A golden future for Burma?
With
moves towards democracy and the end of a decade-long tourism boycott,
Myanmar is 2012’s most talked-about destination. Lyn Hughes found a
country in waiting
Then,
a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon – a beautiful, winking
wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither Muslim dome
nor Hindu temple spire… The golden dome said, This is Burma, and it will
be quite unlike any land you know about.’– Rudyard Kipling, Letters from the East
Kipling
was bewitched by Shwedagon Paya, the magnificent golden pagoda that
dominates Yangon’s skyline. Arriving in Burma’s former capital on a
stormy, rain-lashed night, the golden glow acted as a beacon as the taxi
headed towards my hotel, and I caught my breath too.
The
oldest pagoda in the world, it has had a tumultuous history. It has
been ravaged by earthquakes, used by the British army as a fortress and
been at the centre of many key political events. These include the day
legendary General Aug San threw a mass meeting here in 1946, demanding
independence; 42 years later his daughter, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi,
addressed half a million people here, demanding democracy. In 2007,
Shwedagon was at the heart of protests against the military regime, part
of the so-called ‘saffron revolution’, when monks led the uprising.
At
breakfast, the morning after my arrival, my table at the hotel looked
over to the pagoda’s distinctive shape, while an official-looking car
with a stars and stripes flag was parked in the car-park below the
window.
A special envoy from the USA
was in town to meet Aung San Suu Kyi, and he was having a breakfast
meeting in my hotel. Back in the mid 1990s, Aung San Suu Kyi’s late
mother-in-law, Josette, rang me up and explained that Suu Kyi had called
for a tourism boycott, as tourists holidaying in Burma would help both
to legitimise the despotic regime and to put money into their pockets.
She asked us not to promote Burma in Wanderlust.
In
November 2010, things started to change. Elections were held and, while
not completely democratic, a new civilian government was formed to
replace the military junta. Suu Kyi was released from house arrest.
Despite refusing to take part in the elections, her political party, the
National League for Democracy (NLD), announced that the full boycott of
tourism to Burma should be lifted, and that those wishing to visit
Burma ‘in solidarity with the people’ are now welcome.
So,
this seemed finally to be the time to visit. And as a companion I took
Amrit Singh of tour company TransIndus. Amrit was born in Burma and had
for years been in the pro-tourism camp, providing as much money as
possible went into private, rather than military, hands.
Precious heritage
Our
first stop had to be the great golden pagoda that is such a potent
symbol of the country. I removed my shoes and socks at one of the
entrances (in the 19th century, British refusals to do so helped spark
the first Anglo-Burmese war), and took a lift up the steep hillside to
the temple complex.
The stupa at the
heart of the pagoda is covered in gold plates, completely smothering the
brick beneath. The umbrella towards the top is covered in diamonds and
rubies, the tiers above are gold plated and jewellery offerings hang
from the shaft above, while at the very top, the orb is covered in over
4,000 diamonds and is tipped with a 76-carat diamond.
“Last
time it was restored, people from all around the country queued to
leave their jewellery as offerings,” explained Kyi Kyi, my local guide.
This has been the case since the 15th century, when Queen Shin Sawbu
donated her weight in gold. Today, the complex is dotted with vending
machines selling gold leaf, typically 300 or 500 kyat: around 30p or 50p
at the black market rate (which everyone uses; the official rate is
seven kyat to the US dollar, while the street rate was around 700!).
While
volunteers were collecting donations, worshippers were making offerings
of flowers, food and gold leaf at eight separate shrines, arranged
around the stupa like points on a compass. These shrines, it transpired,
related to the day of the week on which worshippers were born – Burmese
astrology splits the week into eight days by subdividing Wednesdays
into mornings and afternoons.
Each of
the eight day-signs corresponds to a cardinal point, and at temples one
can pray at the point (north, north-east, south, south-east, etc)
corresponding to one’s sign. Modern technology (a smartphone) revealed
that I was born on a Saturday, making me a naga (or dragon). My ruling
planet was Saturn, and the point I needed to pray at was at the south
west of the stupa.
Families sat in
the shade of the stupas, or inside the covered pavilions, eating lunch. I
had several friendly offers to join little groups: bowls of rice or
noodles were waved in my direction. The temples here are not somewhere
to just pop into; families or groups of friends will spend the day here,
turning it into a social occasion.
Buddhism
here is a living, breathing religion that underpins everyday life, and
that can lead to an interesting conflict at historical sites. Visitors
expect to see sites preserved as they were, whereas Buddhists want to
build new monuments or restore existing ones to gain ‘merit’ for their
next life.
Nowhere
was this more apparent than in Bagan, 600km north of Yangon, where
nearly 3,000 monuments stretch out across a plain close to the broad and
shallow Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River, forming one of Asia’s most
magical sights. However, the restoration of some of the pagodas by the
government or individuals, has led to this incredible site being
declined Unesco World Heritage status to date.
A
handful of the pagodas, most of which date back to the 11th to 13th
centuries, draw the crowds, but the majority are left in silent
contemplation, just waiting to be explored on foot, by horse carriage or
on bike.
In Bagan, all the talk was
of Suu Kyi’s visit a few weeks earlier, her first trip outside of Yangon
in many years. “We told her that we need tourism,” said one local. Suu
Kyi responded by giving the firmest indication yet that she is in favour
of sensitive tourism, saying: “Visits of tourists should benefit the
local communities and cultural resources.”
Busy path to Nirvana
At
times, I felt I was following in The Lady’s footsteps. Visiting the
Bagan River View Hotel, splendidly set on the banks of the Ayeyarwady, I
was shown the room, or rather villa, where she stayed during her visit.
Like
her, I headed out on an excursion to Mount Popa. This may be a devoutly
Buddhist country but there is also a strong belief in nats, a type of
spirit. There are 37 Great Nats, and numerous others that act as
guardians of water, rocks, trees or households. Mount Popa is considered
home to the most powerful nats, and so is an important place of
worship.
En route, we stopped at a
roadside stall selling palm-sugar products and peanut oil. An elderly
man was sending an ox around in circles, grinding peanuts to make peanut
oil. The ox looked sleek and well-fed, and no wonder, as it got fed the
leftover peanut paste. This was a family-run business, one of several
along the road.
Further on, groups of
children or families would linger by the roadside, selling gasoline or
fruit, or hoping for sweets or even money to be thrown by passing
families on their way to Mount Popa. It was a festival day and so
thousands of pilgrims had made their way here earlier in the day.
We
saw no sign of pilgrims until we turned off the asphalt and onto a mud
track that led towards Mount Popa. The track up was muddy and churned
up, and thronged with gridlocked vehicles of all shapes and sizes, as
pilgrims headed to the monastery or away. Meeting a jam, we opted to
divert to a nearby hotel instead, leaving the mayhem behind.
From
the terrace of the lovely Popa Mountain Resort, we could see all the
way to Bagan and the Ayeyarwady River. Behind the hotel, we caught
tantalising glimpses of the volcanic peak of Popa itself. Below us was
the focal point of the pilgrims; the iconic rocky outcrop of Taung
Kalat, the monastery and shrines atop it, glinting like a beacon despite
the overcast day. We later walked to its base, past abandoned vehicles
that had got stuck in the mud or the traffic.
A
shrine at the base contained images of some of the nats. Nearby a
charismatic holy man had set up camp in a lean-to. “It takes a long time
to reach Nirvana,” he smiled.
Life on the lake
I
found my own personal nirvana at Inle Lake. Arriving after dark, it had
been a joy to open the shutters the next morning to be faced with a
tranquil view of water and reed beds. A boat picked me up from the hotel
jetty, and I immediately got to see some of the famed local
‘leg-rowing’ in action. The fishermen have long practiced a unique
rowing style that involves standing at the stern of their boat on one
leg and wrapping the other leg around the oar. Standing allows them to
see beyond the lake’s reeds and floating market gardens, although why
they use a leg rather than an arm was not clear.
Although
I was in a motor launch, the crew used the old-fashioned method to
approach and leave the hotel, so as not to disturb the guests. We
quietly passed through narrow channels until we reached a spot where the
engine could be switched on. Children in smart uniforms rowed their way
to school, and women were busy cultivating floating gardens, pulling
themselves along on small boats. This was a true water world: the
houses, schools, even whole villages perched on stilts.
Everywhere was a hive of activity. Out on the open lake, fishermen were casting and pulling nets, leg-rowing between spots.
In
the stilt villages, open doors revealed craftspeople weaving or working
with silver or wood. We disembarked at a market, hawkers having rowed
in alongside us, pestering us while we browsed the souvenir stalls. This
was perhaps the most touristy place I was to visit, but the attention
was good-natured and the shopping worthwhile.
It
was sunny for the first time in days, catching me out, and I
appreciated why so many of the women had faces covered in thanaka, a
paste that is derived from the ground bark of a type of acacia. Part
cosmetic, it also acts as a sunscreen and a protective barrier. It
helped explain the good skin of so many of the women.
Back
out on the lake, we stopped for welcome refreshments at a sanctuary for
Burmese cats, a café in a beautiful colonial house helping to support
the cats in their large run and separate sleeping island. Felines
featured too at Nga Hpe Kyaung, or Jumping Cat Monastery as it is
colloquially known. Here, the monks have trained the resident cats to
leap through hoops.
The particular
monk responsible for this was away for a few hours, so we never saw the
moggies in action. Instead, we studied the formerly neglected shrines
and images that the monks take in from different parts of the country
and restore.
Monks are an integral
and important part of life throughout Burma. In one monastery in
Mandalay, we came upon a monk teaching a class of children too poor to
go to school (schooling is free but the uniform, books and materials are
not), while toddlers sat around at the back as if at a crèche. At a
monastery in Bagan, a dozen small children were setting off in a line
for the daily collection of alms; they were refugees from Karen state,
still in conflict with the government.
However,
the biggest congregation of monks was to come. Over 1,200 of them are
based at Mahagandayon Monastery near Mandalay, and queue each day at
11am for their lunch. Some tourists had gathered too to watch the
spectacle, but the monks seemed relaxed about the cameras clicking as
they filed past. One kindly looking monk stood amongst the small throng
of visitors, answering any questions.
“Don’t
you get fed up with the tourists taking the photos?” I asked. “No, for
we hope they will learn something about Buddhism.” He turned the
conversation to more serious matters: “Are you from London? Most of the
other monks follow Arsenal or Manchester United, but I’ve always liked
Chelsea!”
Scent of freedom
Burma
had indeed been unlike any other land I knew. I’d seen surprising sight
after sight: the world’s longest teak bridge near Mandalay, fishermen
standing motionless and up to their waist in water nearby; a cave system
stuffed full with over 8,000 Buddha images; groups of young men playing
chinlone, cane-ball, a game in which they walk in a circle, kicking a
rattan ball with their feet or knees.
Back
in the Yangon area, we visited members of Amrit’s family. It was five
years since her last visit and they kept complimenting her on her
weight.
“Wa-laia-ta! Everyone is
saying how fat you are!” said a beaming relative. A rather embarrassed
looking Amrit explained to me that this was a way of telling her how
well she looked. More relatives and family friends arrived.
I
idly flicked through a pile of newspapers, unable to understand the
words, but interested to see photographs of Suu Kyi in most of them. In
one, she sat in a meeting with the new president, her father’s portrait
on his wall.
One of Amrit’s family
was a journalist, and I asked whether change really was happening. Some
of the people I had talked to had been rather cynical about the new
government’s intentions (“Same people, just different clothes”). But
here the view was rather different: “Things are definitely improving
since the change of government.For instance, we have much more freedom
with reporting. Some people are resistant to change and there will be
obstacles, but things are changing, it will just take time.”
Inevitably,
the subject moved to tourism. And I heard what I had been told by so
many of the people I had met. “Tell people to come. We need them.”
The author travelled with TransIndus on a Burma Classic private tourHUONG VIET TRAVEL – MEMBER OF PATA, ASTA, IATA
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