Unmasking Myanmar
LOUIS, MISSOURI — The lanky man overseeing the makeshift bicycle rental shop gazed at my husband and I with curiosity. Clad in a black T-shirt emblazoned with a faded Nirvana print and a longyi—a traditional ankle-length sarong knotted at the front—he exuded a blend of familiarity and mystery.
“YouThai?” he inquired, his interest piqued.
“No,” I replied, inviting a guessing game. “Care for another try?”
“Cambodia? Malaysia?” he ventured, eager to crack the puzzle.
“I’m Filipino,” I revealed with a smile, adding a twist to the narrative.
His eyes lit up with surprise, and a grin stretched across his face as he confessed to never having encountered a Filipino before. In his broken English, he remarked that while my husband bore a resemblance to someone of Chinese descent, he reminded me of a Thai movie star. (This man was good, and I would have been eager to hand him a generous tip.)
I found this exchange both amusing and thought-provoking, especially as I surveyed the eclectic mix of travelers in his shop and the surrounding area. Amidst a sea of Caucasians, the scarcity of Southeast Asian visitors struck me as peculiar, considering Myanmar’s geographical proximity to countries like the Philippines, Thailand, and Cambodia compared to distant Western nations.
After securing our bicycles, my husband and I settled our dues with the shopkeeper, promising to return the bikes promptly. As we navigated the dry, dusty paths leading to Bagan’s majestic temples, I couldn’t help but mull over the man’s genuine curiosity.
I, too, had never encountered a Burmese person, let alone conversed with one. For most of my life, Myanmar had been a distant entity, mentioned in passing during high school Social Studies classes alongside terms like “military rule,” “junta,” and “political repression.”
Unlike bustling tourist hubs like Singapore or Thailand, Myanmar had remained enigmatic and somewhat off-limits due to political constraints.
However, the country’s gradual transition towards democracy following the 2015 elections presented a unique opportunity for exploration and discovery.
Despite ethical qualms and hesitations shared by many travelers, my husband and I chose to seize this momentous chance the moment the country opened its doors to the outside world to delve deeper into Myanmar’s culture and heritage.
Our decision wasn’t made lightly; we grappled with the moral implications of our visit, mindful of potential inadvertent support for the Burmese government.
Nevertheless, our thirst for authentic experiences and a genuine desire to connect with local Burmese life outweighed any reservations.
Not all regions in Myanmar were open to travelers, each with reasons known only to the government. Because of these limitations, we chose to focus on Yangon, Nyaung Shwe, and Bagan.
Navigating between these destinations, we traveled by Myanmar’s VIP buses, a pleasant surprise compared to other bus journeys I’ve endured. These buses offered seats akin to luxurious lazy boy chairs, giving us a comfortable night’s sleep. Attentive bus attendants provided snacks and ensured our comfort throughout the journey.
What amazed me most was that every ticket included a complimentary dinner featuring traditional Burmese cuisine and a bottle of water—an unprecedented perk for a long-haul bus ride.
Arriving in Bagan refreshed and energized, we set out to explore its maze of temples and pagodas under the scorching mid-day sun.
Stretching across Myanmar’s Mandalay region, Bagan was the capital of the Pagan Kingdom, the first kingdom that consolidated the territories that made up modern-day Myanmar. Bagan’s history is steeped in a profound legacy of conflict and tumult, characterized by violent wars and enduring power struggles that have left indelible marks on its past.
In essence, its original Pali name, Arimaddanapura, translates to “the City that Tramples on Enemies,” capturing the relentless struggles and triumphs that have shaped the city’s narrative over the centuries.
The kingdom flourished during its golden era from the 11th to 13th centuries, witnessing the majestic rise of over 10,000 Buddhist temples, pagodas, and monasteries dotting Bagan’s crimson plains.
Bagan’s temples trace their origins back to the kingdom’s heyday, marking a pivotal period of transition from Hinduism and Mahayana Buddhism to Theravada Buddhism—the form closest to the Buddha’s original teachings.
While certain temples in Bagan have retained their original charm, ravaged by nothing except time and elements, others bear the scars of well-intentioned but flawed restoration efforts undertaken by the government in the 1990s, akin to a botched cosmetic surgery using mass-produced replacement bricks that clashed with the temples’ original aesthetics.
Critics argue that these restoration attempts resulted in a loss of authenticity and historical integrity, with some temples appearing artificially altered.
However, defenders of these efforts point out the challenges Myanmar faced at the time, constrained by limited resources and expertise in restoring these sacred edifices. It’s a debate that underscores the delicate balance between preservation and modernization in safeguarding Bagan’s rich cultural heritage for future generations.
Our path led us to the Dhamma Yangyi Temple, Bagan’s largest temple, standing as a testament to both grandeur and tragedy. Its massive square base and receding terraces hinted at its unfinished state, attributed to the abrupt halt in construction following King Narathu’s demise. Legend has it that the king, burdened by guilt for his heinous acts, commissioned the temple as penance for his sins, including the alleged murders of his father, brother, and Indian wife.
Despite its tumultuous history, the temple grounds exuded a sense of peace, with local vendors and a few fellow travelers seeking shade underneath the acacia trees in the temple grounds.
This tranquility sharply contrasted with the temple’s dark past, marked by the king’s extreme, almost mad perfectionism. He demanded such precision in construction that workers failing to meet his standards faced severe consequences, including amputation—a stark reminder of the brutality that once shrouded this sacred site.
As a perfectionist myself, I get the relentless pursuit for flawlessness but King Narathu’s methods simply took perfectionism to a whole new level. It was, for the lack of a better term, too extra for my taste.
We made our way to the revered Ananda Temple, often regarded by historians as the Westminster Abbey of Burma. What set Ananda apart from many of Bagan’s red or golden-hued temples was not just its faded, white-washed facade but also its unique architectural blend of Mon and Hindu styles.
The temple’s layout, resembling a cross aligned with the cardinal directions, added to its distinctive charm. Named after the Venerable Ananda, Buddha’s esteemed cousin, personal secretary, and devout disciple, the temple held a profound significance in Buddhist heritage.
Before stepping onto the temple grounds, we respectfully removed our slippers, following the tradition of barefoot reverence.
As we wandered within, our eyes fell upon a group of men kneeling before a Buddha statue, their hands clasped in solemn devotion as they swayed gently on their heels.
However, like many of Bagan’s ancient structures, Ananda Temple’s history was tinged with tragedy. Legend tells of a group of monks who, after sharing tales of Nandamula Cave Temple in the Himalayas with King Kyansittha, were tasked with constructing a similar marvel in Bagan’s plains.
Enthralled by the temple’s splendor, the king was said to have ordered the monks, the temple’s architects, to be executed to safeguard its unique design from replication.
Reflecting on such tales, I couldn’t help but draw parallels to past experiences with overly demanding bosses. While I’ve encountered my share of obsessive-compulsive leadership styles, the ruthless actions of some ancient Bagan kings showcased a level of intensity beyond imagination.
Grateful that our paths never crossed in that era, I marveled at the temple’s beauty while pondering the intriguing, albeit dark, layers of its history.
My husband and I cycled through a haze of dust, exploring the myriad temples and pagodas that dotted the landscape. Our pace quickened as a group of wild dogs from Bagan began to chase us, only to be distracted by another set of travelers emerging from a nearby temple.
Continuing on our route, we encountered a charming scene—a pair of local women adorned in a delightful mix of prints. Their attire combined Western-style plaid shirts with batik longyis, complemented by vibrant scarves wrapped around their heads to shield them from Bagan’s relentless heat and humidity. One of the women gracefully balanced two woven baskets on a long wooden pole slung over her shoulder—one basket held pieces of wood, while the other cradled a cheerful young boy who waved enthusiastically as we passed by.
A procession of saffron-robed monks streamed out from Shwesandaw Pagoda, Bagan’s towering structure and a favored spot for witnessing its iconic golden sunsets. The pagoda’s name, ‘golden holy hair,’ derives from a legend that it houses a strand of the Buddha’s hair—a sacred relic gifted to King Anawrahta by the King of Ussa Bago as a token of gratitude for repelling Khmer invaders.
Perched above the Burmese savannah, Shwesandaw Pagoda offered an uninterrupted panorama of thousands of crimson temples, pagodas, and stupas basking in the glow of the setting sun.
I couldn’t help but marvel, recalling this breathtaking scene from the pages of my cherished travel magazines.
In the distance, Bagan’s enchanting temples harmonized with emerald foliage, shrouded in a gentle veil of mist or dust, while hot air balloons floated leisurely overhead.
As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I reflected on how this awe-inspiring view had long been treasured by pilgrims and locals over centuries, now shared by contemporary visitors like us. Bagan’s grand architectural feats bear witness to its illustrious history as a dominant force in Southeast Asia.
During King Sithu II’s reign, the kingdom thrived with expanded borders, military strength, and economic prosperity unmatched by later dynasties. The Buddhist clergy enjoyed unprecedented wealth and influence, symbolizing a golden era that was, unfortunately, fleeting.
Yet, the kingdom’s decline was inevitable. Internal conflicts and external pressures plagued Bagan in the mid-13th century, fueled by the unchecked growth of tax-free religious wealth that strained the loyalty of courtiers and military personnel.
This turbulent period marked Bagan’s sunset days, culminating in its eventual downfall by the turn of the 14th century. Subsequent centuries witnessed a fragmented political landscape, signifying the transience of empires and the timeless truth that all things, even the mightiest kingdoms, are subject to the ebb and flow of history.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the land in rich red hues transitioning to twilight’s deep violets, Bagan’s beauty and impermanence were starkly illuminated.
It serves as a poignant reminder of the cyclical nature of power, and the inevitability of change—a testament to the fact that empires rise and fall, and that kings and queens are but mortal, just like the rest of us. (to be continued)
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