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.

a taste of phnom penh

8:30am: i wake up...slowly. too much movement only worsens the film of sweat that has accumulated since the sun began to make it's presence known. stumbling on to my half asleep limbs, the very first order of business is opening the balcony and the back doors of our apartment, in order to take advantage of any possible breeze that might waft through. these days it's not uncommon for it to be over 90 degrees before 9am, with humidity levels above 70%. fast forward to 1pm, and well... yeah. (oh rainy season, where art thou???)

eventually hunger takes over the desire to do nothing, and breakfast is approached. everyday it's the same deliciously simple combination of fruit, muesli, and yogurt. with combinations of up to five different fruits at a time perched in our fridge and awaiting my morning taste buds, this is a meal to look forward to. did i mention it's mango season? and with a ridiculous price tag of 3/dollar, those sweet receptacles of heavenly nectar are never absent from my breakfast bowl.

hey! speaking of fruit, how about a game? i'll post a picture of a fruit (or vegetable) not commonly found in the west. the top prize, (my unending admiration and respect), will be awarded to the reader that can correctly identify it first. we'll start out with a relatively easy one:

name that fruit!

after breakfast, any number of activities begin to fill my day, one of which will typically be a small trip to the outdoor market that sits a 1/2 block away...

(the blue arrow is roughly where our apartment is located)

this incredibly lively smattering of stalls, sellers, smells, and smiles is cambodia's version of walmart, with just about everything one could possibly need, for sale under 'one' roof.  it's our local one-stop-shop for:

• fruit/veg (ie: a heaping bag of tomatoes, zucchini, carrot, limes, cilantro, & pineapple... for $3)
• every kind of household item (ie: a box full of new kitchenware, for $5)
• rejuvenating ice coffees (50 cents)
• fresh free range eggs (10/dollar)

...in addition to a random list of who-knows-what-else, that might make it onto our list for the day. unlike other parts of the world, where having to shop for food so often becomes a mundane 'chore'... here, this routine activity remains an unpredictable adventure to look forward to. at the very least, it never fails to be a poignant reminder of exactly where i am... and where i'm not.

delving full force into this local market requires no small amount of resolve. the smells attack and overwhelm. mystery items commonly end up in my shopping bag. the piles of freshly caught, wriggling river fish are not unknown to wriggle themselves right off their trays and onto your feet. flies swarm wherever heaping slabs of meat or the sweet juices of produce abound. stares sometimes follow me. beggars with gray hair or pig-tailed hair often approach me. and the corrugated tin sheets that roof the maze of lanes underneath act as a highly effective heat trap, raising the already sweltering temperatures to almost unbearable heights.

i absolutely love it.