Me N Ma Daze

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In the 1930s, George Orwell wrote a book called Burmese Days about his life as a colonial officer in the small town of Katha in northern colonial Burma (now called Myanmar), a town I was able to visit last month.

A major aspect of Orwell's book is a biting criticism of the insular and narrow minded cultural politics (much like racism) of the British resident community towards the local people. At the same time, he writes with an often critical but also sympathetic and appreciative eye for the native culture and the people of the town. (But quite cynical about politics, both colonial and native.....one gets the feeling that the land and resources and people are useful but not important....it is a view one gets when considering the historical politics of the Siamese, the British, the Chinese, the Indians and native regimes )

I was looking to develop some useful insights through channeling Orwell, at least as much as could be expected from the dazed goggles of a tourist.

Ironically, the Burmese regime of the last fifty years or so resembles the books Orwell is best known for, 1984 and Animal Farm, (mostly taken as a reference to the Soviet Union and the nuances of social control in authoritarian government) It is also ironic that the current regime, has kept the same small mindedness of the old British colonial order.

The best part of Burmese Days is when he writes about the events and goings on in the fictionally named town, modern day Katha. A small town is a good concept for keeping things simple and I really did want to try and keep it simple. (But I admit I was romantically imagining about the Irrawaddy as a route to China, as the British did before, the French did on the Mekong River.....Meanwhile the Chinese image of developing Burma into their 'California' through river and rail linked to the Irrawaddy with ports on the Indian Ocean)

On a simple note, I start with Orwell because my journey began in the northernmost region of Myanmar, the Kachin State (one of seven states) where Katha is located. As a foreigner who spoke the language and knew the local ways of life, I figured he would serve as a good literary muse......or at least as an inspirational spark.

Like all of my blogs so far, this blog is about me, but I hope the muse-filled energies of the people I encountered on my journey will complement the literary spirit to make it more readable.

I wanted to experience the people away from the major tourist zones for at least a few days; not that Myanmar is a major tourist destination, but there are only a few destinations where most tourists congregate, upriver on the Irrawaddy, beautiful as it is, is not one of them.

Since I speak only a few words of Burmese, I figured why not go to nature's heart at the beginning of the Irrawaddy River in the Kachin province and see what I could learn. Along the Irrawaddy's path, which runs from top to bottom through the center of the country, a number of the land's most important civilizations are thought to have risen, including the first recognized 'Burmese' kingdom of Bagan in the 11th century and some of the country's earliest people, the Pyu.

Volumes have already been written on this history and I needed something simple to enliven my mission. And I've probably read too many books on the subject myself...........rather than the grandeur of temples, nature accompanied by local people seemed a much simpler way to start. I am quite sure the people I describe will be caricatures of their real selves, but at least they will be driving the narrative in positive fashion.

My flight from Yangon landed in Myitkyina(pronounced Mit jeena), the provincial capital of the Kachin state, about a month ago. I began with a night at the local YMCA, having Kachin food for dinner with a young German guy, on a $10 a day budget, hitchhiking his way across Myanmar. I never saw him again.

The next morning I managed to get myself on the back of a motorcycle taxi and to the boat launch on the Irrawaddy River. The small local boats that service this part of the river are small skinny sleuths powered by car engines with propellers jutting out their end. Much like the banana shaped boats you witness on the Chao Phraya river in Bangkok.

At the launch, I bantered with the ticket attendant and a woman running the tea shop there using my twenty word Burmese vocabulary and clumsy sign language. After asking her to take my picture, through the same surprisingly successful sign language or so I thought, she suggested I should give her my camera as a reciprocal gift. Then she pointed to my computer. I smiled a lot and we looked at some of my other things. Apparently, none of my XXL sized wardrobe appealed to her so we settled on the most common local means of exchange, the Myanmar kyat (pronounced chat sounding like yacht).

In the Northern territories of Myanmar along the Irrawaddy River, currency is under threat by the wet environs of the river and is also probably quite scarce due to the impoverished nature of the local economy so that 200 and 500 kyat notes (about 33 cents to 75 cents at that time) were folded in half and put in little plastic bags stapled shut. It probably also has a lot to do with the fact that Myanmar's central bank mainly serves to print money for the needs of the military government (if you think the US spends too much money on military spending as a % of GDP think again). The same government has a history of money laundering and banking crises (2002 was the latest) that have left no faith in the kyat as a store of value (serving only as a form of exchange).

The official rate of 6 kyat to the dollar as compared to the actual exchange rate you can get on the street (anywhere from 600 -1300 kyat over the last twenty years) is a testament to the lack of trust people have in the government's ability and desire to manage the currency for the people and not for itself. One result is that there are no ATM's available for tourists. So you have to bring all of the currency you need with you into the country, only crisp, new bills (especially dollars but baht and euros are readily accepted in a number of places.)

So I was feeling much like a drug dealer during much of my trip carrying around hundreds of clean crisp US dollars I had parlayed in Bangkok. It made me feel even dirtier as I felt I had something in common with the practices of the unpopular government in Myanmar. (I didn't meet one person who bragged about them on my trip).

From Myitkyina, I took the local boat to a very small town about four hours downriver called Sinbo where I was led to a local guest house immediately off the boat. I slept there one night as the next boat didn't leave until the following afternoon. It was a very quiet and small town and I spent much time sitting in the restaurant talking occasionally chatting with the owner of the guesthouse who smiled while he talked politely in English. I would characterize him as very well mannered and attentive but our conversation was unfortunately quite sterile. I read Tom Robbins for a few laughs before calling it a night.

I arrived in Bhamo, a beautiful trading town with stunning pagodas and old wooden trading houses along the riverside. Here I met a group of Indian Burmese from Myitkyina that took me to a fabulous little noodle shop near the local university for Shan style noodles. The noodles were an amazingly delicious if a pasty mess-condiments of salty, spicy and sweet tastes surrounded my bowl. Later, a couple on a tractor gave me a ride through the village where I had been walking. I stood with the farmer's wife amidst a pile of shucked cornstalks while waving to numerous smiling villagers before having a chat at a local merchant's shop. I later watched the sunset go down atop a pagoda overlooking the Irrawaddy River. Looking out over pagodas and local fishing boats surrounded by mountains on the river here in Bhamo was one of the most scenic vistas I recall on the whole trip.

All during the day I watched men, and women, labor in the hot sun fracturing rocks for road building, digging for temple improvements, hauling in nets along the water and pursuing a number of labors in the rice/corn fields. I paused to think if any of was of the 'forced' or 'involuntary' labor I read about so much when it comes to military road building programs or supplying their logistical portage needs.

Women carry amazing loads and varieties of objects on their heads here. Life is simple and beautiful here, poetic in fact, but it is not easy on the body and the material fruits are not always plentiful. Both humans and animals put their bodies to the test here. Nature is much less consistent than the bank, believe it or not, so margins of error are much slimmer here than with what most of us are familiar.

The next day, I took a morning tour with Oo Da Ngwhe, a trishaw driver who hugged and kissed me the first day I arrived in town. I was taken by his scraggly appearance. He took me to a number of local temples, introducing fragments in broken English. Then he took me to his little hovel of a home near a big temple in town where he appears to be one of the caretakers. His wife and daughter served me tea before he returned me to my hotel.

The next town was Orwell's Katha. Here I visited Orwell's home, the British club, chatted with a military officer, met a strange monk who gave me cologne and a pamphlet, ate some interesting foods, biked around the countryside and sat in a lot of tea shops. Katha is a place that appears not to have changed terribly much since Orwell was there, but I am probably exaggerating. The logging camps near the town were one of the major employers. Most roads are still made of dirt and most colonial buildings are still in use.

In Katha, as I was biking down a muddy dirt road through a village along the river, a voice called out to me somewhat authoritatively and distinctly,"Hello, come stop here for a minute!". So I did. I chatted while standing at the fence opposite Kyaw Swa (pronounced Jaw swa) and he invited to me his rickety little house on stilts for some juice that he prepared and some stuffed buns that he his younger brother had rushed out to buy upon my arrival.

Kyaw Swa's English was very broken but good enough to share some ideas and thoughts. He told me how he survives on selling beans from the small garden in front of his home which amounts to a dollar or two per day when he is lucky. He named a number of American movie stars, pointing to their pictures in his newspaper, as if to share common ground. He seemed to know more about them then I did. We took some pictures and I gave a small token of money in appreciation and I promised to mail him a copy of our photo. Because Kyaw Swa told me about his life so sincerely, I was happy to have met him. He was sweet, engaging and opinionated. And more than that.

I had to wait two days in Katha before catching the government boat, a big two decker ferry, to Mandalay. On the ferry I saw the first foreigners since the beginning of my journey. We chatted on the roof of the ferry overlooking huge expanses of rolling flatness on the river and narrow sections enclosed by high forested hills. As a tourist, the river is quite a spectacle. After peacefully absorbing this beauty, and a long rain shower, I crashed on the floor of the ferry until the following morning.

Just after I woke we reached my destination, the small town of Kyauk Myaung. Here I wandered around for a bit spying a pottery factory mentioned by Lonely Planet on the riverside. After sitting down for tea with some of the locals, I was interrupted and then picked up by a teenager on a motorbike who identified himself as the 'immigration officer'. Every town in the north of Burma has one of these. He took me to his house where his older brother, the official town 'immigration officer', invited me for tea and breakfast with his parents while transcribing the important details of my passport and recording my travel itinerary......where I had been, what I was doing in town and where I was going.

After that, pleasantly and with a smile, he told me I would have to leave immediately and escorted me to a bus. He was pleasant but firm and I decided not to pursue the (why can't I stay?) line of questioning. Foreigners movements are closely monitored in these parts, ostensibly for reasons of safety. (there are ethnic insurgencies in the hills around here) The bus took me to Shwebo, a famous town of one of Burma's ancient kings, where I bought some Thanaka wood. (The wood is made into a paste that serves as a sunscreen, skin conditioner and beauty marker. It is quite fragrant and has a cool feel on the skin).

I met a nice old man who sat me down at a local shop and helped me pick out what I needed. I later presented the thanaka as a gift to the girls at the guest house where I stayed in Yangon who had shown me how to grind and apply the thanaka to my own face. Observing the different styles of thanaka on people's faces was one of my hobbies in Myanmar. I really did find it to be a beautiful characteristic on many women. (And attractive on the men, much fewer in number, that chose to adorn themselves).

From Shwebo, it was just a few hours to Mandalay. This is a modern city of over a million people and the old capital before the British seized it and abolished the monarchy in the 19th century. (Regular electricity outages, very slow internet access, poor roads and an annoying dustiness make you realize the slow developments in even Myanmar's best cities). However, Mandalay is also a very Chinese city, the site of a kind of 'industrial revolution' in Burma, but a light manufacturing outpost for the Chinese).

Mandalay has lots of temples, lots of tea shops and lots of shopping. I even encountered a shop selling iPhones and Androids.....only about $700 for an iPhone 4 (before an unquoted tax or so I was told). Here I bought an umbrella for five dollars that lasted five days, I ate delicious mohinga noodles (a signature dish of Myanmar) of numerous vareities, I chewed betel nut (pronounced like "beetle"), I used one of Myanmar's antiquated public telephone stations, and I finally saw the famous comedians known as the Moustache Brothers.

The Moustache Brothers, vaudeville performers, have had members of their family jailed in recent years by the government. Banned by the government from performing for Burmese, they perform for tourists to pay the bills and support various causes. Even in Myanmar, a country that still holds the past quite tight to the belt, the Mustache Brothers style of performance felt quite antiquated to me at times. Although all of the people I talked to had seen the Mustache Brothers at one point, they have largely been replaced by TV and perhaps soon by the internet as it spreads.

Ironically, the government censorship has kept their act alive even if they can only perform for foreigners. What I find funny is that the Mustache Brothers style of performance is a thing of the past, much like the character of the Burmese governing regime. However, I wonder if the government would survive without 'enemies' like the Mustache Brothers or other 'enemies of the state', but I don't doubt that the Mustache Brothers would survive, in fine fashion, with or without the government. This is one place where anti-government libertarian fanatics might actually have a point......maybe we could ship them all to Myanmar on some sort of inter-cultural exchange mission. SAIA.....

While wandering through the streets of Mandalay, as I tend to do everywhere I go, an ambitious motorcycle taxi driver with an infectious laugh tracked me down. I had run into him in several places along my strolls through the course of several days. "Gypsy" had enough command of English to make you laugh and enough charm to make his persistence seem benign. He initially asked me if I wanted to visit all the temples in the city for $8.00. I said no, there are enough temples in Myanmar for the whole world I told him. I wanted to eat and to cook. Gypsy had a solution.

He took me to the market to shop for the ingredients and then took me to the places where he usually eats.....the noodle shop where he has Shan style noodles in the morning and a restaurant by a lake that serves Burmese style curry with rice. I watched and videoed a few matriarchs as they prepared and quickly cooked these simple dishes. Gypsy and I then sat down to eat them. My morning and afternoon with him were some of the most pleasant on the trip.

Moving from trishaw (three-wheeled bicycle) to motorcycle taxi driver over the course of ten years Gypsy was something of a local legend/celebrity. (My trishaw driver, Tain Oo, an old man with five children was also well known wherever I went. Mandalay is still a small town and everybody seems to know everybody) Both of these guys survive on dollars a day; $5 was considered an average but good day for Gypsy. He told me he was saving up for a new Chinese scooter (about $300.00 in these parts.......few people can afford Japanese scooters here). I settled up with him (less than $15 for everything) and left him a small token to save up for his motorcycle (about $20.00).

Gypsy was a real entrepreneurial and free spirit. He was the kind of person who can make or break a trip. More than anyone else I met, he was the person I most identified with. His disarming easygoing manner was supported by a sensitive diligence that made you feel comfortable. Living at home with his mother in what I would call a slum-like area, he owned the city of Mandalay on his scooter. Look for him if you ever make it to Mandalay....I certainly will should I get a chance to return.

I hopped a bus to Bagan, the temple capital of the universe. Here I spent a number of days wandering through temples in potato fields, being pursued by numerous souvenir merchants selling paintings of the local landscape and hanging out with some new friends. (One local boy, studying economics in Mandalay, helped me with the flat tire on my bicycle so I felt guilty and bought some of his paintings)

Bagan has more people employed in the tourist industry than it has tourists but it is hard not to come see the temple landscapes. The dustiness of the temples and flat landscape, horse drawn carts and all, make you feel you are in an old Western movie at times.

While I was in Bagan, I visited the local microfinance office for the UNDP and asked them if there were any private organizations doing work in the area. (They make very small loans, less than $100.00, to local entrepreneurs, and the program is classified by the UN-out of Washington-as quite successful.....this despite restrictive economic sanctions imposed by the US and the rest of the Western world that leave Myanmar comparatively disadvantaged compared to similarly impoverished countries)

I asked them if they knew anything about KIVA, the American micro-finance organization where I regularly make contributions. I walked in and sat down for a about a half-an-hour chatting with about five of the local staff there. One of the men, I later saw on my bus trip out of town. This is a pattern that repeated itself as I would often run into people I had previously met on bus journeys.

I met a number of other foreign travelers, two old retired guys from New Zealand and an NGO worker from Bangladesh. The young Burmese man, San San, who organized much of my transportation brought me to a great place for Mohinga noodles every morning. He explained how much slower the tourist trade had been there since the uprising against the government in 2007 and then Cyclone Nargis in 2008. Every morning, early, and every evening I would sit with him and chat. We would often sit and have tea when he got a break.

After a visit to a small town several hours from Bagan I continued to Inle Lake. The way to Inle Lake from around Bagan often features a very long overnight bus rides on Myanmar's peanut brittle styled roads, and through quite mountainous terrain, I arrived at a bus stop just outside of town. Here I met Katsu from Japan and we waited out a cheaper rate on transportation into town together. It cost about $4.00 each to get into town. Katsu and I were to be inseparable at Inle Lake. His easygoing manner and curiosity suited me.

Inle Lake is full of the Shan people, Myanmar's largest minority group, and the Shan state borders Thailand. Many Shans now live in the Thai province of Mae Hong San where I visited several months ago.

The hotel where we stayed is the place where an American friend of mine from Chiang Mai, Richard who owns El Diablo Mexican restaurant, lived for several years. Many of his staff at the restaurant in Chiang Mai come from Inle Lake. The manager of the hotel, Niti, is quite funny. This hotel had the best breakfast of anywhere on the trip....fresh mohinga or Shan noodles or pancakes or omelettes for breakfast with toast, jam and freshly squeezed juice of a different variety every day...papaya was my favorite. (I paid $7 a night, all in, for this privilege).

With Katsu, we biked around the various villages in the area and even did a wine tasting at a vineyard that sits scenically high above the town. For about $3.00, you can sip about four wines and look out over the town. (The two made from local fruits are delicious-the Chardonnay is not) Although the ownership of this expensive and expansive plantation is likely dubious, we couldn't resist. Katsu and I had also taken a boat around the lake the previous day with Diane, from Australia, and No no, a rude young man from California. The lake is stunning.

Before going to Inle Lake, I had stopped in Shenangyaung, a small, poor, dusty, dirty and nondescript town that sits on the Irrawaddy River. Outside of the people who live next to the river, water is a real problem here, just as it is in Bagan. The region where Bagan and Shenangyaung are located sits on flat dry land that once spawned Burma's first major kingdom. The temple forest, as my dad called it, you see in Pagan is built with a lot of bricks, much of which required trees for firewood to bake. Between these environmental changes (climate changes as well?) and warfare, it is one of the poorest and least self-sufficient parts of Myanmar especially considering the size of its population.

While in Yangon, I found out about a school for orphan children whose parent's had died of HIV Aids. There is a guesthouse where you can stay and during the day play with and teach the children. A number of younger adventurous tourists have taken advantageous of this, as well as a number of writers.

Unfortunately when I arrived, none of the children were in school. I was given a tour of the town and a local village on the river instead.....as well as a boat ride.

Eric, who is from Shenangyaung, runs the NGO that sponsors the children and also builds water catchments for local villages (He has built close to twenty of them with outside support). I later met Eric in Yangon but spent time with his son, Leon, and other staff in Shenangyaung at his guesthouse. I made a donation before leaving which would go towards the orphanage Eric is building. Now most of the children stay in town somewhere and come to the school during the week.

Eric has some Anglo blood in his Burmese heritage. His white hair, curly and thick, looks like that of a Westerner. Eric worked for the British embassy a number of years ago as well as several oil companies for a number of years so he is a wealth of knowledge and very talkative. He invited me for dinner at his house which sits amidst a slumlike neighborhood in relative comfort.

Not many tourists come to Shenangyaung, as it is not easy to reach, so he would love to have more guests. Eric is also looking for someone to do a documentary on his work in the village and with the orphanage. He has received support from a number of embassies in Yangon in the past. Eric, HIV positive himself, is an inspiration an alternative role model to some of the countries richest who donate money for more temple building instead....paving their road to heavenly merit.

For anyone that visits Myanmar that has a slightly independent agenda, or just wants to do something different, I recommend going to see him.

Three weeks on the road and I saw a lot, but I hope to return again sometime. It is the people, and not the politics of Myanmar, that were well worth the trip. But I really hope exchange rates are better next time.....sigh.

Now is the time to visit Myanmar. Between recent internal political changes, huge interest from China and growing interest from India, it will be a changed place in a few years hence. Development, Chinese style, is a huge influence. Chinese investment, outside of oil and gas, seems to own a huge advantage (bordering on monopoly) in large part due to the ideological sanctions of the West on investment in Myanmar.

If there is anyone out there with the willingness to risk doing a documentary and needs help, I would love to assist.

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Photos

Orwells' House in the 1920s
Now occupied by a Burmese family, a huge and I mean huge snake crossed my path scurrying into the woods as I pulled into the driveway

Local Boat on the Irrawaddy
From Sinbo to Bhamo

Life on the River
One of many small camps/homes on the river in the uppermost sections.

Local Roads
Many roads in Myanmar are no better than this....during rainy season they are often mud filled....many patches on this road were

Horse and Cart
Scenes like this popup all over the country and especially in the north. Since the full scale carbon age of energy use and its corresponding economic developments (especially natural resources) have largely been exported here, muscle, both animal and human is a necessity to get work done and to survive.

Amazing Engineering Feat
I watched completely enraptured as a whole warehouse of items was piled onto this bike so neatly. Muscle power, wisdom and patience....truly amazing what they can do.

Mr. Da Nghwe
Oo means Mister in Burmese......I could definitely get into the ooooo Zak call depending on who was doing it.

Kyaw Swa
In front of his bean garden

Water in Myanmar
Modern sanitation, running water and electricity are not certain for most in Myanmar. Water in clay pots like this serves communities and villages all over the country.

Toddy Palm
Toddy Palm Trees are everywhere on the savannah and shrub filled landscape of Central Myanmar around Mandalay and Pagan. Whiskey, rice wine and jaggery (a sweet snack) are all made from it....here whiskey is being produced.

Sunset Along the Irrawaddy
There is a really nice stretch for biking along the Irrawaddy in Mandalay. Large beautiful trees overhang the road along the riverside

On a public phone in Mandalay
This is what public phone stations look like in Myanmar except that a cute girl is often sitting there rather than me

Road Building
This doesn't capture the eclectic nature of Myanmar's varied primitive roads (nor their laborers) but it does give you their level of construction. This one was in the middle of Mandalay. I wonder how many of the laborers I saw were of the 'forced' or 'involuntary' sort which I read and hear about so much. I saw lots of people repeatedly doing road work wherever I traveled and it looked tough. (including lots of children and women)

American Jeeps abound in Myanmar
But since they are old and because of embargoes on Myanmar they are often made up of parts from many countries (US, Korea, Russia, China...) Globalization Myanmar style

Main Street on Inle Lake
Houses of wood (and temples) rest on 'main streets' like this all over the lake. It is quite a boat ride.

Shenangyaung
The view from Eric's Guest House next to the school for orphan's.

Phosaw (pronounced Pozo)
A ride on the river in Shenangyaung with Pho Zaw who works with Eric. (It wasn't easy finding this place and Pho Zaw was the one who picked me up at the bus stop)

Shenangyaung
These kids reminded me of the kids I might have met at the orphanage.

Comments

[Sandra Beecher]

Mayamar looks serene
Zak, What a great blog. So much information about the people and the countryside as well as your take on it all. Thanks, Love, Sandy