September 4, 2007

Kyaktiyo (MYANMAR)

Pilgrimage to the Mysterious Golden Rock

Jo and I were up early this morning to check out of our Yangon guesthouse and catch a public bus to the town of Kyaktiyo some 150km away. While 150km may seem like it is within range of a day-trip, travel in Myanmar is hard-going and we set aside two full days for the trip to Kyaktiyo and back. Why would we waste two full days when we are already perilously short on time in Myanmar (only 10 days in total)? Because across Southeast Asia there are hushed references to the mysterious Golden Rock, which is a sacred Buddhist sight precariously perched on the side of a mountain. As an added bonus, a very small percentage of Asian backpackers actually make it into Myanmar and an even smaller percentage of those actually endure the difficulties of traveling to the top of the mountain. In fact, I have never met someone who has been to the rock, but have only caught second or third-hand accounts from even some of the most experienced travelers. The bottom line is the rock is something of a rarity in Asia: an amazing sight that can be enjoyed without throngs of other onlookers.

We reached the public bus station (which is inconveniently located well outside Yangon) at 8:30am, but we waited for over an hour while the bus slowly filled up before leaving. Despite such inconveniences, we didn't have much reason to complain as the locals were friendly and openly curious about the two Westerners riding alongside them. Particularly moving were the young monks (no more than 12 years old) who boarded the bus collecting alms from the passengers. Buddhism is bigger in Myanmar than any other country I have visited (with the obvious exception of Tibet), and every morning we see the monks quietly walking the streets. Families and shop-owners alike all contribute, and for those who cannot afford money they leave a pot of white rice that the monks can scoop into a bowl and save for later. It is all quite moving to see, actually.

After getting off the bus to pass a government checkpoint (all residents who enter or exit a district of the country must register with the authorities) we stopped for lunch at a small roadside restaurant. We did our best to eat the variety of dishes served, but most of the food had a fishy taste that was not particularly appetizing. In the end, we made do with white rice and coke.

We reached the town of Kyaktiyo a little after 3pm, and immediately we were greeted by a guesthouse owner offering cheap accommodation. We followed the owner on a local sawngthaew and checked into a shabby room that would do for the night. We couldn't hang around for long as the owner warned the last truck up the mountain would be leaving any second, and we didn't come all this way to miss our chance up the mountain.

So we ran, and it was a damn lucky thing we did so because as we neared the bus station the last truck up the mountain was already pulling out with dozens of people stuffed in the back. I picked it up a gear and yelled for the truck to stop (thinking all hope was lost), but we lucked out: the truck stopped and let us climb aboard. We climbed over people and dead chickens alike to find a seat on one of the wooden benches drilled into the rear of the truck, but eventually we found a foot-long stretch of wood where we could sit.

The ride up the mountain was exactly that and we had to hang on to anything we could get our hands on. The windy road was laced steep inclines, and I remember at one point Jo grabbed my arm in obvious shock. I looked to see what was wrong with her, but she just pointed to her right with a horrified look. Sitting at the other end of our bench was a young girl with chunks of vomit all down her dress and on the floor in front of her. The mother was leaning over the side (obviously sick herself), and the poor Burmese girl had to sit in her own vomit for at least 30 minutes while we slowly made our way to the top of the mountain.

Once we reached the end of the road things did not get much better: we had to walk the remaining 45 minutes up the mountain. As it was already late in the day and I wanted to see the rock without swarms of people around (which, in retrospect, was easy considering there were only a few other foreigners), I grabbed Jo's hand and started the upward climb. We silently fell into line behind a monk who was returning to his monastery at the summit. I was in the zone - intent only on reaching the top and worrying about the pain later - and in doing so I pushed Jo a little too hard. Fortunately, she endured the misery and neither complained nor quit the entire way.

When we reached the top I realized how careless I had been: our faces were bright red and our bodies were shaking uncontrollably from the cold mountain air.

We entered the only concrete building at the summit to pay the admission fee (money that goes straight to the Myanmar junta), and we were happy to engage in conversation because it kept us out of the cold. I was somewhat irked about paying a camera fee on top of everything else, but it is no surprise the government sucks tourists dry. I should be grateful because in the past it was mandatory to convert $200USD before even entering the country.

We continued down the final stretch toward toward Golden Rock, taking our shoes and socks off as is customary at all Buddhist shrines. Bare feet made us even more uncomfortable as walking on the cold, wet marble flooring was a miserable experience. There wasn't much we could say to cheer ourselves up, but after our first sight of the rock we began forgetting all our misery. Quite simply, the rock defies belief, and one must see it in person to realize the massive proportions (it is basically a sphere with an unbelievable 15 foot diameter). I have given it a bit of thought, and despite an engineering background it is impossible to figure out how it got there. I don't really buy into the Burmese explanation that says the rock is balanced using a hair of Buddha...

Along with walking around the rock and having it all to ourselves, I was able to walk out on the ledge and touch the rock. Shamefully, Buddhist tradition in Myanmar dictates that women are not allowed in the holiest of places (including certain temples and shrines), so Jo was no able to join me. It really made no difference because there was nothing magical touching the gold leafing that adorns the rock, but it did give me a chance to push like hell (nothing happened).

We backtracked our way down after spending about an hour at the summit. Everything was deserted - with the exception of a few other scraggly travelers who made their way up and a small group of Burmese juggling a soccer ball - and the entire area had a strange feel to it. The ostentatious gold leafing and marble flooring were a bit over the top.

We walked back down the mountain, caught the last truck to the village, and settled in for the night. It was a long day of traveling to make it out here - and we were leaving tomorrow morning at 6am - but seeing Golden Rock was worth it in every way.