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| Myanmar Brekkie... |
Before setting out on a walkabout, it is always wise to lay in a solid breakfast. Today's choice was roasted and salted chickpeas with flat-bread and mohinga, a fish curry noodle dish that is the standard Burmese brekkie.
Myanmar is a land renowned for its pagodas. Burmese pagodas, like European cathedrals, or Thailand's many wats (temples), are a mixed blessing. We have a saying, a result of many trips to Thailand: "Here a Wat, there a Wat, everywhere a Wat-Wat." I do not mean to be sacrilegious. There is, however, a point at which the awe-inspiring fails to inspire awe. It is what I call the Angkor Wat syndrome. The traveler can only take in so many glorious monuments to this or that deity before it all starts to wear a little thin.
And yet, Myanmar is the Land of Pagodas, reputed to have more Buddhist Phaya, Zedi, and Phato than any other country. There is usually at least one gold spire or dome in sight at any given time. Why so many pagodas? A good person (or a bad person hedging his or her bets) can donate money to build a pagoda. This is a solid way to make merit. People erect a pagoda in this life with the hope of reaping rewards in the next life. The Lord Buddha did not teach any sutras regarding the building of pagodas. Dogma being what it is, redemption through pagoda building became an add-on, much like Papal Indulgence in the Catholic Church.
Our goal for the day was Shwedagon Pagoda, the crown jewel of any Yangon tourist worth their salt. It was a long walk, so we opted to shorten it by using the public bus system for a portion of the distance. Mastering the mysteries of a city's public transit system is a joy in itself, particularly when one is in a land that makes use of non-Latin script. Poor Traveler, you cannot read the signs (or numbers!) on the buses. Let the games begin!
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| Tiny monks... |
Before we could set out on our adventure, there were necessities to attend to, specifically coffee and a morning smoke. While enjoying both, we were witness to a much more common method of making merit. The local monks were making their rounds, collecting food alms for the day. Preparing food for the monks is a common practice here, as it is in Thailand and Laos. It is a daily routine which keeps the monks fed, and allows the lay people to acquire merit for their good deeds.
As a nation, Myanmar has the highest percentage of Buddhist monks based on population, and the highest percentage of income spent on religion. A large percentage of boys and young men become novice monks for a period of time. Buddhist monks have been a significant force in the politics of Burma, and later Myanmar. The influence of the monastic orders remains a powerful force in Myanmar politics, with sometimes questionable results.
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| Yes, these are the main train tracks... |
We are off into the heat of Yangon, the sun pressing down on us. A ride on the public bus costs 200 kyat, or about twelve US cents. For that modest price, the rider is treated to a respite from walking, and an up close and personal experience of humanity. This would be the time to abandon any notions one has of personal space. Packed cheek-by-jowl, the good commuters take it all in stride as the bus defies the laws of physics. More people are crammed into a defined space than there is space, but somehow it is accomplished. The riders remain stoically cheerful, squeezed all together like longhi-wearing sardines.
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| Pagodas and clouds... |
Gawking our way through small, twisting streets, we made our way north of the huge public market. Even the pedestrian bridge over the train tracks was used as a market space. Beyond the market were shadier lanes, then dead-ends that spit us out onto one of the huge sun-baked boulevards. Feeling the need for refreshment and shade, we veered off into the pathways of the lesser pagodas and mausoleums that line the approaches to Shwedagon Pagoda.
We wandered about the vast complex of monasteries, temples, and tombs. Scattered amongst the gleaming gold spires were the ancillary businesses catering to the religious pilgrims. There were cafés, of course, of which we took full advantage. But there were also astrologers, fortune tellers, and shops selling all manner of Buddhist icons.
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| Lunch for the foot-sore pilgrims... |
One would not think it possible to lose a 368 foot high golden pagoda, but lose it I did. We twisted through a narrow maze of a neighborhood, a wonderful distraction in itself. Finally, catching a glimpse of our goal, I managed to right our course and we found one of the four main entrances.
Barefoot now, we climbed the long, covered stairs that lead to the heights above. Like any good temple stairway, this one was lined with stalls selling all manner of religious souvenirs. it is a common gauntlet, on that repeat itself in religious sites the world over.
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| A maze of pagodas... |
Shwedagon Pagoda is a Zedi, a bell-shaped dome containing sacred relics of the Lord Buddha. In this case, the relics were a few hairs of the Buddha, given to two Burmese merchant brothers who had traveled to India. The sacred hairs were returned to this ancient Burmese city, where they were enshrined in the original Zedi. Destroyed many times by war, earthquakes, and fire, the pagoda has been rebuilt following each disaster. With each rebuilding, it has grown taller and more magnificent.
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| Shwedagon Pagoda |
The main spire is surrounded by many other pagodas, temples, and monastic buildings. Arriving at the main platform of the place, we found out where the other tourists had been hiding. we certainly had not seen them on the streets of Yangon.
There were many, many people here. Myanmar folks were busy making merit, laying lotus blossoms and lighting incense sticks. There were monks everywhere, their saffron robes a vivid contrast to the immense fields of gold paint and gold leaf. Outnumbered by the local folks, small knots of foreign tourists made their way around the pagoda, cameras at the ready.
Despite my jaded comments about temple burn-out, Shwedagon Pagoda is indeed magnificent. It was made more so by the dark afternoon thunderclouds that threatened, but did not strike. The golden spire seemed to pierce through the heavy, sultry clouds, shining ever the brighter. We lingered long, circling the pagoda barefoot to make merit for the day.
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| The gloaming of the day above the spire... |
The gloaming of the day was upon us, and our feet weary. It was time to think of things more temporal and leave the sacred behind. We wandered off into the darkened streets, seeking out food and rest.
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| The gateway at nightfall... |
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| Neon Temple... |
Even amongst the city streets of Yangon, there are constant reminders of the religious nature of this country. A neon-bright Hindu temple lit up the street, adjacent to a Buddhist monastery and a very incongruous Salvation Army building. All this in one city block.
After a wonderful Thali platter in a busy Indian joint, our weary feet drew us home to our guesthouse. Along the way, we passed a busy mosque where the faithful were heeding the call to prayer. We had been good tourists today, "Pleasuring with a vengeance" as Mark Twain would say. The rest of the evening was spent at the outdoor bar in front of the guesthouse, sipping tepid drinks, smoking, and watching the street theater. Tomorrow we would set out for Bago, riding the narrow-gauge trains of the Myanmar railway.
Or perhaps
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