Travel tip #1: if at all possible have your period while on an overnight bus in a third world country. If you can manage to make a middle of the night stop to take a piss over a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere for 100 kyat, you know you're on the right track.
After spending many hours trolling the hallways of DMK airport on Bangkok I finally made it to Burma, a country I've been anxious to visit for a while now, largely due to its recent introduction to tourism and, therefore, a less tainted if less convenient culture.
After having my very first Dairy Queen experience with a very excited Laura I figured I'd reached the pinnacle of international exploration yet the airport in Yangon is flanked with man in long cotton skirts and, once appreciated, I realized perhaps there was one or two more things to do on this journey.
Taking out a seemingly arbitrary amount of money, as we were unfamiliar with the exchange rate as well as the value of kyat we blindly extracted funds and secured an 8,000 kyat taxi ride to Agga Youth Hostel, discovered on my trusty hostels.com and located in the Burmese hood if I've ever seen one. This particular hood seemed to be called Chinatown and after depositing our bags in a more than sufficient room for the evening we decided to hit the rubble and rubbish lines streets well after dark looking for some action.
Feeling adventurous, and hungry we pulled up to a street vendor under a pop up tent and single florescent bulb and ordered 'one' as we didn't really know what she provided. A small bowl of mystery noodles was served moments later and devoured by two hungry American girls who had no clue what they were eating.
A stroll down the street revealed lots of outdoor napping for Burmese men and very few women. We managed to locate a bodega to pick up some water and snacks before heading back to our very chilly room on the third floor. We were heading to the big pagoda in town for sunrise and we couldn't be late!
The alarm sounded at 5.15 am and Laura and I were both up and at 'em, ready to make the 45 minute walk to Shwedagon Pagoda, a mammoth gold orb in the sky we quickly spotted from our cab, illuminated in the night sky when we came into town.
When we exited the hostel and immediately found a cab I can say at least I was relieved because navigating streets and racing the sun can be a tricky business in a foreign land.
Dropped at the front gate, te sky just turning to dawn we were able to ride the elevator into the atmosphere an arrive on the cool white marble floor of the pagoda just in time.
The birds were shipping, the sky was turning a hundred colors of love and an old British bitch behind me was sodomizing me with her Nikon trying to get in just the right position despite te fact that VERY few people were at the pagoda at that hour of the morning.
The expansive temple provided plenty of people watching - I found a hot monk that most definitely reconsidered his spiritual journey when he spotted me in mg sister wife ensemble) and picture taking. When we were the ones asked to take photos with a group of young gregarious monks we were just getting a taste of what it is to be white and in Myanmar. I'd say we are essentially the equivalent of the Angelina Jolie and Julia Roberts of the country at this point simply because we are so foreign. If only I thought J-LO had a stronger hold in the Asian market...
After a several hours marveling at the temple and all of its inhabitants we made our way back to Agga with nothing but my sense of direction and a shoddy map to guide the way. The almost hour long walk was easy breezy , for the most part.
It was time for Laura's favorite part of the day - siesta- and we rested while we plotted out the next couple of days' travel. Having to check out before noon, we schlepped our bags downstairs and went in search of the mythical railway station we never were quite able to find. A straight shot down the street and through the lives of the Burmese people, we saw sandalwood colored faces, colorful adornments and huge smiles from the majority of the passerbys when a) spotting a western and b) being greeted with a smile and hello from us. Laura felt like the rock star we all secretly know she is inside and I felt glad to be in a place where affection between heterosexual men an genuine friendliness is out in the open, expected, and encouraged.
Never having located the station, with the help of a very emphatic man we did locate Pagoda Sule and, in turn a local travel agency that was able to get is on the Elite night bus to Bagan at 9.
With plans set we had the rest if the day we had time to rest, and after locating a Washington Monument knock off in a park across the way we copped a squat with sugary beverages and rice cake surprise to sit, and chat and sweat.
The park's pedestrian fascination with the whities was momentarily thwarted when as Asian commercial, featuring lots if Asian acting began shooting, featuring a coquettish couple and an unidentified product.
With the walk back to the hostel along what is supposed to he a riverfront but its mostly construction and exhaust we felt it necessary to stop into the Strand Hotel mid-journey to take refuge in the air con and, with provided wash rags, clean up like we are homeless and this is the local McCy D's.
Back to the hostel to grab my now overflowing bag and in a cab who tried to hustle us - fool, don't you can't hustle a hustler. A deal was reached and a nice young man with a very strong jaw line drove us through the never ending rush hour of developing countries for well over an hour to get to the 'bus station.' I use quotes because buses were a plenty but a station, not so much.
Hopping on the night Elite, or E-Light as it is called here, bus was a luxurious experience. Laura and I had been assigned the back two seats and when the other row was not occupied we were able to stretch out across two seats each that reclined. All this while staying cozy under their plush and seemingly insect free blankets and noshing on their complimentary layer cake from a local bakery. It was basically like I was on my own personal Air Force One that stopped every two hours to shake you awake and make you pay to piss over a hole in the middle of no where. Basically, I am Obama.
The ride came to an end at our next destination: Bagan, the city of 4,000 temples and one main road. We chose to Nyaung-U, the area located north of Old Bagan that shits a mile or so above New Bagan. At 5:30 am when deboarding a lengthy bus ride, I don't know about you, but there is little I want more than a half dozen Burmese men invading your personal space and shouting exorbitant cab fares in your face. After a long and sleep deprived, New York infused conversation with these fine gentlemen, we did secure a ride along with a fellow Malaysian traveler and 20 minutes later were dropped at the front door of Golden Myanmar Guest House, a bike shop from the outside, a log cabin on the inside, and a family run business through and through.
The front desk clerk spoke very good English and allowed us to eat breakfast on the roof terrace with the guests prior to check in, so we were happy. After yet another pancake with banana and honey - perhaps my most favorite meal these days- we gained access to room 203, a room with the feel of a Lake Tahoe lodge and the noise level of a Vegas casino. Luckily we were not spending much time here. I dropped my bags and made transition from Sister Wife, as I had resembled in Yangon, to housewife, with a complete gym ensemble to climb the many pagodas of Bagan.
Renting a red and purple bike respectively Laura and I took a left outside of the driveway to our place and began to explore. With a purchased map in hand we were out to find a specific set of temples, none of which were found. When there are 4,000 temples, of which all were built before the term city planner came into existence, it is awfully hard to locate a specific location. Stopping in at a random spot about 3 miles down the road we were met with adorable puppies and friendly monks who asked to take their photos with us - not the first and not the last time we would experience such adoration on this voyage.
The souvenir chicks here are hustlers with a capital H and if they want you to buy their elephant pants, or longies, as are popular in this country, you might just have to. The woman selling shirts that interestingly proclaimed 'Remember to - I heart Bagan' didn't have to even catch our eye. A bright yellow shirt with poor grammar from a far off land - we bought twinsies t's immediately!
Eventually we made our way to Mingala-Zedi, a medium sized red brick pyramid with very few tourists, allowing is for some time to sit atop an ancient construction and chat about work, life, and demography - Laura's chosen field of post graduate study that she has dedicated her life to and that I find to be rather fascinating.
Shortly thereafter a greasy lunch of noodles and Myanmar buffet was had for us, and a lunch of white girl legs and asses was had for the local bugs and we quickly hopped back on our padded seats and set off back toward 'home' for the midday siesta all of the guidebooks seem to recommend.
We took full advantage of a roof top terrace on which breakfast is served and after showering and beginning to feel like real people again, we did what the MAIN event in Bagan is. We made our way out to one of the various high rise temples to watch the sunset behind the river.
I am quite confident that I do what I do well. I am a good photographer, and I know when I am traveling and see something that maybe only I can see, I can put it on film and make it speak. That being said, a sunset in Bagan cannot be put on film - at least not by me. Despite the tourist congestion, which I am certain will only get worse as it becomes more and more common in Myanmar, there is a power to the colors of the sun and a serenity to the surrounding green fields that makes this experience unparallelled. If only I did drugs I could write some epic poem or stream of consciousness prose about such an experience properly.
The kind taxi driver who had brought us to Pyra-tha-da Pagoda waited till the sun had gone down and the bumpy dirt roads had grown dark and, per our request, brought us to a local restaurant, but not before introducing us to my new favorite band, the Bon Jovi of Mynamar - Bayview (or so it sounded with his accent). The 'More Than Words' induced jam he played on repeat for us allowed us time to bond without the restrictions of language as we Wilson Phillip'ed the whole experience, harmonizing on this power ballad that, according to him, is about a cyclone. Needless to say, it was epic.
The meal was not. I seem to have started my period, gottan a UTI and gotten the flu simultaneously so strange tasting food was not my bag and with a nosy neighbor in the form of a pushing POrtugeuese woman we left the restaurant not a moment too soon.
Ice cream on the way home helped.
And a good half an hour watching a Korean soap opera with subtitles in Burmese and the sound turned all the way down with the old man who runs the joint put a perfect ending on the perfect day. Liking Bagan's uncomplicated charm and small town feel, we have decided to stay for 2 days and with a sunrise on the horizon (get it?) we were off to sleep in a Nyquil induced stooper.
When the alarm went off at 5 am getting up and rushing to the great outdoors to have special moments sounded a lot less appealing than saving the energy I have been using to simply breath out of my facial orifices. Energy was saved and, at least a little, more sleep was had.
I love the Guest House at which we are staying, but I loathe the noise factory that seems to play Korean Nickelodian on repeat and on FULL volume at all hours of the day. Honestly, I cannot figure it out. It is concert acoustics with unidentifiable instruments and incoherent babbling all the time. No one seems to mind - except the girls in room 203.
Not sleeping in all that much, we were up and fed by 8am and in slightly less douwdy clothing were ready for an E-bike kind of day. They don't seem to have motorbikes here, perhaps they are a green country, and with Laura never having ridden a motorized bike of any sort before, it seemed like a smart move to scoot around all day on the electronic bikes rented at our abode for 6,000 kyat a day (approx 6 US Dollars).
After a few trial runs, Laura's training wheels were off and so were we, at the break neck speed of 2 miles per hour. Never quite gaining her biker confidence, it was a little more of a Jessica Tandy vibe, but I can dig it - not everyone is born for the open road such as I!
Finding a bumpy sand path that led to a handful of small pagodas we were escorted by a man who wanted to show us his hand made, paint by number paintings and made Laura nervous for our safety - I tend to be too confident in situations such as those. He was not too hard to shake, nor was the dog guarding the door at the front of the pagoda in front of her own pound of puppies. Finding herself on the wrong side of the law, or the puppies as the case may be, Laura carefully made her exit and we were careful not to mess with a bad bitch and her babies again.
A treasure was found in Treasure, a clear tourist draw with it's abundant menu and cool shady atmosphere. So popular was Treasure that we both ran into Laura's boy toys from the flight into Yangon and the old German lady who tried to hit it from the back at the Temple in the city of the same name. It is always strange how small the world really is - especially when you're all falling pretty to the same attractions through travel.
This time our siesta lacked some siesta as I dealt with flights back to the US and Laura managed the cleaning and re-installation of the air conditioning unit that had fallen off the wall and onto her the night before.
