MARKETS, MONASTERIES, TEMPLES

At Disneyworld, Florida they have an expression for sensory overload combined with too much ice cream. They call it being Disneyed out. But here they say it differently, but they are essentially talking about the same thing. And I think I'm there.

My conveyance today was a Lexus 4WD. Uh oh, I thought when it turned up, we're going bush. Today started with another temple. Groan. At least this one was different. For a start it was quite some distance away down a diabolical goat track, then down about 100 stairs. You see, it was built in a gorge. It was the 12th century Kyauk Gu Ohnmin Cave Temple, that rarely sees foreign visitors, I was assured. Well, they got that bit right. First you'd have to find it! We pretty well had the whole place to ourselves, except for the monks of course, and this old codger, the keeper of the shoes. Tough job, but someone's got to do it.

This place was a bit spooky, but very quiet for meditation, if you don't have claustrophobia.

Then we moved on, heading further out into the sticks. I didn't think this was possible, but it was. Passing through villages with not a single modern building, everything built from bamboo, rattan and palm leaves. And as for John Deeres and Massey Fergusons, well, not round here, sir. Not even a Mahindra round here.

Well, did I lie?? Finally we finished up at Pakkoku, a fair size town further up the Ayawaddy, and crossing said river via what is apparently the longest bridge in Myanmar. No argument from me. I tried for some photos, but its a hard thing to capture.

In this region, the Ayawaddy is massive. I have measured the Indus in Pakistan at 1.1 km shore to shore, and at the time, I thought it was the biggest river I had ever seen. I reckon this bridge was about 2 miles (3.2 km) long, but of course it wasn't all over water. Then again, this is the dry season! The water in the above photos is only a backwater. The main channel looks like this.

Admittedly, I haven't seen the Amazon. I better do something about that. Right, Pakkoku. First thing Moo Moo had laid on for me was a series of visits to genuine Asian sweatshops.I kid you not. They have the real thing here. First it was a cigar factory. Everybody was sitting around on the floor, working on some part of the process, done entirely by hand. I couldn't believe it. Today by the way is Sunday, but that makes absolutely no difference in Myanmar. Naturally I had to buy one. Anybody that reckons smoking won't kill you should try one of these!

Then, It actually got worse. Next stop was a place that made sandals. Same deal, everyone squatting on the floor, ancient machinery, cutting by hand, one guy smearing rubber glue onto soles by hand! Occ health and safety? Don't make me laugh.

Well, I suppose they're lucky to have a job. Everybody appeared happy enough. I tried on the biggest pair they make, and they were too small. That cracked the staff up properly, they didn't think it was possible for anybody to have plates the size of mine. I suggested they needed to think out side the box. Literally.

Next stop was the market. It was quite a big one, and I will guarantee I was the only foreigner in the place. I felt like I was the main attraction. Everybody seemed to be clocking me. But the really good thing about it was that as soon as you made eye contact with anybody, and smiled at them, they broke out into a genuine happy smile. Maybe they were saying "check out the tosser with the big feet" for all I know, but they seemed genuine enough. OK, ready for this?

 Dragon fruit.

 Bamboo root. I thought it was skinned rat.

 Sesame paste on the left, pickled mango on the right.

 Now that's a real trike.

 That's Moo Moo. What did I tell you?

The fish department. Just keep walking.

But the grand prize goes to this guy. That's a case of beer and another of munchies strapped to the bike. This guy knows what he wants to do on a Sunday.

Then it was a leisurely 2 hour cruise back down the river to Bagan, with lunch included. Whew, big day.

BAGAN

Bagan is not what you might call a tropical paradise. Its located on the Ayawaddy, although that could be a lie, I haven't actually seen the river here yet. Bagan is on Myanmar's central plain. Its flat, its hot, its dry and its very dusty. The closest thing to tropical is the numerous palm trees, not sensuous and evocative coconut palms, but nasty looking cabbage palms. You know, these ones with the big spiky leaves.

The plain is covered in scrubby, dry and thorny acacia trees. In summer the temperature hovers around 45 deg C, and it ain't exactly cold here right now. In short, it sucks. So what the hell am I doing here? Because on this vast plain are constructed about 4,000 temples and stupas. That's right, 4,000! Apparently about 1,000 have been lost to the ravages of time, but that still leaves ...well, you do the maths. Most were built in the 12th century, which makes most of them around 900 years old. That's roughly 7-800 years before Europeans discovered Australia. Why are they here? Something to do with a power struggle between various rulers, so in other words, big egos. Some things never change.

Today I had a full day tour of....guess what? Hey, I like to make the blog interactive, so get involved! My new guide is a middle aged ball breaker named Moo Moo. She has a bit of a take it or leave it attitude. My driver is a nice young guy called Ong. Colorful names here in Myanmar. So far, I have noticed my drivers all chew betel nut to keep their mind on the job. Betel is a mild stimulant that has the side effect of producing a diabolical red juice which stains the mouth, lips and teeth of the chewer. And every so often the chewer is required to expectorate (that's spit, folks), and it comes out in a long jet of red liquid, which splatters on the ground, and the stain appears to be permanent. Chris and I learned not to follow too closely behind public buses in India for this very reason.

Anyway, with so many temples to choose from, I let Moo Moo set the agenda. So of course we started by seeing all the big ones. The ones with all the tour buses full of mostly French people parked out side. I did enjoy getting into my private car, with Ong holding the door open for me, in front of all the Frogs. Giving them the metaphorical finger. After about three temples, I had the general idea. They are usually set on a plinth, and built from clay brick, and rendered with cement mortar, and follow a similar design, of four entrances facing the cardinal points, usually with a statue of the Buddah standing, seated or giving the Frogs the finger. Sometimes there is an inner and an outer walkway. Many of the surfaces are painted with pictures and inscriptions, although this is mostly faded or otherwise damaged. There were two particularly severe earthquakes recently, and a lot of structural damage has resulted in much of the sites being declared unsafe, and undergoing repair. But there is also a lot of deterioration from the weather and just a lack of attention. Photo time.

But wait, there's more! This one was the cleanest, courtesy of a major overhaul recently paid for by the Indian Government. Well, that's where the Buddah was born and started preaching. A person of great influence, as it turned out.

And so it went on. And on. And on. I got to the point where I was taking photos just to keep Moo Moo happy, in case she didn't think I was appreciating her work, in particular her oral history of every nut and bolt. and legend. So I guess I ticked all the main boxes. All except one. The other big industry here is balooning. Well, apart from the rather aggressive souvenir vendors. For you, special price, very cheap, I make myself. Yeah, sure, maybe later! For a lazy $400US, you can take an early morning ride in a hot air balloon, and float majestically over the plains, all the while taking photos of....you know what. Well, sorry, not this little black duck. At that price they can stick it. But I imagine for many people it would be an opportunity for the shot of a lifetime, or at least for an unforgettable memory, and that's fine. But not to put too fine a point on it though, in the last ten years I've had so many unforgettable moments, I've forgotten heaps of them already.

Being the contrarian that I am, what I really found fascinating, and I haven't yet had the opportunity to follow up, was the hundreds of small pagodas and stupas scattered randomly over the plains. You know, the ones nobody was stopped at, and probably never would. The overgrown ones in the middle of the fields. The damaged ones. What was their story? For surely each and every one of these was built for a reason. Who built them and why? Were they just built by ordinary people, for the average Joe? Who will ever know? And would they not gain the same eternal merit for the builder and the user? I will savour contemplating these questions for some time to come. Over an icy cold Andaman Gold, thus far my beverage of choice in this land of temples and contradictions.

OK, here's a photo that I couldn't help but take.

If you're going to build a stupa, you have to start small, at least till you get the hang of it. Here's a couple of budding engineers of the future being inspired.

 And a couple of ankle biters learning how to sell crap to the tourists under the watchful eye of their mum. They'll be experts by the time they turn 12.

 And finally, the grand panorama taken from a purpose built mound just for the tourists to watch the sunset and get that unforgettable photo.

Which in my case, turned out to be fairly forgettable, I'm afraid to say. Maybe I should have gotten the balloon ride. Or a decent camera.

OUT INTO THE STICKS

Sometimes I have wondered whether the Burmese are the butt of jokes in Asia. Like we have Irish jokes, in Canada they have Polack jokes, in The Netherlands they heap it on the Belgians. It seems to me like the place is so far behind the rest of Asia that they can't help being the poor cousins of everybody else. I mean, every other south east Asian country I can think of has street cred.

Today, I sat back in an air conditioned car and was driven from Mandalay to Bagan. It took all day. I got bounced from pillar to post, the road was a shocker. And the number of near death experiences was a lot more than I cared for. Out in the countryside, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the Nineteenth century. Coolies in conical straw hats ploughing paddocks with oxen. (I can say oxen, can't I? Its not rascist?) Carts being dragged by a pair of brahmin cows. People carrying buckets of water with a yoke across their back. Houses built of bamboo frames with woven rattan panels for walls and palm leaves for a roof. I began to think, if they took all the gold that has been beaten flat and plastered all over the temples and statues of Buddah, melted it into ingots and stashed it in the vaults of the Central Bank, they would have more gold reserves that Fort Knox, and this would be a wealthy country.

The roads are dreadful. Blurry photos taken through the car windscreen, but you get the idea.

But they are good at temple building. This is Mt Popa, which is the birthplace of the Nats, which are ancient spirits in whom the populace still place a great deal of belief. I mean they still revere the Buddah and Buddhist philosophy, but the Nats get a lot of attention, and offerings. Sort of like a few bob each way, just in case. The monastery on top of the mountain is Buddhist, but the temples down where I took the photo are Nat central. People leave offerings of fruit, beverages and good old cash in front of a bunch of cheap looking statues. Every one to their own, I suppose. The monastery wouldn't look out of place in Transylvania.

Meanwhile, down in Nat-ville, I think its the monkeys stealing all the fruit offered to the Nats.

And here's another thing. There are gum trees all over the place around here. I thought so! Most of them are pretty skinny ones, but the unmistakeable leaves and the way they hang gave it away. I have seen Eucalypts in some of the most unexpected places, like India, Pakistan, the US, and Chile for starters. Can they do that?

WHERE THE FLYING FISHES PLAY

That would be on the road to Mandalay, according to the old song. Well, I'm here and I certainly haven't seen any fish flying at all, and as for fish playing, the only fish I have seen were in the fish market just down the road from my hotel, and they were playing dead. I flew up to Mandalay, got picked up at the airport by my guide, the sweetest little thing you've ever seen, her name is Nin. I'd guess about 25, five foot two, with a lovely smile and glasses like the bottom of coke bottles. And my driver. I didn't catch his name, he doesn't speak a word of English, but he keeps opening the car door for me, so he's ok too. We drove straight up to the hills behind Mandalay, a trip of about two hours, to the town of Pyin Oo Lwin. Yes, that's what its called. An old British Hill Station, like Simla in India. A place for the ruling elite to escape the scorching heat of the plains during the height of summer. I always found that concept amusing. If they wanted cool, they could have stayed in England.

However, they didn't. So they tried to reproduce it out here in the colonies. British trees, British churches, British architecture, British street layouts, British pastimes, you get the idea. So after a tour of the town to look at all the attractions, ie the old British stuff, I got dropped off at my hotel. It was about sundown, so I headed out for a walk, trying to find the nearest restaurant on a list given to me by Nin. It was called Feel. No jokes please. It was a bit of a hike, but I found it, and it was on the edge of a lake, quite scenic etc, just me, a few locals, and 50 million mosquitoes. Lucky I brought the Bushman. Not being familiar with Burmese cuisine, I opted for Thai, (mind you, cooked by a Burmese chef). It started out pretty bland, but about half way through, the heat began to build up something shocking, and soon I had tears running down my face uncontrollably, I was coughing and my nose was running like a tap. This is not a pretty picture, I know, but holey moley it was seriously bloody hot. And take note, the chillies were green !! So, a bowl of lava and two beers, all for $8, which included a tip. A small price to pay for malaria.

First thing next morning, we were off again. This time for a quick look around the town market, then to the botanical gardens. And I have to say, I was pretty impressed. Huge site, manicured landscape, and a whole lot of interesting foliage, local animals and birds, a museum of butterflies, and another full of fossilised (petrified) wood. Great stuff. Then we headed back down the mountains, into Mandalay proper. Not before grabbing a real bargain. A 700 ml bottle of Lynchburg's finest for a mere 25,500 kyat. It might sound pricey, but that's $17US folks. Do they sell Jack Daniels to Myanmar any cheaper than they sell it to Australia? No they damn well don't, so we are getting royally screwed. But I digress.

No rest for this tourist, it was straight into a visit to a few workshops, specifically wood carving, tapestry and then gold leaf production. All these were real artisans at work. God knows how hard it is to make a living doing this stuff, but it was impressive. Especially the gold leaf making. It is possible to take a piece of gold about the size of a postage stamp, and by various arduous and very physical processes, beat the sucker into a thin layer about the same area as a tennis court, but only about an atom or two thick. Freaking amazing. At lunchtime, Nin took me to a very busy restaurant for a table full of the real thing, Burmese food at last. There was plenty of it, but I have to say, I found it surprisingly bland. At best it could be described as of subtle taste. Hmmm. Maybe I'm just ordering the wrong stuff.

By about this stage, I was ready to go home for a cup of tea and a good lie down, but no! Nin dragged me up to the top of Mount Something to look over Mandalay. Yes, impressive. Then to the last King's temple, then to some other thing, every time it was off with the shoes and socks, feet turning black, clean up, back in the car....more shit...all the while Nin is giving me the ins and outs of a duck's arse about this and that and some other freaking thing. Having your very own guide has its ups and downs, I'm finding. I probably need to be a bit more selective about what I really want to look at, because today I was stuffed by mid afternoon, and in no mood to appreciate some very worthwhile sites. And my camera battery died at the wrong moment as well.

At last, the hotel! Right, up to the room, air conditioner on, one single solitary can of beer in the fridge. I think I inhaled it, then crashed out on the bed. Woke up about two hours later. I'm in the Ayarwaddy River View Hotel, which is interesting, because I always thought it was the Irrawaddy River, but no, here its called the Ayarwaddy. And its a biggie.

Anyway, when I awoke in this strange hotel room, I needed some sustenance, so decided to go for a walk. This might be a good hotel, with a great view, but let me tell you it is in a shit location. I headed down some very dark and dusty side streets, looking for a mini mart or similar. Nothing doing. This was hovel town, nothing but stray dogs and people staring at me. And traffic trying to put me in hospital. Most of the scooters here don't even have working headlights, its seriously scary. Finally, I found a small shop, which sold very small cans of Coke, and very small packets of potato chips. I filled up a pillow case with Coke and chips,for about $5, made the lady smile like she had struck it rich, and headed back to the hotel for dinner! Well, I did have a big lunch. Anyway, the thought occurred to me that the standard of living around here is pretty basic, and that life here is tough. Much more so than even Cambodia. I think  a reasonable parallel might be like Vietnam in the sixties, before the war really got going. Not that I was ever there to draw this inference, but I've seen plenty of docos on TV. Myanmar is a country that time has forgotten, but I think it is about to start catching up.

I'm going to fly off at a bit of a tangent here. This is the shower in my hotel room in Pyin Oo Lwin.

 I mean, it looks groovy, with the pebble finish, and does give a bit of a foot massage at the same time. Good concept, but the execution is lacking. My first thought was how do they clean it? Then it became obvious that, well, they don't really. Plus, it drains into a channel around the perimeter, and some water puddles in the channel, where it proceeds to brew. Tinea, anyone? Footrot? Leprosy?

But worse still, I found this in my hotel room in Mandalay. Its a surge arrester for the aircon unit, and its mounted right there on the wall. Now, I'm not an electrical engineer (thank God), but that looks awfully like live terminals to me. I'm not going to touch them to find out, Myanmar runs on 240 Volt supply. Good thing the air conditioner is protected though!

But I guess this is what happens when you're trying to catch up in a hurry. Nobody cares about minor details. Like electrocuting paying customers.

Now that the building inspection is finished, I had a good day today. We headed out to Ava first, one of the old Royal Capitals, for some 400 years, mind. On the drive to get there, we followed the Irrawaddy, sorry the Ayawaddy, and it became evident that a lot of people live along the riverbank. In tatty looking shanties. And almost all of them appear to be dirt poor. Its not really a good look, yet everybody appeared to be busily engaged in doing something, making, fixing, buying, selling, loading, unloading. People seem to make the best of their situation, and just seem to hustle and get on with it. I noticed a lot of people just haul sand and rocks out of the river, then pile it up along the roadway and sell it. Amazing! Everything is covered in a layer of dust. Unhealthy and not attractive, but I suppose the monsoon washes everything clean eventually.

Anyhow, back to Ava, The go is to get a horse drawn cart and check out the many pagodas and temples and ancient ruins. I had decided long ago that I wasn't going to play. I had seen photos of the poor emaciated animals that pull these shitbox carts with no suspension, and recall a similar painful outing in an oxcart in Cambodia. My back is damaged enough! So I had opted for a bicycle, and it was terrific. We started early and beat the crowds. The downside was that there is an army of souvenir sellers here that are basically feral and won't take no for an answer, and they had me to themselves. Third world countries rapidly get the hang of how to sell junk to tourists. But it was idyllic, a beautiful day cycling through rice paddies and banana plantations, all studded with ancient pagodas. It was quite surreal, until the hordes of other tourists arrived and the roads became clogged with horse carts and horse shit, and then it was time to go. We had lunch in an attractive looking open air restaurant, a bit like a beer garden, with all the trimmings. Something was not quite right. Oh yes, there was no floor, just the dirt. But the food was good.

I did notice that the tourists I saw today were exclusively European. Myanmar is a big hit with French, Dutch, Italian and Spanish, according to Nin. No Americans, no Aussies that I noticed. I made the mistake of trying to get rid of one souvenir vendor who was stuck to me like a limpet mine. I dismissed him in Spanish, and it backfired. He came back at me in better Spanish than I could speak. All credit to him!! They do what they have to do.

This, by the way, is Nin, my guide for the next few days until I get to Bagan. She lives in Mandalay and loves her job, and is very good at it. She is very knowledgeable about culture and history, and speaks good English, albeit with that distinctly Asian pronunciation that omits the odd syllable at random. (But what do I sound like speaking Burmese, if the three words that I now know qualifies as speaking Burmese!!) She had to change into trousers for the bike riding bit though. Like the vast majority of locals, she normally dresses in a "longyi", the sarong like garment from waist to ankles worn by both men and women in Myanmar.

Check this out. At one pagoda, there was a wedding shoot going on. Couples who are getting married get all the photography over and done with well before the wedding. This can involve a lot of travel to scenic locations or specific important sites all over the country. This couple were using a professional photographer who had about four other guys working for him. It was like a movie set. When they produced a drone to get some overhead shots, I couldn't resist this shot, albeit a bit amateur and nowhere as good as I was hoping for. I guess I don't need to explain it, but its the juxtaposition of the ancient Buddah statue and the hi tech drone that fired my imagination.