My Burmese Days

My trip to Myanmar/Burma is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I am not really sure how to begin telling you why. It is a nation of incredible beauty, breathtaking views, and the most genuinely stunning people I have ever had the pleasure to meet, in both spirit and appearance. But there is a nearly constant tension in the air. An underlying knowledge that the place I am in is controlled by a brutal and ruthless military regime. One that has kept its people oppressed and silent for decades, and one that continues to commit atrocities and human rights violations at the very same time that I am sipping my icy cold mango juice and enjoying the view.

We began our journey in Yangon, the former capital of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar, the nation formerly known as Burma, and the city formerly known as Rangoon. Things change here often. We arrive and find somewhere to stay, and then head out for breakfast and exploration. We find ourselves at our first pagoda, Sule Paya. It is huge and golden and grand. Amazing. Here we meet two new friends, Aung Htoo and Maung U, who give us language lessons and showed us around. We agreed to meet them later on to go to the Shwedagon Paya to watch the sunset. 

Shwedagon. Wow. What a place. It rises 98m into the sky, and shines a brilliant gold, real gold, and its umbrella is encrusted with rubies and diamonds. A truly magnificent site. I cannot believe that I am finally here. This is a place I have read about so much, and the site at which so many influential speeches and protests have begun. Now I feel like I am really in Burma.

There are many layers to my journey into this seemingly forbidden and forgotten land. On the one hand, I had an excellent holiday, seeing sights I never thought I would see, and thoroughly enjoying being a tourist, travelling throughout the countryside. On the other hand, I have never felt so monitored in all my life, and so acutely aware that I was in a country that is ruled by a brutal and oppressive military junta, it was easy to forget this at times, but this fact was never far from my mind. Take, for example, our stay in the ancient city of Bagan: this area, which is actually now named the Bagan Archaeological Zone, is a place where time really feels as though it stands still. 

We arrived at dawn, around 5.30am, on an awful night bus from Yangon. We got off the bus, to be greeted by the most gentle and friendly “good morning”. After a bit of back and forth banter and practice of our Burmese phrases, we agree to the ride being offered by this lovely man. He leads us to his vehicle. I then realise that I have actually arrived in a fairytale. His pony is called Hirsenandes, and she is beautiful. His name is Soe Soe, and he will soon become a good friend. We climb aboard the pony cart and meander to our accommodation; meanwhile the sun is rising over this magnificent land, to the quiet clip-clop of Hirsenandes’ hooves. We sleep a few hours, and then our new friends return to show us the sights: There are literally hundreds and thousands of pagodas and temples as far as the eye can see. It is absolutely incredible; I was genuinely awestruck by the majesty and grandeur of this place. Never in my life have I seen such dedication to a religion. We end this searingly hot and sweaty, but peaceful day watching the sunset at one of Soe Soe’s favourite temples. We climb to the very top of this ancient and crumbling brick structure, the place is deserted bar one or two others that come and go. This is our spot. The view is unbelievable, and so too is the sunset. I could stay up here for hours in this fairy tale.

The other side of the trip to Bagan that was never far from our minds was that the roads we are driving and cycling on were most likely built using forced labour. And the area now known as “Old Bagan”, where most of the temples are, is “old” because the people that used to live here were forcibly relocated to “New Bagan”, so that I, as a tourist, could feel as though this place had been this peaceful and uninhabited for centuries. And for the privilege of using these forced labour-built roads, and visiting this allegedly uninhabited area, I am required to provide the military with my passport and visa details. Oh, and $10 US dollars of course. As many oppressive and corrupt regimes before it have done, the Burmese government has destroyed its economy so much that it doesn’t even accept its own currency. US dollars are the only currency you can use to pay any sort of government fee. The local currency, the kyat, really is only used by the locals. 

The trip to Bagan was even more exciting, because The Lady was here at the same time as us. This is Daw Aung San Suu Kyi’s first trip here in a very long time. There is nervous excitement in the air. There is also a lot more security in the form of government officials in the area. We cannot let anyone know that we work with Burmese refugees, IDPs etc., so we have to lie to everyone we meet, and I don’t like it. I know it is for our own safety, but it doesn’t feel nice. We are not lucky enough to catch a glimpse of this woman, my personal inspiration, and the inspiration of a nation, but we meet a young man who has just seen her, and he is simply beaming. He is so excited to tell us all about his brief view of her, and that she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and how much he loves her. This is a sentiment made known to us through clandestine comments by people throughout our time in Burma.

After Bagan, we head three hours up the Irrawaddy River to Pakokku. This tiny little rural town is glorious. We arrive after a beautiful trip up the infamous river, passing families playing, washing and living in the muddy waters. We take trishaws (like rickshaws) to the only available accommodation in Pakokku, a small guest house run by an elderly woman, and now her children and grandchildren. We are celebrities in this town. Everyone smiles and waves and shouts Mingalaba! to us. They bring their babies up to us to see their first white face. I fall in love with this place instantly. We arrive at Mya Mya’s house. She is the sweetest old lady in the world. We begin filling out the necessary paper work that we are presented with where ever we go (name, age, nationality, passport and visa info, fathers name, reason for being in Myanmar, where we have been, when we will leave etc.). Mya Mya informs us that she needs to take our passports to be photocopied. It turns out that the military intelligence office in Pakokku needs 9 copies of our passports for the one night we will stay here. That’s right, 9. The knowledge that we are being monitored and watched wherever we go is ever-present, but nowhere more so than in Pakokku, for this sleepy little town is actually where the Saffron Revolution of 2007 began, when the monks here rose up in protest at the overnight 500% price-hike in petrol costs.

Mya Mya warns us that we are not to take any photos of the monastery or any monks, and that if we do, the government spies that are watching us will turn up at the guest house demanding our cameras to delete everything on them and find out why we are really here. There is no doubt in my mind that we are followed and spied on in this lovely little town, in which the people go out of their way to welcome us and make us feel comfortable.

After Pakokku we head back to Yangon on another night bus. We visit the National Museum – what a strange place. It has no concept of what a museum should be. Sure, have masses of old stuff, but please tell us what this old stuff is, and give us a little context. 

We then decide to call our friends that we’d met at the Sule Paya earlier in the week. We meet them and go for a walk down the river to watch the sunset. This country just keeps getting better. We then go with them to get an illegal Thai massage at a secret massage place, why an innocent massage is illegal, we have no idea. They take us for dinner, more delicious Burmese salads. At dinner, we end up finally having the conversation that has been so forbidden up to this point: we talk about the government, the border, Mae Sot, and the Clinic. We tell them who we really are, and they, in turn, let us know that they have KNU connections, and are actually on the border and in Mae Sot often. 

Burma is the most remarkable place I have ever been. I will definitely come back one day. I am very sad to leave, but it helps to know that I am not just going home to my boring and normal life, but back to Mae Sot to continue to help these incredibly resilient people, and support them in their seemingly never-ending quest for democracy, and freedom from oppression. It was amazing to meet people living inside the country, as up to this point I have only met those that have had to flee. 

I urge you to visit Myanmar/Burma if you are ever able. It has so much to offer, most of all, its people. I know that everyone says the people from the countries they visit are crazy-nice. But in Burma, they are different. On the surface they seem just like any other friendly local that lives in an impoverished country, but scratch a little below the surface and it is easy to see and feel that there is a strong and positive fighting spirit present in this population. They truly are the most wonderful people I’ve ever met.

On the surface, Burma seems normal, just like any other poor nation. But it is easy to see that there is something very sinister at work here. I feel that my new friend from Yangon summed it up perfectly: “If I tell you what it is really like to live in this country, I will go to jail”. This sentiment will stay with me for a long time.

  

The New Light of Myanmar - daily government paper. There's some serious propaganda in here.