Mandalay, Thursday, February 15
To my great disappointment, I woke 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 9:30. 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 sigh 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 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 say 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 4 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 worse 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.

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 setting at a cafe 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 insurgence, 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 monk's 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 a while. 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, Saturday, February 17
When I stepped out in the morning, Mg Aye Lay was waiting for me. Our first stop was the pharmacy - again. I was making some kind of strange progress with my cold: the running nose was gone and now I had a cough. This being my third visit, the pharmacist greeted me like an old friend. The ancient fellow handed me several boxes and I read the outside of each - luckily they were in English. Finally, I found some cough drops and we left. It was only when I got back to Thailand and bought some more of the same cough drops that I realized how mercilessly he was overcharging me. No wonder he was so happy to see me.

We drove over to the river and Mg Aye Lay showed me where to get a ticket for the boat to Mingun. He pointed out the ferry and said he would meet me when I got back.

I was on my way up the Ayeyarwady river to see what the guidebooks called, "the worlds largest pile of bricks." It stands 50 meters (150 feet) tall and was just the bottom third of what had been planned. When the king who was building it died, the construction was abandoned. Later an earthquake left a huge crack in one end.

Brightly colored boats lined the bank of the river. Some were passenger ferries, but most carried cargo. As I was walking around taking pictures, I met a guy from Holland named Sake. He was a photographer on a shoot in Asia - he had already been to India and was heading to Laos. We compared travel notes while we waited to depart.

The ride up the river was quite interesting: we passed a small boat that two men were pulling upstream. They walked along the bank tugging a rope that was attached to the mast. On the bank there were also little settlements and I saw kids splashing in the water. The sun was bright and the day hazy.

In Mingun, Sake and I toured the sights together. First, we visited the Pondaw Paya and then the Mingun Bell. Finally, we climbed the Mingun Paya - the brick pile. Because there is a Buddha inside Mingun Paya you must climb barefoot - an excruciating experience as you only walk part way on concrete stairs. The rest of the time you must walk over brick rubble. That made for slow going but the sense of accomplishment and the view from the top made the effort worthwhile.

We continued further into the village and then down by the river before heading back to the boat. We decided to stop at a little stand to have a drink and were immediately surrounded by postcard and souvenir vendors. As we sat and drank, they tried to interest us in their goods. They were insistent, but not pushy - after a while they wandered off to pester other tourists.

We got back to Mandalay about 1:30 and I saw Mg Aye Lay waving from the top of the bank. He drove me, as Sake rode his own bike, to the Emerald Green restaurant where we had a great Chinese dinner. I certainly enjoyed Sake's company: he was widely traveled and a very perceptive individual. He told me about a book of photographs he put together of the homeless in Amsterdam.

After lunch, Mg Aye Lay drove me to a place where they hammered out the gold leaf. There in a shed were two lean, young men, bare to the waist. They rhythmically swung heavy hammers against small packages of the gold leaf that were placed against large stones set in the floor.

In the next room several young women sat at a table cutting and fitting these incredibly thin pieces of gold into squares. They then placed pieces of paper on either side of the gold and tied the whole thing together with a thread. I bought several packs to give to my friends back home.

Back at the hotel, I took the night off - my pride couldn't stand getting lost again.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
April 2001

Part One - Yangon and Bago
Part Two - Bagan, Mt. Popa and Salay
Next: Part Four - Yangon and Bangkok
Part Five - The details

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