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.