This last week of entires must be pretty boring since I haven't really done much. Today in particular. I wanted a bit of luxury before heading to Burma (or Buuuuuuuurma, as an English guy called it), so I started the day in search of an air-con room. Finding a room in the Khao San Road area is extremely difficult, since it's packed with tourists and everybody pays by the day, so you have to happen to show up after someone checks out but before someone else claims the room. After two hours I found a room for more than I wanted to pay: $15. I saved $1 a night by forgoing hot water. I've gotten used to cold showers. Usually they are the only way to cool off. But after a night in a cold room a hot shower is nice. Oh well. I'll just have to sleep under the big towels that pass for blankets in Thai hotels.

Then I had a haircut, and had it cut as short as possible with a #1 guard. It feels strange, but it will be nice not to worry about it. Then I had an hour long Thai massage. This one featured a had massage that was amazing. Then I bought a couple Thai "axe pillows." These are triangular cushions that unfold into a mat you can lay on. They're the neatest thing. I bought them unstuffed so I could ship them, so I'll have to figure out how to get them filled. My new bargaining technique: "You have special price for me my friend?"

That's pretty much all I did today. Pretty boring, huh? Maybe I'll go see the Grande Palace tomorrow. Or maybe not...

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Gold everywhere

After a week in Bangkok, I finally decided to visit a couple sites. I wanted to see at least one wat, or temple, before I left Thailand. However, it helps to realized before hand that "take me to Wat Poh" in Thai is "I am a stupid tourist. Please rip me off."

The fun began with trying to get a tuk tuk from Khao San Road. The first guy said he'd take me for 100 Baht. That's total bullshit, since you can take a taxi across town for 50. When I pointed this out he said fuel was expensive, but he would take me for 80. Screw that. I wonder how many tourists who just got off the plane pay that much. So I asked another guy. "Wat Poh closed today. Special day." Uh huh. Then he offered to take me to a shop instead. No thanks. I got the third guy to take me for 40 Baht, which was still too much. He conveniently dropped me on the other side of the compound so his friends could have a go at me. A helpful guy came up and said the entrance is around the corner, but that it was closed today. Yeah right, that's why all the busses are here.

I walked past a tuk tuk driver. "Wat Poh closed, Thais only. I take you to standing Buddha. Ten Baht." No thanks. I walk past one of the busses and a uniformed driver asks me where I'm going. I gave him the benefit of the double, since it looked like he may have a legitimate reason to be hanging around there. "Where you come from? How long you in Thailand? Where you go next?" Then he wishes me happy Chinese New Year and says it's the last day of a special New Years sale at a suite shop in Chinatown. At this a nearby tuk tuk driver snapped to attention. No thanks.

Wat Poh

I finally made it in to the Wat, which was open to all, tourists and Thais. I followed the huge procession of tourists in to the chapel to view the huge gold reclining Buddha. Unfortunately the chapel is only as big as the Buddha, so you can't see it all at once. A bunch of Thais where praying as the horde filed past, snapping photos as they went. I briefly felt bad, but then figured they could just close it to tourists if they really wanted to. Of course then they'd miss out on the 20 Baht entrance fee.

Then I wandered over to the massage school, the home of Thai massage and the place all the Thai masseuses are trained. A one-hour massage was twice the cost of a massage on Khao San Road, but it was indeed twice as good. It featured working of the shoulders with the masseuse's elbows, and the legs with her feet. Weird but good.

Next I walked to the city pillar, home of the spirit of the city. This site wasn't on the tourist circuit, and I was the only white person there. It was full of Thais praying and leaving offerings of pineapples, flowers, incense, and Fanta (complete with straws for ease of drinking) to the spirit. There was also some kind of play going on with the actor wearing traditional costumes, but with an active Thai vocabulary of five words, I didn't get much out of it.

Hello Buddha

Finally I crossed the street and braved the gauntlet of tuk tuks to visit Bangkok's answer to Disneyland: the Grand Palace. The place was packed with Japanese tourists and praying Thais. The most interesting part was the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. Not the Buddha itself, which was tiny and up on a huge pedestal, but the surrounding buildings, chedi, and statues, which were finished in gold and ceramic.

There was also a scale model of Angor Wat, which used to be part of Thailand. Did you know Thailand almost went to war with Cambodia? A Phnom Penh newspaper reported a rumor that a popular Thai actress said that Angor Wat should be returned to Thailand. In response angry Cambodians stormed the Thai embassy and Thai-owned businesses in Phnom Penh. According to the Bangkok Post, which I'm not sure is an objective source, the Cambodian government allowed the riot to take place to divert attention from complaints about it. Thailand sent an aircraft carrier to the coast, and was about to deploy commandos to protect the embassy. They didn't, but Thailand is still pretty pissed. Here's a story:

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Monk tourists

For now I must bid farewell to you, dear reader, for four weeks, and to Thailand, but I have a feeling I'll be back. Tomorrow I fly to Burma, a country kept in the dark ages by its military government. "Welcome to Burma and Enjoy the Totalitarian Experience" is an excellent book which I recommend if you want to learn more. It will certainly enable me to travel with my eyes open.

Today's big goal was to buy a bunch of US Dollars. Turns out only one place on Khao San Road sells them, and of course there was a huge line. So wait a half an hour, then by the time I get to the counter they're all out. Come back in two hours. So two hours later I wait fourty five minutes, and all they have are hundreds. I bought four, but I'm thinking I'll need some smaller ones, at least to bribe the official to get out of buying FECs, and to pay for a taxi in to town. The next day I found a bank that had tens and fives, so I bought $200 worth. So now I have $1000: $400 in traveler's checks, which have been useless so far, and $600 in cash. I'll stow the cash in the secret pouch I wear under my clothes, and in a couple places in my pack. I feel like a drug dealer with all this money.

Perhaps you are wondering about a couple of things. All of your question can be answered with the following explanation. Burma has three official currencies. Kyat, Foreign Exchange Certificates (FECs), and US dollars. The kyat is extremely overvalued, with an official exchange rate of1 USD = 6.2 kyat, and a rate on the free market of maybe 1 USD = 700 kyat. So everybody wants US dollars, especially the government. In a scheme to get dollars, the government requires all incoming tourists to buy $200 worth of FEC "monopoly money," at the rate of 1 USD = 1 FEC, which you can use on accommodation and transportation. But since your cash goes straight to the military, it's worth avoiding this if you can. By offering the official a "present" of $10, you can get out of this. So then I'll only have to worry about kyat for small purchases, and dollars for big purchases like accommodation and transportation.

So look for an update in four weeks. If you'd like to be notified when I get back, sign up for my mailing list on the main page.

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Time warp

When you fly into a city at night, it's difficult to get a feel for the lay of the land. But one thing about Yangon's (Rangoon's) international airport was apparent: there were no other planes. After going through immigration the first order of business was the FEC's. A Czech chick I met on the plane, Marie, wanted to see if we could talk them down to $100 between the two of us, but I didn't want any. So we told the lady at the counter we wanted zero FEC's. Then all hush-hush like she asked us where we were going, asked us not to tell anybody, then asked for $10 each. I got out a ten, but Marie said she didn't have any money, so I stupidly got out a five, all I had handy. When we said that was all we had the lady waved us through. Turns out Marie was trying to see if she would have taken ten. Oh well, now we don't have to worry about Monopoly money.

We split a taxi to the Golden Smile Inn, in central Yangon, which was OK, but $6 each, a bit expensive. It did have air-con and en suite, though. Then we went out to explore a little. Yangon, the capital, shuts down at 10 pm, so the streets were mostly empty, save for a few cars and some kids playing football (or soccer if you're American) in the streets. We walked to Sule Paya, a small gold pagoda I thought was the huge Shwegadowa Paya. We noticed the end of the street was barricaded and guarded and as we approached with cameras drawn the guard stood at attention. Quick! Hide the cameras!

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Working on the street

Stepping out into Yangon during the afternoon was a different experience. The streets were packed with cars, old busses honking loudly and frequently, and the sidewalks were packed with vendors selling strange and disturbing foods and drinks, as well as clothes, calculators, batteries, books, remote controls, you name it, as long as it's ten years old. A kid shouted "hello banana?" at us when we walked past. When we looked we saw he was selling ears of sweet corn. Myanmar is the only country in South East Asia where everyone wears traditional costumes. Everyone, men and women, wore longyi, a silk sarong that men tie with a rather phallic knot in front, and women stylishly fold and tuck. The women, children, and some young men had painted faces. Some smeared the white paint all over their faces to keep the sun off, others had circles or stripes on their cheeks. Some smeared it on their feet too, since nobody wears closed-toe shoes. Women carried large baskets on their heads.

Our first task was to buy some kyat (pronounced "chat"), Myanmar's currency. Since the "official" rate is 6.20 per dollar, we had to resort to the open market. Last night a shopkeeper offered us 1100 per dollar for a Franklin, so that was the rate to beat. We headed to a market and talked to a couple "hello change money?" guys hanging out on street corners. Even after Marie's expert haggling they would only give us 1080. At the market it was the same story, so it was back to our friend from last night. He led us down an alley and into a stairwell, where a guy had a big bag of money and a calculator. We got 110,000 kyats in 1,000 and 500 kyat notes, and carefully counted the huge stack of bills. Armed with money we could spend on the street, we headed out in search of food.

Due to desperation and confusion, we ended up at a Burmese "fast food" joint called KCC (Kentucky Crap Chicken?) Due to the sanctions, Myanmar is one of the few in the world countries not under American influence. This means there are no McDonald's, KFC's, Dunkin Dougnuts, or 7 Elevens. However, there are places with vaguely familiar names, such as MacBurger, Tokyo Fried Chicken (?), and J's Donuts. The soda's are interesting too: Crusher (Crush), Fantasy (Fanta), Star (Pepsi), etc. KCC's "chicken bryani" was greasy and disgusting. Unfortunately this would become a common theme.

Next we went to what we thought was Shegadowa Paya, but was actually Sule Paya, trying to ignore the kids offering to sell us postcards. After seeing photos, I was disappointed with how small it was. We would later discover the discrepancy.

We wanted to sample Burmese tea, so we headed for a teashop. A nice old guy came up and talked to us (beware), then tried to sell us a trip to Kyaiktiyo for $25 each. Bugger off. People trying to rip me off all the time is getting old quick.

The tea shop turned out to be a local hang-out, and we sat across from a young Burmese guy and his nephew. Marie took my phrasebook and tried to talk to him, which proved impossible since Burmese is an impossible language. By showing him the book he taught us a couple phrases. It turned out he spoke English, so we chatted with him, and took him to a "pub" for beer. He's a 19-year-old kid named Aung (kinda like the Burmese equivalent of Bob), who works 10 hours a day in a travel agency, earning $50 a month, and goes to university (they are open now) on weekends studying physics. I asked him what kind of job he wanted when he graduated, but he couldn't really answer, since there are no jobs for educated people in Myanmar. As such he really wants to go to America or Australia, which is impossible. It's so sad that such an intelligent and ambitious young man has no future.

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Burmese girl

Today we wanted to go to the famous balancing boulder stupa at Kyaiktiyo. After asking a ton of ticket sellers prices, taking a local bus to the bus station, and some last minute bargaining, we got tickets for $1.50 each for the five hour trip. It wasn't luxury, but besides all the vomiting Burmese, it wasn't so bad. The bus was full and people sat and stood in the aisle, but the road wasn't too bumpy. There was some road construction on the way. This is done by people (a large portion who are women and children) laying stones by hand to cover the road, then a steamroller compresses them. Finally cans of tar are heated over fires, which people pour over the rocks. Very primitive. It's also a different world how people live. Farmers drive carts pulled by oxen and loaded with hay. Longtail boats loaded with people ply the rivers. The road is lined with bamboo shacks on stilts with thatched roofs. And there are golden paya everywhere. Many seem to raise funds with a guy chanting in a loudspeaker and women holding bowls to receive donations.

We arrived at our destination, and were immediately met by a couple touts and "hello banana" kids we did our best to ignore. We were annoyed to arrived in a touristy place after the bus ride. The town (actually a "base camp") is very primitive and consists of a dirt track complete with wandering pigs, dogs, and chickens, and lined with stalls selling scary looking snacks, and empty restaurants with dirt floors and no walls with pots of cold food covered with flies. After extensive haggling, Marie was able to secure a nice room for $3 each, then we went to look for food. There aren't that many tourists around. The place seems to cater mostly to Burmese making the pilgrimage to the paya. But the locals are well on their way to learning how to exploit foreigners. All five of them were at the tourist restaurant, so we picked one of the Burmese places at random. Turns out they had an English menu, and they made our vegetable fried rice fresh. Then off to another teashop.

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The golden boulder

I wanted to see the sunrise at the paya, but trucks don't leave early enough. We briefly considered leaving at 1 am for the four hour trek, but decided to shoot for sunset instead. So at 1 pm we set out on the trail up the mountain, which proved to be interesting. The whole way was lined with little bamboo thatch teashops selling snacks, sodas, water, and souvenirs for the pilgrims. The souvenirs consisted of photos of the paya, Buddha images, and interesting bamboo toys, such as race cars, tanks labeled "U.S. Army," and guns labeled "Rambo" and "love." The guns came in many sizes, from small pistols to huge rocket launchers as big as me.

At first the walk was nice, with everyone saying "hello," but eventually it got annoying. My new pet peeve is cute kids trying to sell you stuff, or flat out asking for money. They would just come up and say "hello dollar?" or "hello money?" The parents weren't much better, trying to get us to buy their water or sit down in there restaurants ("hello please sit down").

A couple of hours in a guy behind a bamboo counter gestured at us and pointed at a side trail with a picture of what looked like the paya on an arch, then tried to extort money from us, which we refused. I was suspicious of the trail, but we followed it to a boulder paya covered with bamboo scaffolding and guys painting it yellow, and featured an old monk smoking a huge cigar. To say I was disappointed was an understatement, but when I showed the monks who were watching us curiously the photo of the paya on the cover of my guidebook they laughed and said it was back the way we came. So we had to follow the trail back to where it branched, costing us an hour.

The trail was strenuous with steep stairs, and it was very hot. This didn't stop the old women puffing on huge cigars as they walked. My stomach was also feeling bad from the terrible greasy food they serve here. I, a bit ahead of Marie, finally made it to the paya at 5:30, and walked right past the building where I was supposed to pay an exorbitant $6 (remember, this is one of the poorest countries in the world) entry fee to the military government. There were quite a few Burmese pilgrims there, and a good number of tourists too, maybe 20 or 30, taking photos. The paya itself was alright, but it wasn't "all that." The walk up was far more interesting.

I hung around until it got dark, then met Marie in a tourist restaurant. She was accosted by guys wanting her to pay the entry fee, so didn't go in. I guess it pays not to have conspicuous long, blonde hair. The restaurant was exorbitantly expensive, charging $1 for Coke (why should I pay this when I can drink Star Cola for ten cents?). Since I was feeling light-headed from lack of food I decided to splurge and order "fish & chips" for $1. It turned out to be so awful I couldn't eat it.

There were no more trucks, so our only option was to walk the 12 km (7 mi) down the mountain in the dark. On the way we met a band of four happy, singing pilgrims who didn't speak English, but looked out for us. Unfortunately, Marie tripped in the dark and twisted her ankle. Luckily she was still able to walk. Due to hunger and exhaustion, the walk seemed to go on forever, but we finally got back around midnight.

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This place is rather depressing, and we both want to get out of here, so we bought bus tickets today. We’re staying at the “base camp,” which is a dirt street lined with stalls selling disturbing looking snack that have been sitting out for who know how long, and restaurants that serve terrible food. I ordered a chicken curry at one place, which consisted of a plate of rice with a funny flavor and a couple of pieces of strange meat in a greasy sauce. Everything is greasy: eggs, cookies, cakes, curries, fried noodles, you name it.

So far the one good thing about Burmese food is the tea. There are tea shops everywhere serving little glasses of hot, sweet, milky tea. We went to one such shop, and after the usual flurry of attention settled down, a Burmese man and two girls sat down with us. He said he was an English teacher and the girls were his students. He studied English in university, graduated in 1974, and is now a tutor. The sad thing was that while he had very good pronunciation and we had no trouble understanding him, he had difficulty understanding us, especially Marie with her Czech accent. Of course he didn’t admit to not understanding her, and would simple agree with everything she said, including “do you understand me?” The questions he asked seemed to be regurgitated from English books: “are you interested in sports?” This makes sense, because there are so few opportunities to talk to native English speakers in Myanmar, so learning is done by rote. It'’ sad that someone who ha devoted their life to teaching English has no opportunity to learn how to converse with English-speaking people.

A little girl in the shop had a “Wnow Shite” tee shirt on. We tried to explain that this was funny, and a bit offensive, but he didn’t understand, and didn’t know who Snow White was. However, I think we were able to communicate that the “crap curry” at a restaurant down the road should be “carp curry.” Unfortunately the former description is more accurate.

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Myanmar’s a bit of an eye-opener. Everything is dirty: the roads, the streets, the buildings, the restaurants, including the kitchens, and the bathrooms, often horrifyingly so. Babies sometimes have cuts that are infected, and mothers let their babies crawl on the dirty sidewalks. The mother that did this looked guilty and confused when she saw us staring horrorifiedly at her and picked her baby back up. None of this can be held against anyone, since everyone is so poor.

Today we wanted to go to Mandalay. The first step was Bago, small but busy, noisy, and dirty little city. The “express” bus stopped frequently to let more and more people on until the aisle and area by the door (left open, of course), was packed. Upon arrival, some touts tried to steer us to the Emperor Hotel for bus tickets. We were annoyed and ignored them, and headed for the bus station. Desperate trishaw drivers followed us the whole way, and pleaded with us to come with them and warned it was the wrong bus station. We ignored them and walked 3 km in the hot sun to the wrong bus station, then walked back to the Emperor Hotel to buy tickets. The whole experience accomplished nothing. Resistance is futile.

While waiting for the bus we had tea and greasy snacks at a dirty teashop with a filthy kitchen. We boarded the bus at 7 pm for the epic 15-hour journey. The bus was packed with amazingly ugly middle-aged Norwegian tourists. It must have been the “Plastic Surgery Gone Horribly Wrong Myanmar Tour 2003.”

Busses honk their horns whenever they see another vehicle, bike, or pedestrian (basically, all the time). Unfortunately, their system is not foolproof, even with the pictures of the Buddha taped over the windshield, because the bikes don’t have lights or even reflectors, so they are invisible at night. So “crunch,” then we came to an abrupt stop. We hit a biker. His bike was ruined, but it looked like he only had a broken leg. The bus didn’t stay long, but a large crowd of onlookers had gathered. I wonder what ended up happening to him? Later on that night we almost hit a kid in the road.

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Mandalay Marionettes

Mandalay is like no other city I’ve seen, including Yangon. The major streets, which are paved, but in varying states of disrepair, are packed with bikes, trishaws, motorcycles, and “busses,” which are big pickups with three rows of benches and packed with people inside and hanging off the back, and have a guy shouting where it’s going in Burmese. There aren’t too many sidewalk vendors, but the sidewalks are unusable because of the holes that go to the “sewer,” piles of dirt, rubble, and leaves, and trees blocking the walk. The streets are dusty and dirty and there are piles of dirt on the side of the road. There are no stoplights, stop signs, or any other kind of traffic control, besides an occasional cop, so vehicles move continuously in all directions. All vehicles big and small honk their horns at other vehicles and pedestrians when going through an intersection. The side streets are dirt, lined with wooded shacks, have big piles of garbage, and feature stray cows rooting through the garbage. There are very few tall buildings, besides a few expensive hotels (for the ugly Norwegians), and a couple of office buildings. Most buildings are no more than four stories, and are dirty and crumbling. Like elsewhere in Myanmar, everyone where a longyi, and the women paint their faces white. It’s an interesting place.

I had some good (but greasy, of course) Burmese food, finally. I love the big spread you get: a big pot of rice, a bowl of clear soup, a plate of meat (fried mutton balls, in this case), a plate to eat off of, a plate of a veggie (bamboo shoots, this time), and a plate of fresh veggies with a cup of hot chili sauce for dippin’. All this for about a buck. There’s also a really good ice-cream bar nearby. I had a banana shake, a strawberry shake, and two scoops of vanilla ice cream, all made from fresh fruit. Yum!

We went to the Mandalay Marionette show that night. Normally, I hate cultural shows put on for the benefit of tourists, but this was OK. They had beautiful puppets, which they manipulated skillfully to make them jump and twirl around. They even raised the curtain so you could see the puppeteers. I can’t say I’m a fan of shrill Burmese singing, though. Ouch!

We took a trishaw back. I’ll call the driver Mister Trishaw, since I never caught his name. He seemed nice, and offered to show us all the sights for $3. He produced letters and postcards from travelers as references. I normally don’t go for this sort of thing, but it’s cheap, so I figured I’d check it out, since Marie and I are going our separate ways.

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Making a Buddha

The tour was alright. Mr. Trishaw took me to a big paya with a huge gold Buddha that people press gold leaf on. The stuff has built up over the centuries so the statue has big lumps all over its body, except for its face. Mr. Trishaw led me right to the front, where people were kneeling and chanting, and had me kneel. Nobody seemed to mind. Then he took me to an old wooden monastery, a gold leaf shop, where I saw them pounding gold into the paper-thin leaves (it takes six hours), a stone-cutter shop, where they were carving and filing Buddhas, and a couple tapestry shops. I wanted a tapestry, but didn’t plan to buy one today, especially since I imagine Mr. Trishaw will get a cut. But I saw a Buddha footprint I liked, and started talking to the guy. They really know how to keep you there, since they ask politely “Well, what’s the absolute maximum you would like to pay?” every time you try to leave. He started at $35 and I paid $20. Then I saw some Buddhas I liked, and talked to that guy. We established a good rapport, so I figured I’d try again. He offered $60 for the statue I liked. I only wanted to pay $10, and stood my ground (“I have not job, so I have no money”). I got it for $13. I’m sure he still made a huge profit, despite his “I need the money for my children.” In light of this, I probably should have paid $10 for my tapestry. After this I learned one of the tour’s hidden costs: fuel for the motor. I wanted to eat, and didn’t want to eat in front of Mr. Trishaw, so I bought him lunch, which he accepted without a thank-you.

Then Mr. Trishaw took me to a big monastery. I went to take a photo when an old woman, called Cherry, started talking to me in perfect English. At first I was happy to talk, until she offhandedly mentioned that her husband and children died 10 years ago, and now she makes money by helping tourists. Oh oh. She said come back after my photo. As I walked around, a young monk came up to me. He said he was studying at the monk university across the street, and offered to show me around. So I went with him and he showed me the classrooms full of studying monks, the ordination hall, and his dorm room, where I met one of his friends. Their English was limited, so conversation was difficult. His friend offered to take me to the top of Mandalay Hill. He was a bit of a rebel. He said he was skipping the respects they pay to the Buddha at 6 pm, since they don’t take attendance. He also mentioned that monks aren’t supposed to eat dinner, but he sometimes sneaks one, since he gets hungry. I’m sure I would do the same.

When we passed Cherry, she ran up to me and asked to have tea with me. I said I couldn’t since I was with my friend. Then she started talking angrily in Burmese to the monk. He said she was a tour guide, and was angry at him for cutting in to her “turf.”

The barefoot walk up the hill was long, but the views were fantastic. The top was packed with ugly middle-aged Norwegian tourists waiting for the sunset.

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Beautiful bridge

I wanted to see the ancient city of Amarapura, so I rented a sturdy Chinese bike with no gears for the day for 60 cents. I ended up only riding it for about 45 minutes. It seems it’s impossible to go anywhere in Myanmar without making friends. The ride through Mandalay was scary, with trucks and “busses” everywhere honking. Going through intersections was especially exciting, what with the absence of stop lights and stop signs. Eventually traffic thinned out as I left the city, except for the pickup busses that kept stopping in front of me to pack in more people. I passed one of the “People’s Desires” government propaganda billboards, and stopped to take a photo. A friendly old man came up and talked to me. Unfortunatly, I couldn’t understand a word he said. Back on my bike another guy rode up next to me and asked where I was from and directed me to my destination.

I stopped at the first paya to look around, and almost immediately a young monk got up from the restaurant across the street and started showing me around. His name was Sondara, and he was 27 years old, and studying to be a monk. His vocabulary was limited, so conversation was difficult, but we were able to communicate on a basic level. We walked through the village to U Bein’s bride, which was absolutely stunning. It was a long wooden bridge over a lake with fishermen in longboats. The water was low, so rice was being grown, and farmers were working in their fields, and cows wandered about. The bridge was busy with many people going both ways. There were teashops at both ends, and even on the bridge. And, as if that wasn’t enough, the horizon was dotted with the white domes with gold tips of the many paya of Amarapura. It was exactly what I though South East Asia would be. On the way back I stopped for some ice cream, and as I sat eating it I attracted a crowd of about ten confused women and children. They liked it when I rubbed my tummy and said “mmm.”

Then Sondara wanted to show me the ancient city of Sagaing, where his monastery is. So he stowed my bike at a fire station, and we crammed ourselves into one of the busses, which everyone found very amusing. The final leg of the journey was on one of the tiny pony carts, which was packed with ten monks, and me. We climbed up Sagaing Hill to U Ponya Shin Paya for a breathtaking view of the remarkable “city.” All around us out of the trees rose golden payas, and they also covered the hills that surrounded us. It was like nothing I have ever seen before.

Me and my guide

Afterwards Sondara took me to his monastery, an unremarkable modern building, and showed me his room, which was basically a bed in the corner of a room where barrels of rice are stored. Then he took me back to Mandaly, which was good, since I had no idea how to get back on my own. Again, the people on the bus were amused by my presence.

When I returned the bike, the bike guy started asking me about state capitols, and produced a map for me to write them on. Then he started telling me crazy stories about how 20 years ago he worked for the government and went to Seattle to buy a 747, and New York to buy a helicopter, and how he took the Trans-Mongolian from Beijing to Moscow, and how in December he was going to Germany on a scholarship to study engineering, or maybe agriculture. It seemed like he was regurgitating stories other travelers had told him. He has no potential here other than being a bike guy, so his only hope is to live vicariously through travelers.

After some delicious strawberry ice cream at the Nylon Ice Cream Bar, a well dressed guy in slacks instead of a longyi rode up on a motorcycle (read: this guy is well-off), and started talking to me in perfect English. He gave me a lift to my guest house, and when I said I was going to Pyin U Lwin tomorrow, he said he used to live there, and would go with me to practice English. My “weird” alarm, which was already registering, went up a notch. When he asked my room number, I figured I should get away from this “friendly” guy. I wonder what his game was?

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My driver

After changing a Benjamin in a secret back room of a store, I went to Mandalay Central “Bus” Station to catch a pickup to the old British Hill Station of Pyin U Lwin. A woman came up and tried to get me to take a taxi for $2.50. First I had to convince her I actually wanted to take a pickup, then insist on it when she said “no bus.” Finally she directed me to a guy who said $1 for the back, $1.50 for the front. A total rip-off, but he wouldn’t budge at all, so I paid for a seat up front so I could enjoy the view. Then I got on the dirty old truck and waited for it to fill up, since they only leave when full. When the driver started the engine it sounded like it barely ran, and indeed it stalled several times. We stopped for some spare parts before leaving town. Before going up the hills we stopped to refill the radiator, and again halfway up. The woman next to me gave me some apples. Burmes people keep giving me food.

Pyin U Lwin is interesting, with some old colonial buildings and little horse drawn carriages, like mini-stagecoaches. I took one to the base of a hill with a paya, and climbed up for a view of town. The ride itself was the highlight, and it was fun waving at the surprised staring people, who then waved back.

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Pyin U Lwin

I rented a bike for 60 cents to ride to a waterfall. I was more interested in the Shan villages along the way. Unfortunately, nobody was able to give me clear directions to either the villages, or the waterfall, so I never found them. Despite this, the ride was good, with lots of people waving and saying “hello.” They really get a kick when I say “hello” back to them. I ended up at a big gold paya on top of a hill (are you seeing a pattern?), that was well-maintained and had quite a few pillgrims. There are so many paya that most are in pretty sorry state, with peeling paint, broken statues, and weeds. It seems that the more popular ones are kept in good condition from the money the pilgrims donate. The place was quite peaceful, so I sat in a garden and ate one of the “danger apples” the woman from the bus gave me yesterday, much to the amusement of some passing people.

Back in town I went shoe-shopping at the central market. My Teva sandals are impractical here, since I have to take them off and put them on so much. Also, it would be good to have something to wear in the dirty bathrooms; the one at my guesthouse is particularly appalling. I won’t be showering while I’m here because of it. I bought some flip-flops, the National Shoe of Myanmar, for $1. I chatted with the vendor for awhile. After he asked my job, a common question, to which I vaguely answer “computers,” he said he had a degree in physics. I don’t know if he said this to impress me, but it’s probable, since there are no jobs for physicists, or for any type of college-educated person in Myanmar.

Since it was so cold and rainy out, I went for tea and nan bread at an Indian tea shop. A friendly guy I had trouble understanding chatted with me. Almost immediately he started talking about how great Aung San Suu Kyi, the leader of the NLD opposition to the junta, was, and how the junta would fall soon. I’d love to talk politics with a Burmese person, but not in a tea shop, where we’d be overheard. I also wary about someone who brings it up right away. Could he have been working for military intelligence trying to feel out “problem tourists?” If you think this is ridiculous, I urge you to read “Welcome to Burma.”

After the political intrigue, I wandered around looking for a busy restaurant. It seems if I use the Lonely Planet to find a place it will be packed with tourists. So I picked a place with no English sign, but they had an English menu. It was a Bamar (Burmese) place, and the menu actually called the curries “oil curries.” A quick bit of research told me the layer of oil is used to protect the food, which sits out, cold, for hours, from the flies that infest the restaurants and teashops. You’re not expected to eat all the oil. I ordered a mutton oil curry, and the spread was the biggest yet, with soup, three sides, a salad, and fresh veggies. The kids waiting on me, even though they didn’t speak English, seemed to like me since I let them see my camera, flashlight, and watch, so the kept giving me more food. I ate till I was stuffed, for 80 cents! I’ve discovered the delicious wonder of Indian sweets since I’ve been here, so I bought a few, restocked my toilet paper supply, then it was off to bed under two blankets, since it will be an early start tomorrow.

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Snack lady

I took the train today so I could see the century-old Gokteik Viaduct. Theroux wrote about this in "The Great Railway Bazaar," but when he took the trip in the seventies the country was a mess, with rebels and bandits everywhere. He described the train having a special armored car with gun holes, and a regular car filled with soldiers behind it. It was too hot in the armored car, so if attacked, they would have to get to the armored car before they could shoot back. Now, under the iron fist of the military junta, the country is safe to travel in, and indeed there were several tourists: three Italians who wouldn't talk to me, some girl who wouldn't talk to me, and a weird German guy I had to sit next to who wouldn't talk to me. We did have a car full of soldiers, but they were traveling, and not there for protection.

As usual, the journey proved more interesting than the destination. The aisles were crammed with large sacks and boxes you had to step over, the seats were hard and straight, the train rocked back and forth violently, but we passed some interesting looking towns. When we stopped, interesting looking people rushed to the windows and came on board selling a variety of mysterious snacks. I bought some cookies and what I hoped were chocolate (it's never chocolate here), but they were so greasy they made me sick. Between the towns the landscape was mostly clear cut forest that's now ugly barren hills covered with scraggly brown grasses and shrubs.

The viaduct was big and impressive, as was the gorge it spanned. Unfortunately, the soldiers warned us not to take photos on the bridge, which had M-16 toting guards. All told, it took us six hours to travel the 60 miles to Hsipaw.

Upon arrival, I checked into the Mr. Kidd Guesthouse for $2.50 a night, with en suite. And I could pay in kyats, which makes it even cheaper (usually tourists have to pay in dollars or FEC's). The town's not on the power grid, and they turn the generator off at 9 pm, so I'm writing this holding a flashlight. Guess I'll be going to bed early. I did my laundry in the sink, then went to walk around town, which is very small and rustic. As usual, lots of people said "hello." One kid even shouted "Hello! I love you! Goodbye!" Some guys unloading a truck packed with chickens liked it when I flapped my arms and clucked. The place seems to get a steady trickle of tourists, and it looks like there's maybe 10 or so here. Despite that, it seems like a nice place to spend a couple days.

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Shan villager

I sought out Mr. Book, a guy famous for helping travelers, and featured in "Welcome to Burma," and even listed in Lonely Planet now. He was a quiet, unassuming little bald guy who spoke excellent English and was very friendly, which is surprising, since so many tourists must seek him out now that he's in Lonely Planet. I asked about going to Namsan, but he said it's impossible now, due to a big rainstorm. Maybe in a few days. He said I should seek out Johnny the Monk, since there's a festival tonight.

Back at Mr. Kidd's, I talked to a couple of girls who just got back from Namsan, described as the "Switzerland of Myanmar" in Lonely Planet. They said it's OK, but no Switzerland, and one of the girls was Swiss, so she should know. They also said there were tourists there. That's the problem with using Lonely Planet. If it says "few people go here," people will start going there. From now on it's Rough Guides for me. Well, after Nepal and Tibet. They liked Bhamo, which I had wanted to go to after reading "Welcome to Burma."

Then I walked out of town through some Shan villages. It was very beautiful and peaceful, with fields, the calm river, hills topped with paya, and plenty of friendly people waving. Not everyone seemed happy to see me, though. I wonder how many tourists come through here using Mr. Book's map?

Finally, I found Johnny the Monk, who proved to be a friendly, talkative guy of about 50, who had only been a monk for the past six years. He made a few allusions to how things started to get bad in 1962, but I wasn't sure about going down that road. Anyway, the festival was about to begin. Johnny said that on the last full moon of winter, the Shan people traditionally make an offering of fire to the Buddha so summer can start. (And believe me, it gets cold here at night. Taking an icy shower when you can see your breath is not a pleasant way to start the day. ) But now only a few people still do this, and indeed only about 100 people showed up. But they were lively with drums and dancing, and carrying a large bamboo scaffolding.

Kids at the festival

First, they went into the chapel to pray. Well, the adults did, but the kids were more interested in me. They wanted me to take their photo, and when I showed it to them on my digital camera's LCD, they literally mobbed me. Then they were just lining up for photos. Finally everyone went and danced around the scaffolding to the music, and then set it ablaze.

Afterwards me and the girls from earlier, who were there too, stayed and chatted with Jhonny until 9 pm. He talked about how people can't afford to buy food (average salary is $5 a month) because inflation is out of control. When people transport goods to sell them, the tolls are so high they can't make any money. He also said the government is "buying off" monks by giving them cars and TV's to encourage them to not lead any more uprisings. It was interesting, and Johnny was friendly, but it seemed a bit strange and too easy. Surely the government must know that he speaks English and talks to tourists. It was a good day, though, and a highlight so far.

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They're not playing volleyball

I started the day with what I thought would be a walk on a trail, but turned out to be a road. Not much to see; I should have rented a bike to cover more ground. A couple guys were working on the telephone line, and offered me some water, even though they didn't speak English. Cheez-u-tembari!

That evening I paid a visit to the Shan Palace, featured in "Welcome to Burma." The Shan are one of Myanmar's many ethnic minorities (hence the justification for the name change from Burma, since not everyone is Bamar, even though they are in control). They enjoyed autonomy under the British. But under the military junta, the Shan are persecuted through the clearing of villages to make more room for opium plantations, the use of Shan people for forced labor, attacks on refugee camps in Thailand (which Thailand turns a blind eye on), and the systematic raping of Shan women. The Shan people want independence from the Bamar, but these acts are designed to demoralize and weaken them. There are two Shan State armies, but they have signed cease-fires with the government. The Shan State Army (South) is fighting the United Wa Army, which is favored by the government, and given the land taken from the Shan for opium production.

As a tourist visiting Hsipaw, there are no signs of any of this: the people seem happy and sing in the street, children wave, and there are no soldiers to be seen. But at the Shan Palace, a dilapidated European-style mansion whose lawn had been converted into a bean field, Fern, the niece of the last Shan prince, told me and three other travelers about the family history. The last Shan prince was taken by the military after it siezed power in 1962. His Austrian wife was never able to find out what happened to him; he was presumably executed. Now his niece and nephew watch the house and talk to tourists. They have travelers bring them books and mail letters, since the government watches them closely. It seems strange that the government lets you talk to them freely. Perhaps they realize they are one of the "tourist attractions" of Hsipaw, along with Johnny the Monk.

Afterwards I visited Johnny the Monk again, who offered me tea leaf salad, and talked about how he used to be a tourist guide here. Then he told me some of the recent history of the country, and how the governments monetary policies led to the rampant inflation. He said that even though some things have gotten better, in other ways this is the worst time ever. For instance, Daw Aung Suu Kyi is free now, but thousands of students were arrested two weeks ago for demonstrating. Johnny talks slowly but doesn't stop, so I had to force myself away at 10 to go pack by candlelight. I have to catch a bus tomorrow at 6 am.

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Burmese truck

The bus ride was long (6 hours), uncomfortable (no leg room), cold (they kept the door open the whole way), and bumpy, despite the fact that the road is maintained by a private company. Fern has said this company is actually drug lords, who need the road to reach their opium fields, and to get their crop to China. It was fortunate the trip was uneventful, since I was right up front and had a good view of the driver having a heated conversation with his helper, complete with dramatic hand gestures. Since it was so foggy and he was going so fast, I would have preferred him to give the road his undivided attention. But as long as you honk frequently, and have the proper Buddhist shrine onboard, what can happen? We did pass a pickup upside down on the side of the road.

Upon arrival I rented a bike to check on boat tickets to Bhamo. Not liking riding the rickety bike between cars, trishaws, pedestrians, and other bikes in the rush-hour traffic on the main street, I turned off to a side street, and ended up in the packed central market. I had to walk the bike through the crowds, and pissed off some women when the pedal brushed up against their baskets, and they shouted at me in Burmese. Then I road through dirt streets with dirty decaying buildings, still packed with trishaws and walkers. There are people everywhere in Myanmar. At the jetty they wanted $54 for a cabin, $21 for upper deck, and $9 for lower deck. Lower deck for me.

Then, since I was back in relative civilization, I went on a snacking binge. I stopped at Mandalay Donuts, a clean Dunkin' Donuts like place that was deserted, then of course the Nylon Ice Cream Bar.

It turns out Marie is staying across the hall from me, so we caught up on our latest adventures over Mandaly Beer. She didn't like Hsipaw and went straight to Namsan, which she said was OK, but no Switzerland. She complained of a chanting monk next door who started up at 4 am. Some of my snacking disagreed with me, so I had to spend some time on the toilet.

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I swear, it's not a skirt

We decided to brave the tourist crowds to visit Mandalay's #1 tourist attraction, the ancient city of Mingun, site of a huge half-finished brick paya. It was constructed in the 1800's, but damaged in an earthquake in 1975, so now it's possibly the world's largest pile of bricks.

When my alarm went off at 6:30 I felt sick and tired and wouldn't have gotten up if Marie wasn't coming. Marie talked me into wearing my skirt, er, longyi, and the guys at the hotel showed me how to tie it. Then we took a trishaw to the tourist jetty (round-trip $1), bought a ferry ticket ($1), and a ticket to Mingun ($3). Today is an expensive day.

Mingun is tourist central, and as soon as you get off the boat people start trying to sell you tee shirts, parasols, hats, and beer. It's annoying and telling them "no" is a waste of time. The only thing that works is avoiding eye-contact and walking away.

Supposedly the $3 entry fee pays for "restoration," which seems to consist of white-washing the huge doorways. This is a shame, since it looks really tacky. It turned out that after 12:00, the guy taking tickets left, so if you wait until then, you can avoid paying the $3 to the military government. We took off our shoes and climbed the scalding-hot steps to the top. Some friendly Burmese up there offered to take our picture. Then they wouldn't go away, and tried to lead us around, help us climb over piles of bricks, said "slowly, slowly," and brought leaves for us to stand on. It was pretty obvious that they would expect a donation for the "services," so we went away from where they were directing us and ignored them. Eventually they went away. This, and my continuing stomach problems, made the day less enjoyable than it should have been.

River life

Back in Mandaylay we went to the crowded, dirty, smelly, fly-infested market to buy provisions for our respective trips tomorrow (Marie is going to Bagan). I needed blankets for sleeping on the deck of the boat for two nights, but there seemed to be a conspiracy, and all of the blanket sellers were playing hard ball, not reducing their prices much. I ended up paying $2 for two blankets. Then we bought fruit and mysterious snacks (remember: if it looks like chocolate, it's not, and will squirt grease all over you when you bite into it). Then ice cream at the Nylon Ice Cream Bar, then some Mandalay Beer. We also tried smoking the cheroot cigars wrapped in dried leaves everyone smokes here. Not our cups of tea. Then off to bed. I have to get up at 4:30 tomorrow.

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On the boat

At 5 am it was up and out to catch the boat, which turned out to be a big three level vessel crammed with people, boxes, sacks, and chickens. They ushered me to the "tourist corner" of the upper deck, where I deployed my blankets and set up camp on the floor, and met the other two tourists onboard, Bob, from Australia, and Noel, form Holland. For awhile we were a source of entertainment for everyone, especially the group of young, pink-robed nuns across from us, who wouldn't stop staring. Eventually the people seemed to accept us.

For lunch I made the mistake of ordering a fish curry, which proved to be cold, slimy, and disgusting. I was still feeling queasy today, and I don't think this helped. I ended up spending more time than I would have liked squatting in the bathroom. At least there's a big window in there, so you can watch the scenery as it goes by and wave to people.

Meanwhile, a budding romance blossomed between Noal and a girl traveling with her mom and grandmother, none of whom spoke a word of English. Or so we teased him, as they kept giving him food. Other than that, it was a pretty uneventful day. Well, besides the little old lady who kept belching loudly.

sleeping on the hard floor using my backpack for a pillow was pretty rough, and between the people coughing and hacking up phlem all night, the millions of moths that kept flying under my blanket, and the fact that everyone got up at 5 am for some reason, I didn't get much sleep.

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More people get on

Another day of sleeping, reading, and pooping. I didn't eat much, just slimy fried veggies on rice for lunch, tea, and an entire pound cake for dinner, but I'm still ill. Romance continued to bloom between Noel and his girlfriend with the purchase of a watermelon by the ladies, which they cut up with the huge knife they had, then shared the pieces. Communication is difficult since they keep talking to us in Burmese. To make things clearer, they helpfully write what they're saying on their hands, in Burmese, and seem confused when we still don't understand. I became popular for awhile when some people saw my digital camera. Noel's girlfriend liked listening to his U2 CD, which she had never heard before, since whenever you hear a Western song, it has Burmese lyrics. In fact, you don't even hear too many Western songs. Most stuff is original Burmese pop or country, and there's a lot of traditional music too. That consists of a cacophony of drums, xylophones, oboes, and shrill singing, none of which is in time with another, since traditional Burmese music does not employ the Western nothion of rhythm. In an ironic way, the military junta's isolationist policies have preserved this portion of Burmese culture.

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Burmese ladies

When I came to Bhamo, I didn't plan to witness a disturbing religious ceremony, or become an impromptu English teacher. I just stumbled on to these experiences, and they have already made the long trip up here worthwhile. We got to Bhamo at 10 am, and upon leaving the boat were greeted by a huge parking lot full of pony carts. You know a place isn't touristy yet when the drivers ignore you and you have to actually go up to one and tell him where you want to go. We headed for the Friendship Hotel, supposedly the only place in town that accepts tourists. A check of another guesthouse verified this. Since these guys are charging an exhorbiant $5 a night, more than in Mandalay, something smells rotten in the State of Katchin. Why does tiny Hsipaw have three guesthouses for foreigners, while Bhamo, at probably three times the size, only have one, a monopoly? Do the Chinese owners have friends in high places? Are they really involved in the opium trade like the rumors say?

I walked around town, which is nice and green, with lots of trees, and not too hot. I went into a restaurant, which was slightly confusing when the "hostess" brought out an English menu, then said "no" when I pointed to fried veggies and took the menu away. Unlike other menus this one didn't have corresponding Burmese, so I don't think she understood it. Luckily I was able to use my phrasebook to order a veggie curry, which was OK, but came with delicious soup. And the kids kept bringing me more food. I ate till I was stuffed for 30 cents, then went back to the hotel and shit it all out. I'm hoping the veggie diet will show some benefits soon.

Sort of like finger billiards

I bought a huge bar of chocolate in a Chinese store, which was not cheap at $1.30. As I wandered around town I heard some interesting music and saw some people gathered around a Chinese temple (Do you notice a pattern? Bhamo is close to China, and Chinese seem to own all the businesses). I watched from outside for awhile, then figured what the heck, and gestured to some people going in if I could to, and they nodded. I went in and the music stopped, and everybody turned to look at me. I felt rather uncomfortable, but some people smiled, and a woman offered me a chair by the band. Then the music started again, and I noticed the rather disturbing part. The people were gathered around an old lady with an enormous goiter. I've never seen anything like it. It was literally the size of her head. I tried not to look appalled, since no one else did. The people were giving her offerings, and she had money pinned to her ornate robes, a tray of food, and a bag of goodies. She danced around for awhile, then kneeled in a roped off area, and the people gave her more stuff, which she put in her bag. Then the music stopped and the ceremony seemed to be over, so I felt uncomfortable again. A woman offered me a cigarette and said "good night." It was nice of them to let me watch, so I wanted to give them something, so I gave them the huge bar of chocolate.

Then I went for a cold beverage to catch up on my journal. A little girl was there. Normally kids make me nervous, even more so when I can't understand them, but she was possibly the most adorable kid ever. And she wouldn't leave me alone. So I figured I had to entertain her, so I let her draw in my journal. Soon we were drawing animals, fruits, and vehicles, and writing their English names, and I had attracted three more children, and curious adults. The plan had backfired! The kids knew quite a few English words (but not enough for talking), and I now have a page of drawings in my journal. They also let me take their photo, and like looking at it in the LCD. It was kind of fun.

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On the jetty

The three of us walked down to the "jetty" (a muddy flat by the river covered with garbage and tents) and asked about hiring a boat. We found a guy who would take us across the river to a village. The village turned out to be the poorest I've seen yet. Set up on a plain, the people lived in simple huts of bamboo with thatched roofs, which didn't look permanent. Some of the huts consisted of one room with just the bamboo wall separating the family from their pigsty. But even though they were poor and dirty, they seemed happy. The children were playing, some guys were playing the volleyball-like game where you can only use your feet and head, and other men were gambling on a billiards-like game. Then our friend took us further upriver and we got out and walked back to town. Besides stopping for delicious strawberry milkshakes, nothing exciting happened. I would rather be alone, since more interesting things seem to happen, then.

While eating dinner and chatting with the owner of the restaurant, who spoke perfect English, I was introduced to a magnificent man and his flying machine. I read about this guy in "Welcome to Burma." He's been building a helicopter for 20 years. It's all done now, but he needs a bigger engine. He's working as a guide now, and offered to show me around. I may go with him tomorrow, instead of with the guy with the WWII jeep who Noel met.

I've had the shits for five days, and the're not going away, even with my new diet. So I started a course of Cipro antibiotics tonight.

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Burmese nuns

Today would have been better if I truly had gone on a WWII jeep tour, but the jeep ride lasted all of two minutes. I thought I could do the jeep tour in the morning, and the helicopter tour in the afternoon. But the jeep tour took too long.

As soon as I met "Danny" I didn't like him. He was a 62-year-old prick who didn't listen and talked a lot about nothing. It was also weird that he had all kinds of stuff: a big camera, a camcorder, and binoculars. So he has lots of money somehow. Another weird thing is that when I said I was from Indiana, he said his niece went to Purdue.

So he took us an hour upriver by another boat to a nunnery, then to another village for shitty noodles. When we got back he wanted to have beer with Noel, but Bob and I were annoyed with him so we snubbed him. By then it was to late to see the flying machine. I wish I would have done that instead. Oh well.

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Along the river

On the ferry to Bhamo, a guy asked me if I was a billionaire. I tried to explain that I had no job and limited money, but it didn't help. To the people of Myanmar I'm inconceivably rich, since the average salary is $5 a month. I realize this, and would prefer not to rub it in by discussing it. Unfortunately, when you meet someone, "How much money?" is the third thing they ask, right after "Where you come from?" and "How old?" It's a question I can't adequately answer, since I'm not going to say $x,000 a month.

People also like to ask how much my camera costs. At first I divided the price in two, but even that was a tremendous amount of money to them, so now I just say it was a present. This works wonderfully, since the giving of presents is so ingrained in their culture. That's one of the most wonderful things about the people of Myanmar. They have so little, but they will always find a present to give you.

I hope that seeing billionaire tourists such as myself will have a positive effect on people. I hope it makes them wonder why they can't have more. If enough people think like this, change will have to happen.

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Monks on their way to morning alms

I've had the opportunity to observe and talk with quite a few monks here, and they're really not what I expected. In the West, we (or at least I) have a notion of Buddhist monks being deeply spiritual living piously and leading their people into nirvana. But the reality, at least in Myanmar, is that they're just guys who belch and spit a lot like everyone else, but who happen to be wearing orange robes. Nobody seems to pay them any special attention or treat them differently when they see them walking around. Unless you get up early enough to see the monks going around in long lines to restaurants for their morning alms. Maybe this apparent lack of respect is because, unlike Western holy men, all monks don't devote their entire lives to religion. You can become a monk whenever you want, for as long as you like. Also, everyone is a monk for awhile. First, between the ages of 8 and 12, kids wear red robes of novice monks (who are remarkably well behaved). Then, later in life, adults wear the orange robes for awhile, maybe for as little as two weeks, to accrue merit for themselves and their family. So when a lay Burmese sees a monk, it's no big dead, since he was one too. And theirs so damn many of them.

Then there’s a more cynical theory. Maybe they're just poor people escaping their life of poverty by entering a monastery.

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Propoganda

If you look at a map, you'll see that Mandalay is at the center of the country. So not surprisingly, I am back in Mandalay again. The boat trip back was long, boring, and uneventful. I enjoyed it on the way up, but this was just too much. Too much laying on a hard deck, with a blanket that's too small to keep warm, or to keep the moths off. Adding to the unpleasantness was Bob, the grumpiest Australian ever, whose increasing moodiness made it difficult to be around him.

After arriving, I wanted to buy a plane ticket to Kathmandu. I could only find one travel agent selling international tickets, and they wanted $225. Ouch. And then the flight only leaves on Sunday, so I'll have to overstay my visa by 12 days, instead of the 10 I was planning on. Finally they couldn't issue the ticket today, so I had to pay $100 now, then pick up the ticket in Yangon. I'm sure it will be OK, but I'm worried I'm getting scammed.

Then I went to the email/secret money changer, to send my mom an email for $1.50. There's no internet in Myanmar, so you have to send email through their account, and if you get a reply they will let you know at your hotel. No Yahoo! or Hotmail. Then I visited Mandaly Donuts, and of course the Nylon Ice Cream Bar. At 6 pm I took a nap, and work up at 9 pm. I took a shower, got my laundry, and packed, then went to bed at 10. I guess I was tired.

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The bus could have been worse

I experienced my worst bus ride so far today. To my horror my bus was a "minibus," or large van, instead of a full-sized bus. The big busses are uncomfortable enough, but in the minibusses they keep packing people in until they can't move. Two people per seat, and one in the aisle, so at five people per row there must have been 50 inside, plus 20 more on top. Then there were the spare parts, including a crankshaft, which we thankfully didn't need. Needless to say, I couldn't move my legs. After an hour, my ass started to hurt, and squirming didn't help, but only served to irritate the Burmese woman crammed next to me. Adding to my ass's discomfort was the sorry state of the road, with huge potholes, large stretches of missing road, where it just became sand, and parts that were too narrow, forcing us to drive on the bumpy side when passing or when a vehicle was coming towards us. We stopped twice, which helped my ass a little, but all told it was seven very uncomfortable hours.

We finally made it to Nyang U, Bagan, and were set upon by touts. Noel and I didn't want to deal with them, so we took refuge in a tea shop until they went away, then spent two hours scouting out all the same-same-but-different places. The best of the lot was Eden, so we checked in, then went to an "Italian" restaurant for the most expensive meal I've had in Myanmar: pizza, two lassies, and a crepe (a strange international mix) for $4. On top of the $10 entry fee, today is an expensive day.

So far Nyang U is OK. I was expecting Kaoh San Road, but there were hardly any tourists. I'll have to see what it's like tomorrow.

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