Temple'o'rama - of Buddhas, Bikes and Bagan

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Sorry for the brief hiatus from writing, but we have been computer challenged. After days of power outages that last all day and non existent or too slow internet connections we are finally back on line - for today only and then who knows ... but back to our story ... when you last left our travellers they were headed to Bagan.

Ah, travel in Myanmar: there is the bus usually at night and on roads that will make your stomach churn and your organs rumble; the train which takes 5X as long as the bus, but where you might gaze some beautiful scenery as you move at a snail's pace; the plane, infinitely more civilized and relatively cheap compared to private or shared taxis and where you can cover a 14 hour bus trip in one hour or from Mandalay to Bagan, there is the tourist boat where you can float along the life's blood of the country, the Ayeyarwaddy River. We opted for the later and were whisked through the dim morning streets of Mandalay already busy with people on their way to work, school and to take tea in the little restaurants lining the small streets. Made it to the boat jetty by 6:45am to see a sea of foreigners and quickly realised that at $25/head no locals would be on our boat.

In true Myanmar spirit, the boat left right on time and we found ourselves floating down the wide Ayeyarwaddy. To navigate this river requires incredible skill as there are countless numbers of sandbars appearing at regular intervals in the most awkward places as well as other non powered vessels to avoid, floating in the current. The north part of the river requires at least 7 skippers on board, each specialized in their section of the river only.

But for us tourists, we were oblivious and soaked up the sun while relaxing and reading our books and watching the world go by. On the steep shoreline and along the beaches were temporary houses of bamboo where families lived and fished during this, the dry season. But during the monsoon season they would have to relocate further away from the river to avoid flooding. Tiny dugout canoes plyed the waters while men fished and you could mark the villages by the golden steeples rising in the distance to mark the pagodas.

But no pagodas could prepare you for Bagan, our destination, 9 hours by boat. Gliding in to its jetty was to only begin to understand its vastness and archaelogical significance as we saw pagoda after pagoda in the distance. The whole area is known as the Bagan Archaeological Zone and is 42 km square, 190 km from Mandalay and 690 km north of Yangon. No one knows exactly how many temples are in this area, but over 4400 were built from about 1047 to 1287 when the mongols of Kublai Khan invaded. Bagan was established with many kings during this time period who reigned and established this area as both a religious and secular capital. Its architecture was influenced by Mon and Pyu architecture and also Hindu designs. No one is quite sure what led to its downfall, but after the invasion by Kublai Khan, ransacking and looting did considerable damage to the once majestic pagodas. By the 14th to 18th Centuries, Bagan was viewed as a taboo place with angry spirits and most of the population deserted the place. Only after the British set up a post here did the Myanmar people begin to move back.

Now Bagan is one of the tourist meccas in Myanmar. Rivalling Angkor Wat in Cambodia with jaw droppability with its temple rich fields, it is a must-do on the tourist circuit and touristy it is. We felt the tentacles of mass tourism taking hold of us as soon as we scrambled off the boat onto the jetty. Immediately small children came to us like mosquitos in swarms, begging for shampoo, pens and selling postcards. It was to become a common theme of our time there. We also felt like we had stepped into another country because of all the tourist restaurants in our area of Bagan called Nyuang U. With its many cheap guesthouses, most foreigner heads than locals, book exchanges, travel agents, bars advertising caprininas and mojitos, lights that stayed on 24 hours and hot water most of the time we had to check that we were not in Thailand!

But in the early morning light with our layers on because it was brisk on the plains as we set off on our rented bicycles we began to leave tourist land behind - as long as you didn't linger too long at the temples where the hawkers were relentless! But without plans we established a routine, get up early to beat the head and cycle on the quiet roads to a far temple where you could climb stories and stories up its layers of steep steps to admire the 360 degree view of so many temples that it seemed absolutely surreal. Their spires popping up on the horizon or directly in front of you for you to explore, shafts of sunlight playing on their stones and the fields while the birds sang and you couldn't imagine a better place. You never had a plan. You just cycled and stopped when you saw a pagoda that looked interesting and it was pure pleasure to ride your bike down quiet roads with locals passing saying, "Mingalaba" (hello) to you. A typical morning cycle would cover 10 of so pagoda, some practising English with curious locals in the temples, a little shopping and about 20-30 kilometres on your bike and you would be back by noon to savour the afternoon by relaxing, writing in your journal, using the internet, finding a good restaurant or purusing the market in Nyuang U. The trick was to pace yourself to avoid temple burn out so you could actually really enjoy them because it could be incredibly overwhelming otherwise. And of course, there was the quest for the perfect pagoda to climb up and see the sunset over the wonders of Bagan.

The days blended into each other as my skills began to improve on my deluxe Crocodile bike with its one speed and heavy frame. We made a good team though as I delved off on the tiny side dusty, sandy paths which required more skill than I could muster. Kurt left me in the dust as he made good time on his "Flying Peacock" bike, probably better than a crocodile! We came home covered in dust even with our pant legs rolled up, a fine silty feeling that never quite left us, but a reminder of another wonderful day in Bagan.

On our last day, I was treated to a stroke of luck as there was a festival in the village where I was visiting one of the temples and the locals befriended me and took me to see the parade on the road. Stopping traffic, in this country where people have nothing, was an incredible spectacle of colour as little girls dressed in pink costumes led the parade with dancing while being accompanied by men with giant drums and reedlike instruments sounding like music of snake charmers. Smaller girls followed decked out in their best, flipflops exchanged for dress shoes, and then older women with bundles of flowers and golden parasols like those given as offerings in the temples, finally there were oxen and water buffalos fitted out in their very finest pulling carts of families dressed in their best. The whole community was out and with the festive mood and atmosphere and no tourists around it was one of the those incredible travel moments. The girls were going to be nuns and tomorrow they would shave their heads so today the community celebrated and supported them in this endeavour. And for me, I was just lucky to tag along for the ride.

As I biked back to our wonderful little guesthouse where we were surrounded by Canadians on either side, I gazed right and left the entire time as the pagodas were always in my view. There are no words to describe this place and no pictuers can truly do it justice. It has to be seen, but do it soon as the effects of mass tourism are seeping into its soul and will soon alter it for good and in a way that will not be very positive. But for now, it is without a doubt, one of the incredible jewels of the world, resplendent in its tranquility with the feelings of the past and enough of a massive area to mean that you are often alone to enjoy it, to sit and listen to the birds and look at the incredible frescoes painted centuries ago by skilled artisans that have left their mark on the Myanmar people and my heart.

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Photos

Hanging out on the boat
Travelling the soft way in Myanmar

Even the cows are festive here
Parade in a local village, Bagan

Temple'o'rama
The vista that is all pagodas

Girls dancing at the festival
Before they are about to become nuns and have their heads shaved the next day!