Travel Like a Local

Category: myanmar-burma

  • Life and Beauty at the Temples of Bagan

    The alarm clock set at unholy hours was becoming a habit, by 5.30am we were already riding our bikes down a pitch black road. All we could see was some people, waiting for a lift like ghosts in the dark, and the silhouettes of stupa as the black of the sky started turning dark blue. By the time we reached Shwe-San-Daw Paya temple there was already enough light to distinguish the pagodas complex around us.  We climbed the impervious steps to the terraces, finding the best spot to observe the spectacle of nature undisturbed. Us and a hundred people around us.

    The hue of the sky and the candy-floss mist inundating the temples in the plain beneath us was a sight that left everyone speechless. As the burning globe emerged from the verdant eastern hills the atmosphere felt suspended, like if everyone there was holding their breath. The magic was broken by a minute Chinese girl who dropped her phone on the head of a scary looking gigantic Dutch woman, standing on the lower terrace, with a loud crack. A fight was highly likely, but disappointingly nothing happened so everybody rushed off to their tour buses and bucket lists. We and few others indulged a little longer to admire the flock of hot-air balloons raising and slowly gliding over the Old Town.

    We spent the rest of the day aimlessly cycling on dusty paths, choosing the least busy way at each intersection, which is a very good way to explore Old Bagan for those who don’t have any particular archaeological ambition. We stopped for lunch at an excellent vegetarian restaurant, which had the typical Lonely Planet crowd but was nice especially considering the tourist-hassling, hard-selling area. We ate a delicious lunch within the idyllic frame of a garden populated by fearless birds and water-lilies, shielded from the noise and dust.

    The way back to Nyang-U was much, much longer than planned. We chose to cycle along the spectacular old road, the one closer to the river. The many temples and stupas scattered either side of the road were washed by the orange light of sunset. It’s pretty easy to climb them to admire the sun fall behind the rugged horizon but we pushed on until we reached Shwe-zi-gon Paya, a thousand-years-old golden temple.
    As if we hadn’t visited enough sacred sites for a day we park our bikes and step in. The only two foreign tourists in the complex, we were quite standing out amongst the flocks of locals in their festive attire meandering in the richly decorated courtyard. A group of them even insisted to take photos with us and of us. It felt a bit awkward but also, I admit, rather gratifying.

    I’m not sure I managed to properly convey our experience but I hope it’s clear that it was a pretty intense day in terms of sightseeing. It doesn’t happen every other day to see such a vast expanse of heath, palms and ancient temples. Only that few of them were actually ancient. As a matter of fact most of them were brand new, built by the military dictatorship with modern bricks and unfashionable concrete. Does this knowledge lessen the value of our memories? Surely we had a great day and the whole area is stunning, but knowing that the former inhabitants had been forcibly pushed out to New Bagan is bothersome. With this dilemma resonating in my head I have no doubt about the richest invaluable moment in Old Bagan…

    Looking for a place where to tuck into the fried delicacies we had just bought we stopped near one of the few trees, seeking repair in its meagre shadow. We asked permission to a woman camping nearby with her family. The private property concept in Myanmar is tricky to grasp, but we asked out of courtesy. Not only they had no problem with us camping there but they invited us to their table, gave us dishes and a cloth and served us green tea and tea leaf salad. We were shocked by such a selfless display of generosity, even if our communication was based mostly on gesture and very, very basic English. When the time to leave came we were baffled, “why did they do that and what shall we do now?“. We thought that simply leaving would have been rude, but also offering them money would have been offensive, tarnishing the beauty of their gesture. Only now, few months later, I’m coming to terms with this perplexity. What they did is perfectly natural, and maybe we too should take a bit of that spontaneity back.

  • A Day at the Markets of Mandalay

    A Day at the Markets of Mandalay

    Our second hotel in Mandalay, the Sahara, didn’t host the same crazy roof parties as the first but turned out to be a good deal: cheaper yet equally comfortable, closer to the Royal Palace and to the AirAsia shuttle bus. Breakfast here was also remarkable: a bit of continental, a timid tentative of British and, mainly, fantastic noodles and rice. With a full belly we ambled towards the Zegyo Market to dip into the local culture.
    Before we found the market, the market found us: as we were still counting the streets we realized to be surrounded by fruit stalls and busy people hurrying back and forth. What a beautiful mess! It’s difficult to render the extent of the chaos reigning over the narrow alleys of the market with the tidy, rigid structure of a computer font. Bikes and carts were pushing their way through the stalls while pedestrians negotiated the little space left available. Kids were sleeping in wicker baskets, impervious to the bedlam, as their mums communicated with us trading smiles and gestures for pictures.

    We hate the “zoo approach” of tourists in exotic countries so Martina refrained from taking photos of people and only asked them if she could shoot their products. But they insisted that she took photos of them, and of us with them. Some of them also took photos of us and after every snap we showed each others the results laughing like old friends. Unsurprisingly, and to my relief, the fact I was wearing the traditional Longyi attracted lots of favourable attention. I might have looked like a tool to a western eye but most men gave me an approval nod pointing at my knot, as they know how hard it is to master that skill! Also wearing a skirt with that hot weather is incredibly comfortable, who knew!?

    In the afternoon we headed to the jade market, the biggest of its kind in the world and the hub where most of Burmese money is traded every day. It’s probably not a good idea to buy there unless you know exactly what you are doing, as there are lots of fake stones and skilled sellers. Our driver Sean (I don’t know how to spell his name but he liked the idea of being compared to Sean Connery), told us many interesting details on Mandalay and Burmese life as he pedalled us in his trishaw along the dusty roads. A trishaw is an old Chinese bike with a hand-made sidecar attached, it can be very heavy – I couldn’t lift one – but they’re much smoother to ride than expected. I pushed Sean and Martina for a few blocks without a drop of sweat (maybe just a little bit), even though it was quite hard to control.

    It’s quite a long way to the market so we stopped to give Sean a break at the Shwenandaw monastery. The building is incredible, all made of teak, carved with a meticulous care for details and, despite being the most beautiful thing we had seen in Mandalay thus far, it was completely deserted. Just the two of us, not a tourist, not a monk…not even Sean.

    We finally arrived at the market after its activity had reached the peak: people were leaving, stalls were emptying, only few were still working the stones while the majority was busy discussing the day’s business and gambling. It’s interesting to see how gems are crafted with rudimentary tools and precise skills. There are some dodgy characters around giving the market an interesting shady vibe, without feeling threatening. More for locals than tourists, as a matter of fact – once more – we were the only tourists around.

    Back to the hotel we waved goodbye to Sean, he’s a really good man and I would suggest anyone to take a trip with him. You’ll find him stationed next to the Hotel Sahara entrance.
    We started walking towards the Kywe Zoon Jetty which is where the ferry to Bagan departs but also, according to the guide, offers a majestic show on sunset with the water buffaloes dragging logs across the calm waters of the Ayeyarwady river. With the disappointing Icelandic seals still vivid in our memories we didn’t expect any buffalo. In fact we didn’t see any, but the spectacle still exceeded our expectations. In an almost surreal scenario, from our vantage point above the river banks we could see the lives of those dwelling in bamboo huts washed by the ocher light of the evening.

    Again the darkness surprised us, it seems that in Myanmar the passage between day and night is less gradual. The idea of walking the 22nd road back in such condition was not the most appealing but one thing one never needs to worry about in Mandalay is finding a mean of transportation. In 15 minutes we were back to our hotel, after an exhilarating ride on two scooters, whizzing in the rush hour traffic.