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.

I get around.

In this part of the world, getting from A to B is rarely as straightforward as it seems. The simple attempt to transport myself within Cambodia has included everything from being chauffeured by a tuk-tuk fit for a hero, to breaking the sound barrier in a death defying car journey, to lazy bicycling around remote river islands. The only rule seems to be: No matter what I've experienced before, there's just no way of ever knowing what I'm getting into, the next time I decide to journey outside my temporary home.

Our first major journey here was so shockingly smooth and comfortable, I was ready to vote Cambodian bus services among the best in SE Asia. Course, this was to be immediately followed by a patience testing experience, where the bus tickets we'd purchased bought us nothing more than an hour long wait at a roadside pitstop, as we watched the proprietor futilely attempt to wave down the unfazed buses that whizzed past. A world weathered man eventually pulled up in an even more weathered car, and a realization slowly crept in, that this was meant to be our best hope of getting into a vehicle anytime soon. Not without a healthy dose of hesitation, Dave and I clambered into the backseat... only to realize that there were no backs to the seats. The upholstery fabric still hung, limp and frayed, but all form and structure of what the fabric was supposed to cover had disappeared at some unknown time in the car's very distant past. Great, I thought, so much for being able to sit back and relax at all during this 5 hour journey. That was before we shut the doors, and the driving began. Relaxation turned out to be the last thing on our minds. Race track speeds around narrow turns and stomach flipping swerves through unpredictable traffic quickly sent me into a prone position, trying to calm the uprising tides in my gut. Meanwhile, Dave sat rigid and riveted, every muscle tensed to prepare for the seemingly inevitable collision. Thus we remained for the next 3 1/2 hours, when we arrived at our destination far ahead of schedule... far ahead of what should have been possible... unbelievably with all limbs still attached.

A few days later, it was to be a luxury tuk-tuk Batmobile that provided our motorized mobility. (Yes, everything about what you just read is right.) For the 4 days that we explored this regions most prized ancient structures--the Temples of Angkor-- we shuffled between each of those jaw-dropping marvels of lost civilization, in indisputable style. Zooming past the ragtag numbers of normal putt-putting tuk-tuks, we belted out the Batman theme, knowing it would quickly became a distant hum in their ears as they ate our superhero dust.

Da na Na na na na Na na na na Na na na na Na na na na.... BATMAN!!!

After such chest inflating panache, we dialed it down a notch, and hired wiggly wobbly old bicycles to explore the Mekong River island of Koh Paen. Just getting there was half the fun. Every year they rebuild the bridge, because every rainy season it would be washed away if they didn't deconstruct it first. The material of choice for the entire bridge? Bamboo.
From a distance, it looks more like a pile of matchsticks that a strong wind might disrupt. Yet, even cars can clamber across this temporarily constructed gangway of thin hollow rods. Indeed, up close and underpedal, it proved to be remarkably strong...and crunchy... and sorta like pedaling through sand. Once on the other side, our slowed down pace lent itself perfectly to the slowed down way of life that was on display everywhere. Not for the first time in this part of the world, I was struck by how lucky I felt to truly see and experience so much of these people's daily lives. Wandering around Europe, New Zealand, certainly America, and even Korea, one is always left to guess what a day might look like for any individual. The modern world likes its fences. And tinted windows. And doors closed tightly, with locks secured. The modern world considers privacy an assumed and desired right, instead of a privilege, or even an unsocial snub at the community around you. On Koh Paen, life is public and shared. Open windows and doors (if they existed at all), seemed to breed open smiles, and everywhere we pedaled those warm smiles greeted us.

So much constant motion sometimes deserves a break. And break we did. The first month in Phnom Penh, we boarded no buses, rented no bikes, and undertook no journey more adventurous than an average tuk tuk lift across town. Then, our sense of adventure returned. Though drivers in Phnom Penh defy logic, follow almost no rules, and collide on a regular basis... still we decided, 'What the hell? Let's get a motorbike!' As well as two helmets. (I mean, c'mon, a sense of adventure does not negate a sense of wanting to survive said adventure.) Harrowing is definitely a term I would apply to navigating these streets, and I never even navigated them! I quickly realized I would be much happier relying on Dave's very capable motorbiking skills, and intermittently clutching tightly to his waist as collisions were narrowly avoided. Unexpectedly, our motorbiking days were ended prematurely, though not because of the knuckle whitening traffic, but because of the anger inducing Phnom Penh police force. We were pulled over three times in two weeks. Our western skins made us blatant targets and apparently meant that it didn't matter whether we were actually following the rules that nobody else follows. Twice we were bullied into paying exorbitant bribes far beyond even the expected levels of corruption in this part of the world. Blood pumping, fists clenched, and voices barely controlling our pissed off frustrations, we thought it best to avoid another such instance. The next one might very well have broken our precariously controlled temper, and ended up with one or both of us rotting in a Cambodian prison!!

irony.

Getting around in Cambodia serves as a constant reminder that the journey is at least half of the adventure. In hindsight, all these experiences also provide another lesson for me: realizing again that my expectations so often serve only as a roadblock, leaving me blocked into a place of annoyance and frustration, while barricading me from moving into a place where I could simply relish in the pure experience of it all. Whatever doesn't kill me.............. right? :)

Well, now that you've made it to the end, it's time for another rousing game of NAME THAT FRUIT! The winner from my last blog was Shona Simon, who correctly identified the hairy red & green fruits as: Rambutan. They're similar to - but not to be confused with! - lychees, and they're quite delicious. This week I'm upping the challenge, and including two exotic Asian fruits. Can you name both of them?

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...

A beginning, of sorts...

This website right here, this is "Laura's First Travel Blog". This picture, is me.

Hi   :)

Though I've constantly kept a travel journal with me over the past few years, and managed to fill up several books with my 'thoughts while on the road', blogging is quite a foreign concept to me. Similar to those journal writings, those of you who know me well have probably received a lengthy email or two throughout the years, as I attempt to detail and sum up all of my recent experiences while traveling in foreign lands, in order to stay connected to you. In some ways, this blog might be a combination of those two things... a way to write about my personal thoughts and experiences in a way that allows the people in my life to tune in, whenever they feel like it. Should anyone else ever tune in, well hopefully I can keep them entertained as well.

My greatest fear in writing a blog is to be misconstrued, or to come off as sounding far too self-important. For that reason, there are a few things that must be said before anything else is said. Disclaimers, I suppose.

No matter what I write in this blog; no matter how I feel about a place, an experience, an interaction, a culture, or a meal; no matter how strongly I feel that way, I am never presuming to try and tell anyone what something IS. Subjectivity will reign supreme throughout, and behind every one of my statements is the unwavering knowledge that the opposite statement can be equally true and equally valid... in another person's blog perhaps. Not only is everything I experience being filtered through my own perspectives and beliefs, (even when I'm trying hard to quiet those), but I'm also fully aware that for every experience of mine that left a certain impression, there are uncountable other people who have came away with an entirely different impression. Different days, different moods, different interactions, different weather, and a hundred other variables... all these things color our intake of every situation. These are my intakes. 

Also, I travel in a particular manner. I prefer some kinds of experiences over others. I often gain greater fulfillment from more challenging, authentic, off-the-beaten track routes, while I am often left wanting, and uninspired by typical, touristy places and activities. Tour groups and tour packages are almost never my friends.This is not to say that those kinds of travel don't have their place in the world, it is simply to say that they do not have a place in my heart. My own finances dictate a large part of my travel style, but it goes beyond that as well.

For example: I sometimes prefer to stay in cheap backpacker digs, instead of opting for more comfortable and convenient hotels, even when the price is only a small difference. YET, the dichotomy of my psyche is that that does not mean I don't enjoy hotels. Quite the opposite actually! Of course it's cozy to have a looked after, spacious room, a bed that's made every day, a/c in hot climates, hot water in cold climates, privacy, and perhaps a bit of insulation from the sometimes chaotic environments I find myself in. I've stayed in those places, and by no means did I just tolerate it... I quite LIKED it. However, I've noticed a price that is paid beyond the room rate. When I have a cozy hotel room, I am less likely to spend most of my time away from it (cause it's just so nice in there isn't it?), but when my room is a simple bed within four walls, I am far more likely to only sleep in it (there's always somewhere more interesting to be than a dingy, simplistic, or borderline uncomfortable, room).

On top of that, there's the matter of the people one meets. In the budget, backpacker guesthouse I am far more likely to meet independent travelers who can offer tips, stories, and information about independent traveling. In pricier hotels, I am more likely to meet travelers who book tour packages, and will recommend agencies, guides, and drivers who will 'take care of all of the organizing', whilst many times allowing me only glimpses of the most common, pre-approved, 'sights'. Each to their own. Even though it sometimes goes against my very natural desires for comfort and ease, I choose to inconvenience myself and hope for the reward that that can bring. Many times I pay the price for that choice too, and only end up frustrating myself, achieving none of the 'pay-off' that I hoped for when I chose the more difficult route. Choices have to be made though, consequences weighed out... and more often than not, I'll choose to take my chances on the cheaper, more challenging options.


Allow me yet one more disclaimer. Though I have just rhapsodized about how I fancy myself an independent traveler, seeking 'off the beaten path' opportunities, that is NOT to say that I am by any means a gold-star member of that club. I am constantly aware of (and sorta jealous of) the plethora of travelers out there, who could easily run circles around my travel experiences. In a world that is becoming more accessible by the minute, finding untraveled areas is practically impossible, and it is not my be-all/end-all intention to be the only traveler in every destination. I just want to travel everywhere and experience everything I can! If that means covering the 'tourist trail' at times, (which has become popular for a reason), I have no shame about doing that. And, damnit, the Lonely Planet is helpful to me. Perhaps I many times end up traveling the more beaten, off the beaten, path. I'm very aware of, and perfectly okay with that.

Alright folks, I think I'm done trying to explain myself, and ready to begin explaining my travels instead. With an entire, lengthy, posting about my intentions and my hopes for how my words will be read... I must now leave the rest of your perceptions up to yourself and simply write what I want to write. In the words of Anthony Burgess, "Eat this sweetish segment or spit it out. You are free."