Amarapura, Sagaing, Inwa – Friday, February 16
In the morning I found my sore throat had changed into a runny nose, so I walked back to the pharmacy and bought some antihistamine. Well, at least my throat felt better.
When I got back there was a guy waiting for me in the lobby – my driver for the day. Somehow I had expected the fellow from yesterday, but I was told he was sick. Somehow I doubted it: I suspected that he had gone back to the airport to hustle up more business – he was good at it. In the end it was for the best: the new driver, Kotin, was the best of the many I had in Myanmar. He was both educated and articulate. He was a joy to spend time with.
Our first stop, at my request, was a silk weaving factory in Amarapura. I had heard that the town was known for it’s silk production and wanted to have a look. We stopped at a large, dark shed where looms were being operated by both men and women. From what I could see the men were doing the weaving and women embroidering. All the cloth seemed to be for longyis: cotton for men and silk for women. There was a showroom across the street, but I didn’t buy anything because it all seemed kind of expensive. Later I was sorry: I never saw such a good selection again.
Next, we stopped at the famous Amarapura bridge. It’s a long, teak structure that connects Amarapura with the small village of Taungthaman. It passes over a shallow lake and there was a constant stream of both tourists and Burmese walking across. It was a very pleasant to stroll over the water with green fields on either end.
In one of these fields I saw three men trapping birds. They had a net that they could quickly pull up and snare swallows as they flew over. The men would then jump up, grab the birds and put them in a cage with many others. This, of course, was how the birds I had paid to release the day before had been trapped.
This raised a question that I later asked Kotin. If I gain merit by releasing the birds, do these guy lose merit by catching them? Kotin simply laughed – he was way too smart to try to answer that.
On the other side of the bridge three cute kids attached themselves to me. I understood immediately that they wanted to be my guide and that they would also want to be rewarded for it. The two youngest, a boy and a girl, each took my hands and the older, a girl, walked ahead chattering in English.
We walked together down a dirt path through the center of the village. Among other things, the older girl was telling me that there was a temple just down the road – something that every traveler to this village knew. That’s why they come here: to see the Kyauktawgyi Paya. All this time the younger ones were pulling me along in that direction.
For a while this was fun: the kids were cute and as a solo traveler I always enjoy some company, but it made taking pictures difficult and also hastened my progress. I really wanted to just walk slowly through this beautiful village. I tried to get my hands free, but each time I did it caused pouting. I suspected they were more worried about me getting away than the loss of contact. Anyway, after a while they were contented to just walk closely by my side while the older girl – who by now I knew was 10 – kept up a steady chatter.
Soon we reached the temple and the older girl announced that it was time for me to remove my sandals – they were barefooted. As I kicked off my right sandal two things happened. First, the older girl grabbed it almost before it hit the ground and – while my foot was still in the air – the younger girl made a dive for my left sandal. She sprawled on the ground and wrapped both arms around my foot. She was determined to get that one. The boy, seeing that he had been out maneuvered, just grabbed the younger girl.
I saw trouble coming and moved to calm everyone down. When I got my foot free, I took my sandal off and gave it to the older girl. I figured that if she had one, she might as well have them both. This made the younger kids pretty mad: the boy stomped off down the path and the little girl stood there looking like she was going to cry. I called the boy back and offered both of them my hands again. This seemed to pacify them and under an uneasy peace we entered the temple.
The older girl led the way: she had a little spiel she recited at each notable feature. “Here is a picture of the paya. Here is a very old Buddha,” and so on. The younger girl would then recite this word-for-word, several times as she danced around. The boy ran ahead or lagged behind as the mood struck him. All the time the older girl had a tight grip on my sandals: she wasn’t going to let them – or me – get away.
After about 20 minutes we found ourselves back at the entrance again and it was time to settle up. The younger girl knew what was coming and jumped around joyfully. I fished out my wad of small denomination bills only to discover I was short on small bills. Based on what I had, I decided to give the older girl a 200 Khat note – which I suspected would be a small fortune to her.
The problem was I only had one other small bill, a 100 Khat note. I wanted to split this between the younger kids. I decided to give it to the older girl and made her promise to divide it between them. I then put my sandals on and left. From the end of the path I looked back to see the little girl excitedly jumping up and down. She hadn’t gotten a sandal, but she had gotten some money.
Let me pause to apologize to all the travelers who will visit Taungthaman after me. I know I have been instrumental in teaching these kids that they can fleece passing tourists. They will probably expect the same from you: payment for carrying your sandals and for giving you a tour you didn’t need. That said, I figure it was money well spent. I had the company of three charming kids and got to see how happy 50 cents can make them. I just hope they spent it all on candy.
Instead of walking back across the bridge, I hired a man to paddle me in a boat. He stood in the stern and worked two long oars. We passed a couple of other guys in the middle of the lake who were checking their nets. It was a very pleasant way to get back.
On the other side I found Kotin sitting at a café and he suggested that we go have lunch. While we were eating we got to talking about elephants. He told me that when he was just out of school (8 or 10 years previously, I guessed), he and his brother had smuggled jade across the border to Thailand. He told me that the insurgents, as he called the tribes that the government calls rebels, acted as porters and supplied elephants as pack animals. He said that now that the government has relaxed trade restrictions, drugs are the most common item to be smuggled and he didn’t like that business.
After lunch we drove on to Sagaing Hill. After paying $4 admission, I walked up to the paya – this time with my sandals on. The paya is referred to in travel books as a cave but, in fact, it is a long, curved room set against the hill. It contains a line of about 50 identical Buddhas.
Some Burmese entered just behind me. They were an interesting looking group so I waited outside and took their picture as they left. They decided they liked that and asked me to take their picture again. I was only too happy to oblige and lined them up by a wall overlooking the valley. I took another picture, but they didn’t seem satisfied. They just sat there. One women kept making a movement with her hand: she held her fingers pursed together and then opened them wide as she thrust her hand toward me. She did that several times. Finally, I realized what was wrong: they wanted to see a flash. I reset my camera and this time they all cheered when the flash fired. I guess the burst of light was proof that I had actually taken their picture.
From there I headed on to Inwa where I caught a little boat for a short ride across a river – Inwa is on an island. There I rented a horse cart and driver for 600 Kyat. The driver was a spunky kid about 12 or 13. He wore the standard plaid longyi, but he also had a baseball hat on – backward. I was disappointed to see that this stupid American style had contaminated even Myanmar.
Our first stop was at an old teak monastery. In the back I discovered a classroom of about 20 primary school age boys. There were both young monks and secular students. They were chanting some verse while the teacher, a middle-aged monk, lay on a lounge chair at the head of the class.
Besides chanting, the students were doing all the other things that boys that age do: squirming in their chairs, throwing balls of paper and giggling at jokes. I stood at the windows watching and tried not to distract them any more. I desperately wanted to take some pictures, but it was dark inside. I also knew my flash would cause a major disruption, so I decided to pass it up in the name of education.
The next stop was to climb a masonry watchtower that provided a marvelous view of the lush, green countryside with the river in the distance. As we moved on from there, I saw a woman leading a cow around and around over a pile of grain, thrashing it, I guess. I had the driver stop and walked back to see if I could take her picture. The woman got all embarrassed but didn’t say no, so I took several photos while her friend watched giggling.
Our last stop was at another paya. This time the driver came along. As we walked, three young monks joined us – they were maybe 8 or 10 years old. They immediately started bugging me for pens, candy and money. I chanted to them, “No money. No pens. No boom-boom,” (for bon-bon, the French word all Asian kids seem to use for candy.) The driver thought this hilarious and started repeating it too – the young monks laughed along with us. Finally, before I left, I sat them all down on a lovely staircase leading to the paya and took a great picture of them – the single best photo of the trip.
Then back to the boat, back to the car and back to Mandalay. At the hotel I went looking for a trishaw to take me to dinner. When I stepped outside, I saw Mg Aye Lay and walked over to talk to him: little did I know the trouble I was starting.
As soon as we settled on a price, I got in. I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around me, but a storm was brewing. Just as we set off, Mg Aye Lay jumped off the trishaw and ran back and punched another trishaw driver, knocking him down.
I was shocked. I hate fights and got out of the trishaw and walked some distance away. I didn’t want to watch, and I certainly didn’t want to become collateral damage if the fighting spread. From where I stood I could see that a crowd had formed and that the combatants had been separated. Mg Aye Lay came back and got back on his bike: I did too. Then we set off at a shaky pace.
First, Mg Aye Lay apologized: he was sorry for the fight; he was sorry he had hit the older driver who, he said, was about the same age as his father. He was clearly very upset. As we drove along more of the story came out. The older man “owned” the corner and got first chance at any business.
The older driver had apparently been very unhappy that I had gone to Mg Aye Lay and had demanded a share of the money. When Mg Aye Lay had refused, the older driver had shouted some insult that had resulted in the fight.
Mg Aye Lay said he had a wife and two little girls and needed about 500 Kyat (slightly more than one US Dollar) a day to feed them and to pay the 70 Kyat rent on his trishaw. He pulled 200 Kyat out of his shirt pocket and complained bitterly that that was all he had made so far that day. He was too upset to be lying.
In most cases I find it best to keep a little distance from people in poor countries – there is much need – but Mg Aye Lay got below my shield. When we got to the restaurant, I asked him to wait. He brightened visibly. As I sat eating, I realized I now had myself a trishaw driver. On the way back to the hotel, I started planning the next day with him.
He dropped me at the night market where I walked around for awhile. Much to my chagrin, I got lost again. I never get lost and here within three or four blocks of my hotel I had to ask direction two nights in a row – jeez.
Mingun »
