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Published: February 9th 2013
Bangkok, Thailand, 10–15 January Yangon, Burma 15–17 January Considering the flight from Bangkok to Yangon took barely an hour, it was quite an eventful journey. After we boarded, a very rosy-cheeked, chubby, 40-something man got on and sat on our row in the aisle seat next to C. By way of introduction, he offered C his hand and said very loudly:
“British, are you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he then leaned over C and addressed me in a conspiratorial fashion.
“Now, you know what would be great?” he said in a creepy and very patronising way, “If I could sit in that seat,” points to my seat, “when we land.”
Without missing a beat, he then continued, very self-importantly. “See, I’m a journalist.”
He placed great emphasis on the last word and then sat back in his seat smirking to himself as if this was a done deal and as if it explained everything.
Next to me, C stiffened. In an attempt to defuse any potential dramas, I put my hand on his arm, smiled winningly at the man and pulled out the dappy card.
“I’m a journalist too!” I said,
very over-enthusiastically.
He looked unimpressed.
“Who do you write for?” he said, with a sigh and without feigning any interest.
“Anyone who will have me!” I said, unhelpfully. Then, “I’m freelance.”
His eyes lit up and he leaned forward again, practically elbowing C in the face. The tension rose up a notch but Red Cheeks wasn’t noticing any of it.
“I’m freelance too,” he said. “I’m working for the Daily Mail." He took a long time to say the name as if he was looking for a round of applause. "And I'm writing a piece about the Spitfires. I believe you can see the men digging from the plane window and I want to get some photos.”
There's an original excuse if nothing else. After I refused to offer my seat due to the fact I wanted to look out the window (duh) and there were about twenty other window seats free throughout the plane, he then proceeded to ask everyone around us whether they would give up their seat for him. After being refused at every turn, he sat huffing and puffing until the stewardess announced we were coming in to land and
then stalked off down the aisle, glaring at everyone as he went. A couple of days later, we saw his article in the DM stating that there were, in fact, no Spitfires in Burma at all so it was all a bit of a fuss over nothing.
Dramas. Seriously. But enough about that. We've got a new country to discover. As we began the descent into Yangon, all we could see were endless empty fields and an incredibly barren landscape. It was only when we were very close to landing that we started to see signs of life – houses here and there, cultivated fields and golden pagodas that dotted the landscape. As we cleared immigration, I noticed one thing right away in contrast to every single other Asian country we had visited so far – there were far more men than women. In fact, there were barely any women.
Despite the fact that we had no idea what to expect of this new country, we had got a fair idea of how things worked before we arrived. Our attempts to book internal flights through a travel agent (it is not possible to do so online without a
very lengthy process) ended up with us having to pay extortionate prices due to the huge taxes that the government places on airline fees. The alternative is to take a bus between the key destinations; most of which take between ten and 16 hours and some of which have a bin bag as a toilet that is thrown across the back row. Really.
We had also set about booking the majority of our hotels – the first time we had done this more than two days in advance on the trip so far – as we didn’t want to be stuck out in Burma with nowhere to sleep. Search results had consistently churned out either eye-wateringly expensive hotels or ones that cost next to nothing but were very, very far out of town and not very welcoming. After receiving a few distinctly unhelpful emails back (one hotel said: “if we have space you can stay. If we don’t you can’t. Just turn up”) we managed to find a decent-priced one in the centre of town. We were lucky as we were booking late and hotels that had cost $40 a night the year before had increased prices to $150
or more, to take advantage of the increase in tourism. This means that travelling in Burma either needs to be done on a shoestring or you need to be prepared to spend a fair bit of money.
Another thing that makes everything slightly difficult is that Burma has very, very few ATMs that accept foreign cards (and then only Mastercard) so every tourist has to carry enough cash in US dollars (pristine notes, please, no rips or dirt allowed) for their entire trip. This came as an unwelcome surprise to one American tourist who stood beside me at the baggage carousel at Yangon and asked the airport staff where he could take out money. They looked at him, baffled, and C stepped in to explain. The guy looked absolutely crestfallen, as well you would be. I wonder what happened to him.
So back to our arrival. Outside, it was all the usual chaos of an international airport. In the midst of this we were bundled into a taxi and started the drive into Yangon. Our first impressions of the city were identical – we couldn’t stand it. It just seemed to be a hub of unattractive, grey buildings
with absolutely solid traffic, oppressive heat and pollution that stung your eyes and throat. There were so many people and there did not seem to be enough space for anything to move. The charm and element of surprise that usually comes with a new place seemed to be swallowed up by the functional, flat and incredibly grey look and feel of the city. But as we drove into the centre and down one of the main avenues, we started to see little hints of just why people say Burma is so magical. The colours that had dominated Asia up until now started to appear and many of the people walking past wore the distinctive face make-up that looks like clay and is a popular Burmese cultural tradition. Men and women, old and young, smiled red-toothed smiles at us, a result of their chewing tobacco (betel) and another Burmese tradition. This tradition also explains the abundance of red patches on the ground where people spit out their tobacco in a very noisy and very deliberate ‘hocking’ style. In a predominantly Buddhist country where it is custom to remove your shoes in most shops and at all religious sites, it seems a
bit disgusting to have such a tradition but I’m sure there are things that we do in the UK that the Burmese would regard as just as filthy.
We had seen all of this and we were still not at the hotel. Yangon in rush hour made Bangkok look like a haven of tranquility or London like a peaceful backwater. The traffic just stayed ground to a halt as people seemed to spill out of every available bit of space and jam themselves in between the vehicles. While there were many cars, motorbikes were noticeably absent, the first time that we have seen this on the trip so far. Rumour has is that a government official was knocked down by a motorbike and, in his fury, banned all motorbikes from the streets of Yangon. This may go some way to explaining why they are not banned in the rest of Burma but when we asked the locals whether this story was true, most were very evasive. I can’t imagine what it will be like when tourism really starts to hit in Yangon as there does not seem to be any more space to put anyone, or anything. Ahead of
us on the road, a huge gold pagoda acted as a roundabout. We noticed right away that there was a huge mix of cultures which may also explain why, despite the fact that tourism has not really hit Burma yet, none of the locals seemed particularly interested in Westerners which came as a welcome change after our experiences in Asia so far.
Another thing we quickly found out about Burma is that it is a country that shuts down very early. After we had checked into our hotel and gone out to look around, it was only just before 9pm and already the city was quiet. I couldn’t believe these were the same streets that had been so packed just an hour before. As we searched for a place to eat dinner we also quickly discovered that, due to the huge amount of different cultures that call Yangon home, it is not always easy to find traditional Burmese food. We ended up in an absolutely packed street restaurant (perhaps this was where everybody in the city had gone) and spent a couple of happy hours observing the Burmese people and our new surroundings. In just that one restaurant, we
Monks on the pagoda
I'm still not entirely sure how they got up there...noted Bangladeshi, Chinese, South Korean, Indian and Thai people, along with some very vicious-looking dogs and a rat who appeared as we were leaving. Or, perhaps more accurately, a rat that appeared next to our feet after which we promptly left.
The next day, we hired a driver and set off to look around the city. I don’t think anybody would call Yangon an attractive place and it definitely doesn’t hold the charm that some cities do but it has the dubious accolade of being the world’s most crowded city, or at least the most crowded place I have ever been to. It made rush hour in London look like child's play. We wandered round the downtown streets and went to see the two-tier covered market which was basically rows and rows of jewels (jade is one of Burma’s biggest exports) and souvenirs that are exactly the same as what you would find in the other Asian countries but at around triple the price. We ate lunch at a traditional Burmese teahouse, an experience which basically involves choosing from an array of different dishes that are on display (none of which were recognisable) and eating everything together like a
mezze. The food was not as spicy as in other places we have visited but it was much more simple and tasted very healthy.
In the late afternoon, we went up to the Shwedagon Pagoda to see the sunset. It is world famous and the most important religious monument in the whole of Burma; people from miles around come to visit. It also makes every single other Buddhist temple we had seen beforehand look plain, which is saying something. A gold plated pagoda that is encrusted with four and a half thousand diamonds and stands at around 110 metres tall, it is undoubtedly very impressive. It is 2500 years old but has been consistently updated. Yet while I know that it is a very holy site and it is gorgeous to look at, the multitude of garish colours in the smaller temples that encircle the pagoda and the sheer number of Buddhas on the entire site made it feel a bit like we were visiting a Buddhist Disneyland. This image was somewhat reinforced by the monks who wandered past us seemingly in a picture of serenity but who were actually playing on their iPhones. Two of them stopped in
front of the pagoda and knelt to pray. While one had his eyes shut and head bowed, the other pulled his iPhone back out of his robe and checked a message. It was all a little bit slapstick especially as C had pulled me in for a cuddle and a kiss just a few minutes earlier and within seconds, four or five Burmese officials surrounded us to tell us off. I know that Buddhism is all about feeling the love but I couldn’t help thinking that if they knew they were telling off a Jew and an atheist, then they may have wanted us out of there even faster.
As the sun set behind the pagoda, we sat on the floor below surrounded by people and watched the colours change and monks wander past (the iPhones were no longer on show). It was really beautiful, in a very different and much more modern way than that of Angkor Wat or other older sites. It was stunning to see the colours change from day to dusk to night and a really special experience. After we had absorbed the colours and the atmosphere for a while longer, we combed the city
for a nice restaurant and ended up discovering that, as Yangon is a place that is changing and developing so rapidly, many places we had looked up that had been recommended just six months before had either disappeared altogether or changed management and become not very appealing. In the end, we decided to treat ourselves and go to The Strand, a hotel in the posh part of downtown that is famous for its iconic status and for including George Orwell and Rudyard Kipling among its former guests. Dinner was surprisingly inexpensive and after our rat experience the night before, we fancied eating somewhere that we knew was clean. A bit of wine and some really gorgeous food later, we were ready for bed. And, at around midnight in Burma, that made us hardcore.
The next morning, we drove out to see where Aung San Suu Kyi was kept under house arrest. The house was located, to my surprise, right on a main road and surrounded by white gates and high walls along with some very well-tended-to gardens. We could see the house through the cracks in the gate as well as a strategically placed security guard just inches away
on the other side. It was exciting to see a little piece of history and afterwards, we ate at a teahouse just a couple of minutes down the road. I wondered whether this was where Aung Suu Kyi came for coffee after she was released (yes, tongue in cheek). The teahouse turned out to be vastly different from the ones in downtown Yangon, it was packed with many official looking types and the décor was stunning and had clearly been chosen by someone with money, all water features, polished wooden sliding doors and a beautiful patio and garden, where we sat and observed people who were potentially making world-changing decisions just a few feet away. This was the wealthy area of Yangon and as we drove back to the hotel, we went past many large, ornate houses with high gates and sweeping driveways, a complete and total contrast to the bustly downtown areas. We saw Aung Suu Kyi’s office that was located in a busy area near to some very bustly food markets. We then picked up our bags from the hotel and set off for the airport. 36 hours in Yangon and we had had a taster of this
very intriguing country. Now we were ready to go to Inle Lake and get to the heart of Burma.
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