Men in Skirts???

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As Internet access in fairly hit and miss in Myanmar, all entries are written after my return to Thailand. My route took me all the way north to Myitkyna and then back south through Mandalay and Yangon. To keep the map from going crazy, I haven't shown my route back down through the country and have just routed it back to Bangkok. Anything of significance from the return journey I have noted on the entry for heading north.

My Introduction to Myanmar

The first detour to my overland trip had to happen somewhere along the road. I had wanted to visit Myanmar for some time and unless you fancy being smuggled across closed border areas by opium traffickers then it's a good idea to take a flight in. Within five minutes on the street in Yangon, local Burmese ways are straight in your face:

• Men everywhere in skirts (actually the local traditional dress, the longyi)
• Women with yellow painted faces like circus clowns (thanaka, ground from the thanaka tree used as sunscreen and make-up). You're not beautiful unless your face is covered in the stuff.
• Betel nut - a national obsession. Chewing the mix makes your mouth look like you've finished 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. No corner is complete without at least one betel nut stand.

On the bus to the airport I met with Idan, who became my travel partner for the next four weeks through the country. An Israeli, but nothing like his country's infamous traveling trouble makers. We really had a great time traveling together.

Changing Money

Our first mission in Yangon was to change money. Officially a type of government license is required to be a money changer, but in reality the best deals are to be got from guys propping up pillars in the city's central market. We had barely gotten to the door of the market when we got our first whisper: 'Change Money?'. A guy in a sparkling white shirt lead us to his sisters jewelery shop at the side of the market where he sat us on a pair of stools. For what is in theory and illegal operation, it turned out to be a very civilised trade. We didn't have to bargain over the rate, the bricks of money were produced for the $150 that we were both changing and he actually asked us to check through them. Even though we would later find out that the country's money is in tatters, he changed any bill that we didn't like the look of. It's difficult to find out what the actual rate should be, but the black market rate is about double the official rate.

Wandering the City

We wandered the backstreets of central Yangon. Behind the central court, typists were busy typing up marriage contracts. Wedding cards were also hanging on their stands if anyone was interested. Seemed to be fairly serious business. We stopped for a coffee on a street side stall. Randomly, we sat at the only table with a couple of free chairs. It happened that we were sitting with a guy that worked in the customs house next door. This was our first proper conversation with a local, and he wasn't afraid to talk even though being heard doing so could land him in a lot of trouble. He had studied English in university, so he spoke fairly well. Some of the more interesting information that he gave us:

• Just 10 miles away he said that it's not safe for a local to wander the streets alone at night. Not because of any threat of danger, but the military rulers could swoop for a new recruit to the regime, and there's no saying no.
• Passing university exams involves paying a visit to the teacher the night before the exams with a few $.
• His son worked in one of the largest hotels in Yangon earning K40,000 ($30) per month, not enough to live and have two meals per day.
• It was about 1pm, but he didn't think he would go back to work for the rest of the day. Nobody cares what time people come and go at.

There aren't that many tourists wandering about, but there are a few. Nevertheless, we were always greeted by the locals in the backstreets with a warm bloodied smile. Yellow faces, red mouths, longyi's, it all made from a magic atmosphere.

That afternoon we visited the Sule Paya, a 2,000 year old Buddhist pagoda that serves as the central traffic circle in the city. It's one of the places that the local monks not only come along to for a bit of a pray, but to go tourist hunting also. They love to speak English with foreigners. Inside I met with the colourful Tinwin. Sometimes the innocence of the situation was the most fun. He explained to me that he likes to come to the Paya once a week, but because he is a 'bigshot', the Abbott of his monastery can't do without him. He also assured me that he wasn't 'showing off'! Because at the end of the week he was going to his family in the far north of the country for the first time in two years, he had received special permission from his Abbott that if he found a foreigner, then he could be excused for the following day to show his capture around. I became the chosen one, the exotic native English speaker!

We met up the next morning and set off on out temple tour. The fare on the city bus that we took was two cents each. Beside one of the temples we visited we went to a monastery looking for one of Tinwin's friends. We could only find the Abbott. He was a teacher in the nearby Mahasi meditation center, the most famous in the country and globally well known. He really wanted to take me to see the center, access that a tourist would never get. We went to the halls where nuns and monks meditated. All sat like sleeping mannequins in perfect silence. The nuns in their funky pink outfits (see photo). As a special treat he tracked down the Abbott of the center in his bedroom. The three of us paraded in. It really didn't mean much to me, but I could see how special it actually was from Tinwin's reaction to meeting such a senior Abbott. He was really delighted and had never even dreamed he could meet this Abbott in his private quarters.

We continued on our pagoda tour that contained an array of Buddha bits ranging from tooth relics to hairs. No wonder Buddha was bald! Finally it came time for Tinwin to get back to his bigshot chores at the monastery.

Evening was reserved for a tour of the countries number one religious site, the Shwedagon Paya. A couple of Buddha hairs hidden within draw pilgrims from all over the country. Afternoon is also the time when every tourist in Yangon congregates. A fabulous complex of temples and stupas, watching sunset on the massive gold clad pagoda was a magnificent sight. There were the mandatory couple of monks to entertain. Sitting on a ledge two came over to me with big smiling faces. 'Are you alone',one asked. 'Not anymore', I said. It was the perfect way to round off the day, chatting to the monks facing the golden illuminated Shwedagon Paya