“It is still the Irrawaddy.”
Then I spent an hour listening to the low steady hum of the small diesel engine carrying my flatboat upstream and dozing and daydreaming about this and that and watching the water flow by. I saw some red-robed Buddhist novices swimming near the shore, heard children’s voices getting ready to shout, “Buy this necklace,” and swam up from my reverie and woke up.
I was at the next village, Mingun.
This one had some truly spectacular attractions and was well worth an hour’s boat ride. Scenic attraction number one: An artificial square mountain made of bricks. Scenic attraction number two: Shrine to a local monk with a photographic memory who had memorized the entire Pali Canon – all 17 books – and was mentioned in the Guinness Book of World Records. Scenic attraction number three was a complex and gigantic representation of the Buddhist mythological Mount Mehru and its four continents. It was almost as large as a mountain itself and was all intricately carved and all white.
December 15, 2008: By the time I went to bed last night, my knees hurt so much that I was all ready to chuck it all in, go back home and be back in Berkeley in time to watch baby Mena take her first steps. But this morning I felt better and went outside my hotel to wait for the van in the fresh air – just in time to watch some boy monks making their alms rounds with their begging bowls. I gave each of them a dollar.
“Every morning,” said my guide later, “all the monks go out from the monasteries and ask for alms to buy food with and to ask for food as well. They go out every morning from 6:00 am to 9:00 am, and then at noon they all eat their communal one meal a day.” One meal a day! How do they DO that? I get to starving after only a few hours without food.
As I drove off to the Mandalay airport to fly back to Rangoon, I saw monks with begging bowls walking everywhere and monks – young and old – hanging off the backs of Mandalay’s truck-buses, pickup trucks with seats and a roof installed in the back.
All the planes at the airport were delayed by bad weather in Rangoon. Another typhoon? Hey, this delay is gonna cut into my shopping time in Rangoon. I still need some “Myanmar” T-shirts, that ruby ring that I saw back at the Scott Market and a soccer jersey for Ashley.
After I arrived in Rangoon, I asked my guide how the small teakwood cabins that we saw along the roadside on the way into town had survived the big typhoon. “Because Rangoon is further up the delta,” he replied, “this area didn’t receive the full force of the storm. But down in the lower part of the delta, whole villages were flattened within minutes, as if they had never existed.”
Ten minutes away from the Rangoon airport, I stopped to visit Burma’s three sacred white elephants. What a rip-off! They weren’t even white!
“The seven identifying marks of a white elephant are pink eyes, white tonsils, white nails, fur and skin, and white or clay-pot colored skin and sex organs, and a white tails.” None of these looked white to me.
“These elephants are the pride of Burma and vehicles for our kings.” Sort of a cross between our American eagle symbol and a Rolls-Royce. But there are no more kings left in Burma. I wonder if they are now being used as transportation for the generals? I can’t see that happening.
Further along the road in from the airport, we passed a large new housing development that can only be described as a bunch of McMansions. “How would the monks get through all that security with their begging bowls?” I asked. One of Burma’s unanswered mysteries I suppose.
Then our van drove through the area where Aung San Su Chi’s house was located but we couldn’t get close to it. If the generals were smart, they would make it into a tourist attraction and charge big bucks. She could give out autographs -- $100 a head. Would I pay $100 for her autograph? I’d have to think about that. Would having her autograph help me get a new set of knees? All I think about these days is how much my knees hurt and will they be this bad for the next 20-odd years and if I have knee-replacement surgery, will it work? And what will it feel like to have a bionic knee? Slimy.
“Here’s where they sell soccer jerseys,” said my guide and we piled out of the van to check them out, but the place only sold T-shirts. Sigh.
Then the van stopped again, my guide and I dashed across traffic into a sports equipment shop, snagged two “Myanmar” soccer jerseys and dashed back to the van. Whew! Those jerseys are awesome. Ashley will be so impressed. One is red with white lettering and the other is white with red lettering.
Then I spent an hour listening to the low steady hum of the small diesel engine carrying my flatboat upstream and dozing and daydreaming about this and that and watching the water flow by. I saw some red-robed Buddhist novices swimming near the shore, heard children’s voices getting ready to shout, “Buy this necklace,” and swam up from my reverie and woke up.
I was at the next village, Mingun.
This one had some truly spectacular attractions and was well worth an hour’s boat ride. Scenic attraction number one: An artificial square mountain made of bricks. Scenic attraction number two: Shrine to a local monk with a photographic memory who had memorized the entire Pali Canon – all 17 books – and was mentioned in the Guinness Book of World Records. Scenic attraction number three was a complex and gigantic representation of the Buddhist mythological Mount Mehru and its four continents. It was almost as large as a mountain itself and was all intricately carved and all white.
“Every morning,” said my guide later, “all the monks go out from the monasteries and ask for alms to buy food with and to ask for food as well. They go out every morning from 6:00 am to 9:00 am, and then at noon they all eat their communal one meal a day.” One meal a day! How do they DO that? I get to starving after only a few hours without food.
As I drove off to the Mandalay airport to fly back to Rangoon, I saw monks with begging bowls walking everywhere and monks – young and old – hanging off the backs of Mandalay’s truck-buses, pickup trucks with seats and a roof installed in the back.
All the planes at the airport were delayed by bad weather in Rangoon. Another typhoon? Hey, this delay is gonna cut into my shopping time in Rangoon. I still need some “Myanmar” T-shirts, that ruby ring that I saw back at the Scott Market and a soccer jersey for Ashley.
After I arrived in Rangoon, I asked my guide how the small teakwood cabins that we saw along the roadside on the way into town had survived the big typhoon. “Because Rangoon is further up the delta,” he replied, “this area didn’t receive the full force of the storm. But down in the lower part of the delta, whole villages were flattened within minutes, as if they had never existed.”
Ten minutes away from the Rangoon airport, I stopped to visit Burma’s three sacred white elephants. What a rip-off! They weren’t even white!
“The seven identifying marks of a white elephant are pink eyes, white tonsils, white nails, fur and skin, and white or clay-pot colored skin and sex organs, and a white tails.” None of these looked white to me.
“These elephants are the pride of Burma and vehicles for our kings.” Sort of a cross between our American eagle symbol and a Rolls-Royce. But there are no more kings left in Burma. I wonder if they are now being used as transportation for the generals? I can’t see that happening.
Further along the road in from the airport, we passed a large new housing development that can only be described as a bunch of McMansions. “How would the monks get through all that security with their begging bowls?” I asked. One of Burma’s unanswered mysteries I suppose.
Then our van drove through the area where Aung San Su Chi’s house was located but we couldn’t get close to it. If the generals were smart, they would make it into a tourist attraction and charge big bucks. She could give out autographs -- $100 a head. Would I pay $100 for her autograph? I’d have to think about that. Would having her autograph help me get a new set of knees? All I think about these days is how much my knees hurt and will they be this bad for the next 20-odd years and if I have knee-replacement surgery, will it work? And what will it feel like to have a bionic knee? Slimy.
“Here’s where they sell soccer jerseys,” said my guide and we piled out of the van to check them out, but the place only sold T-shirts. Sigh.
Then the van stopped again, my guide and I dashed across traffic into a sports equipment shop, snagged two “Myanmar” soccer jerseys and dashed back to the van. Whew! Those jerseys are awesome. Ashley will be so impressed. One is red with white lettering and the other is white with red lettering.
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