My Myanmar

A gaggle of girls smiled shyly for the camera. They were sweet and demure, the typical cluster of preteen girls, save for their shaved heads and carnation pink Buddhist robes. I met them at the Shwedagon Pagoda, the glistening golden jewel of Yangon, the largest city in Myanmar. In the 90 percent Buddhist country, monasteries provide free schooling, leading to troupes of baby monks roaming the streets.

I was fascinated by the large number of pint-sized monastics, and they by me, as well - one of the growing number of tourists pouring into their newly opened-up country, formerly known as Burma, since the military junta eased its control and international sanctions loosened up. Xinhua reported that more than 1 million tourists visited Myanmar in 2012, up from 200,000 in 2011.

Trends aside, Myanmar is, very simply, a humbling country rich in religious architecture and natural wonders, perhaps the most awe-inspiring being its indefatigably friendly people.

Arriving in Yangon

Before landing in Yangon, one of two entry points for foreigners, I converted my currency to crisp US dollars. I had to bring along all the money I would need for the entire trip. This in itself was a lesson on what it really means to be in a cut-off country. No ATMs, no credit card swipes. All you carry with you on the plane over is all you will have - I think there's some very Zen Buddhist teaching in there somewhere.

What bills you do have must be kept pristine. Any torn or even folded bills would get a flat-out rejection from locals, even from the most welcoming innkeeper. The local currency, kyat, thankfully does not carry these same prejudices.

With my backpack and wad of bills, I opted for a budget stay in Yangon at the White House Hotel. For the very modest accommodation, my friend and I paid a surprising $25 for a double with a private bath. We sure weren't in Thailand anymore. Though there's been an influx of tourists, hotel options still lag behind demand, giving your nightly stay an inflated price. But the amicable owner of the White House Hotel more than made up for this with his friendly service and the fascinating mix of travelers his simple lodging seemed to attract.

Mingling over the breakfast spread of fruit, noodles and a spicy guacamole-like concoction one morning were a veteran Japanese journalist on assignment and a young American from Mississippi just starting out his new life doing business in Yangon. A testament to him trying to go native, he wore a longyi, the sarong-style wraparound that locals still don. George Orwell waxes poetic about the accentuating effects of the longyi on the posterior in Burmese Days, but I'm not sure our friend from Mississippi was who he had in mind.

Escalator to heaven

After breakfast, we walked across town to the Shwedagon Pagoda. The entrance begins with a long series of stairs, but as we made our ascent we noticed there was construction underway to install an escalator. Was this a sign of the tourist tide to come?

On my first steps into the heavenly summit, I was blinded. Everything was awash in white, including the marble our bare feet tread on. And at the heart of the pagoda stood a magnificent golden stupa, said to hold a few locks of hair from the Buddha. Fiery in blue skies and smoldering in gray, the golden marvel spoke to a universal sense of awe. Whether following Jesus or the Buddha, you can't help but feel the staggering power and beauty greater than yourself in the midst of this structure. Yes, you can say it's stupa-fying.

Do a little research before you arrive at the pagoda because the Burmese zodiac goes by the day of the week you were born. I happen to be a Friday baby, so our toothless guide took us to my Burmese spirit animal, the majestic guinea pig. Our affable guide, with gums the bloody crimson of the betel he and many of his countrymen chew, helped me complete the ritual of pouring water over the golden creature, once for my family, once for my teacher, once for the Buddha - I lost count somewhere along the line, but the rite was enlightening, nonetheless.

Our "guide," kind as he was, was not introduced to us as such. We first met him as just another curious local eager to strike up a conversation. My friend introduced herself as a Canadian, to which he name-dropped the 1960s musician Paul Anka, perhaps the only time I will ever hear the "Put Your Head on My Shoulder" singer used as a jumping-off point for Canada. But by avoiding the Biebs, the guy won us over and we happily agreed to let him show us around the area. After we finished the water-pouring ritual, he asked for some kyat. We should have seen it coming, and indeed he did offer us insight we were ignorant to, but be wary of overly friendly people at the pagoda. It was the only time this happened to us in a 12-day trip, but beware on your own travels as this may become a more commonplace thing as tourism continues to boom.

At night the streets were quiet and dark, so we went out for one splurge drink at the Strand, where rooms go for upwards of $400 and drinks come at $12 a pour. But the all-teak interior and wicker furniture spoke to a forgotten era. Romanticizing colonialism doesn't come cheap, so we moved on after having our Orwell moment.

Bagan at dawn

After the glittering splendor of Shwedagon and the Strand, a pre-dawn trip into the maze of the 11th- and 13th-century brick pagodas of Bagan proved additionally earthy and grounding. We scrambled up the dark passageways (headlamps are not just for The Amazing Race contestants) to watch the light slowly envelop the acres of pagodas, each a little different from the next.

In the quiet morning, we heard only the deep, unbroken susurrus of distant monks om-ing in unison. They must have been several kilometers away, yet their combined devotion was able to reach us as we sat atop the work of other monks, centuries prior.

After heading back into town via horse and buggy, apparently the preferred transport here for 4 am wake-up calls, we spent our day biking around the aged pagodas. To call them ruins felt disrespectful - they still served a strong spiritual and historical purpose.

By night, we gave in to our touristy urges and stopped by a puppet show. The puppeteers appeared wholly bored, just as we were when the puppet show repeated itself after only 45 minutes. I suppose that was our cue to go. One highlight: a few female puppets had buttocks that operated on different strings, allowing each to move independently from one another, mimicking the traditional Burmese dance.

Inle Lake

As we rolled toward Inle Lake, the terrain seemed too lush to believe after dusty Bagan. The colors reached a saturation point Photoshop has yet to create. The mountains rose and fell in moody cobalt, the rice shoots budded in electric limes and the stilted houses on the lake persevered in a ruddy teak.

Yearning to take in the unique palette, we hopped into a boat steered by two teenage boys, whom we asked to just explore the lake for an hour. We came across the Jumping Cat Monastery - too fantastical a concept to float past. Inside, though, we found the cats on off-hours looking just like... cats. Apparently they jump through hoops twice a day, but not for two stragglers stopping by in the afternoon. The floating monastery, though, was a novelty all on its own.

The fishermen of the lake also proved an intriguing sight, as they famously row their boats with their legs, which wrap around the oar and move in circles for the ultimate buns-of-steel workout.

The nearby hot springs and the great Indian-influenced cuisine of the local Shan population completed the idyllic scene of Inle Lake. The people here, as everywhere in Myanmar, were only too eager to help out. When we were biking through the thick jungled trails, a woman and her baby stopped instead of riding by. She wanted to pose for a quick picture with her little one. I was only too happy to oblige. Myanmar is a photographer's dream. Take it in before the shot gets crowded out.

Rules of Thumb

Before you go: Tourist visas are available on arrival, but not for all nationalities. Play it safe and apply for the 28-day visa at least seven business days before your departure. Bring along a passport photo, letter of recommendation from your employer, a copy of your flight reservations and cash.

What to pack: Bring all the cash you will need, as there are no ATMs. Currency exchanges are easily available. If going to a more rural location such as Inle Lake, pack DEET mosquito repellent to avoid the risk of malaria.

When to go: The high season, October to March, is coming to a close, but the country is still beautiful in the rainy season, with lush greens all the more vibrant and moody skies only adding to the golden luster of the pagodas.

Getting around: Buses and planes can get you around the country and tickets are easily bought through hotels or travel agencies.

Getting there: There are no direct flights from Beijing to Yangon. Air China and China Eastern offer flights with stopovers in Kunming, and Korea Air also has service with one stop in Seoul.

source: Global Times

http://www.globaltimes.cn/content/766634.shtml