My My Myanmar

I have been touched, pinched, squeezed and had my back rubbed as I was sick. Myanmar is one phenomenal place which I have so much hope for. Hope for democracy, hope for development and hope for conservation, all in a gradual process without losing its authenticity.

I have felt safe, with my large amounts of cash (remember no ATM’s so budgeting became a real past time of all travellers not just the “budget” ones) and in pilgrimaging crowds, in villages and on rickety hill top roads, travelling solo or in a crowd. Not once did I fear for my personal safety or that of my belongings. I had to stop myself on the first day from being so travel weary and closed. I had to trust. I had to open up and Myanmar may well have taught me one of my greatest lessons on my Big Adventure.

captive in Myanmar

There were moments of democratic desire, like an aged village monk carrying a bamboo log who stopped me to ask “Do you know Aung San?” to which I replied quietly knowing it was a very controversial subject in many areas “yes”, without hesitation “Do you know Aung San Suu Kyi” to which I replied “Yes”, “ah…you see…Freedom. Good bye” in note perfect English and without dropping the lofty log. There were 8 hours in a tourist laden train carriage of struggle, beside a chained and cuffed soldier being sent to prison for 2 years for desertion. Times of utter joy, meeting my boat guides floating village family and his 2 week old daughter. Moments of friendship when a master bamboo thatcher bought me to her neighbouring coffee shop owner and then subsequently gossiped over this strange foreigner who had made herself welcome next door with all the family as they thatched, finally not leaving my side until she had heartily linked arms with me and insisted on a photograph of the two of us.  Odd moments, when you see a Golden Buddha having its teeth brushed, its face washed and polished, and the aging Monk performing the task having his leg massaged by a helper. There were ear to ear smile moments, singing songs with Danu village children and teaching them “Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes”. Being invited to a Chemist’s house to admire her garden (and test that I should go on a Nellie garden tour some time to learn more about plants…you two would get on like a house on fire Mum!) where she cultivates many colonial species from her job at a hotel which she does to make ends meet under the Military regime. As the proud mother of 6, all Doctors, Lawyers and Engineers she was wonderful company for sunset at a tea shop over sweet strong tea talking about contraband books and education. A monk who invited us (my travel buddy, Ayesha, was there too, thank goodness) back to his room for a chat, where he sat a little too close to me and kept touching my leg…a Myanmar monk is not meant to touch a woman…and we got over heard by his monk master who invited it us to the Monastery Hospital and gave us some of the his alms (offerings given by all Buddhists to Monks on a daily basis) to welcome us to their monastery. You know you must look a little malnourished if a Monk offers you his food! Crashing a village karaoke night and singing English words to the Burmese lyrics of English songs (like Wilson Philips and Patsy Kline) as it was blasted across the village. Admiring the intensity of the milkyway and the sparkling night sky, with my favourite Myanmar travel friends Ayesha and Eyal in the very same hill village as the blasting karaoke.

Madly, taking a motorbike in Mandalay and getting amongst the traffic, to giggle at the lovers along the Palace walls (they were very fresh with each other I must say!).  I’ve ridden bicycles at every opportunity. Hiring a cyclo for 45 mins with in excess of 160kg of weight to get to our hotel, for one poor man to earn the equivalent of £3.50 and sweat a couple of buckets. He got a bonus of a double high five from me! One moment when I had my bum pinched as I walked with the Danut tribal girls after I had given them moisturiser for their callused hands. I have been deafened by the clunks of looms working hard to make longyi the traditional dress made of cotton and worn similarly to a sarong but is made of a complete circle of fabric. I have admired Kayan women with rings around their necks and heavy silver bracelets on their wrists, hand weaving monk bags. I have watched a women breast feed whilst making cigars. I have mashed pulp to make paper for decorative umbrellas.

"Peace" laughed at the soldier
conducting the trains departure 

I have ridden on roads made by forced labour and watched children break rocks, women working in the fields in searing heat and joined the teenager girls in the darkness to pod peanuts (I’d never podded one until the day before this opportunity!). I cut firewood with Paoh villagers and watched a disrobed monk play cane ball like an acrobat. We saw Political satire performed by a family in their Mandalay garage with a cardboard cut out tour group and laughed along with the cast – one of which was imprisoned for 7 years for their risqué repertoire.   I got smoked out of villages and snored out of sleep. I have seen a thousand Buddha’s and rang many Temple bells each with their own unique sound. I have admired the grace of the women and the physique of the men. I marvel at the equality, where women work in piercing hot sun in traditional black garb with babies slung on their backs while men drink tea in the shade and tend to the water buffalo. Where men and women walk to work together and support each other like true comrades, affection shown subtly but to my eye more lovingly than I see in my world.

Where the generals, soldiers and their families have, and the civilians have not.  Where I could watch a military parade practise but only take a photo of the instruments once they were finished their tuneless display. Where the internet connection is the worst I have experienced in my world, yet it gives them an opportunity to see into the window of the world. Where facebook is not the world and Blogger is restricted by the Thought Police. Where sitting in a tea shop watching satellite tv with all your friends and family is an evening activity. Where suspicion of spies is fairly clear and people don’t talk to foreigners out of habit as they would normally have to report these interactions to police. Where talk of politics is a new topic in public and people use the word “Hope” a lot. Where pictures of a revered women who has been under house arrest for 15 years, may in mere weeks help build towards that change, are always accompanied with images of her late great father. Where the book I am reading is banned for its parallels to the current regime (Nineteen eighty four by George Orwell). Where trade sanctions are still in place (with the exception of some brands like Coke and Nivea being widely available – make of that what you will) and there are no ATM’s.

4 Danu Tibal girls all pulled over to admire my
soft skin - I admired their sunscreen

Where I have met wonderful mature seasoned travellers (and only two lots of drunken tourists…three guesses where they were from!).  I have talked about politics, sex, relationships, marriage, education, religion, weddings & funerals with men over 60. I have sustained blisters from trekking for days in the hills and met people who have never seen a map of their own country let alone the world (for fear that being able to read a map would help a counter military campaign), yet found a tea towel with a map of NZ with our native birds on it to welcome me at one Palaung village. Where one guide had a gunshot wound to the hip, and reminded me of walking with The Old Fart (Mr Kyi was 69 years old). The food is delicious and I have become a fan of noodles. The tea is infectious be it black, green, sweet or semi stirred, although fresh from the field is probably best!

I watched a mystic sunset across  4000 pagoda’s (stupas), across the Ayeyarwady river running almost the length of the country, the famed Shwedagon Pagoda of Yangon with a monk advising me where to stand to see the ROYGIV of diamonds on the stupa’s umbrella (and made me think of my niece learning her Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Indigo and Sophie what’s the last one?), in a Colonial garden in a hill station, on a cane ball pitch with Danu men and their toddlers, across Inle Lake from a vineyard sipping delicious wine and again from a small reed island we called our “desserted island” as we sucked hard sweets from our Boat Guides parents Sugar Cane candy shop. I watched sun rise over the longest teak bridge in the world with fisherman casting under its many stilts, a misty Palaung village in the hills of the Shan State after being woken by the village chief’s Rooster (about 10 feet from our bedroom as we slept in the Chiefs house!), over Yangon city as people went about their brisk morning walk or on their way to work, selling jasmine garlands for cars or tea to passing traffic. I have said “mingalabar” to over a thousand people and “Justin Timberlake” oops I mean “ché zu tin bede” as Thank You at every opportunity.  I have muscular aches in my cheeks from too much smiling and my squatting technique is coming along well. Each of these moments could be a blogpost in themselves but these were my experiences and for now, I want to treasure them.

I have had environmental, political, social and personal dilemmas about my time in Myanmar. But it has been the people that remind me why I came to discover this country in its infant stages of democracy. I will cover off some of the travel issues in another post which I will link to here later.

Without doubt I will savour my experience in Myanmar for all my days.