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Four Thousand Buddhas and One Golden Triangle
Guilt weighed down on me as my husband and I boarded the Kuwait Airlines flight at NAIA a few minutes before midnight on Dec 14, on our way to Myanmar, Laos and Thailand, and the "Golden Triangle", a few square meters of land where these three countries come together. We had decided to spend our Christmas holidays visiting these three countries even before we arrived in Manila on May 2000, where my husband would teach as a Fulbright fellow at a local university. I did get some flak from friends when they learned that we were not spending Christmas with family in the Philippines, saying that Christmas in the Philippines is too special to miss. There was no other time, though, as my husband's academic schedule would allow a three-week span only during the Christmas break. So, shame-faced but determined, and amid the raised eyebrows of friends and family, my husband and I left for our two-week adventure. When we travel, I usually make my own arrangements, booking our own flights and accommodations. I thought I would do the same this time, so in October, I began calling several travel agencies in Manila. I also began reviewing the Myanmar tourist magazine "Today", given to me by Myanmar friends in Manila. I sent emails to the tour agencies and hotels that I found advertised in its pages, and also ordered the Myanmar and Laos editions of "The Lonely Planet". I tapped into the Internet to find out what travel/tour agencies serviced the countries that we wanted to visit. One of them, Diethelm Travel (www.Diethelm.com), caught my attention because it offered a 12-day tour of Myanmar, Laos and Thailand. I gave up on this self-help strategy, however, when I began getting "Undeliverable" responses to my email inquiries, and when some Manila-based travel agents gave me the impression that they were not sure where "Yangon" or "Bagan" were.  It later dawned on me that I should not rely totally on a telecommunications industry which is still in its infancy, and where email messages and cell phone conversations are rumored to be monitored by some headquarters. In the meantime, I made careful note of a warning issued by the editors of the Lonely Planet books regarding flight schedules in Myanmar. They cautioned that, at times, planes take off early at their convenience, regardless of the schedule. Soon, it was the middle of October and I hadn't yet confirmed any reservations. Minor panic was starting to set in, with travel agents warning me that this being the holiday season and therefore peak travel time, airplane seats and hotel rooms were going fast. A chance conversation with a friend who had used the services of Diethelm Travel, clinched my decision. She highly recommended it and urged me to make my reservations without delay. I promptly sent an email message to Diethelm Travel, asking to be signed up for the "Twelve-Day Golden Triangle Tour", which included visits to Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan, and Inle Lake in Myanmar; the Golden Triangle as viewed from Chiang Saen in Thailand; Luang Prabang and Vientiane in Laos. We considered the price of the tour very reasonable, as it included all the domestic in-country flights, the flight from Luang Prabang to Vientianne, an English-speaking guide, double accommodations in first class hotels, three meals a day and all museum entrance fees. A two-day cruise on the Mekong with an overnight stop in a riverside lodge, was also included. The only part not covered by Diethelm was the portion from Manila to Yangon, which my favorite travel agent, Ms. Rose Banares of T.R.I.P.S. secured for us at the last minute on the Kuwait-Philippine Airlines flight that would leave Manila at 11:40 pm. I had harbored some apprehension about this flight, never having heard of Kuwait Airlines, but when I saw plane and the crew, I relaxed. The 747 looked new and the crew confident, and once on board, service was fast and efficient as the plane was almost empty. Our decision to go with Diethelm was fortuitous. All four of our tour guides were excellent sources of information, friendly, solicitous, accommodating, flexible and experienced. What is more, due to some quirk of timing, we ended up with our very own private tour guide at each leg of our trip. We adjusted our daily schedule to fit our wishes without worrying about other members of the group, as there was no one else but us. Besides, why risk being booked by a novice travel agent to the Maldives when you want to go to Myanmar, or miss a flight that has decided to leave early?
If we needed proof that we made the right decision in choosing Diethelm Travel, our flight from the Heho airport of Inle Lake confirmed it when we almost missed our flight, were it not for the swift feet and strong back of the Diethelm representative at the airport. Contrary to the usual expectation at airports in Third World countries, the plane we would board had arrived early, was fully loaded when we showed up at the parking lot, and had already started its engines ready to take off. If not for the Diethelm personnel at the airport who begged the airport personnel to hold the plane, we would have been left behind. One Diethelm staff member, the unlucky fellow, had to run a distance of about one hundred yards from the parking lot to the airport terminal, on his back our two pieces of luggage, each weighing about 30 pounds. Neither my husband nor I could ever have made it past the first two yards.
After two days cruising, I had enough of the Mekong, so I was happy when we finally docked in Luang Prabang, at the foot of their most famous temple, Wat Xieng Thong. As I was ascending the steps from the river, a Laotian welcomed me and gesturing towards the temple, was exclaiming with great pride and enthusiasm, "Most beautiful temple! Most beautiful temple!" It made me wonder, how many of us Christians point out our churches with half the pride, to foreign visitors when they visit our towns? Our guide was waiting for us when we got to the top of the steps. He was half Chinese, half Lao, and he regaled us with stories of how he easily travels between Laos and China, taking advantage of the lively buy-and-sell activity that goes on at the border, but that's the subject of another story! I remember with fondness the days we spent in Myanmar when, being spoiled by our tour guides felt great, even for only a few days, like having a yaya solicitously carrying out your every little wish to see and taste something new. If you decide to take the Golden Triangle offered by Diethelm Travel, remember a few things. Try to avoid flying out of Thansonhut Airport in Bangkok any more than necessary, as every time you depart from there, you have to shell out US$10 for the departure fee . Although your tour contract has set the terms of your trip, don't be afraid to suggest changes. For example, we were supposed to be booked into rooms with twin beds, but we asked to be given rooms with double ("matrimonial") beds instead and invariably, our requests were granted. Later, I also I found out that we could have changed hotels if we had wanted to. In Luang Prabang, a princess from the Laotian royal family owns a hotel which is supposed to house many items from the royal art collection. Had we requested to stay there, Diethelm would have allowed it, as long as we paid the difference if there was any. If you're going to travel on a lake or river in December, make sure that you have warm clothing to ward off the early morning 5-10 degree C chill. A piece or two of thermal underwear would do the job, and they do not take too much space. The period between October to February is the best time to visit, when the heat is less intense. Lastly, for you insatiable bargain hunters, buy as many silk shawls, scarves and skirts that you can carry. They are beautifully made and inexpensive, provided you exercise your well-honed bargaining skills and ignore the importunings of your bleeding heart.
The basic Diethelm tour to the Golden Triangle cost $1790 per person, plus the roundtrip airfare from Manila to Bangkok to Yangon ($563 per person), $30 per passport for Lao and Myanmar visa stamps, $10 departure fee at each airport and tips for the tour guides. We also purchased accidental insurance for $11 per person for the fifteen days of travel, unless your credit card already provides it. Finally, for those who have been dreaming of Myanmar rubies or sapphire, now is the time to tuck into your wallet those extra three to five hundred dollars that you had been saving. This was a good time to visit Myanmar, when we could enjoy its relaxed pace, and our guides, the waiters, hotel clerks, and salespeople lavished attention on us, when traffic delays are still unheard of and car emissions have not yet poisoned the air with their toxic fumes, and before peddlers have become more aggressive and menacing. We did not have to compete with hordes of tourists to enjoy the sights, nor wait in long queues to eat in restaurants or browse in the shops. The moral of the story is to go now before you lose your pocketbook advantage when the swelling tide of tourists starts to roll over Myanmar. Instead of dissipating your energies and precious dollars in other lands, visit Myanmar first where you will discover your unique and incomparably rich Asian legacy. With a deeper appreciation of your heritage, you just might double the financial and cultural investment of your European trip. |
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© 2005-2006 Violeta P. Hughes-Davis |
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We arrived in the Bangkok International Airport at the unholy hour of 2:30 am. Since we had to check in only four hours later for our continuing flight to Yangon, Diethelm had advised us to stay put at the airport and save our money instead of booking a hotel room. Mercifully, the hours finally passed, we checked in and boarded Thai Airways for the flight to Yangon, where we found our guide waiting for us at the airport, holding aloft the reassuring placard with our name on it. Our seasoned guide correctly diagnosed that we were sleep -deprived and suggested that we first check in at the hotel and rest for an hour in order to fully savor a Myanmar lunch, before launching into an afternoon of sight -seeing. The trip from the airport to our hotel was a pleasure, and I luxuriated in the smooth flow of traffic, what little there was, on the wide boulevard, flanked by the lush growth of bouganvillas on each side. Compared to Manila's traffic-choked highways, Yangon's thoroughfares, though dusty, allow the handful of twenty year-old cars to flow freely. One wonders how long before Yangon residents will start complaining about pollution from emission- and car-choked highways! After a few kilometers, I started noticing a novel sight: men and women in longyis, or wrap -around skirts, and I thought, there's no mistaking it, I am definitely in Myanmar. Somewhere along the way, we caught a glimpse of Madame Aung San Suu Kyi's beleaguered house, where we were warned not to loiter lest we be arrested for suspicion of being dangerous sympathizers. Closer to downtown, the tell-tale red marks on the streets from betel nut chewing and the sight of brown- and orange-robed monks scurrying by, confirmed our location.
Our first Myanmar meal was a superb introduction to this new cuisine that we were eager to try. Soup laced with ginger and lemon grass was refreshing at mid-day. The river fish and goat meat flavored with spices combined in proportions we were not used to, challenged our taste buds. After lunch we were eager to visit the jewel of Myanmar, its tallest landmark, the most famous and most revered, the Shwedagon Pagoda, believed to have a few locks of hair from the Buddha. Before entering the temple, our guide instructed us to remove our shoes and socks, the first of many times when we would be asked to do so before entering a sacred site. The shrine is alive with all kinds of people praying, meditating, visiting with friends, resting, taking pictures. Most notable are the groups of hill tribes in their colorful headgear and distinctive native dress. They come to the Shwedagon specifically to do homage to the Buddha, but stay for the day and make it a holiday. Well-dressed women in beautiful silk longyis contrasted with the ordinary looking women who seemed to have stopped by on their way to or from an errand. Old men, lips and teeth red from betel nut, bow and pray devoutly. Tired European and American tourists rest on the steps, and I note with relief that most o0f them observed the dress code, meaning no sleeveless tops and skimpy shorts. As a Catholic taught by nuns to be quiet inside a church, I felt uneasy seeing people talking inside the temple, but soon got used to seeing how comfortable the worshippers looked, as if the temple were an extension of their living room.
From the Shwedagon, we hastened back to the hotel to take refuge in its air -conditioned comfort, a respite from noon-day heat. Promptly at 2:30 pm, our guide was back to take us to see the giant hundred-fifty foot reclining Buddha that my husband unsuccessfully tried to accommodate within the frames of his video camera. Again, shoes and socks off. Again, pilgrims of all kinds, including a group from Japan paying homage, bowing and chanting their prayers. I began to notice several glass boxes filled with bills, which turned out to be donation boxes with the money meant for the upkeep of the temple, or for the needs of the Buddhist priests and nuns. From here, our next stop was the National Museum where our guide related the history of Myanmar and the diverse groups of people who make up this country – the Kachins, Shans, Burmese, Chins, Mons, Rakhaing etc. The variety and intricate designs of their artifacts, ancient musical instruments, complex tools, ethnic dresses which identified each tribe, as well as the collection of Buddha figures made of different materials such as marble, brass, bronze and sometimes, even wood, taught us a lot about their rich cultural history. One glass case over which we lingered displayed the formal dresses worn by the royalty for official functions. These were lavishly embroidered with jewels the Kingdom was famous for: pearls, rubies and sapphires still as brilliant as the day they came out of the jeweler's hands. My film maker husband wondered whether the costume designer for "Star Wars" had lifted some ideas from these antique, jewel-encrusted gowns.
The following day, we flew north to Bagan on an Air Mandalay turbo-prop and are pleased at its efficiency and punctuality. It's a 45-minute flight, and soon, the airplane's small windows try in vain to frame the plains of Bagan, with temple spires jutting out every few meters from the ground, scattered like sesame seeds on a bun, all over the seared, brown grassy expanse as far as the eye could see. (Sesame seeds happen to be one of the principal crops in this dry environment). Waiting for us after we check in through Customs, our guide, bespectacled, swathed in a wrap-around longyi, fluent in English, is a friendly and well-informed engineer who had retired from the UN Development Program before being hired by Diethelm. Being an engineer, he came properly equipped: a laser pointer, a tape measure, maps of the temples and stupas we would visit. We learn that earthquakes and scrupulous collectors have decimated many of the more than four thousand temples and stupas that overwhelmed the first Westerners to see Bagan. I wondered aloud why there were so many temples and stupas and our guide explains that in building one, rich persons are able to gain merit, increase their chances of improving their karma and attaining Nirvana. Our hotel served breakfast in an open-air restaurant by the 
Irawaddy River, so to keep from shivering every morning, we zealously helped ourselves to cups of steaming delicious Burmese coffee and novel versions of Chinese congee. By noon, both the mists and the chill would lift and we would be seeking refuge from the strong sun in air-conditioned rooms and under the shade of neem trees. Our engineer guide was thorough in teaching us how to discriminate between temples and stupas, and among many differently-styled Buddha figures. The way the hair is arranged, the length of the earlobe, the folds of the neck, the shape of the eyes, the drape of the robe, details indicating what period the Buddha figure was made, and which non-Buddhists do not notice. In Bagan, we also saw how skilled young women embroidered rich tapestries and proud artisans produced lacquerware, said to be the best in all Myanmar.
Forty-five minutes northeast of Bagan by plane was our next stop, Mandalay, where the ultra modern and cavernous airport seemed at first to be out of sync, specially after we have just left the unabashed remnants of colonialism, the antiquated airports Yangon and Bagan. The Mandalay airport reflected the glitter of money in all its sparkling stainless steel appointments and technological gadgets. My husband impertinently wonders whether money from the verdant poppy fields in the Shan State had made possible this impressive airport. At the airport, we complained of the 45-minute drive to our hotel, not knowing about its splendid location at the foot of Mandalay Hill, not far from the remains of the Mandalay Fort. To appease us, our guide drove us to the top of Mandalay Hill, where we viewed the city in all directions. I wanted to see the colonial part where the British lived and worked, but unfortunately, this part of the city was constructed mostly of wood, so no trace of it was left after a fire gutted this section several years ago. Instead, we proceeded to the Mandalay Museum, where we were allowed to inspect the bamboo "books" on which are inscribed the Tripitaka, the sacred Scriptures of Buddhism written in Pali, their ancient language.
A few yards away was the Kuthodaw Paya, a temple surrounded by 729 freestanding marble "books", posted like guards around the temple. The Tripitaka is also inscribed on each 3 by 5 foot marble "book". The sight of these books blew my Eurocentric mind, conditioned to think that only Medieval European monks were bibiophiles. Another visual feast was King Thibaw Min's meditation room, which he had ordered dismantled in 1880 and reassembled as a monastery at its present site. We arrived at the site when the day was almost ending so we viewed the wooden panels decorating the room at the time of the so-called Golden Hour, when fading sunlight bathes everything with its soft golden glow. The panels, so delicately and intricately carved, looked as magnificent and inspiring as the glittering spires of the Shwedagon, and as uplifting as any stained glass windows I have seen in European cathedrals. Our last stop was at the temple of the thousand year old, four meter high bronze Mahamuni Buddha, so highly venerated that it is now covered with a 15 cm thick layer of gold leaf, generously plastered on it by its devotees. The gold-leafing reminded me of the way we embellish our Santos with heirloom pieces of gold and other precious stones, by way of showing our devotion.
By this time, we were ready to switch from temple-viewing, so Inle Lake, our next stop, was most welcome. Again, the 10-degree Celsius December morning nipped at us when we rode in an open boat to visit the floating vegetable gardens and the craftspeople in their cottages on stilts. The neighborhood resounded with the unique sounds produced by each particular craft: the dull thuds of the weavers' homemade looms, the ping-ping of the metalworkers' anvil, and in the boat-makers' village, the soft swish-swish of the carpenters' plane. The weavers' cottage displayed an enviable array of luxurious silk, each piece vying for attention with its stunning design and color. I watched fascinated as the young weavers figured out how to decode the numerically-based instructions written out for them by master weavers, and translate them into patterns on skirts and shawls. Silicon Valley may have its computer techno-whizkids who read complicated programs based on ones and zeroes, but Inle Lake has weavers who likewise make sense of another type of esoteric language, one expressed in colors and patterns.
From Inle Lake, Yangon Air flew us back to Yangon where we would fly to Chiang Mai, Thailand and, at the advice of our guide, breeze through with nary a glimpse of the city, to avoid getting caught in the heavy rush hour traffic. As a consolation, he offered to take us to the International Gallery of Gems where we watched craftsmen fashion gems and heard sales clerks exclaim that many of their customers are Filipinos! We took too long in the gem store so it was close to midnight when we arrived in Chiang Saen, too late to take a peek at the Golden Triangle. Instead, we did so at breakfast the following morning, where we joined the other tourists in trying to pinpoint where, through the mist, lies the exact boundary that separates Thailand, Myanmar and Laos. Promptly at 9:00 am, our guide hustled us to the van that would take us to the Thai side of the Mekong River, where we checked in with Laotian immigration for the right to set foot on Vao, the river town on the Lao side of the Mekong, our port of entry to Laos. This is where we boarded our cruise "boat". As we arrived later, our French-speaking guide in Vao politely proded us to hurry, but counting the inch-thick wad of Laotian kips which we had exchanged for $10, detained us for another 15 minutes. The cruise boat was no Carnival Cruise Line, but a spartan, open-sided boat, minimally equipped with tables, chairs, some sofas and locally woven blankets, operated by a captain with 15 years experience plying the Mekong. I appreciated the blankets as we sped down the Mekong and discovered that, as in Inle Lake, I needed more than the "light jacket" recommended by the Lonely Planet. I would have been a lot warmer if I was outfitted with racing helmets and woolen hats, like the farmers who roared past us in their souped-up high-powered speedboats. I also appreciated the captain's sure hand as he expertly maneuvered the boat around the numerous boulders, seen and unseen, in the river. We admired the rock formations and the mountains on both sides of the river, although a few months later, as I was traveling through the mountains enroute to the Banaue, Bontoc and Mountain Province regions, I realized that the Mekong River peaks were no match for the more magnificent and formidable mountains flanking the Chico River in the north.
On the way, we put in at a riverbank village so the Europeans could see a "typical" one. The children interrupted their games and focused on us, the dogs barked and pigs grunted to mark our arrival. Some in our group took photos inside the villagers' homes which I felt betrayed a shameful lack of respect, an imposition that nauseated me as much as the offending smell of animal waste. Our next stop on the riverbank was a weaving village where magnificent silk scarves, shawls and longyis, woven with the silk threads spun in the village on primitive handlooms, sell at give-away prices. I was loath to bargain but did so to preserve my self-respect, and came away with a lot of guilt and silk.
Despite being in a military state, we saw fewer soldiers than monks in Myanmar. In fact, Manila's streets definitely had more uniformed men around! We never sensed any danger, but felt completely safe walking around, as did, it seemed, many of the European, American and Japanese tourists whom we met. I was surprised at how freely we could talk with the citizens even about the military, as long as no uniformed person was within earshot. In fact, one favorite joke we often heard in this Buddhist country was how the faithful fervently pray that the members of the military will be reincarnated as ________ (fill the blank with the name of your favorite hated animal!). We also learned that Buddhist monks still wield considerable influence in the countryside. In an honest contest for the hearts and minds of the Myanmar people, the monks will prevail hands down over the generals. Monks provide basic education, medical care, shelter, and sometimes food and advocacy to those in need. The villagers respect them for this because they know that these efforts carry no strings attached.