Every country we’ve traveled to has given us various versions of snack time. There was the merienda in Buenos Aires, beer on the beach in Hawaii and condensed milk coffees in Vietnam.
In Myanmar, afternoon tea (either green or milky Indian style) or coffee is a staple of Burmese culture. It’s there that you’ll see friends talking politics, fathers with their children fresh from school and plenty of fried accompaniments to ruin your appetite for dinner. (Interestingly, it’s mostly just males convening.)
It’s maybe the best snack food we’ve had in traveling. It’s dirt cheap, very tasty and throws you deep into local life. It’s also the best, sweetest note to end on re:three weeks in Myanmar. Enjoy!
Yangon
A roadside tea shop where we struck up conversation with a local lawyer (below, top) and the deaf owner (below, bottom) of the tea shop. He can read lips, so he was delighted to “see” us speak some Burmese.
Samosas, coconut puffs, parathas, coffee and tea at a Muslim cafe.
Mawlamyine
Love the donut-like pastries they “suggest” you try. This was a nondescript family cafe on the riverside strip.
This spread of samosas and other deeply, deeply fried goods in Mawlamyine’s center was all Eaman.
But our favorite by far was the Indian cafe in Mawlamyine that offered tandoori rotis and curry with their coffees, the true Indian style of coffee that’s transferred between two cups for frothy goodness. We’d also jet across the street to buy samosas from the lady across the street.
Goats are frequent customers. Oh, Myanmar.
Today marks our one-year travelversary! Yay! I’ll save heavy reflection for a month’s time when our RTW trip comes to an end, but I did want to bring up a topic that I’ve been forced to think about given the number of different countries and cultures we’ve encountered in this year: good tourism vs. bad tourism.
I see tourism in SE Asia (or perhaps even the world) on one big scale, with Laos on one end and Vietnam and India on the other. Laos, to me, is tourism done right. There’s infrastructure and tools for travelers without taxi drivers hassling you or shopkeepers driving you up the wall. Vietnam and India is (in general) the opposite — tourism gone wrong. Though we had some good experiences with locals, in general, people (mainly taxi drivers and market sellers) want to make money off you, even if that means cheating you, badgering you and hassling you until you leave the country for Laos. We’re currently in India, where we’ve had some particularly ugly episodes.
Sadly, I think Myanmar is headed in the direction of Vietnam/India. We often felt assaulted to buy things and had to basically shout to get our point across. We had to argue and argue and argue with taxi drivees for a fair price. We were so frustrated.
Bagan is a good example. As much as we loved the internet and Western food options, it was sad to see the beginnings of tourism gone awry. Major temples were so crowded with hawkers at the entrances that it was so hard to soak in any of the beauty. And at the market, sellers were literally throwing clothes at us to buy. One of the reasons Eaman bought that antique tattoo kit was because the seller was the only one in the market who didn’t accost us.
But I don’t think it’s the people’s fault. I think tourism has come too rapidly for Myanmar and the people don’t know how to handle it. They’re so poor that seeing this influx of money is exciting, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get more. I get it; everyone wants his payday. But at what cost? And it’s not like the government is doing much to help. What the country really needs is an NGO to usher in sustainable techniques, especially ones that give back to the community, a trend we saw throughout Laos.
I know tourism didn’t happen overnight in Thailand, Peru or other more developed countries, but sometimes you can see when things are just not right. I hope, for the Burmese people’s sake, that supply starts to meet demand, long-term plans replace get-rich-quick schemes and most importantly, the government takes more initiative.
OK. End of rant.
Temples, temples, temples. If you don’t like ‘em, you probably shouldn’t go to Bagan. We thought we were done with our temple sightseeing duties, having toured the beautiful wats in Laos and Thailand and the payas in other parts of Myanmar, but since temples are the thing there and we did have a whole week, we said, Sure, why not? If anything, the temples were all accessible by bicycle, and we were sorely in need of a workout.
As we found out, these temples are nothing like the filigree-encrusted wats in Laos or the gilded payas in Yangon and Mawlamyine; Bagan’s temples are ancient wonders built of brick with faded paintings and crumbling Buddha statues found within.
That said, many of the temples have fallen victim to war and natural disasters and have since been reconstructed. Unfortunately, the rebuilt temples aren’t much of a reflection of the temples as they once were. After walls and towers came toppling down, architects took some creative license in the reformation, paying little attention to historical accuracy. The result is more than a handful of temples that lack much resemblance to their original forms.
We spent a couple absurdly hot days riding around. Take a look:
We gave in to tourist temptation and signed up for a sunset boat ride. We got a beautiful view of the temple-strewn landscape and a front-row seat to a developing thunderstrom. I’m telling you: We always get rain during the most important moments!
Ah, Bagan. Our home for a week of temple exploration, bicycle riding, Western food dining and the Internet. Like I mentioned in the last post, we were starting to burn out, so we decided to skip the other small city we had in mind (Pyay) and settle into Bagan for the last segment of our stay in Myanmar. And it was perfect because the city had just enough infrastructure to accommodate two weary travelers.
It was interesting to finally be somewhere touristy in Myanmar. People didn’t stare, English wasn’t that hard to come by and sightseeing was pretty streamlined. It was the future of Myanmar as we knew it. I’m not sure tourism in the country is headed in the right direction, but that’s a discussion for another post.
We stayed in Nyuang U, the main hub for Bagan, where you’ll find budget accommodation, the best restaurants and the most buzz, if you want to call it that. This was no big crazy metropolis like Yangon. It’s a pretty quiet, dusty, hot village masked as a city. We found spiffy restaurants, took an impromptu cooking class, did some damage at the markets and played on the internet. A lot.
In the past, we’ve definitely hated on other American food-eating, Web-surfing backpackers. But at that point, I’m not sure we’ve ever been so happy to see pizza on a menu. And WiFi! Sweet, wonderful WiFi that didn’t cut out every two minutes, as it did in most other parts of Myanmar.
I know it sounds completely insane to be in an amazing place and spend so much time on the Internet, but we’ve met so many travelers on long trips like ours with the same mindset: Internet + cold beverage = happy. One guy told us that at the end of his two-year Peace Corps stint in Paraguay, all he wanted to do was go to Internet cafes and surf Wikipedia. Another guy at the tail-end of 14 months on the road said “Only people who travel for that long get it,” as we were all using WiFi at a restaurant, naturally.
We just wanted to watch YouTube videos, catch up on blogs and find out what “Call Me Maybe” was all about. Simply put, it was comfort.
If you needed to find us, we were most likely at Weatherspoon’s, a friendly cafe with an even friendlier owner, Winton, with whom we shared many a fun conversation.
The place clearly gets a lot of love as evidenced by the messages scribbled on the walls. I think it has something to do with their famous burgers, which Winton learned how to make at his friend’s pub in England.
Two of my favorite scribbles.
Our message. Eaman ate four burgers there during our week in Bagan, so Winton said he was the unofficial burger-eating champ.
Each meal there ended with these tart tamarind flakes. We became addicted to these things so much that we bought a huge pack of them (from the same store Winton gets his stash from) to take to Malaysia. But sorry friends, they don’t have a long shelf life so none to bring home.
Loved, loved, loved Bibo, a restaurant owned by a young couple who were trained at a fancy hotel. Their background comes through in the excellent service, quality but inexpensive food (chicken curry, nomnomnom) and cocktails worthy of a swanky New York bar. (Both Bibo and Weatherspoon’s aren’t in guidebooks. Maybe that’s why they’re so charming.)
Pizza was fairly decent in Bagan. The cheese was a little strange, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Not sure why Bagan hasn’t gotten on the ice cream train, but considering how hot it is there, they could make a killing off some cones. If we found any, it was expensive and didn’t taste real. Luckily, we found some great ice cream toward the end of our stay at Nation restaurant.
We took one of the more common forms of public transport — horse carriage…
…to the market.
Eaman bought a vintage Burmese tattoo kit from a very friendly shopguy, the only one who didn’t accost us to buy something.
Visited some beautiful shops, one for handmade umbrellas — a handicraft very special to Myanmar — and one for expertly made lacquerware. We got to see the whole process at the lacquerware workshop from start to finish, and wow, that’s a lot of work.
Cups made of horse hair and lined on the inside with gold flakes.
Yep.
And Eaman got a haircut.
But best of all, we had a cooking lesson! Sort of. I couldn’t believe that I had gone nearly a year of traveling without taking a cooking class. (Either it was so touristy that it lost authenticity or we didn’t have time.) We had planned to do one in Bagan, but it was a whopping $50. Instead, we asked the lovely staff at Moe Pyae San, a vegetarian restaurant we loved, if they could show us how to make our three favorite salads. (Salads are a big part of Burmese cuisine.) So one day, we ordered the tea leaf, tomato and fried bean salads, and got to see how it was all made in their tiny outdoor kitchen. The salads are fresh, easy to make and pretty healthy compared to the rest of Burmese food, which is comprised of fried food and more fried food.
Two versions of the tea leaf salad, with the more traditional style on the bottom.
Fried bean salad.
And we’re sharing one of the recipes with you!
Tomato Salad
(Proportions are up to your taste.) Chop tomatoes into big chunks, mix with thinly sliced onions and add crushed peanuts. Stir in soy sauce. Add minced garlic, bean powder (available at Asian markets), green chili, ajinomoto (a mild sweetener will do) and mix. Optional: Top with dried shrimp.
Yadah shideh…Burmese for “It’s tasty!”
Despite our glowing experience volunteering, after five days in the dungeon (my name for our room in our Mawlamyine guesthouse), we needed some respite. We also needed somewhere to clear our heads because at that point in our RTW trip, we hit the wall. We were tired and about ready to go home.
It may or may not have had something to do with our bus ride to Taungoo, which involved not being dropped off where we were supposed to be dropped off, taking a taxi to backtrack, then taking an awful bus to our destination and being mauled by taxi drivers who came on the bus before we even got our bags to cajole us to take their rides. I know traveling around the world sounds glamorous, but often, it’s really not. (See Jeremy and Kathleen’s blog for their excellent post on the reality of long-term travel.)
So, yes we were tired, but we weren’t going to call it quits just yet. There were still some goals we needed to accomplish (i.e. a meditation retreat in India), not to mention the fact that some plans and flights had already been booked. We just needed a break, to go somewhere where we didn’t “have” to do anything.*
So we went to Taungoo and splashed out — relatively speaking, $40/night — on a big, comfy, TV-equipped, air-conditioned room at Myanmar Beauty Guesthouse, an all-teak setup located just outside the city amidst rice fields, banana trees and papaya groves. Staff was on the meh side, but that’s OK. Can’t win ‘em all.
We didn’t do anything except read, eat and excitedly hash out our plans for the future when we return to the U.S. It was glorious.
Betel tree and nuts.
Starfruit.
The guesthouse is famous for its gargantuan breakfasts, and rightly so. We had more than a dozen plates of treats — mostly of the fried or sugary variety — brought out to us each morning. (Our favorites were the samosas and fresh mangosteen.) This picture doesn’t even show everything. Shortly after I took it, they brought out three more plates.
*If you like to, ya know, do stuff, our guesthouse organizes trips to working elephant camps. At $115/person, it was way too expensive for us. Plus, it involves a super early wake-up call and seeing the pachyderms isn’t even guaranteed. Just FYI.
We made it a point to volunteer in our travels. I’m ashamed to admit we got lazy in South America. But in Asia, we tried. We really did. But for one reason or another — there was a large fee we had to pay or they wanted us to commit to six months or more — every opportunity evaded us. (There was that one time we bought medicine for a poor man in a Laos village, but that’s a really long, complicated story I’d rather not get into here.)
In the end, we realized that if we wanted to do something, we needed to get a bit creative and offer our time in a more basic way. No organizations, no red tape. This is that story.
Our interests have always lay with helping kids. If you could hear our squeals when we see Asian babies, then you’d know we’re obsessed. But we’re against donating toys or playing games, and we definitely don’t condone orphanage visits unless we have long-term plans. There’s something to be said for brightening a child’s day, of course, but what kind of lasting impact does it have? How does that increase their market value to break the cycle of poverty?
We know English. We can teach English. We also have money. We can buy school supplies. And that’s what we did on two really eye-opening days in Mawlamyine, Myanmar.
Among the list of questions to ask the guesthouse owner, Mr. Anthony — “how much is the bus to Taungoo?” and “what time does the market close?” — was the most important one: “Do you know a school where we can practice English with students and get them school supplies?”
He knew a place — St. Joseph’s Convent, a school and home for children who’ve been displaced by government actions. (Myanmar is home to many people of the Karin minority, a Christian-faith ethnic group that has been persecuted for many years.) So he phoned his friend, a nun at the convent, who arranged a time for us to come.
We didn’t quite know what we were getting into. Would we help with homework? Would we be assisting a teacher? Would we be conducting a round of English sing-a-long with toddlers? As we walked into the classroom on the first day, it was clear that no, no, we’d be playing teacher for two hours.
There was the dry erase board. There were the waiting students. Go.
Without a lesson plan or an ounce of teacher training, we just winged it. I personally thought back to all the phrases and words I learned when I began studying Farsi a couple years ago. “How are you?”, “Where are you from?”, “I like to ride my bicycle,” and — because no language course is complete without talk of weather — “It’s sunny today!”
OK, so it wasn’t Shakespeare, but the kids were scribbling in their notebooks, repeating with us and conversing with partners. It was working! And the Eaman-Archana teaching duo was a smooth operation. Who knew?
For their part, the kids were unbelievably polite. I imagine they’re instructed to do this, but every time they answered a question — or even when we entered the room — they stood up. It was sweet but totally unecessary for us. After a while, we told them to stay put. It’s just us! No formalities please. Naturally some kids were more shy than others, but you’d be surprised to hear how many were eager to show off their English. Very endearing.
After our “lesson,” the Sister, who coordinated the session, invited us to the kitchen for some fruit and soda, all the while telling us how shocked she was to receive the phone call that morning. Clearly not in the know about how common this kind of volunteering is, she just didn’t understand where we would ever get the idea to come and do such a thing.
But her shower of praises made us feel a little awkward. Two days? Big whoop. This was nothing. We could be doing so much more. Where was this great idea before, in other countries? We tried our best to explain that our coming was small beans, but it fell on deaf ears. She was smiling ear to ear, so we let her be. If she was happy, we were happy. (I hesitated in even telling this story because I didn’t want anyone to think we think we were saints, doing two days of English practice. But I relented because I think it might inspire travelers to think a little more simply when it comes to volunteering.)
We also asked the Sister what supplies the kids may need, and together, we went straight to the source — the kids. The Sister polled the students, who at first were hesitant to ask for anything. But after some nudging, the requests rolled in: larger notebooks to accommodate math problems, pencil cases to fit larger items like protractors and compasses, umbrellas for the nine girls whose old ones broke with the recent heavy winds and one backpack for a girl who was the only one to not get a new one due to lack of supply.
So to the school supply store we went! And fortunately, with our guesthouse owner by our side to help translate and negotiate. (The money didn’t matter; we just didn’t want to be ripped off simply for being foreigners.) The whole shopping experience was really fun and brought back a lot of memories of back-to-school shopping. We had so much fun picking out supplies, wondering what colors and patterns they’d like, trying to find the most beautiful backpack and testing out umbrellas.
On our second day, we had another lesson with the same kids — this time we came a little more prepared — and finally presented them with their new supplies. They weren’t screaming in delight or switching colors (even though we told them to feel free to do so); they were just so completely and utterly gracious.
The Sister insisted on taking photos of us.
When the girls came to get their umbrellas, we laid them out so they could pick out their favorite colors. But maybe they’ve never been given many choices, because they simply picked the next umbrella in the line.
Alphabet posters for nursery school students.
And in that moment, Eaman and I felt spoiled rotten. I remember a time when I couldn’t get the Lisa Frank folder I wanted. Or the time I wasted a whole White Out pen on decorating my pencil case. I can’t believe how lucky I was.
And it extended beyond notebooks and pens. These kids have endured painful experiences but radiate such positivity. When we asked each of them what they wanted to be when they grow up, they had big answers. Nun, doctor, poet, fashion designer. I love that their dreams are big.
Two girls live at the convent because their mother remarried an alcoholic. The younger of the two has become so introverted that she has trouble talking to anyone but her sister. She spends the day time with the nursery school students — kids who pay tuition but have families and homes to go to after school — and watching ths girl’s face as her friends went home was heartbreaking. In addition to a notebook, pen and pencil case, we brought her a stuffed Piglet.
Before we said our goodbyes, the Sister asked around if any of the students had anything they wanted to say to us themselves. One girl stood up, came to the front and started speaking at length in Burmese, while the Sister translated. I honestly don’t remember her exact words, but I do remember that they were filled with gratitude. And though I didn’t understand a lick of what she was saying, as she spoke, I started choking up. It was just so heartfelt. It was the reason we felt so compelled to be there.
After we said our goodbyes and thanked the Sister for her time, we had a hard time shaking some thoughts. We were starting to connect to the kids. Maybe it was bad to leave them hanging. Why didn’t we buy more supplies? Are we selfish for traveling around the world? Why haven’t we done this more often?
The only way we managed to console ourselves was by trying to emulate some of the positivity we saw in the kids. And with that, a few things came to mind. Small actions have the potential to make a difference. We should always remember how lucky we are. However big of a problem we have in our First World lives, it’s never as bad as we think. And in the end, there is no more wonderful feeling than sharing what is already ours with someone in need.
You probably expected us to already have gained a new perspective on life after traveling, and in some respects, we have. But only after this experience have we felt truly different and more clear-headed. And for that, we thank the kids.
Of all the places we visited in Myanmar, Mawlamyine is the one that had us thinking, “So this is what it was like to backpack 15-20 years ago…” Locals weren’t familiar with tourist faces, or at least that’s what we gleaned from a walk through the food market, and there were maybe 15 foreigners in the whole city. I’m not exaggerating when I say that when we arrived, we were the talk of the town. It was the first time we visited a place that was on the verge of something big. It actually felt a bit like a pre-tourist Luang Prabang, Laos.
To refresh your memory, Luang Prabang is the leafy, temple-dotted, colonial riverside city in Laos that’s so precious the entire place has been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Mawlamyine has what it takes — golden stupas topping mountains, a riverside begging for outdoor cafes, restaurants, and night markets as well as lush green mountains for miles — to reach that kind of recognition.
I mean, the city still needs work: street cleaning, a major paint job, better plumbing, more (and better) restaurants and better quality accommodation, but the foundation is there. (Cinderella Hotel was really nice, but $30/night was above our budget. We settled for a $13/night room in the popular guesthouse Breeze, where they can get away with dungeon-like, natural light-deprived rooms because of the lack of competition.)
Eaman, in particular, really connected with the place. I loved it, too, but the dungeon room plus torrential downpours often put a huge damper on my mood. This would’ve been totally fine in the beginning of our trip, but I’m just losing energy to put up with the rough stuff. So I’ll be the first to admit I was a Debbie Downer at some point every day in Mawlamyine.
Typical scene at our guesthouse: waiting out the rain.
Buuuut, I wasn’t always grumpy. During our five days in Mawlamyine, we fell in love with the smiling faces in the market, visited the nearly 600-foot-long Reclining Buddha (the longest in the world), settled atop a wonderful viewpoint for hours and had a really amazing volunteer experience. (More on that in the next post.) It was our favorite place in Myanmar for so many reasons.
The temples, green views and overall spirituality.
Temple in the distance.
I love the melange of religions and cultures in Myanmar. Many times, we’d simeltaneously hear Buddhist chants and the Islamic call to prayer.
The market.
I know she looks mad, but right before Eaman snapped this photo, this woman was hugging me and kissing me on the cheek. I have no idea what she was saying (in Burmese), but I’m sure it was lovely.
The Reclining Buddha.
The government is building ANOTHER, bigger Buddha where you see the dirt mound below. Forget about the decrepitly poor people of your country. Build another Buddha! Ugh.
Donating a tile to be placed on the Buddha.
Our driver who took us to the Buddha, which is located 45 minutes from the city.
That one cafe.
Leave it to Eaman and me to find the one cafe in town. It looked like Chuck E Cheese, but for us, it was juust fine.
Naturally, Burmese soap operas served as background noise.
From Yangon, we jetted to the village of Kinpun, which serves as the base for a major Buddhist pilgrimage site known as the Golden Rock. The Rock sits atop Mt. Kyaiktio and legend has it that the rock maintains its precarious slanted position thanks to a Buddha hair in the stupa.
We spent one day exploring Kinpun village and hanging out with the staff at our guesthouse, a lovely group of guys who watched the Olympics with us and taught Eaman how to chew a betel.
On day 2, we took a pick-up truck up to the base of the mountain, which was a 45-minute ride through hell. They packed nearly 40 people into the back of this truck, where we sat on thin slabs of wood, clutching for dear life so that we didn’t tumble out during the many hairpin turns. I know people use the term “roller coaster ride” a lot, but this was the real thing. I couldn’t even see out the sides or in front.
The saving grace was that on the ride, we met Tina, a Thai woman, and her adorable, very physically capable mom. Post-roller coaster ride, we walked the one-hour steep hike up the mountain together, during which Tina told us about being a flight attendant for Kenya Airways, formerly working at Sea World, illegally crossing the Mexican border, hitchhiking through Pakistan and traveling through Afghanistan during the current war. Tina has been one of the most interesing people we’ve met so far. She’s had big dreams and just goes for it.
But I think we were most wowed by her 72-year-old mom. There I was huffing and puffing up the mountain; there she was gliding along. It was truly amazing, so naturally I had to grill Tina about her mom’s diet and exercise regimen. (Note: She eats well, not a lot and walks every day. Damn those Asian genes that have old women looking so good even when they’re 72!)
Anyway, it was nice to have some company, and even nicer when we all stopped for a refreshment break at a family’s shop up the mountain. (Remember, in Myanmar, always try to support small businesses!) The family represented everything you hear about the Burmese people: warm, welcoming and resilient despite being stuck in an obviously dire situation. I mean, these people even let Eaman and I hold their baby without us asking!
As we got higher up the mountain, the fog was so thick that we couldn’t see anything even 20 feet in front of us. We had heard at this time of the year, the fog can sometimes be so bad that you can’t even see the Rock when it’s in front of you. I was thinking that’d be our luck that day.
We climbed higher and higher and all of a sudden, the Rock just emerged from the haze. Yes, it was still intensely foggy and it was raining slightly, but we saw it, in all it’s golden glory. It’s a well-visited sight, but in this foul weather, we were the only ones. It was eery, spiritual and, as I say about a lot of things, magical.
Eaman got to have some one-on-one time with the Rock. As dictated by the temple, males are allowed to apply gold flakes to the Rock. (He also got to see a couple areas of the site that are off-limits to female, but he said they weren’t all that interesting.)
I had been skeptical about visiting the Rock, since this late in our travels, it’s a sad truth that it’s hard to get excited about much, but good thing for Eaman who had a hunch that it’d be something special. For Buddhists like
Tina and Mommy, the Golden Rock is clearly a big deal. But I’m not sure you need to prescribe to any one religion to reap the Rock’s benefits. There’s something unearthly about it — perhaps Middle Earthly? Something that has a way of projecting this really beautiful calm anyone can experience. I mean, if nothing else, just marvel at how it keeps its balance.
Enjoy the rest of our snaps from Mt. Kyaiktio…
I’ll take your lady-balancing-flowers-on-her-head and raise you a lady-balancing-rocks-on-her-head.
I wasn’t looking off into the distance. I was looking to the guard who told me to get off the ledge I was standing on.
By far the best part of visiting the Rock was our hike back down when we met this little boy. I assume he heard people coming by and, as if on cue, he came from behind his home’s curtain wall and began waving incessantly. Like, he would not stop. His tiny wave and protruding belly almost made me cry it was so cute.
…and a few more from Kinpun Village.
We had actually interrupted the boys from a very serious game of “Who can knock the fruit down from the tree first?”
Ginger and lots of it.
We also got to witness the local soccer league’s championship victory. There were drums and dancing and obviously drinking. They invited us to join their soiree, which was a riot.
This guy wasn’t even on the team but wasn’t at all shy about snuggling with the trophy. I give him an E for Enthusiasm.
Myanmar’s traditions are less a part of travel vernacular than, say Thailand’s (ladyboys). Here, I break down the ones you’ll see most often in Burmese culture — on and off the streets.
What’s that red liquid stuff on the streets? I first thought it was blood, but it’s actually the remnants of chewing the ubiquitous betel leaf, a slightly narcotic “snack” (similar to Indian pan) made of the betel leaf and filled with herbs, betel nut and dry tobacco. Everywhere in Myanmar, you see locals — mostly men — munching on the stuff and spitting it out in red, juicy intervals. Eaman tried it twice, and mostly enjoyed it, especially that second time when he felt reeeaalll niiccee.
The betel leaves.
The betel nuts.
Some instructions from a guesthouse worker.
The making of (excuse the blurry photos).
Bucket of betel spit positioned conveniently next to a computer at a Taungoo internet cafe.
It looks like everyone have tooth decay. True? Apparently, betel makes for strong teeth. Pretty teeth? Not so much.
Why is everyone in the restaurant making that kissing noise? Try getting a waiter’s attention by saying, “Hello?” or “Excuse me?” Now try making a smooching noise. It’s the latter that’ll get his attention. Of course, with the creeping influx of tourists, restaurants are a little more used to our Western ways, but the smooch will get you the quickest response. I tried it, but it just felt wrong.
Kissy noises abound.
What’s with all the Indians? In the early 1900s, the British brought Indians they had already colonized over to Myanmar to act as, sort of, second colonizers. The Burmese and Indians seem to generally get along — minus, ya know, the bloody battle with the Muslim Indians — and you’ll find just as many, if not more, Indian restaurants than Burmese around the country. That also means samosas are fried up on nearly every street corner. And you never say no to those samosas.
Two jovial Indian man — both born in Myanmar with grandparents from Jaipur — whom we met in Mektila:
He was hilarious.
While waiting for a bus at his office, we got to watch some classic Bollywood movie songs.
Finally, is that yellow stuff everyone wears sunscreen? It’s called thanaka and its an ancient cosmetic used for sun protection. An au natural method, it’s created by rubbing a few drops of water with a small log of the thanaka tree. Men and women wear it, and children often apply it on in funny patterns, like face paint. We, of course, tried it and it felt incredibly smooth on the skin. On traveler we met said it cleared up her skin problem.
Sample set up at the thanaka museum — yes, there is one — in Bagan.
Culture shock. We haven’t really had any during our travels. But here we were in Myanmar’s former capital of Yangon, walking streets filled with dosa makers, begging monks (a really odd sight) and fortune tellers. People stared, people asked us where we came from and not a tourist was in sight. It was filthy, it was poor and it was real. Yes, we were a little culture-shocked.
You could say it felt a bit like visiting India back in the day, but even in India you would see a Hollywood celebrity image here, or an American soap opera playing there. In Myanmar, there were so few traces of Western influence.
I’m not trying to sound like Christopher Columbus, discovering some new land. People have clearly traveled here before, but at the moment, Myanmar is different than most places. Coming here gave us the best taste of what it was like to backpack 15-20 years ago, especially in the small towns, where we spent half our time.
We had just two days in Yangon, and that time was a swift, intense introduction to the land sometimes called Burma. (Myanmar is the written name, Burma, the spoken.) Nowhere else have we been assaulted with that many smells and sights. Incense to the right, dog crap to the left. We went to markets, ate at traditional tea houses (milky Indian-style tea and samosas!) and indulged in juicy dosas.
We also had our palms read — a total joke. Eaman and I got pretty much the same fortune. We’re going to go Singapore, get a promotion (forget the fact that we are currently unemployed) and win the lottery. But Eaman will apparently impregnate an 18-year-old.
The weather wasn’t great in Yangon, but on our last night, with umbrellas in tow, we booked it to the crown jewel of the city: Shwedagon Paya, one of the holiest sites in all of Myanmar. It’s a gilded wonder — a 322-foot-tall stupa set in a wide complex with an orb containing 4,351 diamonds and a 76-carat diamond at the very crown. Yowza.
Some people hire tour guides on site, but we were lucky enough to be approached by two locals who offered their guiding services for free. They were actually Spanish students who wanted to practice. (Throughout our stay in the country, almost every local thought Eaman was Spanish.) Eaman indulged them as much as he could, but even though we couldn’t give them much, they walked with us and taught us about the temple, even showing us where to stand to see the giant diamond stone change colors.
They were funny guys. One asked us about our travels and if we had been to Cairo. I told him, yes, I had, and his face lit up. To me, it was a trip with my parents. To him, it was a far off land he’ll probably never visit. When we bid adieu to our new friends, I told him I hope he visits Cairo some day. He smiled, said goodbye and walked away. So Burmese — simple, good-natured and too grounded in the reality of his life.
Here, a look at the rest of our time in Yangon:
Procession of monks waiting for alms in the busy streets as seen from the Cherry Guesthouse balcony.
Speaking of our guesthouse, they gave us a giant breakfast featuring a rich and delicious coconut noodle soup.
Bookseller.
It is so painfully obvious which buildings get government money and which do not.
Perhaps that money should be spent on mending the sidewalks, hmm? This was one of the better stretches.
Sule Paya.
Burmese boy playing with my umbrella at the paya.
Poor caged birds at the temple. The worker told us we can release one “for good luck”, and, of course, for a fee. We released one out of sheer pity for the animal.
When in need of a jolt of color, always go to the market.
Hindu temple + pigeons.
More at Shwedagon Paya…
Our guides showed us how to offer a blessing at the shrine dedicated to the day of the week each of us was born. It seems to be special to share the same day of the week with Aung San Suu Kyi — Friday — so, good for Eaman. The ritual involved pouring water on the animal corresponding to your day and a guardian angel of sorts.
And we rang a holy bell.
