Top 10 Burma Travel Tips

Teenage monks atop Mt. Popa

1) You MUST fly in and out of Burma – no overland travel is permitted at all. The best deals are out of Bangkok with AirAsia.com – S and I were able to fly roundtrip for about 70 bucks CAD per person.

2) There are NO ATMs or real banks in Burma, and nowhere to cash traveler's cheques or do cash advances. ALL money must be brought with you in completely crisp, unmarked, unwrinkled PERFECT US dollars. Hundreds will get your best exchange rate. Change money at your guesthouse – the banks will give you an exchange rate literally three times lower (corruption yadda yadda.) There are a few US dollar ATM's at Bangkok Airport – one is past security once you check in, located at one of the pink exchange kiosks. This is non-negotiable. DO not head to Burma without USD.

3) Getting a visa is compulsory for all nationalities, and it must be obtained in advance. Most people elect to get theirs in Bangkok, and it is quite straight forward. The best directions I have ever found to anywhere – hands down – come via this link explaining how to get to the Myanmar Consulate in Bangkok. How thorough! How efficient! How positively A-type! Luh dis.

You will need:

• *2 passport photos
• *1 photocopy of your passport
• *3 forms (all available day-of at the consulate) filled out, one of which is a detailed work history. DO NOT indicate any jobs involved in journalism/photography etc
• *800 Baht
• *A rough itinerary (they will grill you about where you want to go and why)

It will take 2 full business days – we dropped ours on a Wednesday and could only go to pick it up on a Friday. They will only do a rush if they deem in necessary.

4) The new, published in May 2009 Burma Lonely Planet is actually extremely useful. The rates and prices are dead-on and the recommendations kick ass. Seriously – for this one it is worth investing in the country-specific guide. (see note below)

5) Motherland Inn will meet and greet every single flight into Yangon – and what a treat this guesthouse is to stay at! Just go with them – the rooms are clean and the staff the absolute friendliest. The transfer is free (it would cost about 10 USD otherwise) to their close-to-centrally located Inn. Breakfast in included (put in an advance request the night before for Myanma foods, otherwise it is eggs and toast) and there is a big Western grocery store nearby (ask the staff) that sells Brie cheese for under 4 USD, as well as baguettes - perfect for the obscenely long busride to Bagan, Inle or Mandalay.

6) Bagan is amazing, yes – but it is murder hot. It is worth splashing out a bit more for a pool – we spent 18 bucks a night (our most expensive room by far) to stay at “Golden Express” (all of the horsecart guys know it.) Nice pool, buffet brekkie including omelette/crepe bar and air conditioning. Great value. Hire the same cart guy who drops you here for the following few days (you need one to tour the temples) the price is normally 10 USD for the whole day. Tip these guys well – they are struggling to eke out a living!

7) It is extremely important to remember that you are in a military junta-controlled country and though the people seem happy and smiley they are being oppressed, robbed and denied basic freedoms. Visiting Burma is important – but only if your motivation is to stay at locally run guesthouses, eat at local restaurants and avoid, whenever possible, government run businesses. This is quite difficult at times, because they really have their sticky fingers dipped into a lot of the economy (ie: your visa fees etc.) The Lonely Planet has quite a good list of dos and don'ts to ensure that your money is benefiting the average person and not a pork-fattened official. Read up and stay ahead of 'em!

8) Many people only have about two weeks in Burma – here is a great sample itinerary (It's what we did!)

• 1 night in Rangoon (Yangon)
• overnight bus to Mandalay
• 3 nights in Mandalay
• 3 nights in Bagan
• 1 night Kalaw
• 1 night at monastery between Kalaw and Inle (on trek)
• 3 nights Inle Lake
• overnight bus to Rangoon (Yangon)
• 1 night in Rangoon

This worked really well for us! If you have a month a lot more become possible – just remember that distances of just a few hundred kilometres can take 10+ hours due to the terrible condition of the roads. Plan on night buses and a lot of patience.

9)Do not miss the Moustache Brothers in Mandalay, Schwedagon Pagoda in Yangon (although its 5 USD entrance fee does go to the government,) Inle Lake's Jumping Cat Monastery, a trek, the ancient villages of Mingun, Sagiang and Amarapura (near Mandalay) and Bagan's temples.

10) Internet can be sporadic (and is controlled by the government – at some computers there are problems logging on to gmail and facebook) and international phone calls are obscenely expensive, if the phones are working. Let your family know that you may be out of touch and unreachable – they can contact your embassy in Yangon if there is an emergency at home (your guesthouse registers you with local authorities each night.)

Burma is an unbelievable place to visit – well worth an addition on to any Southeast Asia travel itinerary. Enjoy!

(Click here to read all of my entries on Burma.)

****NOTE - this was written in 2009, and still holds true for the most part. However, as the junta loosens their control on the people of Burma, more and more tourists are visiting - which means that the 2011 Lonely Planet is outdated when it comes to accommodation pricing.  Expect to pay 50% more than the guides state, simply because the demand is higher than the supply - check the Thorntree forums for up to date advice. And you know what - that's still cheap! So go. Before all of the crowds. You won't regret it!

Lovely young ladies and their thanika

A Day of Dissent in Mandalay - Part 2: The Moustache Brothers, Comedy's Most Wanted

So I had a toothache, and so I went over the border to Thailand. The dentist took a look at me and said “What, in Myanmar don't they have dentists?” I looked at him and said - “In Myanmar, we have dentist – but we're not allowed to open our mouths!”

Lu Maw, Moustache Brother

Mandalay's star attraction has nothing to do with temples or teak bridges. The real reason to visit the second largest city in Burma is for Lu Zaw, Lu Maw and Par Par Lay. The Moustache Brothers – the Myanmar government's enemy number 1.

The Moustache Brothers are a traditional A Nyient group – a mixture of vaudeville, traditional dancing and one liner stand-up – and they had traveled the country for decades with their act until a rare opportunity to perform in front of Aung San Suu Kyi at an huge event in Rangoon. That evening, in front of members of the government, Par Par Lay decided to infuse the usual antics of drag and prop comedy with a few political jokes, comparing the Generals to robbers. The next day he was imprisoned and sentenced to hard labour.

For the 7 years that Par Par Lay was in Myanmar's gulags, his brother Lu Maw kept the tradition alive and defiantly continued the act despite constant fear of imprisonment and economic ruin. Slowly, word started spreading to the tourists and the act became a magnet for backpackers, more for the symbolic act if defiance than for entertainment. The more backpackers arrived the more freedom Lu Maw had to speak his mind – the junta may be ruthless but they are also money grubbing. Perhaps they thought that arresting the remaining Moustache Brother would tarnish the slightly softer new image that they was trying to cultivate and that would mean that all tourism would cease. But no one really knows why Lu Zaw, Lu Maw and their wives were permitted to continue their show – but one thing did change. No Myanmar citizens were permitted to attend. Just lingering in front of the family home cum theatre can get a Burmese person grilled by the secret police, yet tourists are allowed to come in droves.

Par Par Lay was arrested again, in 2007 after helping to organize protests against the government, and was released again last year. If he will be arrested again remains to be seen.

The show gets started around 8pm with one liners and pop culture references that lead into a video featuring many Hollywood celebrities speaking out against the crimes in Burma. “This has Jennifer Aniston, Steven Segal, Rammmmbo, Will Ferrall – but this one my favourite!” Lu Maw says to us before pressing play on the segment featuring Tila Tequila, the buxom MTV star. “Don't tell my wife - I pay you hush money – you know hush money? I pay you 10 dollars each. 10 Zimbabwe dollars! Don't tell my wife – better half, ball and chain!”

He tells us a bit more about Par Par Lay, showing us another clip, this one from the Hugh Grant film “About a Boy” where he is referenced, and then the man himself comes out, mugging for the camera, dancing about and making light of his many imprisonments using body language and sight gags.

Lu Maw brings out his wife, a fabled beauty who was on the cover of the 1996 Burma Lonely Planet.

I normally am not fussy on dancing, but she was really entertaining - Lu Maw handed me a dance book and told me to pick a page and his wife would perform the dance and song on that page.

The whole time we were watching the show, Lu Maw's 80+ year old Mum was out front keeping an eye out for the police. "If the secret police - KGB, you know KGB? You from Canada, you know CSIS? If they come, I run out the back and they arrest all of you!" He gleefully announced. "Just kidding! I am a comedian! 10 more dollars hush money - you know hush money? But they Zimbabwe dollars! Don't tell my wife!"

Their mother is not the only family member to get involved - the act is populated with various sisters, wives, and cousins and even the littlest members of the family come to watch and learn the craft of comedy that has been in this family for 3 generations.

What is crazy, sitting and watching Par Par Lay's buffoonery, the family's dance and listening to the witty banter of Lu Maw is that these people are heroes. Not just entertainers getting away with some mildly offensive blue comedy in a tiny dimly lit club – the Moustache Brothers are pioneers flouting the law in country where it is dangerous to do so. They do it in their own home because they have been forbidden to do it anywhere else. They are saying 'Fuck you” to the brutal dictatorial regime governing their country and refusing to keep quiet even after stints in inhumane prison camps.

They do it because they can't bear a life in which they don't do it.

That evening our taxi driver asked us how the show was. He gave us a thumbs up. “They make good words. Very nice words.” The sentiment was echoed a few days later we were touring the temples of Bagan and both Sean and our friend Julia were wearing the Moustache Brothers t-shirts they had picked up after the show. A group of teens scrambled around them, pointing excitedly. “The Moustache Brothers!!! Did you hear their words? Did you hear their words!?” These kids had been taught that even though they were not permitted to see them perform, the trio in Mandalay had some important things to say. Their words were dangerous to the status quo – and that was a good thing.

Sean in his Moustache Brothers t-shirt weeks later, in Ko Phi Phi

Comedy is important – it is often the comedians who have more relevant things to say in a society than the great writers and thinkers. Even if it is not more important, it certainly reaches and resonates with more people.

If there was any doubt to Par Par Lay's hero status, this quote that he famously said upon his release from jail in 2001 should put it to an end: “You cannot close my mouth, ears and eyes. If you want to do that, it would be better not to release me.”

To be in a room and laughing with and at these men and women was an honour.

It remains to be seen how long Par Par Lay, Lu Zaw and Lu Maw will permitted to continue their act. Some hope that the scheduled elections in 2010 will signal a new day for the people of Burma, others look to the recent sham arrest of Anh San Suu Kyi on the eve of her release as proof that the Generals have no imminent plans to loosen their stranglehold on the country.

If you go to Burma make sure you see the Moustache Brothers. And yeah, buy the t-shirt.

From Left: Par Par Lay, Sean, Me, Lu Maw

A Day of Dissent in Mandalay - Part 1: Down on the Docks

If you don't know, and you might not – Myanmar (Burma) is the largest country in Southeast Asia. It is bordered by Thailand, Laos, China, India and Bangladesh, and is ruled by a brutal military junta with no peep of protest from the UN Security Council. There is no free speech (except for one comedy troupe who I will get to in Part 2), no free elections and no justice. Yet more and more backpackers are headed there each year, despite some activist's calls for a ban on tourism. Sean and I headed to Burma (we insist on calling it the name preferred by it's people) with open minds and one mission: that the government would get as little of our money as possible.This is actually a bit harder than it seems. Right off the bat we had to hand nearly 30 dollars each to Than Shwe's corrupt empire in visa fees – and we were still in Bangkok.

Myanmar was once a Communist country (one that has slowly fallen into the ruinous fascist state that it is in today) and as such the government seems to control everything – until the mid nineties you could not come here without paying hefty fees, but things have changed. Slightly. Private Sector tourism is now begrudgingly allowed, and instead of staying at government run hotels, taking government run trains and flights and participating in mandatory government run tours, you can contribute to small businesses and meet local people. But still, entry fees to some “Must See” sights in Myanmar directly end up in the General's pockets - but we knew that if we were careful we could get around at least some of them. So, no internet (taxed heavily) no Myanmar beer (joint enterprise with the state) no trains and no guest houses named after the town that they are in.A few things could not reasonably be relented on without destroying the purpose of the trip – the stunning Shwedagon Paya in Yangon (Rangoon) is 5 bucks, the ancient cities of Mandalay and the ruins of Bagan are each 10, and Inle Lake is 3 dollars. Without these “Big 4” Burma would still be interesting, but missing it's key points of interest. So we lucked out when we met Toom Toom.

On the morning that we arrived to Mandalay, tired and confused after a 14 hour night bus from Yangon, Toom Toom met us at the station holding a sign with the name of the hotel at which we wanted to stay. On the long ride we had become friendly with a German couple – Holga and Julia, as well as a fellow Canadian named Justin, and we all wanted to head to the Royal Guesthouse. Toom Toom took us there, and proposed a day long itinerary that would include the sights of Mandalay proper as well as the 2 nearby ancient villages of Sagiang and Amarapura – with an added bonus. He knew all of the tricks and alternate sights to visit that would get us around paying the 10 dollars to the government. We agreed to his somewhat hefty fee and spent the day dodging ticket checkers, climbing to majestic technicolour hilltop temples and eating in a small village with locals. It was a beautiful and hectic experience.



The next morning, feeling high from the previous day's trickery, we set out to hire a boat to take us to Mingun, an ancient village famed for its gigantic unfinished stupa an hour's trip away. Usually the only way to get there was to take the government ferry at 3 dollars a head but we were resolute in our decision to deprive the Generals of our kyat. We picked up a new traveller, an American named Dan, and we headed down to the jetty.

As we marched our way along the slum covered banks of the river we passed many boats big and small, yet no one seemed eager to help us. We found one man, a portly fellow in a lungyi and no shirt, and he grunted to us that we could hire one of his 4 huge boats. We checked it out and it seemed good, and so we started to board when from the MTT (Myanmar Tourism Office) emerged a man wearing a dress shirt tucked into a checked lungyi, his mouth full of watery red betel juice as he spoke to us. Despite his silly fisherman's hat I recognized a weasel-y quality about him that made me instantly balk when he suggested that we head into his office to finalize the booking.“Yessss, Yessss, head this way. In my office pleasssssse. Need to see one passssssport and Myanmar vissssssa, pleasssse. You pay money to me, and then you take hisssss boat.” We all paused. One of the problems of traveling in a group of near strangers is that certain decisions can take a long time to reach, as no one wants to step on each other's toes. We discussed quickly, and decided that we wanted to get away from this strange government official in the Gilligan hat.

We headed down river, looking plaintively for a small boat to ferry us – a job that we were surprised no one was jumping at as it would bring twice the average daily wage to the captain.We finally found a man who seemed excited at the prospect. His eyes lit up and he grabbed his youngest son and popped him on his shoulder and then he began to lead us....back down the beach to the MTT office. “No! No!” We shouted. “We want to deal with you. Pay money to you. Not to office. OK?” The boat owner either did not understand us or had no choice as he led us back up to the sneering government official. A heated argument in Burmese ensued, and the man and his baby were turned away. He raised his eyes dejectedly to us and plodded back to the beach.

The MTT official pointed to the smooth fat ball of a man in the lungyi, the man who owned 4 boats whom we had first spoken to.We headed up the stairs to the office to see what that actual situation was. “You go with him. You pay me the money.” When we had qualms about the price, he laughed at us and shrugged. “This isssss price. Boat or no boat? Fixed price.” His eyes danced, very well aware that if we wanted to go to Mingun we had no choice than to deal with him. All of the sudden I decided that this was where it ended. Sure, maybe this was a collective (many cities have taxi or rickshaw unions) and everything was on the up and up, but to me it seemed like the government helping the rich while collecting a fat commission and pushing out the little guys. That was why no one seemed excited to help us – they were powerless, having been told to stay away from tourists. We headed back down the stairs to discuss.

Just as I was about to voice a loud 'NO' a skinny rail of a man with a slim moustache practically grazed us and whispered. “This boat very expensive. Man takes 10,000 kyat (10 bucks) as commission. Bad man. I find you boat, family boat, only 20,000 kyat. Meet me in the teashop in 5 minutes.” We looked on in amazement – here was our way around the dreaded government.

Sitting at the teashop, our covert friend arrived. He seemed galled that the government office dare charge us such a huge commission – he even seemed galled that the teashop was charging us 10 cents more for a cup of tea. “You see, down there is some trees? Jetty called “Nyaung U.” You go to the trees and meet me there – I arrange family boat to take you to Mingun. Maybe walk around the block first so that this man does not see you. OK? I see you there.” We all thanked him happily, paid for our slightly inflated tea and headed down the road.

Twenty minutes later, we were still walking down that road, a vague cloud of suspicion that we were going the wrong way starting to form over our heads. Though a few boats here and there were still anchored at the shore, there did not seem to be an active jetty for quite a ways away. We passed dusty shacks, open air beer gardens and piles of garbage and debris – our laughing and joking petering out as we walked further and further in the stifling muggy heat.“Nyaung U?” We asked every person we met. “Boat to Mingun?” Each person smiled and pointed back in the direction of the MTT office, exactly where we didn't want to be heading. Sighing, we would keep trudging, saying hello to all of the children running out to see us and looking for the elusive jetty that the slim man had directed us to.



After one hour we reached the Bagan Jetty, the industrial dock where the big ferries left for the long slow trip to the ancient plateau of ruins around Bagan. We all sat down on the curb, knowing definitively that something had gone terribly wrong. We started the long slow shuffle back to the teashop.

As our blistered, sore feet approached the main hub near the MTT office the slim moustachioed man came running out into the road. “Whaaaaa? Where you have been?!” Dejectedly we pointed down the long road. Holger filled him in. “We walked to the Bagan Jetty – we could not find this Nyaung U dock?” Our friend clapped himself on the forehead. “It is right there.” He said, and pointed with one long finger to a clutch of trees, not 200 metres away, not even 100 metres away – less than 50 metres from where we were standing. “This is Nyaung U Jetty!” We exchanged dumbfounded looks – and all began to laugh. “You still want boat to go Mingun?” He asked us. “Yes!” I said. “But can we still go?” It was nearing 3pm, and I knew that the small family run ferries would be leaving Mingun on the last run of the day at 5pm, which would not give us very much time to see the sights. “Yes, no problem. You walk around this block, meet me right here in 5 minutes. Only this block!” He replied with a twinkle in his eye. When we returned half an hour later after getting lost once more in the maze of small streets and markets he was still laughing, but now more worried.“Better you get private boat. Then you have for all evening.” We all agreed, and followed our tattooed friend...back toward the MTT office.

S looked at me. “What do you want to do?” He asked, knowing that I wanted to avoid the government boats at all costs. After a few minutes of thought I answered tersely. “Well, now if we don't go we make the price so much higher for everyone else, and if the government is going to get the money anyway than we might as well....” But we had worried too soon - it was now almost 4pm, all of the MTT staff had gone home for the day and we were free to take our pick of the local boats without paying a cent to the official office.



Finally we got on our way to Mingun. It was a beautiful place, well worth the agonizing process it took to get there. Our guide was now happy that he could show us around and personally prevent us from wandering away and getting lost, and he led us to a good local restaurant where we ate a very late lunch. We viewed a unique white pagoda that looked as if Gaudi had had a hand in its design, climbed a monolithic unfinished stupa and watched young monks playing joyfully on a motorbike below and visited a home for family-less Burmese seniors. We were all just giddy that we had finally gotten away with screwing the already corrupt system.



Using the back paths and routes that our guide led us on we managed to avoid the 3 dollar Mingun fee that we were supposed to have paid at the dock in Mandalay, the ticket checkers having all gone home as well. We congratulated ourselves, but as we headed back to the boat we were ambushed by a man on a bicycle. He began yelling at our slim friend, and a heated argument broke out. Our friend had divulged to us that he used to be a Muay Thai fighter, and it was apparent as he balled his fists and advanced at the other man. Their arguing continued and after a few tense moments he came over to us, head down. “I am very shame, I am so sorry but now you must pay to this man 3 dollars a person.” We quickly rushed to comfort him. “It's no problem - you tried!” I said to him as we made our way to the booth to pay the fee. He brightened.“Yes, and this ticket good for 5 days – you give to other tourists and government gets no more money! Ha!” We all agreed to pass them on.



On the boatride back to Mandalay I turned to look at S. “Well, I think we did pretty good! We managed to see all of the sights in Mandalay and we only paid 3 bucks each to the regime.” He agreed. “And we almost got away with it completely!”

In other countries, in other situations I would be appalled to see a Westerner trying to avoid paltry fees to see amazing things, but in Burma it felt like the right thing to do. Though tourism dollars are a small way that the corrupt Myanmar Generals make their fortunes - it is a portion nonetheless. I believe that you vote with your dollars even in situations where you are only spending a few at a time, and this is one place where the guesthouse employees, the impromptu guides and the small business owners need them more than than Than Shwe does. He clearly doesn't use the money on infrastructure and social programming. It's not even used on roads, schools, hospitals – not even on maintaining the sites themselves. He instead uses his vast ill-gotten fortune to pay for his daughter's wedding at which the gifts alone were valued at 50 million US.It had been a long, tiring day and now that we were filled with subversive glee it was time to go and pay a visit to The Moustache Brothers.

To Be Continued in Part 2.....

One way to know that you have been traveling for too long.....

“Ewwww. There are ants in my toothbrush.” I said to S, holding the brush to my eye for closer inspection. I began to wiggle the bristles around in an effort to dislodge the tiny ants, succeeding in getting rid of all but one. “Pass me the swiss army knife.” I called to him, “I need something pointier....” At that moment the lights went out and the bathroom was plunged into complete darkness– a typical Burmese power failure.

S responded from the other room. “How many ants are in it?”

“There's just one.” I answered back. I could practically see him shrugging.

“Just one ant? I think it's fine.”

I paused for a moment and then shrugged myself as I fumbled in the dark for the toothpaste.

It turned out that one ant in my mouth really wasn't that big a deal.

Snapshots - Images of Burma

1. In Rangoon, a woman sits cross legged on a tiled bench recessed into the wall twenty feet before the Sule Paya stupa, nearly swaying in meditation. All around her loud Burmese temple life shrieks– vendors selling goods both religious and secular, monks and laity chatting and walking clockwise around the base of the stupa, the honking traffic of a city of 6 million just steps away. She is unwavering in her prayer. On her lap is a huge orange cat, it's body so large that it's chin barely hangs onto the edge of her knee. As she moves her index finger and thumb over each 108 of the rudrakshra beads the cat stretches luxuriously, toes spread apart and pointing toward the two gossiping women on the same bench. Both the cat's and the woman's eyes remain closed for as long as I am in the temple, and I pass them three times.

2. Our blue-taxi wheezes and rolls to a stop every time that we drive over bumps in the road on our way from the ancient teak bridge at Amarapura back to Mandalay, which means that we are stopping often. Toom-Toom, our guide, gets out of the tiny front seat and comes to the back of the miniature pick-up truck where we are squished together and worriedly explains the situation. “In Burma now, military government only rations 2 gallons of gasoline per day. This not enough, so we buy gas on black market. This black market gas, umm, sometimes bad peoples are mixing in some stuff and it not working. Maybe 5 minutes and we fix? Sorry, sorry!” As we assure him that it is OK, I notice that there is a 1 litre water bottle full of yellow liquid suspended from the cab's roof. A thick tube snakes from the mouth of the bottle to the underside of the dashboard, and with horror and stifled laughter I realize that this is the gas tank.

2. As I climb the 200 steps up a monolithic pile of bricks, a small boy of about 10 wearing a crisp green and white school uniform approaches me and begins to quietly recite facts. “This largest stupa base in world. Earthquake destroy in 1831. Careful, slowly slowly.” The top of the structure is a topsy turvy mess of huge fissures, sloping surfaces and a huge wall where half of the stupa slid down into the earth. He scrambles to the top and points to each of the jutting bricks I am meant to climb to get to the top. “This way, this way to see Mingun Bell – largest uncracked bell in the world.” While I take in my aerial view of the gigantic bell and the dozens of golden spires rising in the surrounding jungle I am joined by four goats munching on the grass growing through the rubble. “This way now Miss, to see 2 big lions.” Guarding the stupa are 2 massive crumbled lions perched on the river, and my small guide makes me pose as he expertly snaps a photo with my camera. Every time we come to a wide chasm he extends his small brown hand to mine with a serious face and ferries me safely across – as though if I slipped I wouldn't pull him down with me.

4. We sit on small plastic stools that look like upended buckets and eat off of tables 2 feet from the ground with discarded napkins and plops of curry and rice at our feet. The kitchen is made up of a series of tables, open flames and barbecues under sopping tarps that line the sidewalk. The dining area is the side of the street, and motorbikes and tri-shaws pull up regularly, depositing a mix of Muslims, Hindus, Burmese and backpackers and collecting those who have finished eating. The chapatis and dal arrive less than one minute after we order, so hot that they burn our soft fingertips as we impatiently pull them apart. Moments later our vegetable curry is delivered to the table by one of the pre-pubescent waiters. Moans and Mmmms escape our lips as we scoop and dip and finish with slurps of Chinese tea from a communal pot on the table. We are finished our meal less than fifteen minutes after arriving, and the bill is 90 cents.

4. So So grabs my hand and leads me around the temple, the largest in Bagan. “In your language my name mean not good/not bad. What is your name? Where do you come from?” Her kindness is partially a front for the fact she wants me to buy her overpriced postcards. “You so beautiful. You eyes so nice. He your friend? He very handsome.” She squeezes my hand.“I like your thanakha.” I say to her, gesturing to the smears of white sandalwood paste she has on the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes light up.“You like thanakha? I make for you! Come with me!” She leads me to a cool alcove in front of a chubby neckless Buddha. She produces a small white block and gestures for my water. Splashing some on the stone step she rubs the thanaka block into the water until it makes a paste, and then swiftly applies it to my face. The small crowd of women and girls who have gathered to watch the Western girl get a Burmese make-over cluck and nod their approval. “Very nice thanakha. Now you more beautiful. Maybe now you get married.” In the end, I buy the postcards.

6. The bank of the river is lined with tarpaulin shanties built on the muddy silt, the acrid smell of pig shit and ripe garbage hanging in the air. As we walk through the slum looking to hire a boat to Mingun we pass a young woman holding a small baby sitting in their precarious home. She is shocked to see us, and her smile contains uncertainty and embarrassment. The baby is much too small to be out of a hospital and has the tiny feline features of a premature birth and she clutches it to her chest tightly as we pass. A few steps away we are swarmed by children, all shouting Hello! and Bye Bye! One girl asks frantically, “Sharpie? Sharpie?” and waves a capless felt pen at us. The German couple we are traveling with produce a red clown nose, and when it will not stay on her nose the little girl pops it onto her Sharpie. She is gleeful but wears a smile of unease and fascination. Her panicked happiness and desperation to be chosen by us makes me feel very, very guilty.

7. We approach the Nga Hpe Kyaung (Jumping Cat) Monastery on our long tail boat, the bow slicing through the muddy red water of Inle Lake. The tiered tin roofs of the building resemble a Chinese pagoda,There are 2 small docks with steps leading into the building, and the one on the left is inhabited by 10 lazing cats with their bellies up, snoozing in the hot sun. We alight and make our way into the cool teak building where we are greeted by more cats – tiny kittens, slim nursing females and one big tom with torn ears. On the other side of a partition a monk prepares the cat's meal while two small kittens stand on a table and crane their necks to watch him. The monk's deep crimson robes leave one shoulder bare and he is standing at the window, shafts of light beaming over him.

Past, Present, Future - Thoughts while Traveling Burma

I have been to many cities that have survived unspeakable atrocities: Auschwitz in Poland, Dachau in Germany, Phnom Penh in Cambodia. I have backpacked through countries formerly stifled and beaten under brutal regimes: Czech Republic, Hungary, Laos. Places whose very names are synonymous with the wars that rocked them and nearly bled them dry: Vietnam, Punjab, Northern France. Though the horrors and devastation are mostly over, hints of it remain permanently etched onto the faces of the old, the sick and the poor.

The main thing that these places have in common is that their brutal dictatorial regimes and crippling wars are things of the past. Sure there is strife in Laos, crooked politicking in India and some forms of free speech repression in Thailand and Vietnam, but on the whole things are improving. People have a way out - something to look forward to, better lives for their children - opportunity. I travel to those places, the places with haunted pasts and talk to locals who have smiles and hope. I visit monuments to the “Never Again.” No matter how terrible and bleak and evil it all was – now it's safely in the past, tucked away in the realm of implausibility.

This, Myanmar, is different.

*********************************************************

After my one day trip to the tribally administered region of Myawaddy eight months ago, I arrived in Yangon (formerly Rangoon) expecting Soviet-era expressions of hopelessness and despair, bleak grey faces with downcast eyes. Screaming babies wrapped in rags held by weaving drunk mothers. Dreadlocked children pawing at my taxi window for a few kyat - a depressing mix of Mumbai and Moscow. But it's not like that at all – people are smiling broadly, children are in clean school uniforms, and though the streets are dirty they are friendly - absolutely everyone wants to say “Hello!” It seems so....happy. To a point.

Things get weird almost instantly, and you realize where you are and that you are standing in a country that is presently mired in the same type of hellish political system that Cambodia was in under Pol Pot, Yugoslavia under Milosevic. Currently happening in military junta-controlled Myanmar, right now as I type this: militarily enforced rape, genocides against tribal people, forced work camps, human de-mining of landmine fields, and suppression of all free speech. Of course, what the tourists see is beautiful and pleasant – but the knowledge of what is happening to these earnest, friendly people hits you in the chest sometimes.

“This was University, now - not now.” We were in a van making our way to the Motherland Guesthouse in Yangon, having just landed in Myanmar. So-So, the guesthouse representative,was pointing out sights along the way.

“Why not now?” Someone at the back of the van enquired.

“2 Years ago, when government shoots the monks, then they shut down all Universities in Yangon. No more.” That means that Yangon is a city of 6 million - and there are no Universities. That is bewildering. (The next day Sean and I passed a beautiful colonial building that once was a college. It was ringed with 2 barbed wire fences.)

For a city of its size, Yangon's streets are quiet and traffic free.“Very little traffic jam. Very expensive to have car – 45,000 US dollars.” So So announced. I could not believe my ears.

“45,000 US?!” I repeated. This is a country with an average annual income of 1900 USD (mean).

“Yes,” So So confirmed sadly, “and now no more bicycles or motorbikes in Yangon. Very hard to get around.” Bikes of all kinds, the basic mode of transportation in Asia, have recently been banned unless you are a government crony – and they all just drive SUVs. Clearly, average people here are not meant to have the means to organize or congregate. Even a Sim card for a mobile phone costs 1500 USD. The Generals are a canny bunch – they are making it harder and harder to stage more protests.

****************************************

The crazy thing to me is how the Generals don't care that there is a fundamental problem with the country, and if they do care, why are they are not racked with terrible guilt? Everywhere in Yangon things are crumbling, pre-1948 British buildings sagging and rotting, sidewalks a checkerboard of neglect with all of their huge cement blocks topsy turvy. Even government offices and buildings are not exempt – with their broken windows and uneven foundations they are still in use. Not that this upsets or inconveniences the Generals too much - Yangon is no longer technically the capital. Three years ago, on the advice of astrologers, Than Shwe's junta picked up and moved the capital officially to Nay Pyi Daw, a backwater in a highly inaccessible region. They then spent 250 million bucks making it a modern city with wide boulevards, luxurious highrises and 24 hour electricity (despite the huge amount of oil that Myanmar produces, its citizens must have expensive generators or live in the dark; the oil is sold to China and India, at no benefit to the people). This is in a country where many people do not have food to eat and can only travel a maximum of 25 km/hr on the atrociously pothole-cratered roads. I know I have complained about India's space program (a colossal waste of funds in a country where 100,000 children die from hunger each year) but come on. This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.

And I'm sure that the Generals sleep soundly at night, like the psychopathic babies that they are.

The fucked up thing is that like most regimes, we in the West are kind of letting this happen by giving our tacit non-condemnation. While there are EU and US sanctions on Myanmar that has not stopped China or Thailand from sopping up all of their cheap timber and oil and turning a blind eye to the trafficking of opium and women over their borders. The UN, not wanting to pick small battles with China, refuses to do anything about the problems here.

The UN Security Council has no formal opinion on the matter.

I would like to think that I live in a world where the most powerful International policing force can give a fucking public condemnation to a country that rapes minority women as policy. Maybe I am naïve.

Like most things in life, screaming and shouting won't solve anything – yelling at the Burmese elite certainly isn't going to make them say “hmm, you're right, strange White Lady.” If you go to the very root of it, Western colonization got Burma into this situation – I don't purport to have the answers to get them out, and to claim I do would just be another form of “White Man's Burden” mentality. At the very least, jumping up and down with a placard on the streets of Yangon is just going to get me arrested and thrown in a Myanmar jail for 6 months.

I was asked, on this trip, by a fellow traveller, “Is it really so bad here? The people seem so happy – maybe it's better than you think?” And he had a point – the people are so, so kind and always keen to have a laugh and share a tea. Are we imposing our own Western need for 'democracy' on people that may not want it?

No, I don't think we are. They do want it. The kind people of Myanmar may not want exactly the kinds of democracy that we have in the West, but the do want their legally elected president, Aung San Suu Kyi to be released from jail (her crime was getting elected) and allowed to take office. They want to share in the profits that their natural resources rake in. They want NOT TO BE RAPED BY THE MILITARY, forcibly resettled or used as brute slave labour. They keep protesting, and keep getting shot at and imprisoned and even escaping as refugees to Thailand and Bangladesh (if you are escaping to Bangladesh, one of the poorest countries on the planet, you know there is a problem.) To quote Sean and his thoughts on Tibet, “People do not flee their ancestral homelands for no reason.” It's true – there have got to be some pretty major problems to get you to walk away from everything you love and risk your life for nothing more than freedom.

So that is the difference. When I was in Laos, Vietnam, Poland, and even Cambodia I was sheltered from the grim realities of the past by a thin curtain of time and its wound healing abilities. I was aware of the painful histories, but often amazed by the many wonderful things that have happened since due to the people's unbreakable spirit. But now, here in Myanmar I have come full circle and I am literally standing in that grim past, but this is not history – this is the present. If it is up to the all powerful Generals, it will also be the future. Having this perspective is a nauseating feeling.

I can only imagine how it feels to the Burmese.

Thanksgiving.

Samaparp Satpretpry is the greatest friend to have in Thailand. If he lived in Switzerland he would be the greatest friend to have in Switzerland. The same would be said for Ghana, Peru or any country he lived in. The reason is – Sam likes to drive, he likes to chat and he likes to show off his country, and he often utters phrases that start with “Well, you can stay at one of my family's condos and then we'll.....”

Sam, coming from a well heeled family, had attended four years of high school in Winnipeg (of all places to send a Thai person) and he and Sean had been Dungeons and Dragons pals. He moved back to Thailand after University and Sean contacted him for the first time in years on facebook mere weeks before we landed in Bangkok. Not only did he meet us at the airport and take us for 2am Chinese food, the next day he laid out a road atlas of Thailand on the table and over drinks (for him, 4 cokes and for us – Chang beer) detailed a week long trip of the North he was planning. It would take him to the Northernmost point in Thailand, the largest dam in Thailand, the Thai-Burma border and, for good measure, the floating market at Damnoen Saduak. Oh, and did we want to join him?

Well, emphatic yeses were exclaimed, and we set out a few days late,r after Sean and I explored Ayuthaya and Kanchanaburi independently. With Sam we stopped and cycled around the ancient ruins at Sukothai and Si Satchanalai, and as we got closer to Mae Sot (the Thai town on the border with Burma) Sam revealed that he had arranged a day trip into the Burmese town of Myawaddy for us and that we wouldn't need visas. Now we had a bit of a dilemma. Sean didn't want to go to Burma at all, but rather than risk offending his long lost pal he grinned and beared it and we crossed the “Friendship” bridge the next day in a hired van with a driver.

Sean did not want to come here, and I suppose I shouldn't have either, but the Lonely Planet articles I had read described Burma's empty beaches, a remote and ethereal temple balanced on a cliff by a single strand of Buddha's hair, its friendly and open people and of a rich animist tradition. I was excited! I saw this daytrip as a precursor to a longer, thorough tour through Burma, from Rangoon to Mandalay and Inle Lake, and I was thankful to Sam for the opportunity to introduce Sean to the idea of this future trip.

Sean had every reason to abhor the idea of visiting Burma – and the number one reason is Myanmar. Myanmar is the new name (a name that the people do not support) that the military junta has christened Burma in the hope that the West will drop its negative associations with the brutal regime that controls the country. This is the same government that has repeatedly jailed democratically elected president (though she has never been allowed to take office) Aung San Suu Kyi, that has shot peacefully protesting monks dead in the street and that refuses to allow any sort of free speech. This is fascism with no ideology behind it, and these are the officials fattening themselves with pork and beer bought with money bribed out of honest people's pockets. This is a hell on earth. Sean was a member of an Amnesty International group in high school, and Burma was one of his pet causes. I could see on his face that he was also excited to see the culture that he has studied and revered, but was deeply conflicted about this visit.

I, on the other hand, ascribe to a belief that even in countries with highly corrupt and violent governments there can be benefit to visiting. I wanted to remind the Burmese that the West has not forgotten about them, that we care and we are not all ignoring them like our governments are. I wanted to put money directly into the hands of guesthouses and restaurants and small shops. And as we entered Burma in our AC van I realized that this was not the kind of daytrip we were going to have.

Myawaddy is not a normal Burmese town, I should point out. While everywhere in Burma people are crippled by poverty, hopelessness and ennui, Myawaddy is a tribally administered area and these problems are coupled with corruption and violence at the highest levels. This is like “Burma Extreme” where the Karen people who are a minority elsewhere are armed and in charge. There is lore that there are pockets of Thai nationals who have been stuck in settlements in the hills for decades, and that if they emerge and try to make it home they will be surrounded on all sides and shot.

This is not a pretty picture. This is not a pleasant place to be.

We had embarked on a tour of poverty and desperation, and we were those people in a van staring out our windows and gawking at the locals. And, in true ironic style, the day we did this tour was Canadian Thanksgiving.

Our modern minivan began navigating streets and small alleys to visit a few places of note, and immediately I noticed the unpaved streets and open sewage running in the gutters. We pulled up to a strange Buddhist temple, the grounds paved in shiny pool tiles and decorated with humongous statues of “Nats,” half human/half animal gods that are remnants of the native animism of this region and that have been absorbed in Buddhism the way that we have absorbed things like the Easter Bunny into Christianity. The temple was filled with people, lazing around in the cool shade and staring at us with absolute indifference. I realized that this was midday on a Monday, and I asked the guide why so many people were here. Shouldn't they be working? Our guide, and extremely sensitive and educated Thai man who spoke the local dialect well, did little to conceal his laughter.
“No jobs! No work. No money. So come to temple.”

We parked outside of the local market, and left the coolness of the van. A wall of moist heat hit me, making me queasy with its intensity, and I prepared for the mad rush of touts and vendors who I expected would swarm us. But no one even approached us. No one tried to sell us a thing, until we were leaving the market and we passed by a large amount of cycle rickshaws parked in one area, their owners napping in the bucket seats or chatting in groups. One young guy noticed us and shyly asked
“rickshaw?” The small glimmer of hope in his eyes slammed into my chest.

As we got back in the van, I noticed that the bank was closed. It was 1pm on a Monday, and the “Myanmar Bank” was gated up and deserted. The guide saw us pointing and talking about it.
“Yah, banks close now.”
“Is it a holiday?” I asked. “Is this normal?”
“Yah, normal. You put money in bank, government take it. Government take your money if they want it. So, no one use bank. Bank have no business, bank close. Bank close for good.” We stood, stunned, at the prospect of a country forced to close its banks because of its own corruption. There wasn't even pretense here. No one was pretending that things were okay.

Back in the van, we wound through streets and small lanes, seeing one sight again and again – small bamboo and thatch huts filled with men. The guide told us that these were casinos – the only businesses that thrive in this part of Burma. We also passed throngs of women and children just sitting around, their eyes lifting to ours and then slowly sinking back down. No one had discernible expressions on their faces – rather than seem happy or angry at our presence they seemed to not care at all. This was something that I had never encountered. This was hopelessness.

And why not? Why have hope? We passed beautiful houses on our way to the next sight, multistoried mansions in comparison to the reed thatched cottages everywhere around us. These, the guide explained, were the houses of the government men – the Karen tribal leaders. We saw, with our very own eyes, huge shipments of building materials bearing the stamps of the UN – supplies meant for the Cyclone Nargis victims in the Irrawaddy Delta a thousand kilometres from here. We saw them being used to build houses for the local politicians. What must these people think of us? What kind of manufactured truth must have trickled down from Rangoon to explain the presence of these materials here? With the heavy censorship of the internet and state run media, what chance did the average citizen of Myawaddy have to learn about what was happening in the world, what was happening in their own country? My face burned with a mixture of anger and shame.

Though my brain was calling out in was in distress, we had one more sight to see. We climbed to a graceful Wat perched on a green hill, removing our shoes and climbing the hundreds of stairs with our bare feet sizzling painfully on hot marble. At the top we were greeted by snoozing monks and women with babies, as well as a painted and gold-leafed tortoise that a monk roused from under a bench for our amusement. I stood on the top of the stairs, gazing out onto the countryside of Burma, and I felt completely numb. I wanted nothing more than to leave this place and forget what I had seen. Us being here was of no benefit to the locals. Sean and I couldn't even make eye contact.

We descended the steps and a small boy about 9 years old silently approached us, holding out a bouquet of greenery he had in his hand. It didn't even contain flowers, it was just leaves and ferns. I have a policy of never giving money to children (I don't want to encourage the adults who put them there in the first place when they should be in school or playing) so Sean and I ducked our heads and murmured “Sorry, no. Sorry. No....” We got in the van.

As we pulled away the little boy's eyes met mine through the window.

“STOP!” I hollered. “Stop. Stop the car.” I reached into my wallet and pulled out 150 Thai Baht (5 bucks Canadian) and thrust it at the child, accepting his bouquet. He looked at the money quizzically, and our guide explained to him how much it was worth in Burmese kyat. Slowly, and in my memory it is in slow motion, his eyes widened. He was stunned for a few moments, and then magically, his face broke into a huge smile. Our van was pulling away and he chased after it, waving the money in the air in thanks or celebration or shock, like he didn't know what to do. I sat in silence the rest of the way back to Thailand.

We arrived back in Mae Sot mid afternoon, and sat down at a Thai-Muslim restaurant near the town's mosque for a fiery curry. While we were waiting for our food, Sam asked us, “So, what did you think of Burma?” Sean and I both struggled for words.
“Um, interesting. Thank you for arranging the trip.” We headed for the Golden Triangle, and didn't speak about it again.

There was something so ironic, so terrible about being in Burma on Thanksgiving, especially the hope-drained city of Myawaddy. For it is a special kind of evil to rob people of their natural inclination to work and create – when the instincts that make us human have been robbed from us, what is left? When we are herded into casinos, when our money and future are stolen, when we elect a woman democratically only to have her rot under house arrest rather than lead the government – hope is lost. This is not a “triumph over adversity” happy ending sort of story – there is no revolution for Burma, peaceful or violent. The military government is relentless, corruption is rife and human rights are meaningless, yet countries like India and China still trade with them, gobbling up their vast oil reserves and textiles, their greed making the West's feeble embargoes meaningless.

The Burmese government dip their fat sticky fingers into everything, including the small amounts made from the burgeoning tourism industry, and so it is nearly impossible to backpack Burma without lining the government's coffers. Even sacred cows like foreign aid medicines and food supplies are confiscated and profits divided between the rich and important. There is a sense of futility – even activists have given up.

People who speak out disappear.
The only reason Aung San Suu Kyi hasn't is because of her high profile, her Nobel Peace Prize.
In Burma, there is often no hope.

But there can be comfort. One thing – one memory of this day keeps me from despair. Throughout Southeast Asia, spirit houses are found in the yards of those who practice Theravada Buddhism (about 90% of the population.) They are elaborately decorated shrines, a small representation of your home that sits at eye level atop a pedestal, like a large birdhouse that is meant to be a place that disembodied spirits can live happily without cursing the inhabitants of your home. Every evening people present it with offerings – fruit, juice boxes and yoghurt, candies, and it is not uncommon in Thailand and Laos for a spirit house to be very costly and posh looking. It wasn't until we were driving through a slum-like neighbourhood on our way back to the border that I saw one in Burma. It was made of plain, unadorned corrugated metal, the same metal used to roof the more permanent looking structures in town, and it was bent into a simple curved A-frame shape. It was perched in front of a small shack, its crudeness unlike any other spirit house I had seen, but still unmistakable as such. I imagined a woman, filled with faith and love and concern for her family, setting sweets and fruits in front of the shrine whenever she could afford to. I can't decide whether the image is heartbreaking or uplifting.

They can't take everything from Burma. People will still dream, even if they have to be shaken awake to do so.

So there. Now you know. Tell other people.