November 17, 2014
Things May Not Be As They First Appear
There are benefits to having visited Myanmar 8 times in the last 15 years. I see how the country has changed and how it hasn't and possibly I understand the culture better. Possibly.
I've always been quick to admit that whenever I think I've figured something out here in Myanmar I then learn a little more and realize I didn't have a clue as to what was going on. Understanding Burmese culture is like putting together a large puzzle but first you have to hunt for the pieces, i.e. scavenger hunt. For the most part I enjoy the complexity of the game and the fact that it never ends. I could return to Myanmar every year for the rest of my life and maybe in the end I'd have figured out about 5% of what's going on here. I have learned one thing for sure - things are not as they first appear.
One time I was taking a small truck somewhere and it stopped to pick up a man with a big basket full of some sort of grain, possibly unhulled rice. I noticed that he pushed the basket onto the truck more gingerly than I thought was necessary but I didn't think much more beyond that. I certainly didn't view it as a clue to something more. We went on our way bouncing along the rough road he on one side of the bench seats and me on the other. We smiled at each other. More bouncing down the road and then I happened to glance at the basket of grain. To my amazement it had turned into a basket of eggs! No grain visible at all! From all the jiggling, the grain had settled revealing what was really in that basket. I think this is the perfect analogy of visitors observing the culture of Myanmar. Things are not as they first appear.
So, we lurch from experience to experience here not really ever knowing if we understand anything. This might be upsetting to a lot of tourists but for Andrea and myself this is what we love about this complex and colorful country. I've learned one other thing for sure about traveling in Myanmar. If you go along with whatever happens you will have a great time. If you resist and try to do everything your way, you will surely have a bad time here.
Like biking in the heavy traffic of Mandalay; you just flow along at a steady speed always aware of all the craziness around you but not resisting or trying to go fast or force your way. You just float along and trust that the people bearing down on you in big trucks recognized you as a tourist a block or more back and will be courteous. They are very mellow, considerate people. There are even signs everywhere in Myanmar admonishing its citizens, "Must warmly welcome and to help the tourist."
When the electricity stops no one gets upset. They simply start the generator. If my bike gears are really screwed up, no problem. From years of having to make do, the Burmese can fix anything. All hotels and guesthouses in Myanmar come with breakfast. They are all about the same: some fruit, coffee or tea, three or four pieces of bread so white that they make Wonder Bread look brown, maybe some jam, and either scrambled eggs or an omelette. If one of us orders the omelette and one scrambled we laugh because the only difference is the size of the pieces of egg. I wouldn't dream of eating the bread at home but here it's divine. You just go with it and enjoy. If the coffee comes from a packet called "Coffee Mix", that's Burma.
When we were biking from Pakokku to Monywa we were looking for a place in the country for Andrea to pee and for me to have a big diarrhea blow-out. Finally we found a wooded place on the road that looked private. No sooner had we stopped than out of nowhere a guy pulled up and quickly jumped off his motorbike wanting to take our photo! He was an aspiring journalist and wanted to submit a story about the two foreigners he found biking across Myanmar. I could feel his excitement about the possibilities now in his New Myanmar. Tourists biking without being hassled by the army! Who would have thought anything like that was possible just four years ago? He spoke less English than he wanted to but because he really wanted to, next year he will know a whole lot more. He was motivated and who am I to crush any of his excitement? I could hold on a few more minutes. He took a photo of us with his phone, another thing unheard of just a couple of years ago. He got as much information from us as he could and then he was off, a happier and more excited man. Andrea and I just looked at each other and laughed. Another spot would do further down the road for our big plans.
Another day we rode our bikes to a remote ancient Buddhist site that few tourists ever visit - Ah Myint. We rode 17 miles one way on the bumpiest road I've ever been on, riding little faster than a walk. The road was raised above the perfectly manicured fields - one side the Chindwin River flood plain. Beautiful produce of a huge variety was being grown and harvested. Trees canopied the road much of the way, but still, it was quite hot. The road was so full of rocks that we needed to pay attention but that was hard to do with a nearly one hundred percent rate of the many people we encountered each wanting personal recognition from us with a wave, a smile, "hello" or "mingalaba". It was hard work to spot where the greeting was coming from: inside a house, a school, car, motorbike, ox cart, bike, people walking and from distant field workers as well. And there was a constant stream of people.
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Finally we arrived at Ah Myint, a tight jumble of more than a hundred crumbling pagodas a stone's throw from the Chindwin River. The head monk rushed out of his cute, broken down, wood house to greet us and anxious to show us around. We didn't really want a tour guide, especially one who didn't speak much English, but he was enthusiastic. He said, "One moment. Flashlight, flashlight." He went back in to get his old yellow flashlight and then we were off to see something he wanted to show us, "Picture, picture." He said, "You take picture of picture." I was confused but what was new?
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He led us through the overgrown area around thorn bushes to a pagoda that looked like all the others. We took off our shoes and he entered first very cautiously. He looked in all the corners with his beam of light and then said, "No snake, no snake." We entered and to our amazement we saw on the walls and ceiling some of the nicest murals we have ever seen in Burma. Like times past when visiting Burma I felt a little like Indiana Jones. The paintings were incredibly beautiful, masterful, ancient and intact. I was pleased that in the near total darkness my camera was able to take pretty good photos of the paintings. I showed the monk and he said, "Good camera, good camera."
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I took lots of photos as Andrea wandered into alcoves to do the same. The monk found his own place to shine his light upward and gaze in as much amazement. Silently we were one.
The monk eventually left us to explore the grounds on our own. He didn't want any money, all he wanted was for us to see the wonders of the past. I'm not sure if we would have stumbled on the paintings without him and we might have stumbled onto a snake instead. We were glad we went with the flow.
As we rode back on the same bad road my mind was more on the people who painted such beautiful scenes in darkness inside a pagoda hundreds of years ago. Such devotion and faith driving them! What artistic talent! And they didn't do it for money. I wasn't aware of the bumps in the road as much anymore, my mind filled with wonder.
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Then we noticed two men on a motorbike who would pass us and then abruptly stop right in front of us making us go around them. They were starting to be irritating after they had done this a few times. It was quite unusual for Burmese to be acting so oddly. We couldn't figure out what they were doing but they seemed pretty interested in us.
When we stopped to take a photo of the tree-canopied road in golden low light they jumped off their motorbike and came over to us. One of the men had his hands together at his forehead, the other man was quite old, his face filled with amazement much like a child's. They asked us what country we were from and when they heard "America" they shook our hands. They couldn't speak much English but they really wanted to communicate. The old man's face twisted as if he was trying to remember some English he might have learned a long time ago in grade school. His wizened face was simply a gem and I wanted to photograph him but I didn't want anything to disrupt our time together either.
They mentioned "Obama" who was in Myanmar at that very moment. Thumbs up all around which led to another round of hand shaking and smiling. I can't tell you how interested and appreciative these two men were simply to be trying to communicate with us. I saw a thousand questions in the older man's face. He looked at me the same way I had been looking at the murals; wonder and amazement plastered across it. I wish we could have communicated better but actually maybe we communicated just fine. Nodding and smiling there on the edge of that bumpy road at the golden hour we were one.
I so wanted to take a photo of the two men but I resigned myself that this was yet another photo I would have to keep in my mind, in the cerebral file labeled, "The best photos I've ever not taken".
Eventually we had to tell the two men that we needed to get going because the sun was setting and we still had miles to go. They understood immediately and wanted us to be safe. The younger of the men again raised his hands together to his forehead (very much a sign of honor and respect which unsettles me a bit) and then we shook hands again and then he kissed the back of my hand! When was the last time someone did that to you in a foreign country simply because they were happy to be with you for a few minutes? It was very touching. I feel honored.
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It was a great day, great day!
Lovebruce
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I love all of the photos you share in your journals, but what is equally incredible is how well both of you capture the 'photos not taken' with your descriptions.
You both have a great talent for transporting your readers to the magical world of your travel experiences.
5 years ago
5 years ago
It is necessary to add to your reflection two fundamental elements to understand this country it is: "the superstition and the legend". "the real did not happen". Legend and reality are one. You understand this by saying that you know only 5% after so many stays there and making the effort to try to see beyond appearance.
I am writing a book about my Burmese and Vietnamese life between 1992 and 2002 that maybe one day I will make you share if you agree because I feel deeply that you have the capacity to understand the essence of things.
As I would like to speak with you verbally. Sorry for my english which is not very good.
4 years ago
This is so interesting about legend and reality being one. I had never really thought about it in that regard but you are certainly right. You certainly have a deep understanding of the people of Myanmar and I hope you do write a book about your experiences. I would love to read it some day.
Your English is very good and there is no need to apologize. My French is nearly non-existent and it is I who apologize. We Americans are too isolated from the world especially languages.
Thank you for reading our journal.
4 years ago
We keep in touch
4 years ago