Yangon, August 1-7, 2008
Trip Start
Jun 05, 2008
1
17
18
Trip End
Ongoing
Yangon (Rangoon),
Myanmar
Saturday, August 16, 2008
In regards to nomenclature: in the West it is politically contentious to call the country Myanmar; many people there prefer the name Burma, saying that to acknowledge it as Myanmar is to be complicit in the human rights abuses of the ruling government. Yet "Burma" itself was a colonial name of sorts: the country is actually made up of a number of self-identified peoples, such as the Shan, Karen, Kachin, and the Burmars are just one of these. But to most people in Myanmar who we met it's a non-issue these days, and they refer to the language, people, and state as "Myanmar," though they don't mind if one calls it "Burma" or "Burmese"--they just see this as the old way of referring to the country. Lonely Planet (the guidebook company that reigns supreme among the backpacking crowd) toes the line by referring to the country as "Myanmar" but the people, language, and culture as "Burmese," so I'll do the same in my writing.
Myanmar has an extremely bad image in the West, especially in America, and has gotten a ton of bad publicity lately. First, in Yangon in September 2007 there was a large protest of monks against the government, which was violently suppressed. And in May 2008 a devastating cyclone hit the southern coast of mainland Myanmar, destroying vast swathes of property and killing an untold amount of people. Yangon was affected by the cyclone but has recovered almost completely; we saw no signs of damage upon visiting three months later. But the once-popular beach resorts of the Irrawaddy Delta, such as Chaungtha and Ngapoli, are now closed to tourists (presumably because the government wants to cover up the extent of the destruction in these areas), which is a shame because Myanmar is known for its clear-water and white-sand beaches, similar to those in Thailand. In fact, large tracts of the country are closed to foreigners, include entire provinces--not because of the cyclone but because the government, it seems, has something to hide about the way people there live and are treated. At certain roadblocks we were stopped and had to present our passports; if we had been traveling to closed areas, we would have been turned around.
The good news is, there are still many places for tourists to visit, including the main tourists sites--Yangon, Inle Lake, Bagan, and Mandalay. Additionally, for the average tourist, the government's visibility is extremely low. We hardly even saw traffic cops during our stay in the country and we never felt as if people were on guard or as if we were in any sort of danger. In fact, compared to China, the military presence was almost nil: in China we'd seen soldiers marching on a regular basis throughout all parts of the country, we'd heard rumors about the large number of plainclothes police officers stationed throughout crowds, and there was a far greater sense of being watched, since all Internet activity was scanned and monitored and many web sites--including Facebook--were blocked. In Myanmar there was also an extensive firewall, which blocks e-mail sites like Gmail, Hotmail, and Yahoo, but it was extremely easy to get around. Every internet café and hotel simply ran a program on each of their computers that disabled the firewall and allowed easy access to blocked websites (this was not possible in China). And in both places people are afraid to talk badly about the government, but we found a far greater number of people willing to do so (albeit in a hushed whisper) in Myanmar--perhaps because there seems to be much less surveillance, commensurate with the country's lower level of technological sophistication in general.
In fact, the main arena in which we noticed the effects of the government was its negative ramifications on the economy. Many people in Myanmar are very, very poor and have little opportunity to accumulate greater wealth, since there is very little to go around. If widely cited statistics are to be believed, about half of the national GDP goes straight into the pockets of government officials, whose coffers include large amounts of public funds (most of which are culled from the sale of natural gas, timber, gems, and other resources of which Myanmar is chock full). This is one of the reasons that tourism has been discouraged in Myanmar in the past: pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi (who has been under house arrest from 1989-1995 and 2000-present for her efforts) called for tourists to boycott Myanmar in 1996, a year the government declared "The Year of Tourism," in order to avoid supporting--financially and on principle--the government. But I believe this has only increased the suffering of people there greatly. If one is careful, one can avoid spending money that goes to the government nearly altogether, and instead support the hundreds of thousands of small businesses in Myanmar that are struggling to survive. It's difficult to describe how greatly people in Myanmar need tourists' money. In most of the places we visited, there were between one and three dozen tourists at generous estimate, yet there were hundreds businesses who depended on tourists for survival: hotels, restaurants, travel agencies, trekking guides, boat drivers, small shops, and so on. The infrastructure is there to handle a large number of tourists in very comfortable accommodations, but there is almost no one to take advantage of it. Nearly every single Burmese person we met lamented to us how terrible their business had been, particularly over the last year. They often told us how much they were hoping more people would come: "October, November (the beginning of the high season)... maybe then there will be more tourists. If not, we don't know what we will do." Thus people were incredibly appreciative of our business, which made us extremely glad that we had come to Myanmar. The whole experience--repeated over and over with each person we met--made us want to encourage everyone we could to visit the country and support these people in their struggle. So many people work so hard to keep their hotels, restaurants, and stores running and their families and employees fed, but it's difficult without any customers.
The fact that there were so few foreigners in the country made us quite a sight to behold for many people. No matter where we were--even in the places most commonly visited by tourists--nearly every head turned, gawking, in our direction as we passed by. Most people, shocked at first to see us, were quick to smile or say hello. We found ourselves in many more conversations with local people than we had experienced anywhere else; everywhere we went, people asked us where we were from and wanted to stop and talk with us. They told us about their lives, their families, how poorly their business had been doing, how much they needed more tourists and a change in governance. We made a number of Burmese friends in every town we visited. It was shocking at first to us how well literally everyone spoke English: we had expected that because there weren't many tourists, and because English had been banned in schools for over twenty years (as a result of the anti-British backlash), it would be difficult to communicate with people--especially after our difficulties in China, where there is far greater occasion to communicate with foreigners. But even in the tiniest store on the random back street, we were always encountered people who both spoke very good English and were eager to practice with us. It made it possible to gain a lot from our travels, since we learned so much about the people who we met.
As we traveled, it was surprising to see how different Myanmar was from Thailand, despite the fact the two countries are right next to each other, offer similar natural attractions, and have been linked by religion and cultures throughout the centuries (the Shan dialect, of Myanmar's Shan state, is the same language as Thai). As far as tourism goes, Thailand is Southeast Asia's sparkling gem, whereas Myanmar is still a diamond in the rough. Despite the fact that they are both ruled by military governments that seized power through coups, the economy is really what makes the difference, and the Thai government hasn't done much to meddle with the effects of capitalism. Bangkok is a huge metropolis with 100-story buildings and a Sky Train; Yangon is home to crumbling facades and doesn't even have so much as a highway. Throughout Myanmar there is practically no car more recent that a 1995 model, and even old junkers cost US $30,000-40,000 each, so almost no one can afford them. Cell phones cost in the range of thousands of dollars; the typical person in Myanmar makes less than $1 a day, working seven days a week at a salaried job, so those, too, are simply out of reach. In Thailand, foreigners are shuttled in what they call "VIP" charter buses from destination to destination at high speeds; in Myanmar ancient buses creep along pothole-ridden roads, with people sitting on plastic stools in the aisles, frequently breaking down along the way. It is illustrative of the effects of government on development, and the impact of tourism on the economy of small countries.
But on the other hand, the lack of highly frequented tourist routes has positive impacts on our experiences as well. As I mentioned before, Burmese people could not wait to talk with us, and other tourists were curious to know what had brought us to Myanmar, meaning we easily made friends everywhere we went. Thai people are also extremely friendly and willing to chat, but their constant exposure to tourists has made us less of a novelty and therefore less intriguing to them. And the travelers in Thailand are possibly the least friendly in Southeast Asia: deluged by other foreign faces everywhere, most tourists just try to ignore everyone else so they can relax on the beach. Disappointingly, the majority of travelers in Thailand won't even return a smile. To me, the most interesting and exciting part of traveling is meeting both locals and other people on the road; without that, it's difficult to get the most out of one's travel experiences. So after a month in Thailand I appreciated the change.
Another major--perhaps the most noticeable--impact of Myanmar's relative insularity is the way that cultural traditions have been maintained there. From the instant we stepped off the plane, it became evident. About 90-95% of the people there, both men and women, wear what is called a longyi, a long, tubular, ankle-length skirt, generally of a dark fabric, that is knotted in the front. It's a sort of symbol of Burmese identity, and pants are sort of a strange Western style taken up only by a handful of teenagers and bourgeoisie. Altogether, people in Myanmar are generally very modest: they don't dare show even their knees, women don't ever wear low-cut shirts, and everyone wears short- or long-sleeves, no matter how hot it is. After becoming accustomed to Thailand, where the standard of style is very different, I had almost given away my short-sleeved shirts, but after arriving in Myanmar I was extremely glad I had kept them!
Another obvious difference in styling in the make-up people there wear, called "piu," which means white in Burmese. It's worn by almost all women and children of both genders, and some men. The number of men wearing it increased outside of the major city of Yangon, and from what we could tell no bourgeoisie-type people wore it, making us think that it has taken on a gendered and class-related meaning among people with greater exposure to Western ideas of beauty. In fact it's not so much white as pale yellow, made from a type of root that is ground and then mixed with water so it can be applied to the body. It's not make-up in any sense to which we are accustomed: there's nothing subtle about its application, which is done in a thick swipe across each cheek, almost haphazard-looking to an unfamiliar eye. Many people also apply it to their nose, chin, or forehead, or in a mask-like coating all over their face. Some put a thin layer on their arms as well. Against dark-brown Burmese skin it stands out very boldly, in a way that most Westerners would consider ugly--like clown's make-up--but which the Burmese consider beautiful. Piu serves as a type of sunscreen, but also as a face paint, a sort of home-made foundation that enhances the appearance of one's whiteness. We didn't ever (maybe couldn't ever) understand exactly why the Burmese perceived to be so beautiful about it, but we grew used to it so that even people wearing a splotchy yellow mask of make-up seemed normal to us.
One more physical difference that is obvious upon arriving in Myanmar is the fact that many people--usually men--have reddish-colored teeth. This is the result of chewing betel, a type of stimulant similar to caffeine that Burmese also believe helps to quench thirst, which dyes the chewer's teeth red (particularly when combined with poor dental hygiene). Betel consists of a type of nut mixed with chalk made from limestone, cardamom, and a few other spices, wrapped in a leaf from a betel plant. According to Dave, who tried it at a provincial market (the surprised vendor refused to let him pay!), it's actually very tasty, but the limestone chalk cuts your gums slightly when you chew it. One must spit out whatever remains after it's no longer chewable, so everywhere you walk in Myanmar you can see huge red splotches on the ground, the remains of a giant lugie hawked out by a betel chewer.
After taking some time to become accustomed to the differences between Myanmar and the other places we had traveled, we visited the primary sight to see in Yangon, the Shwe Dagon pagoda. Shwe Dagon, meaning "Golden Pagoda of Yangon," is the most famous, and perhaps the most beautiful, pagoda in the country. It's actually a complex of 87 different pagodas, but it's known for its huge central stupa, made out of some ridiculous amount of gold and topped with a huge ornamental spire of diamonds and rubies. It towers over Yangon and is the symbol of the city. Even Burmese Buddhist is meant to visit Shwe Dagon at least once in their life to worship there. We had a wonderful tour guide there, who explained many of the different facets of the pagoda to us. We learned that to Burmese people, the date on which you are born is less important than the day of the week. They use these days of the week as a type of zodiac, each represented by a different planet and different animal, and each supposedly corresponding to personality traits and compatibility with other days of the week. On one's day of the week, it is customary to come to the pagoda and participate in certain festivities. In different locations around the pagoda, there are small statues symbolizing the planets and animals for each day, next to a tub of water. You are supposed to pour water over the statue eight times for good luck. Dave and I were both born on a Tuesday (also both in June of 1986, except exactly two weeks apart--most auspicious circumstances, according to Buddhists!), so we found our statutes--Mars is the planet and a lion is the animal--and did the water pouring. We had a lot of fun for the rest of our time in Myanmar, so I guess it worked!
We spent the rest of our time in Yangon walking around the city and hanging out with the various people we met there. One night we ate at a Japanese restaurant and became good friends with our waiter, Sai. We spent the next few days visiting him every day, sometimes to eat, sometimes just to drink tea and talk. Sai gave us both our very own longyis--which, when we wore them home that day, drew many confused stares and laughs from passersby. Later, after we had returned to Bangkok, Dave wore his longyi down Khao San Road, the heart of the backpacker district, and we discovered from dozens of cries of "Mingalaba!" ("hello" in Burmese) that maybe half of the vendors on Khao San had actually emigrated from Myanmar (the other tourists didn't respond as friendlily--one American passed Dave and exclaimed, "This dude's wearing a dress!"). Happy to see a farang ("foreigner") in a longyi, the Burmese vendors chatted us up about our experiences in Myanmar, and we gave them cheroots, a type of cigar wrapped in leaves that we had brought back with us. Most of them hadn't been to Myanmar in years and were really excited to have a taste of home.
There is another large pagoda in the center of Yangon called Sule Paya, and two days in a row we ran into a monk outside the pagoda who invited us to his monastery. We accepted his offer and the next morning we boarded a public bus for one hour out to Insein, in the far reaches of Yangon (what would be called the suburbs, but is actually quite rural). There we found a small monastery with about eight monks and twenty young students, between the ages of eight and thirteen. They were extremely excited to see us and lavished us with food and presents (ranging from bananas, to toothbrushes, to washcloths, to a book called "Myanmar's Endeavour Against Narcotic Drugs"--which the monk, not really being able to read English, told us was "a story"). After stuffing ourselves with one meal, they offered us another, and then another, until we couldn't help but refuse the things they put in front of us, lest we burst.
Dave and I had been thinking that it might be good to use our relatively hard-to-procure visas to do a bit of volunteering while in Myanmar, and once we arrived at the monastery we knew we had found our opportunity. We gave a quick lesson that day, and offered to come back for the rest of the week to help with their morning English lessons. What we found was a relatively difficult situation for teaching. The style of instruction in Myanmar is very different than that to which we are accustomed in America. It's done mostly through repetition, so the students repeat a short story in English, not really understanding the grammar or the meaning of the individual words, and then the teacher tells them the answers to the questions that follow, which in turn they repeat out loud in unison. It completely lacks any effort to make the students be creative or produce any spontaneous responses to questions or scenarios. The result is a general boredom and ineffectiveness in learning. Furthermore, the monks repeatedly called students "stupid" and smacked them on the head if they didn't provide answers quickly enough, which I could tell embarrassed them, even if they stared straight ahead trying to keep their pride.
I tried to use a more holistic approach to teaching, attempting to provoke students to create their own responses, but ran into difficulty because the monks just shouted out the answers to my questions and the students repeated them in turn. I wanted to snap them out of the general academic funk they were in, so I told them to stand up, arranged them into evenly spaced lines, and taught them how to do jumping jacks. They couldn't believe that a teacher would actually have them do something so silly and fun and began smiling and giggling. I could see that it was working, so I acted as if it were all planned, telling them that "in America, this is what teachers do when the students are tired." I proceeded to lead them in all sorts of crazy games, such as Freeze Dance and Follow the Leader. It was so rewarding to see their faces, which had always been dull and bored up until then, light up as they had the chance to be active. They were all laughing and teasing each other, having a sort of fun that is foreign to school time in Myanmar. These kids were from poor families and had been sent to study in the monastery for one or two years each, so I could tell that they had had to be serious almost all the time. It was great to see them to have the chance to be kids, even for a short while.
We had already spent a week in Yangon, far longer than most tourists stay in the city and longer than we had intended to stay upon our arrival, so even though we had enjoyed our volunteering, it was time to get going. We said goodbye at the monastery, checked out of our guesthouse (the wonder Motherland Inn 2), and boarded an overnight bus for Inle Lake on August 7. Since the only international flights are in and out of Yangon, we knew we would be back in not too long.
