Hello Buddha. Como esta?
Bagan, Myanmar
Jason and Burmese child
Ananda Pahto temple, Bagan
For two days I had been touring the ancient city of Bagan, Myanmar, a fantastic place with a seemingly endless supply of pagodas and edifices. One of the most pleasant aspects of Bagan for me is the sparse tourist business and lack of souvenir salesmen at most of the temples. The major attractions, however, each have their own cadre of hawkers and beggars to pester tourists.
Near the end of day two I approached my tenth major pagoda. Although calloused and immunized against the pleas of temple mountebanks after five months of world travel, I still have a breaking point like any other human.
I drew near Manuha Paya (a temple with four enormous Buddhas squeezed into matchbox-sized quarters – just looking at them induces claustrophobia), and immediately groaned at the sight of so many tourists and locals. I don’t mind the other tourists, but where there’s prey so will there be predators.
“Looks like another round with the hawkers,” I thought, “Lace ’em up.”
I parked my bicycle beside the front gate and before I could dismount, three young beggars approached me. Ignoring the children and their incessant pleas, I sat on a dusty step to take off my boots and socks (a requirement for all Burmese temples).
It had been a while since I had called upon my fake Spanish technique of deflecting hawkers and beggars. But I was using it again in Bagan with good success.
A little background: I had humored myself while traveling through China by responding to hawkers in a gibberish form of Spanish. I can barely remember ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ after two years of high school Spanish and a year in college, but can, like any other American, say “tacos y enchiladas”.
So when a hawker says to me, “Hello, you want statue?” I respond with, “Tacos y enchiladas?”
And when they follow with, “Where you from?” or “Where you going?” I use my second response which is, “Los pantalones son negros y amarillos.” (The pants are black and yellow.)
I successfully employed the Spanish language gig to which she responded, “I don’t understand you.”
“Good,” I thought to myself, a little tired and ill-tempered. “Now go away.”
She did – and I was pleased.
But one of the young girls was not so easily dispatched and began to trail me as I explored the grounds. I thought I had ditched her at one point as I entered the pagoda, but upon exiting through a side door I found her waiting patiently on the marble walkway.
“Looks like she knows the routine.”
I sighed and just accepted that she was going to be with me for the duration. She continued to ask for money and either point to her mouth or palm, the first in reference to food, the other regarding a ballpoint pen. “For my school,” she said.
At first I thought I would just ignore her like the thousand beggars before. But for reasons unknown to me, as I reached the corner of the building near the back entrance to the fourth Buddha image, I snapped.
She had been playing with a small rock. I held out my hand with a curious look, asking to see it. I had not spoken a word of English up to this point. In fact, I had barely uttered a sound.
She reluctantly handed it over with a suspicious look. It was a small piece of the white marble walkway that we were standing on. I put it in my right hand and knocked it against my left palm.
(Puzzled look)
I then tapped it against the side of my head.
(Another puzzled look)
I finally put it between my teeth and with an exaggerated motion, bit down.
Imagine a monkey who has somehow found a cell phone in the jungle. He doesn’t know what to make of it but gives it a series of ‘tests’. That’s the look I was going for.
After finishing with the ‘Curious George’ routine I shrugged my shoulders and handed the rock back to her. She had watched carefully throughout my act. I hoped she would now consign me to the category of “weird guy” and leave me alone.
Not a chance. But she DID stop asking for money. Maybe she wondered what in the world I would do next. I did not disappoint.
She stuck beside me and pointed to the entrance of the temple not 10 feet away. “You can go inside.”
To self: “Really? Gee thanks.”
We walked inside the tight confines of the back room to find a 90-foot reclining Buddha. That’s a Buddha lying on his side with his head resting on his right hand – like he’s watching TV.
The young girl marched up to the Buddha and helpfully banged her rock on his arm – which gave me an idea.
I put my ear to his arm and also knocked on the Buddha. Startled and amazed, I flashed her a “What was that?!?” look.
I knocked again – louder this time and followed by my gibberish Spanish.
“Tacos y Enchiladas?” “Como esta?”
I alternated astonished glances between her and the point where I had been ‘listening’.
I went back to knock again. With purpose this time.
“Como esta?” “Los pantalones son . . . (continued incoherent babbling)”
I parked an ‘absolutely flabbergasted’ look on my face coupled with “I swear I hear something” and then motioned for the girl to listen for herself.
She took it hook, line and sinker – never even blinked.
When her ear was about an inch away from the Buddha I yelled,
Oh, man. You should have SEEN her jump. The construction guys outside who had witnessed the exchange were chuckling loudly. Both the girl and I were laughing together and enjoying how gullible she had been. In the flash of a moment our relationship had unexpectedly changed. We were no longer beggar and tourist. Instead, quite pleasantly, we were friends.
Of course I didn’t mind her presence anymore as I continued to stroll the grounds of Manuha Paya. In fact, I engaged her in conversation with the help of my Burmese phrasebook.
Me: “How old are you?”
Her: “Eight,”
Me: “What’s your name?”
Her: (Too long and hard to pronounce/remember but I understood her at the time)
Me: “Where are you from?” (This got a smile)
Her: (Duh) “Myanmar,”
Me: (returning the smile to say, ‘I know that silly, but WHERE in Myanmar?’) “Bagan?”
Her: “Yes, New Bagan.” (One of the three or four little villages around Bagan)
As I unlocked my bicycle, put my bag in the basket and generally got organized for the ride back to my hotel, I turned and said to her in Burmese, “I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”
Then the strangest thing in the world happened. She handed me a five kyat (chat) note. Five kyat is worth about a penny, but of greater value to her of course.
I didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t sure if she was making a last ditch effort to show me what it was that she wanted, or if she was actually giving me the money. Trying to sort it out I took the bill and motioned ‘for me?’
She gave a slight nod and continued to look at me. I couldn’t read her face.
A bit confused, I handed the bill back to her, smiled and shook my head ‘No’.
Three Burmese children pose in Shwe In Bin Kyaung temple, Mandalay
I felt like I had crossed into some strange realm. A beggar handing money to ME? It just didn’t make sense. Even if all that she wanted to do was provide a visual example of her request, to put money in a foreigner’s hand was HIGHLY unusual. If her intent was to GIVE me the money, I was certainly no longer on planet Earth.
I smiled again and said in Burmese, “I’m going now, OK?”
She nodded ‘OK’.
I hopped on my bike and started to ride off. After about three pedals-worth of travel I looked back and saw her watching me go. I dropped the charade and yelled out to her in perfect English, “Good luck!”
She probably didn’t know the words, but I like to think she understood the meaning.
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