The Mysteries of Myanmar….

Obtaining our entry visas to Myanmar was relatively pain free, although we did have to surrender our passports for purpose, for 24 hours, to their embassy, in Bangkok.

Once obtained, Ms Ka at MHC gave us a recommendation on a reputable money changer, and we shot down there to obtain some American dollars – Myanmar only accepts dollars when it comes to paying for accommodation, and they must be in mint condition.

A quick history lesson on Myanmar for anyone who is unaware; colonised by the British historically, and named Burma, & like most of SE Asia, occupied by the Japanese during WW2, following the end of WW2, the allies returned.

Burma finally gained its independence on the 4th January, 1948, after in excess of 1000 years of British rule. Thereafter, civil war reigned, until General Ne Win stole control from the government, and thus commenced the worlds longest running military dictatorship, characterised by human rights abuses, and xenophobic policies.

The daughter of independence champion General Aung San, Aung San Suu Kyi, emerged as the leader of the National League for Democracy (NLD). The military utilised violence to suppress the NLD, but finally relented and called a national election in 1990, confident that they would win.

The NLD won 82% of the votes, but the military dictatorship reacted by refusing to yield their power, and by imprisoning most of the NLD’s politicians. Aung San Suu Kyi herself was placed under house arrest, where she languished for 15 years, until she was finally released in November, 2010.

During her house arrest, Aung San Suu Kyi urged people internationally to boycott tourism of Burma. In October, 2010, an election, which afforded the electorate the first opportunity to vote for twenty years, brought in a quasi-civilian government. In 2011, the government renamed Burma as Myanmar.

Subsequently, Aung San Suu Kyi has urged tourists to return to Myanmar, but to practice responsible tourism, and to avoid large tour operators who fund the government. The unpalatable truth of tourism in Myanmar, is that many large resorts were constructed on the back of slave labour, and many argue that the government is no different today, in terms of composition, than it was in its days of military dictatorship.

Moreover, the western media periodically report sectarian violence between the people of Myanmar and its indigenous Muslim population, and it is worth noting that it is only the British and the Americans, who still refer to Myanmar as Burma. I took a deep breath. Emma has always wanted to visit Myanmar, and I knew in my heart that if we didn’t, she would probably never forgive me. I relented.

Outside the Shwedagon Pagoda

Upon arrival at the airport, we were collected by our guesthouse, who drove us to Yangon (formerly Rangoon). What we noticed immediately was that whereas in most of SE Asia, showing one passport at a guesthouse is acceptable, in Myanmar, both passports are required, and a valid visa must be produced. If you naively think you can book a guesthouse or a transport anywhere in Myanmar, without a valid visa, just forget it!

Yangon

Moreover, your visa and location will be reported back to the powers that be, every time you move anywhere. So unless you happen to be able to go ‘underground’, kiss goodbye to being a tourist in Myanmar, if you are an overstayer! Emma and I ventured out on to the streets of Yangon, on foot, not knowing what to expect. We were pleasantly surprised.

Within twenty minutes, I had spotted a Sex Pistols T-shirt, and amidst the antiquated street and hawker stalls, we found ourselves amidst a city characterised by friendly, if not curious, local people. Within an hour, a punk rocker wearing a Misfits T-shirt ambled by, and after we had identified an impressive Catholic church, we found a bar in the centre, where we nervously ordered a few Dagon (Lion) beers.

Unlike Jakarta, we felt at ease. So much so, that we rambled off the beaten track to get back to our guesthouse. Bear in mind that there is no or little street lighting, and dogs amble around unattended. It really is a different world. We became lost, but didn’t hesitate to ask strangers the way – they happily obliged us – in good English.

Our guesthouse in Yangon

We loitered at our guesthouse of an evening, and met some very nice German travellers – specifically, Leon, Jonas, Michael and Esther. The following day we met up with Eh Tar, a former student who had studied in Birmingham, and who was hosted by someone that Emma knows, with whom we shared a soft drink in the mid afternoon sun.

Esther, Jonas, and Leon

Local bus to downtown

Meeting up with Eh Tar, so glad we were able, we nearly missed each other!

Meeting up with Eh Tar, so glad we were able to, as we nearly missed each other!

Yangon bus station which was like a small city…

Organised chaos…

We bumped into Mike there, he was off on a different bus

We bumped into Michael here, he was off on a different bus elsewhere!

Midnight stop off on route to Bagan

Thereafter we booked a night bus to Bagan, where we arrived at 3.30AM, at a bus station characterised by horse drawn carts, dust roads, and horse drawn taxi riders, eager to offer us transports to our destinations. There are no conventional taxis in Bagan, as we know them in the west.

Upon arrival at our guesthouse, our ‘taxi driver’ yelled down the place, so as to gain as access. Everyone was asleep. Eventually, the night porter stirred, and we gained entry, where we were shown to a communal area, with a mattress on the floor, and were advised we could stay, until check in, the following day.

We didn’t fancy the mattress, so we both cracked a beer that we had bought earlier. Next thing we knew, at around 4AM, another guy turned up, who we mistakenly thought was American. He advised us to wake him if a British guy turned up, that he was due to be meeting. Then he crashed out.

Just a little tired!!

It transpired that this guys name was Harris, and he was Canadian. Half an hour later, a British guy arrived, named Max, and between the three of us, we put the puzzle together, and realised that the Canadian asleep on the floor was the man he was due to meet.

Once Harris was awake again, Max conceded he wasn’t a morning person, and now was probably as good as time as any to catch a sunrise.

After an abortive attempt to hire a horse taxi, we hired bicycles from the management, then the four of us frantically rode as fast as we could, to the closest reputable temple site.

We climbed up said temple, and then this happened:-