I’m currently in a cybercafe in Mandalay, Myanmar. Internet access is slow and painful so this is just a quickie to let you all know I’ll be back online properly around Thursday next week once I get to KL.
The gangsta rap on the stereo’s just been replaces by Black Lace‘s Agadoo so I’m most definitely off…
I was up for the now-standard Mayanmar guest house breakfast just after 7:00 and was joined by my Slovenian friends (Anya and her boyfriend, who’s name I forget and for which I apologise profusely as ever). We jumped into the blue taxi they’d pre-arranged with our first stop being the Mahamuni Paya. This is the most venerated of the Paya (Buddhist temples) in the area, the centrepiece being a large Buddha statue which has had so much gold leaf pressed onto it for luck that it now looks almost disfigured.
The two men in our group were waved up some steps where we were handed some of the gold leaf which we pressed in place (for 200K each), then given a sprinkle of holy water for luck. Unfortunately, Anya couldn’t join us as women aren’t allowed onto the main dais. This is fairly common in a lot of the religious buildings in Myanmar.
Lots and lots of teak
We next stopped at U Bien’s Bridge in Amarapura a few kilometres outside of Mandalay. This is the world’s longest teak bridge measuring 1.2km or 1.3km, depending on whether you believe Lonely Planet or our taxi driver. Most tourists gather here for sunset, but we’d decided to stop by as there is more to see in the area during the day. We walked the length and back as locals asked to have their photos taken with the very tall man and the other man with the strange beard.
It’s an impressive structure though it wobbles a little in places. Some of it is open-sided, some stretches have wooden guard rails and one length has concrete barriers at the sides. You can see the ground and water beneath your feet for the entire length of the structure, though. Unnerving if you don’t like that kind of thing! During wet season I’d guess that the water is very close to the underside of the bridge. Right now, a lot of it was green.
Relaxing as dad paddles
At 10:00 we ensured we were back over the bridge and at the nearby Ganayon Kyaung where it was feeding time for the monks. Which sounds a bit weird, but you when you see around 1000 monks queuing up for lunch you can agree that it is indeed a bit weird. Well, I suppose you have to feed them somehow. Inevitably, this is a huge tourist draw and the place was quite busy.
Many foreigners were armed with cameras the size of me forearm and didn’t think twice about standing in front of everyone else (and the monks) and jamming the lens into some robe-clad novice’s face. The temptation to “accidentally” bump into one or two of these idiots in the hope they dropped their precious Nikons was strong. The monks were remarkably tolerant about the whole thing, but then… they’re monks. That’s what monks do, I suppose.
Millions of monks
After lunch – theirs, not ours – our driver next took us to Sagaing. This is another nearby town, this one filled with stupas (over 500 of them) and temples many of which are up a lot of steps on the multitude of peaks within the town limits. We scaled one of these for the view which was very impressive. A shame that the air around here is rather nasty so there was a permanent haze from the middle distance onwards.
Back at ground level, our driver took us to lunch near the river. Food was good and plentiful for a very low price, and I got to play with a scruffy puppy. We had to get a boat across the river to Inwa (1000K return) and then a horse-cart to lug us around the sites (4000K for two people, they happily took three for 6000K). You do need the cart, though – it’s quite a sizeable place and on foot you’d be all day.
Cheap seats
Some of the sights require the $10 ticket with Anya’s partner had, but neither she nor I did. The teak monastery of Bagaya Kyaung is one of them, so he headed in while we milled about outside. He didn’t sound overwhelmed when he came out, to be fair. Next up was the old watchtower (free admission) which is now rather squint as a result of an earthquake. It’s structurally sound (probably) and you can get right to the top for some nice – though hazy – views.
The final stop on Inwa was an old temple or monastery. Anya managed to sneak in as the person checking the tickets wasn’t being too fussy, but I stayed outside and played with a few of the local kids instead. They’ve got a line of asking for “stylo” then “shampoo” then “bon-bon” or “parfum”. For some reason all these requests are in French. As ever, I denied them completely but had great fun mucking about for twenty minutes or so before my Slovenian comrades returned.
Sunset and monks
Partway round, we bumped into a Canadian girl – Nada – who’s working at a university in Busan, South Korea. As it happens she’s half Croat, half Slovenian and in eight years living in Asia hadn’t met anyone from her maternal homeland before. We all met up in the restaurant where we’d had lunch back on the other side of the river and chatted for a while.
Nada hopped on her hired motorbike while we boarded our taxi thinking we were going back to the hotel. However, our driver had assumed we wanted to see the sunset back at the teak bridge, so there we headed. And bumped into Nada again. We walked the length of the bridge again, but this time settled down for a beer at the far end before returning as the sun dipped below the horizon.
This time we did actually head back to the guest house where the Slovenian contingent had to grab their bags and leg it to the bus station for their trip to Bagan.
His jokes must have been bad
I decided to spend the evening seeing the Moustache Brothers, a comedy troupe who the ruling body really don’t like. To the point where two of them have done hard labour for, basically, poking fun at the Generals who hold the country at gunpoint. Fortunately, all three are currently free though their performances are limited to being within the bounds of their own home and only to foreigners. The fact that so many outsiders visit is probably the main reason they’re not being locked up again. The performance lasts just over an hour and costs 8000K these days.
*chugchugchug*
On the way, my trishaw driver dropped me off at Aye-Myit-Tar (number 530, 81st Street between 36th and 37th Streets) for dinner. I have a feeling this may be a charity restaurant of some description as all of the staff were young boys maybe around 14-18 years of age. They were also all very good-natured, polite and liked football! I went for fried chicken and was astounded when this resulted in no fewer than nine plates, dishes and bowls being placed in front of me. I mixed and matched the various sauces, vegetables, gravies and spices with my rice and ate until I couldn’t force anything else down. And there was still as much left as I’d already eaten. The bill, including a drink, was a ridiculously low 2500K.
And on to the show. When I arrived I was greated by Lu Maw, one of the troupe and the centrepiece. He’d run the show single-handed while his brother and cousin were incarcerated. He’s a really bouncy guy with a ton of charisma and he loves to show off all the souvenirs and bumph they’ve collected over the years. Aung San Suu Kyi watched one of their shows shortly before being placed under house arrest and her picture is displayed in a few places – which in itself is probably an arrestable offence.
Inwa
The show itself, though, wasn’t really that great. It’s a mixture of traditional Myanmar dance/music and some political stand-up which isn’t really that hard-hitting once you already know the state of the country. The dance and so on just isn’t my thing and I guess I prefer the likes of Mark Thomas for my anti-establishment giggles, but then Mark Thomas has never faced hard labour with drug traffickers just for telling the Labour government what a bunch of idiots they are. On this score I certainly can’t find fault with Par Par Lay, Lu Maw and Lu Zaw. It was a pleasure to meet them. And I’d still recommend you go and see the performance. After all, it’s only my opinion.
Another thing that was brought up by a tri-shaw driver I spoke to was that they now charge 8000K per show. Once upon a time, it was a $5 donation. His issue was that these guys are now making a fortune from tourists, but it never seems to trickle out of their hands and down to the poor. Of course, maybe they’re saving up for lawyers for the next time they’re arrested, since there are really good trial lawyers you can find at sites like www.mirandarightslawfirm.com/trial-attorney/ online.
By now I was nodding off and was glad to be tri-shawed back to the hotel by my friendly driver. Time for a quick read of Jules Verne and a good night’s sleep.
Well, I just had to give this item that title, didn’t I? I was up at the crack of dawn again to get an early breakfast and gather the last of my things. As I waited for the bus, I played badminton with the young daughter of the guest house owner before she was rushed off to school.
Just after 7:00 the bus appeared and I jammed myself into seat 9 for the bumpy ride east then north. Overall, it was pretty uneventful. At our lunch stop, I shared the packet of biscuits I’d bought with a hungry dog. For the rest of the trip I just fidgetted, listened to Hatebreed on my MP3 player and became happier once we hit the main Route 1 and I could read again.
We got to the Mandalay bus terminal at around 15:30 and I was ushered straight onto a motorcycle. It cost me 2000K to get to the Royal Guest House as recommended by both Lonely Planet and the owner of the Pyinsa Rupa. Nice enough place, and at $5 for the room with a separate (hot) shower wasn’t a bad deal.
Some of you may have been lucky enough to get an email today. There’s a cybercafe locally which has a connection running at a tolerable speed. It’s the Cyber P@lace on 80th street, just up from the cross street that the hostel is on. When I logged on, I had over 150 emails waiting (plus 289 spams) so if you didn’t get a reply then you’ll have to wait until I’m in KL next week. Sorry!
Mandalay is numbered like most big American cities – all the streets have numbers rather than names except for a handful which have both. The higher numbers (60-ish upwards) run north/south and the lower numbers east/west. As each corner I passed seemed to be well labelled, it does make getting around a little simpler. Then there’s the constant offers of transport – tri-shaws, bikes, taxis and just guides touting for business for today or the next day.
Rock God
For dinner, I stopped at a street place more or less opposite the ET hostel around the corner. Indian food knocked up on a couple of coal-fired stoves. My chicken biriani came to a whopping (not) 1500K and was enough to fill me up. I ended up having two discussions with people while I was there. One an obvious Muslim chap with the acompanying beard who asked if I was Muslim because of mine. When I said I wasn’t he then tried to convert me.
The second was an English teacher who’d lived in Mandalay all his life. He teaches nearby and – it always seems to come up – is also a Muslim. Like all Myanmarans (is that the adjective?), though, he’s just pleased to see tourists coming to visit his country and he was very interested in my opinion of it so far.
Back at the hotel I got chatting to a Slovenian couple who’ve booked a taxi for tomorrow to take them around quite a few of the sights. They were looking for someone to split costs with and I’ve happily jumped in. 15,000K for the taxi for the day, split three ways. Not bad.
So my rough schedule is: the surrounds tomorrow, cinema (really!) and Mandalay Hill on Friday with perhaps the Moustache Brothers in the evening, and up very early on Saturday to see the golden Buddha down the road being washed at 4am followed by a trip to the island off to the west. My bus back to Yangon is already booked for Saturday evening.
For those interested, there are now three buses heading from Mandalay to Yangon each day. They all take roughly 12 hours (although it could be up to 15) and they depart at 15:00, 17:00 and 17:30. This means that if you catch the first one, you could get to the bus station in Yangon then catch a short taxi ride to the airport in good time to check in for the early Air Asia flight to Bangkok. Had I known about this earlier, I’d have stayed in Yangon a day more back at the start of the trip and done that instead.
Ah, well. Then I’d not have met Mark, Anna and Michael!
My alarm went off at 05:15 and I got dressed in the pleasant coolness of early morning. The staff weren’t up yet, and I crept out for the short walk to the Shwezigon Paya. Locals claim this is the model for the larger Shwedagon in Yangon which I intend to visit on Sunday.
It was still dark when I arrived, leaving my sandals under a market stall and using my headlamp to get me up the corridors to the main square where the huge golden structure is located. It’s lit all around by lamps, and at the foot of it some children were prepareing for morning prayers with one of the senior monks. I simply settled down in a nice location and snapped photos as the sun rose and the colour of the golden surface changed in the light.
As day breaks
An hour or so later, with plenty of nice pictures, I walked back to the guest house for a decent breakfast. Tea with condensed milk in it is definitely the way forward.
At 9:00, I picked up a bike for the day at 1500K. I think some places drop the price as low as 1000K, but all the bikes seem exactly the same. I had 4400 or so temples to pick from and I decided to make things easy. Stop at a couple early on then aim for the four listed in Lonely Planet as being the pick of the bunch: Ananda Pahto, Dhammayangyi Pahto, Gawdawpalin Pahto and Thatbyinnyu Pahto.
Another temple
The first two places I stopped off at allowed you to climb up to the top, something you can’t do at the more impressive structures. However, both also resulted in two unwanted “guides” who, in exchange for showing me round something the size of a small house, expected me to buy sand paintings which I really don’t have an interest in even though they are quite pretty. I don’t have a home to hang them in so why would I buy them?
My trusty bike
As the weather warmed up, I tried to spend more time inside the temples but again I was constantly being pestered to buy things so instead took to arriving, snapping pictures of the outsides and cycling off again. To be honest, with the exception of the likes of the Ananda which has some nice interior decor, this is the best ploy anyway. The vast majority of the larger temples’ interiors seem to consist of a white corridor encircling the centre with a golden Buddha on each side. Once you’ve seen one, they all start to look very similar.
Externally, details vary although there are essentially only a couple of designs. It’s the sheer number of different temples that makes the region impressive. Although the cost of building them all did bring the country into ruin. Whoops.
Eyesore
One thing that really shouldn’t have been built is the viewing tower that the government erected in pretty much direct contravention of the UNESCO protection status that Bagan enjoys. It’s like adding a summer house to the Angkor Wat, or carving a McDonalds into the sandstone of Petra. It’s taller than any of the buildings in the area and pug-ugly to boot. However, it’s $10 a throw to climb up and from what I saw is serviced on a regular basis by busloads of Japanese and Korean package tourists. No independent traveller I met or saw went anywhere near it.
Nice man with puncture repair kit
As I headed back to town along the north-easterly road from New Bagan to Nyaung U, I felt like I was back on the bus again. As well as the crappy road, there was a regular bumping. Uh-oh. Flat tyre. Fortunately, I happened to be near a little stand at the side of the road staffed by a man with the full array of bike-mending materials. Ten minutes and 1000K later (I know I overpaid, but I had no change and it’s only 60p) he was cycling next to me as I tested the newly-patched inner tube. Once he was satisfied his work was holding out, he doubld back. Customer service for you.
Ananda Pahto
I was parched and exhausted when I got back to town. My first stop was a small “cold drinks” place by the roundabout where I necked two chilled Star Colas and a banana-stuffed pancake. Back at the guest house I showered off and collapsed for 40 winks.
And finally back to the guest house where I’m typing this up. My bus to Mandalay has been booked for 7am (6500K) so I’m up at 6am for breakfast and packing. I only hope the bus is slightly more comfortable than yesterday’s. I know I have to go down the really bad road again as far as Route 1, then it improves up to Mandalay. My bottom actually has bruising, though whether it’s from the bus or the bike I’m not sure!
I woke on time and grabbed my bags. The hostel owner was waiting for me with a small packed breakfast, bless him. I mounted the motorcycle taxi and we nipped off. After five minutes, I was glad I’d dressed in preparation for arctic air-con on the bus as it was pretty cold outside.
After 20 minutes or so, I was dropped at the junction to await the Bagan bus which sets off from Taunggyi. Roughly twenty minutes late, it arrived and at least I knew that air-con wouldn’t be a worry. It was a “midi-bus”, larger than a mini but maybe half the size of a luxury coach. It was dented, battered, had stools between the main seats to seat extra people and my rucksack went under the back seats.
The window next to the seat in front of me was missing so the first couple of hours until the sun was well in the sky were freezing. I put my cap on to keep the wind from blowing through (what’s left of) my hair, huddled up and tried to zone out. Sleep was impossible as the roads here are awful. At times I was bounced 2-3 inches out of my seat when we hit a particularly large pothole.
As we travelled, we picked up more passengers. Amazingly, at points I do think I nodded off or at least figured out how to meditate as time seemed to disappear in jumps. I didn’t get many children waving at me from the roadside as I think it took them a while to register that it was a strange bearded foreigner in the bus bouncing past.
If I did this trip again, it’s one thing I think I would change. Go to Inle Lake first, then hike the opposite direction to Kalaw. First of all, the coach to Inle from Yangon costs the same as the coach to Kalaw and it’s a better bus than this one. Then, when you get to the junction there will be more transport waiting, and it’ll be a more reasonable hour (around 7am) which means the journey into Nyaungshwe will be cheaper than the 4500K I paid to get out at 5am. The trek should be comparable in price, as would the bus from Kalaw to Bagan. However, as you’d be getting onto the same one I was currently on, you’d get a couple of hours more sleep as we didn’t pass through Kalaw until around 7:30am.
We drove down mountain roads having to pull over for trucks as usually only half of the route had any kind of tarmac on it at all. Sometimes we passed them on the left, sometimes the right. Sometime around midday, we had a stretch of decent road as we were close the the main highway – Route 1 – that links Yangon and Mandalay. Aside from the 8-lane superhighway which feeds off here to the new capital of Naypyidaw (and along which only private cars are allowed to travel) this is the only decent stretch of road in the country.
Just outside Nyaung U, we stopped at a security point where someone rapped on my window. Foreigners must pay $10 to visit Bagan and this was where I had to cough up so that the generals’ daughters can have nice, swish weddings while their people starve. Needless to say, I tried to wheedle out of it by giving them five $1 bills and $5 bill with a tear in it. Which tehey refused to accept. I told them this was all I had and they told me I had to sort the permit once I got to my guest house. Yeah, sure.
In total, the journey took almost spot on 12 hours. My bum was sore by the time we pulled in near the market in Nyaung U. Note that this isn’t the bus station marked on the Lonely Planet map, but a distance off to the east. As ever, I was hounded with “Do you need guest house?”, “No”, “Can you tell me where you are staying, then?”, “No” and so on. I collected my bag – which was coated in a thick layer of dust – and started walking towards the Pann Cherry which I’d picked from Lonely Planet.
On the way, I was tailed by a sai-kay (side car pedalo) who said he’d get commission if he dropped me off there, which seemed nice and honest. I hopped in and we got there in a couple of minutes. And then I found out I had a small problem. Nobody checks your permit while you’re in Bagan, although you “must” have one as a foreigner. The way the government works it is that you can’t check in to any guest house without one. Well, you can – but if the inspectors turn up and an owner has housed a foreigner who doesn’t have a permit then the owner gets in trouble.
Long story short, Pann Cherry wouldn’t take me in unless I went back to the way station to get a permit.
However, Pyinsa Rupa down the road would. As long as I gave them the $10 so they could sort the permit out for me, which was fine. They also have aircon and hot water in their $4 rooms, so they’re a step up from Pann Cherry anyway. Also, the staff speak far better English and the manager sat up for ages with me later that evening telling me where to go in Mandalay as he’s from the old (old) capital.
Restaurant Row
It was getting on, so I settled in and enjoyed a terrific hot shower. The electric started to get a little dodgy, which is pretty much routine around here, so I went for a walk to Restaurant Row where I picked out the excellently named Wonderful Tasty. An Indian set menu cost me 3500K with the chicken tandoori and it was fantastic. I’m no curry expert, and this wasn’t spicy enough for a tandoori, but it tasted great and came with as much chappati and rice as I could plough through. A shame the Star Cola was warm, but the setting was lovely and the staff attentive. So add that one to the choices laid out in Lonely Planet, where it’s not mentioned (yet).
Finally, I headed back to the guest house for some much-needed rest. My backside felt like it had been tenderised by a professional chef and I intended to wake early the next morning to see sunrise at one of the 4400 temples in the area.