I had to see it. The gold leaf-covered rock balancing on a mountaintop Southeast of Yangon attracts pilgrims and tourists alike. It would be much more popular with tourists if it wasn’t so painful to get to. Even the most luxurious traveler with a private car will only get as far as the mountain’s base in comfort. A grueling one hour ride in the back of a dump truck gets everyone halfway up the mountain and only the truly rich, old and unashamed pay to be carried–yes, carried– the rest of the way up.

My journey started early in the morning with a ticket purchased from my hotel and a one hour taxi ride out of Yangon to the bus station. Touts at the station were disappointed to see I already had a ticket and pointed me to the garage where company men were selling tickets to locals. I had left Yangon by taxi in the dark, but by the time the bus pulled away from the station around 8am everything had woken up. Buses in Myanmar are quite comical with large wheels set on even higher suspensions, a bit like a poor version of the cars you used to see on rap videos. Unfortunately, the bumps and shakes on these buses aren’t fashionably intentional and are most often a result of dirt roads and potholes.

Along the way we passed by many towns and I watched locals buy an sell goods, monks collect alms and animals chase each other across the street. After five hours on the bus from Yangon I arrived in Kyaiktiyo where I took a smaller bus to the base of the mountain. Of course, I had no idea how many buses to take or when to change buses but I decided to go with the flow when all of the locals got off the bus and onto the smaller bus. In fact, because I took my time getting off the first bus I barely fit onto the second, smaller open-back bus. I sat on the edge of the back opening, held on to the metal bars and hoped that the trip wouldn’t take long. We stopped after a short time and I was pushed into a group of touts promoting their hotels. I had left my big backpack in Yangon because I wanted to stay at the top of the mountain so I was able to outmaneuver the men and sneak to the platform where a large dump truck was loading passengers. The platform was designed so that trucks could be loaded on either side of the 12′ high wooden structure. I was one of the first 10 people onboard and knew that we would take some time to fill up. The back of the truck had narrow wooden boards laid across the back to form benches. The space between each board was approximately 6 inches–not enough room for my short legs to bend correctly, and not enough for the local pilgrims either. To add insult to injury another dump truck pulled up, loaded passengers and left us behind.
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The main attraction in Yangon is the Shwedagon Paya, but my favorite thing to do in any city is walk around, get lost and watch everyday people doing everyday things. The day after The Shwedagon I decided to head out to another paya described in the Lonely Planet guidebook as having a “mirrored maze”–sounded right up my alley.

On the way to the mirror-maze paya I headed East and soon found myself walking along with about one hundred other people on their way somewhere. At one point all of the traffic stopped and wrapped along side streets. I was curious what could be blocking our way–an accident, a market? It was none other than the U.S. embassy! Housed in a British colonial style building, the embassy appeared to take up most of the block, but the real problem was the cement barricades covered in rolls of barb wire blocking off the entire street and sidewalk in front of the embassy. After stopping in front to laugh a bit I walked around the entire block and spotted the tiny Australian embassy behind one door which opened up to the sidewalk, no barbed wire in sight.

The U.S. detour took me along the river front, which is lined with shipping containers and other generally unaesthetic industry. Along one empty port was the maze paya. Right outside the entrance a military officer sat behind a sign that read “foreigner entrance $5.” Seeing as I had paid $5 to enter the Shwedagon Paya, a much more amazing site, I didn’t think the entrance fee was appropriate. I also wasn’t about to literally hand a military officer $5 to see a religious site. While I was standing about twenty feet away, surveying the scene, the officer noticed me and yelled out “five dollars!” Shaking my head an smiling I started to walk away while he yelled “three dollars!”

I had decided that in addition to visiting the mirror paya I wanted to head up north to a paya with a long, reclining Buddha. Away from the city center the streets widened and the buildings were scattered with more contemporary, usually unattractive, buildings. I wandered into a a neighborhood with an interesting paya. The stupa was quite plain, but covered in birds. Around the perimeter was a diverse group of statues and paintings. I dropped a donation into the glass boxes covered in Burmese script and headed back onto the street. Soon I spied The Shwedagon from quite a distance and realized I was near Kandawgi Lake. I was determined to get to the lake and navigated the wide road circling the fenced off park. As soon as I walked in I was greeted by a military officer asking for the entrance fee. I couldn’t believe there was an entrance fee to a lake, but I had made such an effort to get there I decided to pay the 1,000 kyat fee (a little over $1) to get past the guard. I was a bit moody and crumpled the ticket up in front of the guard and generally looked angry, even though I know from experience that anger is counterproductive in Asia. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see in the park. It was obviously for more wealthy locals, with playground equipment and small stands selling popsicles and drinks.

Typical delivery // Playground equipment // Tourist boat

Before heading out of town I had to stop at my favorite shop in Yangon–the ice cream shop! I was still one month out of the hot season but 90° heat was hot enough to warrant ice cream. The stand was on one of the major streets in town, in-between my hotel and the internet cafe. A girl served me the best mint chocolate chip ice cream I have ever head–in a waffle cone to boot! Looking back, I’m sure it wasn’t very good ice cream, but when it’s so humid that you are soaking wet all day long anything cold tastes glorious. Besides, 250 kyat (30 cents) is a small price to pay to cool down and prepare for my trip south to the golden rock, where I wasn’t sure I’d find any food at all.

You can see the photos from Yangon in the gallery.

Day two in Myanmar and I was finally being stared at again! Even though I complained every day in China when the locals stared at me, I missed it when I left. There are so many tourists in Thailand that I wasn’t looked twice at. The most attention I could hope to get was from a tuk tuk driver trying to rip me off. I was nothing special. But here in Yangon people were interested in me–kids wanted to sell me postcards, diners watched me walk past, fruit vendors smiled.

Although Myanmar borders Thailand it couldn’t be more different. Men wore longyi, the sarong-like “skirt” and women didn’t wear pants. The men were thinner and women were heavier. One Chinese tourist told me that he had come to find a wife because the women had more curves. I was fascinated by the streets of Yangon, watching old men inspect jewels on the street corner next to my hotel and children playing soccer in-between passing cars. Click here to watch kids playing soccer below my hotel during the night. (Quicktime 1.4 mb)

I had saved an entire day for The Shwedagon Paya, Myanmar’s holiest Paya or Buddhist temple. After a breakfast buffet on the roof of my hotel I met a German man named Lutz who was heading in the same direction. Together we walked to the market, looking for the local bus that would take us North to The Shwedagon. It didn’t take too long before we flagged one down and tried to climb in the back. The man collecting fares directed us to the cab next to the driver–quite an honor. Jumping out, our money was refused and we headed toward The Shwedagon.

We could see the huge stupa rising up on the street in front of us, but decided to step into another paya along the way which looked interesting. The Maha Wizaya Paya was a newer building with entrance arches covered in surreal depictions of Buddha’s life. The circular corridor was lined with glass cases depicting the great cities of Myanmar, including Bagan and Inwa. What made this stupa special was the hollow center. Most stupas contain a relic (a tooth or hair from Buddha) in the center, which is covered and built upon. Local citizens contribute a large amount of their own money to construct payas, although some are fully funded by the government or a wealthy patron. By giving money a person is attempting to gain merit for themselves and their families in their next lives. I believe there a relic in this stupa but people could get close, sit around the center and pray.

Psychedelic mural at Maha Wizaya Paya
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The area I was staying in Bangkok was a backpacker’s haven. The streets were littered with internet cafes, CD sellers, tailors and restaurants serving “American Breakfast.” Because of this, I was able to book a spot on a bus to the airport for a lot cheaper than a taxi. After checking out of my hotel I sat down in the restaurant downstairs on the street and waited for my bus. And I waited. I waited 45 minutes before I started to worry. One thing that traveling in 33 countries has taught me is patience. Finally, I flagged a taxi to take me to the airport, worried that I would miss my flight. I had heard horror stories about the traffic and, looking at my watch I started to curse my patience. Even the taxi driver yelled at me for waiting so long.

The flight over was quick, and amazingly I was served a steaming hot entree which took up most of my time on the flight. Passing through customs was easy and the guard refused to let me declare my laptop. I had heard that there can be problems with higher-end electronics (the government thinks you’re a spy) and it was best to declare them. I don’t know if things have changed so much since I had heard that advice or if the guard was just lazy, but my beautiful white iBook stayed in my bag. I eyed my fellow passengers in baggage claim, trying to decide the best candidate to bum a ride with. No one was very friendly so I wandered outside alone, passing by the empty FEC exchange booths. Up until a few years ago foreigners were required to exchange $500 USD worth of money into FEC notes. They were basically like certificates you could exchange for goods in the tourist sector, mainly hotels. The practice has been discontinued and anyone who changes money at an official money changing station is a fool because the official exchange rate is almost half of the black market rate. Standing outside I asked a girl about my age what a good price for a taxi was and she offered me a ride. She worked for a NGO and was being picked up by her driver–sounded good to me!
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I’ve been very busy here in Bangkok, I hope everyone’s keeping warm in the Northern hemisphere. Tomorrow morning I leave for Myanmar again, this time via Rangoon. The internet situation there sounds a bit iffy so sit tight!

I’m not going to write too much about Bangkok. It was a completely surreal experience. Being in Thailand after so many months in China, Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos was shocking–shopping malls, a sky train and a 7-11 on every corner. It almost felt like being back home in a way and I took full advantage of that. For the past few months my diet had consisted mostly of rice, Oreo cookies and Beer Lao. Now I could choose between McDonalds, Dairy Queen, Burger King and Baskin Robbins for desert! I have no illusions about why I gained back the weight I lost in China when I was in Thailand–I ate a lot of fast food. I was hungry and homesick and in my experience the best cure for that is a trip to McDonalds and a movie.

MBK Mall

The movie theaters in Bangkok are mostly in shopping malls–glorious, sparkling, air conditioned shopping malls. I don’t think anyone can give me a hard time about enjoying shopping malls and Western food after my time in Western China and Northern Laos. It’s clear that I appreciate other cultures and want to see areas off the beaten path but sometimes I just want to order a meal and know exactly what I will get. The great part about Thai movie theaters is that they have assigned seating. When you buy a ticket you walk up to a woman behind a glass enclosure–much like in America–and she puts her hands together in a prayer position or “wai” (even Ronald McDonald wai’s in Thailand.), bows, smiles and says “sawatdee.” You tell her the movie title and time you want and she brings up a computerized seating chart on a screen in front of you where you can pick your seat. This is great if you want to get a good seat but don’t want to wait in line. Your ticket is printed with your seat number and an usher brings you to your seat. Typical previews play first followed by an announcement to stand for the Thai National Anthem. Everyone stands and actually pays attention while “feel good” images of the king helping the poor and holding babies flash across the screen. The Thai reverence for their king is interesting. It is the only SE Asian country to not fall under imperialist Western rule and has a stronger national identity as a result. The king has no real power, much like England’s system, but his face is plastered all over the country. Western movies are shown in their original English with Thai subtitles so it’s easy to watch. I found that I laughed at jokes before anyone else and some references passed over the rest of the audience but it felt like being back home in a 30 screen megaplex with stadium seating.
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