Yangon, Myanmar

Once we arrived in Yangon, we put the debate about whether or not we should visit behind us. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the ruling military government, you don't see much evidence of it on the street, just a placard telling the people of Yangon what they should strive for, some "no photography" signs, and a few military men carrying guns. Most people go about their daily lives trying to make a living for themselves and their family, as they do anywhere else in the world.

 

There are very few foreigners and we were the subject of a great deal of friendly interest, with many smiles and greetings. Many people wanted to have their photo taken and enjoyed seeing the result on the display of my camera. We were able to greet people in their own language with min-gala-ba, and saying thank you (ce-zu-beh) also helps.

 

One real advantage of its isolation is the way in which local customs, traditions, and styles have remained relatively undiluted by the influence of the West. The men wear longyis (wrap-around pieces of cloth) rather than trousers, and many people wear thanakha on their faces as protection against the sun. How very refreshing to visit a place that doesn't have well-known restaurant chains and international brands muscling in on the local economy. I wonder how long that will last?

 

You can't visit Yangon without exploring several payas (pagodas). The most impressive is Shwedagon, with the central stupa visible from many parts of the city, the sunlight reflected off its golden surface. In the evening the glow is particularly rich. On the day we went, there were large numbers of people, most of whom had gone for spiritual reasons, although I don't think the tenets of Buddhism were uppermost in the mind of the boys kicking an old drink can around. Perhaps the best view we had was from the bar at the top of the Sakura Tower on Sule Paya Road.

As far as I could tell, we were just about the only foreigners in Twante. We made an early start to take a ferry across the Yangon River, from where we took a ride in a bus/truck to our destination. As in Yangon, the number of people who can take a bus is limited simply by the number who can hang on to the back when it’s full inside. Perhaps it’s just as well we had the best seats, in the front next to the driver. There wasn’t enough room for my legs, my head was pressed against the roof, and the door was held closed with a bit of cloth, but at least we had a seat each.

 

The first stop was the market, where we wandered around the stalls looking at the fruit and vegetables laid out in baskets on the ground, dried fish, and tethered poultry. We had been "adopted" when we arrived by a couple of young men with trishaws, who proved to be very friendly and helpful guides for the day, as far as their English would allow them.

 

Firstly, our trishaw drivers took us from the market to the potteries for which the town is known. They’re not like any pottery I’ve ever seen before, with the potters squatting on the rough mud floor of huts made with wooden frames and palm leaves. Our final destination was the Shwesandaw Paya. It’s not as grand as Shwedagon but an impressive structure to find in a small, dusty town.

 

The only things we trusted to eat in Twante were bananas. Drinking the tea we were offered was enough of a challenge--the cracked, grubby teacups didn’t inspire confidence.

 

And so back to Yangon. Our trishaw drivers arranged for us to be taken back in a small boat, two of us and a driver. Compared with other options, it was expensive, US$6 each, but it was a good way to watch life on the river.