An Introduction to Myanmar

This blog is a lot of things: a travel journal, a backpacker resource, a food diary. An outlet for self-indulgent narcissism and questionable grammar. 

But there is one thing this blog is not. 

This blog is not Wikipedia.

As much as I would love to inform you all about Myanmar’s history, political situation and human rights controversies, I have neither the time, nor the energy, nor the knowledge to do it justice. If you know as much as I knew about Myanmar before going there- that is to say, nothing- I urge you to Google it to get a basic background.

That said, I wouldn't be much of a travel blogger if I didn't give you at least some of the essentials on the country before diving into my personal observations. 

Myanmar, formerly the British colony of Burma, is still under the political control of a military dictatorship. While the country seems to be slowly moving towards a more open, global, democratic political model, there remains serious oppression of its people by the government, which inhibits free speech and dissident ideas, spies on its citizens and does little to ameliorate the severe economic disparity that is rampant throughout Myanmar. Some people even question whether it is ethical to travel to the country, fearing that tourist dollars only support the corrupt government. While I'm not an expert on the debate, I will say that in our experience, a conscientious tourist armed with a little knowledge and awareness on the issue can ensure that the vast majority of the money they spend in the country goes straight to the local population, rather than to the junta.

It may be due to increased tourism or the small political advancements of the past few years, but after only three weeks in the country, one can plainly see that Myanmar is on the brink of massive change. You can feel it everywhere. Although the country has only been open to general tourism since the nineties, there are more and more tourists every year. Current economic sanctions and foreign investment restrictions have kept the country largely unspoiled by globalization, but that too is changing. There are not yet the 7-Elevens and McDonalds found in other Asian countries, however there are brand new hotels, shopping malls and cell phone stores sprouting up in the big cities.

Despite recent development, tourism is still very limited in Myanmar, with certain areas completely closed off to foreigners unless they have a special permit and are traveling with an approved tour group. Members of foreign media are not given visas, and foreign bank cards and credit cards are not accepted anywherein the country. There are no ATMs for visitors: if you want to come to Myanmar, you must enter with all of the cash- in new, perfect condition US Dollars- that you will need for your entire stay. You cannot call into Myanmar from abroad, and international SIM cards are blocked while in the country. Power outages are extremely common, even in cities, and a decent internet connection is a rare luxury. This isn’t Thailand, with its beach resorts, pancake stands andcocktail bars.

This is Myanmar. And it is fascinating.

When we travel, the first thing we notice about a new culture is how it is different from our own: how people look or dress, the different forms of transportation, the different habits. In terms of  “differences,” Myanmar is in a category of its own; it’s by far the most “foreign” of the countries we have visited during this trip.

To take a superficial example, very few people outside of cities wear Western style clothing: here, men and women alike wear longyis, or long skirts of colorful fabric, instead of pants.

Instead of make-up, women paint their faces with a pale yellow paste called tanaka, which is not only decorative, but also protects from the sun and nourishes the skin. Children also wear tanaka, however most boys abandon the practice when they become adults.

Getting my tanaka done by a woman we met in Bagan

The finished product

Even though men generally don't wear tanaka, Vincent couldn't get out of trying it

The population is devoutly Buddhist and we saw red-robed monks, as well as nuns cloaked in pink and orange, walking the streets and riding on the back of motorbikes everywhere we went.  

In the countryside, all agricultural work is done by livestock rather than farm equipment. Men carry heavy loads across their shoulders on bamboo sticks, while women balance their loads on their heads.

The transportation, too, is unique. During the British colonial period, traffic drove on the left side of the road in British-style cars, with the driver on the right side of the car. Then, in an effort to distance the country from British rule, the military junta decided that all cars would drive on the right side of the road. This change happened in the span of one day: at exactly midnight, all of the traffic changed to the other side of the road. The cars remained the same, the crazy driving style too, only now those cars weren’t adapted to the flow of traffic. They still aren’t. Since most of the cars are from the seventies and newer models are from Japan, the driver still sits on the right side of the car. It’s insane, especially when you see the drivers trying to pass on the highway, with no idea if there is oncoming traffic before pulling into the other lane. We even witnessed a car driving down the wrongside of the road as if it was completely normal- on the highway.

To make the road even more hectic, the lanes are clogged with a hodge podge of other, even less traffic-friendly vehicles: ancient trucks and buses; scooters, usually carrying entire families; bicycles and trishaws (a kind of rickshaw/ sidecar hybrid); carts pulled by oxen; even a sort of tractor with the engine on the outside.

It’s chaos.

There are other distinct cultural particularities that we noticed immediately. In no particular order of importance, the following are random things we learned about Myanmar over the three weeks we spent there.

• Most men and some women chew betel nut, which has a slight narcotic effect and produces a bright red juice which is then spit indiscriminately onto the ground. The telltale red stains of betel juice are splashed all over the streets, as well as on the population’s red mouths and rotten teeth.  In restaurants and tea houses, each table has a little metal pail on the ground next to it for the patrons to spit into.

• There is a bizarre (to me anyway) prevalence of throwing up in public. People, it seemed, were always puking. I just can’t get over it. We were taken aback in other Asian countries by the amount of loogie-hawking we hear- seriously, SE Asians are always loudly clearing their nasal passages in public by hawking loogies- but it seems the Burmese take it a step further and are prone to throwing up in public in a way that I have never seen before (and hope to never see again).

• Myanmar is LOUD. Between the constant honking of traffic, the pollution spewing diesel trucks from the 70’s, the Buddhist prayer recited for hours over loudspeakers, the recorded chiming of bells that is played every hour, the packs of homeless dogs barking, and the Burmese music videos, soap operas and variety shows that are turned up to maximum volume on every TV, life in Myanmar is an assault on the ears, no matter what the hour.

• While men and women are relatively equal in Myanmar, there is still a strong men-only culture in tea houses and bars.There were times when we would step into a smoky, dimly lit bar to find a table of shirtless men in nothing but their longyis drinking whiskey and water at 4:00pm. As soon as I was spotted, everyone in the bar would go quiet and stare at me before sullenly putting their shirts back on. Although children seem to be a regular fixture at Burmese drinking establishments- we were often served beers by twelve-year-olds- I never saw another young woman in a bar.

The last, most powerful impression we had about Myanmar was the people. 

In over seven months of traveling in more than ten countries, we have never met a population as kind and welcoming as that of Myanmar. The people there are incredible. Everyone we met, or even saw on the streets, was smiling and curious and happy to see us. We had several people thank us just for being there. When we would walk on the street, random people would wave to us, smiling shyly; children would yell “Hallo!” from windows, hoping to catch our attention; street vendors would nod their heads to us as we walked by; the younger generation would approach us to practice the few words of English they knew. 

True, in the more touristic areas of the country we were seen as tourists and treated accordingly, but mostly we felt like we were guests and the entire population were our gracious hosts. For the first time in our trip, we felt like we were in a place so isolated and unfrequented by tourism that the locals were more curious than jaded, more happy to have us than resentful. People often stared at us as we walked by, but it was obvious that they are doing it out of curiosity rather than malice. We had a truly memorable experience getting to know the wonderful people of Myanmar and our interactions with them will remain one of the highlights of our trip.

A random family that asked to take a picture with me

A random woman who didn't speak a word of English, but who wanted me to take a picture with her

Checking out the pictures we took together. I also showed her pictures of other places I had been.

The little kids we met loved seeing themselves on camera

And with that belated Wiki-esque introduction, I will leave you, but rest assured that this isn’t my only Myanmar post. Three weeks in such a beguiling country can’t possibly be satisfactorily explained in just one blog post.

Or two posts, for that matter, but I’m not promising anything…

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Bugs, Boxing and a Bikini Wax in Bangkok

Oh yeah, I’m going there.

While I am usually shameless when it comes to over-sharing, I do realize that coming back after a three week hiatus to tell you about a bikini wax is not the most subtle of moves. But trust me on this one, it's hilarious. And yes, I’m trying to convince myself of it every bit as much as I’m trying to convince you.

But before we get to the awkward TMI section of the blog, let’s first cover the more appetizing stuff, like how we ate bugs.

I could fill an entire post about all of the delicious things we ate while in Bangkok, but I pretty well beat that dead horse in my last post about Singapore and Malaysia. Yes, we ate well, but I’m sure you are far more interested about the one time we didn’t.

But first, let me be honest: the average Thai does not eat bugs. We didn’t see them on any restaurant menus and have witnessed the act of eating bugs far more in travel shows than we did on the streets of Bangkok. However, at one of the markets we visited, there was a lady who sold all sorts of deep-fried nasties from her cart on the side walk. Grasshoppers, cockroaches, crickets, grubs, tree frogs and whole baby birds. Now, I will eat a lot of things, but I will not eat a whole baby bird: eyes, bones, beak and all. Ew.

 

Instead, we opted for the grubs and the manageably-sized crickets (the grasshoppers had a lot of stringy leg that I wasn’t keen on having stuck in my teeth). First up, the grubs. Since Vincent’s gastronomic limits are essentially nonexistent- one time he made a stir-fry with fishing bait, realized his mistake and ate it anyway- he was the grub guinea pig.

“Hmm, they are actually really good! Try one, it tastes like shrimp.”

That, dear readers, was a lie. It most pointedly did not taste like shrimp. It tasted like bug, complete with gooey interior. I gagged and almost lost the contents of my stomach right there on the sidewalk. Meanwhile, Vincent was throwing back his bag of grubs like popcorn, oblivious to the crowd of people who had gathered to watch him in a sort of fascinated disgust. Some of the locals even took pictures of the big white guy happily eating a bag of grubs.

Next, the crickets. Despite his affinity for grubs, Vincent was a little more skeptical about the bigger bugs and was uncertain if he wanted to commit to a whole bag. As we contemplated what to do, a Thai lady bought a bag of crickets that the vendor sprayed with chili oil. Obviously sensing that we were staring at her, waiting for her to eat one of them, the woman offered to let us try some of her crickets to see if we liked them. And, surprisingly, we did!

Unlike the gooey grubs, the crickets were all grease and crunch and tasted more like pork cracklins than bugs. I was happy to have tried one but wasn’t about to make a meal out of it, but Vincent immediately bought a bag.

Of course he did.

Eating bugs wasn’t the only adventure we had in Bangkok, we also attended a Thai Boxing, or Muay Thai, match at a local arena. In Bangkok, there are several boxing arenas that gear more towards tourists, but the guy who ran our hostel (who happened to have a mystifying, yet hilariously over-the-top man crush on Vincent) told us to go to a local arena out of town, where entry was free and we’d likely be the only tourists there.

We arrived around an hour before the matches began to an already-full arena. I guess arena is a big word, this was more like an over-sized garage with an elevated ring in the middle and a few wooden risers lining the walls. Between those two structures, there was an area to sit on the concrete floor that was packed with Thais. We squeezed in, knee-to-knee with a mass of strangers who were just thrilled to count us among them. I’m not being sarcastic, they seriously were so excited. Three people even asked to take a picture with me. I guess a white girl at a Muay Thai match is somewhat of a commodity.

Now, I’m not at all one for violence: boxing, wrestling, even hockey games put me off. So before the match, I was a little concerned that I wouldn’t like the hyped-up machismo and testosterone-fueled frenzy that comes with a fighting match. But, as usual, my anxieties were for nothing.

I loved it.

The fight itself was only one part of the match. First, there was the ceremony before each fight where the boxers walked around the ring, praying to each corner post before doing this little dance in the middle. I can’t do it justice with words, so here’s a video. 

Then, during the fight itself, while the two opponents are pummeling each other with fists, elbows, knees and feet, a trio of musicians plays a rhythmic, hypnotic melody on their instruments, turning the match into a kind of highly physical ballroom dance. The fighters sway side to side with the music as they plan their attacks and the whole thing is actually very beautiful to watch. We did witness a KO, which terrified me because the victim didn’t move for a good twenty seconds and I was convinced I had just witnessed someone’s death, but other than that, there wasn’t too much excessive violence and only minimal amounts of blood.

Taking the match from sporting event to cultural spectacle was the crowd, who yelled and groaned and clapped and screamed throughout each fight. Even more interesting though was the betting. Everyone- man, woman, child- was betting with an intensity that rivaled that of the boxers in the ring. At first, we didn’t understand at all what they were doing: people yelling abstractly to the rest of the crowd, making rapid-fire hand gestures, talking into head pieces with their mouths covered by sheets of paper. Then we realized that each person was betting against other people in the crowd, not against a bookie. They would yell their bet while motioning with their hand the amount and then wait to make eye contact with someone who wanted to bet against them. It was complete chaos, with money being passed through the crowd after each match, but it was fascinating to watch. We were so enthralled with the antics of the gambling crowd that we almost forgot about the two guys in the ring beating the hell out of each other.

Speaking of beating the hell out of someone, I got a Thai massage. And not a “massage,” I got an actual, traditional Thai massage. And it hurt.

You see, unlike most Western massages that are meant to relax you, the Thai massage is intensely physical. You lay down in your silk pajamas expecting to be gently kneaded into a drooling, blissed out stupor only to be pummeled ruthlessly for nearly an hour. It’s a lot like Muay Thai, actually, where your assailant can use her fists, elbows, knees and feet, but instead of having your ass kicked by a fit, hard-faced boxer, you are pleading for mercy from an unassuming little old lady who only a few minutes ago was washing your feet and offering you tea. It is intense. After my massage, it was all I could do to stagger back to our hostel and collapse face-down on the bed, completely exhausted by someone else’s physical effort.

The next day I was a human again and was able to see a few of the many tourist sites that Bangkok has to offer. The city gets a bad rap, not undeservedly, for the whole sex tourism thing, but it also has a surprising amount of attractions of a less hedonistic nature. It really is a lovely city, with long boats floating down picturesque canals and numerous temples, palaces and pagodas.

Come on, one picture of street food...

I can’t think of an appropriate segue from Buddhist temples to a bikini wax, so I’m just going to jump into it. If this is way too much information for your delicate sensibilities (and really, who could blame you?), stop reading now. You have been warned (but don't worry, there are no pictures.)

For my appointment at a tiny local beauty salon, I was led to the back of the actual salon, up a dark, creaky wooden staircase, through someone’s kitchen and into what looked like a bedroom without any furniture except a bare mattress on the wooden floor. At the foot of the mattress, also on the floor, was a thin blanket: my waxing table. The idea was to lay on the blanket leaning against the mattress in my underwear in a position that can only be described as “the Frog,” while a tiny Thai woman sat cross-legged on the floor between my legs and ripped out any unwanted hair.

And I was paying for this.

In the beautician’s defense, she at least talked to me during this torture, trying to take my mind off the fact that this was probably the most uncomfortable- physically and emotionally- I had ever been. During the course of our conversation, I absentmindedly asked her if Western women were hairier than Thai women. To answer my question, she told me that when she first started working, she only waxed local women, but then when she moved to this salon, she started working on Westerners as well. One of her first Western bikini wax clients was a tourist who apparently had been traveling for a while and had neglected that particular grooming habit.

At this point in the story, the little Thai lady between my knees stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, her eyes wide with awe-struck earnestness. 

Then she whispered, “I had never seen so much hair in my life.”

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