Rangoon, Burma

Flying across the Bay of Bengal at sunset in a Thai Airways a300, you could

see glowing fires scattered across the earth of rice fields set ablaze... in

the two weeks I spent in Burma, it would become a very familiar smell as I travelled

in Burma as the last rice harvest before the new year was being harvested.

The plane landed at Mingaladon's airport at 8.30 PM, and like all independent

travellers, I was forced to exchange $300 US dollars into convertably kyats. I got a taxi

into downtown Rangoon and a citywide blackout made it a surreal, dark experience. People

huddled in doorways smoking cigarettes and children played football in the shadows. We passed

by Rangoon University and it was completely shuttered; armed guards stood watch. We passed

the Shwedegon Pagoda, easily the most beautiful pagoda in the world with solid gold covering and

thousands of jewels in the top (including one of the worlds largest diamonds) dozens of child

monks gathered around the window of the taxi as we waited for the light to change...

The guesthouse I stayed at was down a small alley near the construction site for

the new Novotel. It was clear that a huge construction boom was underway and foreign hotels

were going up everywhere. Not so for tourists as I hardly saw anyone else in Rangoon.

As soon as I checked in, I stepped out onto the crumbling sidewalk and wandered

around the temple that was covered in gold leaf... It was now encircled by a roundabout that even

in the late evening was busy with rickshaws, japanese taxis, and people squatting in the

floor chewing betelnut. Indian money changers whispered rates under their breath

as I walked by and eventually returned to my hotel exhausted. It was a slow night as 15 minutes

after turning out the light the power went off, the fan sputtered to a stop and mosquitos set in...

The next morning I went out walking towards the Strand hotel along the Irriwaddy waterfront.

It was beatifully restored with whitewashed exteriors and looked strange standing next

to the dilapitated buildings that used to house shipping companies and foreign embassies.

I caught a ferry across the Irriwaddy to a small village on the other side and walked around till I

found a restaurant and got a drink before returning to Rangoon.

I bought a ticket to Mandalay that afternoon that would leave the next evening. I spent the next

day 1/2 wandering round the downtown of Rangoon, taking in the heavy Indian influence (there were

Indian Bollywood films everywhere) and Indian popmusic mungling with the Backstreet boys

t shirts sold side by side with Burmese laquerware and cans of Coke. That night I came across a maket

which reminded me of some voodoo rite: dozens of headless chickens with red candles dripping wax were scattere

all over the cement while old ladies squatted there fanning the flames... it was the first place I had ever travelled

that locals didnt even make an attempt to approach me; only at night (and later I would learn, in the safety of an

empty taxicab or away from crowds) would locals speak to me. As darkness fell the amount of staring

increased dramatically and it was obviously a result of the repressive government. Earlier in the day I had walked

past the British Embassy and right across the street there was a huge sign in English saying in effect (not unlike Cuba

or Vietnam) 'Imperialists, get out of Burma.'