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Published: July 10th 2011
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Wasn’t going to blog, but with a weekend off work in the outback with an abundance of nothing to do I decided to reminiscence upon my journey to Burma. General reasoning for not blogging? Time, inspiration (lack of), all round laziness and also the boiling down to the fact that having travelled around south-east Asia on and off now for the past 4 years or so it just doesn’t come across as so other worldly to me as it once did, definitely relinquishing another continent at some stage of the game. But anyways, the opportunity arose to ponder on over to Burma and I took it, I met up with my Blightenese mate Steve in Bangkok and we caught a flight over to Rangoon where we would start our 2 week journey around the so called hot spots of Burma, or Myanmar – whatever takes your fancy, with Junta (apparently now dissolved but to what extent I couldn’t say) the military dictatorship renaming and abiding to Myanmar I felt that as everybody knows that they are/were a bunch of cunts and their whole regime corrupt to the core then I should definitely apply myself to indirectly defying them in my head
as much as ignorantly possible so I would go with calling Myanmar Burma, plus Burma is the name used by the British empire back when us Brits used to be also be considered cunts, so being a Brit I feel I have to stick to my cuntish roots, Burma it is.
I can’t speak for any other citizenships bar British but I got my visa for Burma at the Burmese embassy in Bangkok and Steve got his from the Burmese embassy in London, both relatively straight forward procedures, a bit of a sweaty queue in Bangkok but as a whole the process was simple enough and upon arrival in Rangoon we were checked into the country hassle free.
We had booked our accommodation in Rangoon in advance at the ‘Motherland Inn 2’ and for doing so was graced with an airport pick up. We were greeted by 3 guys all sporting longyi, traditional Burmese male dress, the trend becoming so very apparent on our bus journey from the airport into Rangoon. But more on the hotel owned bus, this thing had seen some miles, it was the Keith Richards of the bus world, haggard but still able to
bang out a tune, certainly emits just as much fumes as old Keith at any rate, but something tells me the old boy didn’t run on Jack Daniels. It took about 30 minutes to get to our hotel from the airport, the degradation of street standards immediately obvious coming from that of Bangkok, but still bustling with life, even with the absence of motorbikes which the Junta forbids in Rangoon. A row of monks walking along the sidewalks with their urns, a row of cars queued back as far as the eye can see for petrol, fuel still extremely expensive out here yet highly in demand as a necessity for daily survival, vendors pitching their wares, an all round aroma of vibrancy decking out Rangoon the unofficial capital of Burma. The capital being Nay Pyi Taw, the newest capital city in the world only being settled in by the government in 2005, initially this is where the military government officials will subside. A story I read tells me of vendors who have set foot there but have been unable to establish a meaningful living due to the fact that the city is so lifeless, it is also said that Johnny
Foreigner is not permitted to visit these parts or the Junta will bum you.
So the best ways of defying the government is by staying at non government owned hotels, taking non government transport, i.e. the buses, all trains are government owned so therefore are considered a no-no, buying food and drink from local family owned holdings, it’s all easy enough to do, be wary of certain government owned travel agencies which in some cases are said to be disguised, I’m not too sure to what manor as this part I have only read about, but I presume if the travel agent is wearing sunglasses and a fake moustache then be wary. I as a whole booked my onward journeys via the hotel/guesthouse I was staying at or just went directly to the bus station that served the route to which I was headed.
Upon arrival at our hotel we were greeted by a burping Burmese lady donning thanaka, a traditional yellowish makeup consisting of ground bark, used by the majority of Burmese women to act as a defence from the sun and to promote smooth acne free skin, the lady informed us that our room was not
ready for check in so Scuba Steve and I went for a little butchers around the streets of Rangoon. Hot and sweaty being the order of the day, if I’d have pissed myself I just wouldn’t have noticed. Steve began to suffer from a touch of heat exhaustion as his hands inflated to the size of botox injected 12 oz beef steaks, it was quite a rapid inflation, like the inflation of Kananga when he gets shot in the guts with the compressed gas cartridge bullet by Sir Roger Moor in the James Bond film Live & Let Die, it was kind of gross, so I just ignored it and it went away, that’s right, I ignored Steve’s pain so in effect it went away, worked a charm.
After a couple of hours we returned to our hotel and was issued with a room with a fan that refused to offend my side of the room, so if I pissed the bed......I probably wouldn’t have noticed, regardless we rested up for a bit and then headed back out into the afternoon heat, exactly how you shouldn’t do it....but we did it anyway. We made way to the Shewdagon Pagoda,
the jewel in the crown of Pagodas in Burma, and if not the world, a very impressive feat standing some 98 metres tall packed to the brim with a shitload (I don’t have the actual figure ) of gold, built sometime debatably by the Mon between the 6th and 10th Century. The majority of postcards you will pick up or receive from Burma (if they ever turn up) will consist of a picture of the Shwedagon. Packed with worshippers and free to the yocals, it’s here an unavoidable government fee has to be paid, but that can’t be helped, ones not going to come all this way to not see such a marvel. Walked about for a bit, spoke to some curious monks and then moseyed on back to the hotel.
In the evening we went in search of some footballing action as my team (West Ham) were to take on Liverpool and legend had it that the Burmese were massive on football. This being said....it was true, we found a gaff that offered a mediocre projectile screening of the game with a Burmese rock soundtrack. To accompany the game I had myself an awesome clay pot chicken dish
and a lavish quantity of Myanmar Beer which has to be said is a high standard brew, I sincerely recommend. During the second half we were accompanied by a pissed up Burmese chap with limited English of whom declared ‘Liverpool my crazy’. Which was unfortunate for him considering West Ham were absolutely dicking them. The 2nd goal disgusting the locals so much so that they changed the channel to the Man City game which was an absolutely ludicrous gesture, whitey protested and got his way, the disembowelment of Liverpool FC continued, end result 3-0 to West ham. A look to my left saw that the pissed up Burmese chap had actually fallen asleep, a good first night in Burma.
The next day we fucked off on the road to Mandalay.....just like that.
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