Bago – Sunday, February 11
At 8:00am my driver Jeffery arrived. He was a tall, handsome man in his early 30’s who spoke English with a thick Indian accent. He wore a crisp, white shirt and a dark, plaid longyi, the skirt-like affair that Burmese men wear instead of trousers.
We were going to Bago, a small city about two hours away. I wanted to see some of the countryside and to visit the famous reclining Buddha located there. His car was a 10-year-old Nissan, called strangely “Super Roof”. This is a very popular model and I often rode in them during my stay.
On the way out of town while we were stopped in traffic, Jeffery said very softly, “Do you know Aung San Suu Kyi?” He motioned ever so slightly with his eyes. “She live down that road,” and then added, “You can’t go there.” I had read the army maintains a roadblock and stops all foreigners from getting anywhere near her house. The fact that Jeffery was so circumspect when we were alone in the middle of noisy traffic shows how cautious he felt he needed to be.
Aung San Suu Kyi, for those who do not know, won a popular election in 1990: the military promptly annulled the results and has kept her under house arrest ever since. Her plight is well known outside Myanmar: she has received the Nobel Peace Prize. This was not the last time I heard her name carefully mentioned.
The road was full of buses and trucks packed with people. Small pickup trucks are used for public transportation as they are in Thailand. The trucks have two benches, one down each side of the covered bed. Extra passengers – and there were always extra passengers – hang off the back or ride on the roof. Sometimes there are goods such as bags of grain or boxes piled on the roof too. Then the extra 4 or 5 passages just sit on top of that. It’s quite a sight to see.
Along the road were lots of little shops and cafes. The latter had plastic tables and low stools. Jeffery called these little groupings, “bus stations,” but they looked more like transfer points, as there were certainly no terminals or ticket stands.
On one clear stretch Jeffery called my attention to a policeman in a white uniform standing on the opposite side of the road. “He will pull you over and then expect a bribe before he’ll let you go,” he said.
Farther from Yangon, away for the settlements, the land was flat with bright green rice fields on either side of the road. There were men working water buffalo in the fields under the bright sun. Warm air blew in the window as we drove along. It was a very pleasant day.
In some little towns Jeffery had to pull over and pay some money – a “wheel tax” or a “township entrance fee,” he told me. The money would presumably be used to repair the roads. On the subject of roads, let me say that they were simply awful. The surface of even the best roads was very rough and on the lesser ones there were frequent holes to dodge. The hidden advantage of this was that we rarely drove very fast.
We also drove on toll roads. At the entrance to one Jeffery was given a torn banknote in change. This is a bit of a problem in Myanmar as no one wants worn or damaged bank notes. When Jeffery saw it in his change, he held it up for me to see. “So?” I asked, “What are you going to do with that?”
“Oh, I’ll just give it back to them on the return,” he grinned.
In Bago we drove over a rusty, metal bridge and through a busy market on our way to our first stop: Shwemawdaw Paya. With Jeffery’s help, I bought a $6 ticket, which gave me access to all the sites in Bago. Then I had to pay another camera fee of 30 Kyat. For this I got a little laminated picture of the main paya to tie on my camera – a nice souvenir.
I took off my shoes and started up. The stairs were lined with shops along both sides. At the top was a massive, golden paya. In many ways it looked very similar to the Shwedagon Paya in Yangon, but there were no westerners here.
Our next stop was the market in the center of the town. Jeffery stayed with the car while I took a little walk. There were vendors shouting and loud pop music playing. They were selling shirts, electric plugs and live chickens. Vendors, porters and shoppers all competed for the narrow pathways. Farther down the lane turned muddy and I took a side street and walked past vendors selling rope and shovels. There was also a station where pickups loaded with people were waiting to leave. I took lots of pictures before returning to the car.
Our next stop was to see Bago’s enormous reclining Buddha. It was kind of disappointing: it was garishly painted and covered by an ugly metal shed. The one thing that did delight me was the huge, mirror-covered finger and toenail. I found that somehow endearing.
In the back a woman was teaching some kid to do traditional Burmese dances. She had a tape playing music and would call the kids, mostly girls, one at a time to dance. I was enthralled by one 10 year old who had the natural grace and poise of a dancer. It was a real treat to just stand and watch her move.
Next, I climbed a nearby paya for a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. From this vantage point it seemed that every hill top within sight was covered with additional payas.
After one more stop – this time to see four 30-meter (90 feet) Buddhas sitting back to back – we headed back to Yangon. Back at the hotel I tried to take a nap but was too restless and excited to lay still: I wanted to see more of Yangon, so I took a taxi to the Sule Paya, located in the center of downtown.
This paya is set in the most unlikely location: in the middle of a busy traffic circle surrounded by commercial buildings and noisy traffic. On the sidewalk there were food and trinket vendors. There were also women with cages of birds. For 100 Kyat you can purchase a bird and then let it go. I was told that the Buddhists believe that you gain merit by doing this.
I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around central Yangon. Every street was full of vendors selling everything from key chains to magazines, from watermelons to sugar cane juice. I even found a guy selling laminated maps. He asked where I was from and when I told him, he said, “Detroit? Sure, I know where Detroit is. The industrial capital of America.” He kept patting me on the back and telling passersby that I was from Detroit.
Well, perhaps his information was a little outdated but I was still impressed by his knowledge of America and his command of English. Anyway, I love maps and like to buy a world map written in the language of the country I’m visiting. I found a great one here for only 500 Kyat.
Back at the hotel, and now completely exhausted, I took a taxi to a Thai restaurant I had heard about. It was located in the north of the city, just past Shwedagon Paya. Its called Sabai Sabai and I highly recommend it. The food was superb and cheap: 1500 Kyat (a little more than $3) for one dish and a beer.
After that it was back to the hotel, a slow walk around the neighborhood and then one last beer before bed.
