Mandalay's monks, markets and monasteries

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*Many of the photos in this blog entry were taken by Jeff Roberts at www.eyeballimaging.com/blog ©2007*

On July 11th Jeff and I left Bangkok's modern fast-paced bustle for the leisurely, traditional world of Myanmar (Burma). We flew into Yangon airport, then went to the domestic counter to see if we could find a flight that day to Mandalay or Bagan. We want to see Yangon, but we'll be heading back through there on our way back to Bangkok on August 3rd, so we decided we'd hurry north right away, if possible. We were in luck, and we were able to get seats on a small plane flying to Mandalay at 11 a.m. As we descended over Mandalay, we were stunned by the beauty of Myanmar's countryside... The land is a patchwork quilt of different colored farmlands, with occasional palm trees, small settlements, and sparkling golden pagodas absolutely everywhere--on hilltops, in villages, in the middle of fields, in small tree groves... Golden spires punctuate the land as frequently as 7/11s occur in Bangkok (which, in case you haven't been to Bangkok, is a LOT).

We landed in Mandalay and emerged into the baking heat of midday. Immediately, we were struck by the kindness and politeness of absolutely everyone we encountered. Instead of pointing to the restroom, an airport employee escorted me there. Instead of bombarding us with "Taxi!? Taxi!?", the taxi drivers asked politely if we needed one. Absolutely everyone was smiling. We climbed into a taxi so ancient i was afraid I'd break anything if I touched it... The inside was rusting and the windows were cracked. It took the driver about five tries before the engine turned over, but once we got going it worked just fine, and we stared out the windows as we drove the hour or so into Mandalay's center. The country roads along the way were lined with palm trees, fields of sunflowers, and countless gold payas (pagodas). We passed wooden ox-carts and men and women wearing straw hats, walking or bicycling down the dusty road. As we entered the thick of the city, the fields were replaced by thatched houses and roadside produce stands. Everyone who saw us smiled widely, and most people waved. By the time we got to our hotel, we were already enamored with the country.

We checked into A.D.1, a hotel a little ways from the center of town, in the heart of a neighborhood filled with markets and monks. For $10 a night we get a cute room with a fan and bathroom and a breakfrast of fruit, toast and eggs on the rooftop every morning. If we head right out of our hotel we pass shops selling monk "supplies"-- robes, umbrellas, alms bowls, fans, and sandals--to be purchased for newly ordained monks. (Nearly all boys spend a few months as a monk, and a few choose to stay monks for life.) A few steps farther is a beautiful pagoda. If we turn left when leaving our hotel, we head into the thick of a busy market, where tons and tons of locals squat under tarps and umbrellas, organzing produce, gutting fish, and chopping meat.

Nearly all of the women (and sometimes men and children) wear a sort of white powder on their face, which serves as sunscreen and makeup. Sometimes it's smeared rather randomly on their skin, but often the women have carefully drawn squares and circles on their cheeks. It makes everyone look a little like they just finished baking a messy batch of cookies. But after sweating in the heat for the last few days, I'm starting to wonder where I can buy some!

We spent the evening of our first day in Mandalay wandering through the neighborhood around our hotel, looking for a place to eat, and returning waves and smiles. We stopped at a tiny restaurant and sat down in the plastic chairs, not quite sure how to go about requesting food when we had absolutely no language in common. The problem was solved by the boy working there, who simply brought over a bunch of different pastries for us to choose from, along with a pot of tea, which comes free anytime you order anything here We had inadvertently sat down at a tea shop instead of restaurant, but the sweet coconut-filled bread was actually really good. Afterwards we kept walking, until we found a larger local-filled restaurant, which actually had an English-language menu! We still apparently had some communication problems, because we got a "preserved egg" salad instead of spicy cashew salad... The eggs were completely transparent, which I have to admit was a little scary and not the tastiest thing in the world, but we did our best to eat up and smile. The spicy chicken with rice was good, though, so we finally filled our stomachs with our first Burmese meal.

The next day we spent the morning wandering through the market. Men and women squatted under dusty umbrellas, behind displays of vegetables, grains, disemboweled fish, cuts of meat, and plastic odds and ends. I think the locals were as fascinated by us as we were by them. Everyone stared, but once again, everyone was smiling. We shook some hands, and answered some excited questions about where we were from. More than a few people laughed out loud at our presence, but it was purely good-natured and friendly. I have no doubt it's pretty funny to see us stumbling through the teeming marketplace with cameras, weird clothes and amazed expressions. One guy struck a fantastic hollywood movie star pose for the camera, and about 30 people (ourselves included) cracked up with laughter. By the time we left the market, my face hurt from smiling.

Afterwards we decided to take a taxi to the public swimming pool in town, to attempt to escape the stifling heat. I had read that the olympic-sized pool was next to a small amusement park, with bumper-cars, slides and a ride or two. We were rather shocked to see a run-down, almost deserted theme park, with broken-down bumper-cars piled forlornly in a corner, rusted waterslides leading into an empty pool (but topped by a splendid traditional roof), a nearly-empty snack counter staffed by a bored-looking guy, a few corroded slides, and a lime-covered fountain. The pool itself was full of very green water--but completely devoid of people. A few guys napped in the bleachers, and one lawn chair was occupied by an old guy reading a book. It would have been a rather perfect horror movie setting. But an employee asked us if we'd like to swim, and we decided to go for it--it was still hot, and the water was still wet. We paid for our tickets (40 cents each), then he showed us where to drop them in a box... then laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of the process, since we were the only people there. We swam long enough to cool off, then left the oddly-deserted theme park to head to the zoo next door. On the way out the guy working there assured us that the pool is completely full on the weekends, but we were pretty skeptical--the water slides and rides looked like they hadn't been used in years. Either way, it was an entertaining and inexpensive way to cool off and relax for a bit.

We had pretty low expectations for the zoo, but we were pleasantly surprised. The cages weren't exactly top-notch, but they weren't too terribly small either. The zoo grounds were much larger than we expected, also--it took us around two hours to wander through all of it. Aside from the usual animals, there were a remarkable number of enormous exotic birds (including hornbills and griffens), some beautiful Asiatic black bears, a couple of big sleepy tigers, two giant Asian elephants, and, best of all, three huge hippos with their mouths wide open, waiting to be hand-fed by any zoo-goers who decided to spend the 50 cents to feed them. In fact, you could feed any of the animals (except, I think, the tigers) by hand... we fed bananas to the Asiatic bears (using sticks to prevent losing fingers) and hand-fed sugarcane to the elephants. We got to see another group of people feeding the hippos, which allowed us close-up views into their enormous mouths.

After the zoo we took a taxi (a tiny blue truck with benches in the pick-up part) back to our hotel, then set out to track down a Nepali restaurant mentioned in our guidebook. We learned a good amount of Nepali during our 2 months there, and it was fun to use it to speak to the owners... not to mention the great curries. Afterwards, on the way back to our hotel, we passed a group of guys playing sepak takra, which is basically like volleyball with feet! Players--3 on each side--juggle a wicker ball and try to score by making it land on the other side of the net, using only the head and feet. It's great fun to watch, since the players use bicycle kicks and other wild attempts to connect with the ball. We watched for maybe an hour, then wandered back, through a somewhat disappointing night-market (sellers seemed to all have the same thing--walkmans, cassette tapes, watches, flashlights and tools), returning to our hotel fairly early, since the city shuts down soon after dark. We sat up on the roof for a bit to stay cool, waiting until the generator was turned on so we could use our fan and sleep. We went to bed early, so we could wake up early the next day to explore before the heat became unbearable.

The next day seemed even hotter, and even at 8 when we left the hotel it was already scorching. We set out in the direction of the Ayeyarwady River, which took us through shady streets filled with monestaries and monk quarters. Young monks giggled at us over the walls, and older monks smiled kindly as we passed. We took a narrow alleyway, and found ourselves in front of a huge, beautiful monastery with golden peacocks guarding the doorways. A monk offered to take us inside, and we left our shoes and padded up the stone steps and into the quiet hall filled with faded paintings and photographs of Buddhist leaders, with a shrine to the Buddha decorated with flowers and offerings. The pillars were elaborately carved and studded with gems, and the ceiling was delicately carved and coated in gold. We left the monestary and were immediately invited, by a man who apparently supervised there, to enter the classroom where the young monks were studying. About thirty boys sat and sprawled on the floor amidst open books, chanting and singing, wearing their burgundy robes, and grinning ear-to-ear at the unexpected interruption. When we left them to their studies, the man who had showed us in offered us seats to rest in a cool open room, then brought us a mango to take with us in case we were hungry. Everyone waved and grineed as we left, and once again I found my face hurting from smiling.

We made it to what we thought was the Ayeyerwady river around 11, and were surprised to find it devoid of the expected people bathing and washing on the banks. Instead, a fence stretched along both banks, and trash floated in the slimy water. Still, a golden paya stood proudly on the bank a little ways down, its reflection still managing to sparkle in the heavily-polluted river. (As it turned out, we were still two blocks from the river, looking at some sort of canal instead, but we didn't realize this until a few days later when we saw the real river.) We took a few pictures of the paya, then hopped in a trishaw (a three-wheeled bicycle rickshaw) to get lunch at BBB, an air-conditioned western food restaurant, in an attempt to stop sweating, at least temporarily.

After a pretty decent lunch, we hopped in another trishaw to head to Mandalay Hill, the only break in the otherwise flat area around Mandalay. The hill has a long, pleasantly shaded series of steps leading past countless pagodas and temples, with frequent snack shops and benches for those in need of a break from the long bare-foot climb. (Shoes are never allowed in Buddhist holy sites.) On the way up we met a 31-year-old monk (who I'll call P. because his name is hard to pronounce and spell), who walked and talked with us all the way to the top. He is a teacher at a very large monastery here in Mandalay, and was wonderfully open with us about his life and his country, as well as very interested in our views and our lives. When we reached the very highest level, Jeff and I were asked to pay a $10 per person entrance fee ticket, which surprised us since our guidebook said this fee wasn't necessary for Mandalay Hill. The official then informed us that they only accepted American dollars, which we didn't have... so we were asked to leave. Luckily, going down the 20 steps to the platform below counted as leaving, so we were still able to watch the sun set over Mandalay. P. stayed with us and accompanied us down again after the sunset, along with a couple from Israel and Italy who had also opted to stay one level down to avoid the $10 fee. We got the address of P.'s monastery before saying goodbye, so we could meet with him again before leaving Mandalay. Then we joined the Israeli/Italian couple for dinner at a traditional Burmese restaurant, which provided literally a table-full of condiments and side dishes along with the few meals we ordered.

After eating the four of us walked to the Moustache Brothers show, a nightly event that is now geared to tourists, but has a very different history: the three brothers are comedians who, in the past, performed political satire for Burmese audiences. The subjects of their jokes were not pleased with their antics, and sentenced two of the brothers to 7 years hard labor. Now, not allowed to perform as they used to, the brothers put on shows in English in the dusty front room of their house. We expected a very witty display, but were fairly disappointed--the jokes seemed tired, the acting and dancing seemed forced, and it was actually very difficult to understand what was going on. Although the guys themselves undoubtedly have a wealth of knowledge and an extremely intelligent take on the current Burmese state of affairs, they weren't able to express it in the show, and instead it came across as a weak attempt at slapstick entertainment.

The next morning we got up early to begin a day-trip to Paleik and Amarapura, villages near Mandalay. We hired a taxi-pickup for the day, to take us to both sites and back again. Paleik is home to the Snake Pagoda, a Buddhist temple complex which is home to three huge pythons. The snakes are revered by Buddhist followers, and the temple area is decorated with countless snake statues. The snakes themselves spend most of the day curled around the central Buddha image, but at 11 a.m. every morning they are carefully washed, dried with towels, and allowed to stretch out on the floor of the main temple, where anyone is welcome to hold them to pose for photos. We wandered around the scattered temples and pagodas until 11, then watched the bathing and took our turns holding the enormous snakes. We were the only non-Burmese visitors there, which meant we got about as much attention as the snakes. We left after the snakes were returned to their Buddha, and climbed back in the taxi to head to Amarapura, home to the world's longest teak bridge.

On the way we spotted Swe Daw Paya, an enormous golden structure supposedly housing one of the Buddha's teeth. We stopped to take photos from outside, and got about 2 minutes inside before the official ticket-collector asked for money, at which point we opted to leave instead. We climbed back into the back of the taxi, drove about 10 minutes, hit a big pothole in the dusty dirt road, heard a crunch, and rolled to a very ominous stop. The driver got out, checked the front wheels, shrugged, got back in, and we were off again... But we stopped a minute later, and this time we got out to inspect the situation as well. One of the front wheels was at a very unnatural angle. This car was going nowhere fast. We were on a fairly empty country road, a ways from any sort of village. After jacking up the car and taking off the wheel, the driver hitched a ride with a passing truck, assuring us that he would soon be back with the needed part. Sure enough, he appeared half an hour later, riding in a trishaw, with a large bolt in hand. We were skeptical that a bolt would solve the problem, but ten minutes later he told us all was well, and we climbed back into the pickup and were off towards Amarapura. We got there successfully, so I suppose the bolt was good enough.

Amarapura is a cute little thatched town full of monasterieis and golden payas, but it is best known for the 1.2 kilometer teak pedestrian bridge, which stretches across Taungthaman Lake to Taungthaman village. The lake itself is beautiful: small grassy islands and sporatic large trees dot the water, along with fishermen in their small wooden boats. A few restaurants and drink stands surround the Amarapura entrance to the bridge, and when we first got there we sat down for some (unfortunately pretty tasteless) noodles. The breeze from across the lake made it the most comfortable place we'd been so far in Burma, and we sat for a bit watching the locals fishing from the nearby shore.

After eating we spotted a small pagoda built over the water, with five young (8 to 10 years) monks waving at us from the top. We climbed up to join them, and ended up spending about an hour with them, although none of them spoke any English apart from "hello." They were thrilled to play with my camera and look through the long zoom of Jeff's, and they excitedly told us the Burmese words for various objects around us. They spun their small wooden tops for us, and eagerly posed for silly group pictures. We did a fair amount of communicating, considering the language barrier. I think Jeff and I had as much fun as they did.

Next we began our walk across the 1.2 km bridge, stopping frequently to take photos and say "min gala ba" (hello) to the many locals and monks as they walked across. There were a few tea shops with benches to rest, and at one of them we met a couple of monks around our age, one of whom spoke some English and was eager to talk with us. The two of them walked with us the rest of the way across, and then led us into Taungthaman village to a beautiful old temple where monks and nuns knelt and chanted in front of a giant gold Buddha. A multi-colored electric "halo" flashed and danced around the Buddha's head, which seemed a little tacky, but otherwise it was a wonderfully serene and beautiful spot.

The four of us (Jeff and I with our two monk friends in tow) returned to the bridge for sunset, although clouds rolled in and prevented much color from showing. Then Jeff and I returned to our now-fixed taxi to head back to Mandalay. We had dinner at BBB again (couldn't resist the great minestrone soup and the air conditioning), used the frustratingly slow internet for a bit, then returned to the hotel for the night.

The next morning we took a trishaw to the jade market, a not-exactly-legal (but generally ignored) area where jade traders and carvers buy and sell rough jade and polish and carve it into art and jewelry. We watched workers polishing small stones and saw unbelievably large jade rocks being inspected, then met a man who ushered us to his brother's small shop. His brother's name was Ruby and his sister, a wonderfully smiley and friendly woman, was named Rose. Ruby proudly showed us a framed photo of himself carving a piece of jade, taken by a Canadian photographer he had met a few years back. He was extremely excited to add a few Americans to his list of foreign friends, and he proudly showed off photographs of his sculptures from art school (which were extremely impressive). Ruby's brother ran off and came back with cups of fresh fruit for us, and Rose wouldn't rest until we were comfortable and our bags were carefully stowed on benches instead of of the floor. I bought a beautiful carved fish pendant, and they gave us a small stone as a gift. We took photos of their workshop, and got their address so we could send them a copy to put on the wall next to the Canadian's photo. They were an extremely friendly family, and very proud of their work. I would have liked to sit and chat with Rose, whose English was impressive and who seemed bright and eager to talk, but we had to meet P. at his monastery. Ruby's brother offered to help us find it, and despite our saying that we could certainly do it ourselves, he insisted on walking us all the way there. We'll make sure to send them photos as soon as we can get them developed somewhere. It clearly meant so much to the three of them to spend some time chatting with us.

Ruby's brother helped us locate P.'s monastery, which was inside a huge walled area with many dorms and classrooms for the students. We found P. inside his room/office, which was suprisingly spacious and even had a computer! He offered us chairs and the three of us talked for a long while. Occasionally a student entered the room to ask a question, and each time they would kneel and put their foreheads to the floor before speaking. We hadn't realized it before, but P. was apparently an extremely well-respected monk in the community. He led us to a nearby classroom where hundreds of young monks were listening to a lecture, scribbling in notebooks. Aside from their orange robes and shaved heads, they reminded me of students in any college lecture I ever attended. Some were paying attention, others were whispering, and nearly all of them stared and giggled when we arrived. We left them to their lesson and returned to P.'s room to continue talking. We learned so much from him about the realities of his life, and came to know him as not only wise and disciplined but also silly and very human. He showed us his favorite music video of the Irish band Westlife, admitting with a smile that he's not supposed to listen to music but every once in a while he does it anyway. We had to stifle giggles at his music choice, but it was pretty cute. He told us of his dream of raising enough money to travel to study Buddhism abroad, and showed us his passport, empty but waiting for its first stamp. He then led us to a nearby teak monastery, with a beautiful carved roof and an aura of quiet serenity. A few very old monks meditated cross-legged inside, and their quiet chanting and the wind in the nearby trees made us feel like we were miles from anyone else, although Mandalay bubbled along just outside the grounds. For reasons I can't fully explain, P. touched me in a way few people have. I feel like I learned so much from him in those few hours, and it was difficult to say goodbye. We exchanged addresses, and I have no doubt we will talk again.

After another internet attempt and a pretty good dinner, we took two trishaws back to our hotel for the evening. I spent the ride home talking with my trishaw driver, Soso, who talked very openly and honestly about his life. Although much of what he said was tragic, he spoke matter-of-factly, with a smile that seemed to say "such is life." He told me he has been married for nine years and has been driving a trishaw for seven. He has one daughter, and had an infant son who died recently in the hospital because the hospitals, although full of doctors and nurses, simply don't have any medicine. He used to own his own trishaw, but he had to sell it to pay for his wife's hospital bill when she got sick last year. His wife and daughter live in a nearby village, but he sleeps on his trishaw in Mandalay because he can't make enough money driving a trishaw in the village. He hopes to move back to be with his wife soon. I asked how many people he drives on an average day, and he told me one to three. (This is consistent with what many other drivers have told us.) That's probably around $2 per day. To buy his own trishaw will cost at least $100, and he has to feed himself and his wife and daughter as well. It was his attitude of optimism that affected me most, his strength despite everything he's up against. And his smile, as genuine as any I've seen, despite the multitude of reasons he might frown.

The next day we took off from sight-seeing. We slept in as late as the heat would allow us, had a late lunch, then returned to the swimming pool for another swim (this time there were actually a good number of kids in the pool with us) and to take photos of the abandoned theme park. On the way to the pool we passed Kuthowdaw Paya, which contains 729 marble slabs engraved with Buddhist text. Each slab is housed in its own whitewashed paya, with a pointed roof adorned with tinkling bells. In the center is a stunning all-gold pagoda. There was almost no one else there, and the only sound was the ringing of the hundreds of bells in the wind. It is yet another place that seems to float in its own peaceful plain of existence, separate from the reality of the city.

We had dinner that night at a chapati stand full of locals and a few other travelers. They were out of chicken curry but offered us veal brains instead. We declined, but the beef curry was good. We went to bed early again, so we could wake up early to catch the morning boat to Mingun.

Mingun is a town 11km upriver from Mandalay, and a common spot for tourists to day-trip. We didn't realize quite how common until we got to the ticket office at the dock and found it full of other westerners. The boat trip was pleasant although the river was too wide to afford much of a view. We had some nice conversation with an Irish couple, who were able to give us advice about the rest of Southeast Asia. Mingun itself was shockingly full of touts and vendors, who swooped down on all of us as soon as we disembarked. The tourists who weren't well-rehearsed in saying "No" found themselves followed relentlessly by streams of vendors selling straw hats, folding fans, T-shirts and puppets. We darted away from the crowds and checked out a few temples, but new vendors and beggars seemed to pop up at every corner. It was as bad as anywhere we'd been so far on our trip, which thoroughly surprised us since we'd seen absolutely no pushy vendors previously in Burma. A woman and two children followed us for a full half an hour as we climbed the stairs into a Buddha temple, trying to sell us packets of insense. We said no countless times, but still they followed us, jumping to shade us from the sun and fan us, despite our firm "no thank you"s. By the time we got to the top we were feeling harrassed and guilty, and the little boy had resorted to "it's for my education." But we simply didn't have any small bills, having just changed money, which meant we couldn't buy the insense for any reasonable amount of money even if we wanted to. I have no doubt all the pushy vendors do very much need money, and it feels awful to say no when there is such an obvious difference in wealth between us, but at the same time we can't give and give unconditionally. Saying no to pleading eyes is probably the hardest part about traveling. Even once we escaped the three of them, other beggars and vendors continued to follow us, and we were pretty quickly sick of Mingun. We saw and photographed what is supposedly the world's biggest non-cracked bell (it's certainly big, but the graffiti all over it kind of ruins it), then returned to the boat to return to Mandalay.

The day continued downhill with a very negative interaction with a trishaw driver. The driver approached us as soon as we got off the boat, begging to drive us somewhere. We agreed, since we did indeed need a ride, and asked him to take us to the internet cafe. Once we got there we paid him and told him not to wait, since we would undoubtedly be two or three hours. He said "No no I'll wait, I'll wait, I need money" and we insisted that he should go so he could drive other people and make money. We told him we weren't sure if we'd need a ride and it might be a very long time, but he wouldn't leave. So we shrugged and went to use the internet. When we came out two hours later he was still there, and immediately said "You make me wait long time." We were heading to dinner at a place only two blocks away, so we didn't need a trishaw. We told him this, and he became extremely angry, shouting that he is starving and needs money to feed his family, it was bad of us to make him wait so long and then not pay him. In a moment of weakness we gave him some money for waiting, despite our telling him not to wait at all, and still he shouted that it wasn't enough. As we walked away he called us something along the lines of "f-ing Americans." It was our only negative interaction with a local so far, and certainly not representative of the people in general, but it was an unfortunate way to end our last day in Mandalay, an otherwise wonderful city.

The next day we would fly to Bagan, one of the world's most famous sites for ruins, home to 3000 crumbling temples stretched across a 42 square kilometer plain.

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Photos

woman with traditional face paint
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

onion sellers near our hotel
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

fish vendor at the market
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

bicycle rickshaw driver
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

bumper cars and water slide at the city pool
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

young monks at the monastery
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

monks at their lessons
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

golden stupa and birds
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

monk boys spinning a top
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

monks crossing U Bein bridge
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

golden buddhas
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

one of the moustache brothers
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog

man with a hat
Photo by Jeff Roberts
www.eyeballimaging.com/blog