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.

Bangkok Docs

A normal person comes to Bangkok to see the Grand Palace, the reclining Buddha, the floating market, and some of the other key sites of the city. This was my second visit to Bangkok, and I still haven’t managed to see any of those sites. I decided to try something new this visit – medical tourism. It has been 10 years since my last doctor’s check-up, and I just turned 30, so I decided I would take advantage of the inexpensive healthcare here in Thailand and get a full health screening. In other words, I just spent my only day in Bangkok at a hospital.

The experience was worthwhile though because I was able to get my medical needs taken care of at a very low price, and I was able to see what the world of medical tourism looks like firsthand. Bumrungrad Hospital is considered one of the best hospitals in Thailand if not Asia. They have been putting a lot of effort into promoting themselves as a medical tourism destination; i.e. foreigners that can’t afford procedures at home can travel to Bangkok and get them done at a top-quality facility for a fraction of the price. The hospital even has its own full-service residence, where one can live in a 5-star suite complete with hospital bed.

I went to have an “Executive Health Screening.” Upon arrival, it took me a while to find my way to the correct building, but there were staff everywhere that spoke English and were happy to direct me. Once in the correct building, I made my way to the “sky lobby” where I provided my passport and contact details and was issued a laminated patient card that I can use on future visits. I then spent the day being ushered from place to place throughout two stories of the building being administered test after test. What fascinated me most was the sheer quantity of patients with whom the nurses were dealing. There had to be at least 50 patients in each waiting room at any given time. On this visit, most of them happened to be Arabs on their post-Ramadan vacation to Thailand. The nurses were calling out names one after one practically non-stop. The nurses recognized me as one of the few non-Arabs there, so they always came to find me without yelling out my name all the time. It was impossible for them to do the same with the mysterious black figures gliding through the hallways with their eyes peering from behind the niqab.  One woman, rather than constantly removing and retying her niqab, simply wrapped her hijab entirely around her face, which made her look like some villain from the ninja turtles.  

Overall, the experience was still very much the same as going to the doctor in most developed places, but I did get far more tests done for a price I could only dream of back in the States. After several hours of tests, I was able to sit with the doctor and discuss all of the results; the detailed report will be sent to me by email. It is quite an impressive system that must make them a fair amount of money based on the number of patients they were churning out.

Once my day at the hospital was done, I grabbed a taxi to a tailor that the hotel had recommended. I don’t think there is ever a time that Bangkok does not suffer from horrible traffic, but if there is, it certainly is not Monday afternoon. I was able to pick out some fabrics to have a few suits and shirts made, and the tailor is stopping by my hotel this evening to do a fitting before I jet off to Myanmar in the morning. The tailor's driver took me back to the river, where I grabbed a boat back to my hotel's dock. I have to leave at 4:30AM to make sure traffic doesn’t make me late for my flight to Yangon, but I am excited to see what Myanmar has to offer. 

Life Repeats Itself

I've come to believe that life really is a pattern of cylces that repeat themselves over and over again. We progress through life finding ourselves at different stages that we will eventually look back on as learning experiences when we end up in similar stages at later points in life. At least, that would be the optimistic viewpoint.

Another year, another night of reflection at the Beirut Airport sitting at an aging computer terminal in the Cedar Lounge. It's been over a year since my last late-night flight out of Lebanon, and I'm no less disappointed to be leaving this time as any other. I don't know if I'll ever understand what it is about this place that draws me back time and time again. Is it the smiles, kisses, and loud voices of my many family members; the huge spreads of fresh, delectable food every day; the intense mediterranean sun and the cool sea breeze; the free-spirited nature of the people; or even the excitement and stress of not knowing what news the next hour might bring? I don't have an answer, but I know I have to hold back the tears of joy everytime I am heading to Lebanon and the tears of sorrow everytime I am leaving.

Lebanon is caught in one of life's cycles. It is a country with so much to offer, but I doubt it will ever be truly appreciated by the masses because of the political, religious, and idealogical conflicts of its own people and the outsiders that bring their conflicts across the borders. Lebanon cycles in and out of periods of peace and instablility. Some days the country seems to flourish and other days it suffers under the stresses of the world's many problems. My hope is that one day the Lebanese leaders will learn to look back at the cylces of unrest that have plagued this beautiful country for centuries, if not millenia, and try something different to break the cycle.

As for me, I have found myself nearing the end of another year of studying with only hazy plans ahead. This stage of the cycle of life is one that I am all-to-familiar with, but it never gets any easier. I'm officially a licensed attorney now, and I will soon have yet another degree to add to my resume. The problem is that I am no closer to knowing what it is I want to do or even where I want to live. Home will always be North Carolina in some way, but it is probably one of the lowest ranked locations on my list of potential placed to live and work. Austria has always treated me well, and I have a great deal of gratitude for the life-changing experiences and people that I have encountered while living there. Lebanon calls me back over and over again, but I don't know what my life would be like living here fulltime. So many questions to answer, and so many decisions to make. I have stressed about these difficult life decisions in the past, and things have always turned out ok. I hope that the next stage of the cycle is a good one for me and the country of my ancestors.

The First Days of a New Life

            I've written before about the blessing of feeling at home in so many different places, and I’m reminded of that everyday that I wake up in this beautiful city. I moved to Vienna two weeks ago, and it has been a whirlwind of exhausting activity and utter excitement. I spent most of the first week shopping and assembling furniture with one of my best friends, without whose help I’m not sure I would have survived. Once my apartment was in habitable condition, I was left with the errands and bureaucracy that go along with a move to another country. At some point this past week, I finally sat back and realized that while there was much I could and probably should do, for the first time since I arrived in Vienna, there was nothing I had to do. That is when I really started enjoying my new life.

Oberlaa Cafe, Währinger Strasse

Volksoper Subway Station

            One day, I woke up and went for a wander through my neighborhood. I stopped by the Lebanese snack shop downstairs to say hi to my new Arabic-speaking buddy I had met a few days earlier. I told him I need to improve my Arabic, so he only speaks to me in Arabic now, and I’m really excited about the practice. A little further up the street, I wandered through one of the nearby parks, and then found my way to my local wine shop. The place is filled with all sorts of goodies from wine and liquor to gourmet foods, and the shopkeeper was happy to help me pick out a good local bottle of wine. A bit in the opposite direction, I took a stroll through the Kutschkermarket, my local fresh produce market. I have yet to try the food at the small snack stand operated by the market cheese booth, but the food looks and smells delicious. The old folks of the neighborhood hang out and gossip on the benches under the large tree in front of the market. Across the street is a well-known coffee shop and patisserie, and an ice cream shop next door. The Italian restaurant down the way has stereo-typically slow Italian waiters, but the food is generally quite good, and they have the best bruschetta in town.

Kutschkermarkt

Freyung Passage

Palais Ferstil

            I met some of my classmates Wednesday evening for a drink, and then Felix and I went for a Lebanese meal at my old standard across from the University. The manager was happy to see me again after an extended absence. I’ve also been doing my best to catch up with old friends that I haven’t seen in quite some time. Remembering the old days when we were so young and naïve leaves the mind lingering in a nostalgic state, but then we shift to current activities and learning about what has and has not changed about us since those younger days.

Cafe Museum, Karlsplatz

Karlsplatz

            On Saturday, I started the day off with a walk through the inner city stopping briefly to enjoy the music and festivities of a small wine festival being hosted by one of the banks. What better way to recruit new accounts than free-flowing wine, a brass band, and bankers in lederhosen? The occasional yodel brought a smirk to my face and a strange sense of comfort to my heart. Shortly thereafter, a group of protestors marched by, trailed by the police, carrying a sign advocating women’s rights. The young protestors seemed to have their real objectives tangled up in an adolescent sense of rebellion, and they stumbled over their angry chants. “Kein Gott, Kein Staat, Kein Patriarchie!” they would yell twice, but the third time people started forgetting what they were supposed to say. Eventually, the whole group was mumbling until the group leader would use the loud speaker to get everyone back on track again. It bothered me that they chanted for an end to religion and politics as part of their mission to help women, but my concerns quickly subsided along with the annunciation of their slogan.

Erste Bank Wine Festival am Graben

Kohlmarkt

Am Graben

Hoch- und Deutschmeister Band

            Two of my classmates met me to see the Hoch- und Deutschmeister Band perform their last march of the summer season. The band is a throwback to the old military bands of the Austrian Empire, and we marched behind them through the city to the Hofburg Palace where we lounged in the sun beneath the oxidized bronze glare of a Roman-styled Austrian Emperor while the band played classics like “The Beautiful Blue Danube.”

            After a quick tour of the inner city, we met up with yet more of our classmates to grab an introductory drink and get to know each other a bit before classes start. I am almost certainly the oldest in my class, which is a new feeling for me, but not an unpleasant one. Later in the afternoon, we browsed through the Naschmarkt, the large outdoor food market in town. That evening, I met up with another old friend and his girlfriend for some drinks and a very pleasant dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant. Maybe (or almost certainly) I’m a bit odd, but nothing feels quite so empowering as being personally greeted by the owner and waiters of a restaurant. It probably means that I eat out too much, or just eat too much in general, but the false sense of importance it gives me is one of my more harmless vices.

            I started Sunday off with a couchsurfing brunch near Spittelberg, where I met some really fun people and even another alumnus of my high school. Afterwards, I took two new visitors to Vienna for a cold wet walk around the rainy city. They seemed to be in awe of the grand palatial buildings and rich history and culture of which Vienna is full. A quick prayer at St. Stephens Cathedral, and we were once again wandering down a chilly Kärtnerstrasse. My companions soon asked about the possibility of seeing a classical concert, and I was immediately on my phone checking schedules. It just so happened that a concert at the Musikverein was starting in 15 minutes, so we picked up our pace and made it just in time to grab a couple tickets and relax in the warmth of the concert. An added perk was the appearance of the 86 year old composer Friedrich Cerha after the orchestra had just performed one of his works.

Musikverein

            Sitting back and staring at the gilded details of the ceiling while the mind absorbed the peaceful melancholy of the Ravel piece that the pianist played, I couldn’t stop thinking about how fortunate I really am.