Asian and Oceanian Travelogue

I hate India, I love India. I know I want to come back again. (Part II)

2008-10-30T12:31:00.000-07:00

CALCUTTA

We arrived at Calcutta airport in the middle of the night. Bubu, our Indian guide, was there to meet us. Four backpacks and six people were stuffed into ONE taxi. The first impression of Calcutta is rows and rows of people sleeping on the pavement. We slept a few hours and did a little exploring of Calcutta. In the evening we crossed the famous Howrah bridge and spent some time waiting for the train on Howrah station. An incredible place, people sleeping, sitting everywhere. Little children on their own, lying on the pavement.

NRUSINGHANATH

After a long night in the train we met our cook and chauffeur. Drove a few hours and stopped to take a shower and eat something in a hotel. In the afternoon we arrived at Nrusinghanath. We are staying in a very basic building. We spent the evening in the temple. Had dinner there and talked to the priests and sadhus. Bubu was our translator. They made music for us and we sang our National hymn. They seemed to like it. They nodded when we told we had to spent 10 hours in a plane to arrive in India. I doubt they understood, they never travel further away than the next village. They definitely were not able to understand we have no personal teacher, someone who teaches you the meaning of life. In their vision it's not possible to have no religion. Two so different worlds gathered in the yard of a temple.

HARISHANKAR, BHAWANIPATNA

I'm sitting under a tree, next to a small waterfall. Surrounded by about 30 monkeys and 20 men staring at me. Omez is cooking our lunch, The water for cooking comes straight from the river. Ok, we'll survive, I hope. He makes a delicious chai. We eat a lot of tomatoes, spiced with garlic and ginger. After lunch we met a few people of the Mahima Alekh group. They grow their hair, they dress in pieces of bark and their only form of transport are their feet (I saw one on the back of a bicycle, well this is India). We're sleeping in a real guest house tonight. We had dinner in a restaurant with a tablecloth made of old newspapers.

JEYPUR

Before we left this morning we made a walk through Bhawanipatna, a pleasant little town. We had a good day of travel. Made our first stop in a village which was never visited by tourists. We stopped at the beginning of the village and got out of our minibus, after 200 meters we were surrounded by the whole population. When we did one step the crowd gave way like the Red sea. There was a nice little market. The colors of the vegetables are beautiful, as are the colors of the sari's the women are wearing. Back on the road again we saw a tribal altar. They had offered a goat, much to the joy of the ants. In the afternoon Bubu took us to an ashram and we had an interesting conversation with a guru. The man is able to stand on his head for six hours. He was very glad with the reading glasses Pim and Niekje gave him.

ANKADELI

We left this morning for Ankadeli, nearby was a village with a tribal market. Once a week the tribal people, Bonda's, come down the hills to the village to sell their home made alcohol. They drink like crazy. We had to travel with a policeman because of the trouble the Bonda men are causing sometimes when they are drunk. Although the men don't wear the original dress anymore they still carry the bow and arrow. The women are beautiful in their colorful necklaces. Bubu bought a bowl of alcohol and served it to the people, we drank together and the atmosphere was pleasant enough to make some pictures (they do not always like that). We had lunch in the village, a few vegetables, potato's, and the head of a fish with big teeth in it. I skipped the fish. After that a walk to a waterfall. At first we protested, we were too tired for a long walk, but the reward was great. After a rest at the waterfall a walk through the rice paddy's up to our knees in the mud, but Bubu was right again we arrived in a little village with beautiful children. A very old man and woman sang a song for us, good voices despite the alcohol and big cigars. It was kind of moving, sitting under a big tree, hearing these people sing, sharing a drink of alcohol and some corncobs with them. Our worlds are so different.

We are staying in an inspection bungalow, a legacy of the British government. We are not allowed outside at night because of the bears. What bothers me more are the big spiders. We had a nice night with Omez en Nadjir singing and playing. I laughed till tears were running out of my eyes.

GUPTESWAR

On our way to Gupteswar wise proverbs along the road. Visited a cave and a temple. It's a bit strange to see Bubu paying respect to the gods. In his way of living he is so modern, but in his thinking he is still a brahman. This evening we talked about the differences between our countries, about life and death, marriage, health care, religion. I learn a lot about India thanks to Bubu.

India feels good again, it makes me realize what is really important in life.
We are staying in a kind of Inspection bungalow again. No electricity, no water, but we have the river to take a bath. There is one room with a lot of beds, but Bubu is sleeping in his tent, Nadjir in the bus and Omez on the floor in the hallway. Omez doesn't smoke when Bubu is around, it's impolite to smoke in the company of your boss. This morning we all got a flower from Nadjir and Omez. They have a little surprise for us every day.

VILLAGE WITHOUT A NAME

We drove to a village were a fairly developed tribe is living. They are dominated by a few "untouchables" who are clearly the rich people of the village. We are invited for tea and dinner, so we will go back there later in the day. We have lunch on a hilltop, beautiful view. A few locals guide us to the next village. A poor one, very dirty and a lot of dirty pigs walking around. Once part of the village was converted to christianity. There is not much left of the church, but there is an advantage: they celebrate christian AND tribal festivals, double fun. The tribal people have a darker skin than Hindu's and their hair is curly, they look a lot like aboriginals (they are in fact related). One child is obviously ill, she looks yellow, anemic and dehydrated. I ask Bubu about the health care in this village, there is none, only a tribal doctor. Bubu offers to let the child go to the hospital in a nearby village on his costs (200 Rupee, 5$). There is a discussion with the father of the child, all the village men are joining the conversation. At last we understand the father thinks he has to become a christian when he accepts the offer. Bubu convinces him of the contrary and the necessary arrangements are made.

Pim lets the men take a look through his binoculars, they are surprised by what they see and burst out laughing. We get a drink of alcohol fresh from the palm tree.
Back to the first village, it's getting dark and we are tired and very dirty. We go to a little waterfall to take a bath, fortunately the village people give us a little privacy. We enjoy the water like little children, but by the time we are dressed again in our stinking clothes the sand and mud is all over our bodies again.

The woman who invited us is cooking together with her two nieces. She is a strong woman who laughs a lot, around 45 years old and a widow for 12 years. We sit with them in the kitchen, learn some Orya words. most of the time they speak Orya and we speak Dutch to them. It doesn't matter, in a way we understand each other. It's so safe, secure, warm in this kitchen, I want to stay there forever. We have a nice dinner from a fresh banana leaf, stared at by all the children of the village, an Indian art movie. We give a concert of children songs. They ask for more, how is it possible they like this? They probably think this is the highest form of culture in Holland. We go to an open space in the village and there the music starts, a lot of noise and a lot of rhythm. The drums are tuned by holding them above a fire. The dancing starts and it is inevitable, we have to join. My god, they dance like crazy, the speed is killing and it doesn't seem to stop. It are a kind of row dances, escape is impossible. We lose litres of sweat, my feet are on fire. But...it's great fun. Around twelve Bubu tells them these weak Dutch people have to catch some sleep. The oil lamps are lightened up, so they can watch us while we get into our sleeping bags on the veranda. It's a small space, it's almost impossible to turn around without falling off. Every muscle in my body hurts. It's going to be a long, long night.

BISSAM CUTTACK

At five we woke up. The crowd gathered to see us getting out of our sleeping bags, and the women joined us in our search for a toilet, it happened to be behind the water buffalo. After a cup of chai we have to say goodbye. Our hostess puts her arms around me, I have to swallow a few times. Well we go.

Near a dam in the river we take a bath. We are tired and dirty. The effect of the bath lasts for about 15 minutes. We sleep in the bus even the song "Made in India" isn't able to keep us awake. At the next market Omez buys three chickens, still alive, they disappear under his chair and will be our dinner. We arrive at an inspection bungalow and the idea of a mandi bath makes us lyrical. But Bubu has other plans. Omez is going to cook and we are going to a market. There we discover some T-shirts, what a joy, a clean shirt. We go to a village where the jewellery of the Khonda tribe is made. They make moulds of resin and fill them with a mix of copper, bronze and tin. In this way they make "watches", just to wear them as decoration. They don't need a ticking watch, they live by the rhythm of the earth.
Bubu, Pim and Simonne are going to a Khond village (they were not allowed to enter the village, the atmosphere was aggressive), the rest of us stay at the veranda to read and write in the company of very big beetles.

TAPTAPANI

This morning our very last tribal market. We walk uphill to see the Khond coming down with their merchandise. Their bodies are very muscular and they look unapproachable. They don't like to be photographed. They look beautiful in their "white" clothes. They try to sell as much as possible on their way down, if it doesn't work out they try it again at the platform of the railway station and at last they go to the market. They don't like to be around Hindu's or people of other tribes. A local guide asks me to roll a cigarette for him, he is pleased with the result.

Now we are staying in a very good guest house. We spent a lot of time in the sulphur spring. Even my nails are clean now. Nadjir is listening to my walkman. I think he likes Bach.

During this trip I have seen villages, people and a way of living that are going to disappear. The Indian government is taking the woods away from the tribal people, they pay the women to wear a sari instead of their original clothes. I want to thank Bubu for his way of travelling with us, full of respect for the local people, cautious not to damage their culture and dignity. We called him our carefully, careless Ray Ban yogi.

I hate India, I love India. I know I want to come back again.

2008-10-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

DELHI

Survived the flight. Found the bus from the airport to Pahar Ganj and found a guest house. When I got out of the plane the typical smell of Delhi was present again. I'm alright but Delhi is literally in my nostrils: dust and diesel. Of course every indian guy here in the streets has a friend in Amsterdam. I bought a train ticket to Udaipur and got "Trains at a glance" from Americans who were leaving the country. That was nice, because it's sold out and it's very handy to have.

The first song on the tape I got from Marc is "Hunting tigers out in India" very funny (and true). It made my day. I'm tired and glad I'm going to Udaipur tomorrow. It's a long time on the train (20 hours) but Delhi is too big, too awful now.

UDAIPUR

Surai Rohilla station. Two hours before the train is leaving. Children are looking how I am writing. The children are a relief. They laugh and that's exactly what they mean. Much easier to cope with than the staring men who are always scratching their crotches. It's difficult to find my place in this world, so different from my own. It will take some time. Well, I found my place in the train, thats one thing. I like it, sitting and looking at the landscape, the people.

The night in the train was cold, very cold, but there is Udaipur to comfort me. Very glad with my guest house and warm feet. The waiter on the rooftop restaurant is about ten years old. What do you mean child labour?

I slept and slept and slept last night, good for my cold. Went to the City Palace, what a wealth. It's built up and around a little hill, the result is a garden with big trees on the third floor of the palace. At first I didn't even realize how peculiar this is. There are beautiful hand painted tapestries, very colourful and rich in detail.

Feeling a lot better after a visit to a hairdresser. It took only five minutes to cut my hair with very big scissors. The massage of head, shoulders, back and arms lasted a lot longer and was very relaxing. All this for the price of 1.5$. Walked around a lot. This is a beautiful village, almost all the buildings are white. The Bond film Octopussy was filmed here and you can still watch it during dinner in a lot of restaurants.

A wedding procession just passed, the generator for the electric lights almost makes more noise than the band.

Booked the night bus to Jaisalmer. They say it's going to take 11 hours, but I guess it will be a bit more. Went to a crafts village this morning. The biggest attraction was the driver of the tuk tuk. I think he is around fifty years old and it's a very nice man. It's a pity his english is limited, he says 'this way, this year' every other two words. No idea what he means by that. He laughs a lot. Took the boat to Nehru park, a little island in the lake. Children asked me if I could write Hindi: no only a little bit of Sanskrit. Our main festival: the queens birthday. My caste, well thats a tough question, for them I am a Dalit (Harijan, untouchable) because I'm not a Hindu. When I look out of my window in the guest house I can see a building under construction. The women carry bowls with cement and stones up and down rickety ladders.

'This way this year' took me to the monsoon palace in the afternoon. It's built upon a hill and we had to stop a few times to let the engine of his tuk tuk cool down. Good moments to smoke a bidi together. The palace is old and neglected, but there is still a sense of the former beauty. From the palace you have a good view over the lake and the city.

I'm adjusting to India again, it feels good.

'This way this year' was determined to show me a few tigers in a cage today. I seem to have a special relation with tigers this trip. Wrote a few postcards and watched them being stamped (they sometimes like to sell the stamps more than one time). Packed my backpack. 'This way this year' brought me to the bus station. An embrace and good wishes.

JAISALMER

The bus trip of 11 hours took 15 hours. I was the only woman in a bus full of Indian men. I was glad it was dark during the chai stops that made it easier to find a 'toilet' while all the men were following me with their eyes (well, no problem, it were only their eyes). The man who sat next to me pretended he slept while he tried to put his head on my shoulder. I'm white, I'm a woman, I'm travelling alone so why shouldn't he? I can't imagine he would do the same if an Indian woman was sitting next to him.

In Jodhpur I had to change buses and met an English couple. They got enraged about the 5 extra Rupee we had to pay for our backpacks. Well, it's corrupt, but this is India... Live with it or leave it. Didn't sleep on the bus thanks to the Hindi music played at maximum volume. So in my thoughts I wrote letters to my friends, a nice way to spend the time. During the daylight there was the infertility of the earth to look at. Upon arrival in Jaisalmer the touts were a real "treat". The Lonely Planet writes about them, but it was worse than I expected. The policemen, who are supposed to protect you, weren't very active. But I survived, and after a bath with a bucket hot water I'm feeling like a human being again.

Met an American woman (Trish) on the rooftop of the guest house. It's nice to talk to someone about India, to laugh about it and try to understand why things are as they are in this country. And how are things really? It's so difficult to understand most of the time. When I think I understand something I immediatly discover a whole new world underneath which is completely different from my own.

This town looks as if it belongs in a fairy tale. The view from the roof is amazing. All the yellow sandstone houses, the fort, surrounded by the desert. There is a woman singing downstairs.

Planned a desert trip together with Trish. It's good to do this together. Spent the whole day walking around in the alleys. Drank a chai with an embroidery seller. We talked about the problems between India and Pakistan, BJP and Congress party. He explained the differences between Muslim and Hindu embroidery. I get lost in the alleys after 5 minutes, but I like to get lost. In this town it's possible to sit on a doorstep, watch life go by without being bothered all the time. The women are very colourful in their sari's. The carved sandstone is beautiful. Especially the haveli's are richly decorated. The life the women had to live inside the haveli's isn't very attractive but the buildings are fantastic.

Had dinner together with Trish, we talk about movies, books, India and life. We laugh a lot.

I bought a paper today, no war between America and Iraq, not yet. Thats what travellers ask each other: Is there already a war going on? In the paper a very detailed coverage of the death of a famous cricket player. About his medical condition, how they stopped the ventilator after talking to his wife and some VIP's. Such an article is unthinkable in Holland.

Good heavens those were the first and the last two days on a camel in my life. They are so BBBIIIGGG. After two hours there is only one thing you want: to get of and put your legs together. But it was FFFUUUNNN. Trish and I each had our own camel, the two camel drivers shared one. It's a real art to get up and down. They are a bit clumsy, make a lot of noise sometimes and they smell peculiar (you can also say they stink). It's hot in the desert, really hot and there are a lot of beautiful birds. In the evening we cooked dahl, rice and chapatti's. Harim had a splinter in his hand. He took it out with a needle, put the needle in his ear and rubbed the smear on the wound. I think I'm going to propose this treatment at home, it's cheap and it probably works. The night was cold. We slept up and under a few blankets. A lot of stars.

The second day started a bit frightening because my male camel saw a few females and he accelerated like a Porsche in the wrong direction. It took some power of persuasion to get him back on the track. Eventually he listened to the camel drivers. The problem was I was on top of the camel when he wanted to go on his honeymoon.

In a little village we met an old lady, she talked and talked to us in her own language. I think it was impossible for her to imagine some people speak another language.

Harim did the trick with the ring and the rope. I was touched and amazed to see it here in the desert. I know this trick for so many years, it's a part of my childhood, a part of my father. Well, I enjoyed these days in the desert very much, just the four of us and the camels. A bucket hot water, a dinner together with Trish, and a good night sleep is all I need now. The boy who takes care of the laundry, the Pepsi, the bucket hot water earns 500 Rupee a month (13$). A camel costs around 250$. Strange idea, such a huge animal for this price.
The fruit and vegetables taste very good. Tomatoes are real red and orange juice is real orange, not yellow. Drank a chai with the embroidery seller again. Talked about his farm.

There is a very nice bookshop in town. The problem with books is I want to keep them, especially the nonfiction about India and they are heavy.

JODHPUR AND PUSHKAR

Said goodbye to Trish this morning and got on the bus to Jodhpur. A lot of women in Purdah on the bus, that's something you rarely see in the cities. Jodhpur is a big city and I'm not in the mood for it. Going to Pushkar tomorrow. I was arranging my bus ticket in the guest house when I met a German woman, around 30 years old, with her private chauffeur. She is doing North and South India in 3 weeks by car. The driver asked me if I wanted a ride to Pushkar, we made a deal for 200 Rupee.

A very luxury trip to Pushkar, the whole back seat of the car for me alone. But not my style, someone calling you memsahib. The German woman studied Hindi during the trip. She didn't see the harvesting. How women in vivid coloured sari's separated the wheat from the chaff by throwing it in the air, letting the wind do the job. The villages, the birds, the children, the poverty. Well... I don't speak Hindi. I'm glad to be on my own again. I'm in a very big room, going to look for something else tomorrow. Met two Canadian girls during dinner, we had a nice evening together.
Found a nice, cheap guest house this morning. Pushkar is a good little town to walk around a lot, and that's what I'm doing. It's a place of pilgrimage so there are a lot of sadhu's around. I did a Puja (kind of prayer and you get a blessing) by the lake, just for fun. They want a donation and talk in dollars. They try some emotional blackmail. Hinduism is a difficult religion with a lot of mystical aspects. The first time I visited India, I was impressed by it. Now I see the other sides. The cheating, blackmailing, the bad position of the women, the caste system and the effect of this system on the society.

Three days in Pushkar is enough for me. I want to move on so I booked the train to Delhi. That's the easiest way to Amritsar. Sarah and Christy are taking the train too. I got my train ticket just in time to catch the bus to the station in Ajmer. Real Indian timing. I like the atmosphere of the Indian railway stations, especially during the evening. A lot of people with loads of luggage, chai and food vendors. And everybody waits with a kind of resignation for a train which is by definition hours overdue.

DELHI again

I slept a few hours during the night on the train. I even seem to get used to all the people and the noise they make on an Indian train. I have the kind off 'Delhian' room where you don't want to be. I don't want to know what's on the walls beside the paint, the toilet doesn't flush, the mattress is damp, the cushion is filthy, there is a lot of noise and of course...no window. But I'm having a good time. Had a good breakfast together with Sarah and Christy. Went to the Red fort, a nice place to sit on the grass for a while. After that to the Jama Masjid, the biggest mosque in Delhi. Like the Red fort (and the Taj Mahal in Agra) it is built by Sjah Jahan. The mosque is impressive. But more impressive was the stench in the neighborhood nearby where they sold chickens. I like those impressive buildings but what I like most is walking in the streets to see daily life.

Main Bazaar in Pahar Ganj is beautiful in the evening. Little candles to light the stands. The packages with shampoo and paan glitter even more than during daytime, the flames under the wok, the smell of fresh fried snacks. The whispering when you pass: "Change money, buy hashish?".

Impossible city, so full of life and death.

AMRITSAR

Experienced the hospitality of the Sikh during the train trip. They offered me something to eat when they bought something or when they opened their packages with home cooked food. It's a pity they didn't speak english because I have a few questions about the Sikh faith. The women seem to have more freedom than Muslim and Hindu women. A lot of vendors and beggars on the train, even two hijra's (transvestites, sometimes eunuchs).

The mentality is completely different in this part of India. It takes some time to get used to it. People are always ready to help, without expecting something in return. It is also a "rich" part of India.

There are buses to Pathankot so I went to the bus station to find out which one to take. Well, the bus station is one big chaos. I found an enquiry office. They phoned the chief of information and I got him on the phone personally. Finally found out there is one bus a day to Dharamsala but it is still not clear where I can buy a ticket. So I went to the train station, there is a train to Pathankot and I can take the bus from there. I had a very nice evening, talked to the lady of the guest house, she told me a lot about the Sikh religion. Women are more free in this religion, but also the Hindu women have more freedom in this part of India. Problems between Hindu and Sikh people exist more on a political level than in daily life.

Spent the rest of the evening in the pleasant company of a Canadian couple and an Englishman. A lot of humour. Had my first whisky in weeks. And what a blessing, the Dalai Lama starts his new year lectures when I'm in Dharamsala.

I woke up with a cold. It is difficult to stay healthy in this country. Went to the Golden Temple together with Adam. There is a very relaxed atmosphere on the grounds of the temple. The temple itself is beautiful and richly covered with gold. I went inside where a kind of priests are reciting from the holy book of the Sikhs. People give you a friendly nod. Especially the older Sikh men are impressive, with their beard and turban. On the grounds is a kitchen where they cook all the food for the pilgrims. There is a very huge pan in which they cook dahl, and the food is free for everybody. Just outside the temple grounds they are building a guest house for the pilgrims. Everybody ques to carry a few stones or a bucket with sand.
This evening we thought we saw a big firework in the street but it was a short-circuit. A big ball of fire on a wall.

The cook offered to buy me a train ticket in the morning. I accepted his offer but I think I have a problem now, he has a very tight schedule.

DHARAMSALA/MCLEOD GANJ

I was right about the problem. At 8 o'clock no cook, no breakfast no train ticket. The cook finally arrived at 8.45 without a train ticket. So I got on a rickshaw and asked the guy to hurry to the station. I'm lucky to be alive after that ride. It is a suicide attempt to ask them to hurry. Just in time to buy a ticket and get on the train. The missed breakfast wasn't a problem at all. People on the train offered me bananas.

The right attitude is a problem in this part of India. I'm used to arrange everything by myself because that's the only way to know it IS arranged. Here, people are so willing to help, you begin to rely on them. I should have known by now that I have a problem when they say: no problem.

The train was nice. I like the trains, with the big variety of people. After the train 3 hours on a very crowded bus. Three people and my backpack on a seat barely big enough for two. A steep and winding road, Indian driving style. The second suicide attempt in one day.

When I finally arrived in McLeod Ganj it took me 2 hours to find a room. Ended up in Bhagsu, a 20 minutes walk from McLeod, a very quiet place up in the mountains.
I went to the monastery this morning. Just sat on the stairs and listened to the prayers of the monks. Dark voices, a very special sound. The stairs are covered with red fluffs from the monk's habits.

In the afternoon there was a concert for the freedom of Tibet with Joan Osborne. At the start they sang the Tibetan national hymn, the monk who stood behind me joined the singing in a soft voice. He told me in poor english how they had built the monastery and made Dharamsala famous in the whole world.

It's bad weather for almost two days now. It's raining and it's cold, very cold. It's almost impossible to follow the lectures of the Dalai lama in this weather. I bought a bus ticket to Delhi. Went to the monastery to follow the translation in english of a lecture. When the lecture was done I saw the Dalai Lama. His radiation is enormous.

It's difficult to adjust to Delhi again after the peace and quiet of McLeod Ganj and the surrounding mountains. Bought a train ticket to Varanasi.

VARANASI

A typical Indian train trip, with lots of people sleeping on the most impossible spots. I'm in a nice guest house next to the burning ghat. A balcony with a view on the Ganges and apes who are trying to steal my drying clothes. Varanasi didn't lose its magic in the last two years. Benares the city where apes and rats disappear quickly before your feet and the cows stand still blocking the small alleys. The city where the blown up dead body of a child floats in the Ganges next to the marigolds.

Walking on the ghats I met Bicky, a boy of ten years old who wanted to guide me to a few temples. He was very good company. He will become a great Don Juan, businessman and philosopher. "Money comes more times in life, happiness only once" he said, and "No marriage, that's good, not too much talking, no bla bla bla".
Spent the evening on the ghats. A beautiful girl tried to sell me a butter lamp with marigolds "Put on mother Ganga, for good luck, good Kharma". I don't believe in Kharma, I try to make my own Kharma.

Why do they call Benares the City of Light? It's one power cut after the other.
I'm very tired of Indian life It's unbelievable how much energy it takes. "Look in my silk shop, "need a rickshaw", "very cheap, just look", "what's your name", "What's your country", "where you going". The same conversations , a million times a day. I like spending time with the children. So that's what I do, walking on the ghats, talking and playing with the children, looking, absorbing the magic of this city.

I took a cycle rickshaw to the station this morning. It's a miracle I survived the trip. I was lucky to have the last place on the train to Agra tomorrow. I want to see the Taj Mahal again.

AGRA

I spent yesterday waiting for the train to come. Partly in the waiting room in the company of a very brave family of little mice. They crawled into my shoes and backpack. On the train I had a good conversation with a man. We talked about the differences between our countries, about family life, about the position of women and about the writer Vikram Seth. He knew his books. Since yesterday I have a real 'Delhibelly'. That's not so nice. I wanted to go to the Taj this afternoon, but I was too sick. Try again in the evening when it's cooler.

And there she stood, as beautiful as three years ago. It's a rich feeling to see her again. I'm not crazy about buildings, but this one is of such a tranquil beauty. To see the colours change in the light of the setting sun. Just sit and look at this example of perfection. It is as if the world ends behind the Taj.

There are even more power cuts here in Agra than in Varanasi. And I think they invented the fly here, there is an enormous population of them.

Went to the Itimad-ud-daulah (baby Taj). It doesn't look like the Taj, it's more human, more of this earth. A beautiful building.
One more visit to the real Taj, tomorrow my last train trip back to Delhi.

DELHI for the last time

Sitting on the roof terrace of Anoop's, enjoying a big banana lassi. My last days in India and I learned to love Pahar Ganj. I like walking around here, and I like the incredible street life of this city. Met the English people I met in Dharamsala again. We enjoyed dinner together.

Bahai house of worship, I want to worship life here. The rickshaw trip back from Bahai house was really Indian. We got out of petrol halfway and had to walk a few K. The driver wouldn't let me walk it was embarrassing.

Had a long talk with Ian about what India does to you. I don't like it that it makes me pitiless sometimes. I had to have that attitude to "survive" sometimes, but I want to be compassionate. This country is too much sometimes. I HATE INDIA, I LOVE INDIA. I know I want to come back again.

Burma Trip: Yangon, Mandalay, Pyin U Lwin, Bagan

2008-10-30T11:58:00.000-07:00

YANGON

It was raining cats and dogs when we left Holland. It feels good to be away. Yangon, Sunflower Hotel. We took a taxi from the airport into town. The chauffeur showed us the different hotels on our list and after we had chosen one he brought us to a place where we could change money on the black market. Cars drive on the right side of the road, a strange detail is that the steering wheel of the car is also on the right side.

We slept a few hours and ate biryani. Yangon is crowded, the real Asia. It is more like India than like Thailand. I feel at home and at ease when we stroll on the streets in the evening. The people are very friendly and they don't hassle you. It is clear that this is a poor country.

Had a good night. We are going to need it. We have to catch the bus to Mandalay at five PM. Yangon is okay but there is not much to see and we have to stay here on the way back.

Shwedagon paya is huge and all the gold, glittering in the sun, is almost painful to the eyes. In travel guides they write about it in the way they write about the Taj Mahal. What is the matter with me? Am I still too tired from the flight? Is my mind still in Holland? This Shwedagon Paya doesn't reach my soul at all! On the streets you can buy fried grasshoppers. They showed me how to eat them, you tear off the wings and put the whole insect in your mouth. We took an Indian thali instead.

MANDALAY

The bus was okay and the guest house (Royal guest house) is fine. Traveling takes a lot of energy, it makes me forget everything else.

Do India and Burma so look alike because they both are poor countries? Nothing seems to leave a factory in a brand new state. The coloured lights on the ceiling of the bus are real Asian, as are the lights on the side of big trucks.

We visited the Royal Palace. It demanded more paperwork to enter this building than to pass customs. It is a beautiful building but the thought that it is rebuilt using forced labour makes me feel uneasy. On the way to the palace we had a chat with a former policeman. He had the hope that this country will become a democracy sometime in the future. Now everything is strictly arranged by the rules of the SLORC (State Law and Order Restoration). Silent expressions of this disgusting regime are the slogans, sometimes in english, on signs.

After breakfast we tried to find the bus to Mandalay Hill, but we didn't succeed, too difficult to find out which bus or pick up truck goes to our destination. We asked a man to help us. He answered in perfect english, but what he said was complete nonsense. His breath smelled of alcohol. He told us that he was a professor at the university, teaching english, but that the university was closed now. He left us with the excuse that "he had another fish to fry". We hired bicycles and this turned out to be the ideal form of transport. Even I can find my way in Mandalay because of the numbered streets.

On top of Mandalay Hill it is a real fun fair, food stalls and souvenir sellers. On the way up there is some devotion. There are almost no other tourists. We visited also some paya's in the neighbour hood of Mandalay Hill. The entrance fees are high 3-5 $ and we know the only benefiter is the SLORC, so we try to avoid paying by using side entrances. Sometimes we succeed.

This morning we went together to Mahamuni Paya. I decided that I wanted to spent more time there so our ways parted. The atmosphere is very friendly in this paya. The Mahamuni Buddha is impressive because of all the glittering gold and the devoted people paying their respect. I spent a lot of time strolling on the temple grounds.

I cycled to the hospital. I promised a friend back home to make a picture of an ambulance so that was a good excuse to visit the hospital. I found an ambulance but the people around it didn't understand what I wanted. They took me to a doctor in a kind of emergency unit. He spoke two words of english and didn't understand me either, but it gave me the opportunity to make some pictures. I found an internal ward, old and dark and filthy. There was a nurse who spoke some english. She told me what the patients where suffering from and what treatment they got. They still drain as a cure for hypertension. Walking around I met a French engineer. He and his colleagues were installing a generator for the hospital. There is an alliance between this hospital and a French university. Every year the engineers come to Burma for a few weeks to make some improvements to the hospital. The engineer showed me the new buildings and equipment they installed during the past few years. It looked very good. Simple, but clean and working. This seems to be a good way to help these people. After the visit to the hospital I cycled to the river. A very, very poor neighborhood. The scenery reminded me of Laos.

PYIN U LWIN

We took the pick up truck to Pyin U Lwin. On the way up you see the poverty and when you keep your eyes open you see the forced labour. I had a conversation with the chauffeur about Dutch football. Here they play golf he said, but only the rich people and the army people. Pyin U Lwin is a bit disappointing. Maybe it is the guest house where we are staying (Ruby guest house). It is depressing and dirty. We spent a few hours on the market. I like Asian markets, it are the best places to see the local people and there is always something amusing to discover. We had tea at a tea shop. After a while an elderly woman joined us at our small table on the pavement. She began to talk to us in Queens English, ordered more tea and sweets and told us about her life. Her name was Sheila and she was in her seventies. Between the lines she fully admitted that she used her education to talk to foreigners and ask them to support her with a few dollars. I really enjoyed her style. During the evening Pyin U Lwin changed from a dull town into an entertaining place to walk around. Some people here seem a bit shady.

MANDALAY (again)

Early in the morning Pyin U Lwin looked a bit like a desolated village in a wild west movie. A very peculiar atmosphere. We had a nice breakfast of banana parati and milk tea. It is completely accepted in this country that I'm in charge of the money and not Albert. We took the pick up truck to Mandalay.

On my own. First to the market, Chinese style and that means load and loads of the same stuff. Now I'm on the grounds of a beautiful paya. Lots of buddha's, the tinkling of bells, shade of old trees, the buzzing of children voices and a little breeze. There is a beautiful tiled floor in pastel colors. I found a place to sit with a view on a silver Buddha and two old women. I want to stay here for the rest of my life and forget all my silly (and serious) worries.

In the afternoon we spent some time in a tea shop. Being small is a blessing when you have to sit on these small, low stools. First a Sikh takes a seat at "our" table. He has a mobile phone and drinks his tea in a hurry but he is hospitable as his faith demands him to be and he insists on paying for our tea and sweets. Our next companion was a vicar who spoke a little English but it was almost impossible to understand what he was trying to tell us.

During my absence this morning Albert was offered a Burmese woman by a taxi chauffeur. We already made jokes about the purpose of the cell like rooms on the first floor of our guest house but they are seriously used by prostitutes.

We had dinner in a Shan restaurant and afterwards we walked into a kind of street festival, fun fair. A few merry go rounds and lots of children exploiting home made games. A boy of about 7 years old acted as a fully qualified croupier in a kind of roulette game. They sold paya's made of cigarette cartons and of course lots of snacks. A little boy and girl were singing and making music with little drums, rattles and bells. It was moving to hear these clear voices and see these big brown eyes, surrounded by kohl, in the small faces. Very nice to walk around and smile back at all those smiling people. Like this morning on the temple grounds it is impossible to catch the atmosphere in a photograph, so my camera stays in my bag and with all my senses I enjoy this moment and store it in my heart.

A day of leisure but with a lot of information about the awful circumstances the people are living in. There is a lot of hunger up in the hills. There is enough rice in Mandalay but the people are not allowed to bring it into the hills. The government takes the rice. People have to pay for all the medicines they need, also when they are admitted in a hospital. The medication costs a lot of money and is of very poor quality. Almost everything I have seen is much older than the date of expiring and it is certainly not stored in a refrigerator. The universities are closed since 1996. The government blames Aung San Suu Kyi. The real reason is that it is a threat to have all students gathered in one place. Besides it is more safe to keep the people ignorant. Not that the universities were that good. They study chemistry without ever seeing a laboratory on the inside. Doing an exam implied learning by heart a part of a text and reciting it (or you could pay your way out). The percentage that succeeded was high, good for the statistics.

BAGAN

We took the slow boat from Mandalay to Bagan. It takes a whole day, but it was nice to stare at the riverbanks. A lot of poverty on the banks and on the boat itself. People searched the wastebasket on the tourist deck, hoping to find something useful.

We spent the day cycling around, visiting paya's. This place is incredibly full of them. It looks like a moon landscape scattered with paya's and the remains of them. Some are really impressive. I liked the Ananda paya most of all. It is very big and there are four beautiful standing Buddha's inside. One of them has the Abhaya mudra. Today we met Maung Maung a horse cart driver. This evening he picked us up and we went to his village. On the veranda of his bamboo house we were spoilt with a fantastic dinner. From the other side of the table the whole family watched us eating. It made me feel uneasy. We tried to eat enough to be polite and to leave a lot on the table knowing that they would eat it when we were gone.

Today we visited again some paya's, including Shwezigon Paya. It is described as the most beautiful paya of Bagan. And yes, it is spectacular with all its gold glittering in the sun, but it didn't move me like the Ananda paya did. We spent some time sitting in the shadow, looking at this building, talking about religion being opium for/from the people.

NYAUNGSHWE (Inle Lake)

At five in the morning we took the bus to the Lake district. The road was in a poor condition sometimes and the suspension system of the bus not too good, but the scenery was beautiful.

Didn't do much today. Cycled around. It is not possible to reach the lake on a bicycle. Why should you make a road when you have a river and a boat?! It took quite a few dead end roads before Albert realized the logic of this situation. We talked a lot today about work, plans for the future, travelling together for a year or so. We have fun. This trip is good for both of us.

What do they do with the corps when somebody dies? I didn't see grave yards or cremation sites. The lady of the guest house has a heart condition. She had to pay $15 for an ECG and a blood test. That's a lot of money in this country. She showed me all the tablets she is taking and asked me for an explanation of their effects.

Today we made a boat trip. First to a market, partly a tourist trap, but with a lot of local people. A little boy followed me for about 15 minutes, saying nothing, only staring at me. I talked to him in Dutch and even that didn't change the expression on his face. At last he said "Hello" and disappeared. On this market you could buy all kinds of intra venous medication (exp. date: 1997). We visited an almost deserted village. There was a long gallery up a hill finally arriving at a small paya. This paya was surrounded by a lot of little stupa's, a lot of them were almost overgrown. The wind made the bells on the stupa's cling, a peaceful sound. A weird place with a nice atmosphere. At the Nga Phe Kyaung monastery we saw the famous jumping cats. The cat jumps through a hoop that is hold up by a monk. Amusing, but more beautiful is the collection of Buddha's in the monastery and more interesting are the toilets. The toilets are cubicles with a kind of saloon door (western style) and a hole in the bottom right above the lake.

We did a "trekking" yesterday. The lady of the guest house who organized the hike promised us many, many villages. We saw exactly ONE village. Well it was a good fitness training. The village was very poor. The clothes the people were wearing consisted more of holes than cloth. The Lonely Planet guide names a literacy rate of 81.5%. I don't understand how they come to this high number. Most of the children I see are not going to school. The children in these kind of villages definitely never see a classroom on the inside.

We are waiting for the bus in the direction of Rangoon now. This morning we visited the market of Nyaungshwe. Beautiful people. I love markets. A little boy wanted to give us something. My first reaction is to refuse it because I expected that he wanted something in return. But he handed me a sweet and said hello, that was it. He only wanted to be friendly like the little boy who gave me a flower yesterday. This Asian country isn't spoiled yet. Please let it stay this way for some time.

BAGO

The bus trip took 19 hours, but the bus was very comfortable, so no problem. On the video they showed a Sylvester Stallone movie and a Burmese version of Romeo and Juliet.

Bago is dirty and dusty and the humidity is a lot higher than at the Lake. After a few hours of sleep Manni, a trishaw driver showed us around. I knew his name from a web site about Burma and like they say he is really worth the money. His English is reasonable and he knows a lot of nice places. First we went to the Shwemawdaw Paya. Outside of it there is a sign with the text: "Please provide necessary assistance to the international travellers". It doesn't make my opinion of the government any better. Manni took us to a very big monastery. It is impressing to see all these monks study the Pali language. Even more impressive is the very big pot they use to cook food for 1000 monks. Finally we visit the reclining Buddha. Measuring 55 metres it is bigger than the one in Bangkok, but I liked that one better. Manni is a good source of information. I liked the hours we spent with him.

We booked a taxi for the trip to the balancing boulder temple of Kyaiktiyo. We leave at 7 o'clock after seeing the monks (about 500 of them) going on their alms round. It is a 2-3 hour drive. After that we have to wait for almost an hour for the truck to fill up with people before it departs for a trip uphill. Thats not the end of it. We have to walk uphill for 45 minutes before we reach the famous balancing boulder. The trip down with the truck is a good test for the stomach (and the nerves).

YANGON

We have an early breakfast in the tea shop opposite the hotel. They have a remarkable cigarette lighter made of an old dynamo. It takes about 2 hours by bus from Bago to Yangon. I spent the afternoon on the market and in the Pagan bookshop. The owner sells copied hardcovers of books about Burma. He has a nice collection.

We had dinner in New Delhi restaurant. After that we went to the Kali temple. It is a bit strange to "meet" this bloodthirsty goddess in this Buddhist environment. The atmosphere in the temple is a bit mysterious. As always I am almost impressed by it. Seeing a guy playing with a computer game in the middle of the temple brings me back to earth. We walk on the streets of Yangon and have a last cup of tea in a tea shop. I love the evenings in an Asian country.

In these few weeks I learned to love the Burmese people. I admire their capability to be very friendly and cheerful despite the difficult conditions they are living in.

Amazing Thailand: Bangkok, Koh Tao, Krabi and surrounding area

2008-10-30T11:05:00.000-07:00

A few words about Thailand

We think there are five main reasons western tourists come to Thailand; the scenery, the culture, the people, the affordability, and the food (but not necessarily in that order). All are spectacular, and Thailand remains one of the few places in the world with all of these attributes, combined with comprehensive transportation and lodging options for travelers in any budget, good medical care (if you need it), and political stability. Thailand is a traveler's paradise. On the one hand, this country does seem to be on the cutting edge of many things (more internet cafes and good public transportation, for example) and the richness of Thai beauty and culture is unsurpassed in our personal travel experience. On the other hand, (outside of Bangkok) it has the unhurried pace of a tropical paradise. To sum it up, we love Thailand.

In Thailand, two tourists can live like a modest King (and Queen) for under $50 USD per day (or $25pp) - including activities such as diving, snorkeling, cooking classes, trekking, VIP bus transportation, eating in restaurants, and staying in modest but clean hotels with en suite toilets. For a less extravagant tour, you can certainly live comfortably on much less. We've met other tourists happily spending a mere $10-$15 per day (and many of our days have been that low as well).

The economy is still on the mend from the crash in the Asian markets last year, and tourist dollars are welcome relief in many areas, as other industries struggle to regain balance during this difficult time. In general, we have been told that most average middle or working class employed Thai people make between 150 (minimum wage) and 500 Baht a day, although of course there are few upwards exceptions to this, and also, sadly, many (including educated and skilled) people not employed or employed and not even making the minimum. This seems quite low by western standards, but remember that the cost of living most places (especially outside of Bangkok) is much lower than Western Europe, Australia, or the US.

However, despite the current economic hardships, Thai people (in general) seem friendly and happy. Rightly named "the land of smiles", Sanuk (fun) is drawn out in many aspects of life. Life seems simpler, but honor, pride, respect, and loyalty seem to be important traits within each area we visit. Anger is seen as a weakness. Loss of self-control is looked down upon. Buddhism is the dominant religion, and many Thai males are expected to serve as a monk at some point in their lives (for as little as three months, or indefinitely), which brings honor to their families. (Women may also become nuns in the Buddhist religion, but we have heard it is not quite as highly regarded socially as monkhood.) Service as a nun or monk teaches self-discipline, kind heartedness, and spirituality. The Buddhist values are apparent in Thai society.

Even if you don't know a word of Thai, if you speak or understand a little English, Thailand is EASY. Thais employed in bus and train stations, travel agencies, guest houses and hotels all seem to know enough English to be able to help you. Hand gestures work when all else fails. Although, be aware that spelling becomes a most creative art with phonetic transliteration (The Thais use a different alphabet than westerners). Therefore, maps and guidebooks can be difficult to follow, as the name of a street, Wat (temple), or guesthouse will most likely be listed in any one of a number of phonetic combination. Even after over a month here, we cannot read even simple Thai signs. We are told there are over 50 letters in the Thai alphabet, and even though they look lovely when placed together, they still don't form words we can recognize. Even so, we manage to navigate ourselves to and around, with the kind help of patient Thais.

We are impressed with how many Thais speak English (how many Americans speak Thai?), but we still giggle at the typos in the English translated menus. Now, we don't hesitate to order "rarely fresh squid" and know that a woman can request "hard boy egg" without damaging her reputation. We can only imagine what horrible mistakes we make when we attempt the few Thai words we know.

We are sometimes shocked by the lack of safety standards in some forms of transportation, hotels and especially boats. For example, 1 life vest for every dozen or so passengers seems like a luxury, if it is even available, and we are yet to see a fire escape (or alarm!) on a multi-story guesthouse. Four people can and often do fit on a moped, on the highway, and without helmets. We are used to seeing monks on mopeds, sitting side-saddle on the back, and we are used to cows and water buffalo crossing highways at their leisure. A mere honk of the horn gives any driver license to pass in opposing traffic, and everyone (monks and water buffalo included) just move onto the shoulder!

Bangkok

To say the least, getting to Bangkok from Auckland was a journey in itself. We made a mistake calculating time zones, and what we thought was going to be a 3-hour layover in Australia was actually 7 hours. Since we didn't bother to get an Australian Visa, we could not leave Sydney's international terminal. Fortunately for us, the lady at United's "Red Carpet Room" (a lounge for business class passengers, or those with a paid membership)sympathized with us (after some begging and whining on our part) and said she was going on a break and she never saw us. Big score for the budget travelers! We never appreciated luxury so much.

We arrived in Bangkok around midnight on March 15th. We headed directly to the famous backpacker ghetto, Khao San Road. (We were told that this is not always easy to do. Many private taxi drivers will take naive and disoriented looking backpackers to a destination other than what they have requested, in order to gain commissions on overpriced and undesirable hotels). We wanted to avoid this, so splurged on the official airport taxi (a whopping 650Bhat) and had a trouble-free and very comfortable ride in an air-conditioned brand-new Mercedes. When we arrived on Khao San Road after midnight, the street was packed with partying international backpackers, food vendors, and souvenir hawkers. Note: Since then, we've taken many private taxis, and have not had this trouble. We have found the traffic in Bangkok to be a little frightening at times, but most of the Taxi drivers are friendly, usually a little bilingual (a little English if not several other languages) and responsive to fair and persistent bargaining. Fortunately for us, the third guesthouse we tried (The Nana) had a mean but sufficient room on the 5th floor (no lift) with A/C, a small balcony and private bathroom. We paid 600 Baht, or about $14 USD. This was the most expensive room we've stayed in in Thailand, and the least charming. (You can find dorm-style accommodations on Khao San road for about 100 Baht, but we did not bother, since we were not staying long.) Khao San Road is only about 2-3 blocks long, but packs a lot of action. It's lined with bars, restaurants, travel agencies, cheap guesthouses, tourist shops, massage parlors, and a host of street vendors specializing in bootleg cassette tapes and clothing items, and possibly illegal substances, even though the police station is located at the end of the road.

For our first day, we took a few tuk-tuks around town, fearing for our lives as the small, noisy vehicle maneuvered through heavy and fast traffic, getting sideways on corners, and nearly taking out a few food stalls. However, we found a more agreeable means of transportation on the canal - a long-tail boat (200 Baht for one hour). We spent hours just walking through the various open-air markets, a little overwhelmed, but very excited to be in Thailand!. Our good friend Alie met us the evening of the 16th, and after another day sightseeing (The very impressive Grand Palace) and one more night at the Nana, we all decided to head down to Koh Tao, an island in the scenic South.

Koh Tao

We caught an overnight VIP government bus from Bangkok's Southern Bus Terminal to Chumphon (10pm - 4am), where we waited in a travel agency for the ferry to Koh Tao (7:30am). By 11am the next day, we were all comfortably kicking back on the beach at Ban's Diving Resort. We ended up staying on Koh Tao 11 days at Ban's Diving Resort. Cara got her Open Water Certification (finally), Joe got his Advanced Open Water, and Alie was a diving maniac, logged 18 dives, got her Advanced OW and also Rescue diver. Joe logged 9 dives and Cara 6. We figured that was enough to get our fix, and supplemented our entertainment agenda with snorkeling, feeding multicolored frenzied fish bananas (and occasionally our own fingertips), and exploring the lush island by moped.

The coral and other sea life was plentiful and amazing, and Cara's Swedish Padi instructor, Ola, taught a method of "scuba nirvana " that really calmed her underwater. Those of you who know Cara might remember she is usually terrified of swimming in the ocean (some weird phobia she has). However, on Koh Tao, she fearlessly drifted through schools of barracuda, teased aggressive trigger fish, and even did a small cave swim-through. Cara missed night diving, but Joe and Alie can testify that it was amazing. When you shine a torch on the fish, they become clear targets for the barracuda which typically feed at night. It's kind of a death sentence for the fish, but the barracuda need to eat also! Alie went off on her own one evening to go snorkeling with feeding sharks, and has promised to to email us her impressions so we can post them!

We never wanted to leave Koh Tao, but were curious to see other parts of Thailand. We decided to take a night ferry to Surat Thani. Our hotel told us that the ferry was a comfortable overnight journey. We had in our minds that we might have private beds. When we arrived at the dock, we found that the vessel was the size of a large fishing boat, and the sleeping accommodation consisted of one crowded room with a foam pad that covered the floor. Some people who arrived early were able to stake out enough floorspace in order to stretch out and sleep, however, we weren't expecting the style of accommodation, arrived at the last minute, and found ourselves crammed into a small space barely big enough for our packs, let alone our bodies. Kind Joe slept outside on the deck to free up some leg space for his fiance. Who says chivalry is dead!

Krabi and surrounding area

We arrived in Krabi during our third week in Thailand. While most travelers pass through on their way to Phuket, Rai Lai, or other beach destinations, we decided to spend a night in the city, to see what it was like. Alie and Cara had a Thai massage in what turned out to be a brothel downtown, while Joe waited out a rainstorm on the balcony of our charming 4 dollar-a night guesthouse.

We went to the most amazing Wat, a monastery nestled in a valley between limestone cliffs. Individual temples were along the cliffs, set back in caves. It was well worth the exertion for the step back in time. It was not crowded at all, and the couple of dozen monks scurrying about outnumbered the tourists. However, the long tail monkeys outnumbered both the monks and the tourists. Little bald nuns shot the monkeys with slingshots to keep them away from the refreshment stands. There was another small hike, up about 1,500 stairs to the top of the limestone cliffs, to an area named "Buddha's Footprint". This hike will reward you with great views of the surrounding area, but we missed it, as it started raining and with the clouds we would not have been able to see anything, anyway.

We also took a long-tail boat to Rai Lay, a nearby beach peninsula inside a Thai National Park. The peninsula includes three main beach areas, each with privately run bungalows and restaurants. We stayed overnight on the least scenic, but also less expensive beach, East Rai Lay (turns to mud flats at low tide). We were still able to spend our time at the nearby and more upscale West Rai Lay beach, and the very expensive (western resort pricing), but most beautiful Hat Phra Nang. Besides sunbathing, swimming, snorkeling, cruising the bay in long tail boats, the cliffs surrounding the beaches offer superb rock climbing opportunities. Joe and Alie tried their hand at climbing in a half-day class that just about knocked them flat, but was tons of fun. In addition, we all had fun with some moderate spelunking, since the limestone cliffs are riddled with caves. We missed the hike to a hidden lagoon, in between East Rai Lay and Hat Phra Nang, as we only stayed one evening.

Our bungalows on East Rai Lay (we stayed at The "Ya Ya"), were fun and funky in atmosphere and architecture. However, they were quite shabbily built and totally infested with critters.... Alie killed about seven huge cockroaches inside an hour, before she gave up and went to sleep, to the sounds of the Thai pop band playing late in the night at the bar next door. Joe and I had to abandon our porch due to the carpenter ants. However, the Ya ya does attract many backpackers and rock climbers due to its swiss-family-robinson look, lively bar scene, and excellent coffee (not to mention cheapest accommodation prices on the peninsula.)

Chiang Mai

I am very proud of our journey, as we managed to avoid travel agencies the whole way. After our first six hours (a local bus from Krabi back to Surrat Thani), we were stranded, it seemed like we'd have to book through a travel agency. All the agencies ("No, there is no public bus" "No, the public bus and train all booked". "No, there is no bus, and it is not comfortable" No, there is no train from Surrat Thani") We knew there was a bus station, with many buses, which were comfortable, and not booked. However, we still did not know how to get to the station! When we finally made it there, I felt as if I had accomplished some great feat. (If you are going to be spending 30 hours on a bus, you want a really good one. The tourist agencies are not well regulated, so while some I'm sure are very good, others often do not deliver what they have promised.

Chiang Mai is the second largest city in Thailand, the capital of the Chiang Mai province, in the North of Thailand. This is the most popular tourist center for arranging trekking tours, taking Thai cooking classes, massage classes, and yoga. Chiang Mai is also known for its large and quite impressive transvestite population and, sadly, an active Opium trade. Shopping in Chiang Mai is fantastic - the guidebooks claim it is better than Bangkok, and we agree. The North is known for rich crafts, many tailors, and the popular night bazaar is a lively and colorful place to spend many evenings. The nightlife is also rich (but not too cheap). Our favorite bar, near the Thae Phae gate was "The Public House". For a small bar, it was always lively, and hosted an open jam session nightly, and good drink specials. Joe got his fix drumming with the band several evenings in a row.

Before Alie left us to return to the states and graduate school, the three of us went on a fantastic three-day, two-night trek in the Pai province (Northwest of Chaing Mai). We booked through Panda Tours, and highly recommend them. We went on a "non-touristed" trek (all the agencies boast this), but were surprised that they delivered beyond our expectations. We hiked through the devastated remains of jungle area (due to the slash-and burn technique employed by the hill tribe farmers and opium growers), rode elephants through lush misty jungle, crossed many rivers on precarious bamboo "bridges", and spent 3 hours poling downstream on a bamboo raft. Our tour guide, Sung, sparked our active imaginations entertaining us in the evenings with colorful tales of "treks gone bad".

Joe and I spent nearly two weeks in Chaing Mai, and considered staying there even longer to take Thai classes, or possibly teach English. ...

Chiang Khong (The Thai/Lao border in Northern Thailand)

Most people cruise quickly through this small, border town on their way overland from the North of Thailand to the North of Laos. We arrived near the end of Songkran - the annual water festival that marks the Thai new year. We had hoped to get a same-day or next-day Lao visa, but were not able to, due to the holiday (Lao immigration was closed). We wound up making friends with several locals, and had more fun in Chiang Khong than any other single place in Thailand.

We were lucky not only to catch Songkran, but also the annual Giant Catfish fishing festival (being filmed by Discovery Channel while we were there!) Because of our new Thai friends, we were able to ride in the fishing boat parade on the VIP cruise boat with the "mayor" of Chiang Khong, and other important locals.

At closer examination, this town offers a lot for the tourist looking for a more 'untouristed' Northern Thailand experience, since most travelers only stay one or two nights, if any, and the main tourist pushes are to get you a visa or to put you up for a night. Everything else, you are pleasantly on your own!

We'd like to give a strong "plug" a couple of businesses we found immeasurably helpful during our stay, and hope you patronize them if doing the overland Northern Thailand to Laos Route:

Travel Agencies:

Ms. Apple at Traveler's corner is the best travel agent in town, helpful and kind (and honest) and way better and more personal than the larger and somewhat unpleasant "Anne Tour" that our guidebook recommended. Her English is excellent, which really helps. If we had used Miss Apple's services, we would have saved money, and obtained our visa earlier, and with less hassle. Traveler's Corner is stocked with up-to-date information on Laos, and you are welcome to peruse for free. She's got fair prices, a good library exchange, guidebooks for sale, bicycles for rent, as well as many other Laos-bound traveler's supplies (ear plugs for the speed boat, mosquito nets, etc.) She can also help recommend a guesthouse or home stay if you are feeling frustrated with the choices of guest houses. (There are quite a lot, new ones springing up all the time, and they vary in quality and price).

Food/Drinks & Nightlife:

Okay, there isn't much nightlife in Chiang Khong, but you can certainly create your own. We found a small, unnamed and out-of-the way store/restaurant that you MUST NOT MISS if you pass through. This is not a tourist shop, and the prices reflect true local prices (less than half of what you will be charged in town). We may be biased (and we are, because we really liked the proprietors), but can safely say their traditional food surpassed any of the more "convenient" restaurants downtown (although they may have a limited menu). One important note, they charge foreigners "local" prices not only for food, but also for beer (also about half what the restaurant in town charge). In addition, the owners (Mr. Bob and Ms. A) have a selection of good American movies that you can watch on the TV/VCR in the shop. Our last night in town, we rounded up a few other travelers from our guest house, headed down to Mr. Bob's and had the best and cheapest evening, underneath the blinking Christmas lights and surrounded by friendly locals.

To reach the store, walk approximately 300 meters from the Bus station (away from the harbor and travel agencies) on the main street (the store will be on your left). You will recognize it by the black and white African-looking striped decoration, and it is directly across from a petrol station. For a lively evening, grab a few other tourists from your guest house and go! If you need help finding it, ask Ms. Apple at Traveler's corner, or a young Tuk-Tuk driver named Mr. Lee. (Not all the tuk-tuk drivers will know what you are talking about, as the shop does not currently have a name, and it is not a common destination for tourists). If you are lucky enough to find the shop, tell Mr. Bob and Ms. A that Joe and Cara send their love!

Mr. Bob is an excellent and talented artist / painter, the former creative director of an advertising agency in Bangkok (before the economy turned sour). He's got some fantastic plans drawn up for a future guesthouse he wants to build on his hillside property. Don't be put off by the fact that yes, he's probably looking for investors, because he and his family are generous, kind, honest and warm whether you are a perspective investor or not. For example, they invited us to their family's Songkran dinner, introduced us to all their friends, and let us hang out with them constantly even after we told them we were not investors. They treated us like family throughout our stay, even driving us back to our guest house themselves one evening when the tuk-tuks wanted extortionist prices. When they thought we were to be leaving Laos, they waited for us by the immigration office for two hours, in order to wish us good-bye.

First Trip To India: To Mussoorie and the end of the trip

2008-10-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

Chapter Twelve - To Mussoorie and the end of the trip

From Naini Tal we continued to Almora and Kausani. There were good views of the snow-capped Himalayan peaks from Kausani but also from the way to Almora. We followed the road past Kausani to the very interesting temples of Baijnath. According to what I heard, the first temples were built here by the Panduvas. A magnificent statue of Parvati can be seen here. Locals told me that it is made of an eight metal alloy which is more expensive than gold. Originally, there was also a Shiva statue, but it has been stolen and carted off to Goa where it still is (or should be). Photography is only allowed outside the temple. It's a nice place, not corrupted by vultures (of the human type).

Just inside the temple grounds, by the lake in which big fishes swim (no fishing is allowed), there lies a highly polished granite boulder of about 45 cm. in diameter. A crowd of about fifteen people had gathered around it, men and women. A temple Brahmin told us that this particular boulder was very old and its presence is woven into the Baijnath Temples history. Legend has it that the boulder can be lifted to breast height by 9 people. The balance will be correct then and you'll lift it easily. Sounds easy enough. Only, you have to lift it on your thumbs which have to be clenched between your index and middle finger. Like this nobody can grab the boulder. Eight people will have the balance of the rock disturbed so one or two people will get too much weight and you won't be able to get it up high. Ten people : the same. Only nine can do it. We decided to give it a try. And, indeed, with nine we successfully lifted the boulder breast-high. With eight somebody shouted that it was too heavy and we failed (I wondered if imagination had anything to do with it). Ten of us also failed, but here it was more a matter of lack of space I think. Anyway, we had succeeded and the Brahmin was very happy, because this "rarely happens". One of the Indian guys asked him if it was possible for a person to lift it on his own. The Brahmin told him he had never seen anybody doing that. All the men available tried it. None of them could lift the shiny polished rock. I watched the happening and thought back to the car salesman in the garage in Gorakhpur : "You Westerners are strong and Indians are not. But, Indians have a lot of resistance and you Westerners have not." I wondered if I would really be stronger, because these guys looked strongly built and able to lift it to me. I gave it a try and to my surprise I pulled it up to my breast. I was stronger and the salesman had been right ! Everybody was baffled and suddenly an applause broke loose. The Brahmin was also cheering. Everybody started trying to lift it again, but all kept failing. My friend Suki also tried. He also received applause after lifting it knee-high. Shit ! The garage salesperson was wrong ! There were strong Indians. Of course, there were.

We decided to drive through the Himalayas to Rishikesh. We didn't know at that time, but we were actually embarking on some kind of adventure. This time of year sees a lot of landslides. So, we had to drive over a lot of rubble, through thick mud on narrow mountain track (I saw even jeeps turn back) and on undermined tarmac. One time we had to wait for almost four hours for the road to be cleared. It's a great drive, but you should get information about road conditions before setting out. It could be so bad that you have to return, which is a real bummer if you've made it that far. On the way you see signs to the nearest tourist rest house if you should get too tired or just if it's getting dark. They are put up at regular intervals.
You can also get through the Himalayas this way by bus. There seemed to be enough buses to be able to make the trip in a short enough period (and they seem to plough through all the debris on the way).

From Tharali river Pindar runs alongside the road and offers great views, all the way to Karnaprayag which is the bigger town on the way. It's a great place to enter just around nightfall, when it is very beautiful with all the lights shining. There are some hotels and guest houses to stay the night if you want. From Karnaprayag you enter a bigger road again. It winds past Rudraprayag and Devaprayag to Rishikesh. I found Rishikesh a pleasant town. I spent the night in the Baseraa Hotel which had AC doubles for Rs 500 (tax incl.). Quite a change from the 150 rupees a couple of years ago, as listed in the LP. The room was very good though and it should be for that money. Hot water in the shower was no problem. I wanted to share the room with Suki, otherwise we would have to pay for two singles. Or better, I'd have to pay, because Suki can't afford it. Strangely enough, it was forbidden for us to share a room on my name. An Indian and a Westerner couldn't share a hotel room. Indian officialdom had an easy way 'round this though : we just had to put the room on my pal's name and I didn't get listed.

The hotel has a restaurant downstairs, the DaanaPaani. There was of course only vegetarian food. The menu listed several dishes, but not many of them were available. What was there, was rather bland too. Not bad. Not great either. Breakfast the next morning was good, but expensive. Among what I ordered were six pieces of toast with jam. The waiter didn't bring me enough jam to cover six toasts, so I left the last one and asked for the bill. The waiter came up to my table and asked : "And sir ? Good service ?" I told him : "Yes, it's okay. Thank you." He fetched me the bill. I paid the amount due and added a nice tip. He looked very pleased and asked : "Do you want jam for that toast too, sir ?" I told him I'd very much like that. He returned with a spoonful of jam and asked : "And sir ? Good service ? Good service !" I confirmed again, but he wanted more; he wanted another tip. He had been a friendly and attentive guy before, but again this made me think nothing of him anymore. I know he's probably a poor guy looking for some extras, but everybody should know the limits.

The only place not mentioned in the LP book is probably the Rishikund and Raghunath temple. It's a tank where Lord Rama is supposed to have taken a bath. It's a popular place among pilgrims.

Next destination: Mussoorie. The trip from Dehra Dun, up the winding hill road to Mussoorie will cost you if you come by car: Rs 15 to be precise. Once in the town, I wanted to go to the Valley View Hotel. Suki wanted to park to car somewhere near that place, so we were forced to drive up The Mall. Thing is, that you can only drive in The Mall on certain hours and it costs you dearly : the price they wanted from us was a totally ridiculous Rs 150 !! No, I'd rather choose a different place then. Of course, we could have walked, but my friend wanted the car close-by. So, we went to see a few places. I chose the Classic Heights Hotel. The receptionist who showed us around was a friendly Sikh. We saw three different rooms, all with different prices: (doubles) Rs 450, 550, 650 (inclusive of all taxes). It's hard to describe the difference of the rooms, they all had a totally different character. The cheapest was the most standard of the lot. The bathroom was the smallest of all three. The second one was a much bigger room with thresholds; to get to the bed you had to step up a couple of steps. The bed was big and so was the bathroom. The third room was very similar, only it looked a bit as if it had been a honeymoon suite in a long distant past. The bed was round and was completely surrounded by half-translucent curtains. I found the second room representing the best value for money, so I took that. And besides, the third room was a little bit too romantic for two guys (that is, if they are not gay !). Food could be had, but you had to take it in the room; it was only available from room-service. The food was good and the service friendly. The rooms were clean although a bit worn down. The views to Dun Valley were absolutely great and you could gaze at them either through the window or from a balcony.

The Mall was a great place for an evening stroll, although it was rather cold at that time. There's a good book shop and a record store (actually tapes and CD's). We also went to see the Camel Rock, on foot. A rickshaw from The Mall was between Rs 120 and 150.

By car, we went to Kempty Falls. They were quite high and worth the trip. On the way thither, we had to stop at a check point. I had to take my backpack out of the trunk and have it inspected. This was to see if I was carrying any liquor. I wasn't, so I can't say what happens if you do. I really didn't see the point. We got in the car again and continued... for about fifty meters. There we were stopped again. Car papers were inspected and we had to pay another fifteen rupees road tax ! The Mussoorie town council certainly knows how to collect taxes. Maybe they're just trying to keep out as many cars as they can, which is probably not a bad idea, but that's probably thinking too far for Indians... I suspect they're just after the money.

There are other falls in the Mussoorie vicinity, none of them as spectacular as the Kempty Falls though. They are : Mossy Falls (6 km. by road), Bhatta Falls (6.5 km. by bridle path, 12 by road) and Hardy Falls (NW of Vincent Hill and harder to reach). There are also some places with good views. One of them is Benong Hill, ten kilometres away by road from the Library Chowk. It once was the site of an observatory. It is gone now, but it is still a very good viewpoint towards the Himalayas above and the Yamuna river below. Another one is Lal Tibba (5 km.) at an altitude of 2440 meters. There is a coin-operated pair of binoculars here that provide an up-close view of the Nanda Devi-, Gangotri-, Sri Kanda-, Chaukhamba- and Kedarnath peaks. The Gangotri is the actual source of the river Ganges. Trekking there is possible. At just over 3000 meters, one can try to visit the famous Goddess Ganga Temple on the right bank of the river. Seven kilometres from the Library Chowk is Sir George Everest's House, the first Surveyor General of India after whom the highest mountain in the world is named. The place which is also known as Park Estate was his residential office. It once was a fine example of colonial architecture by the East India Company, but unfortunately it is now in ruins. There are, however, good views of the Himalayas and the Dun Valley.

We also went up Gun Hill by ropeway. As far as I can remember, it's still ten rupees. There are good views of the Himalayas, but only in the morning. We also came here in the evening and everything was hazy. At the top, there are some good cafe's where you can have some vegetarian snacks or just warm yourself with a cup of coffee or tea. One particular place is run by a friendly French guy who came to live in Mussoorie years and years ago. He's really cool !

Unfortunately I will also always remember this hill station as the place where I started suffering of dysentery. So, there won't be all good memories. I started suffering during one night in the hotel. I got very sick and didn't sleep for one minute. In the morning I decided I would need a doctor. Suki went to the reception to ask them to call one. The Sikh came up to our room and told me that the doctor here wouldn't be able to do very much for me. He said to take it easy the coming day, to take something like Rennie's (against acid stomachs) and to eat white rice and curd. No matter how sick I was, it flashed through my head that I had to get out of this place and return to Delhi where I could have decent treatment. It would be different if I had been alone and in a place where transportation is almost absent, but here I had good road connections with the capital and I had a friend who had a car. And besides, I would have had to return to Delhi the next day anyway, because I had only three days to go (including the flight day). I checked out and we immediately drove off. I remember that the trip was a real hell for me. Fortunately and strangely enough I could sleep most of the time. Like I just told you : I had planned to - under normal circumstances - to leave Mussoorie the next day. On the way, I would have paid a short visit to Haridwar, maybe even spent the night there. Suki woke me up when we passed it. Even in all my agony, I decided to take a look and some pictures. It was a great place and it's really too bad that I couldn't visit it properly. It looked a bit like a miniature Varanasi, but that's seen through tormented eyes. After an hour or so, we continued and I can't tell you how glad I was to arrive in the Connaught Palace in Delhi. The rest you know, I already told you before.

End note

That was something about my holidays in India. It's not always easy to write about a trip. The best things that have happened to me I just can't write down, because it's so damn hard to express feelings in words, and feelings are all what India is about. It's been a total experience and although I can't say that this was my best trip regarding the friendliness of the people, the impressiveness of the sights or the quality of the food, I can certainly say that this has been the most special one and don't ask me to explain that. Hopefully you somehow enjoyed reading this.

If you have any comments, questions or suggestions, please feel free to write me !

First Trip To India: Into the Himalayas

2008-10-14T12:48:00.000-07:00

Chapter Eleven - Into the Himalayas

Our next destination was Naini Tal. We went there by Hardoi and Bareilly, which is not a very spectacular trip, apart from some traditional cotton processing that can be seen on the way.

The trip from the plains into the Himalayas was a nice sight and the climb up to Naini Tal offered some spectacular views. Naini Tal itself, with the lake, was very beautiful and a great place to spend your time. There are enough places of interest in the vicinity to keep you occupied.
Apart from the lake, these include the Naini Devi Temple, St. John's Church, the municipal board building, Hanumangarh and the UP State Observatory, Snow View with views of 7817 meters high Nanda Devi peak (the ropeway costs Rs 35 for one hour; strangely enough, you can't take photographs from out the ropeway 'shuttle'), Nayana Peak at 2611 meters with good views of the snow-capped mountain range, Tiffin Top with views of forest, valley and Himalayas, Kilbury with a panoramic view of the snow ranges and valleys, Land's End with panoramic views of the plains, Kaenchi Temple (20 km.) and the nearby renowned ashram of Baba Neem Karauli, Khurpatal (10 km.) which is another beautiful lake as are Sattal (21 km.), Bheemtal (22 km.) and Naukuchiatal (27 km.) and the temple at Ghorakhal.

There's good food in a restaurant located at the end of The Mall, just near the entrance to the lower station of the ropeway to Snow View. I can't remember its name, but it translates from Hindi as the 'Pearl Palace', so the ... Mahal. If you need medical emergency treatment, you can go to the following hospitals : the B.D. Pandey in Mallital, the G.B. Pant in Tallital or the Sitapur Eye Hospital. I cannot say anything about these places. Fortunately I didn't need them, but they are there if you find yourself in an emergency situation. With about 150 hotels to choose from, it's more a matter of just picking one than carefully selecting one. I chose the Hotel Prashant. Doubles were Rs 100 to 125 (all inclusive) with the more expensive ones a lot better than their price difference would indicate. The room is clean enough and there's an attached bathroom with shower, although there's hot water only in the morning for a very brief period. You can forget about taking a cold shower here; it would probably kill you. The beds are very comfortable with cosy, thick bed covers. If you come to Naini Tal in winter, be sure that you'll be sufficiently warm at night before taking a hotel room. In Hotel Prashant, there's a restaurant too, but there's not much available and what is, is vegetarian. The menu lists many meat dishes too, but none of them were available.

Naini Tal is famous for its hand-made candles. They are extremely beautiful and 'success guaranteed' souvenirs. There's a very wide choice and everything's amazingly cheap. For a sculptured goddess (about 30 cm. high) I paid Rs 28. A beautiful thick candle with a bunch of glazed and perfumed grapes dangling from it, was Rs 90. It was among the most expensive ones. Don't leave Naini Tal without buying some. There are enough shops selling them in Mallital. Last week (in the Christmas period) I was walking through a shopping centre here in Belgium and I saw some hand-made candles of similar height but of far inferior quality. The cheapest one was - I'll calculate the price in rupees - Rs 580 and one similar to the grapes (it was with leaves here) was about Rs 1860. Just to give an indication what stuff like that can cost you here. Other things to buy include rugs and carpets and shawls and tweeds.

First Trip To India: My mysterious guide

2008-10-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

Chapter Ten - My mysterious guide

On to Shravasti. The trip thither goes past some of the best scenery that Uttar Pradesh has to offer. Agreed, concerning natural scenery UP has nothing to offer , so a couple of hundred teak trees bunched together makes a great sight. The road goes through several small villages and settlements.

There's not much choice if you want to stay in Shravasti. First, you can decide to stay in nearby Balrampur in the UPT Bungalow. This has always been the accepted place to stay. In Shravasti itself, you can either try your luck at one of the monasteries, or you can go to the two-room Tourist Bungalow that has now opened its doors. Previously it was a privately owned building by some official of UP Tourism, but now it's been converted to accommodate tourists. There are only very few foreign tourists, so two rooms strangely enough is sufficient most of the time. The rooms are very good value at Rs 200 for a double. I read about this place in an advertisement of UP Tourism when I was staying in Kushinagar. We arrived there at night and had some trouble locating the place. There are also checkpoints before entering Shravasti, but these didn't pose the problem. The thing was that there was a power failure at that moment, so all buildings were covered in darkness. The Tourist Bungalow too. After passing the entrance a couple of times, we suddenly saw a sign saying 'Fast Food' and something else. We stopped to look. The 'something else' was 'Tourist Bungalow'. When we drove up the drive, somebody suddenly came out of the dark and asked if we wanted to stay the night there. We said 'yes'. This 'guard' also turned out to be the receptionist. He apologised for having to welcome us in the dark. We asked how long the power cut was going to last. He told us it would be switched on again at around nine (it was six at the moment), but "sometimes the power is out for 10 days". That gave us good hope. We were shown to our room. He carried candles, we had a flashlight. Although it was dark, we could see that the room was spotlessly clean and very spacious. It was nicely carpeted. There was a separate (large) bathroom and a separate sitting corner. When we were shown the bathroom, I saw some creature sitting in the middle of the room. When I shone the torch's light on it, I saw that it was a scorpion. "Very rare here", the receptionist / guard assured us. "We always sleep on the floor near the entrance and we've seen one only once before." We ? Yes, there was another guy... The cook. Ah, yes, that's right ! There was a sign advertising fast food. Well, let's try it then. The choice was very limited. So limited, in fact, that there was nothing really more than finger chips (chips or French fries were called finger chips everywhere I went in India) and stuffed paratha's. To drink there was a choice of tea, Thums Up or mineral water. We ordered all but the tea. It was around quarter past six. We had the 'meal' at 8.30. I remember finishing shortly after the lights went on. This was indeed around nine. The next morning we ordered breakfast, consisting of... yes, right... finger chips and stuffed paratha. I wanted to visit the ruins early enough to be able to comfortably drive to Lucknow. There's not a whole lot to see in Shravasti, so I decided not to waste any time there and opted to stay only one night. I ordered breakfast at six o'clock. I got it at around nine. This was really 'Fast Food' with capital F. The people were friendly enough, they just didn't have any sense for organisation. I just waited and watched the monkeys play. There are a lot of them in the morning. In the early morning the whole place is taken in by the langurs. After a while the macaques took over. Meanwhile, I also met an old fellow who was staying in the other room. He was alone and started talking to me in really good English. He wanted to know about me and what I was planning on doing here. Maybe I had started to become a little paranoid at that time, but I immediately suspected this person to be just another guide wanting me to show around the Shravasti ruins. He told me that he was asked as some sort of VIP at the inauguration of a new temple. He lived in Lucknow. It became clear that he was not looking to guide us around, but nevertheless I couldn't help thinking that anyone talking to me would do that without a reason. I was right. He wanted to know if we were occasionally going towards Lucknow. When I told him we were, he asked if he could come along. I didn't mind. We'd pick him up after we had visited the place. He was a nice guy to talk to and when I asked him if he was Hindu he answered me something that made me feel particularly sympathetic towards this guy. He said : "By birth I am a Hindu, but by faith I am a humanist and by thinking I am a rationalist." This was not the kind of answer your normal geek of the street would give, I thought. He coùld be some kind of VIP. When I told him that I was from Belgium, he became very enthusiastic and told me "from Belgium ? Very nice ! I have once met your king ! A great personality !" I thought, "yeah, right. That dude meeting our king ? Probably he wants to secure his ride." I also told him that our king (or the one he was supposed to have met) had deceased and that his son was now on the throne. He said he felt sorry. I asked him how come that he had met the king. He said that at that time he was the deputy director of UP Tourism. Yeah, sure.

After breakfast we visited the ruins. I found them a bit disappointing, although there are some great photographic opportunities with orange robe-clad monks wandering through the complex. There are also plenty of beautiful butterflies, drinking the nectar of the equally beautiful flowers.

Now about the ruins. Although not much recognisable remains, but the most interesting ones were : the Bodhi tree which marks the spot where Anathapindika planted a bodhi sapling, temple 1 & monastery, which are among the latest buildings to be erected at Jetavana, temple 2, originally called Gandhakuti, the Buddha well & temple 3 which marks the spot where the original Koshambakuti stood, built by Anathapindika and personally used by the Buddha, the place for the hawan or holy fire and a nearby tank used by the pupils of the Buddha. Then about a mile away from this complex are another two structures called the Kachchi Kuti and the Pakki Kuti. The former was built in different periods, the earliest being the Kushana period, the latest building phase was in the 12th century. It's a typical Gupta shrine. The latter is probably an ancient stupa, but it's also possible that the remains are the so-called Hall of the Law, built by king Prasenjit for the Buddha. On the way to these two buildings, one comes across an old Jaina temple. The visible dome is a medieval construction over an earlier Jain temple. It is the birthplace of the third Tirthankara, Sambhavanatha.

Other places to visit are the different monasteries in the same style as you see them at Sarnath and Kushinagar. The only difference is that here they are less used to 'normal' tourists, more to real pilgrims who also often spend the night there. There are Thai, Japanese, Burmese, Chinese and Sri Lankan monasteries.

After the visit we returned to the tourist bungalow to pick up our new made friend. We had a nice (but bumpy) trip all the way to Lucknow. On the way, we also visited a really big (!) cattle market at Kaisarganj. Ramnagar, just over the bridge crossing the Ghaghara river, is a good place for a stop and a drink at one of the food 'n' drinks stalls. They're probably OK, because they are heavily frequented by truck drivers.

Just outside Lucknow our 'guide' directed us to the place where the British were defeated by the Indian revolutionaries in 1857 during the First War of Independence. It's located at Chinhat, near Kathauta Tal. A small memorial stone commemorates this occasion. Foreigners are rarely seen here, although some locals told us that sometimes British nostalgics come here. There used to be a rest house, but it has been closed down now because the lake has dried up. In Lucknow we were shown a couple of places that are not in the guidebook but which are nevertheless interesting to see. First there was a nice Hanuman temple, called the Hanuman Setu Temple. It is located at Vishwa Vidyalaya Road (or University Rd) not so far from the river Gomti. It has an interesting Hanuman statue : Hanuman opens his chest and shows that he carries Rama and Sita in his heart. It's really unusual. The are also beautiful bas-reliefs, for example Hanuman and his companions building the bridge to Lanka. Photography was not permitted but I got permission after all because this man was accompanying us. What was it with that guy ? Was he really an important guy ?

Next, we visited the cremation place of Acharya Narendra Dev (1889-1956), just across the bridge over the river. He was the chairman of the Socialist Party in India and founder of the socialist movement in India. The place is only really interesting for the initiated ones or for Indians, but the views over the Gomti River are good. On the other shore, there are (unfortunate, but somehow picturesque) some slums.

To the west, still near the river and almost opposite to the Residency stands the Martyr's Memorial pillar (Saheed Samarak). I think it's quite clear why it was constructed (to commemorate the martyrs of India's struggle for freedom). It was opened on the 15th of August 1957 and is totally made of marble. From this place there's a great view towards the very beautiful arts college of Lucknow University. It's really worth its name 'arts college'. At sunset it is beautifully reflected in the river's waters and makes a great shot !

In a park near the crossing of Mahatma Gandhi Road and Aminabad Road stands a simple but beautiful statue of Lakshman, brother of Lord Rama. Belief has it that this area was given to him, so it is thought that the name Lucknow derives from Lakshman. That's why this statue is rather important. It's the personification of the city. Close to the GPO on Vidhan Sabha Marg stands the Vidhan Sabha Bhavan, the state governor's house. It's a beautiful building with a dome. Not far from the planetarium there's Lucknow Globe, which is just that : a globe, held up by a dolphin.

Now it was time for our friend and guide to go home. He invited us to come along, which we thankfully accepted. We met his family and in particular his son, who was also a well-educated person. We got tea and sweets and talked and talked. While sitting there in the living room, I noticed a large bookcase completely full of books. One of them had the title 'Developing rural communities in mountainous areas', a title that made me think that this guy had been telling me the truth all along. Still, he didn't look that important, nor did his house. In fact, it was just a ground level apartment in a large block. As if he was reading my thoughts, he told me : "Remember me telling you that I have met your king ?" I said I did. "Well", he said, "I have some photos about that, that I want to show to you." He handed me a photo album and there he was together with our former king. He had many shots of the occasion. He was also pictured together with other important people, like the king of Nepal and the president of Burma, the Maharaja of Benares and Indira Gandhi. And many more. He had indeed been a very important person. I felt a bit sorry that I hadn't believed him, but I had been told so many fairy tales along the way. He insisted on giving me one of the pictures of him with our king. I told him that I was honoured, but that he shouldn't give these memorabilia away. He kept insisting so I accepted. I told him I couldn't give him something even close to that but I would make a photo of all of us together so that we all could remember our meeting and so that he could add one more shot to his already great collection. He smilingly accepted. I have sent the two photo's that I made to him about two weeks ago and of course didn't get a reply so far. But I think I will. And even if not, I will still have great memories of this really interesting person who made a total difference from the masses and who made a day's travelling even greater than usual.

In a couple of days I think I was able to visit most of the sights, of course also including the best known ones. We saw the clock tower, the Jami Masjid and the Rumi Darwaza. The Bara Imambara was great. Entry to the whole complex was Rs 10. The ticket is a combined pass by which one can also visit the Picture Gallery, Clock Tower Garden, the Shahi Hammam in the Hussainabad Imambara's grounds and Rumi Darwaza. Guides wanted Rs 135 for a complete tour of the Bara Imambara. When I asked one of them how much it cost to guide me around the labyrinth (I could look around the central hall myself. I had bought a good booklet on the subject), he said one hundred and thirty-five rupees. The same for one third of the complex ! He, nor his colleagues, wanted to come down, so we decided to find our own way. In fact, I was glad I did, because it's great fun on your own, not knowing where you'll end up. There's nothing to see inside the labyrinth so wandering through the maze is the point of going there. There is something else, for the record, but I'll mention it later. The view from the roof is great in all directions and you can pinpoint a lot of the city's important buildings. When we got down again, the guides were awaiting us and said "You see, it is not interesting on your own. You don't know what to look for. There's no interest then." I told him that we had great fun anyway. We made our way to the entrance of the Bouli well. The guide followed us, repeating the same line again and again. He said : "Going inside there will not be interesting if you don't know what to look for. I can show you what to look for." I asked how much he wanted. He said "One hundred and thirty-five rupees." I told him that it was crazy asking the same price for one third of the complex as for the whole lot. He didn't want to come down. He said : "Tourists always pay 135 rupees." I said : "Well, if that's so, they're just plain crazy. I'm not going to pay that amount for this well, if another person can visit the whole shit for the same price. In fact, I wouldn't pay that sum for a complete tour. I can live a day of that money. How much would an Indian pay ? It's not because I am a foreigner that you have to rip me off." The man got seriously annoyed because of my refusal. He started acting so intense, that it started to attract a crowd. I remained calm and said : "Let's suggest that you want to visit this place and someone tells you that it is only interesting if you have a guide, because you won't get the essence of the whole thing otherwise. Well, let's also suggest that if that person asks you one thousand rupees. Well, you'll know that you will not see anything if you don't pay. Will you ?" In the long run, he had to agree with me that he could never pay that amount and even if he could he wouldn't. I said : "Well, it's the same with me. I can pay that amount, but it is my principle that I don't, because I know it's way too much, especially for only one third of the lot. So, no matter what you say, I will not give in." The crowds were closely following the debate, which lasted quite some time, and some people who understood English were translating for the others. Judging from some reactions, the people seemed to agree with me. At the end, the guide was convinced of his being wrong and said : "okay, I'll take you inside. You can give anything you want." Knowing that asking a specific amount never works if they say that, I told him that I would indeed give what I wanted and that it would be much less than Rs 135. He didn't mind and took me by the arm to go inside. The people in the crowds were wondering what this strange foreigner was going to do next and everybody followed us inside. The guide was right, I would probably never have seen what's so special about the place. If you're standing in one of the low-lying storeys around the well, people can not see you from the other side, although they are actually looking at you, because you are covered in darkness. They also can't see you from the entrance of the Baoli, because the storeys are hidden behind the stairs and too low to make you visible. But, you can see anyone who's standing there at the entrance ! It's an ingenious construction, however, I don't know if it was intended to be like that. The reflections of the water in the well are responsible for this. It's something like a periscope with the water acting as the mirror. It maybe sounds simple, but it's not that obvious if you're actually standing there. That's what's so special about this place. The guide told me that there's something similar with the labyrinth and the main gate. If you've seen either of these two (the labyrinth or the well), you know what to look for and you can find it yourself in the other building. We did. I gave the man a more than fair amount for his services. He was pleased and told me something like that he was respecting me for what I had told him during the discussion. I don't know why, but that's what he said. I said good-bye to him and the twenty or so other people from the crowd and left.

We were on our way to see the Hussainabad Imambara. Directly on your left after passing through the main gate is the Shahi Hammam, the 'royal' baths. You should see it as it is included in the Bara Imambara entry ticket, but it's not that interesting. Besides, the guard will appoint himself as a guide which is totally unnecessary. A visit is only a matter of minutes, so the tip is only a matter of a few rupees. He just follows you inside and says something in Hindi which you can't understand (if you don't speak the language of course). I thought he was asking me something about myself because his face was almost expressionless. Afterwards, it became clear that he had 'explained' me about the place (you know, the reached out hand in 'baksheesh style').

The Hussainabad Imambara is beautiful enough, especially with the tombs lining the grounds on both sides. Also the interior is quite a difference from the Bara Imambara. There are a lot of valuables inside and it looks as if they are jostling for space. From the ceiling many chandeliers and lamps are hanging down, many (or all ?) of them gifts. The silver throne is impressive. There's also a model of the Kirbala, the place where the family of Mohammed sacrificed themselves and a footprint of the prophet. When I was removing my shoes before entering the place, a man came standing next to me and asked me if I wanted a guide. I told him that I was fine on my own. He told me that it wouldn't be interesting on my own (sounded familiar) and that he didn't want much money for it. I asked him how much, but I already knew the answer. It indeed was 'as much as you like'. Well, "why not", I thought and agreed. He showed us around and explained about various items. I must say his explaining was clear and rather interesting, but very brief. I think it lasted about five minutes. Afterwards I looked around on my own a much longer time. When I was finished, he blocked the entrance and asked for his tip. I gave him something like twenty rupees. It was the smallest bill I had. I did have some coins, but I decided to keep them for other purposes. He was complaining that it wasn't enough and laughed as if I had given him 50 paise. Suki, my Indian friend who was still accompanying me, told him that it was more than enough, but still he wouldn't give up and started complaining loudly. Some Muslim men who were sitting near the entrance had their attention drawn to us. I got rather annoyed myself because it's always and everywhere the same : always that same bullshit about money. But still, I remained calm. He didn't. When I was indicating that I was going to leave, he called the guys at the entrance for backup, to support his cause. They came up and started bullshitting in Hindi. I got really fed up with these guys, but didn't pay. My pal must have felt that the situation was getting out of hand somehow and paid the guy another ten rupees. I told him he shouldn't have done that. The man greedily snatched the money bill out of his hand. Probably thinking that his technique had worked fine, he kept complaining that it was still not enough. I asked him if he was okay in the head, then said : "Do you want the rest of my money too, man ? Here take it." I handed him all the coins I had. "There," I said, "stick them up your ar*e." I must have looked angry enough because he stopped whining and stepped aside to let me out. Demonstrative, I refused going out through the main entrance and left by the side door. What a place ! I remember at the time advising myself not to hire any more guides in Lucknow. And, as a matter of fact, I can still only give that advice to my fellow travellers. Just outside the grounds, we also saw the Satkhanda which is particularly beautiful in the evening when it's warmly illuminated by the sun.

The Residency was a site where history was still alive and where you could really feel it. It's just great ! I took a long time to visit it (more than half a day), to absorb the atmosphere and to talk to people I met there, especially some university students. One particular guy I met came walking up to me, smiling. I smiled back and we said hello. He reached out both of his hands as to hand me something. The paranoid person that I had become, I was a bit reluctant to accept because I saw the rupee bills flying away again, but nevertheless I did. He gave me a handful of red flowers. I was a bit astonished and asked him "Why?" "Because you are my friend", he said and wandered off. Still rather perplex, I let him go, not even knowing his name. I suddenly realised what made travelling in India so special and so much fun. Just when you think you've had it with all the people hassling you and you're about to give up completely, you meet somebody who makes all these 'problems' so tiny and who gives you - let's call it - new courage to continue. These people are also part of the great differences to be seen in India. There seems to be only light and dark in India and not much in between. The experience of these stark contrasts is what you come here for and is what will make you return.

Entrance to the Residency was free, to the model room was Rs 1. The model room was really interesting because of the good drawings which really bring the hectic period of 1857 to life. The model itself was not so helpful and was covered with a thick layer of dust. Photography in the model room is not allowed. Downstairs in the basement it is. When I was looking for Sir Henry Lawrence's grave in the cemetery I was looking for something rather big. Instead, it turned out to be a very simple white stone slab.

I also went to the zoo, although I rarely do that when I'm abroad. I think the Antwerp zoo (Belgium), which is about 20 kilometres from my door, has a great collection of animals that are extremely well taken care for. But, I am very interested in reptiles, so when I read that the zoo in Lucknow has a large snake collection, I decided to go anyway. Unfortunately, it turned out be a rather poor collection regarding the number of reptiles. Also, half of it is badly visible because you have to look through dirty windows into dirty terrariums. Still, for an Asian zoo it's not so bad and most of the animals looked to be in better condition than some people I saw during my trip. There's a small admission charge.

The last place I visited in Lucknow was the Martinière School.
After reading through the list of places to stay, I decided to stay at Capoor's. When I arrived there, a guard informed me with tears in his eyes that Mr. Capoor had died and that the hotel was closed. A note on the door said the same. Too bad. Somebody recommended me the Hotel Gomti, but it was indeed very shabby. Prices for doubles were Rs 650 with and Rs 350 without air-con (excl. taxes !). I was immediately told that non-AC rooms were not available for me. The people at the reception were very unfriendly, close to being rude and the rest of the staff wasn't much better. A place to spend only one night, or better, no nights.

Hotel Elora is very conveniently located. Doubles, non-AC, cost Rs 350 (all incl.). The rooms are not that great value, but at least the place is clean enough. There's satellite TV. There's an attached bathroom with shower. You have to notify the reception for hot water.

At lunchtime, I went to the hotel's restaurant next door, the Seema. This restaurant is listed in the LP twice as being a good place to eat. I can't see why. The service was fast but bad and the people were close to being rude, not by speech but by their ignorance towards the customers. The food's taste was above average, but not really great at all. They even served chilly chicken without the bones removed. The result is that the whole dish was full of dangerous little bone splinters. It was not edible.

The same evening, around nine, I wanted to take a shower. So, I notified the reception to arrange the hot water for me. They told me they were seeing to it and that hot water would be running in my bathroom in 15 minutes. Around 9.20, I opened the tap. There was no hot water. There were two pipes with taps in the bathroom : the left pipe was about one meter high with a tap on top. The right pipe was about two meters high with a shower overhead and a tap on the same level as the one on the left pipe.

I waited another 10 minutes and tried again. No hot (not even slightly) water. Not having it at 9.45, Suki (my pal) called reception again. They had forgotten about it but were immediately going to fix it for us. Please, wait fifteen minutes for the water to get to the room. Okay ! 10.05. No hot water. Let's give it another ten minutes. 10.15. Still nothing. At 10.30 I started getting really tired of it and went downstairs to the reception. As soon as the man saw me, he started shouting at a room boy. He got really angry at that guy. "Sorry, sir. Hot water is coming now !", he said. The boy signed me to follow him. "Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir." He repeated it over and over when we went upstairs. Instead of going to my room, he went to a room two doors away. "Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir." He pounded on the room door. Repeatedly. After a few minutes a half-sleeping and half-naked Indian man opened the door and was wondering where the fire was. The room boy gazed at me a couple of seconds, said "sorry, sir" again and shot in the man's room. You could really read the surprise in that dude's eyes. What the hell is going on, he thought. And what is this foreigner waiting here for ? I felt a little ridiculous. Water could be heard running inside the room. Apparently, the boy was checking if there was only no hot water in my room. Suddenly, he came running out of the room again and went inside mine. The man was left standing there without any explanation. He shook his head in a way as if he was trying to wake up from a dream, and disappeared inside. The boy was already fiddling with the taps in my bathroom by the time I came in. "Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir." He opened the left tap (the one without shower head) and said : "Look, sir, hot water." I felt it and, indeed, it was warm. I asked him if there was also hot water in the right pipe. He told me there wasn't. I thanked him for his efforts. He smiled widely and left. "Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir." Of course, I didn't get any hot water ! I had been trying the wrong tap ! But, you would normally expect the warm stuff to come out of the shower, wouldn't you ? The time was around eleven now. I could forget about a shower, so I would have to wash up by hand now. I left the tap running while I applied the soap. By the time I had to rinse it off, the water had become so hot that you could easily burn off your skin together with the soap. I could do nothing but open the right (cold water) tap that was on the shower (right) pipe. Oh, I was in luck again. The tap didn't budge. There was no other option than to use the cold shower. I got out of the bathroom at around 11.30. I had been waiting for more than two hours to finally end up like this !
The next morning, I ordered breakfast with room-service. Time was around half past six. Some waiter from the Seema Restaurant came to my room and took orders. I got it 'round eight and half of the order was wrong. He was very annoyed when I brought this to his attention. He would fix it. Another 45 minutes later he came back in.
With all this going wrong, I decided to find another hotel the next night. I went to the Avadh Lodge. This is a really good place, and very nice too. It's like staying as a guest of a family in colonial India. The rooms are great and all different. Everything is clean and the staff is helpful and friendly. We wanted a non-AC double and had the choice of two rooms. One was Rs 220, the other one Rs 250. Really recommended, this place !

A very good and cheap enough place to eat in Lucknow is Meal Weal. It is centrally located (although not really in the crowded area) at the Commerce House, Habibulla Estate. Just take the street almost opposite Capoor's and continue for a couple of hundred meters. It's on the right then. It's a fast food joint, similar to Nirula's in Delhi. I went there several times and it was always good, fast and friendly. Sample prices : fried rice Rs 28.50, chilly chicken complete dish Rs 47.50, Indian vegetarian maxi meal Rs 34, soft drinks Rs 8. In Lucknow I also went to see an Indian movie in the Mayfair cinema, which is located at Hazratganj, along Mahatma Gandhi Road, again not far from Capoor's, on the same side. It's a modern place and rather comfortable. The film was an Indian production called 'Rangeela'. It was thé film of the moment and probably of the year. The film's tunes were played everywhere you went, also in Suki's car.

The movie was in Hindi, but the plot was so simple that I didn't even need subtitles. The film's photography and dancing scenes were good for an Indian film, but as with 95% of them, the story was as thin as a piece of paper. Although it lasted for almost three hours, it was good fun. Entrance for the Saturday evening showing was Rs 25.

First Trip To India: Off the beaten track

2008-10-14T12:23:00.000-07:00

Chapter Nine - Off the beaten track

The Hotel Gomti in Jaunpur has been closed down. Most of the locals advised me another place anyway : the Rajendra Rest House at 92/4-A Olendganj. Phone number : (05452) 62059. Clean enough doubles with attached bathroom (clean, but don't expect too much) go for Rs 80. The manager and his family are very friendly people who make you feel very welcome. They also run a travel company : Rajendra Tours & Travels. It had only opened its doors on the day I stayed there (Diwali). They claim to handle domestic and international air ticketing and railway reservations. The English vocabulary here is very limited though, but everybody is helpful and willing. I was told by locals all over town that this was the best place in town and better than the Gomti Hotel had ever been. Virtually next door is another rest house, but I've forgotten its name. It's not that important, because if you can find the Rajendra, you've also found the other one. Quality, I heard, is less.

The people in Jaunpur are very friendly and surprised to see a foreigner, especially if you venture out of the town centre. I attracted big crowds at the interesting Jami Masjid and Lal Darwaza Masjid.

Jaunpur Fort is worth visiting. There's an old pillar, a mosque and a hammam to be seen. None of them is particularly interesting, but they make a nice composition to look at and there are good views from the fort's walls, especially towards Akbari Bridge (the best view is from the fort) and on another side to the Atala Masjid.

In Jaunpur I met a cool Indian guy who would accompany me the following days. We went to Kushinagar where we stayed in the UP State Tourist Bungalow, Pathik Nivas. Non-AC rooms are Rs 315/400 for singles/ doubles. The manager is very friendly, speaks English well and is fun to talk to. He has some great opinions, for example about faith (Buddhists and Muslims) and about prophecies (especially those from Nostradamus). The rest of the staff is also really friendly. There's a restaurant also. There are limitations to what's on offer, but what is there is very good !

The rooms were something of a mini-zoo. I counted at least twenty different species of insects, some spiders and two species of lizards (one of them was biiiig)... all inside the room. The bathroom has Indian toilets. I had to go, so I pulled down my pants and sat down. It was crazy, but I suddenly felt and saw lots of insects jumping against my bottom and into my pulled down pants. My undies had some creepy crawlies inside now and they were having a ball. These little critters came from under the sides of the toilet bowl where the water comes out of. I had learned something : always flush before using ! Even if there is the possibility of using up your last water. The bugs were harmless, but it was just the fact that they were unexpected inside a clean toilet bowl. Now don't start thinking that the hotel was filthy. It wasn't. It's just located in an area where there's a lot of vegetation.

The sights in Kushinagar are limited but interesting enough (very for the pilgrims). The brick cremation stupa, the Ramabhar, is nothing special, but it's its supposed history that makes it worth a visit.

On the Mahaparinirvana Temple grounds, it's forbidden to take photographs. I did it anyway without anyone complaining. For a little bribe, the guards will even let you take pictures of the Buddha figure inside the building.

Near the serenely beautiful Indo/Japanese/Sri Lankan Buddhist Centre a new hotel has been built : the Lotus Nikho Hotel. It's Japanese and looks quite flashy. When I was there, signs said it was 'opening soon'. So, maybe by the time you read this letter, it will be open already.

From Kushinagar we continued with my new made friend's car to Ayodhya. On the way, he wanted his car serviced. So, we stopped in a very modern garage, located along the main road in Gorakhpur. It was a Maruti dealer and the equipment used there wouldn't look bad in a smaller European garage. We needed an oil change and a new oil filter. It's really unbelievable, but just this took around four hours to complete, without waiting time. Really, this was the actual working time. As the garage' sales executive said to me : "Labour is very cheap in India. The output is very poor." He told me another wise thing. One that I would remember at the end of my trip : "You Westerners are strong and Indians are not. But, Indians have a lot of resistance and you Westerners have not."

The garage is built on the shores of Ramgarh Tal. The management has bought part of the lake and is planning on making it a recreational area. In a later stadium they want to establish a floating hotel.

The maintenance of the car made us loose almost half a day, so it was late at night when we arrived in Ayodhya. We took a room in the Tourist Bungalow, Pathik Niwas Saket. A double was Rs 300. The restaurant served the most basic vegetarian food that I ate in India. The dhal was not half as good than when you had it from a street stall. The people were all friendly, but the food is terribly bland.

Greatest experience in Ayodhya was visiting the Babri Masjid. There was an already huge queue in the street near the first gate. I was advised to leave my camera in the car as carrying one can already cause problems here. The whole complex and its surrounding are guarded by armed soldiers of the national (not state) army. First we had to cross through a metal detector and a first checkpoint. From there we were directed to another gate where I had to show my passport and was interrogated by an intelligence officer (that's what he called himself). He was very friendly but thorough. A lot of questions were asked and it took quite a while. Only I, as a foreigner, had to undergo this procedure. I was very polite to the officer and kept smiling all the time. He took a bit of a liking to me and directed me to the front of another huge queue. A tip was appreciated but seemingly not really expected. After a while you tend to start giving money to people merely talking to you, because everybody expects something. When you then meet someone who doesn't, it appears strange. After getting in front of all these people, we had to walk through a long maze-like corridor of iron gates. Soldiers kept watch on everyone. I felt a bit like a prisoner at times. Really strange. Then, there was another checkpoint where my passport was checked again and I was asked a few questions again. No friendly guy here, though. We continued. At a certain point, an army officer was whipping up the devotees to start singing. Everybody complied and another mass hysteria was born (if not already there). On the birthplace of Rama itself there's nothing but a small shrine. A bit disappointing in itself. But it's coming here that creates the experience. After the shrine, much less security was prevalent and you only had to walk out the other side again (even that took some time, because of the crowds). At the exit, many kids try to sell you postcards, even very bloody ones with pictures from the riots. It's worth buying them, even if only to see at which place you're actually standing, to see what actually happened on the grounds you're treading on at the very moment.

The building of a new great temple for Rama has been initiated. I saw the scale model and it looked really impressive and astonishing. It will be built some distance from the actual birthplace but it will be huge.

An important temple that every visitor to Ayodhya should visit, is the Ram Mahal Temple. It's always very crowded. It's interesting because it offers a great opportunity to see the food for the sadhu's being prepared. A lot of these holy men can be seen sitting on the floor selecting and cleaning the ingredients. The food is then cooked in very large iron bowls (the wok-like type). It's great to see. Unfortunately in this temple I was hassled (in a rather big way) for money again.
Right across the street is the Shreemad Valmiki Ramayan Bhavan temple. It's a very interesting place to visit, because inside all the 24000 verses of the Ramayana are inscribed on marble slabs that are attached to the walls. The stories, known as the Valmiki Ramayana, tell about Lord Rama's life and exploits on this earth and are compiled and written by the first poet Maharshi Valmiki. They were originally written in Sanskrit. All the different versions of the Ramayana in various Indian and foreign languages owe their inspiration to Valmiki. The temple is big and spacious and is rather beautiful. I found it more impressive than the similar Tulsi Manas Temple in Varanasi.

The temple society organises a lot of activities. According to a leaflet they publish, these include : a free library and reading room, the International Shri Sitaram Nam Bank, the Universal Yoga Sadhana Centre, the publishing of a religious magazine called Avadh Mani Prabha, daily discourses - Satsanga, daily Ramayana classes, publication of spiritual literature, performances of Ram Leela and Ras Leela and a public dispensary. It's a relaxed place. Donations are highly appreciated but not a must at all.

When we went to see the Hanumangadhi, we needed a place to park the car. A friendly sweets seller near the Raja Dwara (which is, by the way, also a fine sight) waved to us and suggested to park it in front of his stall. It was a tight fit, but the stall owner directed, running 'round the car like a madman. When we got out, he insisted that we should buy some 'prashad'. If we didn't, we had to move our car. Of course, we didn't yield to such blackmail. We found another space and visited the Hunamangadhi after all. Not only the temple but also the fort with the guns actually lying on top of the sloping walls was a great sight.

After that we continued to nearby Faizabad. The first sights we came to were the mosques in the chowk area. Especially the green one is beautiful, making - together with the crowded street scene - a great picture.

We went to see the mausoleums of Bahu Begum and her husband, Nawab Shujaddaula. They're both architecturally interesting. You cannot go inside the first one. I tried to bribe the caretaker, but he was very reluctant to let me in; he was afraid that his superiors would catch us. When the amount of money became interesting enough for him (still only a few rupees), he showed me in. It was certainly worth the tip, but if you can't get in, I'd say don't lose sleep over it.

I spent a quiet afternoon in Guptar Park, which is definitely out of the way, being in the Cantonment area. The park itself was a bit disappointing, but the temples and the riverside made up for it. On the other side of the Ghaghara River, cremations were taking place. The male members of the mourning family were sitting on this side of the water. The elder son had shaved his head, indicating that his father had died (if the mother dies, the youngest son shaves his head). I silently watched their and other people's whereabouts from a distance. There were several small stalls selling food. Some of it was very good (and cheap).

First Trip To India: Varanasi, the Holy of Holies

2008-10-14T10:13:00.000-07:00

Chapter Eight - Varanasi, the Holy of Holies

After spending some time in Allahabad, I moved on to the most hectic (and dirty) city that I had ever seen : Varanasi. Hectic and dirty, but also mighty fascinating and inviting for a long stay. I checked out several hotels in the old city, but found all of them intolerably dirty. Especially the Seema Hotel on Mandanpura Road. Singles/doubles were Rs 200/225. I checked out several rooms (singles and doubles) and found all of them very dirty, especially the beds. They looked like the sheets had never been changed before. Some of the once white sheets were - honestly ! - black in the middle. Sick of spending hours trying to get through the evening traffic rush, I decided not to wait until an acceptable place popped up, but headed for the four-star Hotel Hindustan International, which had - comparing to the rest available in Varanasi - very good rates. A very large and clean single with actually two beds, bathroom and bathtub (!), colour TV and all the rest you expect to find in hotel of this type cost US$ 38 (a double would have been $62). Calculated to the going conversion rate at that time, this came to Rs 1170. This is cheap for a four-star, I think. And compared to some other places, it certainly wasn't a bad deal. Remember me talking about my first night in the Hotel Ashoka Palace ? Fourteen hundred rupees ! Remember the Connaught Palace, which is also four-star ? US$ 76 ! A four-star can never be really cheap - and you will have to tip more than you like (but isn't that the case everywhere in India ?) - but this one is actually good value for money. I even found the service was personal; also exceptional for big hotels. The food in the restaurant was the best I had of my whole trip and not so expensive. The head waiter is a very, very friendly (but classy) guy. Try and ask him for meal suggestions. He'll be delighted. I developed a really good understanding with this fellow during the days that I stayed there. At the end, he had my dishes prepared by the 'chef de cuisine' in person. A great way of savouring Indian food the way it has to be prepared. I am not a culinary freak but this was all really delicious ! The head waiter also kept me informed of Belgian people coming and going, although I - of course - didn't ask him to do that. One time, I was glad he did, because I had a great conversation with a Belgian guy, guiding a Belgian tour group. He told me great stories about travel in India with tour groups. Some of the people in these groups, he said, are totally unprepared to come to India. At home, they read a travel brochure advertising a fairy-tale-like country with only royal accommodation. Sometimes elder folks who have never even flown before, come here and are totally baffled by the culture, the religion and the traditions. Sometimes not. It depends, he said. But in every group there is at least one person who is terrified being in this country. Terrified, because in India you cannot escape from the problems of the man of the street. In fact, India's life IS the streets. No matter in what luxurious hotel you stay, you only have to look out of the windows to be confronted with the realities behind the fairy-tale. Stepping outside is stepping in. Some people go as far as not even joining in a guided excursion. They just sit in their hotels rooms, waiting for the bus to transport them to their next flight.

Astonishing, isn't it ? It's hard to imagine, but it's actually true. Some people in his group asked me about my travels so far. Some of them looked horrified when I told them that I was travelling alone, others were astonished to hear that I was already in the country for about one month and still not ill. Some of them were fascinated by this, but would never do it themselves.

We also talked about personal matters. He had come to India just to guide groups around and after about half a year he would have been returned to Belgium. Now, he had changed his mind. He was going to settle down here. He had met an Indian girl who he was going to marry soon. I asked him how he got in touch with her as I found it very hard to get into close contact with any Indian girl or woman but the most progressive ones in the big cities. This is probably the trip on which I talked to women least. It's far worse than in Muslim-dominated countries. He agreed. He had experienced the same 'communication problems' as me. An Indian guy who was sitting with us, also agreed but could not give a sensible explanation why. For the tour guide it had been easier, he told me. His future wife was working in the same business as he was. So they had met.
He also told me that the tour operator he was working for, had changed to this hotel after having several people suffering of food-poisoning in the Hotel Taj Ganges.
Varanasi has a lot of interesting sights for us, travellers. I tried to visit as many as possible. One day I got up (very) early and went to see the activities going on at the ghats. First by boat, later also on foot, making my way through the great maze of narrow alleys. I didn't feel claustrophobic; it was great ! It's also great when you have a guide. I tried it that way too.

Hiring a boat for a trip on the Ganges to see the ghats was as entertaining as it was in Allahabad to get to Sangam. The first asking price was also ridiculously high and they won't come down very much. Seven hundred rupees was the absolute bottom (I tried with several guys. This was it !). This is, to hire the entire boat. Hiring a place in a boat is cheaper (divide the above amount by the amount of people; normally around fifteen or twenty here). Promised (read : agreed) 'tour' was starting from Dasaswamedh Ghat to Bachraj Ghat, then back past Dasaswamedh Ghat up to Trilochan Ghat. Then back to Dasaswamedh, of course. Promised boating time was two hours. Reality was a bit different from that. The outer boundaries were the Almagir mosque and Shivala Ghat. Boating time was 90 minutes.

The burning ghat of Manikarnika was a great (sorry, interesting) place to see from the river but going there on foot is a must. It's fascinating to see all these piles of wood lying there, waiting to be burned together with the bodies. There's also a big pair of scales to weigh the wood. It's sold by the kilogram. I visited the small Shiva (who else ?) temple which looks out over the burning ghat. I came here with my own guide, but a 'tour' of this ghat had to be given by one of the priests here. He was of course after my money too, but nevertheless he was a rather amiable person. If you want to take photographs at this ghat, you will certainly need a priest here. You will then be allowed to take pictures of the woodpiles, the scales and everything else except the bodies being cremated. A little trick that I used here is to tell the priest that you want to take his photo while he is standing in one of the tower-like structures that look out over the ghat. He'll be delighted (hopefully). Put a wide (e.g. 24 mm) wide-angle lens on and you'll be able to snap one of the pyres (I was). By paying over Rs 500 you might even be able to shoot the whole burning scene. I decided not to waste my money and took a lot of good photographs of the cremations with a strong telephoto lens while on the river. I was never hassled this way and also did it at the Harishchandra Ghat. Near Manikarnika Ghat there's also a special house where very, very poor or very, very ill people are housed, awaiting their deaths. The priest showed me the place and told me that the temple holders of Manikarnika allow these people's bodies to be burned on account of the temple community. At Shivala Ghat you can also see one of Mother Theresa's homes.

At Rana Ghat, near the way marker to the New Vishnu Rest House, one can see the water level indicator marks that show how high the water of river Ganges was. According to the marks, it's been at its highest in 1978 and 1948 (it was way above most of the small gates leading up the stairs), with 1957 a close second.

At Dasaswamedh Ghat (maybe elsewhere too) someone may come up to you and reach out to shake hands. If you do, you might end up getting a hand massage which is not cheap at all. I was warned about this by an Australian dude when somebody was planning on doing this to me.

The Nepalese temple was interesting, but hassles for big money also occur here.

Among the other places that I visited in Varanasi are...

...the Golden Temple. Great, only too bad that you can't go in. I saw it from a shop called Uday Silk Kala Kendra. The people were friendly and not pushy here. Their items looked very good and although I'm not a connoisseur, the prices looked pretty okay too. There are a lot of guards around here and Aurangzeb's mosque, making a visit to the latter nothing to speak of.

...Durga or Monkey Temple. Non-Hindus can now go in. Somebody told me that it was due to the government putting pressure on the temple management to loosen up their policy towards foreigners. And they did ! The temple is certainly worth the visit.

...Ram Nagar Fort & Museum. The return ferry trip across the Ganges costs three rupees. It's Rs 1.50 to enter the Ram Nagar museum. It's interesting enough, but some of it (e.g. the display of the cars) is totally neglected. Also the buildings themselves are in a sorry state. Interesting items for me were the present(s) given to the Maharaja by the deceased king of Belgium, Boudewijn I and the really big, old clock that was ignored for many years but has been repaired a while ago. All in all, I found the short trip to Ram Nagar more of an experience than the fort itself. Some people I talked to, including Indians, agreed with me.

...Bharat Mata temple. In one word : fantastic. Good views from upstairs, but they'll cost you five rupees. There's a very good book stand here selling lots of books and postcards about Varanasi & surroundings and about religious subjects.

...Tulsi Manas temple. Not bad at all, but describing it as a 'very enjoyable' visit would be exaggerating. Only if you can read Hindi, are the texts on the walls interesting. The different main chapters are denoted in English, but that's as good as nothing.

...New Vishwanath Temple. An interesting and beautiful temple, the interior as well as the exterior. Photography is not a problem here and there are some good opportunities : the architecture, the rhinoceros outside and the lingams inside. The activities around the main lingam make a great shot, but there's also a very beautifully sculptured, black Shiva lingam, with the faces of the god all over it.

When in Varanasi, a visit to nearby Sarnath is essential and I liked it a lot. My visit to the excavation area was considerably enlivened by a Burmese monk who accompanied me. He was a first timer here too and wanted to know more about the place himself. I hired a guide (very cheap; just a matter of rupees) to show us around.

The archaeological museum here has a great collection, the eye-catcher obviously the capital of the Ashoka pillar. Then there's the great, well-known Buddha sculpture too and if you've just visited the excavation site, you're interested in seeing the large 'umbrella' which used to cover the Buddha meditation site. It's only too bad (again) that photography is not allowed inside the museum. All bags have to be left at the ticket booth which has a left luggage service. Unfortunately, I couldn't cram my bag into the lockers. It was too big. If you're alone and you want to see the museum (everybody would want to, if only to see the capital of the pillar), then there's only one option left and that is to leave your valuables with the luggage guard, an old 'n' friendly guy. I took my chances. While inside, I couldn't help but rushing through to be able to return to my bag with my invaluable photographs as soon as possible. When I did, everything was still there and I handed the guard a good tip. Ticket price is Rs 0.50 per person.

Between the museum and the excavations (but nearer to the latter) is also a welcoming Sikh gurdwara. Another welcoming, but very touristy place, is the Mulgandha Kuti Vihar. Inside the temple there's a good booklet about the frescoes available. Unfortunately, it's hellishly expensive : Rs 75 for only 20 small pages. Continuing past the museum along Ashoka Marg, you'll come to the Chow Khandi stupa. It's not that interesting, but is also less touristy and makes a nice short escape from the crowds. It dates back to the Gupta period.

To conclude my visit of Sarnath, I took a tour of the monasteries. It may look a bit stupid to try to rank them in descending order of interest, but I do it anyway, just to give an idea of which one(s) I'd recommend to visit if you're short of time (like some people that I saw and were on a package tour). Here goes : the Tibetan, Japanese, Thai, Chinese and Burmese.

After busy Varanasi, I went to Jaunpur. The evening I went there, it was Diwali, one of the big Hindu festivals. So, the trip and the stay were enlivened with fireworks, crackers, sweets and oil lamps burning everywhere. It would have been great to have been in Varanasi that time, but I decided to leave anyway. I don't really know why. Perhaps for several reasons. First, I felt that I had to move on at that time because I had already overstayed my (very rough) schedule. There were more places to be seen, so no matter if you take a liking to a place, you have to move on. Secondly, I wanted to experience the celebrations in a smaller place to see how things work there. And last, I suppose that I got a bit scared of getting burns, getting deaf and getting blind because of the massive fireworks and bomb attacks. What ? I'm a sissy ? Maybe, but I heard some frightening stories from some more sensible Indian folks while strolling through Varanasi the night before the big celebrations (there were already explosions everywhere, even at that time). A very good advice for all people participating or wanting to participate in the celebrations, is to take good care not to get hurt by this stuff. In Belgium and the Netherlands there are a lot of regulations which to respect when handling fireworks and regardless of this, every year still many people get burned badly or get deaf. In India, there are no rules. So take care.

First Trip To India: Allahabad

2008-10-14T10:10:00.000-07:00

Chapter Seven - Allahabad

I crossed the UP/MP state border again to go to Allahabad. First on my list of things to see was of course a trip to Sangam. The first thing I had to do, was get down to the beach by the fort and arrange a boat to take me there. Several boatsmen came up. They asked ridiculous prices like Rs 1100. This was for a private boat. If you want to go in an overloaded boat with many people carrying urns, you can. It's an experience and you then pay the amount asked for a personal boat divided by the number of passengers. Normally about 20 or 25. I had to bargain VERY hard and even then I couldn't get very low. Seems that the actual owners of the boat tell their employees not to go under a certain amount or they won't get any commission, although they do all the work. I took a private boat and agreed on US$ 20 and Rs 50 as a tip. We set off for Sangam, together with dozens of other boats that were generally so full that they were about to be submerged. On the way, we saw a couple of corpses floating down the Yamuna. The rower told me that poor people who cannot afford to have the bodies of their relatives burned, often let the body slide into the holy river's waters. This especially happens at night when there are no police patrols on the shores (there are in the daytime). At the Sangam a colourful crowd had gathered. I was the only tourist, strangely enough. The meeting of colours with boats lined up along it, was a strange but photogenic sight. People were swimming in and drinking from the holy water. Ashes were poured overboard. It was a real craze that was going on here; people were almost ecstatic. My rower told me to come with him. We jumped from boat to boat, finally ending up in one where a priest was sitting and offering blessings. He told me to sit down. I did. He asked for my name and the name of my wife. I told him that I wasn't married. He nodded and wanted to know my parents' names. I told him those too. He took three coconuts, put them in front of him (so in between us) and asked me to repeat after him the blessings that he was going to speak out. I was a bit fascinated and complied. It was all in Hindi, so I couldn't understand anything but my and my parents names (vaguely). I tried to repeat it all as well as I could. When he was finished he said : "Now put money here." He pointed at the three coconuts, which represented me and my parents. "Money ?", I asked, "How much ?" "Five hundred. Here." (pointing at the nuts again) I asked him if he was crazy or something. Five hundred rupees for a blessing. He told me that in my 'prayers' I had agreed (in Hindi) to give five hundred rupees as an offering. I said I was not intending to give that amount of money. I looked in my money belt to look for some small money, but noticed that the smallest bill I had was Rs 100. I thought "what the hell" and forked it out. He told me to put it on the nuts. I did, but he said : "That... one nut !" "Another Rs 100 on this (pointing at the second nut) and another Rs 100 on that one (the third)" I took the money and placed it in a way that it touched the three nuts. The priest (or whatever you can call a person behaving like him) got really upset now. But finally, so did I. I was very close to tearing up the bill and placing three pieces of it over the nuts when somebody who saw the situation gradually getting out of hand, spoke to the priest and - after that - told me to put the three nuts in the holy water. I did. The priest started to demand money again. The other person took me by the arm and suggested me to get up and leave the boat. To prevent further complications I followed the man's wise proposition, leaving the angry priest behind. A companion of his was fishing the three coconuts out of the water again, to be re-sold. I made my way back over the rolling boats. When I arrived in my own, I asked my rower to bring me a bit more to the South, because the light was better for taking a photo from there. He didn't respond and then I saw that he was performing some ritual, making a cup of his hands and drinking the delicious Ganges water. I decided not to disturb and sat down, my back towards him. Suddenly, at a moment when I didn't expect anything to happen, he poured half a bucket of the filthy, stinking water over my head. His way of offering me a blessing.
Looking back at the end of my trip, I can honestly say that at Sangam I saw the worst display of Hindu religion misbehaviour that I came across. Once again, it was proven that all religions (I'm not saying 'faiths'; I mean the people that are pulling the strings in a small or big way) just have one real goal : making as much money as possible on the backs of the ones that have the pure faith. I've seen perfect examples in Europe of the Roman Catholic Church (I suppose Lourdes in France sounds familiar ?), but the Hindu's too are incredible ! After this, I went to see the Patalpuri Temple and the Undying Tree. Both rather uninteresting, I found out. Of course the fascinating religion-crazy people were there again, but apart from that it's not worth the time.
I then went to a place where there were no crazy priests and the likes : the All-Saints Cathedral, locally known as Patthar Girza. A deserted place in a busy city. If you are used to catholic churches at home, it's a strange sight to visit one in which almost nobody seems to have an interest in . I visited another church in Allahabad. It had been turned into a sports complex. Apparently, the rule of 'once a temple, always a temple' cannot be extended to 'once a church, always a church'.

Anyway, about the A.S. Cathedral again. I visited it with an Indian fellow who had never been in a church before. He was quite fascinated by it and asked me a lot of (religious) questions. As I'm not a very religious person myself, I was fortunate to be able to answer them. On our way out, a little old man shuffled up to me and handed me a leaflet with information about the church. The expression of his face, the humbleness of his gestures touched me. He said good-bye to me, not expecting anything in return. I thought back to my experiences at Sangam the very same morning. I said to myself : "If I gave 100 rupees to that arsehole Hindu priest back there, I can also give it to this guy." He was very pleased. In a way, I felt sorry for this little man. There he was, alone in that big church, waiting for nobody to turn up. At least, that's how it seemed to me. And yet, he had this certain 'flair' that made him look very concerned about his task.

On to the Anand Bhavan. It's a fascinating place and indeed a particularly well-kept museum. It's still Rs 2 to visit the places upstairs, which every visitor should. Outside (on ground level) is the platform on which Indira Gandhi was married. There's also a nearby planetarium.
There's a book shop in the complex selling some postcards and lots of books, especially about the Nehru's and Gandhi's of course.
After visiting the Anand Bhavan, one could hardly express his/her thoughts better than as shown on the plaque near the entrance : 'This house is more than a structure of brick and mortar. It is intimately connected with our national struggle for freedom, and within its walls great decisions were taken and great events happened.'
I also paid a visit to the university, which was interesting.

My hotel in Allahabad was the Presidency Hotel, because I was longing for a relaxing bath (the LP guide states 'the bathrooms have bathtubs'). I wanted a single room. A standard room was Rs 650, a 'deluxe' room Rs 750 (both excl. 5% luxury tax). The only difference was the size, for the rest the rooms were exactly alike. But... There were no bathtubs in either of the rooms. If you wanted one, you had to fork out a couple of hundred rupees more and take one of the different types of suites. I thought that a standard room was more than expensive enough. Typical Indian hotel room malfunctions were also present : the toilet didn't flush and no matter how hard you tried, hot water refused to come out of the taps. The room and beds were clean, though. The staff was friendly enough. The food in the tiny restaurant (only 8 places; they're used to serving in the rooms here) was pretty good, the service OK.

First Trip To India: Chitrakoot - One holy place in two states

2008-10-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

Chapter Six - Chitrakoot - One holy place in two states

Chitrakoot is an important Hindu pilgrimage place. It was in Chitrakoot's deep forests that Rama and Sita spent eleven of their fourteen years of exile. It was here that the Trinity of the Hindu pantheon, Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh, took their incarnations.

There are a lot of places that can be visited in Chitrakoot and chances are that you'll be the only Westerner there, because it sees few foreign (or "white") visitors. A very important place is the Ramghat, where there's always a lot of religious activity going on. Boats can be hired to cross the Mandakini river. Kamadgiri (also called the original Chitrakoot or the embodiment of Rama) is a hill at which base are several temples, especially important to pilgrims, who often complete the ritual circuit or parikarma of the hill to ask for a blessing. Interesting for us too, is the Bharat Milap temple, marking the spot where Bharata is said to have met Rama to persuade him to regain the throne of Ayodhya.

Opposite Kamadgiri lies another hill, a bit out of town. One can climb this steep hillside to visit the Hanuman Dhara temple, which is the location of a spring, said to be created by Rama to assuage Hanuman, returning after setting Lanka on fire. At the base of the stairs that go up, you are more or less supposed to take a sip from the holy spring water which will also contain some leaves from the holy plant (for a donation). On the way you'll see several people selling religious stuff, offering blessings or selling food for the monkeys (yes, there are plenty; this IS Hanuman territory). The temple itself is a very plain white-painted building. You must wash your hands and feet before entering. It's nice to sit in front of the holy spring for a while and look at the faithful, who sometimes are really fanatic about receiving a blessing.

The views over the plains across to Kamadgiri are good. It's a quiet place in the sense that you are not being hassled for money. Nowhere in Chitrakoot, in fact. And no tourist prices : a book of 30 postcards was Rs 5. And no tourist facilities... The only place where, for instance, you can find soft drinks is the MP and UP Tourist Bungalows. I stayed the night in the former (the latter had no vacancies). A large single room with attached shower (hot water was wishful thinking, though) cost Rs 100. Doubles are Rs 125 (all rooms plus 5% taxes). There are apparently also cheaper rooms available. The people are friendly in this place. Simple meals can be had. I only took breakfast. It was indeed simple, but good. And cheap.

Upstream from Ramghat, along the Mandakini river, is the Janaki Kund. It's in this idyllic setting that Sita used to bathe during the years when she and Rama were exiled. Her footprints can still be seen here. Many people seem to follow her example and come to bathe in these especially blessed waters. The monkeys that live here perform acrobatic somersaults from the trees into the river. A funny sight !

Getting to Janaki Kund is not particularly difficult. It's only a few kilometres away and you can get there by road or by boat from Ramghat. Another few kilometres beyond Janaki Kund is another densely forested area on the river banks : Sphatik Shila. You can climb up to a boulder which is believed to bear Rama's footprint. A couple of temples are around.

A highly interesting spot, I think, is Bharat Koop. It's the place where Bharata stored holy water collected from all pilgrimage places in India. It's about 16 kilometres out of town and is a small, isolated spot. 18 kilometres from the town is a pair of caves. One of them is high and wide with an entrance through which one can barely pass. The other one is long and narrow with a stream of water running along its base. It is believed that Rama and his brother Lakshmana held court in the latter cave, which contains two rocks that are throne-shaped. The place of these caves is known as Gupt-Godavari.

First Trip To India: Khajuraho - More than erotic temples

2008-10-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

Chapter Five - Khajuraho... More than erotic temples

The temples of Khajuraho really live up to their reputation, creating a photographer's paradise (there are a lot of details to shoot). The exterior of some of the temples in the Western group is under restoration. There's nothing new to say about the Khajuraho temples. I think everything has already been said about them. Something personal maybe... I came down with a simple but frequent diarrhoea in Khajuraho so when I was walking around in the Western group, I needed to go urgently. There is a public toilet there and it's relatively clean. It was pointed out to me by a local. It's between the Lakshmana and Kandariya Mahadev temples.

Entry to the Western group is 50 paise and also gives admission to the archaeological museum in which photography is regrettably not permitted (as in so many other places in India). You have to stow your bag in a locker. Apart from that diarrhoea, I was feeling good that day so I even hired one of the museum attendants to show me around. The person was friendly (he even invited me to stay the night at his house) and not greedy at the end, but the explanations of the sculptures were limited to giving me the names of the depicted deities. The reason was probably that his English wasn't up to much.

Admission to the Jain museum in the Eastern group was still 1 rupee. The collection may be interesting because of the 24 tirthankars, but it made no great impression on me. The sculptures were just not impressive enough.

I wanted to spend the night in the Tourist Bungalow, because to me it seemed as one of the better deals. Unfortunately, it had been closed down. The signs to it are still around, but business has definitely finished. I went to the Hotel Payal, but it was full. On to Hotel Jhankar then. Over there, they had a single room for me. Without air-conditioning the rate was Rs 225 plus 10% luxury tax. The room was good but the staff was not friendly at all and they refused to accept my Citibank Visa card, although the sticker was on the door. You can have a massage by a professional 'masseur' for US$ 3. Judging by the recommendation book he was carrying, he did a good job, but I refused anyway. The restaurant's menu lists a variety of dishes. Unfortunately, not much of that is available. Dinner is served from 7 PM on. I entered the restaurant about 30 minutes before that, but could only get a snack. All right... "Where are the snacks on this menu ?" "Snacks is the same as breakfast, sir." So there you are, ordering scrambled eggs on toast in the evening. The speed of service reminded of these Indian road signs, saying "Dead Slow !". After 40 minutes (dinner could already be served), the waiter came over and told me that there was no toast to put the eggs on. I said to bring it without, then. Twenty minutes later, I got them. Then, I left to see the folk dances. After I returned, I was of course still (or more) hungry. So, I went back to the restaurant. After waiting for about 15 minutes the waiter came up and I ordered something from the Tandoori clay oven. "Sorry, sir, we don't have anything Tandoori", although there were about ten dishes on the menu. I said : "Okay. Then I'll have this chicken biryani." "Sorry, sir, no chicken biryani. Actually, it is best if you order something Chinese. We have Chinese." I ordered chilli chicken and as a dessert, I would have liked caramel custard. "Sorry, sir, we don't have that." Why, how is that possible ? I asked him : "Is there anything on this menu that you do have ?" "Yes sir, we have all of that, but no caramel custard, only fresh fruits." I told him not to bring any dessert. I could as well buy fruits for a lot less along the road.
It took only half an hour to prepare my food this time. The quality was nothing spectacular. Conclusion : don't eat here if you don't have to ! Also in the town, you see a lot of advertising for an Italian restaurant / pizzeria. Don't go there either. The pizzas are barely edible.

I already mentioned that I went to see the folk dance. In and around the Jhankar Hotel, people told me that there are no longer performances in the Chandella Cultural Centre. Instead, there are now performances at a place called Shri Swami Shiva Nand Chandela Traditional Cultural Dance & Music. Entrance is still a hefty Rs 120 per person (they don't call it an entrance fee, but a donation), but at least it's less than it used to be at the Chandela C. Centre. What is a bummer, is that they also have the nerve to ask Rs 100 for photography. But, let's concentrate on the program. Two shows of half an hour each are being staged. The first is a typical folk dance (Rai), the second one is tribal (Diwali). The group is the same, but in different dresses. There are seven male musicians/dancers and two female dancers. The director is a Mr. Surendra Kumar Sharma alias Gautam. He's really fanatic about his business. He introduces the dancers, announces the different dances and operates the lighting equipment, which is the living room's lamps (the dance is staged in a large living room or the like). This guy really wants to make a good impression. The artists also do a good job, I think, they're also very much into it. One particular small guy really seems to get into some kind of trance, especially in the tribal dance where he performs like a real caveman, or make that tribesman. After the show, Mr. Sharma came over and asked us what we thought about it. To everyone who liked it (we all did, as there had been only two of us watching, which wasn't really encouraging for the artists), he asked to write a letter to Lonely Planet. This guy is definitely convinced of LP's power as guidebook publishers. He understands only too well, that if he gets a good review more people will come over. I told him that if he wanted to get a good review he should be dropping his ridiculously high prices. He didn't seem to understand my point somehow. But, on the other hand, I had respect for his efforts, so I decided to write a small letter for him. He was really happy. So were the dancers, whom I had the change to talk to afterwards. They were all very friendly and very pleased that a foreigner took an interest in them. I suppose Lonely Planet now regularly receives letters written with recommendations for him.

The place to go to is Shankar Garh village near Pahil Vatika, Khajuraho. It's show time every day from 6.30 to 7 PM (Rai) & 7.15 to 7.45 PM (Diwali). Second program starts at 8 PM with the same shows.

A nice side trip from Khajuraho is to Raneh Falls, about 15 km out of town. You cannot do this trip during the monsoon, as the falls are made out by the bed of the river Ken. You can take a guide or follow some other people who have done just that. You'll be walking in the river's path actually, over granite rocks. It's a nice walk that lasts maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. In the distance, on the river banks, are the surrounding jungles. At some points you can see perfectly circular pits which have been carved out by small rocks in a whirlpool of turbulent water. In the monsoon, the river's water level is at its max or beyond, so you can't see the falls which otherwise are impressive enough. At the point of departure, there are a couple of refreshment stalls.

First Trip To India: Gwalior and surroundings

2008-10-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

Chapter Four - Gwalior and surroundings

Gwalior was a nice place to spend some time. The Mohammed Gaus and Tansen tombs were interesting, but the buildings inside the fort's walls were really impressive, especially the Sas Bahu temples of which the first was really baffling. With views all over Gwalior (you can see the Gaus tomb very good from here) this made a great place for a picnic, something on which a couple of Indian families seemed to agree with me. The Teli Ka Mandir was great from the outside (especially due to its height), but was a bit of a disappointment on the inside. The Man Singh Palace's exterior made the most photogenic spot in the fort.

From Gwalior I went to Shivpuri. The chhatris are really mind-blowing, on the outside as well inside. There's a small entry fee being asked, but what's more important, the chhatris close at 12 noon, only to re-open at 4 or 5 PM. If you have the time (like me) it's nice to go in the morning as well as in the evening. At night the monuments are very beautifully illuminated. I spoke to someone who told me that this is not standard procedure. There has to be paid for the light and "a rich family" had done so. Price for having the lights on was Rs 25. At night there are often (I heard) people making music and singing inside the chhatris. It's nice then to sit down for a while, listen and just suck up the atmosphere. Great ! In the mother chhatri ask some official to lift the white sheet or carpet (or whatever you call it) for you on the side of the shrine. Under there is a 10 meter long snake skin.

In Shivpuri I also went to the Madhav National Park (entry : Rs 10), but I found it a disappointment. There wasn't much to see and I felt very lucky to see a wildcat, some vultures and a nilgai (a type of large antelope), just to give me a break from boredom. In a special enclosure some tigers are contained. Supposedly they can wander around in there at will, but when I was there they were kept in zoo-style, meaning that you get a very up-close look but there's no sense of the wild anymore at all.

A nice viewpoint in the park is from King George's Castle. This architecturally unusual castle is built on the highest point of the park by a Maharaja for King George the Fifth's visit. He stayed there exactly one night. After that the building has been mostly abandoned. It would make a great place to stay, but you can't. Inside is a small exhibition about the National Park, if you can still make out something under the dust. The reason to come here are the magnificent views from the roof (for which you also have to climb on a small ladder). The lakes are very beautiful from here. If you bring your own food, this can be a great picnic spot. Tea is available : an old woman sells cups for Rs 3.

If you want to stay in Shivpuri and are planning to visit the park, then you can stay very nearby at the old boat club (founded in 1923) which isn't a boat club anymore, but a place to accommodate visitors. You can stay there in a (rather ?) basic room for about Rs 100-120. There are seven rooms. Better is to go to the Tourist Village which has really excellent, comfortable cottages. A single (which actually is a whole cottage) without air-con cost me only Rs 275 (plus 10% luxury tax). This was the best price/quality deal of my whole trip. The room was spotlessly clean. There was a sitting corner and a good bathroom with hot water shower. Mosquito coils were lit for me. The whole staff is very friendly and helpful. There's also a good enough restaurant. At the reception several postcards and leaflets were available for a few rupees. The people are informative.

If you travel from Shivpuri by road to Jhansi, you can make a stop on the bridge over river Sind. There are good views. Another bridge to spend a few minutes is over the Mahuar river. From there you can see Karera Fort which looks impressive enough. There are also people bathing, swimming and doing laundry in the river.

Jhansi itself was a disappointment for sight-seeing, as I had expected after reading about it. Sight-seeing here is definitely only to be done to kill the time if you're waiting for transport. The Rani Mahal's museum collection was so exciting that even the insects seemed to had died of boredom. At least the entrance price is right : it's free. Jhansi fort was good for a walk around, but the views were not that great. Down the walls on one side, the history of the fort is shown in a display of life-size metal dolls, including the Rani of Jhansi leaping of the walls with her horse and charging against the British with her adopted child on the back. It's very simply done (though nicely), but it gives an idea of what happened here. You'll need somebody to translate the signs for you as they're only in Hindi. Entry to the fort is 25 paise.

Even the Jhansi Hotel was a bit of a disappointment. Okay, you can still tell that the place has been British in a very distant past, but the whole made a bit of a neglected impression. A single room with good cooling (no A/C) was Rs 250 (without the 5% luxury tax). There was a shower, but it didn't work. Well, the room was okay enough, but coming from the Tourist Village in Shivpuri with similar prices, this was like the difference between day and night. The problem in this hotel was the restaurant and especially the head waiter. He was an old and very annoying, rude man. First, he came up with identical menus that had different prices quoted. Then, when I ordered the things I wanted, almost nothing was available. There was virtually no choice for me than ordering Shami Kabab, white rice and chapati's. When I did, he very rudely answered : "How can you eat chapati without curry ?" I answered something in the sense of that I would have ordered a curry dish if they only had it available. This seemed to piss him off even more. Also when I ordered another drink or so and he had to come over to my table, he looked annoyed too. I noticed him behaving in a similar fashion against other customers, so it wasn't a personal thing. It wasn't a temporary habit either, as he was exactly the same type of guy the next day. Everyone I spoke to found that the hotel took a serious dive in their opinion because of this person.

The trip to the palace of Raj Bir Singh Deo in Datia is really worth it ! It's just fantastic. The caretaker of the place guided us around for a small tip. I recommend taking him, because a guide is useful in this place. If you're standing at the entrance of the palace and you're looking back towards the town, you can see a couple of other buildings. The one close-by is a former prison. The palace-like building in the distance is indeed that : Bhawani Singh Palace, built in 1620 by Singh Deo. The best time to be here for a visit, I think, is about an hour before sunset, so that you can walk around inside and be at the top when the sun is setting. This was one of these magical places, where you could really sense the past. This is a place like Agra Fort, where the threshold between the expected and the reality is high. The views in all directions are great. Vultures and swallows were all over the place; the palace's towers with vultures sitting on top of them in the evening light made great pictures. Places in the palace which were worth seeing were the dancing room with its decorations (unfortunately a bit blackened by smoke when in the first part of this century some refugees resided here), the court, the queen's room which is in the middle of a long row of pillars, the chief minister's house and the Maharaja's room.

Orccha was also more than worth its time. First I wanted to go to inside the Ram Raja temple but no leather items could be brought inside. I decided to give it a pass then, because there are some leather pads stitched on my photo bag and I didn't want to leave it outside unguarded. Externally, the temple with its pink and yellow colours looks out of place between the other structures. The nearby Chaturbhuj Temple is worth a visit.

Dinman Hardaul's Palace may have an interesting story behind it, I found it somehow disappointing because it had a neglected appearance. So were the Phool Bagh Gardens. In the same complex of buildings are the more interesting Sawan Bhadon pillars, which can be seen from the street and represent the rainy and spring seasons, and the Hardaulka Bhaitaka, Hardaul's resting place. Here in a garden, Hardaul used to lie and rest in a bed which stands in some kind of pavilion. It's a strange sight to see a bed outside, in the open.

The Jehangir Mahal is worth a closer look. The views towards the Betwa river are stunning and created a great photograph with a mysterious feeling about it ! I would have passed its neighbour, the Raj Mahal, if I wouldn't have read about its murals. It's so plain boring on the outside. The caretaker showed up as soon as I arrived and unlocked the rooms with the paintings. They were very beautiful and definitely worth my time. Top magical place in Orccha was the Lakshmi Narayan Temple which is beautiful and specially built. The murals are interesting, especially the large scene depicting a British attack. The views from upstairs are great, esp. towards the town centre and the chhatris. This is another one of those places where I just sat down for a long time, day-dreaming about the past whilst looking in the distance and writing down some impressions. The caretaker is a friendly guy who kept me company.

First Trip To India: Agra, The place everyone visits

2008-10-14T08:33:00.000-07:00

Chapter Three - The place everyone visits : Agra

Agra Fort was a magical place to be at dusk. So was the Taj Mahal. So, the best thing is to be there at least two nights. Personally, I found the atmosphere at the fort even better than at the Taj. Why ? Hard to say. Probably it's because when you sit there at the octagonal tower, looking at the Taj in the distance, you get a similar feeling to the one that Sjah Jahan might have experienced when seeing his creation. It's so mysterious, so beautiful and yet unreachable (for us only a few minutes drive away actually). The Taj' beauty you have heard about so many times, you've seen it on TV so many times. But it's still very, very impressive when you see it for real. But the threshold between the expected and the reality is lower than for a place like, for instance, Agra Fort. This place was strange, new for me. So the threshold is much higher; there's more impact here, if you understand what I mean.

Entry to the fort is Rs 2, to the Taj Mahal it's Rs 10.50. Photography is officially not allowed inside the Taj or on or near the platform that it's on. In practice, you shouldn't worry about using the camera anywhere but the inside. I found the platform in front of the Taj one of the best places also to photograph people. There are many different types of people, often wearing colourful clothing. As everybody supposes that you are taking pictures of the Taj Mahal, it produces some great, not-posed-for photographs and great portraits with a telephoto lens. Photogenic I also found the immensely crowded and too narrow bridge over the Yamuna near the fort and the Itimad ud-Daulah. Entry here is Rs 2 and there are a lot of photographic opportunities. Inside though, some guy may come up to you and tell that it's not allowed to take shots inside. Don't worry about him. It is. That dude will probably also say to you : "...but okay, you can take your shot, I'll look out for you", and expect a tip. If so, do like me and say that you didn't know it was prohibited. Apologise and tell him that you would never indulge in such an illegal matter. Then walk out. He'll be left standing there with nothing to say and with no money to take away from you. Walk around the back of the building, get back in and take your snap.

My place to stay in Agra was the Hotel Agra Deluxe. This is the former Hotel Shahanshah Inn (the proprietor is the same, just the name has been changed). On the street one can see signs of both hotel names. The manager told me that he leaves the old one there for a while because some people are familiar with that name. The cheapest single on offer was Rs 600, but after I explained that I was looking for something cheaper, the receptionist said "I know what you are looking for. You are looking for a room more around the Rs 300 mark, right ?" I nodded and was taken to the room behind the reception. It was quite all right, only suffering from the noise of the reception office (but I'm a good sleeper). It also didn't have air-conditioning, or better, it had, but it was out of order. There was a fan and a shower with hot water. And 300 rupees was the price, excl. 10% taxes. I took it. In the same building is also the Nishat Restaurant, which was very good and cheap enough. Service was also very much OK and a live Indian music band performed at night.

Today I read in the newspaper that the Indian government is going to close down 106 factories in the immediate vicinity of the Taj Mahal as to protect the monument from further destruction. The colouring of the originally snow white marble by corrosive and polluting gases should now be halted. Around Agra, Akbar's Mausoleum at Sikandra was worth its time. Entrance here is Rs 2. Beware of 'guides' that appear as soon as you arrive and who will buy your tickets even after you have refused them. They will then force you to take them or charge you unreasonable prices for the tickets. Very firm language is the only one these guys speak. Losing face has not to be taken into account here!

On the way to Fatehpur Sikri you may spot men with bears. If you stop to have your photo taken with them, expect to pay exuberant prices. If you don't agree on a price (and do it fast, before any of the bears do any performing) they'll ask you Rs 400 or 500. Don't even think of paying them less then Rs 100... per bear ! If you do so they'll let their bears grab you which can be frightening if you're not expecting this to happen. By the way, bears are dangerous animals and they don't wear any muzzles here !

The Fatehpur Sikri monuments are divided into two groups for which you have to pay separately. The first group consists of the enclosure of Shahi Darwaza, Buland Darwaza, Jami Masjid and Shaikh Salim Chisti's Tomb and costs Rs 4.50 to enter. The second costs 50 paise for which you can see the Palace of Jodh Bai, Birbal Bhavan, the Karawan Serai, Ankh Micholi, Panch Mahal and the nearby gardens called the Char Chaman, Palace o/t Christian Wife, Diwan-I-Am, Diwan-i-Khas, Naubat Khana and Rumi Sultana. I took a guide with me to the first group who, after a little bargaining, charged only about Rs 30 for the whole time. He stayed with me for about two hours and was very informative. I hired him at Agra gate.

First Trip To India: Mathura & Vrindavan - Krishna territory

2008-10-14T07:22:00.000-07:00

Chapter Two - Mathura & Vrindavan - Krishna territory

I left Delhi by the Grand Trunk Road. Every couple of miles, you could see a heavy accident involving a truck or jeep. The drivers of these types of vehicles are definitely bad, anywhere in India. I headed for Mathura and Vrindavan.

The ISKCON Krishna Balaram Temple and mausoleum in Vrindavan seems to have been completed by now and they're in one word impressive ! All this beautiful white marble... The place had a great atmosphere with sect followers chanting religious songs all over the place. Unfortunately, as in so many other places in India, all of it was disturbed by people asking for money or to put it in other words, asking me to become a member. I could, for only about 11000 rupees ! "You don't want to ? Okay, you don't have to. You can also give a donation. Five hundred rupees." No, thanks ! In fact, all of that bullshit got me rather annoyed and I left. A pity, because this could have been a great visit. The Bankey Bihari is a similar place : a good atmosphere, but the same money-crazy people. I sat down to listen to a priest telling some obviously religious stories. After he had finished, all the (Indian) people could leave except for me. I was supposed to pay Rs 500 ! Not surprisingly, I didn't pay that and left with another "hangover".

There are so many places in Vrindavan that it would lead a little far to try and cram them all in a guidebook, but a particular nice (and a bit different) place was near the Yamuna river. In fact, it's two places in one. First, there's the so-called Cheer Ghat, where the clothes of Radha & friends were stolen by Krishna and nearby is the Kalia Dhahan where Krishna's playing ball was swallowed by a huge snake (Kalia). Krishna fought the snake and recovered the ball. These places are different because of the looks of the place. It's a bit out of the way and makes a special impression (at least it did on me). At the former place, people will try and make you buy a scarf to tie onto the sacred tree branches.

On to nearby Mathura. I was told that in the Kans Qila fort there is the piece of rock that was carried by Krishna on his little finger. Who will tell ? Fact is that I saw a piece of rock there. The Shri Krishna Janmbhoomi temple is heavily guarded by the army. Photography is strictly forbidden. You have to make your way through a metal detector and past a body search. Bags with photography equipment can't be taken inside. On the marble mosque walls facing the Janmbhoomi temple, patterns can be made out. Guides over there explained me that once there were no patterns. Only after an earthquake, they appeared. And, what's more, they are on the only wall that hasn't developed any cracks because of the quake. The Hindus over there believe that the marble slabs are "magical" and see all types of gods and stuff in the patterns. I have great respect for all religions, but during the explanations of the guide about these figures, I sometimes had to try hard not to laugh out loud.

The archaeological museum of Mathura was very interesting with some beautiful and/or fascinating sculptures. I spent a lot of time there, enough to draw the attention of the curator, who turned out to be an interesting and friendly guy. Opening times now are from 10.30 AM to 4.30 PM (7.30 AM to 1 PM from May 1st to June 30th). Closed on Mondays and as their leaflet states also on "Sunday followed by second Saturday of the month and on gazetted holidays."

While dwelling through the Mathura streets near the Dwarkadheesh temple, I came to a large iron gate of which I was told that it was originally in the Red Fort in Delhi.

In Mathura I stayed in Hotel Madhuvan. A single room non-AC was Rs 400 plus a luxury tax of 5% (doubles are Rs 700). There was an excellent bathroom, fan, TV. It was very clean. The people were all very kind. To be short, a very good place. You can play table tennis in the basement. The restaurant was very good with very good and not particularly slow service. As a matter of fact, I have been thinking back a lot to the service of this place when comparing it with other. I ordered Tandoori food which - as it should - took some time to prepare, but nothing exuberant.

First Trip To India: The Arrival in Delhi

2008-10-14T07:16:00.000-07:00

Chapter One - The Arrival in Delhi : Culture Shock...

I arrived in Delhi. Picking up the luggage was rather straightforward, so was immigration, but not so for changing money. It took me over an hour with only three people before me in the queue. I arrived in the middle of the night and because I had to do some things on the forthcoming day, I needed a place to stay fast, so it had to be close to the airport. I went to the Diplomat Hotel. There they told me at the reception that the hotel was full. I don't know how it was possible, even after reading the LP guide, but I finally ended up in the Ashoka Palace hotel. An indeed shabby (and smelly!) single room was Rs 1400 (taxes incl.) and they only wanted to come down to around Rs 1300. Tired as I was, I decided to take it, but it was the worst place (and the worst deal) of my whole trip.

The next days in Delhi I stayed in Hotel 55 at Connaught Place. A single room here was Rs 600 (incl. taxes). An extra bed costs Rs 250. There was a shower with hot water, but you should check it before taking the room. There was 24 hrs room service, although the snacks on offer are very limited. The kitchen staff is very kind however and will try to supply you even with things that are not listed on the menu. The whole hotel staff was friendly, in fact.

The days before heading home again, I had come down with amoebic dysentery and decided to stay my last miserable night in some comfort. For this I went to the Connaught Palace Hotel. A (small) single room cost US$ 76 (incl. taxes) but it was very OK. It should be ! As in true four star style they can supply you with almost anything... for a price. I also still had to reconfirm my flight so - as I was feeling bad - I asked the staff to do it for me. They agreed... for Rs 100 ! Then I was told that the phone was out of order and I had to accompany a person to another phone. That other phone was located in the hotel souvenir and carpet shop. Instead of making the call, the travel desk person said he was going to the KLM office personally, so I handed him my ticket. Left behind, I was hassled to buy carpets, which were - by the way - hellishly expensive and not particularly great. I told these people that I was going to my room because I was expecting the doctor. So I left. Later that night I got a phone call from the carpet shop. They had my ticket and if they should bring it up. After all, I wás sick. I agreed. When I opened the door the two merchants were there, carrying my ticket... and three carpets. I told them that I wasn't interested, but they said they had already moth-proofed them for me. I took some time to get rid of them. This is just another case to illustrate the nerve that some people have, even hassling a sick person.

Talking about hassles, I also had some troubles with the guides over by the Qutab Minar. As soon as I had walked past the entrance, I was accompanied by someone who asked me some personal things. As not to offend him, I replied his questions briefly. After that he had walked with me for about 50 meters and started talking about the place. I asked him if he was a guide and he confirmed that, showing me his 'official' badge. I told him that I didn't want a guide and thanked him. He replied that he didn't charge very much and that I wouldn't find my own way around. I asked how much he charged. It was an amazing Rs 350. I told him to take a walk. Nevertheless he stayed with me and I really had to verbally force him to leave. He did but not before he had completely lost his temper and got visibly very angry with me. This was one of the first sights that I visited in India and not a great introduction it was. The Qutab Minar was great, though. Another great place that I visited in Delhi, are the Chattarpur temples. It's a real complex. Unfortunately, this was thé first place I went to see and at that time I had not yet developed any feeling for orientation in this city, so I cannot recall where exactly they were. About Tughlaqabad I can only say : watch out for aggressive monkeys. Preferably hire the old guide at the entrance of the tomb. He has a stick to keep them at a distance. No, that's not the only reason; he's also a nice person with lots of information. He's not expensive and takes his time.

Other interesting places that are not in (m)any guidebooks are the Bangla Sahib Sikh temple. It's near the crossing of Baba Kharak Singh Marg and Pandit Pant Marg. It's a very welcoming place. They even provided me with a lot of background information books and stuff on the religion. All for free ! Then there is a great monument, a series of big statues which are called Gyharha Murti (hope the spelling is OK). It represents Mahatma Gandhi walking. He is followed by eleven other people, the representatives of India's different religions and groups, like a Sikh, a Muslim, a catholic priest, etc. It's very impressive as every statue is several meters high and the whole walking gang is at least 20 meters, I think. It should be near the crossing of Willingdon Crescent and Dalhousie Road.

Some entrance fees that I can remember in Delhi : Red Fort : Rs 0.50, Qutab minar : free, Jami Masjid : Rs 10 for entrance, Rs 10 for photography and another Rs 10 to climb the minaret, Lodi Tombs : free, Hazrat Nizam-Ud-Din Aulia : free, Nehru Museum : free, but the planetarium was Rs 1, Safdarjang Tomb : Rs 0.50, Jantar Mantar : free, Museum of Natural History : free, Int. Dolls Museum : Rs 2, National Museum : Rs 0.50 for entrance, another 2 for photography. This last one had one of the better collections that I've ever seen. The Nehru museum was more interesting than I had thought it would be (there's a nice display of gifts by foreign nations). The planetarium is not that special, but there's a real Soviet Soyuz capsule by which the Indian cosmonaut Rakesh Sharma returned to Earth after a ten day space flight as the guest of a Soviet team. He also visited the Russian space station Salyut 7 during this trip. In the Red Fort, photography is not allowed in the Mumtaz Mahal and you have to undergo a bag search. I could carry my equipment inside though. I only wished that I hadn't carried the camera around my neck, because one of the guards inside got somewhat carried away when he saw some LED's burning on it. He insisted on me removing the film. I politely refused and calmly tried to explain the situation, but I can tell you that it has taken all of my politeness capabilities to the limits to escape from this one. If something like this happens to anyone, I can only say to remain very calm, keep smiling and shake hands. Be utterly friendly.

If you're visiting the Jantar Mantar, it's a great help if you can find someone from the Archaeological Survey to guide you around. It's not very interesting otherwise. Beware though, a full explanation can cost you up to Rs 100 (but it took more than an hour).

I saw some terrible poverty in Delhi, for instance in the slums (like near the bridge over the Yamuna), but also near touristy places like Hazrat Nizam-Ud-Din Aulia or the Jami Masjid. At the latter, really terrible scenes could be seen on the 'boulevard' leading to the main entrance. For example, a man without arms and legs was lying in the middle of the road. Many Indians already have dark skins, but this guy was really black because of the dirt. He was in such misery that he was singing religious songs (I heard the word 'Allah' several times). Cars and carts were passing this lump of miserable flesh on the right and left, sometimes nearly hitting him. Sometimes somebody compassionate threw him a coin. He had to pick it up with his mouth, lick it off the street... He had no other ways. This was hard to look at !
The poverty you see sometimes gets to you. It's prevalent in most places in India. What also touched me was a total disrespect for humans and - surprisingly - even for animals. On the way to Agra, I could drive along with someone. In the distance I saw something lying on the street. I thought it was another dead dog like you see so many. Closing in, I thought it was too large for a dog. I supposed it was a donkey or something. Coming up-close, I saw it was not an animal but a man, a sadhu, who had only just been run over by a truck or bus (judging from the damage). His head had almost been split in two. The bones of his legs were sticking up. Blood was oozing out of several wounds. It was a terrible sight and even now writing this I feel a slight shiver. Like so many accidents in India, it had been a hit-and-run. People on bicycles and on foot were passing the victim as if it wasn't there. There was no driver around. Nobody seemed to care. That was hard again. The guy I was with, honked his horn at the dead body as if it was going to move over.

Old men at Rajpath On my way from Ayodhya to Shravasti I saw a corpse lying behind some bushes. It was cleaned of its flesh by the vultures. Some people were sitting only ten meters away, drinking tea.

But, like I said before, what came as the biggest surprise to me was that in this country where people refrain from eating animal meat, there is a lot of cruelty to animals. In Varanasi, I was standing in the street when I saw a person getting into his car. I warned him that there were two dogs lying in the shade under his car. He nodded, got in his car, started the engine, put the gears in reverse and drove backwards. His front wheels were running over the two poor creatures. The howls were terrible.

Some holy cows in Old Delhi were standing on the median. As long as they are parallel to the road there is no problem, but when they are not there can be. A truck in front of me hit one of the animals, taking a piece of flesh as big a T-bone steak out of the cow's butt. I started observing other cows from then on and I saw some in the next days that had missing tails. They had been cut off by passing vehicles, no doubt.

An Indian guy I went along with in the last couple of weeks of my trip, saw a puppy dog running towards him on the road. He had more than enough time and distance to hit the brakes and stop. The little thing was so young that it probably didn't sense the danger of a car yet. But no, the foot stayed down on the pedal. A couple of honks later, I heard the poor bastard bouncing like a ball under the car. I felt really bad.

These are just a couple of the situations that I came across. At the moment they make you feel bad, but you have to forget about it. This is not your average country. Cruelty to animals is common in all developing countries, but I must say that in a vegetarian country, in a country where cows and even rats are regarded as holy, it's really astonishing. And don't tell me like some Hindu told me : "Hindu's love animals. We do not hurt them. We take care for them. But, it's the Muslims who are bad to animals." Bullshit !

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part X)

2008-10-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

"Then, a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon - a beautiful, winking wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple spire. It stood upon a green knoll... 'There's the old Shway Dagon,' said my companion... The golden some said, 'This is Burma, and it will be quite unlike any land you know about.'" - Rudyard Kipling, in 'Letters From the East'.

Chapter Eleven - At last !... Shwedagon !

We arrived in Bago late afternoon. It's a bustling city, even more so than its bigger sisters. The Silver Snow Guest House asked $8 for an extremely hot and smelly, humid room with a minimum of amenities. Way too much ! I didn't bother to bargain because I didn't want to stay there anymore anyway. A much better option was the Htun Hotel. Rundown but very acceptable double rooms with private bath (piping hot water !) and A/C were listed in the guidebook as $25 but went for $20. After serious bargaining (I even had to walk off the property to make a point) this became $15. Always remember that there's a great surplus of rooms in Bago. Tourists hardly ever stay there; it's a place which is almost always visited 'en route', either to Yangon or Kyaiktiyo. In this knowledge you can bargain, and bargain hard !

The Shwemawdaw Paya, the 'Great Golden God Pagoda', boasts the highest stupa in the country, 114 metres of gilded splendour. It's a great site to spend a while but this privilege costs $2, though. There's also a camera fee, but for the small amount asked (K25) you get a very nice little shield you can pin on your shirt.

The entrance to the Shwemawdaw is one of the greatest I saw : it's guarded by two very beautiful, huge chinthes, each one of them carrying a small statue of a Mahayana bodhisattva (an individual destined to become a Buddha in this or another life) in its mouth. Looking over my left shoulder, standing in front of the chinthes, I noticed a big, attractive building. It's the Buddha Ahthandhamma Beik Mhan, a meeting hall. Except for its looks it's not of interest to the average traveller.

We'd seen images of it in the Shwemawdaw too, but the nearby Hintha Gon Paya is dedicated to the hintha couple which, according to popular belief, landed here in a distant past. The two mythological goose-like birds were passing over the Bago region when they got tired and needed to find a place to rest right away. Unfortunately the whole area was flooded, except for a little rock which jotted out of the surrounding water. There was only room for one bird and when the male hintha landed the female saw no other option than to stand on his back. When two Mon princes witnessed this strange scene, they saw it as a good omen and founded the city of Bago at the edge of the water.

After the water had retracted, the Hintha Gon Paya was built where the two hinthas allegedly rested. A statue of the birds marks the exact spot. Two dollars entrance fee plus a K25 photography permit make this pagoda too expensive to visit for what it is. The Lonely Planet guide states : "this shrine has good views over Bago from the roofed platform on the hilltop". I found this untrue. The views were always obscured.

Kanbawzathadi, King Bayinnaung's palace, is being reconstructed. No guidebook, except Lonely Planet, mentioned it yet. I decided to check it out anyway. A bumpy dirt road leads to the compound. A couple of soldiers were on guard but they just waved us on. We stopped at the entrance of the Bee Throne Hall and intended to have a look inside. Suddenly a caretaker appeared from the gloomy innards and demanded we'd pay an entrance fee. We were taken to a building near a small circular museum. There, amidst heads of sculptures and potsherds, a representative of the Department of Archaeology demanded $4 per person, a ridiculously high amount of money, even though it included admission to the museum. I didn't agree. I asked him if the government by any chance randomly picked folded scraps of paper with numbers from one to five written on them out of a high hat and let an 'innocent hand' determine the entry fee. He was both annoyed and ashamed. Ashamed because he was asking such a high fee, annoyed because he couldn't help it either. After a bit of negotiating I was able to arrange that we only had to pay $4 for two. For that price, however, only I could enter the museum, Kris couldn't. Unfair, but it was the best I could do.
Now that I've been there I can confidently say it's not worth it. The museum is rather well-arranged but small and the collection is very modest. The Bee Throne Hall is not worth entering, especially not if you've already been inside the buildings of Mandalay Palace. It's beautiful when seen from within the garden behind it, but I'd recommend anyone to skip this place until renovations are nearing completion. Just wandering around the grounds could have you being hassled to pay the unfair admission fee.

On the other side of the Bago river, which divides the city in east and west, lies the Maha Kalyani Sima, an ordination hall which is spoken high of in all the books. Well, I simply cannot understand why. It's nothing special, there's nothing really worth seeing, it even looked quite modern to me although it isn't (which is not surprising in Myanmar - the Burmese like to renovate their religious buildings). Entrance is fortunately free; it would have been a terrible waste of money. More interesting is the Mitteya Ananda Paya across the road. This monument with four Buddhas standing back to back looks a bit similar in design to the Kyaik Pun Paya (more about that later) but the spire and the images were clearly inspired by the Ananda Temple in Bagan.

The Mitteya Ananda is one of the monuments standing on the corners of a parallelogram of streets. The other corners are made out by the Shwetalyaung-, Mahazedi- and Shwegugale Paya. We didn't visit the latter. The Shwetalyaung is the best-known reclining Buddha image in the country. 55 metres long and 16 high, it is reputed to be the most lifelike of all reclining Buddhas. The image got forgotten about after the destruction of Bago in the 18th century and was only rediscovered in 1881 by workers who were clearing parts of jungle to allow the construction of a railroad track. Visiting this paya is a must. The $2 admission fee (plus K50 to take pictures) is fair. Continuing beyond the Shwetalyaung one soon reaches the Mahazedi Paya, a recent reconstruction dating back to 1982. The earlier pagodas were all levelled either by man (King Alaungpaya) or nature (earthquakes). The whitewashed monument is a pretty sight, visible from far away, and offers good views in all directions. It's a delightful area. I'm not sure, though, whether the views alone are worth paying the two dollars entrance fee for (and of course K50 for photo cameras).

Bago is definitely one of the highlights of Myanmar, in my humble opinion. Not only does it have a lot of things to see but I also found it a very pleasant city, despite its crowdedness. And it has a wonderful restaurant : the Kyaw Swa. Although it looks very posh from the outside, with even people to open car doors, it does not at all make one feel uncomfortable. Locals even came to sit inside to watch TV. Everybody is genuinely friendly and the food is truly excellent. Contrary to what I expected, it's not expensive at all; we had paid more for much lesser meals.

Just before the meeting hall near the Shwemawdaw pagoda is a good place to have breakfast. You can't miss it; it's crammed with Burmese and you'll be lucky to find a seat right away. It offers a good view of the pagoda and so does the cafe across the road. We spent the evening at the latter; a weird experience, as a matter of fact... The young manager (more likely he was just an employee taking care of things for a richer dude) was as drunk as a lord, breaking bottles and openly feeling up his girlfriend's tits - very unusual behaviour in Myanmar, but she seemed to like it.

There weren't many customers - I wonder why ? - so I took the time to discuss some things with Phone Kyaw. As usual, we ended up talking about religion, and more specifically about meditation. I asked him why he needed it. "To be in total control of my mind." "And does it help ?", I asked. "Yes, gradually I'm becoming more powerful." I joked : "Well now, my friend, I've been in the country for almost a full month and I haven't drunk any alcohol, haven't smoked a single cigarette, didn't come near drugs or betel, didn't steal, didn't kill and haven't committed adultery. You, on the other hand, chewed betel every day and I even saw you smoke a cigarette or two. Now who's the most powerful ? You with your meditation or I without ?"

On the way out of town, in the direction of Yangon, is one final must-see : the Kyaik Pun Paya. Actually, there's not much to it, but it's very photogenic. Four Buddhas (the past, present and future Buddhas) sit back to back around a massive square pillar. The figures are thirty metres high, beautifully painted and therefore pretty impressive. It costs $2 to enter the platform surrounding the monument. The money was collected by a couple of very friendly and enthusiastic trustees. If you don't want detailed pictures of the whole thing, I advise you to not pay the fee and forego entering the grounds. The monument can easily be seen from outside without paying; one could even sneak in round the back (there's nobody there to check up on you), take a snap and get out again. If you're caught you can easily pretend you didn't know. If the people responsible for imposing an admission fee want to make sure this doesn't happen, they should sell the tickets at about halfway of the dirt track leading to the paya.

From Bago it's only about 80 kilometres (50 miles) to Yangon. The road is quite excellent but it still takes about two hours to get there because of the traffic that gets busier the closer one gets to the capital.
We first went to the airport to have our tickets reconfirmed - it was a holiday and the downtown THAI office was closed. The people in charge were rude and service was slow. They let me wait for almost forty minutes, while they stood around doing nothing at all - chin on their hands, arms on the desk - just to tell me reconfirming was unnecessary.

Downtown, Kris and I went for a walk in the nearby Mahabandoola Garden, which is smaller than I expected but nevertheless a very pleasant to spend a while and a good place to meet locals. It costs K10 to enter plus another K50 if you want to take pictures. The park is most visited by young couples for whom it's a place to get away from it all and secretly hold hands. Eye-catcher in Mahabandoola Garden is the 46 metres (150 ft) high Independence Monument, an obelisk surrounded by two concentric circles of bronze lion statues. Attached to the main needle are five smaller ones, symbolising the former five semi-independent states of Burma (Chin, Kachin, Kayin, Kayah and Shan) in harmonious union with their Big Burman Brother. Looking to the east I saw the splendid Victorian Supreme Court and High Court Building, definitely one of the most beautiful British-colonial remnants.

Phone Kyaw was very eager to see his family again - after all, it had been almost a month since he'd been with them. I noticed it and said he should go home. Kris and I walked to the Shwedagon Pagoda - not exactly nearby, but Yangon, sometimes dubbed the Garden City, is a wonderful place to do some walking. It was too late to enter Shwedagon - we'd go there the following day - so we visited the Maha Wizaya Paya, which is just across the road. This is a recent construction, only dating back to 1980. It has a bit of a reputation, as it is often dubbed 'Ne Win's Pagoda' because of the general's involvement in the project. Ne Win assumed power in 1962 and ruled the country with iron fist until 1988 - and behind the curtains he still does. One can effectively say he's responsible for the awkward situation the country still is in the moment I write this.

The pagoda is officially built to commemorate the first gathering of all theravada orders in Burma and is definitely a very beautiful one - one you shouldn't miss out on. At least, on the outside it's a wonderful sight. Inside it's not very impressive, with silly papier-mâché trees and on the ceiling a painted representation of the constellations.

Entrance is free but the pressure to give donations is enormous. I entered and passed a donation counter. The lady behind it strongly exhorted me to give. Now the problem was that I was almost out of small change - in fact I was nearly out of any Burmese money. I looked and only had a couple of K1,000 notes left but I surely didn't intend to spend these here. I would have probably given something when I left, but now that I was pressed I just didn't feel like it anymore. My small money totalled sixty Kyats and that was what she got. Man, was she annoyed. She threw the money on her table and uttered several insults, which fortunately for her I couldn't understand but the intonation left nothing to the imagination. I asked a Burmese visitor what she was on about. He told me she had just said it wasn't enough. I told her this was bloody rude of her and that she apparently didn't understand what religion was about. If she was there just to extort money from visitors, she didn't deserve to be there in the first place. Either they impose an entrance fee - and like I mentioned before, I'm against admission fees for functional religious sites - or let the people enter and leave in peace, leaving the decision to give or not to them. Hell, I was so angry with her. I never raised my voice or visually lost my temper, though, but I would have if this had been home.

The mighty Karaweik entrance in the stern of the 'ship'Near Kandawgyi Lake we found a nice place to stay : the Green Hill Inn, No. 12 Po Sein Road, Tamwe Township. Double rooms (always incl. a poor breakfast) come at $10 (private toilet and shower but no hot water or A/C), $16 (A/C, private toilet and bath tub with hot water) and $22 (same as the previous one but with TV and telephone). Bargaining is possible and gets you about $2 off. It's a bit run-down but still clean enough and has a friendly Indian manager.
After having checked in, we went for a stroll around the lake. It's impossible to walk around it inside the fencing. We could only visit a couple of small parks, one which wasn't worth it (it's located near the eastern end of Natmauk Street). Entry was always K10 plus K50 for photography, but sometimes the ticket sellers tried to get K200 from us, so beware. The little parks are mainly used by couples; young lovers sit on the most remote benches or on the grass behind bushes, secretly holding hands, perhaps they even exchange a kiss on the cheek - innocent actions but frowned upon when done openly in the street.

Kandawgyi Lake is also the location of what is probably the best restaurant in town : the Karaweik. Built to look like the Burmese kings' floating palace resembling the mythological Karaweik bird, it's a fantastic sight. Some may find the concrete construction kitschy and fake but I loved it. Every night performances, including Burmese dance, marionette plays and circus-like dexterity acts, are staged. They're incredible value for money at K1,500 per person because for that you also get an all-you-can-eat buffet. The food, ranging from soups to desserts, is very clean, very varied and very tasty. The performers in the show are professionals and bring very entertaining acts.

The price can be kept so low because the restaurant overcharges the drinks. There's an easy way to overcome that : just say you only drink water, it'll be served on the house. Also, make sure you sometimes get up and go and have a look-see in the other hall; the performances are different.

The Karaweik is huge, much bigger than what you'd expect it to be when looking at it from the street. It's built symmetrically : the left half mirrors the right half. In the middle is the buffet room where you go to fetch your food.

In the afternoon it's also possible to have lunch at the Karaweik, albeit without dinner show. This costs K1,000, still very good value for money. Even though this is a government restaurant, at this price level it's recommendable.

I got befriended with the head waiter. He showed me the upper floors of the restaurant which are normally not publicly accessible. The second floor is for dinner parties and wedding receptions, whilst the top floor is there for official governmental meetings. Both 'decks' are nicely decorated and offer a great view over the lake towards Shwedagon. To have a look at the copy of the royal barge from the nearby little island costs K100 for guests and visitors alike, plus another K100 for taking snaps. I could get in for free because the head waiter knew me. He was a great guy and had been an international volleyball player. Most people I mentioned his name to, recognised it.

Another, but non-governmental, place where dinner shows are staged, is the Ni La Ne Restaurant, also on Kandawgyi Lake. Prices are comparable and the food is also very good but the Karaweik is simply the best, also in terms of performances. Also good, but without a show, is the classy-looking (but conveniently located if staying in the Green Hill Inn - it's down the street) Holiday Restaurant. The head waiter there is a bit of a remnant of bygone days himself; he even speaks with a near-authentic English accent. A jolly chap to talk to.

The next morning, we finally saw Myanmar's top attraction and the very essence of the Buddhist religion : the Shwedagon Paya. It's the most highly revered religious monument in the country, enshrining a staff donated by Kakusandha, the first Buddha, a water filter donated by Konagamana, the second, a bathing robe donated by Kassapa, the third, and eight hairs donated by Gautama, the fourth and present Buddha. It's absolutely fantastic. I can tell you, if you've been in Myanmar for one month you've seen your share of temples and pagodas and if yet another one still makes a big impression on you, it must be incredible. Well, Shwedagon did - and yes, it's fabulous.

Shwedagon Paya is a lot more than just the pagoda most of us know from the guidebooks and travel brochures. The stupa is just the main focal object but around it are dozens of subsidiary buildings, shrines and objects - a cacophony of colour and gold. Gold of which the central stupa has plenty : allegedly 53 metric tonnes ! There's so much that even the rain water from the platform is collected to recover washed-away pieces of the precious coating.

As in all payas there are four entrances. Tourists are supposed to enter through the western one, although there's nobody to stop if you decide otherwise. The western entrance, however, is the only one with a visible ticket counter. Tickets are $5 per person and are valid for as long as you decide to stay, but the catch is that it's only valid for one entry. If you leave, even only briefly, and want to go in again, you have to pay another five bucks. A shitty rule, especially if you want to go out to eat something (an extremely basic cafe cum snack bar - to the right shortly after climbing the western stairway - is your only option; better bring something yourself). However, it can easily be overcome by leaving and re-entering by any of the three other entrances. I tried it and it worked fine. This could lead one into believing that entering from the north, east or south is a way to get in for free. Believe me, it's impossible, and the reason is that when you pay, you receive a sticker which you must attach in a clearly visible place. There are anonymous inspectors all over, keeping an eye out for foreigners without a badge. You won't notice they're there as long as you have such a sticker. But if you haven't, you'll soon be buying one. The colour of the stickers as well as the writing on them changes a couple of times daily too, so that the inspectors can see at what time of day you entered.
Another way to avoid having to pay twice, is to pay less. Sounds weird ? It's not too difficult to get the ladies selling the tickets to accept a bribe instead of another admission fee. As long as you have the sticker this should work. Be discreet, though; this is dangerous for them.

The western entrance is forbidden area for Burmese; only tourists are allowed - and hence there are no hawkers in sight. There's room to leave your shoes, decent toilets and even a shower area where you can wash your feet when you return.

A set of escalators leads up to the 58 metres (190 ft) high Singuttara Hill on which the pagoda platform is laid out. Upstairs there were many, many people. It was the festival of Tazaungdaing and a robe-weaving contest was taking place on the pagoda terrace. From dusk 'til dawn Burmese women compete to produce robes for Buddha images. When the time limit has expired, the resulting fabrics are donated to the monks.
I gazed at the nearly 100 metres (305 ft) high golden 'winking wonder', as Kipling liked to call the pagoda. It's very, very beautiful - although even at this height it was smaller than I'd expected. I think it was down to optical delusion.

Immediately to my left was the Shwedagon Museum where many little treasures can be seen. Worth a look. I didn't, however, intend to spend my time inside a museum, so I kept the visit short. There are so many things to see up there. All the guidebooks have a detailed overview of them, but regardless I'll point out a few I think you shouldn't miss.

Continuing to the north from the museum I soon reached the pavilion housing the Mahagandha Bell, donated by King Singu in 1778. After the First Anglo-Burmese War the British ferried the 23 tonnes heavy bronze colossus off to have guns made out of it. 'Miraculously' the ship transporting it sank, taking the bell with it. The British repeatedly tried to raise it but in vain. A year later the Burmese managed to fish it out of the water using 'primitive' techniques.

Virtually next door is the Hall of Great Prosperity, housing a nine metres (30 ft) high seated Buddha image. It's the largest on the Shwedagon platform and is very attractive.

Now continuing due east, I arrived at the Hall of the Buddha's Footprint. The interior is very beautiful; two rows of gilded Buddha figures with their backs against the pillars of the building flank the central hallway which was full of offerings, mostly green coconuts and bananas. Centrally behind these is the main Buddha with in front of it the highly revered footprint, which had thus far been hidden from sight. It's actually an enlarged copy of a footprint found somewhere in the mountains. The sole is inscribed with symbols representing the Buddhist conception of the universe. Believers drink the holy water inside the print to protect themselves from evil spirits.

Across the 'street' is the Hall of the Wizards, easily identifiable by the two brightly coloured figures flanking the entrance. It's more attractive on the outside than the inside. The building is actually the western hall of the Elder Brother Pagoda (or Naungdawgyi Paya), which is the second-highest structure on Singuttara Hill. It's a smaller version of Shwedagon and actually the place where the Buddha hairs were first enshrined before the 'bigger, younger brother' was constructed.

I followed the pathway (the one running between the Footprint and Wizards Halls) in southern direction. The last building on my left just before reaching the main stupa is a real eye catcher : the Mahabodhi Temple, modelled after the original temple at Bodhgaya, India. It is totally different from all other structures on the platform; the sikhara (temple finial) is covered with bright paintings depicting stories of the Buddha's life before and after enlightenment.

To the east of this, diagonally opposite the southern hall of the Elder Brother Pagoda, is another big bell : the Maha Tissadagandha, donated by King Tharawady. The beautiful bell weighs 42 tonnes and is the biggest in Myanmar, after the one at Mingun.

Strolling south I gazed at the main pagoda once more. It's surrounded by dozens of smaller stupas. On the cardinal and inter-cardinal points there are planetary posts at which devotees pour water over the Buddha and the animal representing their star sign.

Opposite the planetary post for Monday (associated with the moon and the tiger) is the eastern stairway, the longest and most beautiful of the four. Its green roofs are stunning. It's worth going down (either using the lift or stairs) to have a look from below. The stairway is so long it's even intersected by a road !
Back on the terrace we continued to the south-eastern corner, which is probably the dullest - although that's not exactly the correct term for anything here. It is there, however, that one can find the most important bo tree of the whole platform. It is said to have grown from a sapling of the original Banyan tree under which the Gautama Buddha gained enlightenment.

Just before the southern stairway I passed the Hall of the Carrousel, where people throw coins at silver bowls placed on a revolving table. If they make a wish and throw a coin in the correct bowl, their wish is said to be granted.

In the south-western corner stands the Shrine of the Moon and the Sun. It's only a small edifice but a highly popular one. It's easily recognised by the two round golden plates above the entrance; they represent a peacock (symbol of the sun) and a hare (symbol of the moon).

We headed north, passing a glass case with two nats inside; one is Bo Bo Gyi, the guardian nat of Shwedagon. Before I knew I was standing at the western exit again. Of course I went around a few times more, but I think I've summed up the most important things to see.

Several people will try to make you hire them as a guide, and actually it's not such a bad idea. There's a lot to see, and there are many details which are easily missed when on your own, even if you have map and/or a guidebook. You can hire official and unofficial guides, but I wouldn't dare say the official ones have a better knowledge of the place. I engaged U Tun Min, an elderly guy, very religious and with a good knowledge of the English language. He was a poor chap and could use some money. He never let me down and provided me with a wealth of information. Perhaps you'll see him when you're there; if not, he lives at 45/9 Panhlaing Housing, Panhlaing Rd., Kyimyandine, Yangon.

Just before sunset a really peculiar sound, clearly produced by gongs, resounded over the Shwedagon terrace. I headed towards it. It was a Kathein procession. Kathein is a one-month period at the end of Buddhist lent during which robes and requisites are offered to the monks.

The men participating in it were dressed very colourful, very traditional. It occurred to me, though, that none of them smiled or was happy. I asked someone about it; I said : "Why do these people have such long faces ? I thought the robe offering ceremony was supposed to be a happy one ?" He said : "They don't have much to smile about. In Myanmar life is very hard and the people have no reason to be happy."

It had been a wonderful day, almost exclusively dedicated to what in my opinion certainly is one of the wonders of the new world : Shwedagon Paya.

I wanted to phone home but the central telephone office on Mahabandoola Street was already closed; as a matter of fact, it already closes at 4.30 pm, even sooner on holidays. Fortunately, there's a privately owned little office virtually next door, in Pansodan Street, near the intersection with Mahabandoola St. Rates are obviously higher than at the official office but if it's urgent, this can be a life-saver. Big was my surprise when I saw that it was even possible to send e-mails from this place. I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn't cheap (K1,000 for a short message, K1,500 for longer mails) but definitely possible.

The final day of the trip was breaking. Our plane was scheduled to leave at 8.20 pm, and we had to be in the airport two hours early, so we still had almost an entire day. We used it to leisurely see some more sights.

We saw the famous Strand Hotel, the most exclusive place in the country, and the Kheng Hock Keong Chinese temple further down Strand Road. We didn't visit it as it was undergoing extensive renovations and looked more like a construction site.

We passed several colonial buildings, and eventually reached the township of Okkalapa. There is a new complex, the Melamu Paya. It resembles a kind of Buddhist fancy-fair but everything is exceptionally well-done. Lots of colourful Buddha images and even a giant crocodile in which one can walk around. Foreigners are very much a novelty here.

The Kaba Aye Paya, close to Inya Lake, is a nice place. Although it's beautiful, particularly on the outside, one doesn't necessarily need to visit it for its looks, but because it's just a nice, untouristy place with only very nice people. They were happy we came to have a look at 'their' pagoda; there was no pressure on us to give anything at all - which is in stark contrast to the Maha Wizaya Paya. As a matter of fact, the girls collecting the donations were quite surprised I gave something at all. I bought two postcards, paid with a K500 note and told her she could use the change as a donation. She was very happy indeed and not only gave me my cards, but also added two extra ones and wrote my name on an A4-sized honorary receipt printed in golden letters. She then handed me 32 gold leaves (K15 per piece), neatly packed in a plastic cover and accompanied by a small note in Burmese, which I then had to 'post' in a dedicated donation box.
Nearby is the Maha Pasan Guha, an gigantic artificial cave resembling a sports stadium. It was built for the Sixth Buddhist Synod in 1954. It's not interesting and the guys at the door really hassled me for donations. I got really pissed off and left.

A far better place to go and have a look is the recently built (and not so far away) Shwe Taw Myat Paya, the Buddha Tooth Relic Pagoda. It looks like a cross between the Ananda Pahto of Bagan and an Indian temple. The spire has an unusual 'twist'; it's rotated over several degrees relative to the substructure - this at first looks like a construction flaw. The temple doesn't actually have a real tooth relic; it's only a copy. This, however, doesn't bother the many devotees who flock here.

Our last couple of hours in Burma we spent on the edge of Inya Lake, which is about five times as big as Kandawgyi Lake. Most areas around the lake shore are off-limits, though, because it's where government officials live and state guest houses are built. Former man in power, Ne Win, as well as NLD leader Aung San Suu Kyi have their residences here as well. It was impossible to get near these places. University Road, where Aung San Suu Kyi lives, was completely shut off by heavily guarded road blocks. Everyone approaching it was subject to (hard) questioning. Being caught trying to sneak in, would definitely result in deportation.

The best spot to head to is the dike running along Pyay Road. A stroll on it must be one of the best ways of meeting people in Yangon, especially youngsters; most of them were happy to talk. There's a lot of kiting going on here. If you're interested in having a go yourself, there are several guys renting them.
At one end there are several shady places to have a drink or snack.

From the road I hardly realised we had arrived at the airport. It's a tiny, low building. A small illuminated sign says 'Yangon International Airport' but because several lamps were broken it said something totally illegible.

I said good-bye to Phone Kyaw and thanked him for a great service. Having him around never really bothered me. He was a real gentleman and a great guy to talk to. My companion is kind of quiet by nature, so Phone Kyaw was a life-saver on the long (and sometimes tiresome) journeys. Check-in and security procedures were well-organised. We just followed directions. There were no hassles, although security was high and searches thorough. Departure tax was US$10.

The service aboard the Yangon-Bangkok flight was excellent, the cabin crew of the BKK-Frankfurt flight was unfriendly - same story as when we got to Myanmar. And Frankfurt airport was able to worsen the opinion I already had of it... Upon arrival, I searched in vain for a transfer desk that was open; we hadn't received our boarding passes for the connecting flight to Brussels yet. I decided to inquire about it at an Info desk. The clerk was one metre away from me and looking at his computer screen. Suddenly he started talking, but I couldn't figure out at first whether it was to me or the microphone he was wearing. It turned out he was addressing me, so I asked where we could get the boarding passes. We'd get it at the gate, he answered. Fine.

We went for a drink at the only place open that early in the morning, the Steigenberger Flughafen Restaurant Leonardo da Vinci. A cocky, fat waiter handed me a menu. I ordered a yoghurt. He sneered at me that yoghurt had to be ordered in the restaurant and as that was closed, I couldn't have it. There was no indication of this on the menu but, all right, "bring me a Coke then". He sniffed denigratingly and waggled off. Big was my surprise when I saw the bill afterwards : 6.30 German Marks for a small Coke ?!? That's US$3.10, ladies and gentlemen, gratuity not included !

We headed to the departure gate but couldn't get our boarding passes there. We should have gotten it from the transfer desk ?? The guy working at Transfer tried to be helpful but managed to mess up the IDs of the baggage tags and finally crashed the computer trying to undo his error. Several other people were called in; the lady who arrived as the fifth in line managed to set things right and finally, about 90 minutes later, we set foot on Belgian soil again.

It had been a wonderful, educational trip in a country troubled by political problems but inhabited by disarmingly friendly people.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part X)

2008-10-13T18:59:00.000-07:00

"It is not enough for a landscape to be interesting in itself. Eventually there must be a moral and historic interest." - Stendhal

Chapter Ten - Finally off the beaten track

Our route to follow first brought us to Thaton, the ancient centre of the Mon people. As a visitor you cannot believe that this sleepy, leafy town once was a capital. The place has a very tropical appearance; the thoroughfare is lined with old, often decaying colonial buildings. The nice atmosphere is what makes it attractive, don't come here looking for remnants of a glorious past. There's hardly anything left. We had a drink in one of the tea houses. Immediately it was clear that Thaton is not on many people's itinerary; everybody was smiling and staring at us, right from the moment we entered. A guy - one of a table of four - stood up and came up to me and initiated a conversation. I didn't understand much of what he said but it was clear that he was trying to make friends - friendship is always highly valued in Asia. In the end he invited us over at his house. When his mates heard him do this they jumped to the 'rescue'. I could make out that they convinced him this wouldn't be such a good idea, not because of me but because of possible troubles with the police. I understood and didn't want to be the cause of problems for him, so I friendly denied his offer - something he clearly appreciated judging from the shy smile of relief.

Beyond Thaton the scenery becomes quite spectacular. In the distance rise hazy rock formations with unusual shapes from the wide, green expanse. We were looking towards the Kayin state, which is the Burmese name for Karen state. Shortly before the border there's an army checkpoint where military intelligence officers scrutinise passports. Surprisingly there's no checkpoint at the border itself, just a sign to welcome visitors. It's worth stopping there for a while; the views over the plains are very good.

A couple of miles further on, one of the curious rocks is virtually near the main road. Not only is it a wonderful sight, inside of it is the Bayin Nyi Cave, housing several Buddha images. I didn't find it very impressive after having seen the Pindaya and Maha Nan Damu Caves - however, do look for the stalagmite resembling an elephant; it may be the best thing inside - but the monastery in front of the rock is. It's very picturesque, situated behind two water reservoirs fed by hot water springs. The chief monk is a wonderful chap.

The rock is home to a huge monkey colony. Fortunately the long-tails are not (yet) aggressive here. They could soon become so, though, just like on Mt Popa. The people don't understand that feeding the monkeys harms the animals' natural feeding pattern. The primates quickly figure out they don't have to find the food but instead the food comes to them. A problem is that the visitors never carry enough to satisfy the needs of all monkeys. This can lead to internal strife in the troop and to aggressiveness towards the feeders. Of course there are hawkers selling 'monkey food' in all these places, and Bayin Nyi is no exception. Even more than caring for the monkeys, Phone Kyaw wanted to financially help the lady selling the stuff and bought several big bags of it. It took him ages to distribute it all.

There are a few simple cafes near the entrance but the people weren't very talkative. If you want to have a chat, better see the chief monk or the paya trustee near the entrance (but bring someone to translate).
A visit to this place is recommended. Foreign visitors are definitely still a novelty.

Zwe Kapin rock, Hpa-an It's a very, very beautiful region : yellowish rice fields dotted with lone palm trees, tropically lush towns and the fascinating and unusual rock formations. The most imposing of those is Zwe Kapin near Hpa-an, the capital of Kayin state; it has a very characteristic shape.
It's possible to climb it. It takes about an hour (but is killing in the oppressive mid-day heat). The view from the top is mind-blowing.

For views of Zwe Kapin itself we were directed by locals to a low hill facing it. But when we arrived on the top, the views were completely obstructed by bushes and trees. There was nothing to see up there apart from a functioning waterworks and a deserted bunker used in the not-so-distant past.

Hpa-an is lovely. There's nothing going on really, but it has a very charming atmosphere. A great place to spend a couple of days. We went to a nice little place where locals came to watch movies during the daytime and sang karaoke in the evening. Such a wonderfully friendly bunch... Incredible !

The film which was on in the afternoon was a Chinese action flick, subtitled in English. It was not only very violent but also contained a lot of sex scenes (and I mean quite expressive shots). Everybody, including a couple of early teen girls, was watching it seemingly emotionless. That is, until a couple of young lads noticed me... I had quietly entered the room and taken a seat in the back. From the moment they knew I was there, these boys shyly smiled at me every time a racy scene was shown.

A good road leads from Hpa-an to Mawlamyine. Still it's not possible to achieve a decent average speed. The problem here is not the condition of the road but the many checkpoints. The first is just before the Thanlwin river crossing. The officials are polite but the checking is thorough. On the other side of the stream we had to stop briefly but weren't checked. In a slightly wooded section of the route a shed came into sight. I thought it was yet another road tax booth. It wasn't. The shack was a checkpoint manned by a single boy-soldier - I think he was not older than twelve. He carefully examined us - not our documents - at gunpoint. He spoke to our driver about something. Once he was satisfied we weren't threatening elements, we could continue. Phone Kyaw said the boy was Karen - there are many children in the Karen resistance armies. He never had a childhood. When he was born, his family was fighting the government troops and he grew up amongst it. Such a shame... A child his age should be playing with his friends, with toys not guns. But only a person who's never seen war can think like me, I guess...

We arrived at another bridge, spanning the Gyaing river. Before we could cross it we had to undergo another identity check. And this time the military in charge were not polite ! We were shown into a small building by a guard. The two military intelligence (ain't that a contradiction in terms !) officers present were sleeping on their beds - it was clear that not many foreigners passed through here. They were very annoyed that because of us they had to wake up - something we hadn't wanted... A military policeman wearing an unusual dark blue uniform apparently made sure we didn't make any wrong moves; he was a very rude man.

The two officers tried to convince Phone Kyaw to turn back by threatening him. Phone Kyaw, however, didn't budge - he didn't want to disappoint us. The road was officially open and all documents were in order so legally they couldn't touch him. The thing is that legality means nothing in this country, so it was quite courageous of him. Eventually the information in our passports was copied (in writing) and meanwhile we were asked several pointless questions. I wonder why these guys were in charge here. They weren't even able to distinguish my passport number from my height in centimetres; they just wrote it down as one number.

It's important to stay polite at all times. There's no use in insulting the military because it will only make things more difficult for you, and even more so for the Burmese. Your driver, your friend or just the people nearest to the army men you made lose face will get a hard time because of you. Therefore I feigned a friendly good-bye to these guys. It was, however, not responded to. I didn't really care about that - I was glad we were on our way again.

We didn't get far, though. Another bridge (across the Ataran river) came up. I was surprised we only had to slow down but not stop. No check. It was a short-lived joy, though : before entering Mawlamyine we had to park the car and follow a traffic policeman to a tent where soldiers took note of our passport details. Then a security officer was sent for. The big, stately man walked out of a nearby building and was actually friendly. A very cursory glance at our documents and we were on our way again.

I knew we had arrived in Moulmein (the old colonial name of Mawlamyine) because it was the first big built-up area after a long while, but I couldn't believe this was Myanmar's third biggest city. It's very, very green, there are many buildings dating back to a bygone era, no high-rise constructions except for the pagodas and hardly any private cars, just the typical semi-wooden buses and some taxis. Standing atop the hilly ridge in the east of the city, the best viewpoint, I actually got the impression of looking into the past - at least a hundred years back. An unusual feeling manned me because this wasn't the past... This was the present day !

This viewpoint, which is on the western side of the ridge and is marked as such, is a great place to meet interesting locals. I met many there and notwithstanding they were all unique individuals, basically they all told me the same : that it is very dangerous to talk to foreigners because the secret police is everywhere. "It's like the Gestapo in Nazi Germany." The government hates the Mon people and keeps Moulmein extremely backward; instead of progressing, the city goes back in time. "Just look at this city... Is this a modern city ? It's still the same as when the British left it." It's true; it's probably hardly different. Great for us, visitors, because it's what we like to call 'authentic', but for the people who have to live there, it's a very painful truth.

The best about Moulmein is Moulmein; a walk around the city is extremely pleasing. It's a really leafy place with an exceptionally colonial feel about it and the people are very friendly and fun to talk to, although their stories often have a sad undertone. There are certainly worse things than a late afternoon stroll on Strand Road, the boulevard along the Thanlwin river which for all the world feels as if it's right by the sea.

There are many churches in Mawlamyine. The most famous is the First Baptist Church but purely esthetically speaking, I appreciated the dark red brick St Matthew's most. Joseph, the priest at St Patrick's Roman Catholic Church, invited us over and showed us around the interior and graveyard. Nothing particularly interesting but the father was interesting to talk to; his mother and father had died in the Second World War when Moulmein was bombed. Unfortunately his intentions were all motivated : as the herd of only a handful of Catholic parishioners amidst an overwhelming majority of Buddhists he was a very poor man; he hardly had money for himself, let alone for the decoration of the church. It turned out he had only conducted this 'tour' in the hope of getting a good donation. I could see he was indeed struggling, so I would have given him something anyway, but it's a pity that most of what he said and did was intentional. But then most of what we say and do, has an ulterior reason...
There are also several mosques in town. I found all of them terribly neglected, most likely because of lack of funds. The best of the lot is the Kaladan Mosque near the northern end of Lower Main road, on the way to Mawlamyine Hotel, but again : it has seen better times.

There's no lack of funds for the Buddhist temples in town. The most important ones are all located on top of the ridge I already mentioned. The Kyaikthanlan Paya with its 40 metres high golden stupa is visible from far away. For only one Kyat it's possible to take an elevator up to the main terrace from where there are great views in virtually all directions, even better than from the designated viewpoint below. It is probably here that Rudyard Kipling wrote the opening lines of 'Mandalay' : "By the old Moulmein Pagoda looking lazy at the sea, there's a Burma girl a'settin, and I know she thinks of me", although it's impossible to see the sea from here.

The landscape to the west is dominated by the huge square prison, a landmark which elicited sarcastic chuckles from the locals when they saw me staring at it.

Looking to the right I saw the Mahamuni Paya, the largest Buddhist complex in Moulmein, built in typical Mon style and named after its famed namesake in Mandalay. The main image gives an idea of how the latter would look without its thick gold covering.

The Mahamuni is connected to the Kyaikthanlan by a staircase. Walking down it, one can see the Taunglay Lone Monastery, founded by King Mindon. Also interesting, is a pavilion housing very curvy reclining Buddha, surrounded on two sides by statues of his disciples. It's an image very similar to the one in the U Zina Paya but bigger, newer and more beautiful.

The U Zina Paya, a wish-fulfilling pagoda enshrining one of the many hairs of the Buddha, is not terribly interesting in itself but its trustees are. They're such nice folks; I spent almost a whole day talking to them.
When I said to the younger trustee that I didn't like all the flashing, electric halos around the Buddhas' heads, he replied that he had to renovate because otherwise nobody would come. "The Europeans like old things very much; they know how valuable they are. But here... Here, the people want to break down the old stuff and reconstruct. They have no knowledge of the value of antiques. And that's mostly because they're uneducated", he said.

The eldest of the two men was kind of prejudiced towards me at first. He asked me where I was staying. When I told him so, he answered he could live a whole month of what I paid for one night in the hotel. I explained to him that not only he was exaggerating, but also that everything was relative - remembering good old Einstein. In Burma I may be a rich person, but at home I'm just an ordinary guy in working trousers and not wealthy at all. After he had admitted his wrong we could get along much better. I like to think that before trying to get to know someone better, it's important to get the misunderstandings, the prejudice, out of the way first. There are a couple of other payas on the ridge but none of them terribly interesting.

In Mawlamyine we stayed at the Breeze Rest House on Strand Road. Spacey doubles with fan and attached toilet/shower (cold water only) go for $14, no bargaining. An unnecessarily big room upstairs costs $20 and is way overpriced because it offers no extras, it's just big. I tried to pay for the room with two ten dollar notes which were perfectly legal tender, they just had been 'used', i.e. they were a bit yellowish, definitely not torn or dirty. The reception clerk as well as the manager refused to accept them. I told them I didn't see their point because every bank would except them - I even got them at the bank. They wouldn't budge and the clerk arrogantly demanded "new money". I said I didn't have any 'new money' and insisted he'd accept them. To no avail. Unfortunately I saw no real solution to my problem so had to give in, but I knew that almost no-one I'd paid before had any change, so forked out a $100 bill and said : "Here ! And I don't want any FECs in return !" A small miracle happened : it took a while but they managed to change it.
The room was very decent but I didn’t find it a particularly friendly place and the next day we decidedly left because the generator, which was virtually next door to our room, was so noisy we couldn’t catch any sleep. Definitely the thumbs down for this one, especially for the price. Breakfast is really lousy too (it’s included in the price, but is worthless).

We went 'shopping' for alternatives to the Breeze Rest House but the cheapest option we found was the Shwe Hintha Hotel, which is (much) more expensive at $30 for a double. The rooms, however, are very nice and the (mostly female) staff is extremely and genuinely friendly. The hotel's very quiet and clean and has all the mod-cons you’d expect it to have. The included breakfast isn’t something to write home about, though, and as it was quite unacceptable in the Breeze, it certainly is at this price level.

I think I checked out all the places to stay (there aren't that many) and the best is no doubt the long - established Mawlamyine Hotel. It's also the most expensive ($36 single, $48 double) and I actually only went there to satisfy my curiosity. It used to be a government hotel but is now privatised.

When the Breeze Rest House solves the generator problem and maybe installs a hot water system, and doesn't raise its prices, it'll easily be the best value-for-money in town. When we were there, though, that honour went to the Shwe Hintha.

Moulmein is not the place to go to for a culinary experience. Apart from the Mawlamyine Hotel's dining room the food is not particularly good - at least, that's my humble opinion. The Phone Gyi Restaurant (the sign is only in Burmese) has only a very small selection of Chinese fare, and unfortunately it's not very clean. As a matter of fact, the kitchen smelt unclean - to get an impression of how it smelt, cut up some chicken, don't clean whatever you cut it on and leave it like that for a couple of hot summer days. Thát smell. The dishes don't exactly come cheap either.

Better, but still far from wonderful, was the Pikin (Peking) Restaurant (also with a sign in Burmese only).
My 'secret' tip is Lashio Noodle Shop, a tiny eatery where bowls of very tasty Shan noodles are served in a friendly atmosphere. And perhaps best of all : the food is cheap. It's near St Patrick's Church, across the road. By the time you read this, however, it may have moved because the owner's rental agreement had expired. You should have no trouble finding it by asking around in the immediate vicinity of the church, though.

There aren't many destinations south of Mawlamyine which foreigners are allowed to visit and even fewer where they're allowed to spend the night. One place where we could go, was Mudon, 29 kilometres to the south. There's only one checkpoint on the way, but none of the three of us noticed it. We all did on the way back, and the military certainly remembered us - not very difficult when only a few foreigners a week (or even month) pass through. We were in big trouble initially - driving through a military checkpoint without stopping is a serious offense in Myanmar. Well, actually we weren't hassled at all; it was Phone Kyaw who got all the curses and threats. Eventually he was let off by buying a carton of mineral water from the soldiers - another one of those things they do on the side.

The road passes through a verdant area. Rectangular sheets of rubber hung over ropes to dry, leave no doubt about the local industry. Just before Mudon there are rocky formations on either side of the road. On top of the one on the left is a Hindu temple dedicated to Skanda. The outcrop on the right is crowned by the usual Buddhist pagoda.

Mudon is just a simple provincial town. The point of going there is to see the construction of the largest reclining Buddha in the world. I do say 'construction', because it's not finished yet. I'd seen a picture in a guidebook, which showed it nearing completion. Well, apparently the abbot responsible for the project didn't like the proportions of the head compared to the body and had it largely dismantled. Unbelievable, especially considering the huge amount of money involved. Nevertheless it's already very impressive. I didn't really appreciate its size (169 metres or 555 feet) until I saw a couple of welders sitting on the steel-construction of the head. It's truly gigantic ! This also shows inside : it's an extensive maze covering many floors. The foreman of the workers guided us around. Only a small shrine was completed at the moment of our visit. Sculptors were busy creating statues representing scenes from the life of the Buddha; some had been completed (and were very beautiful) but most were still being worked on. Once everything's finished, this is going to be one amazing place. Unfortunately that'll take at least five more years. Following the completion of this gargantuan, the world's biggest standing Buddha will be constructed. I heard there are plans to make it almost 250 metres (820 feet) high.

A side-road (the start of which is marked by an 'elephant gate') diverts from the thoroughfare and leads to the site. It is lined on the left of its entire length with statues of monks with alms bowls, a representation of one of the life stories of the Enlightened One.

The next day we left Mawlamyine. On the roundabout near the outskirts of town is the government's view of building a better nation : representatives of Myanmar's army, navy and air force are flanked by a farmer holding a sickle and a labourer holding a hammer. It's clear that the military are the superior forces in this country.

We returned the way we had come, via Hpa-an, Thaton and Waw. In Waw we stopped for lunch in the Yatana Oo Restaurant. The service was extremely unfriendly but the food was good.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part IX)

2008-10-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

"It's impossible to stand by the Kyaiktiyo Pagoda and not to be
moved by emotion." - Khin Myo Chit, in 'A Wonderland of Burmese Legends'

Chapter Nine - A balancing golden boulder

Phone Kyaw was visually tired. Driving many miles on deteriorated roads, in unpredictable traffic, can really take the stuff out of you. Joyous donation collectors en route to Waw The leg from Taungoo to Payagyi offered pretty much the same scenery (and road quality !) as the route from Pyinmana to Taungoo. At Payagyi a side-road goes east towards the town of Waw, traversing a rice cultivation region intersected by irrigation canals. The road is constructed on top of a dike; there is no shelter, no shade whatsoever, so it's very hot. It was here, dazed by the sun, that Phone Kyaw lost it. I had noticed he made abrupt steering corrections without reason; from experience I know it's a clear sign of fatigue. Suddenly he steered into the verge, just a millisecond away from driving off the three metres high dike ! With a lightning intervention I grabbed the steering-wheel and brought the car back on the road. Yes, our driver had indeed fallen asleep. He was very ashamed because he had let us down. I didn't see it that way. I didn't shout at him, I wasn't upset - after all, it had been extremely hard times for him. I just told him to pull over as soon as he found some shelter from the scorching sun. A lonesome old tree provided just that. A troupe of donation collectors had set up 'camp' near it. Two of them were dressed like a buffalo while a third was trying to 'control' it. All of them were dancing like mad, clearly high on alcohol. They freaked out even more as soon as we got out of the car; they were not used to having foreign spectators and really outdid themselves. While we were entertained, Phone Kyaw freshened up a bit and bought some betel, something he had done every day anyway. He was one of the many betel addicts in the country, or should I say the continent ?

After he had reassured me he was all right, we said farewell to the friendly group of people, not forgetting to make a nice contribution to their cause, and continued to Waw, which wasn't far away anymore.
Waw is a pleasant and beautifully located agricultural town. About 40 kilometres (25 miles) further on is the border of the Mon state, made out by a big iron bridge over the Sittoung river. All foreigners are required to stop at the checkpoint there. Passports are checked and persons registered, including the Burmese accompanying the foreigners. One of the soldiers at the checkpoint kept hassling me for cigarettes (which I don't have as I don't smoke). His colleague almost destroyed my Burmese visa by putting my passport in a water puddle on his table.

Not far beyond the first bridge we needed to cross a second, but smaller, one. We were stopped by the soldiers guarding it. Not for an another identity check, no, they just wanted to sell us a calendar for K250. Adorning it was a nice-looking elderly lady covered from head to toe. In the West a pin-up would have been depicted instead, completely nude except for a string. People working for the state, for example soldiers, earn not more than K1,500 per month, so they have to do something along the side to be able to support their families. Although over 80% of the population (and thus several military as well) is in favour of the democratic NLD, many are forced to take up a government job to try and make a living. Some youngsters join the army to be able to get out of the parental house; leaving home to go and live alone is just not on in Burma.

Phone Kyaw, a very charitable person, bought a calendar although he had no need for it. When I told him what a noble individual he was, he revealed to me that he intended to become a monk in the future. Once he knows his family (a wife and five children) are sufficiently supported to make their own living, he'll go into a monastery.

The road to Kyaikto is rather boring, a fact which was enhanced by grey clouds and a slight drizzle. Kyaikto mustn't be confused with Kyaiktiyo. The now famous balancing boulder shrine of Kyaiktiyo is part of the township called Kyaikto but the two places are actually 20 kilometres (13 miles) apart. The area around Kinpun, the base camp for Kyaiktiyo, is pleasant with oil palm-, cashew- and rubber tree plantations. Upon entering the town, a to Burmese standards hefty road tax is collected.

Kinpun basically consists of a road which merges into a footpath leading up Mt Kyaikto, to Kyaiktiyo. Restaurants and numerous souvenir shops line both. There are also two basic places to stay. We decided to bunk for the night at the Sea Sar Guest House, attached to the well-visible restaurant of the same name right in the centre of town. That would prove to be a big mistake. The asking price for a single room was $7 (hot or cold water in the private bathroom made no price difference !), $15 for a double. After hard bargaining I managed to get a reduction of one dollar on the singles; the owner wouldn't budge for the double.

This 'hotel' was one of the worst deals I've ever encountered, anywhere. The singles were awfully small and felt worse than a European (not Burmese !) prison cell. There was at least an inch of space under the door, allowing crawling insects to just walk in (the buildings are in a wooded area), so the room was truly full of different kinds of bugs. There were huge grasshoppers inside, producing a cacophony of sounds. The walls were paper thin, so when someone farted in the claustrophobic cubicle next door, it was as if he shit in your lap (excuse my language but it's the same terminology I used when complaining about it to the manager). The fan automatically rotated, pointing in all directions, and let the one curtain there was flutter like mad, allowing passers-by outside to see you lying in your bed (which is not a big deal really, but it all adds to the 'experience'). The lights could not be switched off. Breakfast was included but very poor indeed.
The next day we changed to a double room. Same problem with the door. We stuffed a blanket in the open space. The walls were no problem now but the rooms were open near the ceiling, also in the bathroom, so everything next door can be heard, even the slightest sound. Contrary to the single room, the lights in the double didn't work at all; we were in total darkness at least two or three hours before someone came to change the lamp. There was a hot shower but the boiler didn't work. The owner nicely said he'd "fix it tomorrow morning". Nice if that happens to be the time you'll be leaving... After making complaints, the owner gave us a $2 reduction and promised he'd fix things "by next year". He was an arrogant kind of person, very smug. Sometimes he asked me some questions about myself or our plans but when I cared to answer these, he wasn't even listening.

I think a better option to stay is the Pann My Thu Inn, about two hundred metres further down the road to the mountain, on the same side as the Sea Sar. Admittedly dirtier double rooms (but still acceptable) with A/C, toilet and hot water shower were $10. The owners, however, were a lot friendlier.
The Sea Sar Restaurant was OK but a bit too expensive and service was unfriendly - no surprise with the same people in charge. Diagonally across the road, right next to the Kyaiktiyo ticket office, is another restaurant. Food quality is comparable but although the waitresses were extremely friendly when we passed the joint (I heard "I love you" a few times) this turned as soon as we'd ordered.

I just mentioned the ticket office. It is indeed necessary to pay an entrance fee to be allowed on the mountain. This costs $6 per person, $10 if you're also carrying a video camera (photo cameras no problem). Buying tickets is easily avoided but the checkpoint on the top of the mountain isn't. If you turn up without a ticket, you'll be forced to buy one after all as well as pay a hefty surcharge. You can always just walk up the mountain, without visiting Golden Rock - there are no checkpoints along the way - but I doubt there would be much point in doing that.

After we had collected our tickets, we went to the departure point of the small trucks that go up the mountain. This is located down a side-street, almost next door to the Sea Sar Restaurant. Tickets for the trucks must be bought at the small counter and cost only K150. Private vehicles are not allowed on Mt Kyaikto, so it's either the trucks or your own two feet. On foot it would have taken us at least five hours to make the ascent. Normally one has to wait until a truck is completely filled up (that means about 70 people !) but we were lucky : an American lady who had chartered a truck for herself invited us to come along.
The road up is extremely steep in places with very sharp hairpin bends. The drivers know the route inside and out but one can only imagine what would happen if the brakes broke down. Still, it's not nearly as dangerous as described in the guidebooks I had read. The road is gradually being improved and safety measures (such as crash barriers) are being installed.

The trucks don't go to the very top; a relatively short walk separates it from the end station. As soon as someone disembarks, bearers present themselves, offering to carry you and/or your luggage up. The cost for this depends on the weight they need to carry. Perfectly capable of doing this ourselves, we kindly refused.
We had a drink at one of the little cafes. I observed the people outside coming and going. There was a whole bunch of weirdoes hanging around, most of them fortune tellers or 'prophets'. One of them came inside and sat down at our table. He didn't speak but made gestures that were, strangely enough, well-understood by the Burmans present. Suddenly several of them quickly grabbed a pencil and scribbled down something on scraps of paper. Apparently the 'prophet' had predicted the winning numbers of the Thai lottery, an illegal gambling game. Next, our 'guest' performed what looked all the world to me like an exorcism on both me and Phone Kyaw. "A powerful man", our driver remarked. For his unsolicited services the 'powerful man' - still not saying a word - demanded a drink, cigarettes and money. What a fake. I just ignored him but Phone Kyaw forked out again. The guy was too good for this world, even the Burmese version of it...

It took us about one hour to reach the top, passing countless stalls where drinks, snacks, religious souvenirs, spices and indigenous medicines were sold. The Golden Rock is simply stunning. I could devote a whole paragraph to describing it alone, but I won't. It's a gilded boulder topped with a stupa, balancing on the edge of a cliff, 1100 metres high. It looks as if it can drop any moment but as it hasn't done so for many, many years there's no need to worry that it will now. Someone used to be around to give it a push so that one could see it rock gently back and forth, but that practice is now prohibited.
The Burmese believe that the rock retains its unique balance because of a carefully placed hair of the Buddha. Something I like to digress... A colourful butterfly landed on the stone but it didn't budge. Proof enough that the hair cannot be responsible for the equilibrium - but then the Burmese say "it's a magical hair"... The feeling of the rock being on the verge of a ravine is largely ruined by the platform which was built all around the shrine for the convenience of tourists.

We walked to the backside of the mountain top. A mind-blowing sight was revealed to us : a green valley swept away at our feet, only to rise again to even greater heights. To our right, on a lower level than where we were standing, was a highly scenic village of yellowish bamboo huts, shrouded in white clouds. A grey mist set in from our left. The 'village' was actually an encampment built to accommodate pilgrims. Some of them stay for months, studying and meditating. Sounds like the ideal place to stay, but unfortunately foreigners are not allowed to do that. Those who want to spend the night on the mountain have only two expensive options : the Golden Rock Hotel at approximately one mile from the top and the Kyaikto Hotel, right by the boulder shrine.

Golden Rock was completely concealed by the fog when we headed back down. We decided to return on foot instead of by truck. We had the time and it's a very agreeable walk. The views down are often fantastic. Like I said before, there are many little shops alongside the trail, most of them selling all kinds of bamboo stuff (they even have bamboo machine guns !) but most fascinating were the Chinese medicines. The nastiest stuff is on sale here : huge and disgusting looking millipedes, monkey blood and skulls, tiger moustache hairs, snake skins and roots which will supposedly give a man a rock hard erection. Seeing these rather unusual ingredients initiated a discussion between me and Phone Kyaw about the (dis)advantages of traditional medicine. He reckoned these things were indeed beneficial to a patient. I expressed my doubts about the effectiveness of grinding a monkey skull into a powder to be used as a base for a potion to cure burns. I explained that traditional medicine, especially in China, was responsible for the (near) extinction of several species of animals. He took my points but didn't seem to understand the extent of them. I continued by asking him if traditional medicine could cure a disease like trachoma. He said that was indeed possible using a mixture of herbs. I answered I could easily cure it using antibiotics (provided it wasn't in a later stage); "if herbs can do the same then why do so many people who don't have money to buy the Western drugs suffer from the disease ?" "Ah, but it needs the healing power of a powerful monk and the time needs to be right. Powerful monks can cure any disease if the stars and planets are in the right position." I said I didn't want to dispute his explanations but found it a very cumbersome and unreliable method. "And if these monks can cure any disease then why haven't they found a way to cure AIDS ? And why, before the invention of penicillin, people died of infections which are nowadays considered as 'banal' ?" Phone Kyaw ignored my last question - it was rhetorical anyway - and continued about AIDS. He laughed away my comment about the monks but sighed : "A.I.D.S. is a big problem here..." I knew. Reliable sources report over 400,000 HIV positive persons in the country. The problem is worse than in Thailand because the government denies the problem rather than admit to it, despite the hopeful ad just outside Yangon airport, warning newly arrived visitors. What's more, a woman buying condoms to protect herself is subject to arrest for prostitution, and likewise is anyone carrying syringes considered a drug abuser. Even if the government started taking measures right away, it would probably be too late because the disease is already too widespread. Every day new cases are added to the already astonishing grand total. There are several reasons for this : Burmese women returning home after having worked in Thailand as prostitutes, Chinese businessmen paying big money (well, in Myanmar it is) to 'do it' with a Burmese virgin, poor blood screening, drug abuse and the connected sharing of dirty syringe needles and the rape of women in minority villages by the military (this is seen by the army staff as a way of defeating the enemy, so is not punishable). All these things happen on a large scale, definitely larger than what is generally assumed.
Phone Kyaw said if there's one thing foreigners should refrain from when coming to Myanmar, it's having sexual intercourse with Burmese women. "The risk of getting A.I.D.S. is very high but not only that... The girls here are very ashamed and having sex outside a marital relationship will ruin their morality for the rest of their lives." Personally I think that someone who traverses half the globe just to get laid, is a rather sad individual...

After about four hours - we had taken a couple of breaks - we arrived at Ye Maung Gyi Camp. We had a drink in one of the cafes there, all run by women. Suddenly a heavy rain shower broke loose. Fortunately it didn't last long but long enough to make the trail very slippery.
An hour later, we arrived back at the Sea Sar, tired but content.

At night we discussed where we would head to next. The South provided us with another chance to get off the beaten track. I wanted to go to Mawlamyine. Phone Kyaw said we could go there by way of Kayin state. Although the Kayin state is largely inaccessible because of 'insurgences', the southern part can be visited. Sounded like a great idea...

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part VIII)

2008-10-13T18:28:00.000-07:00

"Mystical. Magical. Outrageously picturesque. These and many other words have been used in attempts to describe the fairy-tale land of Inle Lake and the amazing Inthas who populate its shores and its surface." - Wilhelm Klein, in Insight Guides' 'Burma (Myanmar)'

Chapter Eight - Leg rowers and floating gardens

Just out of Hsipaw women - and only women - were trying to save what was left of the rice harvest. Most of it had been flattened by the rains. I tried to find out how much damage had been done in the region but they were so shy, they just kept their heads down and didn't reply. As soon as we got back in the car they all looked up and I heard them chuckle.
Someone whose name I can't mention here told me all farmers are required to sell a fixed part of their harvest to the government for a price which is well below the going rate. The government allegedly resells it to the regions where it's needed most - if you ask me, it goes straight to the military camps - but no matter what, the thing is that it's desperately needed in the Shan state and the regime refuses to sell even a grain to the people there. The result is that they need to import rice from China, where they have to buy a quality lower than the worst in Burma but at a price higher than that of the best Burmese variety.

The car needed fuel. The black market price here was a whopping two Dollars per gallon ! In remote regions the cost of fuel is much higher. Like the rice it's imported from China but, contrary to rice, the quality's better than what the Burmese manage to refine. And that's noticeable : the engine doesn't pink as much.

Eight miles out of town a small track diverts from the main road to the left and leads to hot springs. They're not very impressive but the area is delightful. Most of the rice in the fields around here was also lost. The inhabitants of the small village nearby, very sad about the big loss, were busy separating the chaff from what they had been able to reap.

Our goal was Inle Lake but as that's about 550 kilometres (344 miles) away, we knew we needed a night stop in Mandalay. Phone Kyaw really went for it and when we were about to reach Pyin U Lwin, we still had a lot of time to spare. Twenty-seven kms (15 mls) to the east of town is another cascade, the Paik Chin Myaung Falls. This waterfall is higher and more impressive than the Pwe Kauk Falls.
Nearby are the Maha Nan Damu Sacred Caves, a pleasant and extensive cave complex in which scenes from the Buddha's life are depicted. It's a very popular spot, probably because it's one of those relaxed theme park-like attractions. Most of the stuff inside, including neon lighting, has been donated by military leaders and government officials and their families "to abate for sins committed". I doubt it will help them...
Entrance is free but a K50 photography fee applies. Care has to be taken : walking barefoot over the slippery pavement and cave floor can be treacherous.
When we emerged from the caves it was raining heavily, a change from the last few days which had been dry. We found shelter in one of the many little restaurants lining the parking lot.

I hoped the rain wouldn't last long. We were lucky... By the time we arrived in Mandalay it had stopped. We checked into the hotel, had lunch and then went to the Zegyo Market, Mandalay's principal. It's not at all a market, more like a big supermarket consisting of individual stands. Most goods are on sale there and if you're looking for something, there's a good chance you'll find it. I was looking for saffron, as Mr Book had told me. It was not so easy to find but finally we located an Indian spice merchant who had it stowed away somewhere. Saffron is so expensive, the Burmese cannot afford to use it in their cuisine and therefore it's rather difficult to find. The same goes for chocolate, by the way.
The spice was costly for the Burmese but dead cheap for me. I paid K440 (about $1.30) for an amount which would cost me $4.50 at home. It was a good quality so I bought several boxes.

We made an early start the next morning. It was a bright sunny day. The first leg of our route was Mandalay to Thazi, the start of the so-called 'Thazi-Taunggyi Corridor'. It was rather straightforward.
Near Thazi - in the township of Yimar Pin, I believe - is the most famous restaurant of the area, the Pan Cherry. All drivers, whether by car, bus or truck, stop here to eat or have a cup of tea or coffee. It's very conveniently located, roughly halfway between Mandalay and Taunggyi. The food is nothing fancy, but it's very safe.
Because Inle Lake is probably the second-most important tourist attraction in Myanmar, after Bagan, I thought the road leading to it would be very good. Big was my surprise when I saw the worst road we had traversed so far. It was absolutely terrible; often we couldn't go faster than 20 kph. Getting to Inle Lake turned into some kind of adventure with washed-away roads, mud slides and potholes deep enough to accommodate truck wheels. In several places soldiers (yes, soldiers) and working crews were clearing the thoroughfare. The mountain views and the extremely lush vegetation everywhere I looked were simply stunning.
We simply passed through Kalaw and Aungban without having a look around because there was no time; we had to move on. A grinding 12 to 13 hours after we'd left Mandalay, we arrived in Nyaungshwe, the main base for visits to Inle Lake. It was already dark.
We checked in at the Evergreen Hotel, picturesquely located near a stream running through town. Run-down doubles with fan (no A/C) and private toilet/shower (hot water) were $15 but could be bargained down to $12. Breakfast is included but not terribly good. The management and staff is quite disinterested and could do with a change of motivation but the hotel has one big advantage : the very quiet location, a virtue in this country !

There's no lack of eateries in Nyaungshwe. We chose the Shan Land Restaurant, near the canal to the lake. All places were infested with little grey flies and the Shan Land was no different but it was possible to sit on the balcony upstairs. Light was dim there, and thus the flies were not attracted. Actually it was a very cosy place to eat and while the evening away; it would be quite suitable for a romantic tête-à-tête. The food was good and the service very friendly indeed.
Two young Burmese men were sitting at a table next to us. One of them turned his head towards me and started talking to me in French. He said he and his friends were students from Mandalay; they were travelling around in their own country to write a guide book. He summed up several hotels and restaurants around Inle Lake and reviewed them, saying which to go to and which to avoid. He seemed like a friendly dude. He then continued by telling me he'd tried the boat services and they sucked. He knew how to arrange things cheaper and wanted us to join him the next morning. Kinda weird behaviour for a researcher, I thought.
My suspicions soon proved to be well-grounded. Everything went really fast suddenly... Our 'friend' poured down half a bottle of hard liquor, was totally wasted in no time, repeated the same boring stuff over and over again, stood up, went to a Burmese girl sitting a couple of tables away, made indecent proposals to her (causing the girl to feel extremely ashamed and leave), tried to stagger back to his seat but did only make it to a table where a single traveller until that time had been enjoying his meal, grabbed the bloke's pint of beer, bottomed it, then fell on the ground, almost comatic. The Shan Land staff had seen it happening and asked the fellow to get out. But he was too far away, he didn't even hear them, so the waiters escorted - no, dragged - him out. I saw them putting him into a rickshaw, where he lied the rest of the evening sobering up. After the incident, the entire hotel staff including the manager came over to apologise. It turned out the 'travel writer' was a rickshaw driver - so he was lolling in his own vehicle - not from Mandalay but local and infamous as a con-artist. He'd stolen money and a pair of sunglasses from tourists and had been jailed for it.
Phone Kyaw and I talked for pretty much the rest of the evening only sometimes interrupted by loud applauding and exclaims of enthusiastic appreciation... tourists attending a dinner show at the Hu Pin restaurant, probably the best in town. Hu Pin is something like a godfather in the Inle region. He owns most important businesses or at least is involved in them. Even the motorboats on the lake carry his name.

The next day began grey. I expected it would start raining any minute. Nevertheless we were set to make a boat trip on the lake. There are two options : canoe or motorboat. The former allows you to go in places where the motorised version cannot go, but obviously they're not suited to fully explore a lake as big as Inle Lake. Our time was limited so we preferred to go by an engine-propelled vessel.
The government collects $3 from everyone entering the area, either in advance from your hotel or when you start out by boat. We had the fee added to our bill.
Hiring a boat for the day cost us K1,200. It's basically a longboat in which a couple of chairs have been placed for the 'convenience' of tourists.

The lake, averagely 19 kms (11.9 mls) long and 8 kms (5 mls) wide and at an elevation of 1,328 metres (4,354 ft) above sea level, is very scenic with hills lining both sides. It is home to the Intha, which means 'Sons of the Lake'. This tribe only lives here; once a minority, they now number around 100,000, distributed over 37 villages on and around the lake. The men have become famous in the world as 'leg rowers' because they've developed a unique technique to move their small canoes around.
Inle lake is very shallow and full of plants, mainly water hyacinths. They would make it very difficult for the fishermen to see the fish if they were sitting down, so they stand up, row with one of their legs and meanwhile scan the surface for tiny air bubbles or ripples. When he detects these, the Intha fisherman takes his conical trap (often with a length of 2-3 metres), positions it over the correct spot and swiftly pushes it down with one foot, using the remaining leg to immobilise the boat with the oar. A ring upholding a net around the bamboo framework of the trap is then released and any fish within its range is captured (often only one at a time !).
The fishermen operate in the open lake and thus we could see them almost as soon as we'd left the narrow channel connecting it with Nyaungshwe.
The submerged weeds can also entangle oars and boats; standing up the Intha can circumnavigate them. Our boatman needn't do that. Not because he was such an experienced operator - he wasn't at all, actually - but because the propeller can deal with the plants. It did feel as if the boat was temporarily held up by an invisible hand but never did it cause any problems.

This is another one of those places where the people have become tired of all the attention, just as in the Mahagandhyon Monastery in Amarapura. The 'leg rowers' clearly have enough of being just photogenic objects. Just imagine yourself busy fishing in the middle of a lake. From different sides motorboats speed in your direction, chasing away the fish on approach. You don't need to expect a friendly, curious "hello". Generally speaking, that's a thing of the past and has now been substituted by the simultaneous clicking of umpteen cameras. You know a fee worth a week's pay is collected from each and every pair of eyes looking at you, but you never see a cent of that.
Not very pleasant, is it ? It definitely is not, and I felt quite sorry for these folks, as I had done for the monks at Mahagandhyon. Then I realised I wasn't looking at the complete picture. The Intha are in fact the wealthiest tribe in all of Burma. Now that may or may not mean much, but it's a fact they're not struggling to survive like the members of several other ethnic groups are. They're masters at farming and fishing but also very skilled in crafts such as carpentry, metalworking and weaving, and chances are that, upon your entering the pile village of Ywama, one of the ladies trying to sell you the most useless souvenirs is the annoyed fisherman's wife. Many of the longyis, silverware and the typical Shan-style shoulder bags one sees all over the country are produced here, right on the lake.

Unless you tell him differently, Ywama will automatically be the goal of your boatman because it's about the only place where he can collect some commission on things you might buy. This shouldn't make you wary of visiting the village, really, as it's picturesque, makes for a nice stop to have lunch and relax for a while and has a few interesting sights. If you don't want to be taken from one handicraft shop to another, just tell him to skip them. We did after a visit to the silversmith.
Every five days a floating market comes to Ywama. We were one day early and intended to come back the next day, but when we heard it's primarily people trying to sell you souvenirs we forgot about it. Sure, the locals buy and sell goods at the market themselves but you will be surrounded by canoes full of junk. At least, that's what I was told by other travellers; like I said, we didn't bother to come back.

Phaung Daw U Paya, opposite the main landing place in Ywama, is the holiest shrine in the southern Shan state. This 'Pagoda of the Royal Barque' was built in the 1960s to accommodate five Buddha images brought back by King Alaungsithu from Malaysia. The small statues are enshrined in the centre of the pagoda and have been so extensively covered with gold leaves that they're completely deformed and now look like shapeless lumps of gold. The devotees don't care; they know there's a Buddha somewhere underneath...
In a wooden shed nearby, on the lake, the royal barge can be seen. It's a beautiful processional boat but it's not possible to get up-close to it without wading through the water (which was deep enough not to attempt it).

It was well in the afternoon when we left Ywama. We were taken to the floating gardens, another attraction unique to the lake. The Intha hardly had any farmland but they were inventive and created gardens afloat on the lake's calm waters to grow their vegetables. Left to its own devices it takes about fifty years for the combination of water hyacinths and silt to produce a fertile floating deposit. Some farmers, however, create the gardens themselves by weaving reeds together. On sections normally 100 by 2 metres (328 by 6.5 ft) big tomatoes, courgettes, salad and several other vegetables are grown with weeds and mud dredged from the lake as fertiliser.
Normally it's possible to walk on the gardens but due to the previous, heavy rainfall the soil was so soaked it was not really feasible.

The day had started out totally overcast but by now the sun was burning down on our heads mercilessly. The combination of intense sun light, water glare and the higher altitude filtering out less UV rays could potentially lead to sun-stroke. Stupidly, I'd forgotten to bring a hat of some kind.
We docked at the landing of a rather run-down monastery in the middle of the lake. I couldn't believe at first that this old and desolate-looking complex with its rusty metal roofing-plates was the Nga Phe Kyaung, the 'Jumping Cat Monastery' from the guidebooks and tourist brochures. It looks a lot better inside than outside. There were a lot of tourists inside, waiting for the 'show' to begin. The chief monk was just sitting there in a chair, talking to some lay people. A monk in his early thirties, I'd guess, was talking to a couple of attractive French ladies in pretty transparent shorts. It was annoyed and with a sigh that he stood up to give a demonstration with the cats. With an impatient "Here !" he wanted everybody to line up to take the snaps they wanted. The cats jumped through little hoops and through his arms rounded as hoops. It was a nice sight, but that's all. The monk returned to the two ladies he was talking to before; they acted even more charmed by him now, something he visibly appreciated very much. He definitely didn't obey the 227 rules of monkshood - something I was convinced of when I saw him going through a stack of Western fashion magazines full of pictures of scarcely dressed women. Not something unusual for us, but it definitely is for a Burmese monk.
Of all places it was here that I remembered I had promised the deceased old monk in the hilltop monastery of Hsipaw that I'd make a good donation in the first monastery I'd enter, and so I did. Actually I'd been in the monastery in the Shan village near Hsipaw but there I'd forgotten about it (not surprisingly).
The Nga Phe Kyaung houses something else, at least as impressive as the jumping cats : an outstanding collection of antique Buddhas in various styles.

The sun was really unbearable. I could see my skin getting more and more red while looking at it. I adore sun and warmth but here we got truly roasted. We asked the boatman to return to Nyaungshwe.
Back in the main channel we passed by the village of Nanthe, where we made one last stop to see the 700 years old Buddha in the ruined stupa complex of Kyaukpyugyi Paya. It's reached by way of an adjacent small monastery (with friendly monks) and a very attractive sight. It was almost impossible to get to it; we had to wade barefoot through foot-deep muddy water, scaring away a flock of frolicking ducks. The innards of the temple were definitely unreachable - the water would have come up to our loins - but the centrepiece Buddha was clearly visible.

It was still light when we arrived back in Nyaungshwe. I had my mind set on visiting the Shan Palace Museum, the palace of Sao Shwe Thaike, the first president of Burma, but everyone I talked to about it discouraged me from going; they said there was nothing left worth seeing. Instead we headed to the Yadana Man Aung Paya, the oldest temple in town. At the entrance we bought something that can best be described as the Buddhist's Survival Kit : a package containing dozens of candles, incense sticks, dried and fresh flowers, etc. The old lady selling them did that with such a devotion we couldn't resist. It was dead cheap.
The interesting paya contains a beautiful Buddha image in an unusual mudra (hand position). A caretaker showed us around, not expecting anything in return. When a person takes action with disinterest, when a place doesn't press me to give money, then I usually do give something.

We concluded the day with a visit to a local cheroot factory. 'Factory' is definitely an overstatement as only eight or so women were working there. The speed with which the women can make these cigars is astonishing. They recited Buddhist texts to set the pace. This happened under the watchful eye of the managing lady, literally and metaphorically speaking : she was present but also looked at the workers from a picture on the wall. The photograph of her and her husband was decorated with all kinds of flowers and stuff and looked as venerated as the little Buddha image below it.

We thought about spending one more day in the Inle Lake area but decided to visit the caves at Pindaya instead.
On our way out of town we passed the Shwe Yaunghwe Kyaung, a picturesque wooden monastery especially notable for its oval windows. One of these windows with one or two red-robed monks sitting behind it makes a great snap. Phone Kyaw told me this monastery used to be largely ignored by tourists but because of its photogenic character it is now on most tour groups' itineraries.
From Nyaungshwe our driver took us to Heho, passing the tiny airport, and then on to Aungban where a crossroad leads to Pindaya. It's a highly scenic route right through multicoloured fields; especially the yellow flowers, used as offerings in the temples, create an impressionistic scene.
This is Pa-O and Danu territory, two tribes mainly involved in the growing of dry-cultivated rice. We stopped and walked into a field to have a look at the farmers who were busy separating the grains from the chaff. It were Pa-O people, shy but definitely welcoming. I didn't get the chance to get to know them any better, though... A busload of package tourists had seen us standing there and came running into the field themselves, and without even saying hello to the people, they started snapping and videotaping away, then left as quickly as they had come. A pretty sad bunch.

I loved Pindaya from the moment we entered it. The houses of the local Taungyo tribe reminded me of those seen in mountain regions of Western Europe. In the distance I noticed two stairways leading up to one and the same point on the slope of a long-drawn series of green hills; a point marked by what looked like a glass tower. That spot is the entrance to the Shwe Ohn Hmin, better known by the trivial name 'Pindaya Caves'.
Pindaya is an extremely charming town, very relaxed, very flowery. The view from the lake towards the cave is extremely beautiful and so is the short drive thither, alongside the water, then by way of a boulevard of enormous Banyan trees.
Apart from the stairs we'd seen from a distance, there's also a road leading up to the tower-like building. In it is an elevator that takes you to the entrance free of charge but is closed during the afternoon when the lift boy takes a break.
The lift stops at a platform about ten metres higher. The view is fantastic : the covered staircase snakes down and ends near the lake, at a cluster of white stupas, part of the Shwe Ohn Hmin Paya.
From the lift a short walkway ends at the cave entrance proper. Before we could even attempt to buy tickets we were already - and I must say rather rudely - directed to the ticket desk. There we had to pay a $3 entry fee but I think it's worth every cent.
What's so special about the Pindaya Caves is that they're crammed with Buddha statues. It's estimated there are 8,094 of them. Why they're there nobody seems to know.
The view from the entrance, with a small pagoda and several exquisite images vying for your attention, is especially beautiful. Looking up in the main cave chamber, you see a gigantic rock hanging from the ceiling, apparently ready to fall. It was as if it was right there to make us realise how mortal, how puny we are. Thinking of that in the presence of thousands of Buddhas definitely made an impression; I certainly felt very humble...
A novice monk guided us to a so-called meditation cave, a small side chamber in which a kind of altar had been installed and which was used for - exactly ! - meditation. We had to enter on our hands and knees. The boy insisted to show us around further; obviously he was after some 'pocket-money' but I didn't mind, he was likeable young fellow. He led us to a stalactite which, given a good bang with the bamboo pole provided, resounds like a gong. Another eye-catcher is a small pagoda which looks like a square tower topped with a pagoda spire. Hundreds of tiny Buddha images are carved in all four sides. And finally there were the 'perspiring Buddhas', sitting images whose lacquered surface is always wet due to a chemical reaction of the lacquer with the air around it. At least that's the theory, and I know it is possible, but when we were there, I couldn't feel any condensation on them, not even the slightest drop. Someone told me it was "because of the season"...
We took the stairs down, back to where the car was parked. Small shops over there sell the tastiest crisps you can buy in the country, if not anywhere. The potato chips are fried in peanut oil.

What I needed, though, was not a bag of crisps but real food. We went to the Taik Seik Restaurant, also near the lake. I had fried noodles with various vegetables; a very cheap and delicious meal.
I'd heard about traditional umbrella-making in Pindaya so wanted to check it out. U Ohn Khing Umbrellas (no address, just ask around) is supposed to be the best workshop in town. I certainly wasn't disappointed. The people there were very welcoming and only too happy to show visitors around. The whole process was explained to us, from the pounding and drying of the bamboo pulp, the lathing of the handle and top, the spanning of the framework, up to the painting of the paper. Never, ever, have I seen someone lathe a piece of wood so fast, not even with modern machinery. The guy here pedalled a piece of bamboo to which a thread was attached. At the other end it was wound around a wooden cylinder which also contained one of the wood clamps.
This is the perfect place to watch this handicraft and learn. Admittedly, the quality of the umbrellas doesn't come anywhere near that of those from the sea-side town of Pathein but they're still nice pieces of work, especially for the price : $1-2 only.

It was with regret that I left Pindaya. I never got the impression that it was spoilt by tourism, something I somehow had expected because it's a pretty well-known place.
Back over the same road to Aungban, then on to Kalaw. We considered the older hotels but for the price asked there we could also have a very nice room at the modern Eastern Paradise Motel, Block No. 5, Thirimingalar Street. Splendid rooms with fan, TV, phone and private toilet/shower come at $10 per person, lesser rooms are available. The female staff is very friendly and helpful. The only let-down here was that unfortunately it was a bit (too) noisy.

There isn't much to Kalaw. It's just a simple small town which has no real sights to offer to the traveller. The reason why the majority of visitors bunk here is to use it as a base for treks to nearby villages, mainly inhabited by members of the Palaung tribe.
I wasn't sure about going on a trek here, so I decided to head into town and talk to some people. Of course, most of the guides in the many 'travel agencies' (actually only specialised in treks) tried to convince me trekking in Kalaw was really cool. One of the offices advertised treks to Palaung and Padaung villages. The Padaung are the tribe of which the women have the famous long necks and whose villages are normally situated in the Loikaw area, definitely not here. Later, I was talking to Kris about eating something in the local Nepalese restaurant and consequently about my dining experiences in India. A man overheard our conversation and apparently had understood what we were on about. He was of Indian descent and recommended the Nepali eatery. He turned out to be a local guide on his way home after guiding a couple of travellers around for three days. He told me there are no Padaung around Kalaw - something I already knew. The trekking agencies just use it as a way to draw travellers in, telling them the 'longnecks' are no longer there but treks to other villages are still possible.
The Indian fellow was a nice guy and his only intention at the time we met him was to go home to his wife and children, so I knew I could believe him when he said the villages in the immediate vicinity of Kalaw were over-trekked; the villagers are already very used to foreign visitors and often rather try to sell bamboo hats than talk to them. I verified this statement with Phone Kyaw. He said he'd been on a trek with two women a couple of months before and it had indeed been rather disappointing. Although a nice Dutch traveller we met at the hotel tried to convince us of the opposite, we decided to give it a miss and spend our time elsewhere.

In Kalaw I got convinced that in the Shan state a lot of women are taking care of business, more than elsewhere in the country. This had occurred to me before, but in Kalaw it was particularly noticeable. When I discreetly enquired about this fact, I was told that men in Shan state are actually very lazy and often prefer blowing opium pipes to working and caring for their families. Whether this is true or not, exaggerated or not, is beyond me but nobody came up with a better explanation.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part VII)

2008-10-13T18:16:00.000-07:00

"I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." - Mark Twain

Chapter Seven - Excursion into Northern Shan state

It was a bright sunny day. The route to Pyin U Lwin is quite scenic though rather busy, and it occurred to me that the drivers in this region were less courteous, less thoughtful than where we'd been before. The road winds its way up through the hills, sometimes passing a 'view-point'. Personally, I found these viewing points very badly chosen; there are better opportunities along the way: just keep your eyes open.
The roads were being repaired. As we passed them, the gangs of workers stared at us expressionlessly. Some signalled us to give them money. Phone Kyaw said most were prisoners. I said: "If they're prisoners, then why don't they run? I see no guards." "They're prisoners who've almost done their term. They're dropped off in the morning and picked up again in the evening. If they run away, they will be caught again and spend a long time in prison. Now they probably have a maximum of six months to go." "What are they? Political prisoners?" "No, not political. Thieves, murderers or rapists, most likely. Political prisoners aren't allowed out on their own." In Myanmar, as in some other countries, people with outspoken political opinions are considered more dangerous than murderers.

Myanmar didn't strike me as a country of murderers and rapists, stories about the misbehaviour of soldiers in the inaccessible zones apart. Phone Kyaw said murder in Burma is mostly an impulse crime; sometimes the men who commit it are drunk. "And not all convicted rapists are guilty. Sometimes they're just men who visit a prostitute. Prostitution often places a very heavy burden of guilt and shame on the woman involved and from time to time it happens that during copulation these feelings get the upper hand, especially if she's caught. She may then file a complaint with the police in an attempt to save face, resulting in the man being arrested for rape."

Entering Pyin U Lwin, formerly known as Maymyo, we passed the Purcell Clock Tower, a gift of Queen Victoria. Maymyo was a hill station to which the British liked to retreat from the summer heat, but when we were there it was bloody hot, even though it's at an elevation of almost 1,100 metres (3,600 ft). The town looks distinctly colonial but - contrary to what's often said of the place - the atmosphere is no longer typically British. Diagonally opposite the clock tower a beautiful, pastel green mosque adorns the street scene; it's one of the few mosques in Burma that don't have a totally neglected appearance. Colourful carriages, somewhat reminiscent of those seen in Wild West films, are the preferred way of getting around town.

None of us felt the urge to spend a lot of time in Pyin U Lwin. We only went to see the Pwe Kyauk Falls, about eight kilometres (5 miles) north-east of town. They're also known as the Hampshire or Be Falls. Not high or mind-blowing they still make for a nice spot to relax for a while, and there is a fruit and vegetable market where one can buy excellent fresh groceries. We bought two pineapples, a bargain at K70 a piece.
A photography permit for the falls is K75. There are a couple of small eateries where you can have a drink or simple (but safe) meal. While sitting there I started to feel as though I was getting the flu.

The drive from Pyin U Lwin to Hsipaw is delightful. Everything around you is green and hilly. The people along the way are shy but friendly. At a certain point the road traverses the same 300 metres (984 ft) deep ravine as spanned by the famous Gokteik railway bridge, which can be seen in the distance. When it was built by the British in 1903, it was the second highest such bridge in the world and a unique engineering feat. Some people make the train journey from Mandalay to Lashio solely to cross this bridge which even after renovation shows its age, but it's a fact that the span can be observed much better from the road...
The road descends into the gorge as a series of really tight hairpin bends. Fortunately the most critical spots have been bordered by concrete blocks and other barriers. A truck driver who had become stuck will have thanked heaven for that. The turns are so tight the trucks have to drive as far to the outside as possible to avoid hitting the ground with the middle of the vehicle. The lorries are also so overloaded they become top-heavy, are lowered too much, become difficult to manoeuvre and the utmost is demanded from suspension and brakes. The combination of all these factors had probably led to the hairy situation this driver was in. Luckily for us we could get past, but only just. We were less fortunate on our way out of the ravine... Another truck (coming from the opposite direction, so also descending) had become stuck, obviously for the same reasons as the previous one. The driver was in a much more dire position than his colleague. The road was completely blocked and the truck didn't need much to make it go over the edge. Within no time there was a real traffic-jam; all drivers and passengers, including ourselves, got out of their vehicles, sat down in the scorching sun and waited while a handful of brave lads tried to get the truck moving again. They had all the trouble in the world, especially as they had to be very careful not to send the lorry down the mountain slope. Finally, a couple of hours later the problem was solved and we were on our way again.

The road tax booths in this part of the Shan state are really modern with automatic barriers and digital ticket machines, but come with prices to match: the road tax here is among the highest in the country. In all fairness I must say that the roads are good. Sometimes very narrow they were being expanded by road workers, ordinary ones this time, not prisoners. Phone Kyaw had to drive very carefully. Still, we were sometimes passed by Mandalay taxi drivers in a great hurry. They were heading towards the Chinese border, to the town of Mu-Se. They need to drive fast to make the trip within one day. Travel from Lashio to Mu-Se is not permitted for foreigners; only businessmen can go.

The road went through a village. In the distance I saw what looked like a boy riding a hippopotamus. When we came closer I saw it actually was a really fat albino buffalo, the biggest I've ever seen. Obviously I stopped to take a picture; in no time most people in the small settlement were outside, looking and laughing at the crazy white man who was busy taking a photograph of a domestic animal. Shortly before entering the township of Hsipaw, a major Shan principality, the road passes Bawgyo Paya, the most revered paya in northern Shan state and built in the local style. It's beautiful; exquisitely carved wooden panels adorn the outer walls while inside are four important crafted wooden Buddha images, dating back to 1175.
The old caretakers were odd characters. Their faces reminded me of the fellows in the Chinese opium-den in the Tin-Tin album 'The Blue Lotus'. They watched our every move, without saying a word. Shortly before I left I gave a donation, at which one of them seemed to awaken and promptly handed me a leaflet explaining about the paya and its antiques. He smiled, showing his poorly cared for teeth, and it turned out he even spoke English.

We didn't know where to stay the night in Hsipaw. Phone Kyaw asked around; it was his first visit there too. Locals directed us to Mr Kid's Guesthouse, near the entrance to town (coming from Pyin U Lwin). The proprietor showed us rooms on the ground and first floors. Washing basins, a shower and toilets were outside, so it was more convenient to have a room on the ground floor, especially in the middle of the night if there is a power failure. A bathroom on the first floor was being installed when we were there, so it may be finished by the time you read this.

Rooms are very basic but clean cardboard cubicles. Ours had a bed, a rickety table with iron legs and a fan and a wire with a simple light bulb was hanging from the ceiling. We could forget about light and cooling most of the time, though, because electricity was truly problematic. Sleeping was difficult because there was a lot of noise, especially in the early morning when the Burmese guests were leaving and the school next door opened. I also advise you to use mosquito nets in this place - this is definitely a malarial area.
We found out too late that 'Mr Kid' hadn't been very straight with us; he charged us K500 per person while all guest houses in Hsipaw apparently have an agreement to ask 250 Kyats per person per night. When I queried this with Mr Kid, he told me we actually had a room for four but he'd arrange a reduction. In the end, this 'reduction' turned out to be only 50 Kyat per person, a joke.

The place is not so bad but due to it being extremely noisy and the manager's attitude I cannot recommend it; there are several other guesthouses in town where they are more honest. We got most of our information from a very friendly man nicknamed 'Mr Book'. He owns a bookshop in town; I don't know the address but everybody will be able to direct you to him, especially other travellers. His little shop has become a true travellers' hangout because the man's so extremely kind and helpful and speaks excellent English. He's a great chap to talk to; if you're there, go and see him, you'll discover he's very eager to talk about even the most sensitive subjects...

At Mr Book's we met Simon, an English traveller, two French guys travelling together and a French lady travelling alone. All were really nice except the French broad who clearly despised us for travelling around by car. She was very curt to us. I've travelled via public transport many times myself and I've never disliked anyone I met for getting around by whatever means. During the conversations I repeatedly heard the 'titles' Mr Book, Mr Basket, Mrs Noodle, Ms Medicine, etc. This was too much of a coincidence, so I asked why everybody called him/herself Mister or Mistress. Apparently the Israeli travellers, who've turned Hsipaw into something like their own private Burma hangout, found the Burmese names too difficult to pronounce or even remember and made up easier names relating to the profession or a characteristic of the person in question. It does make things a bit easier in Hsipaw, and those so renamed even seem to take pride in their new designations; it has even led to some of them actively studying English.

Mr Book invited us to watch an English football game on the telly in the evening, but I had to refuse because I'd started to feel really unwell and wasn't in the mood for entertainment. I was sorry to have to decline his invitation, but in any case I'm not a football fan - as a matter of fact, I hate it. Our friendly host then said he'd show us around town the next morning, and "organise something" for us in the afternoon. He said that if I could hang on a while longer we could go and see the sunset from Thaintaung Paya. I could.

A track leads to the top of this hilltop pagoda, which is located on the other side of the Dokhtawady river, along the way to Lashio. A rusty old bridge - British of course - is the only way to cross the stream. It's well-guarded by soldiers, who were - surprise, surprise - very happy to see us. They waved at us until we were out of sight.

Up the hill we first went to pay our respects to the resident monks. They were very welcoming and gave us a quick tour of the small adjacent monastery. We were shown the pictures and remains of a very old monk who used to live and meditate there. Allegedly, some of his bones miraculously would not burn in the cremation fire. His cell - in the most literal sense of the word! - was still there. I don't know how it was possible, but it felt as if the monk was still around. At the time I was shivering and my legs were shaking, not because of the awe I felt but because I was feverish and definitely sickening. And I still don't know why - especially because I'm normally the last person to do it - but I prayed to the old monk, and asked him to make me well again. I promised to make a good donation to the first monastery I entered after that, regardless of whether I was healed or not. Spending some time in deeply religious Myanmar really has an effect on a person's mind.

We said good-bye to the friendly monks and went to see the sunset. It wasn't the setting sun itself but the entire view of the Hsipaw region that was simply stunning. The town lay below us, beyond the river. Behind it were deep-green mountains, and stretching from left to right a paler green valley. It was so quiet, so beautiful, so peaceful... It was as if time passed so much less quickly there. The smoke from cooking fires slowly wafted up from the chimneys, to gradually diffuse and form a fog which was almost held in place by the mountains blocking the wind. It was an ideal place for contemplation - really my kind of place.
We had to eat - apart from breakfast it was the first time that day - so that's what we did. The Hwai Ta Chinese restaurant is a very friendly place serving wonderful, cheap meals. Although I wasn't well, I did manage to eat all the food on my plate.

When I got up the next morning, the first thing that crossed my mind was that the old monk had heard my prayers; I felt really good. Perhaps the day before had been just a hiccup, or maybe it was due to fatigue or the lack of food. I'll never know for sure what cured me but I was OK, that was the important thing.
We had an appointment with Mr Book. He was happy to see us, inquired about my health, then took us to the market. There we met Mr Bean (not the TV comic!), Ms Medicine, Mr Basket - all very kind folks - and finally Mrs Noodle. She served us a tasty Shan noodle soup with pig skin crackers.
I asked Mr Book where I could buy some saffron. Saffron is very expensive at home; in Asia it's often available at a much lower price. He said not to buy it in Hsipaw but in Mandalay. It was cheaper there and the quality was better. He then left us, because he had to open his shop.

After breakfast we went for a stroll on the market. All kinds of goods (but mainly fruit, vegetables, fish and meat) were on sale. The women selling them were really colourful, and often lived in nearby or remote villages. They hardly paid attention to us - the market is very much a local matter.

Phone Kyaw took us to the Hsipaw Haw, better known as the Shan Palace, the residence of the last Shan Prince and now of his nephew who takes care of it. His name is Sao Oo Kya but he likes to be called Donald by foreigners. His wife is Sao Sarm Hpong, called Fern. The palace is not publicly accessible but the family is happy to see foreign visitors; if they're home, you can visit. We opened the iron gate of the premises, closed it behind us and headed towards the main building, which was smaller than I'd expected and actually just a residential house in a rather unusual architectural style. We were welcomed by Fern. She called her husband, who in turn gave us the grand tour of the domain. He's a very clever man, who knows a great deal about religion, architecture, art, health and hygiene, farming, etc. But his main interest is politics, which he's not afraid to talk about, in contrast to most of his fellow countrymen. Not particularly impressive on its own, the Palace is the essence of the Shan question and photographs and a genealogical tree inside the building illustrate the history of the Shan princes. Donald explained it all at length. However, his explanations and opinions about what happened to the prince were vague to say the least.

At the risk of being rude towards our host, I came away feeling that he's only really interested in people he can use for his cause (and that's the Shan cause). All the time he was probing us to see what we could do for him. When he finally realised we were just ordinary working blokes, not actively involved in politics or journalism, his interest waned and he wanted rid of us, not as soon as possible but quickly anyway. Also, above the very first photograph in the house is a message saying "Donations appreciated, but not less than 1 Dollar". Come on! That's downright arrogant. Phone Kyaw, a devout Buddhist, was visibly (but not verbally) upset by it. After I'd given a donation of 'not less than one dollar', I was taken to the living room where I was shown some books that had been given to him as presents by other travellers. There was yet another donation box, fortunately this time with a text not committing one to anything.

Donald kept telling us how poor he was and how he needed money for the upkeep of the Haw - which I can very well understand. But later I found out that he's the owner of vast orchards and has interests in other businesses too. According to one group of locals I talked to (not supporters of the military regime), he's a wealthy man who should not be begging for money. This opinion is completely the opposite of another faction. They see "Mr Donald" as a god capable of solving all problems if given the chance. The reality is probably somewhere in between. He's definitely one of the smarter and more potentially powerful individuals in Shan state, but his behavior is that of a politician: he evidently uses people and their money to further his own aims.

We returned to Mr Book's where we met Simon, the Englishman, and the French lady again. Mr Book wanted us to go and visit some Shan villages together. He was a good organiser. I bicycled with him to a longboat jetty on the Dokhtawady river to find out if and when we could take a boat and how much that would cost us. It turned out that a boat would be leaving shortly and the price was K50 per person. We hurried back to the bookshop, but stopped on the way to buy some filled rolls to take with us.

We would go by boat to the village of Soun Lon where we could look around for a while, then take another boat on to Soun Lung. From there we would have to walk a little to the main Hsipaw - Lashio road where Phone Kyaw would come to pick us up by car. Sounded good. Mr Book drew a map to help keep our bearings. Simon took it. The lot of us returned to the jetty. The French lady (unfortunately I've forgotten her name; I'm terrible with names) was clearly strongly attracted to Simon, and I think he fancied her as well.
In the few conversations we had, the French woman had always pretended she was omniscient when it came to Asian customs. Apparently she wasn't... She and Simon had been travelling for half a year or more (but not together) and had been all over South East Asia. So I was surprised to hear them ask Mr Book the simplest questions, questions which I knew the answer to before I embarked on the trip, or which had already been answered by Phone Kyaw.

When we arrived on the river bank, the boat was already coming in. His Kindness Mr Book wanted to take the hawser to tie it around a nearby pole. To be able to do that, he stood on a couple of tree-trunks floating in the water. Not a terribly smart thing to do... He fell into the river and nearly got jammed between the pole he wanted to tie the rope to and the longboat. Instead of panicking and/or trying to get out of the water, he calmly accepted fate and pretended to be bathing. Wonderful chap!

We said good-bye to him and Phone Kyaw and the boat took off. It was crammed with people returning home from the market(s), carrying their left-over goods. The sides of the boat were almost level with the water; abrupt course changes or the wakes of passing boats made it feel as if the boat was about to turn over, eliciting soft cries of terror from some of the female passengers. The sun was shining mercilessly on our heads, which were fortunately protected by caps. Lizards shot through our legs and jumping spiders hopped over our shoulders. The shore had a lush, jungle appearance. Ah, it was an enjoyable trip (although Simon and his friend didn't say a word to us).

About seventy or so minutes later the boat docked at the Soun Lon landing. Kris and I stood near the edge of the river for a short while, gazing at the scenery. When we turned around again, our companions - for - the - day were gone. We made our way through the high grass, towards the village. There they were. We teamed up again and entered the nearby monastery. The village was preparing for festivities. Novice monks were rehearsing on musical instruments and quite surprised to suddenly see foreigners turn up unannounced in their quarters. None of them spoke English. I wanted to find someone to introduce ourselves to, but our 'friends' had a different opinion. They just sat there, talking to each other as if they were on a picnic. Unable to stand it any longer, Kris and I left the monastery and went for a drink at a nearby stall.

After about half an hour Simon came out. I asked him to see the map but instead of showing it to me, he showed it to his (girl)friend. What an arsehole! I offered them a drink but they turned me down and instead went into the village. We finished our Crusher (a Burmese soft drink). As expected they didn't come looking for us, so we decided to go and look for them. After all, they had the map; we would never be able to find the jetty without a map.

We decided upon a leisurely walk through the village to see if we could find them. The village consisted of typical wooden huts with symmetric, sloping roofs. It was built amidst the trees and scrub, in which colourful spiders had spun their webs. I tried saying 'Hello' to several people but nobody responded. Nobody paid any attention to us - just like in the Hsipaw market. Weird. I think the villagers were too shy.
We finally found our pals sitting in a hut; a family had invited them in. We were signalled to enter too. We removed our shoes and walked up the wooden stairs. A fat old lady with incredibly saggy breasts sat in the middle of the floor, made of wooden planks. The hut, more like a house, was nice inside with several separate rooms. The old lady lived there with her husband, grown-up children and children-in-law, who were all in the back of the room, chuckling at the strange visitors. She was very friendly and did all the talking - talking we couldn't understand as there was no-one to translate for us. The French chick feigned she understood it, but actually didn't know what the Shan lady was on about. Her ten word vocabulary was of very little use. She looked down on us because we had a car and a driver who did all the translations for us, but now she could see how interesting conversations are if you don't know what the other person is talking about! Simon, definitely not the guy I'd expected him to be when I first met him, pretended he was sleeping. How sociable! They're the kind of travellers I rather not meet. They have an air of 'knowing it all' and look down on people who try to make the most of their period in a country in a way which is different from theirs, but actually they know shit.

Fortunately, the old woman was inventive and by using gestures she managed to make some kind of conversation. She acted as if she was flying, made a "Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta" noise and mentioned 'Japon', then ducked; clearly she was talking about sheltering from the attacks of Japanese aeroplanes in the war. She got out an old Thai Airways in-flight magazine and turned to the pages with the world map showing the flight routes. She wanted us to point to the country we lived in. Very clever!

She also said some things about the Buddha; that much was clear, but what exactly was impossible to comprehend. She noticed and decided to change subject. She got out several kinds of vegetables and spices which they grew themselves: cucumbers, cloves, peas, beans,... She wanted us to taste all of them. I was very surprised that before cutting up the cucumber she thoroughly cleaned her machete-like knife with soap and water. As I have said before, the people in Myanmar are generally well aware of personal hygiene. When she passed me, she couldn't resist feeling my arm. White skin was something she obviously envied. I pulled up my T-shirt and showed her my very white belly. She brought her hands to her cheeks, shook back her head and let out a loud "Oooooohhh!". Everybody in the house was fascinated but only the old gal was brave enough to touch my tummy.

After an hour or so Simon decided it was time to go. We said good-bye, then tried to find the jetty where we had to take the boat to the next village, Soun Lung. Most people didn't reply to our questions and those who did indicated they didn't understand what we were on about. We finally found someone who did; it turned out that we were standing 30 feet from where the boat would come in.

Boat full of oranges heading towards Soun Lung The vessel was completely full of oranges. The boatmen weren't counting on taking along passengers but nevertheless arranged something: we could all sit in a spot near the bow - well, on the bow is more accurate.

The trip took barely fifteen minutes. We didn't have to pay as an apology for putting us in an 'uncomfortable' position. Simon and his 'fiancée' suddenly weren't much interested in having a look around the village; they'd learned their lesson. So we gave Soun Lung a miss and headed towards the main road where Phone Kyaw was waiting with the car. Had our French companion been consistant, she would have refused the ride but no, she was only too happy to get in. When we arrived back at Mr Book's, she left us without a word.

The moral of this story: don't visit small villages off the beaten track without a guide/interpreter. There's little or no fun in it, as you just can't communicate with the people.

It had been a fun day despite all annoyances; Hsipaw is a great place to spend some time. In the evening we went up the hill to see the sunset and had supper at the Hwai Ta Restaurant again, because it was such a good place. In the morning we had breakfast at Mrs Noodle's shop, said good-bye and thanked Mr Book, checked out of the guesthouse and headed back towards Pyin U Lwin. I would have liked to spend longer in this part of the country, but our itinerary didn't allow us to. Maybe later...

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part VI)

2008-10-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

Chapter Six - The Mandalay area - continued

The next morning over breakfast I suggested to go to Monywa. Kris agreed, so we checked out. Phone Kyaw got some black market fuel and had to have a flat tyre repaired. That was a really primitive affair. The inner tube - tubeless tyres are still a novelty in Burma - was heated up over a hot charcoal fire whilst a patch of rubber was pressed hard onto it. About twenty minutes later the three of us were on our way again. It was sunny and dry, the road was passable and the drive pleasant.

We had seen some during our previous drives, but now that the weather was fine there were many more donation collectors, standing on both sides of the road with silver bowls collecting money. When a vehicle approaches, they start shaking the bowls noisily to attract attention, and loud music often resounds from old speakers. Sometimes they're collecting money to sponsor schools but most of the time the money goes to monasteries. We knew the routine - it's the same as used to reward the road workers mentioned before: some change is thrown out of the window(s) of the vehicle and picked up by the joyous volunteers. I often gave something to the schools in particular because education is important; education is power. I put a good amount in the bowl of a nice lady who was enthusiastically collecting funds for a local elementary school. She was extremely happy with it and asked where we were going. I told her. She jokingly said: "When you return, bring me something sweet." I promised I would.

About 20 kms (13 miles) short of Monywa, a small road diverts to the right and leads to one of the most fantastic sights I've ever seen: the Thanboddhay Paya. Two enormous white elephants guard the entrance to a paya complex. At first sight it doesn't give away much. In fact I didn't realise we'd arrived at the Thanboddhay. There's a sign telling you to pay a $3 entry fee but as nobody asked us to, we didn't and walked in. Funny little monk figurines look out of little windows modelled in the gateway. Following the track inside we walked past several colourful buildings, richly decorated with what rather resemble comic book figures. We turned right and suddenly were face to face with the main stupa, a structure beyond description. The golden pagoda consists of concentric squares topped with hundreds of smaller stupas. The top looks like a typical Burmese pagoda. In the yard around the pagoda are many more stupas, lavishly decorated pillars, adorable pavilions adorned with orange tigers, a Persian-looking watchtower (offering stunning views of the pagoda) and lesser shrines with mirror mosaics. It looks a lot like a theme park, albeit an extremely beautiful one. Inside the pagoda are no less than 582,363 Buddha images, all in the 'touching the earth' posture. I found it absolutely stunning, but everything's so richly decorated that some people may find it over the top.

Continuing a couple of miles along the same road by which we came to the Thanboddhay, we had a great view of a huge reclining Buddha lying on a hill in front of us. It looked quite impressive; Phone Kyaw drove towards it. Nearing it, on the left-hand side I saw what looked like an orchard full of Buddha statues sitting under umbrellas. It turned out they weren't fruit trees but small bodhi trees (the bodhi tree is the banyan tree under which the Buddha attained enlightenment). We found out they were part of the Bodhitataung Paya (which literally means 'Pagoda of a Thousand Bodhi Trees'). The pagoda itself is a bit further down a dirt track. It's actually a beautiful pagoda but when you've just visited the marvel that is the Thanboddhay it looks mundane...

Almost right behind it, on the hill, lies the big reclining image. And from up-close it's even bigger than you expect from a distance. In fact, at the moment of writing this, it's the biggest such statue in the country. The length is 333 feet (102 m), the height 90 ft (27 m). When you add up the individual (Imperial) digits the sum is always 9, a number which the Burmese consider especially powerful.

The Alantaye Paya, as it's called, is impressive but I didn't find it particularly beautiful; it's too modern, too plain perhaps. One can walk around inside the statue but I found nothing of interest. However, not many tourists go there, making it a nice place to spend a while; the locals are friendly.

Phone Kyaw took us onward to Monywa. It's one of the eight biggest cities in Myanmar but there's nothing that would give you that impression; it looks like a sleepy agricultural town or trading post.
There aren't many hotels. We chose the Shwe Taung Tarn Hotel, allegedly one of the cheapest. A member of the rather unfriendly staff showed us a double room with A/C, TV and private toilet/shower (only cold water although they said there was hot too). The price was $15, no bargaining (but that may have been due to the pagoda festival being held when we arrived). The corridors are moist and smell really unpleasant, as do the smaller rooms. Our $15 room was OK, though. Breakfast was included but the quality could have been better.

It was still early afternoon, and as we weren't interested in sitting in the room for the rest of the day, we walked to the Chindwin River, the main tributary of the Ayeyarwady. The locals are not yet accustomed to seeing foreigners apparently, as they all stared at us. We boarded a motorised longboat that would take us to the other side of the stream. The price is K10 per person. Regular ferries are also available but considerably more expensive. The boat was completely full. We stood in the middle of it, surrounded by members of the local population, all of them observing us.

After a short ride we reached the village of Naungbingyi, on the western river bank. From there we wanted to go to the Po Win Daung Caves, about 25 kms (16 mls) further on. The only way to get there is by a high-clearance 4WD vehicle. The return trip (including waiting time) by old pick-up truck cost us K1,500.
The trip in itself is not very exciting but the cave complex in the hills of the same name is probably worth the effort. The name derives from a famous zawgyi, or alchemist, who used to live there. The artificial caves contain Buddha statues and beautiful murals, usually from the 17th-18th centuries. Purportedly there are over 400,000 images in these and nearby caves but I never got that impression.

It's a quiet, beautiful place populated by a large monkey colony. They're not nearly as bold as the ones in Mt Popa but take care anyway; one nearly bit me when I inadvertently scared it upon entering a cave.
Admission is $3, payable in Kyat if you wish.

The pick-up driver suggested we'd also have a look at nearby Shwe Ba Daung, a complex of pavilions, images and cave temples cut from the living sandstone rock. Some of them look distinctly British and some are definitely unique and funny. How about a giant stone elephant serving as a facade with the doorway between its legs? Or a column being climbed by a couple of people, one of whom is losing his loin-cloth? By itself, Shwe Ba Daung wouldn't justify coming all the way from Monywa, but combined with Po Win Daung I'd say it's essential. Entrance is free.

We returned the way we'd come; it was already dark. The ferries crossing the Chindwin stop at 6 pm but we would have gone by longboat anyway. It took a while to fill up now and there was a 100% price increase: K20 instead of K10, not really something to worry about.

It was supper time. I asked where we could find the Pann Cherry Restaurant, which got a good review in the Lonely Planet guide. As I'd come to expect by then, the book was useless; the restaurant had been closed for some time and had apparently been turned into a bank. We decided to try the food in our hotel's eatery. Hotel restaurants are never my first choice but to my great surprise it was very good. The lady who prepared and served the meals was not talkative at all but she created wonderful plates of Chinese food, complete with Japanese-style carved veggies and fruits. Surprisingly, the breakfast next morning was quite poor with burned toast and undrinkable tea. Perhaps she'd been partying too hard at the pagoda festival dance?

We went to the festival ourselves and ended up spending half the night at it. It's basically a big fair-cum-market, albeit a very pleasant one. All the people were disarmingly friendly. Most traders wanted us to see (or taste) their wares, even if they could assume we were not going to buy them (e.g. hammers, chisels, women's clothing).

The festivities continue for days but almost all the activity happens at night and gives the Burmese a chance to indulge in some night life. Consequently several people get drunk. A totally smashed soldier (armed with a handgun) walked up to me and vividly described his record of killings (murders?), not leaving much to the imagination. I didn't pay much attention to him but he kept talking anyway. Finally, he was hanging on to my arm, not exactly a good impression on the people around us. It was difficult to get rid of him but by buying some candy, for which I needed both hands, I got him to let go.

The next morning we had to make tracks back to Mandalay, although Monywa deserves better than just a one day visit. On the spot where I'd met her the day before, I saw her again: the nice lady collecting money for the elementary school. She was very excited to see me, virtually dancing around the car. She asked me if I had brought her something to eat. Blast! I'd totally forgotten to bring her something, initially taking it as a joke. She feigned disappointment but was actually very happy to see me again. Through Phone Kyaw we exchanged some gags, then I asked about the school project. She explained all about it; the cash they collected was to pay for an extension. She was very sad when I said we were leaving, but we did have to go.

In Mandalay we checked in at the same hotel we'd stayed in before. All our nights in Mandalay were spent in the oddly named Nylon Hotel (just in front of the Garden Hotel). The Chinese proprietor (who also owns the nearby ice cream parlour of the same name) has attempted to Anglicise 'Nai Lon' to make it appeal to tourists but the result is a name which in the West would probably pass for a joint of dubious nature.
It's a good place, where lots of travellers stay. We tried three different rooms. All were between $12 and $15 after bargaining (original asking price for the $15 rooms was $20). They all had A/C, private toilet/shower, TV, telephone and fans, and breakfast was included. Some drawbacks, though: all rooms were noisy due to different causes (A/C, thin walls, street noise...) and there seemed to be a hot water problem throughout the hotel (although the water never was really cold). Oh yeah, and I was bitten by a bedbug in one $15 room, although it looked clean upon first inspection.

I needed to have a couple of photos developed. My mother had told me on the phone that at Brussels airport several people had had their films destroyed by the X-ray machines. I had put my hand luggage through them myself, so wanted to verify whether they had been ruined or not. Eastern Color Express on 28th Street between 80th and 81st Streets (reputedly the best film lab in the city) did a good job. Developing the 400 ASA film cost K100 plus K50 per print. Processing took 1 day. The shop also does truly wonderful passport photographs; much better than the ones at home.

It was time for food. The Pan Cherry Restaurant on the corner of 25th and 83rd Streets (almost opposite the Nylon Hotel) serves a simple though very tasty bowl of Shan noodles for only K80. After dinner we wanted to see Mandalay Palace, one of the most controversial tourist sites in the country because most of the restoration was carried out using forced labour. All males in the city were required to 'voluntarily' (note the contradiction in terms) help rebuild the palace one day per month. All names were registered and not turning up resulted in severe penalties. Negative publicity in the foreign press led to the government abolishing this scheme. The palace and surrounding moat have nevertheless been completely restored. I would suggest that, if you decide not to visit, you should do so only because of the $5 you have to pay to the Department of Archaeology, not because of the forced labour used in the reconstruction. After all, if we had to give a cent to each and every person who, throughout history, was forced to help construct the monuments which are now part of our world heritage...

The palace, often called The Fort, is actually a city within a city, a green square with a circumference of 7,920 metres (4.95 miles). Using the old Burmese measurement system that amounts to 2,400 ta, which at the time of building was the exact number of days which had elapsed between the death of the Buddha and the founding of the city.

As the army has occupied most of the Fort it's tightly secured. Visitors can only enter through the gate in the eastern wall, which is reached by way of a bridge over the 52 metres (170 ft) wide moat. First you present yourself and your passport to the military officer manning a small desk in front of the gate. Then you get the tickets at the designated booth and take them back to the officer. The palace complex is right in the middle of the Fort grounds. A couple of grumpy security officers checked the tickets, after which we were finally allowed in.

King Mindon Min's palace compound was completely destroyed during the Second World War. What we see today is a total reconstruction. On the face of it, it's extremely beautiful and artistic but looking more carefully you notice that what once were teak pillars are now concrete casts and the wooden roofs have been replaced by aluminium ones, all non-flammable materials.

An immediate eye catcher is a copy of the king's Lion Throne in the Audience Hall near the entrance. Unfortunately, it looks a bit too artificial, and a highly reflective glass panel - thick with dirty fingerprints - has been placed in front, obviously to protect it. It totally removes the opportunity, and the wish, to take a picture. Elsewhere, the complex offers great photo opportunities. The 33 metres (108 ft) high watchtower offers a wonderful vista; a spiral staircase winds to the top of it.

Not far from the fort lie several interesting sites. If you've seen the Kyauktawgyi Paya in Amarapura, you can skip the pagoda of the same name in Mandalay. It's more or less the same. The Buddha image in the latter is more impressive than its counterpart but it also costs $2 to see it while the paya in Amarapura can be visited for free.
The Kuthodaw Paya should not be missed. It's been dubbed the World's Biggest Book, for the 729 small stupas surrounding the main pagoda each contain a stone slab with inscriptions. Together these writings form a uniform version of the tripitaka (the Buddhist scriptures) as determined by 2,400 monks during the Fifth Buddhist Synod in 1871.

We were guided around by a very beautiful girl in her early twenties, Su Su, who had a souvenir stall within the grounds (what else is new?)... Her eyes and voice would make most men absolutely crazy. She showed us the best places to take pictures and a remarkable statue of a very emaciated Buddha, one of the phases in the "You will be old, you will be sick, you will die" cycle as taught by the Enlightened One.
Entrance to the Kuthodaw is $5 but for that price you also get admission to the adjacent Sandamani Paya, where another large number of small pagodas house inscribed stone slabs. They contain a commentary on the tripitaka.

Nearby are the Shwenandaw and Atumashi Kyaung, which we saw the following morning before leaving Mandalay. Another combined ticket (another $5) gives access to the two of them.
The Shwenandaw Kyaung, or Golden Palace Monastery, is the only original remainder of Mandalay Fort - the rest was completely levelled by the British during WW II - and as such is extremely interesting. I wondered why a building belonging to the Fort was constructed outside it. Apparently it used to be within the palace walls but King Thibaw Min had the all-teak monastery dismantled and rebuilt on its present site. It's very beautiful and the carved woodwork is exquisite. Inside is another copy of the Lion Throne of the Konbaung (Mandalay) kings as well as the couch which Thibaw Min used to meditate on.
Next door is the Atumashi Kyaung, the 'Incomparable Monastery'. That title is certainly no longer valid. It's a beautiful building, but once inside it there really is an empty feeling. It's impossible to believe the original was like that before it burnt down. There's nothing 'incomparable' about it; several other places are much more impressive.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part V)

2008-10-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

"For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say :
'Come back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay !'."
- Rudyard Kipling, in 'The Road to Mandalay'.

Chapter Five - The Mandalay area

When we got up the next morning it was raining heavily again. Fortunately the only thing we had to do, was make it to Mandalay. This was easier said than done...

We attended a nat pwe (an energetical nat celebration) near the village of Nyaung U, then set off driving towards Ngathayauk, intending to continue to Myingyan and Myitthah. We progressed rather slowly but the beautifully green mountain region of the Bago Yoma, dotted with little villages, is very agreeable to drive through, even in bad weather. For the first time it was chilly outside.

In the vicinity of Ngathayauk, Phone Kyaw (the driver) said there was another big creek coming up and we might not be able to cross it. Possibly we had to take an alternative route. At a fork in the road he stopped to speak to someone about it. It happened the creek was impassable, so we turned left instead of right and intended to go by way of Kyauk Padaung and Meiktila. When we passed through a small built-up area, Phone Kyaw made a short conversation with a villager after which we backtracked to the road fork, then headed towards the creek. We drove for several miles, sometimes through puddles at least a foot deep, then had to move out of the way for a couple of passing trucks. Soaking wet people were hanging from it, resigned... It amazed me how calm these people were under the circumstances. They waved at us in a friendly way and shouted that we couldn't continue. They had tried with a truck and were forced to turn back, so we certainly could forget about it. We turned around once more - and nearly got stuck in the mud - and drove back the way we intended to go when we first heard the creek had become impassable. This brought us past the Mount Popa Nature Reserve, a national park. I would have liked to visit it but there was really no time.

The detour via Meiktila was rather tedious and monotonous. Because of the shitty weather and bad roads we weren't able to attain a decent average speed. It was another one of these long legs of the trip which were perfectly suited to talk to our 'guide', Phone Kyaw. I knew we were going to visit some monasteries in and around Mandalay, so I asked him some questions about layman's behaviour towards monks. We had visited the monastery in Yangon and been given a 'lesson' about donating money by the abbot in Salay, but there were still some things I wanted clarified. For example, what one should give to a monk when he's on his alms round. Phone Kyaw answered I needn't give anything if my heart didn't tell me to do so. If it did, I could give all kinds of food and money, "but they can only eat one banana per day". "And what about meat?", I asked. "Meat is no problem", my driver replied, "You can give many kinds of meat, but the strict monks will not eat it." "And the money? I thought monks weren't allowed to touch it?" "They aren't. You just put it in their bowl; back in the monastery a novice or layman will take it out." "Suppose there's a long queue of monks collecting alms but I only have enough to give to, say, five of them. To whom should I give it? The first five? Or should I just pick the ones I like most?", I laughed. "Doesn't matter. You can give it to any one you like." "But won't the others feel offended, then?" "No, not at all. They live by strict rules. They won't be jealous." "Suppose that upon returning in the monastery one of the monks appears to have collected nothing at all or at least not enough. Will the others share their food?" "Yes, always."
"If I put some food in the alms bowl of a monk, should I say something to him?" "If we give food to a monk we always say ... (he uttered something in Burmese). You as a foreigner are not required to say anything." "Can I shake hands with any monk?" "Yes, no problem for you, but women can't."
I asked many more things, things I often already knew but wanted my companion to hear too.

Approaching Meiktila, we passed the Maung Daing Paya, a collection of overgrown pagodas. It's a very beautiful spot, totally surrounded by greenery with skinny palm trees in front of it. It could easily be the setting for a movie scene, this one! Meiktila itself was a rather weird place. The population were surprised to see foreigners but reluctant to talk. Probably it had something to do with a larger than average local military presence. There's an air force base nearby so many soldiers live or are stationed in the area. Normally - and contrary to what I had expected - there's hardly any military presence on the tourist circuit. The tatmadaw keep a really low profile. The reason is only too obvious: the government wants tourists returning home that they hardly saw a soldier during their stay in Myanmar and thus conclude that the country is not a military dictatorship. If you look with your eyes wide open though, you cannot miss the sometimes huge army convoys heading to the off-limits areas loaded with foodstuffs, fuel and whatever else... And as soon as you deviate from the beaten track, the military are definitely visible and ready to check up on you. There's not much in Meiktila to interest the casual visitor. The only place I think is worth mentioning is the beautiful red-and-gold Wantawpyi Kyaung. It's on the way out of town and also includes a museum.

Just before entering Paleik, a small town in a region of rice fields, one can visit a Snake Temple. Seen from the street the building doesn't give away much but inside three rather well-endowed pythons cling to a small but nice-looking Buddha image. There used to be more snakes but some have died. On the walls the many photographs of visitors with snakes indicate it's a popular shrine. The friendly caretaker draped one of the reptiles around our necks too. The temple is built on the spot of an older pagoda in which a snake lived inseparably with the resident Buddha image. It was fed weekly by the villagers. When it died, this sanctuary was constructed and new snakes were brought in. It's still partly under construction but because of its popularity I think it won't be long before the necessary funds have been collected to finish it.
The 'entertainment value' of the temple is high, definitely worth a visit.

It was already getting dark when we reached Mandalay. Most people I had talked to found it an unpleasant and ugly city. Upon arrival I was inclined to share their opinion, especially since the rain gave the city a disconsolate appearance. It's also rather dirty, especially by Burmese standards. Myanmar is not a dirty country compared to most of its neighbours. Yes, the lack of surfaced roads makes for a lot of mud but that by itself doesn't make a place dirty. By 'dirty' I mean the presence of garbage in the streets and unclean appearance of the people. The poverty in Burma means the people recycle everything until there's absolutely no other use for it. This seriously limits the amount of rubbish. Moreover, because of the rarity of artificial materials (such as plastics) the trash is usually bio-degradable, so if it's thrown on the streets it will rot away or be consumed by animals. How long this will last is anyone's guess but if the country somehow takes the development fast lane it's likely serious littering will occur despite the fact that the Burmese appeared to me to be disciplined enough to avoid that. They usually take really good care of themselves too.
After a while in the city, I began to appreciate it more. The people are all right for city folks, the town is not as gloomy as I initially thought it was, and the sights are quite fascinating. There are better places, inevitably, but also much worse!

Our first day in Mandalay we didn't spend in the city proper but went to visit the so-called Ancient Cities: Amarapura, Inwa (aka Ava) and Sagaing.
The Pahtodawgyi in Amarapura is not on most visitors' list but is nevertheless a nice, quiet place. The iron gate allowing access to the upper terrace of the pagoda was closed; I asked the old trustee - a very humble man - if he could unlock it for me. "Just push it open", he said, "It's not locked. We just keep it closed to prevent the dogs from running up and down the stairs." There are indeed many dogs in Burma. They breed like mad and almost all look identical - the typical 'street breed'.
The view from the upper terrace of the paya is pretty good. Out of the surrounding tree tops - almost as far as the eye can see - rise the peaks of countless pagodas, a wonderful sight which had me contemplating the religious building frenzy that is still going on. The Burmese donate a huge amount of money to pagodas and monasteries.

A monastery which receives hefty donations is Mahagandhyon Kyaung. Not really surprising as it's the biggest in Myanmar; over 1,000 monks live there. The donations are not mainly used for beautification of the place but to buy food for the monks. It's an incredible sight to see the fare being prepared in enormous cauldrons and the monks lining up in one gigantic queue to receive it. Unfortunately this spot has become incredibly touristy, to the point where the monks themselves are visually bothered by all the attention. I found things were even getting out of hand when the monks were eating their meals in the refectory. Photography is allowed but I think one ought to treat people as human beings, not as objects. After all, the monks are not there to model for us; this is their life. Whilst they were quietly eating their only meal of the day, some - no, most - foreigners walked around between the long rows of silent monks and were happily clicking away. They asked some monks to look in a certain direction or to re-arrange the food on their table, just because it'd look better on their pictures. Some people were even walking on the benches the monks sit on! Awful. It made me feel ashamed to be a foreigner. What's also always so typical about this egocentric variety of tourist is that they never bother to make a donation. After all, "there was no entrance fee". Sad. Truly sad.
I thought: "If I can pay five or ten bucks to enter a government site, I most certainly can leave a comparable donation here. At least these people put it to a good advantage." Perhaps I was too much led by my feelings but it felt darn good.

U Bein's Bridge, at 1,200 metres the longest teak bridge in the world, is majestic. A drizzle gave the scenic bridge a somewhat dramatic look, which most photographers would appreciate. Not too long ago the government collected a photography fee of $2 but that regulation somehow was quickly abolished.

At this time of year the plains under the bridge are normally only just covered by water but because of the heavy rainfall (there had been as much precipitation in a couple of days as normally in a whole month) there was about ten feet. It's possible to take a boat across the would-be lake but it's a pleasant walk to the other side - and a longer one than I expected. Small pavilions at regular intervals provide shelter from the sun or - in this case - rain.

At the other end we were approached by a likeable kid who spoke English really well. He asked if we wanted to see his family's weaving factory. We did indeed - the weather had deteriorated enough to make it very unpleasant to be outside.

The 'factory' was actually a hut in which four women were weaving longyis on very traditional looking looms. It was a small enterprise but it was an excellent place to see the craft.
It's only normal that the family hoped to sell us something. While having a complementary cup of coffee in the living room I asked how much the garments were. I must confess I'd expected them to be more expensive; the price asked was $2 for a pure cotton or $3 for a cotton-and-silk longyi. I'm not into wearing them, but I did want to reward these people with a sale. I thought Phone Kyaw - who I'd started to consider more like a friend than a driver - might like one. The polite fellow he is, he refused several times but when he realised that I really wanted him to have one, as a sincerely intended gift, he gratefully accepted. He chose a cotton-and-silk one which looked very good on him.

We finished our coffees. The people, used to living in the mostly arid climate of the Dry Zone, were really fed up with the weather because their houses are not really suited to coping with large amounts of rain and, more importantly, the rice harvest had largely been destroyed so the price for a bag had almost doubled. I felt so very sorry for the people; it's enough of a struggle to survive there without all these extra set-backs.
We said good-bye to this friendly family and let the clever, helpful boy lead us to the nearby Kyauktawgyi Paya. We hurried through the village, which I found very picturesque. It was as if we were taking a shower. By the time we reached the temple grounds not a single stitch of our clothing was dry. We removed our shoes and splashed through the water to the entrance. Inside it, three dripping wet figures stood and gazed at the beautiful wall paintings and quite exquisite marble Buddha image. We waited a couple of hours until the rain eased off; I devoted this time to talking to the local visitors. Again Phone Kyaw was most helpful with the translations.

Miraculously, it remained dry for most of the late afternoon and evening. We went to Sagaing by way of Inwa. We crossed the iron Ava Bridge, built in 1934 by the British. For many years it was the only span across the Ayeyarwady river and thus strategically very important. For that reason the English themselves blew it up during World War II to halt the advancing Japanese. It was not rebuilt until 1954. At the time we were in Myanmar there were already four bridges across the river and new ones were either nearing completion or on the drawing board. The government has embarked on an embellishment mission; they want to improve the country's infrastructure. It is desperately needed too!...
We passed the Pagoda of Many Elephants, the Hsinmyashin Paya, easily recognised by the white stone elephants standing guard at either side of the entrance and replacing the usual chinthes. We had a look inside but it was not very exciting.

The attractive Kaungmudaw Paya, the most famous of the Sagaing stupas, is a huge white dome built in Sinhalese style; it resembles a giant egg, 46 metres (151 ft) high with a circumference of 274 metres (900 ft). The whole complex is very impressive but the $3 entrance fee, a lot of money in Burma, is definitely over the top.
There was a lady who wanted me to release a bird in a cage (you know, to gain merit). It was not your average bird but a big owl, a protected species where I live. The poor thing was so scared in its prison in the bright sunlight. Releasing it would have cost me K10,000 but no matter how much I wanted it to be free, I decided to take a pass.

Sagaing Hill is dotted with stupas and temples. There are two ways to the top: one can walk all the way or one can drive up and walk only the last part - easier and well-suited to those who have little time, but consequently one forgoes seeing quite a few pagodas. None of them is particularly important, though - you'll see so many of them during your stay that you won't feel like you missed out on something.
The entrance fee for Sagaing Hill is $4. I wanted to get rid of the FECs and handed over the smallest note I had, 10 FEC, to the guy selling the tickets. He said he had no change for it and I said I didn't have any change either. I told Kris to pretend he didn't have any, too. Being unable to get out of this stalemate, the ticket seller finally suggested I pay in Kyats. "That'll be 1,050 Kyats." "One thousand and fifty Kyats?!?", I shouted out loud. "That's 350 Kyats to the dollar, which is worse than the black market rate!... You work for the government, right?" "Yes." "Well, then you should ask 20 Kyats, and that's better than I get if I change it in the bank." The man obviously didn't know how to react and said: "I'm so sorry, but I only work here. It's not my fault." I was quite sure it wasn't his fault but that didn't solve our problem, did it? Phone Kyaw, a gentleman as ever, thought things would get out of hand soon - they wouldn't have, but anyway... - and gave three 1 Dollar notes to the man, to whom this clearly came as a relief.

Two payas on the hill are noteworthy: the Onhmin Thonze and Soon U Ponya Shin Paya. The crescent-shaped Onhmin Thonze, built to resemble a cave, has an extremely beautiful facade. Inside, 30 Buddhas sit shoulder-to-shoulder along the full length of the building. It's a wonderful place which is certainly worth a visit.
The wonderful Soon U Ponya Shin Paya sitting atop the hill offers splendid views over Sagaing, Inwa and the Ayeyarwady and has a nice interior. I was walking around on its terrace when a friendly-looking monk, about my age, walked up to me and asked me if I'd mind him practising English with me. Of course I didn't. He didn't go through the apparently set list of questions but started an interesting conversation in good English. Barring Phone Kyaw's it was the best I'd heard so far. He was an extremely nice guy - humble, polite, soft-spoken and very compassionate; he said he had blood type AB and was on his way to the hospital to give blood to a patient with the same sero group as his. He pointed towards a big building at the foot of the hill: "That's the clinic over there."
He said that in the monastery he studied the ancient Pali language (in which the old Buddhist texts are written) but in his private time he was learning modern languages like English and French. A very likeable fellow, he was curious about me, my life and ideas; and I was interested in his.

We returned to our hotel (more about that later) in Mandalay, showered, then went to have supper at Mann's Restaurant, one of the better Chinese eateries in town. As you know by now, 'better' and 'best' in Myanmar don't mean 'expensive'; most dishes were K500, including the typical broth-like soup which is served 'on the house' in most Chinese restaurants. Mann's is a good place to spend the evening, eating and talking to locals as well as other travellers. At around half past eight the lights went funny - flickering. First I thought it was yet another power-outage, but no, it was the signal that in about half an hour the joint was going to close.
We finished our drinks, paid and left, dodging the professional beggars near the entrance. There are a couple of really sad cases hanging around there; not sad because they're so badly off, but sad because they're too lazy to find/do a serious job. They're in perfectly good health yet do nothing but hang around the tourist hangouts to ask for money, making the babies they carry on their arms cry to draw attention and induce compassion. I refuse to give anything to such jerks.

I wanted to make a telephone call to my folks at home so I went to the Telephone & Telegraph Office on 25th Street. It was still open but about to close, so the man in charge refused to connect me and told me to come back later. That I did the next morning. Making a telephone call here was extremely straightforward - much to my surprise after reading so many horror stories about it. I just wrote down the number, the operator dialled it for me and handed me the receiver. As simple as that. The charge was $3.80 per minute (of course this depends on the destination).

The next morning the weather was overcast and we decided to go to Mingun instead of staying in the city. As it's on the other side of the Ayeyarwady it involved a boat trip. Foreigners are required to go by special 'tourist boat' for which tickets can be bought at the jetty for 200 Kyats. The duration of the trip depends on the water level of the river but took us about 80 minutes. It's fun; the boat passes several small and quite picturesque villages on both banks of the river.
The boat docks near the Settawya Paya. A partly paved path leads from the muddy river bank towards the attractions but before you can walk there you have to get a ticket ($3) at the designated booth. A woman asked for our passports, noted down most of the information in them, then gave us the tickets.

The Mantara Gyi Paya, better known as Mingun Paya, was started in 1790 by King Bodawpaya whose intention it was to build the largest pagoda in the world. The construction costs were far too high and when the king died the project was abandonned. The pagoda stood 50 metres (164 ft) high, about a third of its planned height. Then disaster struck: a severe earthquake shook the area, leaving the pagoda with enormous cracks.

Stone steps, of recent date, lead up to the top where young boys awaited us in the hope we'd accept their offer to show us around. We did as it involves climbing broken brick walls and navigating the cracks caused by the quake - all not too easy on your bare feet. The view from up there is really good. Tickling the imagination are the remnants of two really huge stone lions which were the guards of the pagoda. They were also reduced to rubble - only their butts remain - but one can easily imagine how imposing the complete statues must have looked. When we'd walked around at the top for a while the boys suddenly became very nervous; policemen were coming up. One of the kids said they were afraid of the police because they were not allowed to give foreigners a tour. Apparently, so I was told later, not too long ago a tour group lady thought she had some money stolen from her purse so the tour leader filed a complaint with the local police who started an investigation. All hawkers - and there still are many in Mingun - suddenly needed an expensive permit to sell their goods. Whoever hasn't got one and still approaches foreigners is in big trouble. But the story continues... The tour group lady's money wasn't robbed at all; she found out later that she'd left the money in the hotel. So she was happy but the people at Mingun, essentially a simple village, were left with the consequences of her foolishness. Such stupidity, such thoughtlessness really makes me sick!

What also churned my stomach was the fee the boys wanted for the fifteen-odd minutes they'd spent guiding us around: five dollars! I kept walking and refused to pay. As the policemen were closing in, the boys continuously dropped their price. When it reached an acceptable level I paid them but not without mentioning they were cheats - they knew very well how much money was reasonable for their services.

A short walk from Mingun Paya - skip the small pagoda dedicated to abbot Bhaddanta Vicitta - a pavilion houses the Mingun Bell, the biggest uncracked bell in the world (it's mentioned in the Guinness Book of Records), weighing approximately 90 tonnes. It was somewhat difficult to get a clear look at it; the small building is crammed with people selling stuff.

Continuing along the main footpath we reached the whitewashed Hsinbyume Paya, a beautiful construction built to resemble mythical Mount Meru, the golden mountain standing in the centre of the universe and acting as the axis of the world. We backtracked to the river and waited for the boat to take us back to Mandalay. Right on the jetty stands the Pondawpaya, the working model for the Mingun Pagoda. Definitely worth a peek to get an impression of how the latter would have looked when finished.

In the afternoon, in Mandalay, we first had a very good and affordable dinner at the Chinese Fast Food Restaurant opposite the railway station, then went to a nearby privately-owned railway company which sells tickets for the train to Myitkyina to find out how much it would cost to get there. It was $30 for a seat and $60 for a bed in a train that would take about 22 grinding hours to make it to the Kachin state capital. Not cheap, but still affordable considering we wouldn't have to pay for a hotel. I would have done it - especially since the return trip to Mandalay would have been quite spectacular (see chapter 2) - but Kris was of a different opinion. He complained about how much money he'd lose on this excursion and how bad the weather would be up there in the North... I kept trying to convince him but eventually I gave up. We didn't go.

Still in Mandalay. The famous Maha Muni is a seated Buddha image so revered that over the years its whole body - not the face - has become covered in a gold leaf layer between 15 and 20 centimetres thick, making it a priceless piece of antiquity. It's extremely beautiful, as is the gold-covered pagoda which houses it. At any time of day, dozens of devotees sit in front of the image to pray or meditate. No chaotic Indian Hindu scenes in which the believers jostle each other to get as near to the main idol as possible; here everything is orderly in a serene atmosphere. Nevertheless I must say that the ambience was soured for me by the steep $5 entrance fee. I've always been against entry fees for religious buildings, whether in Myanmar, Syria, France, Belgium or wherever, but what pisses me off particularly in Burma is that in several places they dare call it a 'donation', "It's not a fee, it's a donation"... Come on, people, be real! Donations have to come from the heart. On the positive side, the ticket price includes a booklet with information about the paya as well as the right to take photographs, something which formerly was prohibited.

In a subsidiary building hangs a huge Burmese gong weighing five tonnes, and another one houses a couple of bronze statues originating from Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

Near the Maha Muni Paya, but still inside the pagoda grounds, stands a very beautiful green-roofed building which serves as a museum of Buddhism. On display are Buddha images and photographs of the most important pilgrimage places in the Buddhist countries. Worth a visit.

Outside of the grounds one can see stone cutters at work and iron htis ('umbrellas') being made in several open-air workshops. It's interesting to have a peek, the workers are welcoming and at least there's no pressure to buy; all these things are meant to decorate pagodas, not tourists' chimneys or gardens.

In the late afternoon we arrived at Mandalay Hill. Enormous chinthes await the traveller who wants to climb the stairs to the top. Foreigners must obtain tickets. They cost $3, which to my surprise is one dollar less than in the past.

There are some sights along the way up but the best place to be is on the top. Mandalay Hill is the only high point in an otherwise flat area and as such offers magnificent views over the city, the Ayeyarwady river with the Sagaing and Mingun hills, the flooded green plains and the distant blue-ish Shan mountains. The pagoda crowning the prominence is beautiful, especially at sunset when the last rays of the sun are reflected in its mirror mosaics. Just before dusk is indeed the best time to be there. The flip side of the coin is that everybody knows that, so we had to share the spot with dozens of other people but it was never rowdy. If you arrive early you can relax in one of the high chairs which have been installed solely for watching the sun go down.
I felt such good vibes in this place, I stayed until everyone else had gone.

Then we went to see a marionettes performance at the Garden Villa Theater, a simple theatre on 66th Street (between 26th and 27th St, next to the luxurious Sedona Hotel). Tickets cost K1,000 for a show which lasted about 45 minutes (not an hour as advertised in their pamphlets). The programme is very good with appropriate music; the puppet players are skilled and take joy in their work.
Back in the hotel, later that night, I got into a conversation with a room boy who was from Monywa, a town 136 kilometres to the north-west. He told me about the things to be seen there. They sounded impressive.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part IV)

2008-10-13T09:28:00.000-07:00

"Pagan in many respects is the most remarkable religious city in the world. Jerusalem, Rome, Kiev, Benares, none of these can boast the multitude of temples, and the lavishness of design and ornament that make marvellous the deserted capital on the Irrawaddy ... the whole space is thickly studded with pagodas of all sizes and shapes, and the very ground is so thickly covered with crumbling remnants of vanished shrines, that according to the popular saying you cannot move foot or hand without touching a sacred thing." - Sir James Scott, in 'The Burman: His Life and Notions'.

Chapter Four - Bagan - Thousands of temples jostling for space

Just imagine yourself standing at an elevated point looking out over vast, green plains which are all around you. This silent, green expanse is liberally dotted with brown pagodas, some of which are so imposing you won't be occupied with anything but gazing at them. That's exactly what we saw and did when we visited the archaeological zone of Bagan.

For those who find history dull I have bad news: you need to read up on it at least a bit, otherwise you'll miss the point of why so many monuments were built there. So here's an introduction.

Bagan was established around 849AD and, from the 11th century to the end of the 13th, was the capital of a region roughly the size of present Myanmar. King Anawrahta, who ascended the throne in 1044, led the city to its prime.

Shin Arahan, a young monk from the Mon capital Thaton, travelled north to live as a hermit in the woods near Bagan. Somehow the king heard about and developed an interest in the monk and invited him to his palace to discover what this stranger was up to. The young man introduced Theravada Buddhism to the monarch, who at that time was trying to eradicate all the animistic and Tantric beliefs in his empire. He saw an opportunity to introduce a common religion - which, he figured, would bring unity and thereby reinforce his power - and developed such an unhealthy interest in this form of Buddhism that he requested several manuscripts and relics from the Mon king, Manuha. When Manuha refused, Anawrahta didn't hesitate. He marched his army south and conquered Thaton, carting off 30 sets of the Tripitaka (classic Buddhist scriptures) as well as 30,000 prisoners who included all kinds of craftsmen, animal trainers, weaponry experts, cooks, monks, scholars and even King Manuha himself!

The presence of all these Mon people skilled in each and every art and craft allowed King Anawrahta to embark on an unequalled building frenzy which marked the start of what is generally referred to as the First Burmese Empire. This phenomenal construction programme was continued by Anawrahta's successors (and in particular by Kyanzittha, Alaungsithu and Narapatisithu) and Bagan became a great centre for learning and pilgrimage.

About two centuries later, in 1287, Bagan was taken in by the Mongols of Kublai Khan (whether peaceably or by force is still a point of discussion). By that time over 12,000 temples and other structures had been built on this vast plain near the Ayeyarwady river!

Many of the buildings have since disappeared. The ravages of time, demolition, human destruction, earthquakes and the change of course of the river have all taken their toll, but thanks to the prevailing dry climate some 2,200 identifiable sites still remain - more than enough to keep any temple enthusiast well occupied!

We didn't stay very long. It's too easy to become 'templed out' in this country, let me warn you! If you cram in too many temple visits at any one place you'll regret it; by the end of your trip, visiting any but the most impressive payas will feel like a drag! I think we saw all the principal monuments during the two days we spent in the archaeological zone, and that was quite sufficient.

More than enough books describing the temples of Bagan have been written. There is no point doing the same again here but I cannot resist mentioning the highlights - in no particular order.

The Manuha Paya, named after and built by the Mon king of Thaton, is truly incredible! One reclining and three sitting Buddhas are crammed into separate rooms which appear to be too small for the huge statues. It is generally assumed this was done on purpose to represent the emperor's feeling of captivity.

Virtually next door to the Manuha Paya stands the beautiful Nan Paya. It is thought that it used to be the palace of the Mon king before it was converted into a temple. Relatively recent statues of Manuha and his queen, in a small pavilion along the path leading to the entrance of the pagoda, illustrate this belief. Inside are four pillars decorated with exceptionally fine bas-reliefs. Most of all I'll remember the Nan Paya for the fact that, despite the warning sign, I managed to hit my head on the iron entry gate, resulting in a nice lump.

The Payathonzu, Abeyadana Paya and Gubyaukgyi Paya are interesting for their frescoes. No doubt they were once very beautiful but I've seen better. I found them a bit too washed out to enrapture me. Moreover, power outages are everyday events in Bagan so chances are you'll only see the paintings by the light of a candle or flashlight.

Photography is not allowed in any temple containing murals, although a nice tip could probably persuade the caretakers. Remember, though, that the prohibition is there for a reason and that the guards might lose their job (or could even be taken to jail!) for allowing tourists to take pictures. Inside the Gubyaukgyi some good books about Bagan are available for a fair price.

Probably dating back to the 9th century, the gilded Pyu-style Bupaya is possibly the oldest monument in Bagan. It's an attractive spot looking out over the Ayeyarwady and a good place to watch the locals. If you want to take pictures, a small camera fee applies.

The giant Archaeological Museum is a majestic new building with a well-kept little park in front. Whether or not you should go and visit it is entirely up to you. It's government-owned, the admission fee a steep $5 and the collection modest but it's all very nicely presented, educative and the people working there are wonderfully friendly. If you decide to see it, it's best to go before you go to the temples because in the museum you'll gather a lot of background information, necessary to fully appreciate and understand the monuments.

The Gawdawpalin Pahto, opposite the museum, is one of the bigger temples of Bagan. It used to provide a great view from its upper terraces but in 1994 the Department of Archaeology prohibited climbing the most important monuments in order to protect them.

The same prohibition is enforced at Thatbyinnyu Pahto (or Temple of Omniscience), at 61 metres (200 feet) the tallest temple. To get an idea of its enormity: of every 10,000 bricks used, the constructors took one to keep track of the total. With the stones thus collected they built the so-called 'Tally Zedi', which is by no means small.

A good view of the Thatbyinnyu temple as well as the other surrounding monuments can be had from the nearby, though considerably smaller, Shwegugyi Pahto built by King Alaungsithu. He was smothered in it by his own son, Narathu, so you're effectively walking around a murder scene. Other good places for views across the plains are Mingalazedi and the lesser-known Tayougepye Paya near Payathonzu, but the best is Shwesandaw Paya. The vistas from the upper terrace are simply stunning. We were unlucky that clouds prevented a nice sunset but if they hadn't, this would have been the place from which to observe it. Be careful, though... It's quite a climb up, and the stairs are steep enough to be termed dangerous even in broad daylight, never mind in the dark of night.

The beautiful red-and-white Shwesandaw was erected by Anawrahta upon returning from Thaton and enshrines a couple of hairs of the Buddha. Its hti (the umbrella-like topping over almost all Burmese pagodas) came down during the 1975 quake. It can still be seen lying where it landed.
Right 'next door' is a building housing the Shinbinthalyaung image, an 18 metres (59 ft) long reclining Buddha which is worth a look.

For most people the highlight of the Bagan temples is the whitewashed Ananda Pahto. In and around it alone you could easily spend several hours. It's very beautiful and, the 1975 earthquake notwithstanding, quite well preserved. In my personal opinion the absolute masterpiece, however, is the Shwezigon Paya. It's not only extremely beautiful, it's also one of the holiest shrines in the entire country as well as the prototype of the Burman ('Bhamar') pagodas. Commenced by King Anawrahta it was to become the most important reliquary shrine in Bagan; it houses some bones and a replica of a tooth of the Buddha. Impressive covered walkways - it's more appropriate to call them 'covered streets' (!) - lead up to the stupa. The main one is full of people trying to sell you all kinds of souvenirs. As it's one of the principal monuments the hawkers here are extremely persistent. Beware - and this goes for other sites in Bagan as well - of children who walk up to you and try to attach a pin (often in the shape of a butterfly) to your shirt, saying it's a present. It's not a gift! As soon as the thing has been pinned on, they'll start asking for money. No matter how innocent these kids may appear to be, keep in mind that's their job!

There's another little scam going on: some kid will ask you where you're from and then tell you (s)he has some coins which were given to him/her by a fellow countryman of yours, and would you mind changing them because the banks do not accept them. At first you're unaware you're being deceived, so you probably will change that small amount for them. You only realise the fraud when other children arrive asking for coins "for my collection"!

The Shwezigon is a true photographer's paradise. The whole building complex is very photogenic and always has its share of devotees. If you take a picture of a monk or novice, chances are high they'll come over to demand a reward. They'll even offer to pose. At both the Ananda and Shwezigon you must pay a K30 camera fee (slightly more if you have a video camera).

If Thatbyinnyu is the highest and Ananda generally acknowledged as the most beautiful temple, then Dhammayangyi is the most massive. It's also the most mystifying, for it contains an intriguing puzzle: why is the innermost of two parallel vaulted corridors, running along the four sides, closed off? And when did this happen? Possibly after the death of King Narathu; the labourers may have filled it up as a form of revenge for his cruelty. Narathu insisted on such a perfect brickwork that he chopped off the hands of the workers if he could insert a pin between the joints - the masonry of the Dhammayangyi Pahto is indeed perfect. Several solutions to the mystery have been offered but so far none of them can be proven.
Like most monuments in Bagan, I found the building much more beautiful on the outside than the inside. It used to be possible to climb to the top of it, but as with the other major temples this is no longer the case. Inside, one can climb some dangerously steep steps leading up to a higher floor but there's really no point in doing so.

The Htilominlo and Sulamani Pahtos are definitely worth a visit and so is the Dhammayazika Paya, which at first sight looks very similar to the Shwezigon. This striking pagoda, which recently had a complete overhaul sponsored by the military, is rather unusual because it has a pentagonal ground-plan. The fifth aspect adds the future Buddha, Matreya, to the traditional concept of four sides representing the past and present Buddhas. Photography here will only set you back K25.

Wandering around the ruins, I came to the conclusion that the desolate feeling which is often described in older books and manuscripts no longer exists. Even though Bagan is not trodden all over, there are enough other tourists around to take away the impression of solitude. And if they don't, the hundreds of souvenir sellers who hang out at even the smallest of temples certainly do.

In terms of persistence these hawkers are the worst I've ever encountered! Even if you say a hundred times you don't want anything they're trying to sell you, they'll still continue asking the same over and over again: "Do you want to buy? Very cheap!", "Please buy. I want to sell.", "This is my shop. Wanna look? Just looking!", "You're very handsome! Do you want to look at my shop?", "You very beautiful",...
They're extremely persistent but never become offensive or angry; I've seen different! Actually, some of the girls and women (in 95% of the cases the salespeople are female) are kind of funny, in a cute way. Some of the stuff they sell is quite all right too: 'opium' scales and weights, statuettes made of brick or bone and all kinds of lacquerware, for which Bagan is famous. There are many workshops producing countless lacquered items. If you plan to buy some, this is the place to do so! The quality is very good and the prices are often low, especially if you bargain hard. I bought from a family I met at the Mahabodhi Temple. They had a decent stall set up near the entrance. I started talking to them because they appeared to me to be both very friendly people but also somewhat reserved and sad. I asked if they'd had a bad day so far. They confirmed my suspicions and said business had been much better in the past, when they had a shop in the village of Old Bagan. Being forced to move out of their home, they now had to be content with a simple stall.

Local people used to live amidst the ruins of (Old) Bagan. In 1990, however, the government decided they had to be relocated, allegedly for the excavation of an old palace, the benefit of tourists and preservation of the monuments. The entire population of the village was moved to a spot designated by the military, right in the middle of a peanut field - an action which is frequently used as an example to illustrate the ruthlessness of the regime. It's not unique, though, to prohibit habitation in or around ancient monuments, for humans have a tendency to destroy their patrimony rather than preserve it - wittingly or unwittingly. For instance, in Petra (Jordan) Bedouins had been living in the ancient rock city for centuries when they heard they needed to move out. They didn't like it a bit - how would you feel? - but the world's heritage needs to be protected. In this respect I can well understand a government taking measures to preserve it, if relocation is spread over a reasonable period of time rather than virtually overnight, and if affected families are compensated for their losses - neither of which happened with Old Bagan.

To send some postcards we went to the little post office not far from the Lawkananda Paya. None of the cards ever reached their destinations. Something happened to them, but what? Will we ever know ...?

The Thirinandar Cafe is a good place to go for a cup of tea and a sweet snack. The attitude towards foreigners there cannot exactly be called welcoming, but it's OK anyway. Allegedly the best place to eat in Bagan is the Nanda Wun Restaurant. It's pleasantly situated right on the bank of the Ayeyarwady river and a particularly cosy spot in the evenings. The food is good, not fantastic but good, and the service is excellent though rather unfriendly.

The great thing about dining in Burma is that even if you choose to eat at the most expensive restaurant, it's still dead cheap for most of us but you have the enormous advantage of being able to savour some of the better food; and most importantly you'll have the highest certainty of eating safe food. Now I would never go and eat at fancy, expensive joints just to get the best and most healthy food but when I can get an excellent meal including soup, main dish and three drinks for just three or four dollars, I'm not complaining! Besides, eating places in Myanmar are never posh.

If you prefer Burmese food to Chinese then the Pwinl Mar Tar Restaurant, east of the market of New Bagan, is the place to head for. It's owned by a nice family and offers true home-cooking. You'll be able to taste twenty-odd different dishes, all offered on separate little plates. As far as Burmese eateries go, this must be one of the best. Personally, I didn't like Burmese food that much; it's too greasy for my taste. If you eat it every day your cholesterol level will rise considerably!

On the third day of our stay in Bagan we headed to nearby Salay. One of the boys working in the Silver Moon Hotel came along. A reasonable road, lined with palm trees, follows the Ayeyarwady river. Approaching the town of Chauk, I noticed several pumps slowly extracting oil from underground reserves as they have done since British times. This is the oil drilling district of Myanmar. A pipeline transports the crude oil to a refinery in Chauk. On a small hill on the outskirts of town lies the tranquil Maha Aye Zedi Monastery. We went up after meeting a couple of friendly monks at the bottom of the covered stairway leading up to it. Foreigners are still very much a novelty there; it made for a nice, hassle-free visit. The views from the monastery are good, looking out over Chauk and a small village.

Salay is often referred to as "Bagan's twin city" because many monuments dating back to the same era can be seen. We decided to have only a brief look at them because if you've just spent two days in Bagan, you've seen the best of that period.

Instead we concentrated on the other sights the town has to offer. Regardless of whether one visits the ruins or not, entering the 'archaeological zone' means purchasing a $3 ticket. First we went to the Yoe Soe Kyaung, the oldest surviving wooden monastery in the area. It's rightfully famous for the splendid antique carvings adorning two sides of the 23 metres (75 ft) long hall, which is supported by 170 teak pillars. In 1994 the monastery was turned into a museum after restoration; inside many old religious objects are on display.
Nearby is the Nan Paya, probably the largest lacquer Buddha in the country. This means it's big, but not as big as we expected it to be after reading in the Lonely Planet guide that "the fingertips alone measure about two metres high"; this is just not true. I think the total height of the Buddha is about three metres (10 ft). Legend has it that it was thrown into the river somewhere in the Shan state and, because of its bamboo framework, drifted downstream. When the people near Salay saw it floating by, they fished it out of the water and re-erected it where it is today. It's a beautiful figure and the shrine in which it's housed has a peaceful atmosphere.

A path leads to the Thartana Yaunggyi Kyaung, an old wooden monastery where only five monks reside. They specialise in meditation techniques; Buddhist laymen can attend. The monks were very friendly, especially the abbot. Whilst he and his fellow brothers were enjoying their only meal of the day, we could wander around at will. When he had finished he explained about the monastery and various antique objects such as a painted piece of library furniture containing old palm leaf scriptures. He also taught us how to donate money to a monk properly, as they're not allowed to touch it: kneel in front of him with your feet pointing away, put the money on a (silver) plate and present it to him with both of your hands holding the plate. Don't look at him; be humble: bow and look down. The monk will take the plate. Hold on to it; the monk will utter a prayer. Only when he's finished do you let go of the plate. A novice will take the money away.

The weather was more than acceptable for the third day in a row so we thought we'd better take advantage of it and continued to fabled Mount Popa, the legendary birthplace of the 37 nats. Mt Popa is actually the name of a 1,518 metres (4,981 ft) high mountain - the highest of the Bago range - but the name is usually associated with the solitary volcanic outcrop rising abruptly out of the surrounding landscape about halfway up the mountain. The fertile volcanic ash covering the mountain slopes combined with the moisture the peak captures due to its height ensure that flowers grow abundantly. When centuries ago the people saw the mountain in bloom in this otherwise dry area they deduced this had to be caused by the interference of supernatural beings - the nats. Mt Popa is recognised as their abode and is the most important pilgrimage spot for nat worship adherents.

Contrary to what I expected, the main sanctuary is at the base of the rock, not on top of it. In the Mahagiri shrine the 37 nats are on display in the form of beautifully dressed mannequin-like figures. Two large stone elephants stand on either side of the stairway leading up. The covered, winding walkway is lined with little stalls selling all the usual religious attributes, as well as food for the hundreds of monkeys that live on the rock. These long-tailed kleptomaniacs can be quite aggressive, so be careful, and they defecate anywhere they like, so watch your steps.

The climb up is not so hard, in contrast to what's often written in the guidebooks. Perhaps if you're elderly or disabled, but otherwise you should easily make it to the top in twenty minutes, provided you don't pause along the way, for example to absorb the fantastic views, which are even better from the top. They're the only reason to make the ascent because other than the stunning panoramas there's not a great deal to see up there. The shrines are beautiful but of recent date.

On the drive back to Bagan I had an interesting discussion about religion with Phone Kyaw and the hotel boy. In the meantime I didn't forget to look out of the window; the route from Mt Popa is very scenic with lots of palm trees. Most of these trees are owned by someone who employs the poorer people living in this region to tap the toddy, the sweet palm juice. I'd seen toddy tapping before, in Sri Lanka. The difference is that here the sap is primarily used to produce a sweet kind of candy instead of the alcoholic drink which in Sri Lanka is called Arak. The tappers in Burma don't perform the acrobatic feats of their Sinhalese colleagues. They use a ladder to get up the palm's trunk and they don't walk around on ropes in the tops but stick to one tree.

We stopped at one of the small tappers' huts along the road and were shown by the friendly family how the juice is collected and the candy prepared. For only a little money I bought some of the sweets which are widely regarded as having a soothing effect on the stomach.

In Myanmar there's virtually nothing going on in the night time. Until about 8 or 9 pm one can go to a restaurant or café/tea shop but that's it. In Bagan it's no different, but a marionettes and dance show is staged in one of the hotels. We heard it was $8 per person (incl. a meal), which is expensive by Burmese standards. Phone Kyaw told us we could enjoy better and cheaper performances in Mandalay and Yangon. After supper we confined ourselves to our hotel for the rest of the evening. There we talked about the things we'd seen that day, and I continued the religion discussion with Phone Kyaw and the room boy (whose name I can't remember no matter how hard I try). All in all, I enjoyed myself just as much as when we'd gone to a dance show. A lot of the joy in a visit to this country really comes from talking to and observing the people. They're so wonderful!...

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part III)

2008-10-13T09:12:00.000-07:00

"To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive." - Robert Louis Stevenson.

We had decided to go first to Bagan by way of Pyay. This would take us two days. At 9am, having had breakfast, Phone Kyaw arrived to pick us up. We checked out of the hotel, loaded our baggage in the boot of the car and were ready to commence our up-country trip. We were lucky: it was dry. Or more precisely, it wasn't raining ...

While driving out of Yangon I observed the people and noticed how centuries-old traditions are still part of everyday life. Men as well as women still wear the longyi, the traditional Burmese lower garment which looks like a sarong. It also looks like very decent and sensible wear. I had read in a guidebook that what men wear under their longyi is as much food for jokes as are the Scottish kilts. I decided to ask Phone Kyaw to reveal the secret to me - not literally of course. He laughed and said like most people in Burma he never wore underpants. There! At last I knew.

I noticed only very few men wear trousers. Monks deviate from the longyi routine and wear the traditional robes which range in colour from yellowish over orange to dark red. This is not to indicate a difference in status, it's because of the dye used.

The Burmese are generally attractive people. Most girls and women have beige-coloured spots on their cheeks, sometimes combed into beautiful patterns such as leaves. That's thanaka paste, the Burmese cosmetic. It's made by grinding the bark of the thanaka tree and mixing it with a bit of water. It's much more than simply make-up. It serves as a sun-block, helps prevent the skin drying out in the cool season, prevents premature ageing by controlling the greasiness of the skin, has a slight, agreeable scent and makes the face look whiter. Many pale Westerners nowadays own a sunbed or visit a tanning centre on a regular basis. The people in Burma adore white skin. Nobody anywhere seems to be happy with the way they look. Perhaps we should be able to swap places temporarily?
I also saw women smoking green cigars. These are another typically Burmese thing: 'cheroots', cigars hand-made from leaves, tobacco, wood-chips, roots and herbs and said to be very mild because of the low tobacco content.

We left Yangon. Traffic became lighter. We got our first look at the countryside. Very beautiful, very green. The road was wide and quite good. I remarked upon that to Phone Kyaw. He laughed and said the good roads would soon be finished. He wasn't kidding! Near the small town of Hmawby the road deteriorated and narrowed considerably.

All in all it was a pretty monotonous ride, due North. The landscape was very green, but agricultural, not jungly. Everywhere I looked I saw people, most of them working in the paddy fields. It was rice harvesting season so there was a lot of activity. We walked into the fields, carefully avoiding slipping into the deep mud. Everywhere there were holes in the soil, the residences of countless land crabs.

We met the farmers. Very, very friendly people who were glad to meet us. By means of Phone Kyaw we were able to communicate with these folks, an incredible advantage of hiring a car and driver! The workers told us they were in a great hurry to harvest the rice because of the bad weather. The rice had fully ripened - all brown - and needed to be cut before the rain destroyed it. If that happened the consequences would be catastrophic for the population, they said, because the price would rocket. I hoped the rain would stay away but, looking at the sky, was sure it would return soon enough. Unfortunately.

We passed through several villages and townships, which were completely 'different' for us but basically all looked the same - a characteristic of travel in Third World countries, maybe. The journey did, however, offer a great opportunity to get to know Phone Kyaw better and ask him lots of questions about the country and its people. He answered them to the best of his knowledge, which seemed to be all-encompassing. He said he was a religious person, practised meditation and "kept his morality", i.e. adhered the five basic Sila rules for laymen (don't kill, don't steal, don't commit adultery, don't lie, and don't take intoxicating substances). And indeed, right from the start he radiated calmness, trustworthiness and self-control, great virtues for a driver in this country.
Being a driver in Burma is no sinecure! Traffic is slow, but one has to be attentive all the time. On the roads - and especially in the built-up areas - pedestrians, bicyclists, rickshaw drivers, bullock- and buffalo-carts, cars, trucks, buses, dogs, pigs, ducks, chickens, goats and various other animals all jostle for space. Passing a car and especially a truck or bus is very tricky indeed, as driving in the country is on the right hand-side but the majority of cars have the steering-wheel also on the right side. This is a direct consequence of general Ne Win changing the driving customs from left to right one day in 1970, supposedly following the advice of his astrologers who informed him he ought to "move the country from left to right". As in most developing countries the people seem to have to developed their own set of traffic rules which are totally unofficial but seemingly very effective. When a vehicle wants to pass another, the driver usually honks the horn and makes himself visible in one of the mirrors of the vehicle in front. Normally, the driver of that car will then switch on his direction-indicators: left when it's safe to pass, right when it's not. If the manoeuvre has been executed, the passing driver briefly honks the horn a couple of times and/or sticks his (there are no 'hers' driving in Myanmar) hand out of the window to say "Thank you". Compared to, say, India or Lebanon traffic is leisurely, but this courtesy makes it appear much safer than it actually is. Phone Kyaw informed me that it's one of the most dangerous jobs in the country, not only because of the hazards mentioned above, but particularly due to the consequences if there is an accident. Every accident, no matter how small, will require the driver to cough up at least 20,000 Kyats, more if the police get involved. If a victim has any bone fractures and the police are notified, the erring driver is sent to jail for at least one year, possibly up to three. Running over and killing a Burmese would result in about 10 years, killing a foreigner in lifelong imprisonment! And one can rest assured that sentences in Burma are effective; there is no chance of release on parole.

Many hours after we'd departed from Yangon we arrived at the boundary of Shwedaung township, where a Buddha image in the Shwemyethman Paya can be seen wearing golden spectacles. Apart from being unique in the world, that wouldn't be too spectacular were it not for the fact that the Buddha is 6 metres (20 ft) high and the solid gold frame of the glasses is thus enormous!

The wife of a blind man repeatedly came to this pagoda to pray to the Buddha, hoping her husband would be given back his eyesight. When this miraculously happened, the couple donated the spectacles to show their gratitude. This paya is a peaceful, untouristy place to visit and a stop is definitely recommended if you have your own set of wheels. In Shwedaung one can also see a relatively new bridge spanning the Ayeyarwady river. From there it's only about fifteen minutes to Pyay.

Pyay, or 'Prome' as it became known in British colonial times, is located just north of Sri Ksetra, the ancient capital of the Pyu, a group of people who established city-kingdoms in northern Myanmar between the 1st century BC and 800 AD. We were only going to spend a night there, but even in that very short time I fell in love with the place. It has a lovely, tropical setting and there's a very colonial feel about it. The city's roads are largely unsurfaced and if they are, the asphalt is broken. There are trees and other greenery everywhere. Humidity was high.

It was quite late in the afternoon and - knowing we had to leave for Bagan early next morning - we wanted to see the Shwesandaw Paya, one of the holiest spots in the country. It's a magnificent place! A covered stairway guarded by two big chinthes (mythological animals, half lion, half dragon) leads up to the pagoda, which is built on a hill and is just one metre taller than the famous Shwedagon in Yangon. Looking to my right, I saw two huge connected towers topped by the typical Burmese tiered roofs. An elevated walkway leads to the paya. For only 1 Kyat one can use an elevator inside the towers to get up to the walkway. I expected a ramshackle device pulled up by rusty old cables ready to snap, but no, what we stepped into was a state-of-the-art Japanese lift, complete with attendant!

From upstairs the views in all directions are truly stunning; quite simply some of best I saw in the country. The atmosphere throughout the sacred grounds is serene. The impressive pagoda, supposedly containing another few hairs of the Buddha, is completely gilded; some blue-painted structures at the base make for a nice contrast. In several subsidiary buildings jataka scenes (Buddha life stories) and local tales are depicted. It's in one of these buildings that we met one of the trustees of the pagoda, a really nice chap and quite informative. We offered a donation - totally unsolicited, I'd like to add. We'd find out later that there are trustees who keep other morals!...

By the time we'd finished looking around, the sun had set and the lights in the city had been lit. We still needed to find a hotel. I asked Phone Kyaw - who didn't interfere with any decisions we made - if he knew a good place. He said he had stayed with other travellers at the Myat Guest House and they hadn't complained. We decided to have a look. The friendly proprietor showed us a room. The price asked was $20 for a double with A/C but without attached toilet/shower (the latter are down the corridor but immaculately clean, as are the rooms). No bargaining. Having paid $20 in Yangon and seen the prices quoted in the Lonely Planet guide for other places, I thought it was acceptable. But the room was too expensive, though I didn't know that at the time. After all, only after spending a while in a country does one get to know what's a fair amount to pay (for anything) and what is not. It didn't matter that much really; we had a great shower, had a wonderful night's sleep and the best was still to come: the breakfast in the morning, prepared by the owner's sister. She had studied chemistry at the University of Yangon before it was closed in 1996 (the 'Visit Myanmar Year'). All the country's universities have been closed ever since; the military junta decided it was necessary after anti-government demonstrations by students.
Later that evening we wanted to have dinner. We ended up at the Hlaing Ayeyar Restaurant right on the bank of the mighty Ayeyarwady river, which is poetically known as 'The Road to Mandalay'. It was a fantastic location and it felt great to be sitting outside at night with a temperature of around 25°C (and still no rain!) whilst at home people's butts were nearly freezing off. It was pitch dark except for the illiminated silhouettes of pagodas in the distance and the bridge crossing the river at Shwedaung. The only audible sounds were the gentle rolling of the water when a boat passed by, and the cacophony produced by numerous insects. I loved this place, especially as the Chinese food served was superb. In the Lonely Planet guide this restaurant is slagged off but in my humble opinion totally wrongly.

When we got up the next morning it was raining. Yes indeed. Again ...
We had no time to explore the ruins at Sri Ksetra - we had never intended to visit them anyway; from what we heard they're only interesting to true archaeology buffs. We saw one of the Pyu stupas not far from the main road heading North, just out of town. Its conical style was unusual but the heavy showers which were coming down by then prevented me from fully appreciating it. We were glad to be inside the car again. The rain was really heavy!

Phone Kyaw needed to fill up the car so we made a stop at Pyay's MPPE petrol station (government - owned). It was quite an experience in its own right: an employee, walking around barefoot in the ankle-deep mud which was royally mixed with fuel, filled up a jug at a central tank and then emptied it into the car's fuel tank by means of a big metal funnel, which collected quite a bit of the pouring rain. In the meantime our driver handed over a little red book to another person. In this it was registered that Phone Kyaw had taken that month's three gallons of petrol in Pyay. It looked to all the world like a communist procedure, and when I inquired later I heard it is indeed a legacy of Burma's 'socialist' period (I wonder if that's why the book was red?).

After Pyay the road became even narrower, making passing ever more difficult. Sometimes we had to pull into the muddy roadside where unexpected pits or rocks lurked, ready to cause plenty of damage to the car's suspension. So were the innumerable potholes, especially as they were full of water, making them almost invisible. On several occasions the road had simply been washed away. We often saw self-appointed workers clearing the roads of mud or repairing them as well as the conditions would allow it. These 'road-workers' are simply poor local people trying to make a living. They count on the gratitude of passing motorists whose trip has been made easier. And fortunately for them, most people are indeed grateful and throw small change out of the car window. It's both comic and tragic to watch banknotes being thrown out of several car windows at once and whirl about in the turbulence behind the cars to finally fall into the mud or water. The workers don't mind; they're extremely adept at fishing the notes out of the mire. Seeing how these people strive to make a living, we easily adopted this Buddhist way of gaining merit by giving to them.

On either side of the road were ruts made by bullock carts, which are still an important means of transportation in Myanmar and can be seen virtually everywhere. We primarily drove past rice fields and sugar cane plantations. There were people visible everywhere on this route, most of them soaking wet. This may sound weird but one of the more difficult things to do here was take a piss. For the Burmese it's quite easy: they just squat, lift up their longyis and go ahead. For us, the smart guys wearing pants (so needing to stand up), it's not so easy because everywhere you look you see someone - it's like in these Vietnam war movies where the NVA troops seem to come out of nowhere - and you don't want to offend anyone.
After a while I noticed the vegetation was changing and was becoming scarcer. Phone Kyaw said we were entering the Dry Zone, the arid central plains in the rain shadow of the Rakhine mountains. "Dry Zone?!?" It just started raining more heavily. It was truly terrible. I think we averaged a speed of about 45 kph (28 mph). Phone Kyaw said it was very unusual to have such heavy rains in this area.

We passed a really big cattle market and decided to have a look-see. It was a pleasant visit. The people there were so astonished to see foreigners that we soon felt as if we were on sale. Not too long after we'd left, Phone Kyaw said we had arrived in Magwe. "Phew! Only a few more hours", I thought, "and then we'll finally be in Bagan." How wrong could I be? Only moments later we arrived at the end of a long queue of cars and trucks. My first thought was that there had been an accident. Phone Kyaw said: "It's a creek." "A creek? What's the problem with that?" "Well, it's been raining in the mountains near Mount Popa and now the creek is full of water. We'll have to wait until the water is gone." "How long will that take?" "Not very long, I think. Probably a couple of hours." "A couple of hours?!? And that's not long?" "No. A long time means we have to stay the night somewhere around here. Maybe in the car...", he laughed out loud.

I got out and headed towards the creek. I expected to find a fairly narrow brook blocking the muddy road but still passable if you had the guts. Another mistake... What I saw, was the swirling, 200-300 metres wide result of a flash flood, impossible to cross. A bus driver, apparently with the biggest balls in the world, had attempted to drive through. Extremely foolish! His bus had been turned upside down by the strong currents and was now almost completely submerged. A spot with fierce turbulence was the only thing giving away where it was.

At least a hundred Burmese, most of them also wanting to cross, were standing near the edge of the creek looking at the water as if Moses himself was going to open up a passage. That was until we arrived. Suddenly the water wasn't important anymore; all heads turned towards us! I tried to make some conversation but nobody spoke (decent) English. The only thing I could find out was that it was going to take around two hours before the creek would become passable again. I returned to the car. Clever local sellers had set up small stalls with fruits, snacks and drinks. It was a great opportunity for them to do some good trade. Together with them, child beggars had appeared and were swarming around our car. I ignored them at first. Suddenly a young boy noticed the word 'Saloon' on the car seat covers and spelled it out: "S - A - L - O - O - N". He looked at me for confirmation that he had done so correctly. I nodded. He was extremely happy, apparently, so I let him read a couple of other, simple words. He did well and even understood the meaning. I got out and asked him where he had learned the language. "In school", he replied. We continued practising. At first his friends continued to ask for money, pens, candy, etc., but soon they too joined in. There must have been about fifteen of them. I was teaching my first English class. After a while the clever kid started to teach me some Burmese symbols. It was a nice way to pass the time and from a social point of view this was also much more beneficial to them, compared to begging.

When the estimated two hours waiting time had passed, the creek was still quite wild. We'd have to wait "another hour or so". The 'or so' became two and a half more hours. Then we noticed that local farmers with bullock carts or tractors were pulling and navigating vehicles through the creek, in which meanwhile the water had reached an acceptable level to allow this. Obviously there was a non-negotiable charge for this: 2,000 Kyats. That was fine by us; better than sitting around doing nothing for several more hours.
Phone Kyaw carefully drove through pretty deep mud to a spot where it was possible to enter the creek. One end of a rope was tied to the front of our car, the other end to a tractor. A plastic bag was fixed over the exhaust pipe with rubber bands, the three of us got in and the tractor started to pull. There were some deep gullies in the creek bed. Gosh, the water was much deeper than we had expected! The car was actually floating in the water, which soon started to seep inside. Because the tractor needed to follow a zigzag trajectory to escape the worst spots, the total distance was far greater than the actual width of the stream. We safely made the crossing but there were some hairy moments, especially when the current got hold of the car.
By the time we were pulled out on the other side the water level inside the car was just below the seats. We continued for a couple of hundred metres, past the queue which had formed here as well, then stopped to scoop out the water. We cut up some empty water bottles and began. Luckily there was only a little bit of water inside the boot, or our backpacks would have been completely soaked. While we were busy bailing out, we were approached by a bloke who wanted a ride. I didn't mind but I heard Phone Kyaw talking to him. During the conversation the man regularly looked over his shoulder as if checking that nobody else was listening; he appeared to be a bit nervous. Suddenly Phone Kyaw handed him some money, and he quickly disappeared. I asked why we couldn't give him a lift. Phone Kyaw answered that the man was an escaped convict. He didn't fully trust him so he had opted to give him some money for a bus ride rather than take him along. Personally, I thought our driver was a bit over-protective, but on the other hand he was in the best position to evaluate the situation.

It was getting dark by the time we were on our way again and except for breakfast and a couple of bananas, we hadn't eaten a single thing that day. We stopped at the Country Rest House & Restaurant near Kyauk Padaung. It didn't look too clean at first but the food turned out to be wonderful and quite safe. We were waiting for the meals to be served when I heard a rhythmic but rather strange sound coming from a building at the back of the restaurant. I asked Phone Kyaw what it might be. He said he wasn't 100% sure but it was most likely a loom. When the boy waiter (child labour is omnipresent in Myanmar) arrived with the food, Phone Kyaw asked what the sound was. It turned out it was the Chinese cook chopping up the meat. Sounds more like a Swedish cook to me!

We were ready for the last leg of the trip: Kyauk Padaung to Nyaung U. It was the worst part weather-wise. Sometimes the visibility was almost zero and we nearly broke an axle when driving through a puddle - or what Phone Kyaw thought was a puddle. It turned out to be bloody deep! We were lucky to stay on the track. On top of that we had to pass through a second creek! It wasn't as wide as the previous one nor was it as wild. Actually there was little water in this one; it was full of deep mud. I warned Phone Kyaw not to drive into it but he ignored me and went over the edge. We could drive only a few feet, then got hopelessly stuck. Before my eyes flashed scenes in which we had to get out and stand in knee-deep slush, hopelessly trying to get the car out, but suddenly ten or so 'road workers' appeared from nowhere to lend us a hand. I wanted to get out to lighten the vehicle but they wouldn't let me. They wanted to "give us a good service"... Surprisingly it didn't take too long before we were freed. On our way out, Phone Kyaw and I threw several hundred Kyat notes out of the window. The workers deserved it; they had done a wonderful job.

At Nyaung U there was a ticket booth alongside the road; it looked like just another toll-booth for collecting road- or town-tax. A couple of unfriendly government officials inspected our passports and collected the 10 Dollar entry fee for the Bagan Archaeological Zone. Looking back I can honestly say it was worth every cent. Whether you stay for one or ten days, the fee is the same. Previously, $10 was only good for two nights (every extra night was $2 more), but that rule has now been abolished.
The Lonely Planet guide I was carrying was virtually useless. A new edition of the book was desperately needed (it was out by the time I returned home). Only a handful of hotels were listed, whilst there were in fact dozens of them. The supply was far greater than the demand. Phone Kyaw said he knew the staff of the Silver Moon Hotel well because he almost always stayed there. It's located in New Bagan (2nd Street, Khan Laung Quarter).

New Bagan is a couple of miles from Nyaung U and you have to drive in between the many old temples and other religious buildings to get there. The area is pitch dark at night, so at every turn one such building or another loomed ahead of us. Sometimes we were concentrating more on what was happening in front of us; the rain water had formed brooklets which ran across the roads. Some were over a foot deep.

The Silver Moon Hotel is in a quiet location. It's an excellent place, especially for the price. They wanted $20 for a double room with all the amenities (incl. good breakfast, TV and telephone) but because we were with Phone Kyaw we got a $5 discount! The place is modern and extremely clean. The people working there are friendly and helpful. It was simply our best deal in the whole country; I thoroughly recommend it. We stayed there all of our four nights in Bagan.

Myanmar: Twenty-eight Days in the Golden Land of Burma (Part II)

2008-10-13T08:55:00.000-07:00

"The climate of our culture is changing. Under these new rains, new suns, small things grow great, and what was great grows small; whole species disappear and are replaced." - Randall Jarrell.

Chapter Two - Running from the rains

Important pre-departure preparations included reading up on the country (and I read quite a lot), getting the necessary vaccination boosters and arranging a visa. There's no Burmese Embassy in Belgium or Holland so I needed to go to Bonn, Germany to apply for a visa. The procedure was very straightforward. I got there in the early morning, filled in three forms, handed over three passport-size photographs, paid the fee of 40 DM and was able to pick up the visa in the afternoon.

A couple of months had passed since we had obtained our visas and I'd been eagerly awaiting the departure date. Eagerly but also a bit nervously because I had tried to go to Myanmar before but only made it to Bangkok. There I had several hours to kill in transfer but decided to go and eat something outside of the airport. I shouldn't have; I got severe food poisoning, forcing me to return home without having seen the country I was actually going to. This time I was luckier! I made it!
Kris, a colleague I'd told I planned to go Burma got interested himself, and asked to come along. He was very inexperienced as a traveller but we've all been like him, I guess...

To get to our destination we had to change planes twice: once at Frankfurt, Germany and once in Bangkok, Thailand. Air traffic over Germany was extremely busy and our Lufthansa plane had to circle for a fair while before getting clearance to land. We only had about fifteen minutes to get to the gate to board the Thai Airways flight to Bangkok. We hurried to Passport Control. Being Dutch and Belgian nationals, we chose the line for EU Citizens. Great was our astonishment when we found nobody manning the desk. We were forced to move to All Nationalities and there only two people were checking identities - two people to handle a queue of several hundred passengers! On top of that they were complicating things by making bitchy remarks and insisting people keep their toes behind the designated waiting lines. Ridiculous. Each passenger took an average of five to ten minutes (!) to pass through. Everybody wondered how long it would take to handle the whole queue, which was still growing. At some point tension reached such a level that several passengers stormed forward, cursing at the immigration staff and simply going through without showing their passports. The inefficiency displayed by German immigration here was one of the worst cases I've ever seen. We hardly expected then that we'd be treated to more when we returned from the trip. More of that later.

The Thai Airways flight to Bangkok was smooth but the standard of service on board was much lower than I'd come to expect from the airline. When we disembarked at Don Muang airport I noticed a sign saying "Welcome to the Land of Smiles" but no matter how hard I looked, I only saw unhappy faces in the building.

Over four hours later we finally were on our way to Yangon. Service on this Thai flight was up to its usual standards, a relief.

Slightly over one hour later we landed at Yangon International Airport. There was a slight drizzle but the temperature was agreeably warm. I had a quick look around and noticed only a few other planes, all owned by the national carrier. This was definitely a low-traffic airport! Inside everything was well-organised and surprisingly straightforward. Unfortunately, so was obtaining the dreaded FECs, the third currency in use next to the Kyat and US Dollar. FECs (Foreign Exchange Certificates) are 'banknotes' issued by the Burmese government to get their hands on the much-wanted dollar. The value printed on a FEC always equals the same value in US dollars. If you're a Foreign Independent Traveller (FIT), i.e. not a member of a tour group, you're required to change a minimum of 300 US dollars into FECs! A really rotten rule because FECs are only valid in Myanmar and you can only reconvert whatever you have left at the end in excess of 300 FEC.

Escape from changing FECs was impossible. Security was tight. I tried to sneak through but was intercepted and directed to the appropriate counter. The person in front of me slipped a 10 or 20 dollar bill under his passport. Instead of taking it as a bribe, or 'present', the lady in charge treated it as an extra note to change! Bribing the security officers who intercepted me would have been very difficult indeed: there were four of them, in plain sight of the - no doubt - many other intelligence officers. Kris handed over two Traveller's Cheques. Each carried an 'exchange commission' of 1 dollar.

Once this necessary evil is done with you can collect your luggage. Next, continue to customs. It's wise to declare all foreign currency in excess of US$ 2000 and all valuables including photo/video equipment. Just fill out the details on the declaration form which you'll probably already have received in the aeroplane and hand it to the officer in charge. He'll staple a small leaflet into your passport. It'll be removed upon leaving the country; no questions will be asked about the items specified.

Whilst collecting our baggage a friendly man approached us and asked where we were planning to stay. Suspecting him of being a tout, I said we were going to the Beauty Land Hotel (which wasn't at all certain). He nodded and said: "The Beauty Land? ... That's a nice hotel." He didn't suggest any alternatives. I asked him if he knew a clean, cheap enough place, preferably with a view of the Shwedagon Pagoda, something my travel companion kind of fancied. The man suggested the Guest Care Hotel. We decided to check it out. A taxi into town cost us only 1 dollar (normally that ride would cost $4-5 according to some Internet friends), provided we wanted to have a look at ... the Guest Care Hotel! Whether a clever touting scheme or an incredible coincidence - probably the former - the Guest Care, 107(A) Dhamma Zedi Road, Bahan P.O., had quite nice rooms and a friendly staff. We saw no reason to go elsewhere. Rooms normally come at $15 for a double with A/C, private toilet/bath (hot water) and including a mediocre breakfast, but if you want a view of Shwedagon they charge $5 more. A very good view costs yet another $5! If you decide not to have breakfast they'll give you $5 reduction on the room price. Definitely a good idea! During my first night there I got several flea bites. Maybe I was just unlucky?

We had a nice but overly enthusiastic itinerary in mind. We'd first spend a day or two in the capital to get accustomed and then try to get to Mrauk U using a combination of road and boat. Soon road travel all the way from Yangon to Sittwe will be possible - the last couple of bridges are being completed - but at present it isn't. Nevertheless it's quite well possible to travel there without reverting to flying, although it's apparently almost never attempted by foreigners. To get there it's preferable to hire a car (4WD during rainy periods, normal wheels will suffice at other times). The first day, drive from Yangon to Pyay and spend the night there. Allow the whole of the next day to get to Thandwe (yes, the road is indeed thát bad). In Thandwe, the following day, you board a boat that will take you to Sittwe. On day four you can then continue to Mrauk U if you like. Allow the same schedule for the return trip.

Our plans had to change much sooner than we'd expected! A tropical cyclone passed over the Bay of Bengal, bringing heavy rain showers to Myanmar. Fortunately we escaped the worst: the core of the storm hit the Indian state of Orissa, killing several people and leaving many homeless. Nonetheless the weather was quite severe where we were. During our first night we were woken up by a really heavy rain storm. Water was pouring down continuously and hit the room windows with such a force it was impossible to get to sleep again. The next morning we asked someone if the weather forecast had been favourable. He laughed out loud and told us: "No, not at all! You know, the plane which arrived right after yours has had an accident due to the weather." "Accident?!?" "Yes, the pilot couldn't see the runway because of the rain and put the plane down with one landing wheel on the grass. The plane skidded and as a result the airport is now closed for the day." It would become two days; fortunately nobody got hurt. This much was clear: the weather made a visit to Rakhine State quite impossible. Sailing through the Bay of Bengal in a rickety vessel, trying to get to Sittwe, didn't seem very sensible. We briefly discussed the whole thing and decided we'd better forget that idea and go somewhere else instead.

But where? Away from the southern coast, that was for sure. Would there possibly be new areas which could be visited? We asked around and were directed to a friendly guy called Phone Kyaw (pronounced 'Pong Chaw'). He knew all about the areas open to foreigners because he was a driver who chauffeured tourists all over the country. Unfortunately it turned out that the options outside the usual tourist quadrangle were very limited :

It's possible to travel to Myitkyina by train from Mandalay. However, there's not that much to see and the military won't allow travel outside of the town except for a couple of places within a 14 kilometres perimeter around it, and sometimes only if using an escort. From Myitkyina you're allowed to travel to Bhamo by road. There you can take a boat back to Mandalay; on the way you can see sweet water dolphins.
Travel to Putao (in the North, close to the Chinese border) is only possible by air. The same goes for Myeik (in the extreme South).
Travel East of Taunggyi is possible for only a very short distance. Forget about going further East or South to Loikaw.
You can visit the forests East of Taungoo (Bago Yoma) to see the timber elephants working. There are confirmed rumours of the existence of a National Park in the deep jungle of the Chin hills not too far from Monywa. It will cost you almost an arm and a leg, though, and the environs are apparently very 'hostile': deep mud, lots of malarial mosquitoes, bears, pumas, etc.
Hsipaw and Lashio can be visited (by road or train) but continued travel to Mu-Se on the Chinese border is only possible if you're a Chinese businessman. Trekking around Hsipaw is very limited, contrary to before. The government considers the area unsafe again. You can visit some Shan villages in the vicinity, but that's it.
The Padah-Lin pre-historical caves near Pindaya are definitely off-limits.
Travel from Kyaiktiyo to Pa-an in Kayin State and on to Mawlamyine in Mon State is allowed.
South of Mawlamyine only a few nearby places can be visited, e.g. Mudon.

There was, however, a surprising new destination: Nagaland! Really! It was even announced in the government's propaganda newspaper, the 'New Light of Myanmar'. It was only opened about a month before our arrival, and I doubt many people have seen it yet. I haven't, regrettably. Kris felt we were not equipped to attempt going there. If you'd like to try, arrange transport (e.g. taxi) to Kalay from Mandalay. In Kalay local transport should get you to a village where you can arrange a trek to a Naga settlement. Ask around in Mandalay before commencing this trip, though, as I can see this to be a short-lived destination. You never can predict the whims of the Myanmar government ...

We'd see what was possible whilst on-the-road. Phone Kyaw advised us to move to the Dry Zone (the arid central plains), away from the South as soon as possible. So we would have to hit the tourist circuit right away and stay on it at least until Mandalay. Our first destination would be Bagan. There was one fly in the ointment, though: my travel mate had seen the totally overloaded pick-ups and 'buses' and the soaked, dripping figures hanging onto them. He didn't quite see himself doing the same thing. I think talking to Phone Kyaw had inspired him to arrange a car. We discussed all the pros and cons of both public transport and hired car and eventually concluded having a car at our disposal wouldn't be such a bad idea. Cars in Myanmar always come with driver; you're not allowed to drive yourself unless you hold a business visa. You can rent a fully licensed taxi, a taxi with local license or a private car. The last two are illegal, i.e. not allowed to take foreigners on up-country trips. There's a big difference in price asked for renting a fully licensed car and the other two, but not necessarily between the two illegal methods, the difference being determined by whether the trip is 'legal' or 'illegal'. Illegal cars are considerably cheaper but if the police catch the driver you'll lose one or more days, depending on how quickly the driver (and/or you) pays the fines and eventual bribes. There are four known checkpoints which are allegedly impossible to avoid but checks aren't carried out on a permanent basis, so if you're lucky everything will be fine. If you hire an unlicensed car, make sure you know what you'll be charged for and remember that the driver may hassle you for all kinds of extras (although this is probably rare), that he may not speak English very well, may be an inexperienced, unsafe driver and may have a poor knowledge of the places you want to visit. Note the word 'may', please.

Prices always depend on the rental period (the per-day price for longer periods turns out cheaper than when renting for only a couple of days) and the proposed itinerary. Several elements will be taken into consideration. The primary factor is the total distance covered, not particularly the number of days. Fuel is a problem in Myanmar. Foreigner-licensed taxis can get 90 gallons per month (whereas private vehicles can only get 60 gallons) and a maximum of three gallons at a time. All petrol stations are government-owned. All cities and towns where they're available have a different limit on how many times per month a driver is allowed to obtain fuel. Only in Yangon can a driver get fuel every day; in other places the limit is three times, twice or often even just once a month. This means that, to get around, the driver will have to buy fuel on the black market, costing two to several times (e.g. in mountainous regions) the normal price. The higher the estimate of black market fuel consumption, the higher the cost for the car rental. Roads known to be in extremely bad condition (are there any good roads in this country ?) increase the price. On top of that, all roads in the country carry a Road Tax, many towns a Town Tax and several bridges a Bridge Tax. When negotiating a price, therefore, it is best to have in mind a rough outline of the places you want to visit. If you deviate too much from your proposed route, the driver will charge extra for it. If you suggest a very complicated trip, but in the end stick to the main tourist circuit, the price will not be reduced and the driver will pocket the difference.

I worked out a route and discussed the total cost. Bargaining didn't get me very far, unfortunately. Phone Kyaw drives a fully licensed car, meaning more money but fewer hassles. The price came to $870 for 27 days. That's $32 per day ($16 per head), all-inclusive, which is not bad. The same trip done illegally would probably have cost us about $600.

We decided we'd stay in Yangon the rest of the day and move up-country the next. Because of the severe rains we decided not to go to Shwedagon Pagoda immediately. It's one of the country's most stunning sights, so we postponed a visit until we came back. I always find photographs in the rain a bit miserable and we were quite confident the weather would improve by the time we returned to Yangon. Instead we went to the Botataung Paya. On the way we passed Kandawgyi Lake with the impressive Karaweik restaurant and also caught a glimpse of Shwedagon. It was stunning, even from a distance. Rangoon, as the capital is still known to most of the world, is a beautiful city. Shady trees and former colonial buildings line wide boulevards. The golden spires of pagodas vie for attention.

Botataung Paya is located in the downtown area, not far from the Yangon river. It's a nice place. At the entrance girls were selling flowers and a lady tried to convince us to release a caged bird. I chose not to, because a few moments after the bird is released it simply returns to its cage - a poor way of gaining merit if you ask me.

We left our shoes in the car and spattered through the puddles. Footwear is strictly prohibited in Burmese pagodas and should not only be removed before entering inside temples and shrines (as is common practice in most other Buddhist countries) but before entering the grounds of any pagoda or monastery. 'Footwear' means all footwear including socks but apparently not nylon stockings. I can't imagine why any woman would want to wear pantyhose in this climate - and besides, they get dirty or run - but it seems to be tolerated.

The rain made the gold of the 40 metres high pagoda shine as if it had just been polished. At the time we thought it was very impressive. The first pagoda you see will always make a great impression because it's unusual and you have nothing to compare it with. Now that I've returned home and look back on the trip I can say that on the outside it's not that great. It is, however, a revered pagoda because it houses a hair relic of the Buddha (later, a tooth and many valuables were added). 'Bo Tataung Paya' literally means the ‘Pagoda of 1000 Officers'. According to tradition, one thousand military officers awaited the arrival of the sacred hair, now over 2,000 years ago. The original pagoda was destroyed during the Second World-War by Allied bombs intended for the nearby Yangon ship wharves, but was rebuilt. The river is only a short walk away fortunately, because there's not a great deal to see.

Much better was Kyaukhtatgyi Paya, which is not a pagoda. The word 'paya' is often mistakenly translated as 'pagoda' - although it often applies - but in fact it means 'Holy One' and is thus used to indicate all sacred constructions, including Buddha images.

Kyaukhtatgyi is a Buddha image, and not your average one! A big hangar-like building houses a huge reclining figure, measuring 70 metres (230 ft) in length, making it 15 metres (49 ft) longer than the Shwethalyaung Buddha in Bago. I found the image in Yangon more beautiful than the more highly revered and better-known Shwethalyaung. The latter, however, has the advantage of being almost nine centuries older!

A fortune teller who said he 'advised' many Western people, wanted to do the same for me. I politely told him I'd rather not know what the future would bring, that I didn't want to be disappointed. Something he didn't quite understand... The Burmese value highly the advice of such 'seers' and will often make decisions according to what has been predicted. I don't have their faith in these practices; knowing exactly when disaster will strike, could make me slightly nervous.

Meanwhile, the rain was coming down by the bucketful and although we were carrying a large umbrella we still got soaked. Luckily it never gets cold here! We decided the only sensible thing to do was visit something indoors. Something like the National Museum (at 66-74 Pyay Road). The people who collect the five dollars admission fee at the entrance are very unfriendly, a sad first encounter with government officials. Rudely we were told to leave our cameras and bags in a locker or pay the camera fee. Out of curiosity I asked how much that would amount to. "1500 dollars", a woman said. "Fifteen hundred dollars?!? Surely you mean Kyats??" "No. Dollars.", confirmed the woman, pointing up to a sign saying so. I was truly baffled and my already low impression of the place took an even greater dive - and I hadn't even been inside. The collection is very modest, in my humble opinion. I've visited many museums and I think it's fair to say this one is poor. Definitely not worth the high entrance fee. Or perhaps only if you are confined, as we were, to indoors.

After having a good look around the four floors we waited at the entrance until the rain was slightly less. I hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the Indian restaurant on the corner of Mahabandoola and 39th Streets, near the Sule Pagoda. This ride cost us K200. The Bharat Restaurant is friendly enough but the food is quite terrible, especially for the money asked! The chicken we'd ordered with our rice consisted of just bones, bones which looked as if they'd been cleaned by a Burmese dog - and I can assure you these canines do a wonderful job!

When we left the restaurant the rain gods had taken a break. We were virtually next door to the Sule Paya, the very heart of the city. On our way there we were approached by countless money changers, most of whom were obviously of Indian descent. I didn't risk changing there for several reasons. First there were the stories of short-changing and demonetised notes I'd heard from fellow travellers. Secondly, most of these people didn't look trustworthy and wanted to make the illegal transaction on the street. They're probably not, but for all I know they might just as well be working for the police. If you want to change money on the black market - and believe me, you do want that, the official rate is around 6 Kyat (pronounced 'chat') to the dollar whereas the black market rate was always at least K326 in Yangon - it's best to ask around carefully and let yourself be directed to a shop with a reliable 'reputation'. This is very much a matter of trust and there's at least as much risk involved for the shop owner (probably more!) as there is for you. For obvious reasons I cannot recommend (here or privately) any trustworthy black market changers.

We met Hillary. He introduced himself as a guide/interpreter and insisted on showing us around the Sule Paya. He spoke English very well; he'd been a sailor and had docked at many of the world's main harbours. He was a likeable fellow but unfortunately fell into promoting himself a tad too soon. His intention was not to show us around the pagoda but to act as our guide during the rest of our stay in the country. He boasted of having met several internationally important businessmen, celebrities, Lonely Planet's Tony Wheeler and Joe Cummins and Aung San Suu Kyi. Never intending to sign him up, but curious nonetheless, I enquired how much he figured to earn per day if we employed him. I was quite stunned when he said he counted on about $30! He was very knowledgeable but 30 dollars was ridiculous, especially in a poor country like Burma.

I let him show us around the pagoda, which is really worth visiting. It's situated right in the centre of Yangon and serves as a monumental roundabout. The central stupa, enshrining a hair of the Buddha, is 48 metres (157 ft) high and quite unusual in that it has an octagonal shape. Around it are several subsidiary buildings. The most interesting of the lot is the shrine dedicated to the Sule nat. Nats are guardian spirits originating in animistic, pre-Buddhist times. Belief in them was so strong that instead of being eradicated the nat cult blended into the new religion. It's probably the result of the lack of a super-being in Buddhism; the Buddha can only be regarded as a teacher, he cannot personally interfere with people's present lives. Nats can, and reputedly will. But if they interfere, it's always to make life more difficult than it already is. Nats should be respected and made happy by offerings - yes, they can be bribed too. If they're neglected they come for revenge. The Sule nat is the guardian spirit of Singuttara Hill, on which the Shwedagon Pagoda was built. Therefore he points at it. The devoted flock around the nat's image, which is decorated with scarves, and offer him coconuts, bananas, money and even smokes. It's a funny sight to see the people put a burning cigarette between the figure's lips.

The primary reason for coming to the Sule Paya must be to observe the people around it; there's such a lot of activity. Apart from the worshippers there are numerous fortune-tellers, astrologers and people trying to sell you flowers, candles, images, incense sticks, etc. I was even approached by a handsome woman in her mid-40s who wanted to give me a massage. She looked for all the world as if she'd do a wonderful job, but I decided to take a pass.

When we left, Hillary asked if we wanted to visit a nice, non-touristy monastery. As it had started to rain again, and we had nothing particular in mind anyway, we agreed but not before I had told him we were not going to pay any ridiculous money for it. He accepted. We drove to the outskirts of Yangon through an extremely poor neighbourhood. Stunningly beautiful girls who really looked out of place in their mini-skirts were waiting for the bus. I remarked that I was surprised by the huge contrast. Hillary whispered they were prostitutes working in Yangon bars where rich businessmen and government officials were entertained.

We emerged from poverty and were confronted with wealth again, passing a golf club not far from the airport. Then, after another five minutes or so, we reached the monastery. It was late afternoon and the monks were relaxing in their sleeping quarters. We were heartily welcomed by them. None of them could speak English but I had Hillary to translate for me. I put many questions to the monks, about their religion, the reasons for their beliefs, their vision of the outside world, their aim in this life (because not necessarily all of them remain monks all their lives)... In return I answered their questions, most of which were rather unusual for me. For example , "What is the meaning of the cross Christians make when they enter a church?" I could answer them, of course, but they were not everyday questions!

When we left it was dark - dusk comes early in Myanmar; at 5.30 the sun was already down! We returned to downtown Yangon and had dinner at the Yuzana Snackbar, a good, cheap enough place to go for very tasty barbecued chicken and pork sausages. There we offered Hillary a meal of his choice, added a nice tip and thanked him for services rendered. I asked him many questions, including political ones, to all of which he responded at length. He was a great source of information but he couldn't control his greed, and demanded an extra ten dollars! I reminded him of what we'd agreed upon before we left for the monastery, said good-bye, left and walked back to our hotel.