Battling with Burma

Boy didn’t lethargic angst bite deep when I reached Rangoon. I did pull myself out of it, but it took time. From the very start, when the plane touched down, I noticed subtle differences. An ornate but ancient looking building stood alongside the terminal, intricate golden decoration crowned it’s slightly grubby exterior, giving it an appearance of being worn through time. But it still felt depressingly similar to a thousand other dirty, dingy cities. I’m used to Asian cities, whether I like them or not, but Rangoon is one of the most run down I’ve come across. It screamed degradation without shower the abject squalor as seen in the likes of India. Almost every building is besmirched by decades of traffic borne pollution, a filth encrusted veneer over cracked and crumbling mortar. Heaven knows the last time any of them saw the lick of a paintbrush, if ever. Signs of maintenance or repair are few and far between. Now and then a hotel or golden stupa stands out from the begrimed cityscape, but even these lose their glossy sheen when viewed from close proximity. It’s so obvious there has been no investment or care taken of the infrastructure here for some time. Stories of Rangoons colonial past glory can only refer to the far distant past, whatever money the military dictatorship has amassed has certainly not been squandered on the cities architectural heritage. (Photo: Central Railway - Rangoon, Burma: Now known as Yangon, and Myanmar)

The whole city looks like that, even the police township opposite my hotel is filthy, it isn’t a very good standard to set, a fine example to the average citizen it is not. Actually the whole issue of a huge tenement for police officers and their families raises questions. Is it an act of kindness to encourage loyal service, or is it segregation at it’s worst? It could easily be a bit of both, I have a strong feeling that there is a desire to keep some separation between them and the general public. These bastions for public security services are placed at intervals around the city, I’ve seen two already. I’ve quickly noticed numerous complexes of red brick buildings that have fallen in a terrible state of delapidation. Huge turreted blocks with interconnecting passageways, empty, with no windows intact and the roofs collapsing in on themselves. They could only have been public buildings, whether hospital, school, or enormous administration centres it’s impossible to tell, only their neglect is obvious. In passing I wondered why they’d been so completely abandoned, the only life was the raucous crows, staking out a claim to the ruins as their own territory. The structures still seemed capable of providing basic shelter, in parts of it at least. And then it became obvious that it did in fact do just that for some people, one end section of the immense compound was in use. People were outside collecting water from a standpipe, using it as a communal bathing area, women and kids played on the steps. (Photo: Roosting site for rooks - Old Administrative centre - Yangon, Myanmar)

All the warnings I’ve heard about, before coming to Burma (Myanmar as it’s officially called now), concern filling the coffers of the military junta. The advice is to try and avoid organized tours, the larger hotels and official money changing facilities; all of which are either government owned or sponsored by the junta, and therefore a percentage of profits make the main perpetrators of the country’s ongoing misery richer. Even the slow and expensive railway is government owned, and believe me there isn’t a lot of these profits ploughed back into the system. So my initial concern was to change my US dollars into kyat, using the black market. It isn’t hard, there are touts changing money everywhere. There is no slight of hand if you do it openly in a public place, I told the guy how many dollars I wanted to change and checked his rate and every note he gave me before I even produced my dollars. The only hiccough were two of the $100 bills I gave him, their serial number started with CB so he’d not accept them. Luckily I had another few to use instead. (Photo: Police township - Downtown Yangon, Myanmar)

The whole money transaction thing was a moral issue for me, the state licensed exchange were offering a better rate. Changing $500 meant losing $5 in effect, which took a little consideration. It wasn’t only the $5, that’s naff all! I don’t want my money going to support the tyrants who’ve run this country for decades, but they’ve just had elections and the notorious Aung San Suu Kyi, leader of the National League for Democracy, actually won with 80%. So, in theory, there is no longer a need to go to extremes to avoid filling the government coffers. However, in 1990 the military rulers held elections, and lost them drastically, only to then arrest all the opposition and refuse to hand over power. Whilst the locals seem hopeful I’m holding my breath for the time being. It’s a historic time to be in the country, hopes are high and so is everyone’s spirits, it could easily go belly up though. I’ve a mind to use my money in support of the new government, but would rather wait until they actually assume full power. (Worship throughout the ages, religion and money - Central City, Yangon)

The city took a lot out of me that day, energy I didn’t have to begin with, and with a week of festival just around the corner if I hadn’t made a move without delay I’d be stuck there. Determined to get away I walked for many hours and refused to give up hope until I finally managed to find somewhere to buy a bus ticket to get the hell out the place. Only after procuring my ticket could I sit and finally relaxe. As I did so, over a few pints of beer, at which stage I watched the world carry on regardless of my predicament, and also found a strong desire to record the minor details that passed before my eyes. It's somehow reassuring that even when feeling at  my  worst, it's never enough to give in. I seem to be suffering from a delayed acceptance of new locations I find it me time to settle in, which just isn't my normal self. But I do settle in, quite quickly generally, I just wish  it didn't involve a period of doubt and dissatisfaction. Really I should be pleased that these periods of adjustment are accepted and dealt with. For now I'm just happy to feel relaxed enough to appreciate the finer points of where I am. (Photo: Botutaung Pagoda - Yangon, Myanmar)

I thought a lot of men in Sri Lanka wore longhis (sarongs if you prefer), it’s nothing compared to here. It isn’t only for comfort within the confines of their homes, as seemed to be the case there, nor is it restricted to older men and the poorer classes. I’d go as far to say the majority of males wear them here, though amongst the youth there seems to be an increasing number who are adopting western style clothing. Observing ages and physical shape, a pattern seemed to emerge in the style in which guys wear them. In general younger guys wear them on the hips, accentuating their slender figures. As they get older it seems they’re more likely to wear them further up, on the actual waist or even higher. Not all though, certainly those who put on a noticeable paunch hike them up higher, but for the slimmer older guy it’s still the mode to wear it on the hips. There are some middle aged guys with pot-bellies who insist on letting their gut sag over the top of their longhi, but in general there are few of that age who’ve got too much of a gut. Luckily, because it really isn’t a very nice sight. (Photo: Local river ferry - Arawaddy River, Yangon)

Likewise for the women, being slim and lithe is more the norm. I haven’t noticed any actually fat young women, or even middle aged ones. They might put on a touch of middle-aged spread, probably after numerous experiences of childbirth. They’re the exceptions though, most are slim without flabby bellies, not that I can notice anyway, and I have been looking. From what I can see most females have rather nice shaped behinds, and they move fetchingly when they walk. I don’t think they do it purposely either, just a naturally alluring wiggle. Again they adorn themselves most often in traditional saris, of thin cotton or silk, which hides nothing of their shape, if anything it actually heightens it. For the increased numbers of the young women who are starting to prefer western clothes, they choose jeans or pretty summer dresses, micro-shorts are not seen around the streets at all. Of the people’s genetic characteristics I can’t honestly tell them apart from any other Asian nation, there is a great variety of features and they have obviously been influenced from many ethnic groups from the surrounding regions. (Photo: Budding stallholders - Yangon side street, Myanmar)