It’s barely two and a half hours flight from Singapore to Yangon, but it is rather like a time-warp. One day in the 21st century, the next in a timeless combination of medieval religious complexes surrounded by the madness of serious traffic gridlock, populated by burgundy clad monks who wander barefoot all over town, very much connected to the world around them via their cell-phone screens. It will clearly take more than a few moments to wonder how all these—and many more--- pieces fit together to make the emerging puzzle that is Myanmar.
We taxi into town from the airport through endless traffic jams. The mid-morning heat is oppressive and stifling. Gilded pagodas peak out between the ramshackle rain-streaked buildings while nonchalant stray dogs doze at the dusty roadsides. Crowded buses zigzag through the tangled traffic. It takes us a while to notice that while cars have their steering wheels on the right, they aren’t driving on the right! Tiny eating stands spill out onto sidewalks everywhere while the smells and colors of the city and its sprawling life force assail the senses. The easygoing, smiling people appear oblivious to the madness swirling around them, just getting on with the business of the everyday in their rainbow of brightly colored traditional garb.
Our hotel is a small oasis just down the hill from the great Shwedagon Pagoda. Foolishly, we decide to wander to the center of town in what is punishing heat. There are no visible road signs anywhere, and everything else is in Burmese script, so our rudimentary map is close to useless, and after a couple of hours, during which we spy the Martyrs' Memorial, one of the main entrances to the great Pagoda and a do a stint of walking along Kandawgyi Lake, we find a cab and head downtown to the Sule Pagoda, which is smack in the center of town. After exiting the taxi and successfully crossing the various spokes of roads all leading to the Pagoda, I discover I’ve lost my sunglasses. On the first day?? We remove our shoes and head into the pagoda, watching the locals perform their various rituals, praying, and simply visiting and snacking in the shaded prayer houses. A man approaches and much to my surprise and delight it is the cab driver! He’s brought my sunglasses!! Seems like a good omen for the trip. Yes, I’m falling right in step with the beliefs that seem to pervade around me.
After leaving the Sule Pagoda we take a look at the blinding white and imposing City Hall from the outside. At our back lies Mahabandoola Garden, a square with a big obelisk, but it’s cordoned off as there appears to be some impending ceremony. Turns out it will be Union Day on the following day. We wander further down Maha Bandoola Road amazed at the absolute hordes everywhere. When I stop to take a brief look at the map, we are stopped by a woman who speaks excellent English and before we can remotely object, she ushers us off to a local tea shop for tea and samosas, and, not surprisingly, to offer us her help and services. She appears to be some sort of interpreter, also speaks Japanese, and is clearly a wealth of information both trivial and essential. She regales us with the story of why Aung San Suu Kyi always wears a flower behind her ear, tells us we should skip some of our intended stops, and wants to take us to some Portuguese outpost south of Yangon. Eventually she settles for taking us to a small hole-in-the-wall travel agency which quotes us a far more expensive price for the outing we want to make on Sunday to Bago. We part friends, though, and after a bit more half-hearted wandering through the sweltering downtown we return to the hotel.
On Sunday we eat breakfast early and then wander down the street from the hotel to the eastern entrance of the impressive Shwedagon Pagoda, definitely the city’s main attraction. Even the several block long entrance-way which is comprised of a bazaar-like, covered, extra wide stairway is shoe free. One crosses a street, the walkway—lined with ever more shops, exploding with all manner of religious paraphernalia and offerings—, continue up with still more of the same, until an airport-like screening machine flanked by entrances for men and women, and then the ticket booth for foreigners. Locals do not pay to go in. They do their part with their regular donations at different points around the immense Pagoda complex.
The Pagoda is shimmering gold, surrounded by more than fifty small pagodas, and countless prayer houses, each of which has its own collection of sitting, standing, and reclining Buddhas, all sizes, all with differing hand gestures, and many of them have sprays of multi-color neon flashing lights around their head, providing an almost fair-like atmosphere. The very reverent pray, but there are hordes of people wandering, chit-chatting, talking on the phone, picnicking, and taking photos, both family portraits and the ubiquitous selfies. It’s a little bit like being at a Buddha festival ground. Bells are being rung, and there is a high-energy feel to the place, although paradoxically there is a note of dignity and seriousness as well. The central pagoda is awe-inspiring, huge, high and meticulously maintained. Surrounding it are so many different structures that it’s difficult to really keep anything straight. Buddhist priests and nuns roam alone and in groups, and we’re surprised at the range in ages. By late morning it becomes too hot to wander comfortably on bare feet, and after some lunch and afternoon downtime, we return in the late afternoon to witness the effect of the sunset and the singular beauty of the complex at dark. Nothing short of mesmerizing.
On our final day in Yangon we drag ourselves through the sidewalk breakfast crowds, complete with dogs of every sort, and up the large avenue to the Reclining Buddha, where we hold our breath as we navigate crossing six lanes of traffic without any lights. Up the walkway we find the amazingly empty complex with its huge Reclining Buddha, who is differs from many of the others because of the soles of his feet, which carry representations of everything from living beings, to inanimate ones, as well as stars and planets. Quite impressive and apparently deeply meaningful, although we're not exactly privy to what exactly this meaning is!
In the mid-afternoon we head back downtown to try to absorb some of the frenetic energy and commotion that lies in every last visible crack and cranny of the colonial past. The western side of Sule Pagoda has a distinctly Indian and Muslim population, while the eastern side is more Burmese. Each is riveting in its own way. Every block seems to have its own "specialty"--we find the jewelry block(s), the fisherman net and other supplies block, along with painting supplies, rubber stamps, wrought iron work, and even stumble across the old Rangoon(Yangon) synagogue and its caretaker who claims there are only about 20 Jews left in the city but that they no longer have a rabbi. We end the day in a lovely restaurant(Monsoon) close to the posh old Strand Hotel--so posh it no longer allows non guests to take a peek inside!
Click the link for pictures of Sule and Shwendagon Pagodas as well as the Reclining Buddha and central Yangon.
https://goo.gl/photos/zxEdtPcnVLqDXmwP8
https://goo.gl/photos/TcjjsYbXmLBkLwULA
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