Ko Ko

I have to dedicate a posting to one young man we met in Bagan. The most westernized of any local we met, Ko Ko was probably 22, brash and your typical tourist hustler. He had big gold rimmed sunglasses and a slightly tight, v-neck metrosexual shirt. His hairstyle was black with flaming orange highlights and styled like any current US boy band member. He was incredibly image conscious and would fit in well in LA, NY or other major metropolitan area. His English was excellent.

He was smart and inquisitive and as interested in mining information about western culture as he was in mining our pocket books to fund his sand painting drawings.  We spent an entire lunch chatting with him while he pitched artwork to us and we were struck by what he symbolized.

Ko Ko was the perfect embodiment of the changes that the Myanmar culture seems to be undergoing. On the one hand, he was everything Myanmar people are known for; friendly, quick with a smile, willing to help and eager to talk about their land. On the other hand, he had clearly embraced (and was striving for) a very western life. The boy band hair and sunglasses (sorry world), the iPhone, non-traditional dress, conveyed his image and his desire to move to Australia, where and he was determined to work in his friend's restaurant and not "eat chicken" his whole life. And by "eat chicken" he meant that he wanted to date many Australian women and enjoy the variety of life.

While we thought we had him pegged initially as a self-serving hustler, we later ran into him when Rhonda's scooter had died on the side of the road at night.  While I went for help, Ko Ko saw Rhonda, tried to get the scooter started, and when he couldn't, he stayed and chatted with her until help arrived.  His Burmese sense of community and genuine sincerity were so evident, I can only hope those qualities don't get lost in the westernization of this country.

Manic for mopeds

The mopeds of Bagan deserve their own post.  Along the dusty roads and vastness of Bagan, you have few options for transportation - bike, horse-drawn carriage or moped.  For freedom, speed, convenience and good ol' American laziness, we generally chose the mopeds.  

Officially they are e-bikes, run entirely on battery power.  They are plugged into a wall socket to charge, with the appearance of a standard moped.  

Why these things aren't all over college campuses in the US, I don't know.  Myanmar is ahead of the sustainable emissions and energy curve, especially since they frequently pile a family of four onto one of these bad boys.  

We were simultaneously thrilled and terrified riding these nefarious contraptions.  No helmet, no observed road rules and no map meant that navigating the roads would take some iron will determination.  Ok, and sheer delight.  My driving skills have been called out by any number of people in a number of ways, but probably best summed up as anarchist. 

Anarchist driving works well in Myanmar.  If you want to pull over on the opposite side of the road, you just do it.  No u-turns, turn signals or other silly right-of-way measures.  Somehow, the traffic scene is a bit more fluid and just works within the chaos.  

The unpredictability of the e-bikes added to the emotional roller coaster.  On separate occasions, each of our bikes died on the side of the road.  When they didn't die, they could spontaneously break into cruise control at high speed until you pressed the brake.  The seats varied as well, with some that rattled and had a tendency to push into your most delicate areas.  Despite all this, we flew off the roads and onto the dirt trails, doing some serious temple off-roading. 

It was like we were sixteen, all over again.    

 My only note of caution to future riders, be careful at night don't get stuck behind a tour bus.  They can literally poop exhaust on you while you are trying to see a dark road lit up only by your flashlight sized headlight.

All in, I wouldn't trade the experience for the world.

Calm the nerves

"Don't fly after dark."

This was the sage advice from an Australian that has been coming to Ngapali beach for the last six years.  

We are on the same flight as our new Australian friend and it is considerably delayed.  The only way we know this, besides the fact that no plane is landing, is because they take a sharpie to a small hand held sign and write down new departure times every so often, then set the sign up, laying against a window.  

When I ask about flying at night, this nice father, who is traveling with his two young children, says that there are no lights on the runway.  Odds of something going wrong jump up considerably.  He then chuckles and tells us how a couple years ago, a plane skidded off the runway into the ocean.  Everyone was ok, but it took the locals two years to remove the plane from the water.  Until recently, every time a plane landed, you were accosted with a view of a half sunken crashed plane.  Not very good for the nerves.

As we line up, the agent lets us know it will be five minutes.  Since there's no computer or wallow-talkie I wonder how he knows the timing and I ask.  He points to the sky and a plane is emerging from the mists.

Oh.  

Fingers crossed, we are now on the plane.

Marketing with Gods

We have been flying around the country on KBZ airlines. The company's tag line is "flying beyond expectations."  A nice, slightly catchy phrase.  However, when you pair it with their logo of two deities flying, wings outstretched, with conical, yet aerodynamic helmets pointed skyward, the catch phrase takes on a whole new dimension.  Who wouldn't want to fly with the gods on your side??

On the flip side, given the safety records of the domestic airline industry in Myanmar, perhaps instead it means pray like hell.

Grasshopper Tours

There's no way to make this sound appropriate, but despite having a very sore bottom today, yesterday was a true highlight of the trip. We took a half day bike tour through the temples and villages of Bagan. In terms of background, there is one main road that we had travelled via moped, along with all the other tourists, locals on motorcycles, horse drawn carriages, cars and buses, that led up and down a stretch connecting the main villages and temples. I was hoping like hell our bike tour didn't mean riding that road the whole time, eating exhaust fumes and gripping our handlebars for dear life.

Luckily, my fears were proven wrong. Our guide was a well-spoken, wonderful, recently graduated university student, with a passion for cycling. Arawak was typical of the Burmese we've met so far in that he was open and gentle, patient with our questions and quick with a smile. He first led us through the morning market where he identified for us a number of previously unidentified items that we had been curious about (mounds of fish paste, turd looking food that was in fact delicious donuts, and others).

We then started on our bikes through, what he referred to,as the back roads. I would define them not as back roads, but sandy, dirt walking trails. It was awesome.

It was a tour of Bagan we could not have done without a guide. We wandered through tiny villages, where oxen and pigs were wandering the path and families were sitting in the shade carving house siding out of bamboo. He led us to an active monastery, which was from the 11th century with a 20th century open air hut behind it where three monks lived, prayed, meditated and cared for the monastery. We sat inside. Of all the temples I had experienced in Bagan, this monastery held the most presence for me. There was such a stillness and sense of devotion that was palpable once you sat still for a minute. I could have stayed there for hours.

We continued on and reached several of the main temples through the back roads. It was so incredibly cool.

As we ventured through more established villages, I wish I could have taken more pictures while riding. There were tiny shanty's with dirt floors and satellite dishes coming out of the thatched roof. There were so many moments where I wanted to do a double take but navigating the bumpy path and dodging stray dogs took most of my focus.

We finished up at a traditional tea house with a bunch of Myanmar snacks, dirt streaked faces, sore butts and sheer delight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sent from my iPad

Down and Out in Bagan

I woke after wretched night, still recovering from the chaos in my body.  I desperately wanted to join Rhonda for our cooking class, but the thought of visitng the morning markets with the pungent smells of fish cake and shrimp paste made my stomach churn even more. She danced off bright eyed and I laid moaning and slept off my street food hangover.

In hindsight, I won't say it was a blessing, but there was a real silver lining to the whole experience. We had been going non-stop since we arrived. I normally would not take a day to spend at a hotel, but as I was somewhat forced to, I have to admit, it was decadent. For two hours, I lay in a chair in the sun on the river bank watching the fishing boats putter up and down the watery expanse.  It was a good exercise in being with the day versus seeking out adventure.  I should try it more often (minus the barfing).

 

Sent from my iPad

Wretched Sins of Passion

Damn you, street food.

I give you my love, my passion, my constant adoration and undying attention.

You return my passion with stomach upheaval in every direction.