Burma - Our Final Thoughts

This is our final night in Myanmar and it is tinged with regret. We have made friends with some of our guides and their memory will stay with us for many years. We could travel the world and never come across another character like Paris. We would enjoy having a boy named Sue as a friend and it was a privilege to meet Rosa.

The Burmese people are delightful, the country beautiful and some of the antiquities are breathtaking. But an underlying feeling of sadness and anger has been with us through the entire trip. We have never seen so much needless suffering. There are millions of people in Africa who are probably worse off, but often the reason for that is the total lack of resources, food and water. But here the country is rich in all of those things, but the Junta controls everything, and the generals are the only people allowed to benefit. Even if the status quo wasn’t changed, the people could be benefiting from the wealth that a popular tourist destination could bring them. The country could easily be as popular a destination as Thailand , Vietnam or Cambodia . But the Junta is hostile to the prying eyes of outside countries, and many tourists who suffer our doubts about patronizing the country decide to stay away.

The Junta controls the people, holding them back, and holding them down, denying them education, denying them the benefits of a rich country, denying them the spoils of tourism, and basically denying them a comfortable life. It is hard to really enjoy a vacation in this wonderful country, when this is the undercurrent. But so many of the people thanked us for coming, and asked us to come back, that we are happy that we went, and determined to return.

Yangon - Our Last Night

We return to Mandalay and take our last flight on Bagan Air to Yangon . Once again we are met by Paris at the airport. This time he is wearing a PINK Longyi. This is quite shocking, as Burmese men only wear dark coloured longyi. He has paired it with a crisp white shirt, and a necklace worn outside the shirt. As we enter the arrivals lounge he is standing there with both arms outstretched, like a diva acknowledging applause. He takes our hands in his and walks us out of the airport. We feel like the Supremes flanking Diana Ross. People stop and gawp. Paris revels in it.

We are just there for the night and we tell Paris that we have heard of a restaurant called Le Planteur, which has been voted best restaurant in Myanmar for the last three years. We ask if he would take us to see it so that we can decide if we want to eat there. Paris is beside himself with excitement as he has never been there. When we arrive at the restaurant, we are ushered out of the car by two doormen and escorted to the desk where we pause to ask the Maitre'D if we can see the menu. Paris sweeps by us, chin held high, self esteem held even higher, longyi flowing behind him, and walks into the middle of the restaurant to survey the scene. Looking at his poise and his pose, no one would ever guess that he didn’t belong here. Paris lets us know that this is an entirely appropriate place for us, and for him.

We return later that evening, sadly without Paris, to have dinner. It is the most fabulous place. The building is a beautiful old home with a huge manicured lawn full of very old trees and a large assortment of fowl. There are geese, ducks, turkeys, guinea fowl and other birds that we do not recognize wandering the grounds. There are immense fabric lanterns on the lawn lighting the way, and tiny twinkling lights hanging from the trees. The tables are all set out on the lawn. It is a magical setting. We find ourselves dining next to Lord and Lady Laxby, at least that is how they are referred to by the staff. Paris would be in heaven.


Their credentials as eccentric English aristocracy are proved when they continue to feed the birds throughout their dinner, causing the assortment of fowl to gather round their table like begging dogs. They even manage to coax a turkey to jump up onto their table. We find it most disturbing, but they are enjoying it. We wonder what Paris would make of it.

In an extraordinary show of what money can do, even in a country like Burma, the chef produces a seven course tasting menu that includes foie gras, scallops lobster and lamb chops, and we wash it down with French champagne. There is even a Burmese Brie, which is delicious. The cost of all of this is many times the cost of any other meal we have had in Myanmar , but would be considered inexpensive anywhere else in the world.

The Paloung tribe of Northern Myanmar

Our guide for this adventure was also a little more rough and ready than we were used to. This was not Paris or A Boy named Sue. Actually we don’t know who it was, as his English was such that we never quite understood what his name was. He did manage to get across that we were his first tourists for two and a half months, but strangely enough he didn’t seem to be aware of why this was. He never mentioned politics or the generals and we felt that none of this had any relevance to his life. All he knew was that there were no tourists.

The first afternoon he took us to Wan Pao Village , home of the Paloung Tribe. This village is the only village we see that is accessible by car, albeit over an hours drive along a mud path. The village is a cluster of ramshackle huts randomly scattered over a muddy field. The tribe is known for two things. Firstly they are one of the few tribes that have huts made of mud. They make a bamboo frame and fill it with packed mud. This is great insulation against the cold, but unfortunately the ox and pigs find the mud walls appealing and tend to rub their sides on them, causing the walls to become thinner and thinner until they collapse.


The second point of interest is that all the women wear what looks like half a dozen small Hula Hoops around their waist made of silver and bamboo. They are completely inflexible and seem to be more of an annoyance than anything else. This particular village is also famous for its blacksmith, a man of 82 who is working when we get there, making shock absorbers for the local cars.


Apparently shock absorbers and springs for the old Toyotas are impossible to get hold off, and this man has learned how to make them despite the fact that there is not one car in the village, and he has never learned to drive.

Mandalay to Kyaingtong

We are flying to Kyaingtong to see the different tribes of Northern Mynamar that remain unaffected and virtually untouched by the outside world. We arrive in a very different Myanmar . The airport at Kyaingtong is little more than a couple of huts next to an airstrip. But security is the tightest we have seen. We are deep in the heart of the Golden Triangle and close to the Chinese border. This was the notorious heroin capital of the world, but the Junta claims to have completely wiped out all the poppy plantations over the last few years. Tourists have only been allowed back in over the last four years. Consequently there are none of the luxuries we have been enjoying. The hotel we are staying in is known to be the best in town, but would not qualify for one star. We were well aware of this when planning our trip and were rather anxious about what we would find. It was maybe even more basic than we expected, but we were happy to find that it was comparatively clean, and the staff very welcoming and friendly. However all the laundry was done by hand with no hot water, so the sheets and towels were grey, which was a little disturbing. We were on the third floor (no elevator of course). At the end of our corridor there was a door marked “emergency exit”. For a moment we were reassured, but then we discovered it was just a door opening on to a three storey drop into the middle of the neighbour’s pigsty. No stairs, no balcony. Nothing.

We are in the high country and the temperatures have plummeted. But there is no heating in the hotel and some of the windows have fixed open slatted glass. It is colder in the hotel than outside and Gordon, who feels the cold, is miserable. He sleeps with all his clothes on underneath a huge pile of blankets.

Mandalay Airport

Mandalay has an international airport that can rival any of the major Asian airports. Glass and steel everywhere, restaurants, cafes, escalators and jetways. The only difference between Mandalay and other well known International airports is passengers! Mandalay has none. There are maybe a dozen other passengers in the entire airport. One café is open, all the restaurants are closed. But even more strange is the fact that none of the escalators is working. Nor are the luggage conveyor belts. Nor are the jetways. We have to walk down some stairs and across the tarmac to our plane. The reason, of course, is that this is one of the days when there is no electricity in Mandalay. The airport is vast and very modern. It puts Yangon airport to shame. And yet Yangon is the city that has all the international flights. It is almost impossible to find an international flight that goes to Mandalay, there are only internal flights. This impressive airport was built two years ago, but no one knows why. It is built in the middle of nowhere, a good hours drive from town. The old airport was much more convenient but the Junta announced it could no longer be used.
We have an hour to wait for our plane, and go to the only café that is open. It goes by the name of Swan Pizza, and their logo is remarkably similar, if not identical to, Pizza Hut. However they do not sell pizza. Even more incongruous is that they have large black plastic napkin dispensers on each table which have “ Las Vegas ” emblazoned in gold on all sides. Our sandwich is served on white plates that match the coffee cups. All of them have “J.C. Penny. Basic White” printed on the underside.

Touring Ava

The only way round the island is by horse and buggy and there are over 150 of them waiting at the ferry stop. It is all very orderly, and the drivers take customers in strict rotation. If this was a normal day in the high season, they would each have one customer a day, and sometimes two. But things are not normal in Myanmar , and our driver has been waiting three days for his turn. Sadder still is the fact that for his services he is paid the princely sum of $3. The buggy is small and he asks me to ride up front with him. This has obviously got more to do with placing my bulk in the easiest place for the horse, than for our comfort. The horse is tiny and we are introduced to her. Her name is Jasmine. I am sitting directly behind her rear quarters, next to the driver. The only thing between her backside and me is an open basket designed to catch any of her droppings. I had no idea that a small horse could produce quite so much manure in such a short time, while trotting round an island. Nor was I aware of just how pungent it could be. Jasmine, bless her, had eaten way too much earlier in the day and we were now reaping the benefits.

There is little remaining on the Island to show that it was such an important place, other than the crumbling walls that used to surround the Royal Palace . But the Island is lovely with long “roads” or tracks arched with trees on either side, giving it the feel of rural France . The only other traffic is heavy carts, full of produce, being pulled by white oxen. The villages are also quite appealing, with the usual bamboo and rush buildings, with an occasional magnificent house made of teak. Many of the people stop and wave as we go round. The tour takes about three hours, the highlight of which is a beautiful teak monastery built in 1820. There are huge teak columns inside stretching up 30 feet to support the roof. The doors, windows and railings are all beautifully carved and still in excellent condition. It is quite stunning.

From there we go to the Ubein Bridge further up the river. This is known as the longest teak bridge in the world. In fact it is more like a jetty which spans the river. It is just under a mile long. This is the first tourist sight we have been to that is busy, but what is nice is that it is busy with locals who love the bridge. They all go for their evening walk across it, or take a picnic during the day. We are there for the sunset, which is quite incredible. We walk across mingling with the locals and a large number of monks, all enjoying this beautiful place. There are water buffalo below us swimming in the river. It is a truly exotic way to end a lovely day.

Ava - A Restaurant

In the afternoon we got to see Ava, which was the capital of Myanmar from 1418 to 1839. It is an island in the middle of the river. We catch what passes for a ferry across to the island, but is in fact little more than a few pieces of wood strung together with a small motor at the back. It seems that our water transport gets worse as our trip goes on. But this journey is only a few hundred yards. The island itself is a revelation, a beautiful serene place with no vehicles. There is a restaurant where the ferry stops and we have lunch. It is incredibly basic with tables and chairs set out on the dirt underneath a huge spreading tree. Dogs and flies fight for our attention, while chickens scratch in the dirt all around. There is even a huge black pig fast asleep between two of the tables. The waiter does his best to keep the flies away from our food with a fan which he periodically waves over our table, as if it was the most natural thing for a waiter to be doing. Despite this we are served a delicious lunch of fresh fish and fried rice, and it all seems very romantic.

Afterward our guide suggests that we take the fish head that we hadn’t touched and the remains of the fried rice to give to one of the begging children. We ask what they do with the fish head. They will apparently beat it all to a pulp, and then press it through a sieve that will allow any flesh to pass through and retain the bones. The flesh they collect will last a family a couple of days, when served with soup, rice and vegetables. Outside the restaurant is a young boy trying to sell us trinkets. I offer him the leftovers and his face lights up into the biggest smile you have ever seen. He is obviously thrilled and thanks us warmly. The guide tells us that his family will rarely have eaten anything as exotic as this. We feel terribly extravagant and wasteful.

Crossing the Irrawaddy to Mingun

In the morning we take a boat across the Irrawaddy to Mingun. This might be the scariest boat we have been on in all our travels. It is large enough to hold thirty or 40 passengers, but it is just for us. There are dozens, if not hundreds of them, all identical, and all in various states of disrepair, tied up to the river bank. They are 6 deep against the bank, so you have to cross from one to another until you come to the outside one. They have an open upper deck and enclosed lower deck, but the lower deck is only 5ft tall, and it is through these that we have to travel to get to our personal boat. All the boats are moving in the current and it is quite treacherous going from one to the other. Finally we reach ours. I was assuming that we would have one of the ones that were in a better state of repair, but this was not to be. It was a complete wreck, and how we ever got across the river without it sinking is beyond me. As with so much else in the country, all the boats were built in the 1940’s when the British were here. Ours appears to have been untouched since then, which might be interesting in any other vehicle, but in a boat it is truly scary. The entire vessel seemed to sag in the middle, until the water almost came in over the sides. We are shown to the upper deck, which in fact is just the roof of the lower deck. It curves down to the edges, so that you feel you will slide off it. All there is to prevent us from doing so, is an extremely thin and rickety wooden railing held in place by a few spindly uprights attached to the floor by a couple of screws. The wooden floor is rotten in places and you can see straight through to the deck below. There are three extremely old and uncomfortable rattan chairs for us to sit on. Most of the rattan is broken and sticks into my body, tearing little holes in my shirt. There is also an extremely decrepit dining table. One of the crew (there are only 2) comes and lays a filthy old table cloth on it with a great flourish. The only thing dirtier than the table cloth is the young man putting it there. For one dreadful moment, we think food is going to be served, but in fact he is setting up a stall on which he lays a motley assortment of merchandise. There is nothing we would be remotely interested in buying, but considering we are half way across the huge Irrawaddy river, and completely at his mercy, we decide we better at least take a look.

We are told that there is a toilet downstairs but we are too afraid to venture down. However necessity, caused by a chilly wind, prevails. Added to the back of the boat is a small platform enclosed by a 4ft wall made of rush matting. You open a small door and step off the deck onto this small platform which appears to have no visible means of support. Standing on the platform was the toilet. It was not attached to the floor, or to any plumbing. It merely stood over a hole in the floor. The low height of the surrounding wall meant that all the passing ships were left in no doubt as to what you were doing there. Where is the Raffles Hotel when we need it.

We are suffering the indignities of this particularly unseaworthy vessel in order to see yet another largest bell in the world. This one is in a town called Mingun. We have already seen two other largest bells in the world in our travels, the most recent of which we saw in Russia . However our guide proudly tells us that the Russian one has a crack in it and so it doesn’t count. Myanmar ’s bell is perfect. However it is hung just a few inches off the ground in a crumbling building, completely uncared for and covered in cobwebs and large spiders. Adjacent to it is another crumbling building. This one is a home for aged monks. Our guide wants to show us round, but we are not interested, just grateful that this will not be our retirement home. For this we have just risked our lives crossing the Irrawaddy, and now we have to go back.

Life In Mandalay

Mandalay is a much more attractive city than Yangon. Many of the streets are lined with trees, and bustle with people who seem happier and a little more prosperous than in Yangon . Large portions of the city have good middle class houses. Downtown is more like a downtown as we know it, with many streets full of shops, and a few selling named brands that are definitely high end. There is even a small shopping mall and a few neon signs, although the latter seems rather superfluous because of the lack of power to turn them on.

There are many motorbikes and thousands of bicycles that appear to take no notice of the rules of the road.


Road junctions and cross roads often have a policeman in the middle directing traffic, but no one pays them any attention. Cross roads are quite terrifying, and we sit white knuckled in our car, clinging to the back of the seat in front of us. I try closing my eyes, but it is impossible to keep them closed with all the noise around us.

This is the first place we have seen taxis, but they are not geared to the tourists. They are Mazda pick up trucks built in the 1940’s. They are amazingly small, looking like children’s toy cars. The passengers sit in the back of the pick up truck. You could perhaps squeeze two Americans in the back, but they would be very unhappy. But up to 10 Burmese somehow manage to ride this way.


We are pleased to see that there are many more monks here than anywhere we have been so far. The Mayor of Mandalay refused the Generals orders to kill monks and so Mandalay escaped much of the crackdown. But once the uprising was crushed the Mayor was fired from his job. There are also many nuns, who wear pink robes, and, like the monks go out in the morning to collect food from the people. However nuns can only go out twice a week and can only accept rice and vegetables.

We visit several craft houses, all of them working without lighting. We watch as women stoop over their embroidery doing the most intricate work in semi darkness. Three men noisily beat gold into gold leaf. They will be deaf by the end of their worklife.


Like the rest of the country, electricity is limited. Here they receive power for three days, and then just for 6 to 12 hours on the other four days. Water too is problematical. Each household has to pay $200 for the connection, a large amount of money to most families. On top of this they pay a monthly fee based on usage, but during the dry season there will often be no water available. Few have hot water, and sometimes the mornings are too cold for them to take a shower. If they live in houses and apartments that are more than two stories high, very often the water will not pump up to the higher floors.

Mandalay

Our first stop is the old Royal Palace built in the 1860’s. It is a huge square compound, surrounded on all four sides by a wall and a moat The wall is two kilometres long on each of the four sides.


The entire place was bombed in the war, and virtually destroyed. The government, recognizing a tourist attraction when they see one, decided to rebuild it in the 1990’s. However, where there were once huge wooden columns there are now huge cement columns, and where there was gold leaf covering everything there is now gold paint. It all looks so tacky, and very few people go there. To make matters worse the huge grounds that were so beautiful, are now full of unsightly cheap housing used solely to house army soldiers. Min, our guide, is making her opening political statement by taking us here first.


However a block or so away is one of the original buildings. It is in this building that the King died, and his son wanted to preserve it as a special and separate monument, so moved it away from the palace, thus unwittingly insuring its survival during the bombings. It is one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen, built entirely of teak and covered in intricate carvings. Both inside and out were originally covered in gold, but very little remains on the outside because of the weather. But the inside still gleams, the many tall golden pillars supporting the roof look like a shining forest, It is an amazing sight, that dazzles the eye.


From here we go to lunch in a local restaurant where we have to listen to a CD of Christmas Carols sung in English by a Burmese singer who obviously learned parrot fashion from listening to the original, and has no idea what he is saying. We recognize the song “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”, but instead of singing “If Daddy had only seen” He sang” If Veddy Veddy on the scene”, and “He thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep” became “he thawed a ice water up in my bedroom vast and leap".

Mandalay - The First Sights

A magical morning as we sail into Mandalay. We sail under two iron bridges with hills on either side, full of golden stuppas that glisten in the early morning sun.


Small fishing boats with one solid bright coloured sail, emerge slowly out of the mists and smoke that rise off the land and drift across the wide river. Ships carrying huge piles of rice chug along the river and are laden to the point where it seems that they would sink if you loaded one more sack on board. The ships are as old and dilapidated as the buses from the 1940’s, and their crews aren’t much better. They are all in dirty white T shirts and ragged longyis, and they wave as we go by.


It is exactly as we imagined it as kids in school, reading Rudyard Kipling and learning about the glory days of the British Empire.

Once ashore we are met by our new guide, Min, a woman of about 40 suffering from a severe case of flu. It seems that half the country is in the grips of flu.. A Boy named Sue had it, but not badly, his driver had it, the two other passengers on the ship had it, two of the crew had it, and it is obvious that many people we see have it. But no one has seemed as sick as Min, who we are sure will not make it through the day. She is dressed for winter, with a rather strange hand knitted pink wool hat pulled down to her eyebrows, and a matching scarf wrapped twice round her neck and mouth. She has a huge padded coat which she holds tightly around her body, boots and a pair of gloves. The only part of her body exposed to the elements is her eyes. Where she found this clothing is a mystery, Mandalay is always hot and we never saw a shop selling anything like these clothes. She had to blow her nose constantly, which unfortunately she did directly into her hand, and then wiped her hand with a piece of toilet paper. This was not appealing.

Both she and her husband are tour guides, and have two children. Because of the lack of tourists they were in dire straits and she has to work, no matter how sick she feels. She is only able to talk in a whisper because of her sore throat, and has to stop often to cough. We are reluctant to deprive her of the little income we are bringing her, so we control our impulse to tell her to go home.

Burma - More Things We Have Learned

As we continue to quietly sail down the Irrawaddy River we pick up more information about Burma.
1. The Irrawaddy River rises 50 feet in the rainy season. In the delta region it can rise 200 feet.

2. Many villagers on the banks of the river have to move their homes, their belongings and their livestock every 6 months. Then they return a few months later when the rain stops.


3. 60% of the population of Bagan works in the tourist industry.

4. The tourist industry is down by 80% this year, and some say it is down by up to 90%. The people of Bagan are really hurting, as is the rest of the country.

5. On our one hour drive back from Poppa to Bagan, we saw exactly three other cars.

6. We have been traveling for 9 days now and have seen very few monks.

7. Many workers who we talk to in the tourist industry, tell us directly that they hate their government.

8. There is a pension for people over 65, but it consists of a few dollars a month, and no one can live on it. Consequently yet another burden is placed on the workers – they have to support their parents in their old age.

9. A phone line, believe it or not, costs $5,500 to install. A cell phone costs over $2000 and can only be bought on the black market, which in this case means buying one from a government employee.

10. Electricity is cheap, but who cares, if you can hardly ever get it.

11. Men and women of all ages wear a skin cream made from the bark of the Dhanakhar tree. It protects from the sun, and helps against acne and wrinkles. It is a yellow color and the women and children paint it on to their faces every day.


When boys get old enough to feel self conscious, they stop wearing it in the day time. But most everyone, including the men, put it on at night. We have been commenting that the Burmese have wonderful skin, and if this is the reason for it, we have to get some! But maybe it’s too late!

Yandabo on The Road to Mandalay

At 9:30am the next morning, our ship, the Pandaw 2, pulls into the river bank next to Yandabo a village famous for making clay pots. Here the population is 1,100, and apart from a few children playing truant, all the kids are in school. The adults are all busy making the pots, so we are greeted by just a few children and some of the older inhabitants who no longer work.


The school has been built with donations from previous passengers on this ship, helped by the shipping company. We visit the school, which is a comparatively modern brick building housing 5 classrooms packed with children.


They all learn English. The class of 5 year olds are working on the alphabet and we can see from the blackboard that they have got as far as “U for Umbrella” They are all excited to see us, and when we start taking photos they swarm round us wanting to see their pictures. At the end of our visit, the teachers gather them together and they sing two songs for us. We are told they are singing in English, but while we recognize the tunes, we can’t understand any of the words they are singing! But their huge excited smiles say it all.


The rest of the village is busy making the pots for which they are famous. We watch as one woman throws pots on a turntable operated by another woman pedaling a belt to operate it. Amazingly, this one woman can make 60 pots a day. We each have a turn at doing the pedaling, and it is so hard that none of us last more than a few minutes. This woman does it from dusk to dawn.


The pots are basic clay pots for cooking and for carrying and holding water. Some are plain and some are decorated.


When they have made enough, they arrange hundreds of pots in a field on a bed of straw, around a huge pile of firewood.


Then they cover everything with more straw and wood and set the whole thing alight. The pots are finally covered with ash and it operates as a kiln. The fire is kept going for three days and they use everything they can find as fuel, even down to the shells from peanuts that are a basic part of their diet. We arrive just as they are starting to make the fire. There are over three thousand pots waiting to be fired. It’s amazing that one small village with no tools or machinery can produce this much. The pots are large, unsophisticated but very attractive. They sell them for $2.50 each.

It is a bustling village, and seems quite prosperous.


The people are warm and welcoming, as they are in all these villages. I could spend hours watching and interacting with them but we have to move on. We have learned that the boat we are on also does a 12 day cruise that ventures into the north of Myanmar where there are no roads, and where you visit many more of these riverside villages. We are extremely interested in taking this cruise next year, and so are Derek and Helga. Much to our surprise, they want to make sure we are going before they book.

Back to the Pandaw 2

When we return to the ship, we are offered a complimentary cocktail of the day. Today it is Gin Fizz , and Gordon manages to down three of them in no time flat. This is a lifestyle we could definitely get used to.

The other couple on board are an Englishman and his German wife who now live in Australia . Their names are Derek and Helga. I am desperate for them to be wonderful company, or eccentric, or even better, dreadfully awful, so that I will have something entertaining to write about. But sadly they are none of these things. They are just ordinary people, notable for very little other than his appalling “English teeth”. They both have the flu, neither of them drink, and they like to be in bed by 9pm. Suffice it to say, that if we were able to choose our travel companions, Derek and Helga would not be our first choice
When we arrive at the dining room for dinner, the staff have set two tables for two and one table for four, giving us the option of dining together or separately. Derek and Helga arrive first and we see that they have chosen to dine separately. Only the English would find themselves alone on a boat and chose not to dine together!


The restaurant is on the lower deck and has double doors that open onto the “promenade deck” , which itself is just a foot or two above the water. We have a table right by the open doors and it feels as if we are on a low platform floating down the river. There are no lights to be seen anywhere and we can just make out the river bank with the help of the moonlight. The sky is full of stars, and the river flows by our table. The food is mediocre but the evening is magical

Ohn Ne Choung

The village is a 45 minute walk to the nearest road, and so the most convenient transport they have is boats, and any outside life they see is brought to them by whatever boats stop at their river bank. Consequently the arrival of the Pandaw 2 is cause for great excitement and the entire village has turned out to welcome us. Actually it is almost entirely children who are waiting on the river bank, waving and smiling as we arrive.


The village has a population of 1800, and 1000 of them are children. This is the result of a village with very little electricity and only one television.
There must be over a hundred children greeting us and they are delightful. They get an enormous amount of pleasure from having their photo taken and then seeing it reproduced on the screen on the back of the camera.


Most of them are under 10 and obviously have not seen themselves very often, and some don’t recognize themselves. The other kids tell them that it is them they are looking at and there is a huge amount of giggling. There is one boy of about 10 who has a tattered New York Yankees cap, which he is wearing sideways.


Street fashion has reached a village in Burma , that has no streets
We are told not to offer the kids any money. Instead, we are asked to give any candy or money that we have to the school teacher who will distribute it later.


This way they do not learn to beg and so we have a delightful time without any of the begging that we are besieged with in the larger towns. They follow us everywhere and some even hold our hands. We do give the school teacher some money, but it disappears into his pocket and we have a sneaking suspicion that it will stay there and not reach the kids.

Irrawaddy - Our Ship

We board a ship for a two night cruise down the Irrawaddy to Mandalay , the same journey that Rudyard Kipling made so famous in his poem, the Road to Mandalay . It is a wonderful feeling to be traveling in his footsteps and the ship we are on recreates the atmosphere perfectly.


We are traveling on the Pandaw 2, which is a copy of the original Pandaw , designed in 1948 expressly for travel on the Irrawaddy . It has a draft of only three and a half feet, and what is mind boggling about the original is that it was built in Scotland and actually sailed from there to Burma with this shallow draft. The ships have been redesigned for today’s traveler and are a wonderful mix of modern day comfort with colonial design. Al l the cabins and fixtures are made of teak, the furniture is rattan and there is an extensive sundeck with teak reclining chairs. Our cabin opens onto the deck and there are two rattan chairs outside our door for our private use.


There are only 24 cabins and the ship boasts a staff of 26. However on our cruise there are just 4 passengers including us, so we get over 6 staff each!


Navigating the Irrawaddy has always been extremely difficult, because of its perilous waterways. It is a shallow and extremely wide river, full of sandbanks. There are neither locks nor weirs to control the water level, as there are on other great rivers of the world. Nor are there charts, as the sands shift with such rapidity that they would be out of date before the ink was dry. Instead they rely on a pilot ship that goes in front and marks a safe channel with bamboo poles. But even this method is not perfect, as we discover on our first night. At one point we are sandwiched between two fast shifting sandbanks that cut off our passage. We have to turn round and find another route past them. Several times during our trip we have two crew members standing either side of the bow of the ship measuring the depth of the river with long bamboo poles. They continually call out the depth to the captain and at one point we were down to less than 5ft.

Poppa - Dinner and Politics

We buy a bottle of Champagne, which a Boy named Sue has never tasted before. He takes to it like a duck takes to water, and demolishes the best part of the bottle while we are still working on our first glass. We do nothing to stop him, as his reluctance to talk politics disappears with each glass he consumes. He tells us that this Hotel would normally be packed at this time of year. Last year every hotel in Bagan was filled and there weren’t enough cars, drivers, and tour guides to go round. This year the Hotels are empty, and the tour guides and drivers are struggling to find work. He goes on to say how life is getting harder every year for the people of Burma. He, and most of the educated people, are fed up and really angry. But the poor and uneducated are not interested in politics. He claims that when the demonstrations were going on, the government actually rounded up the people from the countryside and offered them food, soap and shampoo if they would gather in the streets and shout pro government slogans, which of course they did. Buddhists believe that what ever happens to them in this life is a direct result of how they behaved in their last life. So a hard life is just seen as a penalty that must be endured, and not as something that can be changed.

We revisit the discussion of education, and he tells us that University is little more than a joke. He went to University, and all he had to do was go for one month each year for 3 years and then he got his degree. He said it was really just a party for the one month a year and he gained very little from it.

If you want to be a tour guide, you have to attend another school. The exams at the end of this course were difficult tests on your language skills, history skills and knowledge of architecture as it applies to the Stuppas and Palaces. However all he was taught in the classes were the rules and regulations that the government has put in place to regulate tourism. Consequently only one in seven passes the exam.

As the bottle of champagne empties, a Boy named Sue gets more and more depressed and ends the evening by saying that if things don’t get better soon, he will try and leave Burma and live somewhere far away, where he will be able to send money home to support his family. He is a bright, intelligent and hard working young man, and one that most countries would want to keep as a valuable asset. But we have the feeling that the Generals would not be upset to see him go.

We admire what he has achieved, and are sad for him. His life is going to be hard, and the only reason for that, is that he was born in Burma.

Poppa

We leave Bagan reluctantly. The last two days have opened our eyes to the wonders of Mynamar, and the small town of Bagan is infinitely more charming than Yangon. We could, and hopefully will, return and spend much more time here.

Today we drive for an hour to the mountain town of Poppa, where there is a temple on the top of a huge rock, with fantastic views, which can only be reached by climbing 770 steps.


There is also a Spa Hotel well known in Myanmar as a wonderful place to relax. We view the sights,


and the charming town of Poppa and then get to the hotel in time for lunch, an afternoon by the pool, and a massage and body scrub.Life can’t get much better than this.

A Boy named Sue has come with us on this trip as our guide. We are just staying one night in Poppa and so we are surprised to see a Boy named Sue arrive with a suitcase nearly as big as ours. But, as the day wears on, the necessity of a large suitcase is made evident by the number of changes he makes during the day. We count no less than 4 different outfits during the one day. He also has some super cool shades that he wears, but his eye sight is so bad he can’t actually see anything with them on, so he is constantly switching back to his regular glasses.

We soon realize that we are the only people staying at the Hotel. A Boy named Sue leaves us alone during the afternoon, but we invite him to join us for dinner. This is an extremely poor country, where many people are dressed in rags, so it seems incongruous to see a Boy named Sue appear for dinner in a very trendy pair of ragged jeans with worn cuffs and manufactured holes

Bagan and Our Guide

Our guide in Bagan immediately reminds us of Lawrence, but without the star quality. He is twenty two, tall and lean with a terrible complexion and very trendy black framed glasses. Like many of the young Myanmar men his shiny black hair has dyed brown highlights. He has on a baby blue sweater over a white shirt and dark longyi, which he wears slung very low over his hips. He carries a mobile phone in his hand, and hanging from it is a small, terminally cute, white and pink teddy bear with a heart emblazoned on its chest. The overall effect leads one to question his sexuality. When he walks, the question is answered by a delicate swaying of the hips. He flashes a 200 megawatt smile that transforms his acne scared face into a very attractive one. What he has been unable to do with his complexion, he has made up for with many trips to the dentist. His teeth sparkle and gleam in the sunlight. He introduces himself by his Myanmar name, which is, he acknowledges, too difficult for foreigners to pronounce, so he suggests we call him Soe. Well that gets us off to a good start, and from this point on we refer to him as a Boy named Sue. He is charming and far easier company than Lawrence, plus he is an intelligent and knowledgeable guide.


We spend the next two days touring Bagan. Until today, we have been unsure about how well Mynamar compares to our previous trip to Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. Today, Myanmar comes into its own. Bagan is breathtaking; a large plain of around 42 square kilometers on the east bank of the Irrawaddy River, that is home to a few small villages and over 4000 temples and stuppas. Most of them were built between the 11th and 13th centuries, although the earliest date back to the 3rd century, and we see several from the 9th century.


It all came to an end with the Mongolian Invasion in 1287. Fortunately the Mongols were also Buddhists and left the Pagodas intact. At one point there were 5000 of them, but the ravages of time reduced that number considerably. Then a huge earthquake in 1975 damaged many more. Now there are around 4,000 but many are just piles of rubble. There are maybe 2,000 that are worth a visit. We only have two days, and manage to see about 15!

Pindaya Caves - The Road There

We drive to Pindaya to see the famous caves filled with Buddhas. It is a 50 mile journey that takes 3 hours because of the appalling road. The road is in fact the main route to Yangon , but it is in terrible condition, only wide enough for one vehicle and full of potholes , with entire sections actually without a hard surface. Most of the roads were built by the British pre1948 and have not been touched since. Because this is a major route it is busy with buses and large trucks. It is impossible to pass anything unless you can persuade them, by continually blowing your horn, to move off the road. When a vehicle is coming the other way, one of you has to move on to the unmade verge. Consequently a lot of the drive involves playing the game of chicken.

A remarkable number of vehicles on the road are actually animal driven. They are either large carts piled high with produce being pulled by two oxen, or water buffalo, or a small passenger trap being driven by even smaller horses.


There are also a large number of bicycles, all of which look like antiques and are of the “sit up and beg” variety, with huge wheels. Other than that, the most common transport is a tractor straight out of the 1950’s, that has been converted into a small truck. The front part is still obviously the front of a small tractor while the back half has been transformed into a sort of flat bed truck, used for hauling produce or just as often, a large number of people.


There are very few regular cars, and those that we do see are, as before, old Toyotas from the 80’s. Our driver tells us that he bought his car used, fifteen years ago. When we comment that it has lasted well considering the road conditions, he gets quite agitated and says that it has to be repaired at least once a month. Cars are fantastically expensive to buy as they have a tax of 40% added on by the government, and to add insult to injury, we are stopped every 15 miles or so to pay a road toll.