent in that price range.
Transportation options in Myanmar can only be described as diverse. Domestic flights access over two-dozen airports throughout the country
(most of which are very small). Vans and mini-buses can be hired, but not everywhere. There is also a very impressive network of large busses. Many are quite new and relatively spacious overall, especially those
going between, Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan, etc. They’re quite inexpensive; a twelve-hour ride in a high-end bus costs about $12US. There were usually many bus
options, and thus the quality and prices were competitive.
In Dawei, however, there was only one
option for us to get to Yangon, as the one daily flight was sold out. We had to take a very long bus ride (sixteen to seventeen hours). I've read and heard some horror stories about bus rides at this end of the country, but there was no choice. To make matters more interesting, we had an 8am flight the next morning, and the bus was scheduled to arrive back in Yangon at 7am. Factor in the 15-20 minute cab ride from the bus station to the airport and you have an adventure. We also happened to get seats at which our feet were blocked from moving
because of some sharp metal protrusions coming from the floor. The turbulent sixteen-hour journey in this bus began with it having incense treatment and a
video blessing from a Buddhist monk. Once we got moving, the bus blasted some
Burmese rock ballads at illogical (and painful) volume levels. This was a
fitting accompaniment to the aggressive mosquitos that shared the bus with us. Fortunately,
there was air conditioning, friendly people, and the bus—like all of them—stopped
every few hours for toilet and food breaks. At one of our late night stops,
there was a bar in the middle of nowhere, featuring a disco ball and an exotic
bird in a cage. It was perfect in its own way.
One person told me I overpaid for one of my
busses ($15 for an overnight bus), but I would have happily paid much more than
that. If you’re Canadian and have tried to access a long, comfortable, and
affordable bus journey through your own country, I’m sure you can relate.
Burma isn’t exactly known for its
food—especially in comparison to Thailand, but I had some excellent meals. In fact, I liked every meal I had during the trip. The
culinary highlight was the BBQ fish in Yangon’s Chinatown. This is popular
for good reasons: it’s slow cooked and stuffed with spices. Combine it with a
plate of fried vegetables, and you’re as content as a reclining Buddha. A more distinctly local gem is the mighty bowl of Shan Noodles
(regional dish of Shan state). This northern Burmese specialty looks like a
typical Asian noodle bowl, but the noodles are much more chewy (think al dente), and the
ingredients are more specific to the area. A popular Southeast Asian saying
came to mind why I ate it: “Same same, but different.”
As
is the case in Thailand, the best food is usually cooked and served outdoors,
requiring customers to sit on plastic stools. I’ve converted to this way of
dining, and follow the “plastic stool rule” regularly. The food is safe overall, but as in many Asian countries, it best is stick with what you see being cooked in front of you. Get food that is made to order.
The only hazard I experienced personally was the water. There are signs in the airport that say the tap water is not safe for drinking. This is true—very true. Don't even brush your teeth with the tap water. Avoid ingesting it at all costs. Many visitors (myself included) experienced some stomach weirdness throughout the trip. Fortunately it never got really bad, but I can imagine the potential.
YANGON
(RANGOON)
Yangon seems to be a city of contrasts.
There are some very rough-looking neighbourhoods, and there are some very
well maintained areas. During a short walk, you can pass a roadside mechanic
shop see a man sitting on the ground—in the scorching heat—using his feet as vice grip while
hammering a car part wedged in-between them, but you can also stumble into the
Strand Hotel, which is a pristine vestige of British colonialism.
Yangon’s Chinatown (also known as 19th
street) is definitely worth seeing. It’s a pleasantly overpopulated sea of
restaurants, food vendors, bars, and assorted shops. It actually reminded me of
China, and I could recognize some Mandarin words being exchanged there too.
And what would an busy city be without rats?
The rats in Yangon are like no other rats
I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen more than my share). They are blatantly
indiscreet there. They didn’t scuttle away when we walked near them. They had no shame or fear. It's as if rats are liberating themselves in
Yangon; they are proudly expressing their right to be a rat. One friend
identified this phenomenon as Burmese rattitude.
This city is also home to the famous
Shwedagon Pagoda. Despite it’s popularity with tourists (not
that Myanmar sees very much of it compared to other countries), this pagoda is one of the most special places I've ever visited. It has been around
for over 2600 years after all. While
there, we were virtually surrounded by people praying, families washing Buddha
statues, lots of incense, small birds being set free, and a seemingly infinite
amount of monks—many of which were walking and chanting at sunset. We didn't want to leave; there was just something special about the experience. Perhaps
the most profound moment was when we went to a quiet spot near the back of the
pagoda’s platform, and saw a monk sitting alone and chanting. He sat there, did
not move and inch, and chanted. I'm not sure how long he was there, but it was longer than I could ever sit motionless. It was just plain beautiful—the discipline
and the level dedication to something immaterial.
THE
POPULAR PLACES AND A RELATIVELY UNBEATEN PATH
As you’ll see in the pictures, both Bagan and Inle Lake are incredibly beautiful. However, there’s more than enough written about them,
as they are widely considered to be part of the tourist route (along with
Mandalay and Kalaw). Still, there were relatively few tourists in these places
compared to what you’d find across the border in Thailand. Even the heavily popular boat tours of
Inle Lake had a genuine local flavour to them. Our tour included a visit to a
garment factory, which was full of workers who were sincerely happy that we were
there, and even insisted we sit down with them for tea. After this, our boatman took us to a local market because the popular “floating market” was not happening that day. It was local indeed. I've never seen anything quite like it.
Ok, I know what some of you are thinking: it’s somewhat ironic and even hypocritical for a white, English-speaking, western guy to travel around, yet speak most favourably of the places with the fewest tourists. I’m by no means “anti-tourist,” but I’ve seen how it can both benefit and damage cities and even countries. There is also a difference between a tourist and a visitor, but that’s another article altogether. Fortunately, my experience in Myanmar gave me some assurance that this country has the potential to maintain its integrity and still accommodate a moderate presence tourists and visitors. I saw this in Nyaung Shwe and Inle Lake in particular.
After having an incredible time at Inle
Lake, we took an overnight bus back to Yangon in hopes of catching a last
minute flight to one of the southern cities. We went to the domestic airport
terminal in the morning and asked for the cheapest flight to anywhere south,
and we managed to get tickets to Dawei—a place we knew very little
about. Fortunately I had notes on some accommodations thanks to a blog I came across prior to the trip, but I decided to not make reservations. Winging it was a
theme in this trip. It's much more fun that way. So, without any expectations (see happiness theory above), we went for it. What I didn’t yet realize was that despite the
aforementioned blog, Dawei experienced very few western visitors, as it was closed off
by the military until recently. The real excitement kicked in when we were the
only foreigners on the plane.
As soon as we landed in Dawei and walked into its tiny airport, a man without any airport security uniform or identification
grabbed our passports and walked away. Knowing what we did about the honesty
and integrity of Burmese people (by and large), we weren’t too worried. We frantically followed the man as he brought our passports to a table with a foreigner registry book and gave them
back. We exhaled and left, only to find ourselves swarmed by drivers as soon as we walked out the door. Flight schedules are no secret after all. But being unsure of what was a fair price to
our accommodations, we decided to have a cold drink at a shop across
the street and wait it out. We should have trusted them, as we have not yet had anyone trying to rip us off, but it all worked out. We met a wonderful
family (they’re in the photo album) and spent some time connecting with them
before getting our ride.
Dawei was oppressively hot but extremely beautiful. The sweaty 20km ride in our motorcycle-cab hybrid
seemed to take the better part of an hour due to the bumpy (and surely long-ignored) roads. As became the norm by this point in the trip, we exchanged greetings with
almost every person we passed. We eventually got to our
accommodations—beautiful little bungalow-style huts near Muangmagan beach, with
rooms available. On our first night
there, we went to the beach, and were just astounded—it was clearly a place for the local people. There were very few people on the
beach as it was, and most were children and teens. Anyone who knows me knows
that I’m not a beach person, but this
was an exception. Within minutes, we were talking to locals, and even spent
some time sitting with a young boy and teaching how to spell some English words
in the sand. Nobody was shy. Parents were not worried about us hanging around
with their kids. In fact, just as many people wanted pictures of us as we did
of them.
FINAL
THOUGHTS
I’m writing this from my apartment in Chiang Mai—the epicentre of Songkran (Thai New Year/water festival). Despite the fact that the world's biggest water fight has been happening all around me for the past three days, I’m underwhelmed. Call it post-Myanmar syndrome.
It was a relatively short trip, but it was
an experience that will forever be imprinted my psyche. Of course, there were some incredible things I didn’t do—like seeing Mrauk U, trekking in Kalaw, taking the long boat ride north from Myeik, and diving with the
Moken (sea gypsies). I’ve also been told that Yangon has an impressive rock
music scene (including punk and metal), and I'd love to experience it. Alas, it wasn't easy to leave, and I hope to be back at some point. Perhaps I'll live vicariously through one of you wonderful readers if you go there.
Stay tuned….
