The Milkman's Daughter: A Rainy Day in Yangon

Let me just start off by saying that life is SO FREAKIN' GOOD. I am truly loving life, and savoring all of my remaining time here.

Part of the reason why life is so good is that I am basking in the wonderful afterglow of my second trip to Myanmar. Now, Myanmar is a tricky and controversial place to write about, and I realize that by doing so I will possibly open myself up to some attacks. However, I also feel like if I can help raise even an ounce of awareness about this beautiful, sacred, and troubled place, that any negative backlash will be well worth it.

Sule Pagoda--the temple right smack dab in the middle of a traffic circle. Around its perimeter are a variety of shops and fortune tellers.

For starters, even the NAME of the country is tricky. Most governments--including the US--do not recognize the name Myanmar (as it was the name selected by the military junta), and instead continue to refer to the country as Burma, which is the name that the British gave it. However, I prefer to refer to it as Myanmar, as even though calling it this does somehow "give credit" to the evil junta, it is quite simply the name by which locals have referred to the country for several centuries. The British named the country Burma after its largest ethnic group. However, this name serves to exclude the other multitudes of ethnic groups that call Myanmar home. Myanmar is in a sense a unifying name that acknowledges all ethnic groups, and out of respect for those living there who prefer to call it Myanmar, that is the name that I shall use throughout the entirety of this blog post.

Rambutan. So freakin' good...

Aesthetically speaking, Yangon is by far the most beautiful city in Asia. It has an elegant, old world, charming European veneer to it, but its essence and flavor is distinctly Asian. It is the only place I've visited where both the men and the women wear sarongs around their waists (though the men tie theirs differently than the women. They leave a corner of the sarong hanging in front, which, I've been told, is, um, a phallic symbol...). The cheeks of the women there are smeared with a thick, white powder--part make-up, part sunblock, part moisturizer--which is made from the bark of the thanakha tree and mixed with perfume. There is a copious amount of greenery there--trees and shrubs and gardens and big, leafy, tropical plants--that you don't see in other cities (granted, Hong Kong also has a lot of greenery, but it is mainly in the posh residential areas. In Yangon, it's everywhere). The monks are ubiquitous, walking around in their burgundy robes, coating the air with calm.

Monks at Shwedagon Pagoda

What you do not see there are tourists. Last time I was there I saw a few, though they were mainly older Europeans on guided tours. This time my flight from Bangkok was basically empty, and I stood out like a compound fracture. Last time the line in the Myanmar Embassy in Bangkok took hours, and it gave me an opportunity to bond with my fellow travelers. This time I was in and out of there in no time, and the lack of friendly strangers provided me with an opportunity to see just how truly depressing the Embassy is.

Anyway.....

City Hall. I LOVE this building!

There are several reasons for the lack of tourists. One, people make a conscious choice to boycott Myanmar. Aung San Suu Kyi has asked tourists not to go to Myanmar, and several pro-boycott groups have stated that visiting Myanmar is seen as essentially condoning the evil military government, as visa fees, the departure tax, and entry fees to certain places (such as Shwedagon Pagoda) all go directly to the government. Two, people are scared to visit a place with such a violent past (and, um, present) and so much unrest.

With Aung San Suu Kyi's current **BULLSHIT** trial (Dear John William Yettaw: You are NOT the kind of friend that Myanmar needs. Thanks for ruining it for the rest of us, AND for screwing over the very person that "God" supposedly summoned you to help), I am sure that more people will be inclined to stay away. That is certainly understandable. However, there are also those of us on the other side of the argument. Namely, those of us who are pro-tourism, as long as it is done properly, respectfully, and with a significant amount of preparation. Those tourists who insist on guided tours, or who are going to only visit the Shwedagon Pagoda and ride around in an air-conditioned taxi without interacting with the local people and seeing what their lives are like shouldn't bother coming.

(As soon as I took that picture, a soldier LITERALLY jumped out of the bushes, blew his whistle, and began gesticulating wildly. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be taking a picture of that building. Common sense is also telling me that maybe I shouldn't post it on my blog either....????)

The people in Myanmar are beyond lovely. They are warm and friendly and want to practice their English and ask about life in America. The oppression is palpable, and the poverty crippling. They are not able to speak freely (and, as a note to any potential visitors to Yangon, DO NOT ask the locals questions about the government or engage in any sort of political discussion WHATSOEVER. Seriously, these soldiers are IN THE BUSHES...), and they are severely limited in their access to educational and informational resources. And yet there's a hunger, a curiosity, an unapologetic "go-with-the-flow"-ness that is absolutely pervasive and unlike anywhere else. I got meditation tips from monks, talked about The Godfather with university students (which, um, I have never seen in its entirety...apparently this is some sort of sacrilege to die-hard fans), and tried to peel my eyes away from the betel nut-stained mouths of my interlocutors. I got my fortune read (apparently I shouldn't swim in rivers) and gladly spread my money around purchasing lacquer ware and charcoal drawings made by local artisans. And, of course, I visited the Shwedagon Pagoda--an awe-inspiring sight that is part temple, part local hangout. The energy there is both ebullient and reverent.

The central stupa of Shwedagon Pagoda, which, according to legend, houses eight actual hairs from the Buddha

A lack of tourism (again, as long as tourists are independent, well-researched, and well-prepared...) hurts the private sector much more than the government. Many pro-democracy leaders have stated that isolation is the last thing that Myanmar needs. Myanmar needs to be a part of the world, part of the international dialogue. It is appalling that a government like this is allowed to exist. It is an unspeakable crime that the people there have to live in constant fear, and some must participate in forced labor. The only way that people are going to pay attention to Myanmar is if its shroud of secrecy is removed, and if they are willing to look beneath the gold leaf mirage to the beating, bleeding, tortured soul of this place that is comprised of unearthly beauty and an impossible warmth.

I don't plan on shutting up about Myanmar anytime soon.