And pictures don't do it justice

I read about it, and thought it sounded neat, but since it's easy to be disappointed if your hopes are too high, I had low expectations. But it turns out Bagan is more breathtaking than I dreamed possible. What is it? In a word, temples. We're talking 2000+ temples, all built in a relatively small area. You look around and paya surround you as far as you can see. It's like you're in a huge museum of archeology.

Noel and I rented shitty bikes to do some exploring. We visited several temples, and learned the best feature of Bagan is the seer number of buildings, but not the buildings themselves. Firstly, they're all basically the same. There's two basic designs: the bell-shaped zedi, which don't have an interior, and the square pahto, which have an inside, but are often closed off. If they're open, the upstairs parts are usually closed. When you can go downstairs, the only things to see are a bunch of Buddhas. The walls are usually frescoed with "Buddha wallpaper," which must have looked splendid back in the day, but now has large parts missing, and is often whitewashed over (as part of the "restoration" process). In fact, there's alot of whitewashing, as well as construction that is obviously new, and clashes with the ancient temples. This is what the $10 entry fee pays for. I wish they'd just leave them alone.

Since there are only three kinds of Buddhas (sitting, standing, reclining), looking at them gets old pretty quick. The best features of the pahto are the stairs that lead to the top, which provide spectacular views when you can climb them.

Lacquorware saleslady

The other problem with the temples is the people. They are sacred enough that you have to take your shoes off, but not enough to prevent them from selling their wares in them. Tee shirts, laquerware, paintings, carvings, post cards. There's some good stuff, but it's the same everywhere, and they won't leave you alone. Then there are the guys trying to help you (" slowly, slowly"), who will want a present when you leave. It's annoying, and spoils the experience.

So I took my bike down one of the sandy tracks to get away from the touristy temples. I found a neat overgrown one filled with, surprise, Buddhas, when I realized I had two flat tires. Mountain bikes would be nice here. After limping back to town for a replacement, I rode to a quite paya to watch the sunset. This paya "belonged" to a family who sell paintings inside, and whos kids helpfully give you a candle and guide you up the dark stairs. Of course they ask for a present when you leave. It's still good, though, and I can see spending a couple days here, even though I've been spending alot of money on food and souvenirs (I spent $20 today, $11 of which was on two interesting paintings).

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Burmese ladies

I liked traveling with Noel, but I prefer to travel alone to make myself more acessible to the locals. And sure enough, the moment he left I had a little mini-adventure. It was another day of riding bikes around the ruins, starting with the sunrise on top of mingalazedi. Then we went to several interesting temples, including a cave, and a big pyramid. However, at each one we had to run a gauntlet of merchants. These people don't take "no" for an answer, and they all have a "special" price for you. Nothing works to make them leave you alone, besides staring at the ground as you walk past. Even a casual glance at their wares will unleash a chorus of "which do you like"s. They are the worst people in Myanmar (besides the government).

With the departure of Noel, I rode off alone, and promptly got lost, which is impossible not to do in Bagan. The amazing heat and the effort of peddling the shitty bike over the sandy trails quickly covered me in sweat. I rode up to a strange wooden structure (all the temples are brick), like an Asian picknick pavilion. I went inside, and an old man, presumably the caretaker, took pity on me. He sat me down and fanned me, then his wife brought tea and snacks, then sat off to the side, as is the custom here. Then he took me up on the roof and showed me the zedi he's guilding with gold, then he gave me some incense to offer to the Buddha. Even though they didn't speak a word of English, I spent an hour with them, and my faith in the people of Bagan was restored. At least until the shepherd I photographed asked for money.

Change Money?
In Yangon I got 1100 kyats to a dollar but stupidly only changed $50. My first time in Mandalay I only got 1000 kyats, but changed a Franklin. Today I got 900 kyats, so I only changed a twenty. Everybody's saying the banks have been closed for ten days, and nobody can get their money. I wonder what's going on?

Looking at a temple

Ten Dollars a Month Plus Benefits
The cute manager of my hotel says she wants a new job because she only earns $10 a month. That's for a freakin' manager! She wants to be a tour guide, because that's where the money is. When asked if she's worried about the banks, she said "no," since she doesn't have any money! This is only a problem for rich people and tourists.

Rich Tourists
I'm still amazed at how few tourists there are. I hardly see any in the town of Nyaung U. But out among the temples you see quite a few large busses that discharge middle-aged tourists. I'm guessing they must all be staying in the $100 a night hotels in Old Bagan in order to limit their contact with Burmese people. At one of the temples I was enjoying freshly squeezed sugarcane juice, and a car drove up and an American and an entourage of three guides got out. This guy can take all the photos of children playing he wants, but if you're surrounded by guides you're not going to actually meet anybody.

Dietary Roulette
After four weeks of rice, with occasional greasy noodles to mix things up, I've succumbed to the temptations of Bagan's "Western" food. Pizza, pasta, and tonight, since my poop becomes more solid each day, I risked a hamburger. It's never quite right, and it's twice the cost of local food, but it's nice for a change.

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Another temple

After three days I'm ready to go. The people here are just too anoying. Plus, If I see another Buddha, I'll puke. The day started off with a slightly unsettling encounter. I rode past a family building a zedi, and two girls invited me into their hut. Strange, since people usually don't invite strangers into their homes. Then they asked to have their pictures taken, and posed with me. Strange again, since usually you have to ask people for photos. Then grandma came in, then dad, and pretty soon the whole family was there. They showed me a whole stack of photos from someone named Christine. It looks like Christine had a digital photo printer, which made my life slightly difficult when they started asking for "photo presents." It was impossible to communicate the fact that I can't print my own photos. Then brother wanted a "tee shirt present," and one of the original girls wanted money. I literally had nothing to give them except candy, which they refused.

In my mind presents should never be requested or refused, so I was slightly annoyed. I felt like they were trying to extort gifts from me. I can see that having some worthless trinkets to give away would be useful, but it seems that no matter what you give, you will teach people that tourists are a source of "stuff." Then when the next tourist comes along, as I followed Christine, the people will ask for more stuff.

The local art is nice

That unsettling encounter was followed by a downright disturbing one. As I rode through a village a kid ran up and asked for my water. I'm not sure why I gave in, but when I forked it over he snickered and ran off. Then more kids ran up with outstretched palms.

I rode on to investigate more temples. Here a Buddha, there a Buddha, everywhere a Buddha Buddha These people were (and still are) mad about the guy. Bagan is the place to buy laquerware, and I wanted some, so at one temple I reward the annoying group of vendors' persistence by buying a bunch. First I bought a plate (the woman said since I was her "special friend" she gave me a "special price), then four cups and two bowls (the woman wanted "lucky money"), and finally two little boxes (the only English she knew was "lucky money" and "local art"). All told I paid $11 for the nine pieces. I had fun with it, haggling, and drew a crowd of all the vendors, but when I wanted to go, they still wouldn't leave me alone, and followed me to my bike. Not even buying something will make these people happy.

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Temples and sheep

I was going to take a pickup to Mount Popa, the Mount Olympus of Myanmar, and home of its 27 guardian spirits, or nat. But the hotel girl said it takes three hours to get there by pickup. I wish she would have said that a couple of days ago. I'll see if people will share a taxi tomorrow. Meanwhile, it's another day on a bike.

For a change of pace, I rode away from the archeological zone, into a desolate deforest area, that boasts of a new "people's forest, donated by ___." Funny that only Myanmar's most touristed attraction has "people's forests." A passing biker directed me to a cave temple in the middle of nowhere. Even though nothing was around for miles, a woman lived there, whose job was to show people around. What a job! She had a guest book, and only one or two people come each day (but ocasianally there is a group of five). I can't imagine what she does all day. The temple was moderately interesting, and had a cave that went deep into the mountain. She didn't take me too far. Afterwards, I humored her by looking at her table of knickknacks. I liked a little copper box, but she refused to bargain, only lowering her price from $7 to $6. So I gave her a 50 kyat donation instead.

Then I rode to Old Bagan and investigated some more temples. After four days I've seen all the major ones around Old bagan. A small temple had a guy living there with a key to unlock it, and showed me around. It was strange because it had a brand-new marble floor, and five brand-new Buddhas. I tried asking him why this obscure temple, kept locked all day, was getting so much attention, but he didn't understand.

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One last timple

Sitting alone on top of a thousand-year-old temple, surrounded by thousand-year-old temples, I wondered what the heck I'm doing with my life. Some places encourage self-reflection, and Bagan is certainly one of them. Unfortunately, none of the Buddhas had any answers, even when I gave them "lucky money."

My bus didn't leave until 3:30 pm, so I esentially had another day. And of course nobody else is going to Mount Popa. I should have left yesterday. I slowly pedaled a bike around the circuit, through the sweltering heat, but I could only motivate myself to go into one temple. When I got to New Bagan I stopped at a restaurant and lost my temper for the second time here (the first was on the boat to Bhamo when the guy selling tickets didn't like my $10 bill because it had a smudge on it). They say you should never lose your temper with Asians, because it makes them lose face, and doesn't get you anywhere.

When I sat down a kid came up an asked where I'm from. When I said America, he said something about how he liked Santa Clause and Superman, then showed me a picture of Santa with a red cape flying. As I contemplated this juxtaposed image, his friend whipped out sheets of these pictures. There are two things that really irritate me in SE Asia: cute kids selling shit, and people trying to sell me shit while I'm eating. The combination of these was too much, so I shouted at them to go away. The restaurant guys then said something to them, and they left, which was strange. Usually in SE Asia, you're on your own when it comes to touts and salesmen. They'll go onto busses, follow you into restaurants and stores, and nobody will chase them away. SE Asians are too laid back and unwilling to make a scene to do anything. Their laid back attitude also manifests on long bus rides. Since nobody wants to make a scene, and bus drivers have their bladders surgically removed, busses stop about once every six hours. Then everybody rushes to the toilets.

I decided to stop at Pyay, rather than go straight through to Yangon. There's ruins there (which is just an excuse to see a Burmese town). Plus, ten hours on a bus is enough for me. Especially since I was in the very back. This, combined with the unbelievably bad road made for a very bumpy ride. In some parts the road just disappeared for awhile, and we had to power through large stretches of deep sand. I still managed to sleep a little, though. We got to Pyay at 2 am, and I checked into a tiny cubicle just big enough for a small bed, and went to sleep.

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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.

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I came back to Yangon to run errands, so after managing to sleep until 9 am, despite the hotel staff shouting and singing outside my room, I headed out. I had to pick up my plane ticket and pay $125 for it, but after staying here longer than I planned, I'm running low on cash. Since there are no ATM's in Myanmar, I had to cash a traveler's cheque. A "helpful" "change money?" guy hanging out near Sule Paya followed me to the Foreign Trade Bank, then to the hidden area where they buy and sell traveler's cheques. It turns out they'll only give me FEC's. Shit, now I'll have to manage dollars, kyats, and FEC's. After a ton of paperwork, I got $98 worth of the "funny money." The guy behind the counter actually took his job seriously, and said I had to use all the FEC's in Myanmar, and could not change them into anything else. He also warned me to stop talking to my "friend," who offered to change them into kyats at a rate of 750, or dollars at $10 per $100.

I didn't want to change them, and took them straight to my travel agent and used them to pay for my ticket, which they thankfully had. The guy was a bit slimy, and tried to get me to give him a "reward" for the free hotel in Dhaka, even though that was part of the deal. When I gave him FEC's he said it would be better (for him) if I paid in dollars. I lied and said I didn't have dollars, since I'd rather keep my remaining Franklin.

After lunch I walked to the Chinese embassy. After walking in the extreme heat for an hour, they told me their hours were 9 am to 11 am. Since today is Friday I'll have to wait until Monday. I should have waited to come to Yangon until after the weekend. I decide to take a taxi back, so after negotiating a fare of $1.20, a team of kids pushed us a block to start the engine. It died at a stoplight, but thankfully started on its own.

When I got back at 4 I took a nap, and woke up at 6:30. I've ben pushing myself pretty hard lately, so I've been tired. I decided to check out Myanmar's take on fast food, so I went to TFC, Tokyo Fried Chicken, featuring Colonel Suzuki (that's a joke; well, the Colonel Suzuki bit is) It was no KFC, and it was expensive at $1. Then J's Donuts was out of donuts, so I ate papya instead.

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Two guys started talking to me in a donut shop, and when I told them I was American, they espoused their love of George W. Many people expressed similar views, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. So I pressed them. Unfortunately, it came down to race and religion. The more talkative guy, who looked relatively wealthy (heavy-set and sporting sun glasses), started giving me this crap about how if Muslims marry "Myanamr women" (as if Muslims aren't Myanmar too), and have Muslim babies, their mosque would support them. When I told him he was full of shit, his friend backed him up and said Muslims also sacrifice cows to Allah. So they hate Muslims and love George W. for picking on a Muslim country. I told them they were very racist and intolerant, and hoped they would go away, but they didn't seem to understand, not even my body language.

Then his friend started talking about how Buddhism is best, because you study other religions, then spend a week meditating, then you can choose which one you want. This sounds great, but I'm willing to bet that most people don't study other religions, become Buddhists because their parents are, and practice Buddhism by throwing "lucky money" at Buddhas (a "lower form" of Budhhism, my friend said). The whole encounter left a bad taste in my mouth. The donuts tasted excellent, though.

SInce I'd rather go to the beach instead of hanging around Yangon until Monday, I checked some travel agencies to see if I could pay them to get the visa for me, like you can in Thailand. Unfortunately, this isn't Thailand, and they all looked at me like I was crazy. Then I realized my stash of passport photos had gone missing. At first this stressed me out, since I paid about $5 for each of them before I left. Turns out this was a total waste of money. There are many camera shops offering this service here. I ended up paying $1.50 for a handful of 12 photos.

Something I ate made me sick again (I should have stuck to my vegetarian diet), and my poop, which had never fully solidified, is now liquid again, and I'm making more trips to the bathroom than I like. This, coupled with the amazingly breathtaking heat outside leaves me not wanting to do much, so I just sat around and read.

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Shwegadon is truely awsome

I'm running low on kyats again (and dollars, unfortunately), so I went to the Bogyoke Aung San Market to shop for a good rate. It's pretty funny, because some guy will walk up to you and ask if you want to change money about every two minutes. After haggling with about 20 guys, I couldn't get a rate better than 900. When I insisted on more, they would take me to their bosses, but he would always say "no." So I broke my last Franklin and changed $30 of it. I can't believe I got 1100 a month ago.

I'm still ill, so I had an overpriced salad for lunch in an overpriced Western cafe ($2 for a salad and a fruit smoothie). Then I finally got around to visiting Yangon's premier attraction: the Shwedagon Paya. It was indeed big and impressive, and instead of just a big gold zedi, it was surrounded by a huge complex of smaller zedi and pavilions, each filled with Buddhas. The atmosphere seemed special too, with a monk chanting serenely in the sacred pali language, instead of shouting annoyingly like they usually do.

Not surprisingly, a monk started talking to me. He said he was 25 and would be a monk until he's 30, then wanted to be a teacher. Also, not surprisingly, he was excited when he found out that I was American, said he was sorry about the World Trade Center, and loved George W.

I would be remiss if I didn't dine once at "MacBurger," while in Yangon, so that was next on my agenda. Unlike the other "fast food" restaurants, this one was grungy, the kitchen was filthy, and it featured a wandering, begging cat. I ordered a MacHam and a MacFries. The MacHam was mysterious. It certainly wasn't beef, which Buddhists don't eat. But it didn't seem like any other kind of meet either. It was interesting.

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Offerings at Shwegadon

Now that I've finally dropped off my passport at the Chinese embassy, I can either wait until Thursday to pick it up, or spend exhorbitant amounts of money and time to check out a Burmese beach. Unfortunately, since I was leaving so late, I would have to spend the night in Pathein. Normally this would be fine, since I like exploring towns, and Pathein is famous for parasol making. But I have to be back in Yangon Thursday, so time is limited. As it is I'll only have two days at the beach.

The taxi driver took me to a bamboo bus station 40 km from Yangon, and helped me get on a bus (no English at Burmese bus stations) for $4. A bus to Pathein is $2. The first beat up old bus only had aisle "seats" (little plastic stools), but I insisted on a real seat, which I got on the next beat up old bus. Traveling on busses like this, the kind the locals use, with a big backpack is difficult. I was able to put my small pack where my feet should have gone, and hold my daypack on my lap, but most tourists wouldn't have been able to fit their huge backpacks anywhere.

The four hour trip was a bit uncomfortable. Much of the road was still under construction (by hand, by women and children covered from head to foot in long clothes, towels, and hats), so there were many long stretches of bumpy dirt track. The sealed parts were almost as bad, with huge potholes. The constant bumping did not help my upset stomach, and this bus had no barf bags. Luckily I was by the window, so could vomit at will if I needed to (I didn't).

A shocking splash of color

When we stopped at what I though was a snack break, I noticed that everyone was piling into a pickup. I asked someone "Pathein?" and he pointed at the pickup. I guess we were here. Since I was one of the last ones on, I had to stand on the bumper and hang on for dear life as we bumped out way into town.

Pathein seems like an interesting little town. The dirt and grime are contrasted by the beautiful and colorful parasols some stores display outside. While wandering around, a kid came up and talked to me. He's 17 and is trying to study computers, one of the few, so we talked about C++ and java. He asked me if I could help him find a job if he comes to America. I had to try to explain that I have to find a job for myself in America's shitty job market.

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Burma is not Thailand

Upon arriving at Chaungtha Beach (after paying $2 for a bus and $5 for the ferry), I checked into a $3 guesthouse, then changed into my longyi to protect my modesty, and went out to investigate the beach. As I suspected, it's not the best place for watching bikini-clad babes. The place is mostly deserted, and the few people swimming wear their longyis and flannel shirts. There is nobody sunbathing, which makes sense; why would anybody want to lay out in the sun when they are out in it every day? The beach featured the usual Burmese sights of women walking around with baskets on their heads, oxe carts, and people riding bikes. I drew a small crowd when I stopped to retie my longyi, which then followed me to the end of the beach. Later, a couple guys offered me a glass of palm toddy. I guess foreigners are still a relative novelty here.

I can deal with the conspicuous lack of bikinis, but the dearth of beach beverages is unforgivable. The people don't even know what a shake is, and the fruit juice is invariably warm and overpriced. And I have no appetite for the food, either. After reading the Health chapter of my Nepal book, I think I have giardia. I'll get that fixed in Kathmandu, where there are competent doctors. It also looks like there is excellent food. I can't wait to get there.

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There's not much to do at the beach in Myanmar, so I walked to a secluded spot, and read about Nepal under a palm tree for awhile. I skipped lunch, but after producing my first solid poop in six weeks I was hungry, so I picked one of the same-same restaurants. This was difficult, because they all look the same, have similar names, and invariably have the same 30-page menu. You can't even choose the most crowded place, because there are so many places and so few people that there is only one group in each place. I picked "PK Restaurant" and ordered "crispy fried fish." It was the whole fish: head, eyes, fins, and all, but it was delicious, and probably my best meal in Myanmar.

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Neon Buddhas

Thankfully, today's seven-hour bus ride will be my last in Myanmar. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the guy's ass pressed against my shoulders, and the baby pressed against my legs. When I got to Yangon's Bamboo Bus Station, I was annoyed with the other tourists and the agressive taxi drivers, so I followed the Burmese people to the local busses, and asked which one went to Sule Paya. I had to stand most of the way, and the bus was incredibly crowded. I also had to put up with the rudeness of Asian people, and a total lack of personal space. If somebody is going to vacate a seat behind you, instead of letting you know, somebody will just push past you so they can have the seat. But instead of paying $4 for a taxi, it cost me two cents.

After a guy told me to get off too early at the worst possible place, the packed sidewalk market, I was in a pissy mood. Nobody appologizes in Asia, so nothing slowed me down as I fought through the crowds wearing my backpack, bumping into people, and knocking baskets off women's heads. The Golden Smile was full, so I ended up at the White House Hotel, which is neither white, nor a house. I was so tired I fell asleep for three hours.

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At Shwegadon

Myanmar has many problems: an absence of democracy, widespread poverty, forced labor, armed persecution of ethnic minorities, jailing of political prisoners without trials, no freedom of expression. The list goes on. However, one of the places the country does not seem to have a problem is with religious freedom. I've observed Buddhists, Muslims, Christians, Hindus, and Taoists. In fact, in central Yangon, there is a paya, a mosque, a church, a Hindu temple, and a Chinese temple all within a block of each other. Sure, ethnicity determines religion, with the Bamar majority being Buddhist, but people seem free to worship whatever deitie(s) they choose.

The reason I point this out is because the US State Departement included Myanamr on its list of "Countries of Particular Concern" that deny religious freedom. The list consists of Myanmar, China, Iraq, Iran, North Korea, and Sudan. Conspicuously missing is Saudi Arabia, a country that prohibits all religions besides the state sanctioned Sunni Islam. But George W needs Saudi Arabia's help for his war. Could Myanmar just be an easy target to fill out the list since so few people know the first thing about it?

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Go and meet them

My time in Myanmar has finally come to an end. I've seen some amazing sights (Bagan springs to mind), but more importantly, I've met lots of people. The Burmese people all seem to want to talk to foreigners, even if they don't speak English, and find out what life is like outside their backwards, isolated country. But despite the poverty and lack of opportunities, they remain happy somehow. Never have I seen so many people smiling and singing in the streets (and outside my room when I'm sleeping). This gives me hope that eventually the spirt of the people will overcome their unjust government.

So, should I have visited Myanmar, and should you come? The leader of the opposition National League for Democracy, and hero of the people, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi says "no," and points out that tourists are a source of much-needed foreign exchange for the government. This is probably true for all the middle-aged people on government package tours. But as an independent traveler, you can minimize the money you give to the government. I think the money I've given the government is outweighed by the fact that I've met so many Burmese people, Myanmar has become a real place to me. I was always vaguely aware that Myanmar had an oppressive government, but now that I've met the people who have to live with that government, I actually want to do something about it. Maybe if more people visited (independently, you won't meet any locals on a package tour), more people would become concerned about the Burmese people's plight, and try to help them. After visiting, Myanmar will always have a special place in my heart.

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My time in Bangladesh proved to be strange indeed. Upon arrival in Dhaka, I had to find my way to the transit desk, then elbow and shove my fellow passengers to the front, where they took away my passport and ticket. Scary. Then I had to wait in the grimmest, most depressing place I've ever been, the Dhaka Transit Lounge. They eventually herded us out to some vans. After opening the gate holding the throngs of people at bay, and honking until the crowd parted (and after the driver got out to move a shopping cart out of the road), we were on our way through beautiful, downtown Dhaka. At night it actually did look pretty nice and modern, since it was all lit up.

We arrived at a place even grimmer than the transit lounge: the transit hotel. It was a big, depressing building with only the 12 of us in it, 3 to a floor. I knew our fate, from reading about the Cyber Nomad's time here, but a naive Mexican guy actually had the nerve to try to go outside. Our captors promptly turned him back and locked the door. At least they served us dinner.

The next day my flight was delayed, so I had to sit around that awful place until 2 pm. At last they herded us off to the airport. While waiting there, I got to watch CNN for the first time in six weeks. Looks like Bush the Younger is going to get his war, which I imagine will complicate my life down the road.

I was fortunate to have a window seat on the right hand side of the plane, which meant I got a brief view of the Himalayas before we landed. They may be the highest mountains in the world, but they looked pretty small from 30,000 ft. And once you're on the ground, they disappear behind the hills that surround the city of Kathmandu, which lies in a valley that bears the same name. Contrary to popular belief, or at least my belief before I came, Kathmandu is not that far north (Deli is further north), nor that far up (1300 m, not even a mile, Denver is higher). Despite this, Kathmandu is chilly, and downright cold at night. Especially after coming from the unbelievably sweltering 40 degree (104 F) heat of Yangon. I now wear my fleece all the time, and since I don't have shoes, commit a major fashion faux pas and wear socks with my sandals.

Welcome to Kathmandu

The tourist district is called Thamel, and is reminiscent of Khao San Road, with souvenir shops, hotels, restaurants, books store, travel agents, internet cafes, and anything else a traveler might want, including guys selling hashish and magic mushrooms, and amazingly persistent beggars. Unlike Khao San Road, this place has a little bit of character. It's an incomprehensible maze of narrow streets and alleys. Just remember: when you are lost (all the time), DO NOT STOP WALKING!!! If you do, you will either

• get hit by a car
• get hit by a motorcycle
• get hit by a rickshaw
• get hit by a tiny sherpa carrying a huge load
• get hit by a beggar who won't go away
• get hit by a guy selling hashish/magic mushrooms/tiger balm/rickshaw/taxi

I resolved to eat well here, since I heard the food is good, and I have to fatten up for trekking, so I had a hamburger. It was the first time I was full in months. Then I goarged myself on real chocolate, not the waxy crap they sell in Myanmar.

When I checked my email, I was pretty excited that I had 135 messaged, but it turned out all but 10 of them were spam. Deleting them was pretty quick, since, unfortunately, none of the women I know have promised me naked pictures of themselves. It also seems somebody thinks I'm a woman, so now, in addition to treating my ED, I also know how to increase my cup size.

Of course, I had no idea how to get back to my hotel, so I asked a rickshaw kid to take me. We agreed on 70 rupees, which is like a dollar, and a total rip-off, but it turned out he didn't know where it was either. As we rode around asking directions, a guy jumped on and offered to sell me hashish. These guy's are worse than KL's "lady" guys.

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After a week in Kathmandu working on the website and my taxes, I’ve endeavored to get away. The place was getting on my nerves with all the pushy beggars, rickshaw drivers, guides, and hashish/mushroom salesmen. So I took a seven-hour bus ride to the Royal Chitwan National Park, Nepal’s jungle refuge for tigers, rhinoceroses, and, of course, sloth bears. It that lies at the base of the Himalayas at an elevation of 150 meters. Yup, Nepal’s not all mountains. The small kingdom goes from sea level to 8000+ meters. And since Nepal lies at the longitude of Florida, it gets pretty hot down here.

The little village outside the park is a bit dingy, and filled with tourist shops and restaurants. Not the sort of place I’d like to spend time. So I signed up for a two-day jungle trek. Hopefully this will be the jungle experience I didn’t get in Thailand. It was expensive at $40, but includes my own personal guide, Krishna.

The Land of NGOs

One thing I’ve noticed reading Nepal’s newspapers is the huge amount of foreign aid from NGOs (Non-Government Organizations), the UNDP, and private individuals. Not a day goes by when there isn’t an announcement of some project, such as a road or dam, a conference of human rights sponsored by an aid group, or equipment being donated to schools. Does all this activity and investment help the people? Is it lost to corruption? Is it destroying their cultural identity and imposing Western standards? I don’t know. But the fact is, people are spending huge amounts of money on the tiny kingdom of Nepal, because it has some big mountains.

This contrasts shapely with Myanmar, a country few people have even heard of, and thus doesn’t draw the tourists who will donate their time and money. On top of that handicap, the world has further isolated this impoverished country through economic sanctions, cutting the people off from many goods and services. For better or for worse, the people of Myanmar are on their own.

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Elephant crossing

Turns out I didn’t get my own personal guide. I was included in a group of three British medical students. They were nice enough, but I’m kinda mad I didn’t get what I signed up for. The walk itself, at least on day one, was alright, and we saw quite a bit of wildlife: 3 crocodiles, 8 rinoceres, 1 sloth bear, a bunch of barking deer, some bison, and a ton of peacocks. The place isn’t really a jungle, because the trees are very sparse, and there is much tall grass (elephant grass). In fact, in some parts it almost looks like Africa.

That night we stayed in a rustic jungle lodge, and I had my first dal bhat, Nepal’s national dish, and the food I’ll be eating for three weeks on my trek. It was very good, consisting of rice, bhat (lentil soup; you pour it on your rice), spicy vegetable curry, and spicey pickle, served on an Indian metal tray.

The next day was a bit of a fiasco. We walked for two hours (and saw another sloth bear), then had lunch in a tower. Then played cards. They played the impossible Nepali game “lions and goats.” Four hours later I complained that I was paying 700 rupees for this, and wanted to get moving. So we walked two hours back to where we stayed the night before, and got there an hour before sunset. Day two was a waste. Dal bhat again for dinner.

The next day I rode a bike around. The terrain here is flat, and the elevation is low, so biking (and walking) is easy. It was kind of neat passing elephants as I rode through town.

Every restaurant in the tourist village is a variation on the “eye” theme: Hungry Eye Restaurant is next to Two Hungry Eyes Restaurant, and Third Eye Restaurant is across the street. And every store selling CD’s plays a Tibetan monk chanting song continuously.

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Monkey at the Monkey Temple

Yesterday I took a bus back to Kathmandu. I was glad to take my leave of Krishna, who tried to rip me off at every opportunity. The day was uneventful, except that the oxe cart taxi broke a wheel on the way to the bus stop, so we had to walk. The oxe carts here have wheels with tires, which I find sort of funny. In Myanmar they had wooden wheels. It seems the more high-tech system is more delicate.

Back at the International Guesthouse I threatened to look for a cheaper room, and got a room with private bath for 500 rupees, or $6. Prices here are certainly not set. Then my first order of business was dinner at the excellent Fire & Ice for the pizza I'd been craving for four days. I'll have to eat here often before I leave on my trek.

Since I've finally finished all my chores, I decided to check out my surroundings today. I walked through the dirty, noisy streets packed with people, bikes, rickshaws, motorcycles, dogs, goats, cows, and cars, across the river filled with garbage to the Swayambhunath Stupa, know to travelers as the Monkey Temple. I climbed the many steps to the top, thanking Buddha the whole way that in Nepal you can keep your shoes on, to check out Nepal's take on a Buddhist temple. Since in Nepal the Vajrayana flavor of Buddhism is practiced, as opposed to the Theravada variety of South East Asia, a Nepali stupa is about as similar to a Burmese paya as a Catholic church is to a Baptist one. The most obvious difference is the design of the central stupa itself, a big white dome with a tower on top, adorned on its four sides with the ominous eyes of Buddha. Also, it looks like there is a strong Hindu influence, with many shrines to Hindu gods. Another prominent difference are the prayer wheels that surround the temple: by spinning a wheel you say a prayer. There are a couple that must be ten feet high. Turning one of those bad boys must be like saying 100 Hail Mary's! My guidebook corroborated that this type of Buddhism, Newar, as opposed to Tibetan, has become Hinduized . I didn't much care for the monks I saw, who walked around with their robes open, revealing their stylish yellow shirts, and sported stylish sunglasses.

Keep your god appeased

I kept walking across Ring Road, leaving the urban chaos behind. I followed a dirt road up into the hills to a village to look at a Hindu temple. Some kids befriended me, and guided me there. Turns out today is a festival, and there was a continuous stream of villagers bearing trays of puja offerings, and carrying unlucky chickens, or leading goats. They gave the offerings to an image of Vishnu, then slit the animals' throats, which then flopped around as blood sprayed everywhere. The god only wants the blood, so the people got to keep the carcasses. My guides then led me up to a little cave, then showed me the village swimming pool.

Next I wanted to walk up Nagarjum, the highest mountain in the valley at 2096 m. I wasn't having much luck asking directions, since I couldn't pronounce the name right, so I ended up going down side trails past fields and women bathing. Like in Myanmar, everybody washes in the open, women with their loogis (sarongs) pulled up to their shoulders. It still makes me a bit uncomfortable. I finally found a trail up, which led to a dirt road, which I followed for two hours. The top was nowhere in sight, and I was out of water, so I turned back. I walked for about six hours up and down hills, and my feet really hurt and my legs were sore. Hopefully I'll be OK on the trek.

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