The Hidden Beauty of Yangon

The drive from the airport was peppered with sudden outbursts from my guide like, “I hate studying!” or “I LOVE Hamburger!” – it was always highly entertaining and often somewhat startling. Apparently, the tour company informed the local team that I was a very important guest, so the guide and driver were eager to impress. The car was even equipped with a stand for the flags of Myanmar and the United States though I was a little concerned about the “Differen” cologne bottle – not different, not difference, just “Differen.” Arriving in Yangon, I was first struck by the clean modern airport; it was much better than I had expected. Change is happening fast in Myanmar, and it’s hard to imagine that only a couple years ago, a simple mobile phone would cost a person over five thousand dollars.

After checking-in at my nice lakeside hotel, I asked the guide whether I should change money there or elsewhere. The exchange rate was the normal rate, so I went ahead and changed a hundred bucks. I was tempted to change more because I knew I’d be in Myanmar for almost a week, but when the girl from the hotel pulled out a stack of cash and an electronic money counter, I was glad I didn’t. This was by far the largest wad of cash I have ever had in my hand. That $100 USD bill I handed her represented just below what the average person here earns per month. It’s an odd feeling knowing the significance to another person of the money you are holding in your hand. I felt like I could own the world with that much cash in my hand, but I also felt ashamed for others to see how easily I pulled out $100 from my pocket knowing how much they had to work for the same amount of money.

My giant stack of cash safely tucked away in my camera bag, we set off to explore Yangon. Our first stop was one that was strictly off limits only a few years ago but is now a museum, the former home of General Aung San, father of Nobel Prize winning Aung San Suu Kyi. I got to see the car in which the General was assassinated and to explore the old wooden house. The old teak furniture from the 40s reminded me of some of the furniture in my grandparents’ house growing up.

Our next stop was a short walk along Inya Lake. Next to this lake, one of the generals built a massive restaurant in the old architectural style. It’s beautiful, but a dinner and dance show costs $23 per person. It sounds perfectly reasonable until you remember what I just said about the average monthly wages here. That said, it is a striking example of the old architecture of Mandalay, and the elements of the building come together to tell many important legends from the local culture – might as well have the rich tourists pay for it. As local culture still frowns upon young couples showing public affection before marriage, Inya lake is where a lot of the Yangon youth come to hold hands or kiss by the lakeside. Life seems so much simpler when your biggest concern is whether a neighbor might see you holding hands with your high school sweetheart. Across the lake, one can see the shining exterior of the Shwedegon Pagoda in the distance. Before we could explore the most important Pagoda in Myanmar, we had to make a stop to see the reclining Buddha.

 

I’m sorry to admit that I don’t find Yangon to be a very beautiful city. Overall, it just feels like a busy, neglected city that is a little dull visually. There are parts of it though that have incredible beauty and character, and the real beauty of the city is in its people. Everyone you see walking the streets seems to appreciate life for what it is, and they are always quick to flash a smile at a passing foreigner. Souvenir touts are overtly present, but not pushy. One simple “no, thank you” sends them quickly on their way. The reclining Buddha was one of those beautiful pockets of Yangon where splendor and spirituality combine. The massive reclining Buddha is remarkable, but the part I loved most about the visit was watching the people. Some offering their prayers to the Buddha, others deep in meditation, a few just lounging around conversing with friends, even some cats roaming around looking for some offerings of their own – life was happening at its own special pace. One lap around the giant reclining Buddha, and then we made our way down to the monastery. An old teak wood building from the early 1900s, it is still an operating monastery, and I trekked up the creaking wooden stairs that were ready to buckle beneath my weight just to see where some of the monks were living. On our way back up the hill, one of the monks stopped us and said that I looked like a strong man. He was a happy monk with a potbelly and a friendly smile. He squeezed my arms, told others that I was big but healthy and then asked how much I weighed. Reluctant to lie to a holy man, I told him my weight and he smiled and grabbed my arm again. Fearing he might ask me to carry something for him next, we started walking again, and the monk wished me safe travels and told me to come back again.

Tired from the long day of traveling and touring after only four hours of sleep the night before, I was not particularly excited to continue on to the Shwedegon Pagoda, but I knew I had to. Partially disappointed that my guide wanted to give me the lazy tourist experience and partially thankful not to have to trek up the never-ending staircase, I boarded the elevator to the pagoda with little hesitation. We strolled around this massive complex of stupas, pagodas, shrines, and banyan trees under the intermittent downpours of the monsoon season. My bare feet didn’t mind the wet floors, and I barely noticed the water creeping up the legs of my jeans because I was just in awe of my surroundings. The gentle fairy-like tinkle of the spire bells being blown in the wind was interrupted from time to time by the soul-stirring toll of the large prayer bells being struck in odd-numbered rhythms for good luck or in thanks for answered prayers. The only feature that made me pause from curiosity rather than stare off in awe was the technicolored light show adorning many of the Buddha statues; it felt a little like “Buddha Goes to Vegas.” We wandered the complex for hours before sitting next to a chanting woman in one of the shrines and watching as the daylight faded away, and the pagoda began to shine under the night sky. It was really a magical place, and I could have stayed much longer, but we had to get dinner at some point.

I enjoyed a Myanmar Beer and a flavorful, albeit chewy, beef curry for dinner. A simple plate of vegetables stir-fried with garlic accompanied the curry, and I ate every last bite while debating an elegant way to pick the strings of beef from between my teeth. A quick brush of the teeth, and I was off to bed for a long night of much needed sleep.