Myanmar Redux, Part 3: Bagan to Mandalay

Tammy and I flew from Yangon to Bagan, a UNESCO World Heritage Site famous for its legion of ancient Buddhist pagodas and stupas stretching across the horizon. The pagodas and stupas are holy, and for any entrance--which usually means an ascent--one leaves footwear behind. Of course, every day life continues with those who live here, too.

After our days in Bagan, Tammy and I traveled to Mandalay by boat upon the mighty Irrawaddy. Officially these days the name of the river is Ayeyarwady, but the place names Mandalay and Irrawaddy have traipsed through my imagination for years because of poems, stories, and novels, and I wanted to witness them in the real world. The boat trip began before dawn and continued for most of the day. Here are some views of river life.

For us, the Irrawaddy River became our road to Mandalay.

Myanmar Redux, Part 2: Women in the World

 

Whether or not women run the world, they may be the ones actually holding it all together. Here are photos of women in Myanmar.

NOTE: Many women, and even some men and children, wear thanaka--a pale yellow paste made from pulverized tree bark--on their faces. It may be daubed carelessly or painted artfully, and for those of us accustomed to other cultural beauty norms, it often gives people a ghostly, other-worldly look. An article in National Geographic (here) explains:

"Unlike modern industrial cosmetics, thanaka is not meant to be subtle, to hide flaws or accentuate features. It is a sun-bright symbol of health and beauty. It blazes on millions of cheeks and foreheads for all to see. Wizened old farmers in Myanmar slap on thanaka. Young clerks at urban boutiques draw stylized patterns across their skin with the paste. Children march to school with thanaka smeared, hastily, onto their faces by mothers."

Myanmar Redux, Part 1: Yangon

This month another pandemic activity has emerged for me: reviewing photographs currently on my computer, remembering and reliving so many moments, and then deciding what to keep and what to relinquish into digital oblivion. Now, in truth, I hold in my possession a formidable abundance of photographs--film and digital--most of which were generated during the years 1987-2017,  the years I lived overseas. As of now I have appraised maybe an eighth of the photos currently on my laptop; the printed photos from my film-photographing days await in boxes under the bed in the guest room, and there also exists a copious collection of photos on an external hard drive secluded in a drawer somewhere in this house. But right now, I can only dabble in photographic-induced memories beginning in December, 2014.

And, in December, 2014, my friend Tammy and I traveled to Myanmar for Christmas Break, a destination that first began to seem like a viable travel option for us as we listened to the stories and experiences of a friend and colleague who taught at an international school in Yangon--a friend we met while working on our master's degrees with Michigan State University one summer at an overseas campus located in Thailand. (Tammy and I attended three different summer sessions in pursuit of those degrees, one summer in Antibes, France, and two summers in Pattaya, Thailand.) We first met in him in Thailand, the summer of 2001, and he continued to regale us with stories and information about Myanmar until we all graduated the following summer in July, 2002. Still, before Tammy and I actually put together the trip to Myanmar, more than a decade had elapsed.

Although I loved my travels in Myanmar, I struggle these days with conflicting emotions because of the Rohingya crisis--the ugly embodiment of prejudice and discrimination ultimately erupting into attempted genocide. I play with separating my experiences in Myanmar from the horrors and atrocities that have occurred there in the meantime, but I continue to worry inside myself whether or not I can correctly place everything in perspective. Nevertheless, I shall commence with a Myanmar travels redux, largely in photographs.

Should anyone want to review previous blog posts on my Myanmar travel adventure, I did write about it in 2014 and 2015. They can be found here, here, here, and here.

Yangon--formerly known as Rangoon--comprises part one of this redux. Tammy and I flew in and out of Myanmar by way of Yangon International Airport and spent a day or two in the city of Yangon on both ends of the trip.

I took these photos looking onto the city from our hotel.

While on the streets.

These were taken at Shwedagon Pagoda, the most sacred Buddhist pagoda in Myanmar.

When I visited Myanmar in 2014, I still held Aung San Suu Kyi in revered esteem; I believed she was a beacon for human rights and a principled activist, one who gave up her freedom to challenge ruthless and corrupt army generals. That perspective I now believe was not fully informed. I am deeply disappointed and disillusioned by her callous indifference to the Rohingya crisis. This final photograph was taken in front of the compound where she was detained in house arrest for fifteen years or so. It was a must-see for me at the time. When I reviewed this photograph this month, I cropped out all the signs that gave honor to her and rendered it as just a photo of Tammy and me in front of a white gate somewhere in Yangon. I guess I'm bitter like that.

Bedazzled Weaponry

A few mornings a week, I run. Although on the weekends I often drive to a path along the lava cliffs that flank the sea, my more usual route begins and ends at my house with a meander through multiple streets of the neighborhood designing the middle stretch. Many of the homes I pass have dogs, on good days all restrained by fencing or chains. Because, you see, my lope--which is certainly no longer a dash and might be heading toward an amble--seems to excite them. They bolt to the fence, or as far as a tether allows, and acknowledge me with boisterous barking. Most, I think, would just like to join me in my romp, but some are definitely engaged in defense of property.

I am pretty committed to my established neighborhood route and rarely change it up except to extend its range when I am more physically in tune. For three years I could count my scary encounters with loose dogs on one hand...until this summer. One fateful morning I had to fend off three separate skirmishes with loose dogs, dogs that actually touched me with their muzzle and/or rolled against my legs with their haunches. 

And that did it. Friends have long admonished me to carry a stick or pepper spray when I run, but I rationalized that I really have always been okay when I run despite the occasional loose dog, and I have zero interest in hurting a dog. But dogs willing to threaten me by touching me with their bodies provided the required impetus to inquire about pepper spray at my next visit to Ace Hardware.

The clerk at Ace Hardware pointed and said, "Right there." And who knew that on that day all pepper spray containers on offer sparkled, so I embraced the glitter and bought three.

Now, and since September, I run my neighborhood route with one jazzy canister of pepper spray in hand, and I have learned a few more things. Yes, how to deploy the aerosol from the canister and direct the spray itself is one thing. And, yes, I practiced in my backyard beforehand. But guess what else I have learned?  Two of the dogs from those skirmishes dating back to "the fateful day" have been loose again during my runs. In both cases, the dogs executed an abrupt about-face just as soon as I enacted the motions involved in spraying a peppery aerosol. Actually releasing the substance never even had to happen to instigate their retreat. They already knew what I held in hand and what I planned to do with it! Apparently, I'm not the only one carrying pepper spray in the neighborhood.

And there you have it. These days my running gear includes bedazzled weaponry.