Myanmar is a place where temples gleam in gold, real gold, and its people are among the poorest in the world.
Yet, many believe that in five years this lovely, dreamy place will
resemble other westernized Asian countries. But can't there be a way to
preserve its charm and rich history?
Ever since reading Kipling's Road to Mandalay, when Myanmar
was called Burma, I've wanted to travel to this mysterious land where
time seems to have stopped in the 1920s. I finally visited with a tour
group in March.
Entering the city of Yangon, formerly Rangoon, it was a relief to see
no motor scooters. The former president outlawed them; too noisy, he
decreed. Even as this city on the Irrawaddy River shows some signs of
becoming a cosmopolitan center, it has an air of innocence. Flickering
neon signs on businesses often showed a lack of familiarity with English
usage: A bustling women's wear shop was called "Tart Fashions."
Our party of 16 tourists peered through a wire fence at the
dilapidated Secretariat, the former seat of British government where
Gen. Aung San, considered the father of democracy in Burma, was
assassinated in 1947. Abandoned after the government capital moved to
Naypyidaw in 2005, it recently held apartments where residents cooked
over open fires inside.
Four hundred miles north of Yangon is Bagan, where more than 2,000
golden temples of all sizes are scattered along 26 miles of plain. Most
roads leading up to these glowing monuments are dirt pathways. Some are
accessible only by horse cart.
Our hotel, with views of the river, was charming, with luxurious appointments, as did all of the hostelries.
Curries, milder than those in Thailand, with chicken or fish and
occasionally pork are the most common food. Only one of our hotels
offered hamburgers and fries and there are no fast food places.
Burmese eat with their fingers; silverware is provided to tourists. Rice
is always served, sometimes in a pilaf with vegetables.
Beer is always available for $2 a bottle, which you can buy with
kyats or non-worn U.S. dollars (we were warned to bring only fresh new
bills). No one takes credit cards; there are no ATMs.
I purchased a couple of longyis, the universal skirt worn by both men
and women (no one wears trousers). As I clumsily tried to wrap the
colorful strip of material with just two strings around myself, several
local women walking by were happy to show me how to turn it into a
flattering garment.
Last stop on the trip was Inle Lake, a shallow waterway 13 miles long
and 7 miles wide. The Intha people, who live near the lake in villages
on stilts, fish in flat-bottom skiffs using one leg to row as they net
fish.
Two-person canoes powered by a standing paddler in back took us to
one of the Intha stilt homes where the family proudly showed off their
two-room (one bedroom and one main room) home. Everyone sat on the
floor, including a complacent pussycat.
At another village, we met women and a young girl from the Padaung
tribe who wore heavy brass rings to make their necks appear longer.
Through our interpreter, we learned the tribe believes the tradition
began centuries ago to protect the necks of women working in the fields
from tiger attacks.
I asked if the women are buried in them. (They can't take them off
unless they want to spend the rest of their lives lying down; the
muscles in their necks no longer support their heads.) The answer was
no, they're too valuable.
Constance Heckert lives in Bethesda, Md., and Indian Rocks Beach.
source: Tampabay
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