Burma

Burma is one of the most special places we have ever visited. It has been closed to the outside world for many decades and, at the time of our visit in 1986, foreigners were limited to a one-week stay, with further strict restrictions on currency allowance and itinerary. We flew into the country from Bangkok each carrying, on the advice of our Lonely Planet guidebook, one bottle of Johnny Walker Black label whisky and a carton of 555 cigarettes. We would trade these on the black market for currency. We also secreted in our backpacks small caches of items to give away: pencils, pens, T-shirts, hair clips/grips. According to friends who had been, there was such a shortage of every commodities that we would be asked, everywhere we went in Burma, whether we had things to sell or trade. And this was, indeed, our experience.

As we rode a taxi from the tiny international airport into Rangoon we felt as if we had fallen into a time warp. The country appeared not to have moved beyond the 1940s. Even our taxi driver spoke a quaintly antiquated form of the English language. Who can forget this gentle query: "If I may be so bold as to inquire, but might you have some whiskey and cigarettes for sale?" In Rangoon we immediately made our way to the railway station to buy tickets for the overnight train north to Mandalay. Then we wondered around the streets of Rangoon and spent a magical hour at the Shwedagon Pagoda as the sun was setting. The roof of the pagoda is ringed with beautiful stupas and has an other-worldly atmosphere. 

We had an uncomfortable train journey to Mandalay, huddled on hard seats in a crowded compartment. We learnt later that the military had commandeered half the train so the rest of the passengers had to be crammed into the remaining compartments. In Mandalay we checked into a fairly modern hotel which even boasted a swimming pool. However, it was clear that the pool hadn't been used in quite a while. We understood why when we had problems with the plumbing. We found a guide who led us up the covered stairways of Mandalay Hill, and showed us the walls and moat of the old Royal Palace, the Maha Muni Pagoda with its magnificent 12-foot high, goldleaf coated statue of Buddha, and the Kuthodaw Pagoda complex which include the 729 "pitaka" pagodas. These house the marble tablets on which the entire Tripitaka Buddhist canon is recorded. Our guide also gave us an insight into what life was like for the Burmese. He was a teacher trying to earn some extra money as a guide. It was not easy to keep his 40-year-old vehicle running. Fuel was rationed and there were many days when he could not run the car. It was only through sheer resourcefulness that he and his family managed. 

The next morning we hired a WWII relic of a Willy's Jeep to take us to Maymyo, the hill resort built by the British. We stayed in an old colonial guest house, Canda Craig, which tried its best to make foreign tourists feel at home with western-style meals. Dinner was a brave affair let down only by the rancid butter. The small town of Maymyo was very pleasant and we spent a delightful hour talking to a retired teacher in his 70s, who spoke the most beautiful English. Our Willy's Jeep came for us the following morning and free-wheeled most of the way back down to Maymyo. When we reached the straight stretch it sputtered to a halt and the driver signed apologetically to us that he had run out of fuel. He left us with the Jeep and returned two hours later to resume the journey.

After four hours sleep we were up at 3am to catch a bus that would take us to Pagan, one of the ancient capitals of Burma. The bus was packed with passengers and an assortment of produce. After two hours on the road, the bus abruptly pulled over to the side of the road and stopped there. With some persistent questioning we learnt that a VIP convoy was due to come through and the road had to be kept clear. After two hours of waiting the convoy finally zipped past us and we were able to resume our journey. We thought we must be nearing our destination when the road became even more bumpy and dusty, and our heads started hitting the roof of the bus. However, the journey went on for what seemed like many more hours. We were truly relieved when we finally arrived at Pagan, coated in a thick layer of yellow dust and nursing very sore bottoms. 

Our stay in Pagan was another very special experience. The town of Pagan was unremarkable, consisting of a handful of houses that provided food and basic accommodation to tourists. There was also a large hotel of almost three-star standard. The surrounding area, however, was like something out of an enchanted land – miles of flat, dry plains on the banks of the great Irrawaddy River, studded with thousands of red-brick stupas and pagodas, ranging from small, crumbling ruins to magnificent, spired edifices. Walking around these in the moonlight was magical. We took a tonga (horsecart) tour to some of the bigger pagodas including the beautiful Ananda Temple, the imposing, 201-foot high Thatbyinnyu Temple, and Shwesandaw Pagoda which contains the Shinbintalyaung Reclining Buddha. We spent three days in Pagan and could have stayed longer. On one of those days we visited a monastery on an island in the middle of the Irrawaddy River. The novice monks there were very interested in our birding gear and keen to try our binoculars.

From Pagan we flew back to Rangoon where we checked into the Strand Hotel, another throwback from the British rule. It was a beautiful building though very run down, with crumbling facade and peeling paintwork. We had looked forward to a farewell meal at the hotel but none of the items on the menu was on offer, and the fan in our room spurted flames in the middle of the night and clanked to a halt, leaving us to the mercy of the mosquitoes. Despite the discomforts, our week in Burma was one we would gladly repeat.

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