Where are Tinus and Barrie?

Ok, I’m back, just one day before we fly back from Myanmar to the slightly less wet country of the Netherlands. The reason for not writing more is simply that PCs with keyboards seem to be an anomaly in the guesthouses we stayed in, and since I am not equipped with a gene for brevity, I didn’t feel like typing on my phone. We’re now in Yangon, but I’ll describe our first Myanmar experiences from our inaugural introduction to the country by way of Mandalay in this post. (more pics way down below)

We arrived in Mandalay pretty fresh, since it’s a short flight from Bangkok that lasts about as long as crossing the street in either one of these car-filled cities. We were immediately flooded with yelling taxi drivers when we had barely set one foot outside of the airport. “6.000 kyat!” “5,500 kyat to centre!!” “Come with me, airco airco!!!” “5,500 kyat!”. This went on for about a minute and we just let them yell. When I suddenly heard “5,000 kyat!!!” I decided that was an ok price. (FYI: kyat is pronounced ‘chat’ and 1,000 kyat is about €0.75). We got in the taxi and when I handed the quoted amount the guy looked at me and said “well, actually it’s just 4,000 kyat”, pointed to a well-hidden sign with the fixed price on it and gave me back my change. I think than maybe apart from Japan, Myanmar has the most honest people of any country I ever visited.

So most people get to Mandalay because it’s cheap to fly there and a good hub to travel onwards or to do day trips from. The Lonely Planet also indicated Mandalay is a terrible place to walk around, since it’s huge, not all that pretty and there are no real sidewalks to speak of. If there is a concrete part that looks like one, it’s just some broken, busted slabs that you can easily stumble on and consequently land face-first in the putrid sewage below. We nonetheless managed to walk quite a bit (resulting in confused looks from the locals) and actually really enjoyed Mandalay’s gritty charm.

But to be fair, the highlight of our time in Mandalay was a day trip outside of the city with expert driver and superb human-being Mr. Kyaw-Kyaw. He explained us a lot about life in Myanmar, and how in every Buddhist family, once you are five years old, you need to spend at least a week living like a monk. That means the whole nine yards: shave your head, get up at 5AM each morning, walk around to collect food and other donations from people, no eating during the day etc. I was all like “O, what a wonderful devotion to this way of life” and he just quietly said “I really didn’t like it and was glad when the week was over”. Of course, imagine doing this when you’re five years old! Just think about that: “Ok, little Lotte, wake up, no swimming lessons and candy-eating this week, now go shave your head, beg for food and drink water in the afternoon, but don’t eat anything then.” Wouldn’t have gone over that well.

Anyway, the first stop on the day trip was Mahamuni Pagoda, named after the temple’s main gold Buddha statue. Every day at around 4AM, monks wash its face and brush its teeth, so it looked very shiny and polished. At least, that’s what I could make out on the television screens showing a close-up of the statue. As a woman, I wasn’t allowed near it, but Barrie was. (Mr. Kyaw-Kyaw: “Please don’t be angry, it’s not like this in all temples”). Barrie didn’t stick gold leaf on the Buddha though, as most worshippers are wont to do. As a result of the piling on of all that gold leaf, some parts of the Buddha had become somewhat shapeless, but it was impressive nonetheless.

You can watch the screen or the Buddha from afar, ladies!

Next up was the Mahagandhayon monastery, where we watched monks of all ages wait in a long, long line with the food people had gifted them for the start of their morning meal. I was taken aback by how some tourists got up in the faces of the monks to snap their pictures, even breaking the queue and taking selfies with them. Sjeeeesssh. “Look, here I am taking a selfie with a monk who’s been up since 5AM and is super-hungry and annoyed and surrounded with idiots, including myself, isn’t that super-authentic!”. Anyway, to each their own, but I like to take my pictures of people sneakily so they don’t notice and I don’t feel embarrassed thankyouverymuch. Yeah, I’m actually just as bad in a way…

Zooming in on that tired lil’ monk face

After this display of asshattery of tourists we went to the possibly more touristic but still charming, crumbling, ancient imperial capital of Inwa. We dashed around its muddy, half-flooded remains by way of horse cart, pulled by a dapper little horse and a driver with whom we communicated via giggles about being stuck in the mud and getting hit in the face by low-hanging wet branches. Finally, we walked across the 1.2km long teak U Bein bridge. After all this hard work, we plunked down in a Myanmar tea shop with a friend of Mr. Kyaw Kyaw, where we were almost killed by an absolute moronic nouveau-riche Myanmar twentysomething fart. He tried to speed past a slow truck by way of a very muddy stretch of road, causing him to lose control of the car, spin towards us, and then around to the other side where about 30 people were having a warm cuppa. We got off lucky, only looking as if a cow with a severe case of wet-fart diarrhea had a minor accident on us.

Then again, we couldn’t complain, since the area we visited horribly flooded just as we were leaving and about 25,000 people have been displaced since then, losing their houses, belongings and in some cases their entire crop harvest. They were setting up camp in the middle of the road as we drove on to our comfy guesthouse. A somber and sobering end of the day to say the least.

We spent one more day ambling around Mandalay and taking a motor taxi (yes, me, Barrie and a driver on a two-wheeled vehicle which strained to hold us all) to the bottom of the Mandalay Hill, on top of which were a pagoda and splendid views. The last day we took a taxi – the chauffeur of which seemed to have a severe death wish considering his driving style – to the old colonial hill town of Pyin Oo Lwin aka Maymyo, which has rather dashing gardens and a cool breeze. It also has a fancy restaurant that goes with its golf course and its pretty douchey guests, in which we spent a shameful amount of money (for Myanmar standards) on Japanese food and banana milk shakes.

Deer at the National Kandawgyi Botanical Gardens

Reclining goat on the street of Maymyo

Les observations:

• Having a cup of incredibly strong and sweet Myanmar tea is wonderful, but is not complete without about a quarter of the contents being sloshed on your saucer before serving. Makes it taste better!

• And ordering tea doesn’t bring the pressure with it that deciding what you want to eat does. You’re handed a menu as soon as you sit down in a restaurant, after which your server just stands 20 centimeters from you watching you reading the menu. Awwwkwaaarddd.
• Tea houses usually have male waiters (since they’re mostly places for men), whereas restaurants are quite often run by a female-only staff. Hotels are even more extreme: I don’t think we’ve stayed at hotels that had more than two men on the payroll.
• One hotel even had three generations of women catering to our every need. That included the youngest daughters carrying our giant backpacks, but they were just appalled and horrified at the notion we might carry them ourselves to the fourth floor. That’s how it goes each time: don’t you fucking DARE carry that giant pack yourself! That’s left to tiny Myanmar women, two of which could actually easily fit in one.

Giant bags, tiny ladies

I was warned ATMs were still rare in Myanmar. Here’s one in a temple.

Mr. Sweatypants

Specific map provided by our guesthouse

Look over there!

Where?