Beauty and the beast

Today turned out not to be what I expected, but it was good. I wanted to see the ruins of the ancient Pyu kingdom, described as a highlight by Lonely Planet, so I hired a trishaw driver to take me, agreeing on a fare of $3.50. He was a nice kid of 22, but I can't remember his name, so I'll call him Trishaw Boy.

At the first ruin, a big 1,500 year-old brick cylinder, he saw a pretty Burmese girl praying to a big snake, and made me take her picture. Then he asked her name, and made a date with her. Showing foreigners around helps one's reputation.

Next we stopped in a village so we could have "beer." This turned out to be palm toddy. It was strange tasting, and after one and a half big bottles I was a bit tipsy. Luckily, Trishaw Boy was not arrested for driving while intoxicated!

When we got to the site, I was a bit angry at he hidden costs: $4 entry fee, plus $1.50 for an oxe cart to take me around. The cart ride turned out to be pretty good, but unfortunately, there was nothing to see. No ruins, no villages, no people. We rode to another big brick cylinder, then back to the museum. My understanding was that we would make a big circle to see all the ruins, so I only paid $1. I complained to the guy working in the museum, who I'll call Mr. Archeology, and he offered to take me to the closer sites on his bike.

Turns out there wasn't much to see here, either. Mostly just foundations. But Mr. A pointed out the new "conservation bricks" they built on top of the original ones. I asked him why they did this, and he didn't know, just that it's government policy, and not a sound one. It's pretty subtle here, but I asked him what he thought about Bagan, where they are building new temples from scratch, and ruining the original ones by reconstructing them, painting them white, glazing them with gold, and replacing the buddhas. He agreed that this was a tragedy, but there's nothing he can do about it. Mr. A is another one of Myanmar's personal tragedies. He studied Archeology for four years, and now works as a low-level government official collecting money from tourists, and earning a salary of $4 a month. He hates the government and considers Aung San Suu Kyi a "second mother." I gave him a donation of 200 kyats (about 20 cents, and very significant given his salary), which he didn't even ask for.

Mr. A woke up Trishaw Bow, who was snoring loudly, and he pedeled me back to town. Then we took an elevator up to Shwesandaw Paya, another one of Myanmar's most sacred sites. From the top you look eye to eye at the amazingly ugly "Big Ten Story Buddha."

Funeral procession

Then Trishaw Bow took me to his brother's hut (to show off his foreigner?). At first I was uncomfortable, but watching Burmese home life proved interesting, and was basically the same as anywhere, except for the details. Mom and grandma squatted in the dirt cooking dinner, then dad came home from work and took a shower (by pouring water over himself while wearing his longyi). Then brother took 500 of the 3500 kyats I paid Trishaw Boy and bought some Myanmar rum and orange Crusher soda, which they mixed. They drank from small glasses, and gave me a huge one. I felt like I could have been back home, just hanging out with friends. Only I was sitting on a bamboo mat in a bamboo hut. Brother took a liking to me, even though we had trouble understanding each other, and we looked at pictures. Even though he only had two glasses of rum and Crusher, he got pretty drunk.

Later, Brother took me to another hut, where his buddies from work were hanging out, none of whom spoke English. They passed me a tea cup of what I assumed was the ubiquitous Chinese tea, but turned out to be a powerful spirit. Hence the glass of Crusher to chase it. After two of those, I made the international gesture for sleeping, and brought the house down. They gave me two more, then it was time to exchange presents. They gave me an old 1 kyat not, and strangely, a Thai 10 bhat coin. Unfortunately, I still didn't have anything. Brother said if I didn't have anything to give them, I would have to pay 200 kyats, which I didn't like. But I was too drunk to care, so I offered them my Carmex lip balm, which was acceptable.

I had to rush to the bus, which turned out to be the nicest one I've ridden here, and was even equipped with windchimes. The combination of comfy seat, smooth road, and drunkenness allowed me to sleep until we got to Yangon at 2 am.

I got into a pickup with all the locals, but instead of heading for town, we cruised around for a half an hour looking for more people to cram in back. Working with a team of spotters, the driver would speed after arriving busses to try and be the first pickup there. At one point we literally raced neck and neck with another pickup, but even after a sneaky shortcut, we lost the race. We cruised around for a few more minutes, then pulled up along the winning vehicle, money changed hands, and its passengers jammed themselves into the back of my pickup. Then we finally headed into town. Yangon is weird at night, because they have powerful lights that turn night into day for blocks, and give the sky an earrie yellow glow. And even though the streets are deserted, there are still people walking and lurking about.

I got to the Golden Smile Inn at 3 am. I knocked to wake up one of the guys sleeping on a bench in the lobby (in Myanmar, hotel people sleep in the halls or outside, instead of wasting a room). He said they were full, but invited me to sleep in a chair. Thankfully someone checked out at 4 am, so I finally got to bed at 4:30 am.