s: Less than three hours after we posted our blog on Monday, we hopped on our flight to Bagan. Despite some apprehension about flight safety (there is kind of a shortage of airplanes for domestic flights, so the available planes spend the day flying around the country stopping for just 20 minutes at a time to switch passengers) it was definitely exciting to be able to afford to cut the 14-hour night bus ride with loud music and 3 a.m. "breakfast" stops. Flying is Myanmar is definitely charming, in a time capsule sort of way. I imagine it was what flying was like several decades ago-- a small plane full of foreigners traveling in style, breezing through the one-runway airport's minimal security screening just a half hour before boarding. Every few moments in Myanmar it feels like we're jumping between decades and centuries and millennia.
We made our way to the New Heaven Guesthouse, Lonely Planet's pick for budget sleeping in town. We're not too particular about rooms, so we saw two beds, a clean bathroom, an air-con unit, and a ceiling fan and checked in quickly, then went out to find dinner. Unfortunately, we returned to learn that a) the air-con only air-conned about two square feet of our room and b) our ceiling fan wobbled so violently with each rotation that we were pretty sure that it was going to ricochet off the wall and amputate one of our limbs.
a: In case we haven't mentioned it, it's really hot here. Sweaty times call for desperate measures, so we decided leave both on, at least until our room cooled down. We stood staring at the fan for several moments, on guard and ready to duck and cover. Then we turned chicken, and ran to our guesthouse owner to ask if he thought it was safe. He was quite reassuring, but once back in our room watching that thing we still seriously questioned our Little Ceiling Fan That Could's ability to stay on the ceiling. For safety, we built backpack/clothes forts around our sleeping spots so that if it came crashing down at least something other than a femur could break its fall.
s: Not that it mattered, of course. After about an hour, the electricity went out because of the rain outside (in Myanmar, rain ALWAYS means the electricity goes out) and our room became a sauna.
a: The next day, we decided to go the romantic route and tour the ancient pagodas for which Bagan is famous in a horse-drawn carriage. It was cheaper than hiring a taxi driver, and seemed less miserable than renting bikes in this heat. We set out for the ruins, but after about ten minutes of watching our horse struggling and being whipped every time it slowed its trot, Sara and I were too depressed to continue. We asked our driver to turn around and paid him half of a full day's rate. In general, animals here are treated remarkably well. Everywhere we go, wild dogs and stray cats feel welcome to walk right up to us and take a snooze under the chair we're sitting in because they're so trusting of people. But still. Even gentle whips are too much, and I'm too sensitive. So we hired a taxi.
s: Finally, success:-) We were off. Bagan is definitely Angkor Wat's rival when it comes to hundreds ancient temples sprawled out for miles and miles. Admittedly, there are probably history and archaeology buffs who might have made better use of their time at the Bagan temples than we did, but we still had a lot of fun exploring, playing America's Next Top Model, and meeting locals who pointed out various pictures on the wall in a not-so-subtle-lead-in for their sand paintings replicating said pictures on the wall ("it's okay no buy, just look... for education!") Cute.
Back in town after we'd eaten dinner, we stopped at a wood carving shop and ended up getting caught up talking with the family who owned it (a mom, dad, and 18-year-old son). I'm not sure how it happened exactly, but somehow we were all suddenly old friends and some local painters had joined us for sitting around and singing "Hotel California." It was warm and welcoming and one of those lucky moments where you realize, "this is what it's all about." Life, that is. But it was also punctuated with melancholy-- Amy and I would soon be "living it up at the Hotel California" again, but for our new friends it was an impossible dream, something they could only experience with an occasional black-market American film or a rebellious pair of blue jeans. They told us they would be having a "party" (gatherings of more than six or so people are illegal in Myanmar, so I'm not quite sure the title is appropriate) the following night, and we promised to attend.
a: Hoping for another life-affirming evening, the next day we rented a private riverboat on the Irrawaddy so we could watch the sun set on the water. We slopped through the muddy bank, climbed up the latter on the side of our boat, took our seats, and set out for the river. It was precisely at this moment that we realized the two crew members on board spoke about ten words of English (the words spoken to negotiate a price, naturally). It was also at this point that storm clouds appeared from no where, and rain gushed out of the sky.
s: After an hour and a half we finally managed to successfully pantomime our desire to return to land, and with relief made our way back to the wood shop. The night was filled with more singing, more locals, and mostly Burmese music (which I've really been enjoying, by the way-- a lot of it is acoustic and folksy.) At the end of the songs, Phyoe (the son) or Seo (the dad) would tell us the song meanings. Our favorite was a song where the narrator is in love with a girl, so that whenever he looks in a mirror he sees not his reflection but hers, and when walking he sees not his shadow but hers, and at night when he can't sleep she dances on the walls and when walking in the rain she is in the droplets. Something like that. "A nice meaning," they told us with smiles.
a: The guitar party was definitely a highlight of the trip. On our last full day in Bagan, Phyoe agreed to help us navigate the area on bicycles. We slowly drifted from pagoda to pagoda, stopping at each one to climb up to the top for a spectacular view. We made our way to a popular spot for sunset and settled down to teach Phyoe how to play the card game BS. Once more, in the spirit of monsoon season, our sunset was cut short by ominous storm clouds in the distance, which--after about ten minutes--were right on top of us. Long story short, eventually we biked all way back to our guesthouse and changed out of our of our drenched clothes, but I woke up with a cold and an ear ache. I think only in Myanmar can a person get a cold six days after having heatstroke. In spite of myself, I feel strangely excited by all my authentic traveling mishaps. This is legit Asia, my friends.
Until next time, love to all of you,
s&a
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