Burma: A Monk and a Nurse

Burma is behind me now as I move forward in my travels, back to the dazzling future as I mosey about the sparkling modern streets of Kuala Lumpur. But the people and sights of that motley land will vividly reside within me forever.  Especially, the people. 

A crash course in current events, first, for those who aren’t savvy regarding the unjust climate that permeates the air in Burma, much like the damp mold that saturates the buildings of Yangon. Burma is run by a military government which holds an iron tight fist around the freedoms of its people. Any books deemed threatening are banned, news that doesn’t favor the govt’s ideals isn’t reported, citizens are hardly allowed to leave the country, internet usage is restricted and monitored, and hundreds of political prisoners sit in jails for the crime of speaking their minds. Government informants are everywhere, leading to a population that lives in constant fear and censorship. ‘Democratic elections’ are occasionally staged, but are merely a farce put on as an attempt to appease international pressures; they always end the same way, with the same people sitting upon seats of crushing power.

Yet, the people smile. And laugh. And love. And live. And hope…

On the outskirts of a modest village named Hsipaw, my partner and I dismount from our rented bicycles and stroll up the steps to an unassuming temple. It is the day of a new moon, and thus a minor celebration day, as the ancient traditions of their ancestors dictate. Several women dot the stone floor that circles around the bell shaped structure, eyes closed they sit in various positions of prayer and meditation. When their stillness is broken, we exchange warm smiles and eventually follow their footsteps down a winding staircase that leads to another temple enclosure below. Many had gathered in this simple room, and as we timidly entered, the sounds of devotion we could hear found the bodies that were producing them. A lean monk dwarfed by his billowing robes led a small crowd in hypnotic chanting. Once the spell was concluded, the awareness of our presence spread fast. Faces beamed at us, thrilled to have outside guests join their tight knit community. Little English was spoken in this room, but that didn’t stop anybody’s effort to connect. We ate with them. We drank tea with them. We played with their bashful children. We were honored to receive gifts from the monk… for each of us a string of prayer beads, and for each of us a copy of the Dhammapada, written in Burmese and English. We learned from this smiling congregation how to use our prayer beads, holding them in both hands and gently thumbing along each bead while chanting ‘Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha’. We sat with the Monk as he enthusiastically opened up page after page in the Dhammapada and animatedly tried to communicate his interpretations. It was hours before we managed to tear ourselves away from their enveloping warmth, and when we did, it was with a certain lightness in my step as if an unperceived weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Photo by David Simon

On another day, in a suburb of Mandalay that sees hoards of day trippers eager to catch a glimpse of a massive and unfinished pagoda, we managed to find some space away from the tourist stalls and souvenir hawkers. A brief mention in the Lonely Planet of an infirmary for the elderly, and the nurse who runs it, piqued our curiosity and so we ambled up to the crumbling, inconspicuous buildings. It wasn’t long before our unsure wanderings were met with the heartfelt welcome of a smiling middle aged woman. We introduced ourselves, and she began to tell us about her work. This was a home for elderly people who needed care, and who had no family or home for themselves. Twenty five years ago she had begun her work there, and to this day she still runs it completely on her own. No other nurses… no doctors… only her, and the 82 +/- patients that live there.  Seven days a week she relentlessly works, struggling to care for the plethora of crucial needs that she is responsible for, because if she doesn’t nobody else will. Sleep is rare. Funds are few, and none are from her country’s government. More shocking than all of that, is the expansiveness of the smile that radiates across her face as she relays all of this information. Really… radiates. I mean, in the best of circumstances, her line of work is extremely difficult and trying both physically and emotionally. Yet, there she stood, up against a veritable mountain of adversities, with her impenetrable positivity.

Startled into awe by her spirit, I managed to ask her, “How do you keep your smile?” To this, she emitted a resounding laugh from her rounded belly, and could barely get the words out between her chuckles and chortles. In essence, she replied that whenever the tribulations loom over her in daunting towers, when she feels she might cry from the ordeals and and hardships that she faces… instead she laughs. She thinks of each trouble and laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs until her heart is light again. Then, she gets back to work.

In the midst of circumstances truly unfathomable to anyone growing up in a land of freedom, the people of Burma find strength not just to carry on, but to truly live with spirit and happiness. This indelible will calls to mind the people of another nearby country, who lived through a horrific genocide, and came out the other end still retaining softness in their smiles, and generosity in their hearts. The courage and resilience of these people is humbling beyond words. It certainly puts into perspective the comparatively minor difficulties that mange to distress me.

Burma: First Impressions

Those who have traveled throughout the dusty roads and sleepy river towns of Burma, almost unanimously agree: although impressive and intriguing sights are not hard to find, it is the people of this country that truly make it a standout destination. I am not here to disagree with this tried and true wisdom. In-depth conversations with interesting and inspiring characters have graced my ears as I’ve meandered through this controversial and cut off country, but first impressions were solely focused on my eyes’ intake.

Local men, showing that men can wear skirts too!

The only way to travel in Burma is to fly in to its capital city – Yangon (Rangoon) – as all the land borders are closed off by the military government. Without the option of a gradual journey, I was plopped straight into the hub of this mysterious country. As soon as I placed my flip flopped feet upon the ground of this next ‘new’ country, the people were indisputably the focus of my wandering eyes. Immediately apparent, the traditional fashions of this country ate up my preliminary glances. Men and women alike are almost unilaterally clad in longi's: a large tube of fabric that is wrapped around the waist, twisted into a knot at the front for men, and pulled and tucked to the side for women. The other obvious trend here is the application of a thick paste made from tree bark, (called thanakha), on the faces of women and children. Described as ‘sunscreen’, but used more as decorative face paint, I was completely enthralled with the creative splotches and designs that adorned the faces around me. These strange and unique fashions were a welcome change to the western mimicry so often on display throughout SE Asia.

A line of women wearing longi's as they tidy the grounds around Shwedagon Pagoda

Women selling, and wearing, thanakha

It’s sad to say, but the people that occupy these far-away corners of the world, rarely wind up dressing strikingly different than people I know back home. Sure, different T-shirt designs might be popular, but so few places in this part of the world actually display a pervasive sense of their own traditional clothing or beauty trends. (The sari’s of India being another exception, and an equally enrapturing sight.) How much longer this tree bark paste will last as the preferred cosmetic in Burma is hard to say. Already, whitening creams are on display everywhere, ‘NIVEA’ ads seem to dot the entire landscape, and Burmese entertainment depicts its most ‘beautiful’ protagonists as carbon copies of Western ideals, while relegating the tree bark paste to comical, lower-class characters. What a shame that in this world, one culture has such a dominant impact over every other. To my eyes, a copper skinned Burmese women clad in her own colorful longi, proudly showcasing a face expertly decorated with cream colored paste, is unarguably far more beautiful than her country’s cookie-cutter pop-stars.

Next impressions to ponder over revolved around the incredible variety of faces that smiled at me. Something I never realized before became very obvious: Burma is a melting pot of Asian races! Over two hundred ethnic lines can be spotted within Burmese borders. This diversity is nowhere else as apparent as along the streets of Yangon. If I had entered Burma on a direct flight from America, perhaps the array of features would not have been so immediately striking. Their eyes are all brown, after all, and their hair is unerringly dark. However, after wandering through Asia for several years and sometimes experiencing a much smaller range of features, Burma seemed to be a turn of the century Ellis Island mixture of attributes. Almond eyes, oval eyes, narrow eyes, wide-set eyes, high-browed eyes, deep-set eyes… all stared back at me, most with the gleam of a smile lighting up their irises. 

Wandering along the bustling cargo docks of Yangon’s riverfront, crowds of these wide eyed stares and eager grins followed us as we carved our way through the flurry of activity. Women sellers claimed minuscule squares of the narrow pavement, displaying betel chew, noodles, pots of oily curries, cigarettes, drinks, fish, and any other popular products. Processions of shirtless and tattooed men, hoisting heavy packages of goods on their muscular shoulders, snaked their way from boat to truck, or from truck to boat. Benches dripped with groups of men whose cheeks bulged with the blood red betel chew crammed into their mouths. Small children darted in and around the teeming paths, alternately smiling in excitement or crying in fear as their eyes alighted upon the strangely pale foreigners. People shouted, horns blew, engines roared, and in the midst of it all... I began to fall in love with Burma and the people within her borders.

The Route

So where the hell am I these days anyway? Well, right now I'm sitting at a cafe in Hanoi, Vietnam. Last week I was in Thailand. Two months ago I was living in Korea. Another couple weeks from now and I'll be in Cambodia. Not a clue where I'll be six months from now, but six months ago I was in Mongolia. What travels will I be writing about?? The current ones, I suppose. But not without a reference, or an homage, here and there to the roads that I've traveled that brought me to wherever I might find myself currently. What exactly are the current travels? Well, after doing this traveling thing for the past 8 years off and on, I thought it was high time I finally cover the route that practically defines the concept of modern-day, cheap travel in faraway lands... good ol' Southeast Asia.

My route is a bit hodge-podgy, starting south, going back up north, making my way south again. Without a doubt, catering my trip towards meeting up with amazing travel partners is an easy choice to make. From Korea, I flew south to Bangkok. After six weeks in Thailand, I flew north to Vietnam. Now, I will trickle down south again, through Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, back through Northern Thailand, over to Burma, and hopefully still have time and funds left for Malaysia and Indonesia. I started on February 7th... I plan to keep going through July, at least.

Though it's already been seven weeks since I began these current travels, I plan to back-track in this blog a bit, and begin where it began. In Bangkok, on Feb. 7th. Stay tuned...