Throughout Burma, it seems when you close your eyes you can hear the faintest ringing of bells and feel the slightest breeze from the wings of butterflies. The bells are the gentle sound of the thinnest gold clapper dangling from the gilded pagodas throughout the country. And the gentle breeze? Well, those are from the wings of the butterflies.
Having traveled extensively throughout southeast Asia, it’s become easier to observe the subtle nuances within the region. From the fold of the sarong to the spiritually specific symbols on the upturned rooftops gracing monasteries and temples. In the end, one has to agree with Rudyard Kipling, Burma is ‘quite unlike any land you know about…’
Arriving in Rangoon (Yangon) from most cities in Asia, its low-rise sprawl is notable, followed immediately by a rich omnipresence of rundown Colonial architecture. The city feels polluted as buses belching fumes barely hobble along on streets filled by pedestrians because sidewalks are cracked and upturned by tree roots. With a glance in another direction, there’s a beautifully green park with a lake where locals are snacking and taking in the breeze under the shade of a tree. Turn again and you might see a long row of monks in their saffron robes carrying black lacquer offering bowls slowly, gratefully and gracefully accepting alms from locals, who in turn are given blessings for their deeds. Burma is Buddhism – it permeates the country, and presents the sites of interest for those of us visiting. Few sites are more spectacular than Shwedagon Pagoda in Rangoon. A brilliant stupa decorated in gold and topped by a 76 carat diamond surrounded by some 4,000 diamonds and precious stones. The single most religious destination in the country, the pious circle clockwise around the pagoda, stopping to pray along the way visiting the day of the week they are born. It is part observance. It is part walk in the park. And it is entirely magnificent.
At this moment in time, it’s impossible to avoid talk of politics in Burma. In Rangoon, Aung San Suu Kyi’s home on the lakefront is pointed out by locals with great pride and easy to spot by the NLD banners flanking the front gate. The military junta are not as visible as expected, while T-shirts with Suu Kyi’s likeness a la Shepard Fairey’s Barack Obama “Hope” poster can be found on street corners everywhere. The country seems aglow with pride. Understanding the politics and curious how the change in name of their country was viewed, we learned the people believe they are Burmese by culture. No matter the name of their country, they will tell you they are the Burmese people, and they were non-pulsed by the change.
Continuing north to the historical center of Bagan by air, the landscape becomes flat and brown, atop which are small flickers of light soon realized to be thousands of pagodas and stupas dotting the landscape, many with their golden spires catching the rising sun. Upon landing, the scent of jasmine permeates the air and we quickly find ourselves in the landscape. No matter where your eyes fell, pagodas simply rise from the earth in various states of disrepair. Each is majestic, and many date back as far as the 12th century. The views from the top are breathtaking. The landscape is filled with pagodas as far as the eye can see in any direction. While horse carts are a primary mode of transportation in this region (for locals and tourists alike), it’s a sunset cruise on the Ayeyarwady that connects the visitor to the magical serenity and history of Bagan.
In Burma, it is impossible to go back further in time than Bagan, yet arriving in Inthein via a small canal from Inle Lake, it feels like centuries. With a bit of guidance through the souvenir and food stalls near the jetty to the entrance of Shwe Inn Thein Paya, it’s a slow climb up a covered stairway to the complex. Uncertain what awaits at the top, glimpses of jungle ravaged pagodas can be spotted along the way. At one point a small path reveals itself and soon hundreds of zedi, or ruined stupas, surround you like trees in a forest. Despite the summer heat, chills are all consuming. Looking to the hilltop, reconstruction has begun and the spires shimmer golden in the sun. But down below these zedi are in a state of dilapidation that’s both captivating and eerie as they tilt at different angles, in some cases tips dangle like tree branches damaged in a storm.
The small town that is the primary launch point for Inle Lake is Nyaungshwe. Arriving here can only be compared to the wild west of Western films – only filmed in Technicolor. Like most town centers, its epicenter is the colorful Mingala market selling heaps of colorful produce and anything else needed for the home. It’s dusty and dirty, as are the streets surrounding it. Lurching lorries with the shrillest horns keep pedestrians at bay, and blinders keep the horses on the straight and narrow as they clip-clop their carts filled with goods and passengers to their destination. The buildings are painted the colors of candy, and there are a few saloon style swinging doors (minus the actual saloons as there is little drinking in Burma).
It is only after the trucks pass, dogs stop barking, and you once again inhale the scent of jasmine while hearing the faintest sound of ringing bells hanging from the filigree on the monasteries that the best part of this busy town captures your attention and enchants you. It is the chanting of hundreds of young monks from the large monasteries nearby. At nearly any time of day, it is the background score to this colorful film. Walking toward the jetty to launch onto the lake, the chanting surrounds you. Like most Buddhist monasteries it’s the chanting that draws visitors, who are almost always welcome. Once inside, seated young monks following the scrolls and tablets chant while trying to be respectful of their teachers. Still, they are typically young boys and easily caught in the act of teasing their friends, tossing offerings at each other, and blushing when their eyes catch yours.
Inle Lake has a rhythm of life that tourists can only visit. It’s where tribal people farm and fish in traditional ways unique to this region. The lake, so still the surrounding mountains and sky reflect on it like a mirror. Same for the fishermen in their traditional flat-bottomed canoes with huge bamboo nets. They stand while paddling with a single oar leaning into their shoulder, paddling with one leg so that their hands remain free to tend to their nets. Farming doesn’t take place on the placid shores of Inle, it happens atop the lake on floating gardens. An intricate trellis of bamboo stilts hold in place floating vegetation where row upon row are tended to by boat to collect colorful produce like tomatoes or aubergines. These eventually make their way via wooden long-tail boats filled to the brim to the rotating weekly markets in various towns around the lake. The colors are glorious. The serenity fills you like the chanting back in Nyaungshwe. Once again, there is a breeze from the wings of butterflies now joined by dragonflies flitting overhead around the gardens and passing boats.
05/2012