Myanmar - Bagan - Day 2 Part 2

Entrance to the Bagan Archaeological Zone requires a pass, and it can be easily obtained at the airport. Entrance fee is USD 15 or 15 Euros, which may be steep especially when compared to the Angkor sites but bear in mind, this pass is valid for 5 days. At first I wondered what utility it had as no one checked and I was a bit cautious to give money to a cause that might or might not use the money for restoration and preservation, until I was at the last temple to view the dramatic sunset over the Bagan Plains, where a security officer marveled at the high quality pass I got from the airport as opposed to the flimsy paper variety usually found in town.

Top terrace, Pulzedi Stupa, Bagan Plains

So, after an early morning on the top of a stupa surveying the Bagan Plains at sunrise, taking in a 360* view of the place, I was approached, as you do in places like these, by a trader.

There I was, perhaps his third visitor, on top of a stupa at dawn. He offered to take a picture of me with the Plains as a backdrop, and the seasoned traveller within told me he was up to something. Of course, he wanted me to look at his sand paintings, a specialty in the region. What piqued my interest was that he was not pushy, but asked politely, to look at his paintings.

Granted, if he just sat there and sold someone else’s paintings, I might not have been interested, but he showed me how it was done, explaining the intricate process in getting a sand-base against the cloth, and showing me a painting he was in the process of making. Even more, he did not push for the expensive large one but a more practical one. After some bargaining, a simple 30 x 60 cm sand painting of Bagan at sunrise set me back KYT 8,000. Well worth it, especially with its craftsmanship.

Next on the list were even more stupas and pagodas, and this in particular was a small rectangular ‘library’ a short drive away, noted for carvings of animals on the wall and a reclining Buddha inside. This was quickly followed by another collection of stupas and ‘libraries,’ some of which were gated and closed.

Htilominlo Temple, Bagan

This was quickly followed by the grand Htilominlo Pagoda, built in 1218, still in use, still in multiple stages of ‘restoration,’ and surrounded by a ‘market’ in the courtyard. I carefully walked in, minding the devotees and worshipers who were there to pray, some individually, others being led in to the multiple cells by monks clad in burgundy-coloured robes, and set out to explore.

Interior, with Buddha image and niches, Htilominlo Pagoda

The Htilominlo was built in the 13^th century and is one of the tallest around, at 46 meters. Walking around the perimeter, and inside the corridors, natural light streams in, illuminating the numerous Buddha statues and a few murals on the walls, with niches about against the main wall facing the windows, empty and waiting for votive Buddha statues.

However, it is here that you can see the reservations that UNESCO has in giving the Bagan Archeological Zone a World Heritage Site status. While yes, it is breath taking and beautiful, the level of preservation does raise questions. The old and the new get blurred together. The interior is white washed and you can see outlines of new murals, which when compared to the 12^th century ones I will see later, are similar by quite a stretch. Slap and sketch, rather than imitation and intricateness to original styles seem to be the order of preservation here.

Restoration work, Htilominlo Temple, Bagan

While majestic, the interior somehow does not have the same aura or effect of a majestic building built during the glory days of indigenous Southeast Asian empires. The exterior though, was being preserved, and the method of stucco and plaster seems to match the originals in other surrounding structures. The age old ‘Ship of Theseus’ paradox comes to mind.

12th century murals, unknown 'library'

Then there was yet another library down the road, but this, I was assured, was worth the pop, as inside are well preserved murals of the Buddhist jatakas, or stories and fables, dating from the 12^th century. Thankfully, I brought a flashlight with me, as the interior is dark and flash photography is forbidden. Shining my torchlight against the walls, the murals popped out, colours somewhat faded over the centuries but still a sight.

12th century murals, unknown 'library'

This library though, was taken care of by a trader, who aptly had a small ‘stall’ outside selling books. Most of these books are bootleg copies, easily purchased wholesale from a printer in New Bagan. Amidst copies of books, I opted for that old tale of Empire in the East: Burmese Days by George Orwell. Not only did he have the English version, he also had a French version, and an abridged version. At KYT 5,000 a copy, I could have bargained lower but it was still a fair price, considering he was the gatekeeper, literally, and a copy cost significantly less than USD 1 to produce.

Collection of votive stupas, Bagan Plains

From one ancient structure to another, the cool of the morning gave way to the heat of the midday sun. In the comfort of the executive Toyota, the parched dry zone looks like what it is: a forgotten land, the remains of what was once a great city before the Mongols came in and bent it to submission. The midday heat and the dry weather only made the effect even more strongly felt that you were in a land that saw much during her time.

Votive pagoda, Bagan Plains

Passing a few make-shift camps, tents and stalls, we passed travellers in their bicycles, shuffling from one shady spot to another, big minivans filled with Europeans and the occasional horse cart with a few Caucasian couples inside it. Though this is the peak season, it did not feel like it, and I was thankful for that. Few people, little impact, and an almost absence of tourists in massive busses annoying you to no end.

Khmer-style wooden pavilion, Burmese-style pagoda

The temples come in all shapes and sizes, architectural styles and building materials with slight distinctions from one to another. Some have very Khmer-style roofs, others a mishmash of Indic designs, but all anchored with a strong Burmese identity.

Ananda Temple in the distance

Then there it was: the highlight of Bagan. The great Ananda temple, built in 1105 by King Kyanzittha. My driver stopped in a shady area, where he went for a drink and a quick rest, as he told me again to be weary of the peddlers who will try all and sundry to get you to buy stuff.

Entering the intricate and ornate ancient arcade, I was teased through the arches on the majesty of the place. Small stupas and lone Bodhi trees in the courtyard, bells in corners by the pavilions, and an aura of importance to the site, all lend to the effect of drama and statement.

Restoration work, Ananda Temple

But I sought to prolong this little lease, heading directly in to the temple itself. Through the south doorways, I noticed restoration work being done. Clear white plaster against the walls, as artisans smooth out each layer before drawing their murals. Then there, past the first antechamber, the great space dominated by a standing Buddha, one of four facing the cardinal directions.

Kasappa Buddha, south sanctum, Ananda Temple

In all its glitter and gold, there amidst the dark inner sanctum lit by votive candles and a few spotlights, stood Kasappa Buddha, the third enlightened one of the present age. Word has it the entire statue is made of a bronze-gold alloy, whereas the other Buddha images are teak gilded with gold. Within the corridors, two passageways surround the interior, each with openings to let in the light, just enough light to illuminate the passageways but dark enough to give it an air of mystery.

Interior corridor, Ananda Temple

The interior is a lot cooler than the outside, and cooler than a few other temples and pagodas I went to. Legend has it that eight monks described the Nandamula Temple caves they went to in the Himalayas to King Kyanzittha. So impressed was he that he asked them to design a temple which could replicate the caves and cool environment in the hot Bagan Plains. So impressed was King Kyanzittha by the finished product, he had the eight monks killed to prevent another similar temple to be built elsewhere.

Ananda Temple and arcade

Having explored the interior, I decided to admire the exterior. Finding a suitable exit, I walked out to the midday sun, my hat providing shade and a slight feel of an archaeologist walking through ruins of a once forgotten city about me. There, I gazed upwards, the top of the spire gilded gold, glittering in the midday sun. Smaller spires paid homage to the central spire, evoking the great central tower and smaller spires of the transepts of great medieval cathedrals.

Ananda Temple, Burmese monks

Outside, a few travellers were admiring the architecture, as locals milled by, ambivalent towards both tourists and used to their ancient heritage they see every day. A few Buddhist monks, in their characteristic burgundy-robes walked by, and a few decided to stop to take pictures with and of their majestic temple.

Ananda Temple, restoration work ongoing

From the outside, the mishmash of styles is evident, with the Indian-inspired spire, local Mon-inspired entrances and European arcades. The process of restoration was ongoing, with the exterior being scraped and a new layer of plaster applied, giving the building and restored sections an almost otherworldly sheen.

By now, the midday sun and almost four hours of temple hopping took its toll. I was not hungry, but needed a proper rest to recharge. Thankfully, the Thamada Gate Hotel was just next to the Ananda Temple, so I went in, checked-in and sat down for lunch and 2 servings of 1 litre bottle of water. I must add: the pool was very inviting amidst the midday heat.

Myanmar - Bagan - Day 1 Part 1

Pagan, also known as Bagan, is up in the dry zone in the centre of Myanmar, was built in 849 BC, and was gradually built up until the 13^th century. The Classical Pali name itself lends a clue to the significance of this place, which understandably draws people in: Arimaddana-pura, the city that tramples on enemies; and Tampadippa, the bronzed country. The city definitely tramples the mind with awe and makes you feel more bronzed than that other bronzed country, Australia.

To get to Bagan, I had to fly in t Nyaung-U, or Nyaung-Oo, the closest major urban centre to Bagan. There were four options on three airlines, all leaving at an ungodly hour: Asian Wings Airlines left first, Myanma Airways and Air Mandalay. Asian Wings left at around 0545, Myanma Airways at 0600 and Air Mandalay’s first flight was at 0620, with the second one 10 minutes later.

As a result, I had to be at Yangon’s domestic terminal at 0500, and 0545 the latest. Now, the domestic airport looks like a throwback to the past when I collected my ticket but at the airport itself, it felt like I was really in another world: The counters were old-school, the weighing machine was pretty much weighted instead of digitized, the waiting area is the same as the check-in area and with no proper ventilation, I would not want to be there in the afternoon.

Thankfully, the flights to Bagan were all in the morning, with return flights leaving just after dawn or in the early evening back to Yangon. The Air Mandalay flights were shuttle flights, with a stop at Nyaung-U on the way to Mandalay or Nawpyidaw.

The flight to Nyang-Oo left early, and we were shuttled via bus to our old ATR. In what felt like a hand-me-down, the seats were fairly comfortable and the plane was half-full. For USD 232 return to Bagan, it sure deterred all but the price inelastic crowd, and it looked like it inside the plane. The flight took 1 hour and 20 minutes, I was served tea and a croissant with cheese, and I had Camille Saint-Saen’s Organ Symphony No 3 finale playing in my head.

From above, the Bagan Plains did look as advertised: it was dry. A few hedgerows here and there and the hills providing a good backdrop to an entry in to an ancient land, all I saw was a dry, parched land with few vegetation and few settlements.

Yet what caught my eye was the glitter of gold on a few temples against the sunrise and the few hot air balloons that do the morning flights that, apparently, capture the beauty of Bagan. Up in the sky, it did, and as the grand organ fanfare played its crescendo, we were descending, and the grand temples and spire, pagoda and stupas were spread out to as far as the eye could see all along the plains, from the tops of hills to the edge of fields.

As soon as we landed, I decided not to waste time. Deciding to check-in to the hotel later, I was all excited in exploring this ancient city left bare and somewhat untouched by mass tourism. I read about using horse carts, and I was tempted to, but my taxi driver talked me out of it, saying it doesn’t get much fun after the first 2 hours on an entire day of exploration, as it lacked suspension.

So, with a negotiated fare of KYT 40,000 or USD 43 for a dawn to dusk ride including airport transfer, I took him up on the offer on his very comfortable executive-class Toyota which thankfully had suspension and air conditioning, a very different ‘carriage’ than in Yangon.

Now, the weather was interesting: when we got off the plane, it was very cool, safe to assume mid-10s. My driver told me this was normal, and the weather would get progressively hotter as the sun came out. This was not a sub-tropical weather: this was arid. Thankfully, I brought my hat, which I became more useful as the day went about.

I decided to leave the itinerary to him, with my ‘shortlist’ as a few highlights. He wanted to bring me to a particular temple first, and he advised me against a few ‘traders’ who prey on tourists. He also said we’ll do the reverse of the main tour routes so that I would have most of the temples to myself.

Entrance corridor, Shwezigon Pagoda

This first temple, Shwezigon Pagoda, I must add, pretty much summed up Burma, and Bagan’s position, as Suwannaphum: the Golden Land. Walking down the corridor leading to the stupa, the eyes played tricks with the shade and glitter of the sunrise until it hits you: You are staring at a giant lump of gold.

Main stupa, Shwezigon Pagoda, Bagan

The main stupa was gold, the smaller stupas were gold, the guardian lions were gold, even the few cats there were gold in colour (well, more ginger then gold but it still looked gold against the gold). There was gold everywhere. While it did not have the same effect as Shwedagon Pagoda, it still had the same awe-inspiring shimmer.

'Peak season' travellers, Shwezigon

Gold stupas, gold lions, gold spires, gold chains

'Gold' (ginger) cat tail

After this temple, he drove me to another stupa nearby, the Pulzeldi temple, which apparently has one of the more majestic views of Bagan as opposed to the more popular options. Getting off the main road on to a dirt path, we drove up to a stupa which had exterior steel support. The support was needed due to earthquake damage in 1975.

Pulzedi Stupa, Bagan

When I arrived, two Korean girls were descending, and I was confident I had the place to myself. A few traders were getting ready, and my driver told me to take my time when he found some shade and reclined on a mat.

View, first terrace, Pulzedi Stupa

With Saint-Saens’s Organ Symphony No 3 again on my earphones, I slowly ascended up the temple, the warm rising sun playing with lights and shadows against the surrounding countryside. Having reached the first terrace, I fought the urge to admire the sneak preview and headed straight up another two terraces to the top. There, Bagan was laid before me. Words cannot fully describe the feeling, pictures fail to capture the majesty. It was breath taking.

Top, Pulzedi Stupa

From the top, you could see spires and massive structures as far as the eye can see. The rising sun providing dramatic contrasts between lights and shadows against the countryside, up and down you could see great temples and pagodas with spires that declare their builder’s wealth and power.

Fields of spires

This was Bagan, the great capital of the once great Pagan Empire of Burma.

Htilominlo Temple left, Thatbinyu Temple middle, Dhammayangi Temple right

Everywhere there were temples, stupas and pagodas, which a French historian catalogued and estimated at 2,200. I was just getting started and I was blown away. God knows what other majestic structures will make me gape in awe in the city that tramples while bronzes.

Myanmar - Yangon - Day 1 Part 2

There was a story read in Ancient India, the Mahavasma, during the time of the great Emperor Ashoka, who after ruthlessly conquering a big chunk of the Indian subcontinent through wars, turned religious and gave the Buddhist faith his official backing, while sending out missionaries all over the place. A bit like how Constantine the Great gave Christianity a solid backing, Ashoka himself also had stories as fantastic, such as converting a great kingdom which was all gold: Suwannaphum, the Golden Land. Scholars have debated where it was as nationalistic histories appropriate it for their own benefit, among others leading to Bangkok’s main international airport being named, in direct translation, ‘Land of Gold International Airport.’

Another claim to 'Suwannaphum'

Somehow, I think the less publicized Myanmar has a strong case for it, if we go by tonnage of gold leaf on a single building. Even the stunning stupa in Bangkok’s Grand Palace is minnow compared to the sheer scale of Shwedagon.

The name Shwedagon itself already evokes grandeur, of majesty, of might. Having seen glimpses of it on our approach during landing and even more during the drive in to town, I can see how Portuguese and British explorers were drawn to it, and tried to nick a giant bell or two.

Located on top of a hill a few kilometers from downtown, the drive on approach is sufficient to blow your mind. After being dropped off at the East Gate’s ‘foreign guest gate,’ paying a KYT 8,000 entrance fee and handing over my shoes and socks to an ‘attendant’ (who I discovered later I had to ‘tip’ for doing nothing but placing my shoe in a locker), I readied myself to go up. There were 2 options: the lift or a climb up the stairs.

East Staircase up Singuttara Hill

The lift was a long wait, and having made the trip here, I decided not to ruin my sense of adventure by using a modern convenience. Walking 50m outside to the arcaded stairs up the hill, I decided to do it the old fashion way. The stroll up the stairs was quite the sight: glimpses of gild on the ceiling, shops selling trinkets, images and floral offerings to the Buddhas and dear God, a lot of steps.

Shwedagon Pagoda, amidst chapels and pavilions

Then, the arrival. Framed just perfectly when you reach the landing, the sheer imagery will just hit you, and hit you hard. Even amidst the smaller gilded stupas, gilded pavilions and gilded chapels, the main gilded stupa simply defy words. No image can truly capture its majesty, no words express the might; all you see gold aplenty, which beckons you in with delight.

Shwedagon Zedi Daw, with the diamond-tipped 'hti' umbrella and vane filled with jewels, amidst plates of gold

There, in all her glory, Shwedagon Zedi Daw, the Great Dagon Pagoda.

As if the height on top of the prominent Singuttara Hill in Yangon is not majestic enough, it stands on a pedestal: a beautiful terraced platform approached by a grand staircase on the north, south, east and west. Inside on the main platform on the terrace, a collection of gilded stupas, chapels facing the main staircases, a few smaller but equally prominent stupas by ordination halls and pavilions, all anchored by the grand, gilded spire of the Great Dagon Pagoda, at a good 99.36 meters.

Smaller stupas, and cleaning for merit

Why the grandeur? According to legend, the relics of 4 other Buddhas prior to the current Gautama Buddha are housed under the bell, and eight strands of hair was gifted by Gautama Buddha to Taphussa and Ballika, 2 merchants from Burma who visited the Buddha and became the first 2 lay disciples. With fanfare and supernatural power, the King of the Mons, King Okkalapa built the forerunner of Shwedagon. All this happened in 600 BC, making this structure a good 2,614 years old at writing, though historians and archeologist think it was built between the 6^th and 10^th century, which still makes it very, very old in Southeast Asian terms.

There was a sea of people there: a handful of tour groups from Thailand on pilgrimage and a few Western tourists, all amidst the locals there to pray or enjoy the beauty of the place. Doing like the locals, I started to walk around the complex clock-wise.

Thai monks on pilgrimage, with cameras

To hammer in the importance of the site, Burmese Kings donated giant bells to the pagoda. A previous giant bell, purportedly the largest in the world, the Great Bell of Dhamezzedi was stolen by the Portuguese in 1608, but of course the Portuguese’s ship sank and the bell was lost. The second time around in 1824, the British stole the Maha Gandha Bell, another massive bell. Again, the ship sank but the Burmese asked to reclaim it, the British thinking it was a futile attempt to get it from the bottom of the Irrawady. Of course, it came up with ease, and this story is detailed in a beautiful set of panels in the bell pavilion.

Left: the claiming of the bell, right: prior, the loss of the bell

Grand Maha Gandha Bell

Surrounding the main stupa amidst the forest of smaller spires are the planetary post, 8 each for each day of the week, from Sunday to Saturday with Wednesday divided in to two. As I was born on a Sunday, the day of Garuda, or Galon as it is known to the Burmese, I gave the Buddha and his guardian a shower at the post for Sunday.

Wednesday afternoon post

Away from the main stupa, at the smaller pagodas, chapels and stupas, you might notice a few interesting sights. One of the most interesting, if you can catch it, are details on the stupas. Amidst the Mon- and Indian-inspired figurines and detailing, I saw, of all things, European putti carved on a stupa.

Look very carefully, stupa and gilded pagoda

And if all pagodas were described as a microcosm of the universe and the Buddhist world, be it a massive Indian-style stupa with carvings of the jatakas on it, then, I should not have been surprised when I saw a few Mon hill tribe women with their colourful headdresses walking along the terrace.

Mon women in dress

Shwedagon at sunset

With such a theatrical backdrop, it is hard to see why it is not the perfect site for all the political drama that has developed over centuries in this fair land. From the shenanigans of European explorers and a question over who can wear shoes on the sacred space to a demand for independence and a sit-in of monks in the defence of the people, the individual plates of gold that cover the Great Dagon Pagoda must have quite a lot of stories to tell, if only it could talk.

Sule Pagoda, downtown Yangon

Later in the evening, having enjoyed the sunset gleaming against the gold plates and gild of the pagoda, I decided to head back to the hotel for a shower before exploring the city on foot. As if the golden Shwedagon is not enough of a glitter fix, there is the Sule Pagoda downtown, in the heart of town, also made of gold. A beautiful site, surrounded by the forlorn grandeur of British Burma, that doubles as a traffic circle.

Old colonial building, next to Sule Pagoda

Old colonial building, next to Sule Pagoda

And I just happened to cross in to a Buddhist celebration in one of the city’s residential streets, where they were handing out food to people. I was given a bag of green looking fruits thing, which I did not know what to do with. But as I was strolling around, I saw the mix that is Myanmar. The darker Indian heritage mixes in with the fairer northern Chinese heritage tribes, with a few dark olive-skinned ethnic Burmans; where even the food reflects this heritage: Indian chappatis, deep fried Chinese dough and some sort of fried noodle.

Street market, Maha Vandula St

Side street, communal celebration, off Maha Vandula St 

Walking further down, generally lost yet still with my bearings, I encountered a street market. This is a street market which occupies an actual working street with two lanes commandeered by market stalls and the remaining 1 ½ of a lane left to cars. This was Maha Vandula Street, and this was a city heaving with life, food and energy; and thankfully the gold of Sule Pagoda recalibrated my bearings, like a moth to a flame on where I should be heading next.

A dog has his evening ride, Maha Vandula St

Despite the city being a little dark with poor lighting and the pavements a bit ‘curious,’ I felt very safe walking alone. People minded their own businesses, did not take too much heed if you just stand there, admiring the old colonial charm with your camera. Few asked silly questions, few approached with ‘ideas’, few had an aggressive feel and few asked if I wanted a lift in his cab. For a city so hidden away from the world, it felt safer than any big city in the First world.

Bar, Traders Hotel Yangon, where the buildings in the black and white pictures look the same even now

Having found nothing that whetted my appetite, despite me being somewhat adventurous with food, I opted to eat at the hotel. It was deep fried, filled with ghee or completely starchy. It was not to my taste, sadly. The pulled pork sandwich at the Traders Hotel instead became my dinner. Not exactly local, not exactly adventurous, but then again, the explorers of old brought their own larders with their own champagne in their own picnic basket. 

Myanmar - Yangon - Day 1 Part 1

For some unknown reason, the allure of Burma, or Myanmar as it is politically correct to call it if we follow ASEAN and UN protocol, evaded me. It did not register as a destination I had to visit, and even the dreary island of Batam, Indonesia’s attempt at a Freeport modeled after neighbouring Singapore caught my imagination for a few months (which I didn’t visit: flying over it on approach to Singapore Changi made me realize I just had a travel itch and Batam sounded weird enough to visit).

Then it hit me, and it hit me hard. Samwise was posted to Burma for a while, and I sought to visit him. Sadly, our dates didn’t coincide. The inflight magazine on board Malaysia Airlines in January ‘14 kept mentioning Pagan, and an old friend John told me how I would love the destination, if not for the architecture of Rangoon.

It also occurred to me that very, very, very few of my acquaintances have visited the country. At last! My dreams of an explorer and archaeologist scaling up ruins with a picnic basket of ham and champagne could be sated!

In between flights and after almost 3 weeks of consecutive travel, I decided to book a flight to Rangoon, and out popped Yangon on the destination list, so I shall now refer to the city as Yangon.

And that is how I ended up at the airport, observing how the Burmese queue, very politely and actually with travel manners. I was pleasantly surprised and was wondering what wonders would tickle my fancy. In the queue at KLIA, when there were 3 people in front of the x-ray machine before you enter your gate, they quietly took off their belts, placed their mobile phones and wallets in their bags and made sure there was nothing on their person that would beep the machine. Very civilized, even more civilized than citizens of some purported ‘industrialized’ or ‘newly industrializing’ countries.

The flight took roughly 2 hours and 30 minutes, mostly Burmese passengers with a few intrepid middle aged explorer types or business types. Very few families, packaged tour groups or the like. This was starting to look like a fun adventure.

Before flying in, I had to obtain a visa. Odd, for an ASEAN country to require other ASEAN citizens except the Philippines to require a visa. The visa centre is no longer at the Myanmar Embassy at Jalan Ampang Hilir in Kuala Lumpur, which to be honest did not give a very good first impression of the country. Instead, it is now ‘outsourced’ to a ‘travel centre’ in a beautifully restored colonial building next to Masjid Jamek LRT station in the heart of old Kuala Lumpur.

Visa fee receipt

Visa processing fee receipt 

Process for the Myanmar Visa: send in your passport before noon after having filled in the form, your flight details and passport photo with a while background, hand over MYR 140 including MYR 30 processing fee and you will get your Myanmar visa by tea time the same day. Very efficient. You do not need to even print out your hotel booking details.

Used Burmese Visa, single entry

At the airport, I needed to collect my domestic flight ticket from Yangon to Nyaung-Oo/Nyaung-U for my expedition to Pagan. For the 1 hour 20 minute flight on a turboprop on Air Mandalay, it cost me USD 232. Yes, expensive, but well worth it, as I will tell you later.

Paper ticket: throwback to the Golden Age of travel

However, the domestic terminal is not easy to get to. Located next to the new International Terminal of Yangon International Terminal, you have to get out of the building, walk perhaps 200m down the main dusty road, past what looks like a cargo facility and in to another building which also says ‘International Terminal’ but looks like an international terminal that was built during Earl Mountbatten of Burma’s time and has not been renovated since. It can be a bit hectic, but I had to go inside, look for the Air Mandalay office, hand over my passport, and be handed back (with passport of course) a very old school paper ticket, with carbon-paper ticket coupons, hand written. If this does not scream ‘Come! Explore! Adventure ahead!’ I don’t know what does.

Pen-written details on the paper ticket

Having got my ticket and paid a taxi driver KYT 7,000 (local currency pronounced ‘chat’ with ‘a’ as in ‘car’), I went in to town and on to my hotel in downtown Yangon. Hotels are expensive in Yangon, with the ‘4 star’ Traders Hotel Yangon, sister of the 5 star Shangri-La Hotel, costing about the same as Shangri-La Hotel Singapore during conference season.

Former Methodist Church & Rangoon Railway Station, downtown

Checked in and excited upon observing a  country where people drive on the right side of the road but have both left- and right-hand drive cars driving there, and where truly, very, very few cars have air conditioning or even suspension, I had to visit the very symbol of Myanmar itself, and soak in the atmosphere.  

Fret Not

Fret not, I am back, still travelling, just rather preoccupied with a few concurrent projects that seem to hamper my attempts at writing. However, I should not use that as an excuse.

Having met a reader personally a few months ago, it did rekindle my desire to keep writing and sharing here. And rekindle it did, travelling even more.

So, I will still continue on with the previous promised posts on Jakarta, Bangkok and Singapore, with a very special post on Burma, now known as Myanmar.

And I dedicate the next post on Myanmar to that reader of mine. May you keep exploring, even if it sounds silly to some.

Jason