Mandalay – Thursday, February 15
To my great disappointment, I awoke with a sore throat. Usually if I’m going to get a respiratory infection, it happens just after I arrive or when I first get home. I have always blamed this on the hours spent in the poorly circulated air of a crowded plane. Anyway, there was nothing I could do about my throat then: I had another plane to catch.
I arrived in Mandalay at around 9:30am. The first thing I noticed was how new and modern the airport was. Outside I found out what that was going to mean to me: the taxi tout told me that the fare to Mandalay would be 3000 Kyat and not 500 as I had expected. It took a few minutes to digest this, but in the end I could see I didn’t have any other option. In the parking lot we got into a car with the driver and headed off.
The tout spoke excellent English and while he was pitching me on his tours, he also told me a lot about Myanmar. He said, or example, that it would be completely safe for me (meaning a white man) in Myanmar because the criminals knew they would get in big trouble if they bothered a tourist. He said, “Every now and then a thief will mistake a Japanese tourist for a local Chinese and pick his pocket.” He claimed the police make a real effort to catch those crooks. Actually this bears out my observation that the more repressive the government, the safer it is for tourists.
While we were talking he got out a list he had printed that listed his service. He had city tours as well as others into the area surrounding Mandalay. I was, in fact, interested in visiting the three so-called “Ancient Cities” of Mandalay (Amarapura, Sagaing, Inwa) so we talked a little about that. He wanted $20 for a full day tour. This sounded like a good price, but I wasn’t quite ready to sign up yet.
At first the highway was new and wide, but it soon deteriorated into the standard bumpy, crumbly Burmese road. We drove past little villages and dry, brown fields. The sun was bright and the air warm. The trip passed pleasantly and by the time we reached my hotel I had signed up for a tour the next day.
I was staying at the Unity hotel right in the heart of the city. I checked in, ate a late breakfast and then headed over to the Zeigyo market, a few blocks away. On the way I stopped at a little pharmacy and bought some lozenges for my throat. The place was on the corner and was open on two sides – the drugs were all displayed in a large glass case in the middle of the room. An old man with a wispy chin beard waited on me. After showing me everything from antibiotics to antihistamine, I finally found some throat lozenges.
The market was the usual busy, interesting place: there were piles of coconuts, bananas, tomatoes and carrots. In one little lane a line of men were unloading large sacks of rice and pouring the contents onto a huge pile. Down another I saw women ironing and sewing small garments. The paths were very crowded and pedestrians, bikes and motorcycles all vied for space.
Down one side street I discovered shops selling religious items: monk’s robes and begging bowls. They also had “flowers” that were made of meticulously folded one and five Kyat bank notes. Apparently these are left in the paya as offerings for the Buddha.
After several hours I got a taxi to the southern part of the city where I visited the Mahamuni Paya. When I arrived I found that some kind of celebration was going on. A long, tent-like structure had been built over the street leading to the paya. As I got closer I saw that it was full of people. Down the middle walked a line of monks in dark orange robes. They were carrying their begging bowls and people on either side were putting money and gifts in them. I tried to get inside for a closer look, but the crowd was too thick. Instead, I had to watch from a distance over everyone’s heads.
I decided to make an end run around the celebration and headed west until I found another entrance. I knew I was making progress when I found a spot where I had to remove my sandals. Just inside was a lady with a cage full of small birds. I decided it was time for me to gain a little merit. The birds were 50 Kyat each, so I bought a few. The lady handed them to me one at a time and I gently tossed them in the air.
I have mixed feelings about this ritual: I don’t care too much for the trapping and caging of the birds, but releasing them is satisfying. In some way it puts me in touch with a non-tourist part of Burma.
With my sandals in hand, I continued walking toward the paya. The grounds were full of vendors selling cold drinks and food. There were also a large number of beggars. I gave out a little of my small change along the way – gaining more merit.
Next, I found a guy who offered to keep my sandals and, next to him, another who wanted $4 for admission – now I knew I was getting close to the paya. As I was waiting for change, I started talking to a monk who said he had learned English listening to the Voice of America Special English broadcast. These programs in which the news is read slowly and in clearly articulated English are designed to help people learn the language. As a longtime short-wave listener, I was delighted to meet someone who had actually benefited from those broadcasts.
Next to the admission booth was another booth selling small packages of gold leaf – you buy some and then apply it to the Buddha at this paya. It’s another way to gain merit. I bought several and then headed in to see the statue.
There was quite a crowd in front of the Buddha and I wasn’t sure what the procedure was: should I get in line somewhere or just push my way into the crowd? I saw a guy in a uniform sitting on the floor and decided to ask him. He stood up and indicated I should follow him. We walked up some stairs behind the platform. At the top were 8 or 10 men applying gold to the Buddha.
My helper then called an attendant who came and rubbed a cloth over an area of the Buddha’s leg – I suspect the cloth had glue on it. Next, my helper opened one of the packages – there were four sheets of gold leaf in each – and started pressing the gold on that area. That was all there was to it: we went through several packs of gold. It seemed like a pretty easy, and fun, way to gain merit.
Back on the ground, I continued exploring the paya. In a courtyard I saw kids running around excitedly, while others rang the bells that lined the outside wall. Other people were eating or talking to friends. It was the liveliest, most interesting paya I had visited – also the dirtiest. Walking around bare foot I could feel all the liquid and food that had been spilled on the floor.
After awhile I found a quiet corner and sat to write in my journal. This attracted a lot of attention as people stopped to see what my writing looked like – they were as curious about mine as I was about theirs. This always embarrasses me a little: I have the world’s worst handwriting. I feel sorry for anyone who sees it and then thinks that it’s representative of written English.
Finally, I left the paya and got a trishaw back to the hotel. Trishaws are the standard, cheap transportation in Myanmar. They are made of a standard bicycle with a sidecar attached. The sidecar can accommodate two passengers: one faces forward while the other sits looking backward. Riding in them in busy traffic was always an adventure.
Most intersections in Mandalay don’t have traffic signals and a certain amount of give and take is necessary. As the passenger you have to hope that your driver will pull through the intersection fast enough to avoid being run over by the rapidly approaching truck or that the bus bearing down from the other side will slow enough to let you get through. Dust and fumes also make for a less than pleasant ride at times.
The other thing about trishaws is that there are many more drives than there are passengers – you see groups of drivers waiting near every major intersection. I was told that trishaws are the entry-level position for the uneducated coming into the cities. It sure looks like a tough place to start.
Back at the hotel, I got another trishaw to the Honey Garden restaurant for an early dinner. The driver, Mg Aye Lay, was to become my regular driver, but I didn’t know that yet. All I knew then was that he was a young guy in his late 20’s who wore a funny, beige hat with a down-turned brim – the kind you often see Japanese tourists wearing. When he got to the restaurant, he offered to wait and drive me back. I wanted to walk a little after dinner and dismissed him. I saw that he was disappointed, but thought no more about it.
After an excellent Chinese dinner I walked slowly back to the hotel, shopping along the way. The western part of Mandalay has less traffic and more trees than the part I was staying in. The sidewalks and streets aren’t much better, though.
At dusk I took another walk around my hotel. First, I went down about a block to a Hindu temple. As I was standing outside admiring the building – it was covered with life-size, brightly-painted Hindu god – the caretaker came out and invited me in. Then he gave me a tour, proudly pointing out more sculptures, most of which he said had been imported from India. All the time I kept expecting him to hit me up for a donation – that was my experience in India. I was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t. In the end he walked me to the door and simply shook my hand good-bye.
Then I walked down one more block to a mosque, but they were having evening prayers so I decided to postpone my visit until later. All the time it was getting dark and I wasn’t paying enough attention to where I was going.
Suddenly I realized I didn’t know how to get back to the hotel. This is an unusual experience for me – I have a pretty good sense of direction and rarely get lost. The problem was the dark streets looked completely differently than from the day. Finally, I swallowed my pride and I stopped to ask directions. After several additional stops, I finally managed to find my way back, but I vowed to be more attentive in the future.
