Kyaiktiyo (Golden Rock)

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In the morning, I go out into the noisy and dusty main street of Bago to find a way to get to 'Golden Rock'. At first, no one seems willing to take a foreigner but finally, a pick-up taxi takes me along patched-up and pothole-ridden roads to Kyaikto. I change over to another pick-up for the last leg of the journey and arrive in the dusty village of Kinpun. There are only two guest houses that allow foreigners to stay here, so I try the one the Lonely Planet doesn't suggest. After years of travelling, and using the Lonely Planet guidebook, I find that blindly following their suggestions isn’t always the best option. Also, there are usually fewer tourists staying at the alternative suggestions. As I arrive early, I decide to continue on to the top of the hill where the Golden Rock temple is situated. After waiting for nearly an hour, a large truck with rows of wooden planks in the back for forty-four passengers arrives. The truck slowly drives for forty minutes to the midway point, from where we must walk another 40 minutes to the summit. I notice, and take advantage of, an alternative and shorter route through the scrub, avoiding the tea shops and touts lining the concrete footpath. I see the entrance to the Golden Rock in the distance when I hear a voice announce "foreigners pay fee here". Not again, I groan, becoming agitated and repeating my usual spiel. You’d think I would've learnt by now, and avoid getting all worked up. This time they want $6usd. It doesn't seem like much but it's the principle and it’s becoming difficult to avoid giving any money to the junta. I reluctantly pay the fee and wait for my frustration to reside.

Wandering around the complex, I take some photos of the golden rock, visitors and monks. The rock itself, covered in gold leaf, reminds me of similar rock formations found in the central deserts of Australia. And I think of the consequences if anyone was caught spray painting one of them gold. Precariously balanced on the ledge of a cliff with a small stupa built on top; there is a large polished marble floor complex that surrounds it, which reminds me of the Golden Temple in Amritsar, India. It’s the pilgrimage season here at the moment, and a bustling crowd forms as people line up to pray and pose for photos in front of the rock.

What does it all mean? Are people praying to the rock? If so, what does the rock stand for? At other religious sites, like stupas, pagodas and sculptures, I often ask myself the same question. What are people praying to? I get that it is a representation of the Buddha.

A stupa or a bronze cast sculpture or in this case a rock, lasts for thousands of years, outliving the people worshipping it. Does this mean something? Buddhism teaches impermanence and change. The only thing changing, in this example, is the people. Is this the point? Stare at the mountain, rock or concrete image and realise your mortality.

The afternoon passes quickly. I want to stay and watch the intense sunset knowing that the last truck back to Kinpun leaves at 6 p.m. It would be a four-hour walk back down the mountain if I miss it. I make a run for it, galloping down the concrete road that I avoided on the way up. Thirty minutes later, the truck is slowly leaving the car park. I quickly climb aboard and take the slow-motion roller-coaster ride back down the mountain. The villagers don’t seem perturbed as the large heavy vehicle swerves dangerously around corners down the steep narrow road in the dark. I stare up at the star-studded night sky in awe and laugh aloud. “We could all die right now”. Women are singing and talking amongst themselves. I relinquish my fear, hold on tighter, sit back and enjoy the ride.

It’s been a brief trip to Golden Rock. Catching a local bus, I head back to Bago. The day is hot, as usual, and the guy sitting next to me falls asleep with his head on my shoulder. At first, this feels weird, but I allow him the use of my shoulder as a pillow for a while before I gently slap him. He awakes abruptly as I blurt “we're here!". He looks around surprised and then falls back to sleep. Shifting his head and making himself more comfortable, still on my shoulder. I stare out the window and watch the world whirl by. Back in Bago, I return to the Emperor hotel and retrieve my large cumbersome backpack. Arranging to catch the night bus north to Mandalay. It will take about 12 hours to travel the 400 km.

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Comments

[Farnz]

Pics
Hey Frank, There are some really nice pics here :-)