Wednesday, 14 November 2012

Yangon, a Reclining Buddha and the Shwedagon Pagoda: Myanmar/Burma Part 2

Not to Mention a Lakeside Walk, Golden Spittoons and a Local Lunch

Bogyoke Aung San (or Scott's) Market and Non-functioning Moneychangers


Myanmar
Swe arrived at 9 o’clock and we had another run at Scott’s Market in search of a money changer.

Scott’s Market is a cluster of one and two storey halls on a grid of cobbled streets. Inside there are dozens, if not hundreds, of stalls selling antiques, handicrafts, cloth, jewellery and anything else non-perishable.

Built in 1926, it was probably named after James George Scott, journalist, colonial administrator, schoolmaster and the man who introduced football to Burma. It certainly is not named after him anymore, it is officially called Bogyoke Aung San Market, but Scott’s Market is easier for foreigners to say and has the advantage of brevity whatever your native tongue.

Not quite open yet, Bogyoke Aung San (Scott's) Market, Yangon

Bogyoke (General) Aung San is generally considered the father of modern Burma. He led the independence negotiations in 1946 but was assassinated by political rivals before the final handover of power. He was also the father of Aung San Suu Kyi who was two years old when he was killed. Today Bogyoke Aung San is often referred to as The Father of the Lady, while his daughter is simply The Lady.

Food markets in Myanmar may open at the crack of dawn, but not Scott’s market. At 9.30 stall-holders were beginning to fiddle with their shutters and although both money changers were theoretically open they shook their heads and told us to come back later when they knew the rate for the day. We were not that concerned, Swe had lent us the equivalent of £25, more than the monthly income for many of Yangon’s citizens, and after one night we still had well over half of it left.

The Lunghi

Like almost all men in Myanmar, Swe wore a lunghi, a tube of material encasing the lower half of the body like a long skirt. They seem to be one-size-fits-all and the excess material - and there is plenty of it - is knotted at the waist. Inevitably the knot slips and lunghis are forever being unfolded, shaken and re-knotting. Swe suggested I might like to buy one in the market, but although I have no objection to the garment as such – a nation of men in long skirts does not look as odd as it might sound – I declined. A westerner wearing a lunghi is either taking the piss or trying too hard; the few we saw stood out like cats at Crufts and looked just as comfortable.

Kandawgyi Lake

We drove the short distance to Kandawgyi Lake. The boardwalk running round its southern edge makes a pleasant morning stroll – though lack of shade means it is best avoided later in the day.

Ambling round the lake costs locals nothing, but for foreigners there is a $2 fee, payable in US currency only. There are many places in Myanmar - lakesides, archaeological areas, even whole towns - where foreigners must stump up 5, 10 or sometimes 20 dollars just to enter. Myanmar is a poor country and I do not begrudge the money, but I also know it goes straight to the ruling generals and, despite recent liberalisations (which are real and often commented upon by locals) I am not totally convinced the money will all be used for the benefit of the people.

The boardwalk provides an excellent view of Karaweik - the Sanskrit name of Garuda, the bird ridden by Vishnu (sometimes Hinduism seeps confusingly into Buddhism). This monstrosity is actually a reinforced concrete reproduction of a royal barge. Later, we would later see a smaller version that is still used for transporting statues of Buddha round Lake Inlay (or Inle) at festival time.

Karaweik, Kandawgyi Lake, Yangon

It also provides an impressive view of the Shwedagon Pagoda, but then most corners of Yangon do that.

Kandawgyi Lake and the Shwedagon Pagoda. Yangon

Half way along there is a small temple. We had little idea then how many temples we would see in Myanmar, but this was the first, and it was not a bad place to start. We would encounter show temples, ruined temples and ancient temples, but this was a small, everyday temple for local people.

Small temple by Kandawgyi Lake, Yangon

Chaukhtatgyi Temple and Reclining Buddha

Our walk over, we drove to the rather less modest Chaukhtatgyi Temple, home of a huge reclining Buddha.

The Chaukhtatgyi Buddha was built to replace a previous version that collapsed after the 1975 earthquake, which, in its turn, had been an early 20th century replacement for an even older Buddha. At 100m long it is twice the size of the better known – and still enormous - reclining Buddha at Wat Pho in Bangkok (which we saw a couple of weeks later) but, amazingly, it is not the largest in Myanmar. Down the coast near Mawlamyine a 170m long Buddha sprawls across a couple of low hills. The larger the statue the more ‘merit’ the builder gains, and ‘merit’ is important when it comes to re-incarnation.

Chaukhtatgyi Reclining Buddha, Yangon

Partly covered in gold leaf – some of the higher parts could do with dusting – and with a diamond encrusted crown, the Buddha looks benignly down on those who come to worship and those who just come to gawp. The effect is slightly spoilt by his eyelashes, apparently inspired by Lily Savage (non-British readers might need to click this link and scroll down). On his feet are the 108 Auspicious Symbols and Signs by which the Buddha can be recognised.

Chaukhtatgyi Reclining Buddha, Yangon

We gained some merit by making a small donation, and having done that it was necessary to strike a bell, not to say what good people we were, but to share our merit with all those who heard the sound.

Lynne shares our merit, Chaukhtatgyi Pagoda, Yangon

The National Museum

Leaving the Buddha we headed for the nearby national museum. Like most national museums, it goes on a bit but fortunately the major exhibits are on the first couple of floors so I do not feel too guilty that we never made it to the fourth and fifth.

The Prize exhibit is the Lion Throne, sole survivor of the 8 thrones of the king’s palace in Mandalay. Covered, inevitably, in gold, it looks more like an elevated gateway than a throne. Photography was forbidden so I have stolen this picture from the Myanmar tourist agency.

The Lion Throne from Mandalay Palace, Myanmar National Museum, Yangon
Picture credit Goldenlandpages

On a higher floor, among the display of imperial costumes, we saw a dress resembling samurai armour redesigned for a pixie and rendered in soft fabric. They have a photograph of Thibaw, the last king of independent Burma, and his wife, wearing that very dress, kneeling on the Lion Throne. Chairs arrived late in Burma and even now many people, monks in particular, seem comfortable kneeling on hard floors. To us, kneeling is a way of showing obeisance, but to show obeisance to a kneeling king requires serious grovelling. It is much easier for the king to kneel on a raised platform.

Mandalay Palace was destroyed in 1945 when the Japanese were forcibly evicted from the city. The Lion Throne survived because it had previously been stolen by the British, though it was ‘generously’ returned at independence

There are many other artefacts from the Palace including one chair - a rickety affair constructed entirely of ivory - numerous gold betel nut boxes and more golden spittoons then I had ever imagined existed. The very concept of a spittoon is somewhat disgusting and the idea of making one out of solid gold seems slightly weird. Owning more than a dozen such spittoons can only be described as weird and extravagant.

Lunch in a Yangon Tea Shop

There's a tea shop down this road somewhere

Exotissimo Travel treated us to lunch at a city centre tea shop. We sat inside the open fronted building while on the pavement a girl was dipping vegetables in tempura batter and frying them in a large wok, while her friend cooked pancakes in clay pots.

Cooking pancakes in clay pots, Yangon

We ate a thick brown soup, flavoured with fish sauce and delicately and sweetly spiced, tempura prawns and vegetables, dried fish, spiced beans and, of course, rice. We finished with a ginger cookie from the clay pots and a couple of heavy, oily pancakes made from rice flour. We tried the strong, black tea thickened and sweetened with condensed milk - like in an Indian teahouse – but it was not much to our taste. Fortunately a bottomless thermos of Chinese tea featured on every table.

Lynne and Swe have lunch, Yangon

Changing Money, at Last

From the humble teahouse we went on to a five star hotel where we were at last able to acquire some local money and repay our loan from Swe.

The Shwedagon Pagoda

After resting during the hottest part of the day we headed for the Swedagon Pagoda at 4.30. As in Vietnam the word ‘pagoda’ means a temple complex, not a tower.

The hundred metre high stupa sits on a low hill. It is reputedly 2500 years old and enshrines a hair of the Buddha. Archaeology suggests the first stupa was actually built here by the Mon people – who now live in southern Myanmar – between the 6th and 10th century AD. In such an earthquake prone region it has inevitably been rebuilt several times and the earliest parts of the present structure date from 1769.

The great golden stupa is visible from almost everywhere in Yangon, including our hotel room, so I was not sure what else there was to see. It can be approached from each point of the compass by covered walkways which climb the hill in a series of gentle staircases. We took the fifth route; we drove to the base of the hill and used the lift.

Stepping out onto the marble flagged promenade that surrounds the central stupa both of us halted, blinked and looked again. The stupa is encircled by a ring of smaller gold spires interspersed with statues of the Buddha and of spirits and animals real and mythical. The promenade’s outer edge is flanked by chapels, meeting rooms and halls housing huge bronze bells all set among yet more towering golden spires. Gold can look garish and ostentatious (particularly if made into spittoons) but we found ourselves staring at a scene of great delicacy, sublime harmony and outstanding beauty.

The Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

We had not walked far before we realised that despite the large numbers of people - monks, tourists and local citizens going about their devotions - there was also an atmosphere of intense calm, even serenity. Lynne uses words like ‘spirituality’ which I find problematic so I will merely say we felt like we were in an enchanted place. Whether people have come to pray......

Praying at the Shwedagon Pagoda, Yagon

..... to meditate,

Meditating monk, Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

.... or merely to walk round, all seemed to feel the power of this special place.

Walking round the Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

The days of the week are each represented by an animal, and their statues can be found at 45º intervals around the stupa (that makes eight statues - Buddha achieved enlightenment on a Wednesday so it has two animals, one for the morning, one for the afternoon). To make merit and to concentrate the mind it is wise to honour the statue representing the day of your birth. Water is poured three times over the Buddha, three times over his supporter behind and three times over the dragon – I was born on a Saturday - ……

Tending to my dragon, Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

….. or the tuskless elephant – Lynne was a Wednesday afternoon baby.

Lynne with her tuskless elephant, Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

Before we had completed our circuit night began to fall. As the light faded the gold glowed almost crimson and then, as the floodlights were turned up, it becomes a rich orange and magic seemed to float in the warm night air. There is no twilight in tropical latitudes and in fifteen minutes the sky had turned from cerulean blue to inky blackness. A large diamond is set in the stupa’s crown, and if you stand in just the right place, the floodlighting makes it twinkle like a star. By small changes of position you can make it sparkle red or green or any other colour of the rainbow.

The light starts to fade

A group of devotees filling one of the assembly halls started chanting. We stayed to listen as others started to drift away. When they had finished, we too went, slowly descending one of the walkways into the embrace of the secular world outside, still a little dazed and awestruck by the whole experience.

And 15 minutes later it is dark, Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

The Shwedagon Pagoda may be the major pilgrimage site in Myanmar but it is not well known in the rest of the world. For me, dusk at the Shwedagon Pagoda must be counted as one of the world’s greatest sights, just ahead of the Grand Canyon and the Great Wall of China and a little behind the Pyramids. I need to slot 'dawn at the Taj Mahal' into that list somewhere. Insha’Allah, as the Moghul Emperor would have said, we will see that in February 2013 [update: We did indeed and it was magnificent. Here is the link.]


Myanmar, Land of Gold

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Arriving in Yangon (or is that Rangoon?), the former capital of Burma (or should that be Myanmar?): Myanmar/Burma Part 1

Burma/Myanmar: Some Choices and Impressions

Burma v Myanmar

If I am going to write about it, I need to decide what to call it.

In 1989 the military government changed the name of the country hitherto known as Burma to Myanmar. The United Nations recognised the change, but ‘Burma’ is still used by the British, American and Canadian governments, among others. When Aung San Suu Kyi (whose name will turn up time and again in these posts) visited England recently she also used ‘Burma’ explaining the name had been changed without consulting the people. There is, then, a strong case for ‘Burma’, but I am going to use ‘Myanmar’. Firstly because the Bamar (hence 'Burma') may be the largest ethnic group, but they make up only 70% of the population so ‘Union of Myanmar’ seems more inclusive, and secondly because everybody we spoke to in the country called it ‘Myanmar’. They spoke freely enough on other issues, so I can only presume it was their preference. I will, however, use 'Burma' when talking about the country in a historical context and similarly ‘Burmese’, which can also refer to people, food etc of specifically Bamar ethnicity.

The new flag of Myanmar, adopted 2010

Rangoon v Yangon

The Rangoon/Yangon decision is easier. The city was founded as ‘Dagon’ in the 11th century. It became ‘Yangon’ in 1755, Dagon remaining the name of a central district. Rangoon was a British mishearing of Yangon, and has about as much validity as ‘Wipers’, as British troops called the Belgian town of Ypres in the First World War. For aesthetic reasons I would love to call it Rangoon - it is a wonderful name and it carries a rich whiff of colonial history – but although the airport code is still RGN, the truth is that ‘Rangoon’ is just plain wrong.

The pre-2010 flag of Myanmar

First Impressions and Driving Style

Our first sight of Yangon, like that of several other cities, was with jet-lagged eyes through the window of a car.

First Impression? Yangon is the least urban of cities, there are few high-rise buildings and parkland, even countryside, seems to break out in the most unlikely places. The driving is calm by East Asian standards. The horn is used sparingly, drivers do not crowd forward into any available space and cars in side roads wait for a gap in the traffic rather than pushing out; indeed drivers on the main road will often leave a space and wave them out. Myanmar changed to driving on the right in 1970 on the advice of an astrologer. Most vehicles, though, are imported second hand from Japan, Thailand or Malaysia, all of which drive on the left so 90% of vehicles are right hand drive. This seems to cause fewer problems than you might imagine.

Aung San Suu Kyi

On the northern edge of central Yangon we passed Inya Lake. Our guide Swe pointed across the water to a red roofed house on the far side. ‘That’s Aung San Suu Kyi’s house,’ he told us. We had been warned not to discuss politics but soon discovered everyone we met whether guides, drivers, trishaw peddlers, horse cart charioteers or waiters all wanted to talk politics, or at least talk about one person. The huge weight of expectation placed on President Obama when he was elected in 2008 inevitably led to some disappointment. It was nothing compared to the expectation that will be heaped on Aung San Suu Kyi should she ever become president of Myanmar. [Update: She became 'State Counsellor', roughly Prime Minister, in 2016. Her handling of the Rohingya problem has been a major disappointment to most foreign observers.]

Aung San Suu Kyi, (Picture borrowed from Wikipedia)

We passed the immense gold bulk of the Shwedagon Pagoda – of which much more later – and drove on to our hotel in the Dagon township area. Here our bleary eyed condition persuaded the receptionist that we should be allowed an early check-in.

Cash Problems

After a quick freshen-up we set off with Swe for the nearby Scott’s market to change some money, but the market was closed, or at least the footbridge over the railway was closed which amounted to the same thing from our point of view. Swe lent us 30,000 Kyats (about £25) and left us alone to deal with our jetlag.

There are a few (very few) ATMs in Myanmar, but they are not linked into the international system and do not recognise Visa or Mastercard. Before leaving home we had guessed how much we would spend and taken what we hoped would be enough cash in US dollars, going to some trouble to acquire new, unmarked bills. In such a poor country people can be surprisingly picky about which dollar bills they choose to accept. There are not many money changers either, so our failure had been half expected. Swe was well used to subbing his clients for their first day or two.

Dragon Fruit

Our recently reset watches told us that lunchtime was approaching and although our bodies remained unconvinced we wanted to show willing, so with our newly acquired wealth we bought a dragon fruit from a street trader.

Dragon Fruit

We have often eaten dragon fruit in the Far East, though it is, I learn, a native of south and central America. Later, driving to Mandalay we saw dragon fruit plantations, the cactus trained on a trellis like a vine. Dragon fruit look exciting, even sitting on our cheap plastic plate, and look even better cut open. The sad truth is the flesh of the dragon fruit is slightly sweet, pleasant enough but really rather dull.[Update:This Dragon fruit looks a little tired. We had the privilege of eating a very fresh dragon fruit in the Mekong delta in 2014 It was a revelation.]

Dragon Fruit cut open and ready to eat

Dull, however, was appropriate to our state and we retired to our air-conditioned room with its view of the Shwedagon Pagoda, ate our dragon fruit and had a much needed nap.

An Expedition up Shwedagon Pagoda Road in Search of Beer.

A couple of hours later we woke up and decided to take a walk. We were soon in Shwedagon Pagoda Road heading directly for the huge golden stupa. The air was hot and damp with a slight smell of decay. Occasionally the breeze would waft the scent of an aromatic shrub over us. Traffic fumes were relatively rare for such a large city.

It was a long, largely straight road, the size of the pagoda had made it look nearer than it was. The road was quiet and the buildings were mainly colonial, some of them somewhat dilapidated. We passed a language school, a church, a Buddhist temple, a monastery and a building flying the national flag with a bored looking armed soldier on guard in the entrance.

Small Temple, Shwedagon Pagoda Road

Around the pagoda the road was busier. There was a small park opposite with a café on the corner of the main road. It was a hot afternoon and we both heard the call of beer.

Myanmar Beer, overwhelmingly the best-selling brand, is bland, fizzy and unlikely to win many prizes, but it was cold and wet which was all we required. At around £2.50 for a 0.75 litre bottle, it was cheap by British standards, but expensive enough to be out of the reach of the average Yangon citizen, though draft beer is much cheaper where it is available. We were drinking beer, we realised, at 9 o’clock in the morning British time, clearly we were becoming attuned to local time.

Responding to the call of the beer, Myanmar Beer opposite the Shwedagon Pagoda

Shan Noodles

The long walk home was followed by another nap. We ate dinner in a Shan noodle shop a 100m from our hotel recommended by Swe, himself a Shan. The Shan homeland is in the mountains of Eastern Myanmar but Shan restaurants are widespread, their noodle dishes being similar to those found over the border in China’s Yunnan province. Shan food is generally eaten with chopsticks, while a spoon and fork are the usual implements for Burmese food.

Despite its size – it has some 4 million inhabitants - Yangon is hardly a centre of metropolitan sophistication and sizzling nightlife. Everything closes up around 9 pm, but by then we were already back in our hotel room, taking one last look at the now floodlit pagoda before turning in for an early night.

The floodlit Shwedagon Pagoda

Friday, 5 October 2012

Commemorating the Dead: Tsunami, Earthquake and War

Local Memorials to Major Tradgedies

Following Favourite Gravestones I am progressing from memorials for one person or family to memorials for a community.

This is not about national memorials - most countries have their cenotaph or eternal flame (flames in MoscowSarajevo and Baku feature in this blog) - but about more localised memorials. The first we have come across by accident, the second we were shown by a local guide, the third we sought out.

Boxing Day Tsunami, Tharamgambadi (formerly Tranquebar) Tamil Nadu, India

On the 20th of February 2009 we drove from Pondicherry, down the coast of Tamil Nadu to Tranquebar.

The Danish Admiral Ove Gjedde had been there before us (in 1620) and he built Fort Dansborg.

Fort Daneborg, Tranquebar, Tamil Nadu

Tranquebar remained in Danish hands until 1845 when it was sold to the British along with all other Danish possessions in India (hands up those who knew there were any).

In the afternoon we strolled through the small town...

Tranquebar, Tamil Nadu

....and came across this obelisk.

Tsunami Memorial, Tranquebar, Tamil Nadu

At first we did not realise what it was. There is much writing around the base, gold against the black stone, but Tamil is one of the many languages we do not speak - and it is written in one of the many alphabets we cannot read. It appeared to be a list of names, some 250 we estimated, such as you might see on a war memorial, but we could think of no war that could have wreaked such devastation on this small town. Then we noticed the one thing we could read. It was a date, 26/12/2004, the date of the Boxing Day Tsunami. We should have realised straight away, but somehow it had not entered our heads.

Our hotel, The Bungalow on the Beach, had once been the residence of the Governor of Danish India. Many years later, and after two years of extensive restoration it opened as a hotel on Christmas Day 2004 - not an auspicious day to open a hotel on that particular beach.

The Bugalow on the Beach, Tranquebar, Tamil Nadu

Hotels can be repaired, and it opened again three months later. It is important to remember those whose lives could not be so easily repaired after the events of Sunday the 26th of December 2004.

The Spitak Earthquake Khachkar, Vanadzor, Armenia

On December the 7th 1988 a major earthquake struck northern Armenia, then part of the Soviet Union. Its epicentre was near the small town of Spitak. Between 25 and 50,000 people died in Spitak and the larger cities on either side, Leninakan (now called Gyumri) and Kirovakan (now Vanadzor).

The break up of the Soviet Union had a dire effect on both the Armenian economy and the earthquake rebuilding programme. When we visited in 2003 it was still easy to find earthquake damage in Gyumri.

Earthquake damage, Gyumri

Khachkars (literally 'Cross Stones') are rectangular stones carved with crosses and other floral and decorative motifs. Carving khachkars is a peculiarly Armenian craft and they have been doing it since the 9th century, at least. Every church and monastery has its collection of medieval khachkars and Armenian independence has brought about a resurgence in the craft.

It was appropriate to commemorate the victims of the earthquake with a khachkar. This simple, understated but very effective memorial sits in the churchyard in Vanadzor where many of the victims are buried.

Earthquake Memorial Khachkar, Vanadzor Church

38th (Welsh Division) Memorial, Mametz Wood, France

Tsunamis and earthquakes are beyond human control; wars are not. We should be able to avoid them, but apparently that is beyond the wit of humankind. Perhaps one disincentive to starting new wars is to remember the horror of those that have gone before.

No war killed and wounded more British and Commonwealth servicemen than the First World War. It is hardly surprising that there are memorials the whole length of the Western front. The major memorials on the British sector, The Menin Gate in Ypres, the soaring Canadian Memorial on Vimy Ridge and the huge Anglo-French Memorial on the Somme at Thiepval are well known (and now feature elsewhere in this blog). Less well known, and a little harder to find, is the memorial to the Welsh Division at Mametz Wood.

The Memorial can be reached by driving a couple of kilometres down a single track road off the Mametz-Contalmaison road, hardly a major highway itself. It stands beside a small quarry where the metalled road gives out.

38th (Welsh Division) Memorial, Mametz Wood

Between in the 7th and 12th of July 1916, as a part of the Battle of the Somme, the Welsh Division attacked across the open ground in front of the dragon and took the wood beyond against fierce opposition. The division lost 5,000 men killed or wounded. The 14th Battalion started with almost 700 men and finished with 276, others fared little better.

38th (Welsh Division) Memorial, Mametz Wood

There has been a memorial in Mametz church since the 1920s, but this memorial, the work of Welsh sculptor David Petersen, was erected only in the late 1980s at the request of the last surviving veterans.

Beside the narrow road poppies grow among the brassicas.

Poppies, Mametz Wood

For more about the destruction of the Welsh Division at Mamtez Wood see The Somme: One Hundred Years Ago Today

See also Three Favourite Gravestones