September 30, 2007

Tokyo (JAPAN)

Introduction to the Japanese Martial Art of Aikido

I was invited to an Aikido session this morning by another Sony employee, James, who is kindly helping me settle into Tokyo. Aikido is a type of Japanese martial art that is based on strength through a relaxed state, but other than this generic bit of knowledge I had no idea what to expect from the class. I was somewhat apprehensive about the whole thing because I had never met James before and the language barrier has been a tremendous obstacle so far in Japan. Regardless, this is exactly the kind of opportunity I came looking for and nothing ventured nothing gained.

The morning weather was rainy and chilly, which ended the streak of beautiful, sunny days since my arrival. Fortunately, it is only a five minute walk to Osaki Station where I have already learned the lay-out. As silly as it sounds, being able to navigate Tokyo's metro lines on my own is a big deal because it increases my chances of blending in with the throngs of other Japanese using the world's most efficient transportation system. It is not as easy a task as it sounds: there are something like 25 different lines winding their way through the city (with most being operated by separate companies) and looking up at the tangled mess of Japanese characters is intimidating.

After a quick transfer at Meguro Station - and only twenty minutes after leaving the front door - I arrived at Ookayama (which oddly enough is where Tokyo Tech's main campus is located). I waited for James at a McDonalds across the street as it was out of the cold and offered the cheapest coffee in Japan (still $1.66USD for a cup).

When James arrived we only had time to quickly introduce ourselves before arriving at the dojo. We put our belongings aside and sat down on the mats in line with ten other people facing the master (Japanese sitting style is with feet bent underneath so that heels are touching the butt). Within seconds I was in pain: I haven't sat this way since I was in diapers, and as much as I tried to endure it (I stood out enough as it was) I simply couldn't help shifting my weight time and time again. Fortunately, such difficulties were overshadowed by the feeling of welcoming from the various masters. All three of the Aikido masters spoke great English, and they all took the time to offer me guidance while James stayed at my side for additional support.

As this was my first experience with Aikido, I was curious to learn more of its background. There was a ten minute speech at the start of the lesson that detailed the work for the day, but this wasn't translated until later by James. In the mean time, I was handed a cane sword and practiced everything from thrusts and downward strikes to pivots and pounces. Through all the exercise there was a focus on achieving greater strength through muscle relaxation and this was the most challenging aspect. In Western culture, people are accustomed to tensing up when the decisive moment arrives (think: fight or flight). However, as was re-iterated to me time and time again, the greatest strength comes from one's ability to absorb an external force while maintaining the body's natural grounded state. I am certain it will take me the full six months to learn this technique, and even though I have my doubts about how far I will progress.

The logic behind Aikido, which is solely a defensive martial art, stems from one of Sun-Tse's (the Chinese martial philosopher) ideas. It goes something like the following: It is bad to lose without effort just as it is bad to lose with great effort. Further, it is bad to win with great effort. Instead, one must learn to win with no effort. The thinking seems to be that when one can win with no effort there is no need to even fight, and if fighting is necessary one can dispatch their foe without causing resentment.

While I try to stay away from philosophical topics (they are too easy to get lost in and often bore the reader), I have been running this idea through my mind all day. In the Western world, top-competitors maintain a relaxed state until the decisive moment arrives - at which point all hell breaks loose and the 'stronger man' wins. To continue in such a calm, zen-like state during a period of conflict goes against the entire basis of survival-of-the-fittest. Can anyone out there imagine a sedate Rocky Balboa being crowned champion? How about a running back strolling calmly through the line instead of pounding bodies out of the way? 'Minimal movement winning over downright ferocity?' Doubtful, I say, but I am also very 'American' in my thinking. This is precisely why I will be going back for more lessons.

September 18, 2007

Koh Tao (THAILAND)

Day in the Life: Koh Tao

Today was a long day, and as with all long days it began at an ungodly hour: 5am. It was a bit of a rough and ready morning as the cold shower and day-old croissants did little to lighten our spirits, but such miseries can be endured when good things lay ahead. And good things definitely lay ahead.

We walked 200m from the bungalow to the dive shop where a dozen other people were also gathering around, half-asleep. At 6am everyone hopped in the back of pick-up trucks and headed for the docks up the beach. Once aboard the large dive boat, where I have spent more time aboard than I have anywhere else on the island, we had a one hour ride through choppy water to the Chumpon Pinnacle. This was to be my first 30m dive at this sight, which meant going face to face with sharks was all but guaranteed, and the early hour gave us the entire dive sight to ourselves.

On the ride over I began cringing in mock embarrassment as Jo told the rest of the boat I had actually suffered from another shark-induced nightmare last night. Most everyone aboard already knew I was terrified (and, strangely, thrilled) by the potential man-eaters, so it was all in good fun. I even went so far as to ask Ruud, in the way a timid boy asks a confidence-inspiring adult, to look after me when we go down with the sharks. As crazy as Ruud is (something I will touch on later), there is no doubt in my mind he would actually follow through.

Ruud, Loch, and I split the costs for renting a 1200baht underwater camera for the day. This was to be one of the last times we could dive together and we wanted memories of everything. When we first arrived at the dive sight there was a whale shark sighting, but it was gone before any divers were in the water. Most people were disappointed to miss it, which is fair enough, but this was not the kind of shark I was looking for on this particular occasion: I wanted the Bull Shark and Black Tip varieties.

With the excitement of seeing sharks the only thing on my mind, I performed a now-perfected front flip with my dive gear on (James Bond style.) Once I hit the water I inflated my BCD, gave the OK sign, and quickly put my mask on - floating atop the water is the scariest part for me because I feel like my body is shark bait, so I immediately rolled over and looked into the blue abyss for the sharks. Fortunately, the visibility was amazing today (35-40m), so I could see straight to the ocean floor where the monsters were circling - but none nearby.

With my regulator in, I began the descent with Mike, Ruud, and Loch all serving as my shark look-outs. The warning sign when a particularly monstrous shark is spotted (speaking is obviously impossible), is to do the following:

1) Get someone's attention

2) Point in a direction

3) Spread your arms wide (BIG)

4) Curl your right arm to your cheek, leaving it there, while your left fist goes in an out of the newly formed hole (F***ING)

5) Erect palm on the top of the head (SHARK).

You get the idea: BIG F***ING SHARK!!

We descended straight to the ocean floor, where my gauge read 34m. We were in the midst of shark territory, and Mike wanted us to do a few 'narc' tests - basically to see how much our thinking slowed  (being 'narced out') with the highly compressed oxygen we were breathing. While I performed better than I did under normal conditions there was a more pressing problem to address: sharks.

Just as Ruud began his test the first 'BFS!!' started coming over for a closer look. There had been four circling around, but this one was circling within a 5m radius, and with the camera ready we snapped some photos as it cut the distance down to only a couple meters. As the picture on the right demonstrates, I was calm as hell the whole time.

At least, I recovered quickly enough. We began touring the two large pinnacles where we saw eels, grouper, engulfing schools of fish (the kind that completely surround you when motionless), puffer fish, clown fish, anemones, angel fish, barracuda, and goodness knows how many others. It really is another kind of world below the surface, and it is a wonder to explore.

It was a fantastic dive and fully worth the early morning miseries. When we were preparing to surface, I went back on guard to make sure there were no sharks who had taken a fancy to my body (the wetsuit can be incredibly seductive.) By the time we reached the surface, the rest of the dive operators were beginning to arrive in other boats. It was a good feeling to know we beat all of them to the punch, and with eye-to-eye staring contests with a full variety of sharks, this was one dive worth smiling about.

The best part is, it was still only 9am, and much more was to follow. We rode for another hour to a new dive sight, White Rock, that had nesting grounds for trigger fish and a variety of caves/tunnels. Although I had never heard of trigger fish before Koh Tao, they are by far the greatest underwater threat. They are aggressive, and when provoked will slam into people, taking away a large chunk of flesh in the process.

The water wasn't anywhere near as clear as at the Pinnacle, but this added to the sense of excitement. One of the dive instructors felt like showing off and swam over the nesting grounds while a trigger fish began attacking. He was obviously accustomed to toying with the fish, and he positioned himself such that the attacks were always against his fins. By far the most interesting part of the dive were the numerous swim-throughs. I have become quite good at controlling my buoyancy (I only wear 1kg worth of weights and have never been below 100bar on any of my dives), so I had a good time with this.

After boating back to the docks, unloading the gear, and returning to the dive shop, Jo and I shared several Thai dishes at a nearby restaurant. We were both free to relax in the afternoon - each of us with a book on the beach - and we mixed it up with several games of pool and drinking beer with Jenny, Jemma, and Mark. I had to head back to the dive shop at 6pm for the final dive to receive my advanced PADI license. It was to be a night-time dive, which presents a rush all of its own.

Out on the water, where the black depths of the ocean loom eerily, I pulled on my wetsuit and began putting on my gear. Although our dive sight is not supposed to have any sharks, there have been sightings in the past. Making matters worse, the water was the choppiest I have seen yet, and the visibility was only 10-15m. Oh yes, and lest I forget, the only way to see anything is with a flashlight!

Below the surface we buddied up and did our best to stay alongside our instructor. Getting lost out here was easy because all it took was for someone to have their vision blocked by a reef wall, and there was no hope of ever finding anyone. What nearly happened to me a couple of times was swimming straight into a rock or piece of jutting coral as it can be difficult to keep track of where everything is. Fortunately, the dive wasn't entirely fruitless as we caught sight of a puffer fish, an intimidating moray eel, and a massive sting ray that we followed around for a while. The sting ray's motion is an intriguing sight as its glides underwater.

When we finished the dive we all exchanged high-fives in congratulations for passing our advanced course. I am now a fully certified advanced diver with the ability to dive on my own anywhere in the world. I cannot wait to get back to Florida where we have Tiger Sharks, the occasional Great White, and a collection of Spanish galleons wrecked off the coast.

When we arrived back at Hat Sai Ri, we all went back to our own bungalows for a quick shower and change - arranging to meet up in an hour at one of the popular bars along the ocean.

I was walking on air with excitement for the day, and when I found Jo we wasted no time in celebrating. We were eventually joined by an eclectic mix of nationalities: Dutch, German, Chilean, Mexican, American, and British. The people we have met on the island have been amazing, and tonight was our big celebration. We went from pounding local beer (Singha was cheapest) to slamming down buckets of vodka Red Bull to laughing through shot after shot of Tequila. When 3am rolled around and we needed food, the ever-reliable 'pancake man' was out plying his trade at the local quickie mart. I ordered a banana/Nutella pancake that was the icing on the cake of a perfect day.

Although I hesitate to repeat some of the stories I heard through the night (particularly about Ruud), I will at least tell two of the more tame stories about him that were formed over the past week on the island. The first starts with his massive dirt bike, which he rented for the week. I rode on the back once, and he nearly killed me. The problem is he has no fear of flying down the island's shoddy dirt roads. Anyway, only two days after renting the motorbike, he somehow managed to drive it off the pier and into the ocean. The best part is, he immediately swam down to drunkenly retrieve it, and over the course of several early morning hours he continued diving down with a gulp of air to push it ever closer to shore. Eventually, he got it back on land, but the keys were long-lost. The bike has been hidden away for the past few days so it can dry.

Another funny story also occurred after a night of drinking (surprise, surprise). Ruud was unwinding on the porch of his bungalow at 4am when two Swiss guys returned from the bar. Ruud told them to keep it down, and when they paid him no attention he decided to teach them a lesson. As soon as the two Swiss went to sleep, he untied their wire for hanging clothes and lashed it around the door. He went to sleep without giving it a second thought, and only relayed the story to me the following day when we saw them angrily complaining to the bungalow owners. Just as with the motorcycle incident, he got away scotch-free.

Just so Ruud doesn't sound too irresponsible, although he surely is, he is a multi-millionaire entrepreneur back in Holland. He is the largest domestic distributor of flowers, and if it wasn't for his Dutch friend (an affable sports journalist), I never would have known any of this. It really was a weird night.

Looking back on everything, I can think of no better way to spend 24 hours of life.

September 16, 2007

Koh Tao (THAILAND)

Koh Tao Update

The past few days have been nothing short of amazing. So far, my mornings have consisted of two dives on the boat (up to a maximum depth of 18m, or 40ft ), lunch is always at a new Thai restaurant with a beautiful girl, the afternoons are either occupied by diving or work in the classroom, and the evenings, well, I don't really remember most of them.

I am now working on my advanced PADI diving certificate along with the Dutch entrepreneur, Ruud, and the German engineer, Lach. It enables us to go down to 30m (100ft), and this is a big deal because it takes me face to face with sharks. Just off the coast of Koh Tao is one of Thailand's best dive attractions: The Pinnacle. On my first dive here, when I was restricted to 18m, we could see massive sharks circling on the ocean floor. One of the smaller sharks even swam up behind us, and by the time my instructor noticed the shark, it was only 2m away from us. It was a massive rush, and fear was the last thing on my mind. Seen underwater, sharks are by far the most graceful creatures, and despite their obvious power and deadly nature, it is clear they want very little to do with divers - too many bubbles and too much gear. So, while I am still terrified of swimming in the surf, diving is something different altogether.

Otherwise, our beach bungalow is still unbearably hot in the evenings and we have visitors every so often. For example, I went in to use the shower this morning, and just above the shower head was the fella shown to the right. He seemed like he meant no one any harm, but he was also a lot bigger than the picture gives him credit for (easily over 18").

The other big problem are the mosquitoes. We have a net over the bed and we light incense in the evenings, but the mozzies still want to get in. The newest solution seems to be spraying the entire net with deet. It probably isn't the healthiest way to go about this, but it lets us sleep at night.

September 13, 2007

Koh Tao (THAILAND)

Arriving on the Island Paradise of Koh Tao and Diving Lessons

Our train from Bangkok pulled in at 4am this morning, and we spent the next few hours hanging around both the train station and a local bus terminal. We had a ferry ticket for the 7:30am departure for Koh Tao, which is one of the smaller and more serene of Thailand's gorgeous islands. Jo has been here on a number of different occasions, and she could fully vouch the island is free of the obscene party atmosphere found in places like Koh Samui, Koh Phangan, and the more obvious one: Phuket. Plus, Koh Tao ('Turtle Island') boasts the East coast's best diving, which along with relaxing on the beach, is how we were planned to keep ourselves busy for the next 10 days.

The ferry to the island took nearly three hours, but on the way we got in touch with a dive operator, New Way, that Jo has been coming back to for years. They picked us up at the pier and whisked us down to the nicer end of the island's coastline at Hat Sai Ri. I signed up for a PADI open water course, which would begin later in the afternoon, and received not only a discounted price (since Jo and I are together), but also a free bungalow for as long as I am training. It really is a good deal, and was probably helped by the fact that we are visiting just after the end of tourist season. So, we threw down our stuff in the small, non-air-conditioned bungalow and headed out for a swim. The water was magical, and exactly the kind of beach one imagines on an island paradise.

For lunch, we met up with Jo's friends, Jenny, Jemma, and Mark (the ones she was with in Cambodia), but I had to leave early to begin my lessons. My instructor was a Scottish guy named Mike, and he had all the tell-tale attributes of a dive instructor: athletic, talkative, funny as hell, and still suffering from a hangover. Also in the class were a couple Irish girls, a German engineer, and a Dutch entrepreneur. It was certainly an eclectic group, but for today we were confined to watching videos and copying each other's worksheets.

Tomorrow the diving will begin, but in the mean time, it is all about partying the night away.

September 12, 2007

THAILAND

Flying to Bangkok, a Great Thai Lunch, and a Train South in Thailand

With hardly enough time to finish a cup of coffee and a plate of dry toast, we caught a taxi from the guest house to the Yangon international airport at 5am this morning. It was sad to look back on an amazing time in Myanmar and know that it is now confined to memory, but such is the way life works until one comes across another opportunity to make the most of. Anyway, we landed in Bangkok on a cheap AirAsia flight and were picked up at the airport by Jo's parents' driver, Kun Jack. There is nothing like airport pick-up in a Jaguar, especially considering we spent the past couple weeks riding on the back of horse-carts, pick-ups trucks, and shoddy boats.

We arrived at Jo's parents place and had some time to check email (Myanmar blocks nearly everything on the internet). I wrote the obligatory emails to my parents - basically telling them I spent the past two weeks in Myanmar, and have now made it out safely. It is always easier with parents on the other side of the world because they are oblivious of the serious turmoil that exists in many of the countries through which I love traveling. Jo was in an opposite position with the front page of the Bangkok Post covering the protests and crackdowns in Myanmar on a daily basis, but the important thing is we were careful and made it through safely.

After compiling our Myanmar photos and showing Jo's mom, she took us out to lunch at a fantastic Thai restaurant. Thai food is easily on the world's best cuisines, and because much of the food is absurdly spicy it probably ranks as my favorite. The only down-side was that I had to give up my newly-formed habit of eating with my hands, but it is probably a necessary sacrifice to survive in the 'real-world'.

Later in the evening Kun Jack gave us a ride to the Bangkok train terminal where we relaxed with cold beers awaiting our 8pm departure. We were fortunate enough to book before leaving for Myanmar, so we had tickets for two 2nd Class sleepers and a comfy night ahead of us (all things considered). The picture to the right shows what the inside of the train looked like, but what cannot be seen is the pull-down upper bunk. It felt like sleeping in one of the storage compartments on airplanes, but it was still a relaxing night of sleep.

September 11, 2007

Bagan (MYANMAR)

The Enigmatic Mt Popa and Returning to Yangon

Tomorrow morning we have an early AirAsia flight from Yangon to Bangkok, which makes today our last full day in Myanmar. It is amazing how quickly time (and countries) can fly by. Yesterday, we booked an afternoon flight back to Yangon, which left this morning free for one final adventure. We decided to book a taxi for a half-day trip to the highly religious sight, Mt Popa. It has been described as "the Mount Olympus of Myanmar," which is quite a title to live up to, and seemingly worth the hassle of traveling 75km to begin the climb.

From the word go I was not feeling well this morning, and by the time we reached the base of Mt Popa I was in real trouble. I hurried from the car to the nearest outhouse and puked out everything inside my body save my intestines. It must have been a mix of something I ate, dehydration from yesterday's day of touring temples, countless sleepless nights (I have had a real problem for about a year now), and typing on my laptop on the way to the peak (trying to keep these journals up-to-date). Whatever the case, Jo sat around for a full hour while I tried re-hydrating and eating smalls bites, only to have everything come back up.

Eventually, I convinced Jo to start climbing and promised to follow when my health returned. This was a slow process whereby I climbed like I was allergic to heights and took frequent rests. Fortunately, there was plenty of activity along the way to keep my mind occupied: monkeys, both small and big, were scampering about every which way. There must have been several hundred of them in all, and their shit was all over the 700-odd steps. As Mt Popa is a Buddhist sight, footwear is forbidden, and I spent most of my time choosing the path with the fewest layers of dried feces. In fairness, the monkeys did make for some good photos, but there is nothing more heart curdling than when there is dried crap between your toes.

Shown below is a perfect example of the evolution of the human species: from downright ugly, to what is hardly an evolutionary improvement, to the masterful final product:

When I finally reached the top I was dead to the world, and we spent most of the time sitting around watching the Burmese pilgrims feed the monkeys. It was frustrating to see because feeding the monkeys only encourages them to steal and hassle people, but this never seems to enter peoples' way of thinking (despite numerous signs backing up my argument). On the way up, I even saw an attendant fire a sling-shot at a particularly aggressive monkey as it fled away. I never realized this, but slingshots can really hurl a good-sized rock with a staggering amount of force. I heard the rock crack off aluminum, meaning it missed the wily monkey, but had it struck its skull there would surely have been one less monkey at Mt Popa and a large mess of blood to clean up.

The best views came as we were driving away from Mt Popa, which was kind of a shame. We had been warned in advance that the sacred peak is not as inspiring as one might hope, but it is a big 'sight' and it fit perfectly into our schedule.

On the way back to the town of Bagan we stopped at a peanut farm on the side of the road and munched on a variety of nuts while drinking cold tea. The owner tried to sell us a pack for 1000kyat, but we knew locals only pay 100kyat per bag (we once bought some on a bus-ride). This made the owner laugh, and in because he was so friendly we ended up buying five packs for 200 kyat each. We are close enough to the end that we must get rid of all our spare kyat - there is no exchanging the currency outside Myanmar.

We could only grab a quick lunch in Bagan before meeting yesterday's horse-cart driver for the 45 minute ride to the local airport. This was probably one of the strangest experiences of the entire trip: riding a horse cart to an airport. Only in a place like Myanmar is such local charm possible. On the way, we turned on Jo's iPod and hooked up a pair of speakers so we could listen to an entire Red Hot Chili Peppers album. It was one of the most relaxing moments of the summer.

We landed in Yangon by 6pm, and once more it was pouring down rain. Oddly enough, the only time it ever rained while we were in Myanmar was when we were in Yangon, so the capital city was not particularly high on our list of 'favorites'. (In fact, it was probably at the bottom of the list.)

September 10, 2007

Bagan (MYANMAR)

Touring the Oft-Overlooked Temples of Bagan

BAGAN PHOTO GALLERY

The over-night bus from Mandalay arrived in Bagan at 4am this morning, and as I described in yesterday's post, it was impossible to get any sleep on the journey. Groggy-eyed and in need of a place to crash, Jo and I stumbled along the still-dark streets of Bagan in search of a hostel for the night. We were dropped off in the Nyuang U district, which is where most of the budget accommodation is located, so despite it being off-season there was no dearth of options. We settled into a quiet room on the second floor of the May Kha Lar Gust House, and passed out within seconds.

I barely made it through one cycle of REM sleep because our alarm went off at half past eight. Today was to be our big day of exploring Bagan's temples, and there wasn't room in our crazy Myanmar schedule to have a lie in. We charged our batteries with two pots of coffee and a full breakfast before the kind Ms Cho (owner of the guest house) drew out a detailed map for seeing the temples. We also used her to make two airline reservations to Yangon for the following afternoon. It is scary to think we will be leaving Myanmar in just 48 hours.

The typical means of transport to see the temples, excepting those who have the luxury of 'vacationing' rather than 'traveling', is to hire a horse-cart for the day. With over-night buses full of rice sacks we definitely don't fall under the 'vacationing' category, so a horse-cart it was. Our driver, Ahmey, is a 22-year old university student who speaks great English and loves Western music. Our horse, Rambo, wanted to go his own way for the first hour, but for the remainder of the day he demonstrated he was lacking none of the bravado of his namesake, Silvestre Stallone.

There is no easy way to re-cap the fifteen temples we stopped to visit throughout the day, so I will instead give a quick history of the temples and point out the photo gallery will give the best idea of what we saw for the day...

The scenery of Bagan is composed of over 3000 temples dotting a 42-sq-mile flat landscape just east of the Ayayarwady River. The best way to visualize what this means is to imagine "all the medieval cathedrals of Europe sitting on Manhattan Island". The temples rival Angkor Wat in terms of size, history, and potential for mind-blowing awe. The more impressive temples mix Hindu styles from India with localized Buddhist imagery. Bagan entered its golden era with the conquest of Thaton in AD 1057 and became one of the strongest powers in all of southeast Asia. It was over the next 200 years that over 4,400 temples were built (it was over-run by the Mongols of Kublai Khan in 1287).

Just so this post isn't lacking in the normal personal recount (I understand a photo gallery isn't much in the way of a travel journal), I will add a few personal touches - basically things that stick out in my mind from the long day of touring. I must start with how annoying it was to take off my shoes at every temple we came across. Although the floor was far cleaner than what we found in Yangon, it was still a nuisance, and in several of the temples there were bat droppings covering the floor. Something else that sticks out in my mind were all the vendors who wanted to sell us something. I understand it is off-season and money is hard to come by, but we were hit with the same tactics on the way into every temple and on the way out. Fortunately, the Burmese people are unconditional in their kindness and the vendors were never aggressive, but it was tiring to deal with nonetheless.

The last thing that sticks out in my mind were all the large sculptures of Buddha. I cannot begin to count how many we must have seen, but it got to the point where we would skip rooms just because staring at another 15m gold Buddha lost all sense of uniqueness. I do not mean to take away from the sanctity of what I saw, but it was a long, hot day and oftentimes it felt somewhat redundant.

Finally, I must say the sunset views over Bagan make visiting Myanmar worth anyone's while. The sun danced across the green and sand colored landscape with the shadows of the temples growing in stature as the sun descended. It was really a sight to behold.

When we reached the guest house it was already 9:30pm, meaning we spent a full 12 hours of touring. This would be an exhausting day for anyone, but add in a night of minimal sleep on a dilapidated bus, endless bouncing from riding a horse-cart on dirt roads, and climbing up and down temples, and we were understandably wiped out. Nonetheless, we charted a taxi for the following day so we could visit the divine Mt Popa, and picked up our afternoon plane ticket for Yangon.

September 9, 2007

Mandalay (MYANMAR)

Surrounding Sights of Yangon: Inwa, U Bein's Bridge, and Sagaing Hill

Similar to our time at Inle Lake, Jo and I hired a driver for the day to take us to the sights surrounding Mandalay. As the former capital of the country, there is a wealth of interesting sights that promised to make for an interesting day-trip, so at 8am we climbed in the back of a small truck and set out.

The first sight we visited, called Mahamuni Paya, was an unexpected stop recommended by our driver. Also known as Payagyi, it is one of Myanmar's more famous Buddhist sights (so it was a good thing we didn't miss it). The paya's fame stems from the highly venerated Mahamuni Buddha image, which is a 4m-high seated image of Buddha cast in bronze during the 1st Century AD.

Once inside the paya, our driver motioned for me to follow him up a staircase into the inner sanctuary where the statue of Buddha is located. Once more, only men were allowed to enter, and it was customary to purchase small gold leafing to cover the Buddha. One side of the gold leaf has an adhesive, and I stood in the middle of the crowd of men covering the statue in gold. The pictures above give an idea of how much gold leafing is on the statue (remember it is actually bronze underneath).

The next stop was Sagaing Hill, which is 20km south of Mandalay. The panorama from the top of the hill offers a view of some 500 temples scattered along the banks of the Ayeyarwady River. Of course, it was another steep climb to reach the top, but by this point in our travels it has become second-nature. "Slow and steady wins the race," and all that.

At the top of the hill were several payas, and an interesting collection of large bronze frogs that are used as collection boxes for donations. By now it should be more than obvious what I mean when I say the Burmese love their Buddhist sights to be adorned in gold.

Our driver spoke a fair bit of English, and he offered to take us to a local restaurant for lunch. We ended up at a small cafe that was less a restaurant and more a watering hole with cheap Mandalay beer on tap. We invited our driver to join us and I think it was a source of great pride for him to be seen eating and drinking with us. The food was not particularly good, so we pushed it aside and settled on pints of beer for lunch. It probably wasn't a bright idea to be drinking with our driver, but he seemed like he was handling himself just fine so we kept drinking. At the table next to us was a group of construction workers, and they had a bottle of alcohol that they used to top off each glass of beer. I can't imagine whatever they were building will stand up for very long.

After lunch we drove to the ancient city of Inwa, which is cut off from roads by rivers and canals. We bought a seat on a local boat that runs to and from the island and headed across the Ayeyarwady River.  Once on the other side we were approached by a group of men, all offering to show us around the ancient sights on horse carts. We ended up choosing the cart with the healthiest looking horse as some of them looked small and malnourished.

Our first stop was at Maha Aungmye Bonzan, which is a brick-and-stucco monastery built in the early 1800s. It was my favorite building of any I have seen thus far, and despite suffering from a fire it maintained all its charm. In truth, the charred coloring actually made it look better. Underneath the monastery was a set of dark passageways that were fun to explore. I had to be conscious of where I stepped since Myanmar has some of the world's most poisonous snakes, but in truth I doubt there was any real risk.

We next continued on to Nanmyin, which is a 27m-high masonry watchtower that is leaning considerably. We didn't notice the tilt until we were at the top, and this made it all the more disconcerting. Supposedly, the precarious tilt was caused by a 1838 earthquake that destroyed much of the surrounding palace. It seemed somewhat ironic that this watchtower was designed to protect the rest of the palace, and yet through an unforeseeable event like a natural disaster it is only the watchtower that survives. Maybe it is not really that ironic, but I don't know what else to say about the place.

The last major stop around the ancient city of Inwa was Bagaya Kyaung, which is a monastery built in in 1834 and made entirely of teak wood. There are 267 teak posts supporting the structure, including one that is 18m (60ft) high and 2.7m (9ft) across. The monastery has not had much restoration work, so the wood all had a faded look that enhanced its appearance.

I was feeling fairly sick from the bumpy horse cart ride - likely  a combination of the bouncing, beer, and heat - so I lied down under one of the pavilions while Jo did most of the exploring. She came across a small Buddhist class in session, and hurried back to lead me. The class consisted of no more than a dozen young pupils, and was led by a monk. The boys looked like they were only 8 years old so they didn't speak any English. Instead, they sat Indian-style (cross-legged) on the wooden floor repeating the teachings with their papers laid out in front of them. Although the kids paid them no mind, there were bats flying around in the upper cavities of the ceiling and bat droppings littered the floor.

Our final stop of the day was at the world's longest teak bridge, which stretched 1.2km across the Ayeyarwady River. We were told there were great chances to see locals in a relaxed setting, but we never imagined we would end up being the ones drawing all the attention. In fact, people from the entire Mandalay area come to the bridge on weekends to relax and interact, and the sight of two young foreigners like us was a big deal. We were approached by several groups of monks who all wanted to practice their English, and although this can be tiring after a long day, we always entertain them. Once others saw us taking the time to chat, and thus being approachable, they came in listened in (although they did not look like they understood a word being said). What was even funnier was the scores of girls who wanted to have their picture taken with us. We posed for over a dozen pictures because there were groups of people, and we could not refuse after agreeing to the first one. An actual line formed on the narrow bridge while people waited for their turn to have a photo with us, and there was not much we could do about it except smile and go along for the ride.

We returned to Mandalay at 7pm, and after a quick bite to eat we headed for the long-distance bus station. Most travelers opt for a day-trip on the boats that head South on the Ayayarwady River, but it seemed silly to waste an entire day on travel. So, we bought two tickets for an over-night bus to Bagan and were in complete ignorance into what we were getting ourselves. This bus was ancient, and the entire back half was piled high with sacks. This left the front of the bus for the dozen or so locals and an Italian traveler to share between ourselves, but the worst part was still to come: there were sacks of rice between the seats and in the aisles. There was no way to put your legs down, so everyone on the bus ended up sprawling out in any direction they could manage. It was not an easy night.

September 8, 2007

Mandalay (MYANMAR)

Walking Tour of Mandalay and Climbing Mandalay Hill

The over-night bus arrived in Mandalay, the former capital of Myanmar, at 4am this morning. I was groggy eyed after a sleepless night and didn't feel like dealing with the touts who swarmed the bus when they saw two westerners getting off. These men must have been sleeping at the bus station because there were at least seven of them holding up signs for various guest houses. I ended up picking the Nylon Guest House because no place with a name like that could be too expensive. It was a 45 minute ride into the city, and we had to wait around for a while before being admitted. We were given a cheap room on the fifth floor which was more climbing than anyone should have to endure at 5am, but there was a great view that would make up for it later.

After making up for a few hours of lost sleep we set out on a walking tour of the city. We started off eating lunch at a Shan restaurant (ethnic group in Myanmar) called Lashio Lay. There were a dozen dishes (mostly curries with rice and vegetarian options) on offer, with fans to counter the heat and attendants donning yellow, green, and red Shan flags. The prices were cheap, but it has become habit to drink Mandalay Beer at every meal and this inevitably raises the average cost. Fortunately, the beer has a 7.5% alcohol content (compared to, say, 4% for Budweiser) so it goes to work quickly. When the temperature is in the 90s (35 degrees Celsius) cold beer is a real must-have.

The streets of Mandalay are much quieter and more laid back than those of Yangon. More importantly, the city is infinitely cleaner and isn't plagued by constant rain.

We passed by several interesting temples and pagodas, such as the shaded and peaceful Shwekyimyint Paya, where we were able to rest from the oppressive heat. I tried sitting down with another fortune-teller at this particular Buddhist complex, but he seemed more interested in my money than offering me any sound advice. I really have had enough with fortune-telling nonsense.

In the center of town there was a permanent market spanning half a dozen blocks and selling everything under the sun. Although the style was far different from that of Inle Lake (this was a much larger 'city market'), it maintained the same 'local' feel. This time I was in the market for hot chilies, and I found what I was looking for at the stall shown to the left. I wanted to show off my masculine side, so I strolled through the baskets looking for the biggest and hottest chilies. Then, when I had the attention of everyone around I popped two of them in my mouth and hid the pain from my face. There were sounds of astonishment (which made my day) and I proceeded to buy a bag full. The sad thing was I spent the next 30 minutes in a heavy sweat with a severe case of the hiccups (likely my body's attempts to regurgitate the chilies).

Despite a lay-over at an ice-cream parlor, we were worn out by the mid-afternoon heat. Jo and I went inside the beautiful Eindawya Paya (yes, yet another golden pagoda) where we joined a group of locals resting on the covered marble flooring. I passed out while Jo read her book. When I woke up, she was playing peek-a-boo with a shy group of boys who were obviously curious of the blonde-haired blue-eyed foreigner. I quickly chased them away out of jealousy.

As it was getting late in the day, we hired a trishaw (bicycle powered transport) to Mandalay Palace and Fort. It was a ride straight across town, so we had to switch trishaw drivers halfway. I don't like riding under someone else's power, but this is the local custom here and I figure it is better he has my business, and thus my money, than nothing at all. Besides, I always give a generous tip because the drivers are often covered in sweat.

Mandalay Palace and Fort occupy the center of the city and the compound is surrounded by a square moat, 3.2km on each side. It is really a sight to behold as the 70m-wide moat leads to 8m-high walls and there are armed guards at both the East and West entrances. The background of the crimson and gold palace is somewhat depressing as forced labor was used. In fact, in the rebuilding efforts young males had to contribute one day's labor every month. Such a background took away from the grandeur of the complex because for every amazing building one could not help thinking of the man forced to build it.

The other strange aspect of the complex was that foreigners were not allowed to veer off the main road. There were camps positioned throughout, but armed guards stood at all the intersections and did not allow us past. They were quite serious about us not speaking to anyone, so we couldn't help wondering what is still going on behind the scenes.

The sight-seeing wasn't done yet as we decided to climb Mandalay Hill for a sunset view of the surrounding valley. If I had known what a long climb it was beforehand I might have opted for a ride to the top, but in my ignorance I figured we could storm up the hill.

I couldn't have been more wrong. Although it is only 230m high, reaching the top required a 45 minute barefooted walk up never-ending steps and past numerous shrines. It really was rough going after a long day of walking the city, and Jo was well into her "You're going to pay for making me do this" stage. The picture to the right shows her pouting, although I tried my best to make it up to her by paying $1.50USD for a Coke.

Fortunately, the views from the top were worthwhile, and the picture to the left should speak for itself. Once again, I was amazed to see there was an actual elevator one could use to ascend the final several flights of stairs (after taking a truck up the remainder of the hill). I fail to understand how anyone could travel in such a way as it defeats the entire purpose of seeing and experiencing a country. Why not just buy a postcard from the top or take a helicopter directly there?

Our night was still far from over. We rode in the back of a small truck to a restaurant on the other side of town where we were served a variety of curry and vegetables dishes (more Shan food). We were basically killing time before going to see the internationally renowned Moustache Brothers. They are a group of three brothers who have been doing stand up comedy in Myanmar for generations, but they reached the world spotlight when two of the brothers were taken by the military junta for making political jokes. Two of the brothers were then imprisoned and forced to do chain labor for six years before international pressure led to their release. The biggest campaigners on their behalf were Bill Maher (American comedic commentator with a show on HBO) and Bob Reiner. They were even mentioned in the Hugh Grant film About A Boy, which was something I found amusing.

Anyway, the brothers now perform out of their garage, and there is constantly someone surveying the street to make sure it is safe to continue. They have been performing for several years now, so I was not too worried about being arrested. Only one of the brothers, Lu Maw, could speak English, and his vaudeville act was rooted on using quirky sayings that only native English speakers should know. It was a great deal of fun, and everyone was beside themselves with laughter during the 90 minute performance.

September 7, 2007

Inle Lake (MYANMAR)

A Day-Long Boat Trip Around Inle Lake

Yesterday afternoon we booked in advance a local Burmese for a day of boating around Inle Lake. Before leaving to meet him this morning, we tried eating the complimentary breakfast at the guest house - omelets, bananas, mango and papaya, coffee, and orange juice - but we spent most of the time chasing away the many mosquitoes that infest southeast Asia.

Mosquitoes really should be cause for serious concern given the recent outbreaks of dengue fever (not to mention malaria), but for whatever reason it seems too trivial to worry about. Irresponsible and negligent? Probably, but I use mosquito repellent and usually sleep under mosquito nets. The rest is out of my hands.

We met the boat driver at 7:30am near the canal docks that lead to the large water mass comprising Inle Lake. Our driver knew maybe three words we could understand ("Speak no English" kind of thing), but he was incredibly friendly and set us up in cushioned chairs on his 20 foot long-boat. There was a noisy motor on the back that did most of the propelling, but every time I took my camera out to snap a photo he noticed and slowed down without asking. The scenery was beautiful - the lake is hedged in by mountain ranges - and we passed boat after boat full of fresh fruit and vegetables. Apparently, most of the food is grown in the surrounding area and brought to the various villages to be sold in the markets.

The lake trip was to be a full day spent touring the lake with our boatmen taking us from location to location. We had tickets for the overnight bus to Mandalay, leaving at 6pm, so our only restraint was being back into town by 4pm.

Our first stop on the day-trip was at one of the larger villages surrounding the lake (and one of the few located on dry land). We put-putted our way through the small canals -passing a maze of stilted houses as shown to the left - until we reached the village dock. Climbing out of the wobbly boat was a tricky process and the knowledge that the lake also served as the sewage system for the nearby homes only added to my desire to stay dry. Fortunately, there were no 'incidents'.

We proceeded to follow our driver up a dirt path, and looked on as he pointed in a vague direction and muttered something about a 'market'. We smiled appreciatively, without really understanding where we were supposed to go, and started down the path.

One of the first things we passed was a large primary school that draws students from the surrounding area. All along the road were young boys and girls dressed in longyis and walking in the kind of small childhood groups that exist everywhere. We stood at the school's gates watching the kids play before class started.

Unsurprisingly, we drew attention from the kids who noticed us; they seemed to be every bit as curious of us as we were of them. This was a pleasant arrangement: we were both free to study one another without feeling awkward about it.

We ended up taking a picture of a few stragglers who arrived well after their peers were called into class . I wish I spoke better Burmese because the kids were all laughs and probably had a great story to tell about being late (the three of them were clearly up to no good). Nevertheless, it felt strangely nostalgic to see the 'Drugs Free School' sign.

We continued onward in search of the market, trying our best to follow the flow of locals at each fork in the road. We ended up hearing the market before we could see it, and as we approached a smile swept across my face. This was the kind of tucked away market that is difficult to find nowadays as they become tourist magnets and lose their charm. This place was the polar opposite as swarms of locals were everywhere and were surprised to see two westerners among them. This is always the best indicator of authenticity.

There were men having their hair cut under the tarp enclosures, fish being sold fresh from the lake (in other words, still flapping around), vegetables of every shape and color, make-shift noodle tables selling something that looked tasty but smelled awful, semi-permanent stalls selling embroidered fabrics and, most importantly, a shop selling longyis. I have been looking to buy one since I arrived, and today I finally had my moment of glory. The only trouble was I couldn't tie the longyi without the help of the locals and it kept coming undone. Groups would gather around when I struggled with the tying - getting a real kick out of the whole thing - and I was happy to play the role of the curious, yet interested, foreigner.

We spent far longer at the market than the boatmen expected, but it was simply too interesting to rush through. Our next destination took us straight across the lake where large villages stood towering over the water on wooden supports.

Our driver must have been operating on commission because he took us to a variety of traditional handicraft shops. Each place offered a walking tour of the facility, in order to see the authenticity of whatever it was they were making, but the prices were always inflated. It was bad business sense to sell fabrics at a price 10 times that found at the market we just visited. We saw silk weaving (if I had a penny every time I have been to one of these I would be a rich man), cigar rolling, and even boat building. The only place at which we bought something was at the 'cigar factory'. Although I am not a smoker I was curious to try out one of the cheap cigars. It probably wasn't the best of ideas as the cigar was quite potent and had a porous filter.

We ate lunch at a restaurant directly across the waterway from a large Buddhist temple called Phaung-Daw-Oo Pagoda. As always, the pagoda was covered in gold, and although it attracts swarms of visitors (locals and tourists alike),  far more interesting was the golden boat located nearby. I really fail to understand how so much money can be invested in something as trivial as a golden boat, but again I am from a different background. Perhaps the Burmese would fail to understand how the United States could 'invest' billions of dollars every week on a war in Iraq. Fair enough, I suppose.

The next place on the agenda was Shwe Inn Thein, which is comprised of hundreds of ancient stupas, and is tucked away in a winding canal with overhanging vegetation. The experience of getting there was worthwhile in itself, and at one point we passed a man using a blowgun to shoot fish in the water. Seeing such a technique was a first for me, and I am not really sure how the darts are ever recovered; it could probably use a lot of improvement.

There was a long walk from the dock to reach the stupas. Most of the way was under a concrete overhang with abandoned tables lining both sides of the walk. When we reached the end there was a main Buddhist temple with a local Burmese man playing some kind of a guitar and collecting donations for the restoration of the stupas. We left a few hundred kyat each before venturing out into the surrounding area where the stupas speckle the landscape.

There were a handful of workers doing restoration work on the more aged stupas while others worked to construct new ones. Unsurprisingly, the new stupas were all covered in gold, and each had a small plaque with the name of a contributing donor. The nationalities of the donors ranged from Singapore to Sweden, and everything in between. I suppose these people must have visited the sight and chosen to 'adopt' one, otherwise I have no idea how they would hear about such an opportunity.

The quirkiest part of Shwe Inn Thein was all the dogs that lived there. Most were ragged looking, but there were new-born dogs that still had a strong charm about them. In all, there must have been over 40 or 50 dogs around (I counted 24 at one point, and that was with hardly any effort). I am not really sure why I mention this, but perhaps if someone comes here in the future they will have the satisfaction of saying 'Well, would you look at all those dogs! That damn guy was right!'

Or maybe I am just being overly optimistic and the dog story bored the hell out of you.

We had to cut the last sight of the day out of the itinerary because we were running out of time. Supposedly there is a Buddhist temple that trained cats to jump through hoops and perform tricks. It sounded like an amazing thing to see and was one of the places we were most excited about, but catching the bus to Mandalay obviously took precedent.

We reached our guest house at 4:30 in the afternoon, quickly grabbed our sacks, and hustled to the sawngthaew station. After a bit of waiting around we caught a lift to the 'main' road where we waited for the evening bus. It was running a couple hours behind (meaning we could have seen the cat performance), but we finally boarded at 8pm. Jo and I were crammed into two seats on the bouncing bus, and as is always the case in Southeast Asian countries, there was blaring music the whole way. Neither of us got much sleep, but I had a particularly difficult time with the lack of leg room. The most important thing is we would arrive tomorrow morning in the former capital of Mandalay.

September 6, 2007

Inle Lake (MYANMAR)

Flying to Inle Lake and Taking Time Off to Relax

Today Jo and I were flying from Yangon to Inle Lake, and so we took an early morning taxi to the airport to catch our 7am flight. We drove straight past the airport we came in through (which was quite modern and gave us a good first impression of the country) and instead arrived at another airport several hundred meters up the road. Inside the 'domestic terminal' were four lonely booths set up for each of the four domestic carriers in Myanmar. We handed over our receipts and were required to check our backpacks on the plane (the overhead compartments were quite small). Rather than grabbing our bags and putting them on the automated belt that exists at airports around the world, a man came over and simply carried them directly onto the airplane - a process he repeated for each of the 20 or so passengers who were on our flight. I suppose this was as good a sign as any of how modern domestic air travel is in Myanmar. When it was finally time to board we walked out the runway door and 10 meters ahead our airplane was waiting. This was my first trip on a propeller-powered passenger plane (how's that for alliteration) in a long, long time, and given the frequency of accidents in Myanmar it wasn't a heartwarming prospect. It would be just my luck if, for my first domestic flight since coming to Asia, there was a crash.

Thankfully, and somewhat predictably, everything went smoothly. We made a stop at Mandalay (the former capital of Myanmar) where some passengers alighted and others boarded. I was able to have a free chat with the pilot as we all stood on the tarmac waiting around - it was really quite informal. I suppose when there is only one runway at each of the airports in the country there isn't much need for rushing.

We landed at Inle Lake's airport at around 11am, and after gathering our bags we sorted out a lift to the lake area. We ended up having to hire a local driver for $15 bucks (the price of gasoline has gone up recently which is what sparked all the protests), and the driver proudly got us there in just under one hour. This was quite a feat considering all the traffic on the disastrous dirt road - not car traffic, mind you, but herds of cows.

By far the most depressing sight  was the chain-gang labor we passed along the road. There were shirtless men bound by chains being forced to break rocks with heavy pickaxes. I had heard this kind of forced labor goes on in Myanmar, but I never expected to see it first-hand. It was not a pleasant thing to see, but I was too weary of the guards to dare taking a picture.

When we arrived at the Inle Lake area we were understandably tired of early mornings, extensive travel, and fried rice dishes. We checked into a guest house and headed straight for a nearby area where a western restaurant is positioned on three corners of an intersection. We ended up at a wood-fired pizza place, which made up for its lack of business with some of the best food, the friendliest service, and easily the most interesting decor of any place in Myanmar. The owner/cook must have been bored from the lack of tourists (it is low season) because he came over and engaged us in a 30 minute chat. He said his brother started the restaurant with him - learning how to cook pizza and pasta during a summer spent in Italy - and ever since they have been turning out some of the best pizza in the country. I can vouch for the claim, and I can also vouch for the ice-cold beer that warms even the most tired traveler's spirits. Unfortunately, the prices weren't exactly bargain-basement and after a few hours we found a new watering hole that was equally devoid of life. The great part of this new place was the collection of age-old National Geographic magazines that we were free to browse while we spent the afternoon and evening drinking Mandalay Beer.

It was good times at Inle Lake, but traveling and sight-seeing kicks off again early tomorrow.

September 5, 2007

Yangon (MYANMAR)

Catching a Bus to Yangon and the Magnificent Shwedagon Pagoda

After a full day spent traveling and climbing to Golden Rock (quite a feat considering we left Yangon the same day) we were understandably groggy this morning. Were it not for habit, getting out of bed at 5am would have been difficult. The sad truth is that after two weeks of traveling together another early morning is simply par for the course.

We caught the first sawngthaew of the day to the Kyaktiyo bus station, and from there we hopped on a bus heading toward Yangon - via the busy city of ??.

When we finally arrived in Yangon it was 2:00 in the afternoon and we were starved for food. We decided on a Thai-Burmese restaurant that is recommended in my guidebook as we were too tired to deal with scouting out a good place to eat. The food was pricier than anything we have had thus far - granted, our past few meals were all meant to be eaten with our hands - but it made up for all the hardships we endured (or maybe it was the beer that deserves credit for that).

We hung around the deserted restaurant chatting for a few hours as it was yet another (!!) rainy day in Yangon. Eventually, we decided it was time to see Shwedagon Pagoda, which is what Myanmar touts as being its most magnificent sight to behold. While the collection of gold-adorned stupas, temples, and shrines all form an impressive mini-community, such ostentatious displays of wealth and prosperity in a country as poor as Myanmar is sickening.

Here are a few cases in point: 1) At the top of the main stupa is a collection of jewels that can be seen using binoculars (or pictures in the museum). When I say 'collection' I am being unfairly modest: there are fist-sized diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and other valuable 'rocks' to make the Queen of England blush. The value of these jewels alone could modernize the country in one fell swoop - taking Myanmar from being one of Asia's poorest to the land of growth it deserves. 2) The government actually built an elevator to spare tourists the hassle of walking up the steps to the pagoda (surely this money could be put to better use when the streets are all overflowing with sewage), and 3) Like so many other Asian countries (such as Thailand, China, and Cambodia), the populace are inspired by Buddhist sights adorned in gold. From the garish Golden Rock (it would have looked far better left alone as a dull rock caught in the middle of a miraculous balancing act) to the sight of gold temples next to shacks I fail to understand where people's priorities lay. Surely when children and families are starved for food and dying of malnutrition people would question the logic of wasting all the money on impractical displays of wealth? Not so, and as a result I don't enjoy gawking at such things.

Regardless, I keep such opinions to myself whenever I speak to a Burmese as these sights are of great significance to them - I will attribute it to a difference in thinking between some countries in the East and those in the West.

We hung around Shwedagon for a couple hours while two local Burmese acted as our tour guides (we didn't have much say in the matter). Jo was approached by a university student who was formerly a monk while I had a now-out-of-work university professor from Yangon University. My guide told me he was formerly a history professor who was removed from his position when the junta took power. I didn't know whether or not to believe him, but he spoke great English so I am sure there was an element of truth to what he was saying. His tendency to bring up politically sensitive issues put me off as I was not about to get involved in that mess. For one thing, I don't know if he is a government spy, and if he isn't then he should be more careful about discussing such matters.

After Shwedagon, Jo and I had an early dinner and an early night as tomorrow morning we have **surprise surprise** a 7am flight to Inle Lake.

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.

September 3, 2007

Yangon (MYANMAR)

Touring the Outskirts of Yangon by Train

The main item on the agenda for the day was riding a local train that does a three hour loop around the city of Yangon. We were told about this train by an Austrian couple we met in southern Laos, and since it is designed solely for locals it sounded like the perfect way to discover the 'real Yangon'.

We arrived at Yangon Central Station at 10am, and after paying for a ticket we waited along the side of the tracks amid a group of curious locals. We have been quick pick