- Joined
- Nov 16, 2003
- Messages
- 645
Burma Journal 2005:
March 1, Yangon:
Big disappointment, after traveling twenty-five thousand miles, Mogok is closed we won’t be visiting the ancient Valley of the Serpents this time, so what next? Lwin my broker has a plan. He is a Shan, born and brought up in Mogok. He suggests that we travel to Mandalay by car. We will take it gradually in three stages. The first night we will drive two hundred miles upcountry and stop in a small town at a hotel that Lwin knows well. The second stage, another five or six hours by car will bring us to the ancient temple city of Pagon (Bagan). We will visit and photograph a few of the major pagodas, stay overnight and travel the final three hours to Mandalay the next morning. I tell Lwin I need a bit of time to think about it and will meet with him first thing in the morning. The more I chew over this suggestion the better I like it. Mogok is not possible it seems that the army is mining uranium somewhere near the provincial town and is paranoid about any westerner going into the area. Later I find that the Uranium rumor is just that a rumor and totally false.
March 2nd.
The next morning promptly at nine, Lwin and his friend John, a thin dark skinned missionary educated Burmese of about fifty with an excellent command of English show up and we plan our itinerary. The only thing I don’t like is the return, four hundred miles from Mandalay to Yangon in one shot. Lwin proposes an alternative. One way by air!, deal!
We spend the morning visiting dealers who have ruby and sapphire to sell. Prices, as my Bangkok contacts predicted, are very high, as high or higher than in Bangkok. Only see one stone I like a 1.74 cushion shaped Burma ruby from the new mine at Namya. The color is not quite right so I pass without making an offer. I bought three excellent rubies in Bangkok. One started off at 1.88 carats, a heated stone from Mong Hsu. Exceptional color but something was lacking in saturation. A slight shaving of the pavilion, a recut to 1.75 carats did the trick. It now shows an exceptionally vivid red hue. Natural color or burned, rubies of fine color are extremely rare. I must have rejected over a hundred and could find nothing unheated of fine color. Lwin puts rarity in perspective: No more than 1-3 rubies of fine color are found in Mogok per month, usually 1. One more stop and we see a few more rubies and a large sapphire. The sapphire color is good the lovely purplish blue that Burma is famous for but unfortunately the stone is overcolor, too dark in tone.
After picking up my laundry and checking out, Lwin arrives with the car. First stop a small working people’s restaurant that Lwin favors. For about five dollars we have chicken, pork and numerous condiments served over rice. Lwin insists I try Myanmar, the local beer, I know it will put me to sleep but I don’t wish to be rude. One bottle doubles the price of the meal with workers making as little as ten dollars a month, costs that mean nothing in the west are expensive in Burma. The restaurant located on a side street It has an open front well used wooden tables, nothing fancy, no table cloths, just silverware and a plain glass. It is the Burmese equivalent of an American diner. You go up to the counter that is set up sort of like a delicatessen and pick your dishes. The place is bustling with men and women mostly dressed in the traditional Longji with a western shirt or top, eating talking and generally having a good time. Burmese cooking relies on a broad palette of herbs and spices. We try mint leaves, chili, lemon, and a saffron flavored curry all served over rice. Burmese food is a bit hot but pleasantly so.
Fuel, gasoline and diesel is rationed in Burma. You are allowed two gallons per day. Lwin has a coupon book. Although Lwin’s small 1990 Toyota Corolla is diesel, we will require a good deal more than two gallons of fuel. The two gallons are very cheap, 160 chat, one dollar is approximately 900 chat. For additional fuel you must pay the black-market price, about two fifty US per gallon. Luckily you do not have to go down a dark alley or know the secret handshake, you just pay the additional money and receive your fuel at the same government controlled gas station where you purchased your legal ration. Automobile imports have been proscribed since about 1994 so all the cars excepting those driven by senior army officers and their families are all quite venerable. Lwin informs me that on today’s market he could sell his venerable Toyota for approximately thirty thousand dollars.
Well, its 2;00 PM and now that we are fed and fueled its off we go on the road to Mandalay with only four hundred miles to go. Once we leave the noisy environs of Rangoon, we find ourselves on a blacktopped 1, occasionally 1.5 lane country road with traffic moving in both directions. The day is hot and the road dusty. The ride through the countryside is is not disappointing. This road, clearly a main artery, provides a running panorama of life in rural Burma. Did I say rural Burma? All of Burma outside the few cities is rural. Burma is a nation of farmers.
Two cars can pass each other, barely. But, if you meet a lorry there is a complicated two-step that usually finds the smaller vehicle giving ground. Luckily outside the city, most of the traffic is made up of bicycles, trishaws and bullock carts. The trishaw is a unique and interesting vehicle. It is basically a bicycle with a one-wheeled sidecar. It is the Burmese peasant’s answer to the family automobile. With little trouble one is sufficient to carry the whole lot: Two on the sidecar, wife facing front, mother-in-law facing rear, one child on the rear fender and another on the front handlebars. If you are a farmer, the bullock cart may be your answer. Two yoked bullocks power this wooden beauty. A bit slow off the line, has a five-foot wheelbase and can easily carry a whole mess of passengers and the family groceries. It’s a convertible vehicle, sort of a third world SUV. When not in use carrying passengers its perfect for off-road, easily navigable through any but the deepest rice paddy.
Lwin Is an excellent driver. His technique is simple: If its smaller just lay on the horn and force it to the side of the road. If its bigger than you are; keep on keeping on until the very last minute. The other guy will probably give a little and if that’s not enough simply drive up and over the shoulder. He has a manual shift, four on the floor but mostly uses two just two speeds, fast and stop. At the end of the journey I can recall only one instance when a large bus on a dirt road passed us, the rest of the time it was pass, pass, pass! The man is the Burmese version of a gran prix racer. We probably passed half the cars/trucks/busses in Burma.
Along many sections of the road huge ancient Acacia trees, dating from the days of the British Raj form a canopy shading the road.. Rice appears to be the dominant crop and we pass field after field with rows and rows of tender green shoots.
The first night we stop at a small bungalow hotel in the small town of Brome about half way, two hundred miles from Bagan. The hotel is situated on a small lake and we eat al fresco on a covered deck overlooking the lake. The food is good and the night is hot and sultry and there is Burmese music blasting from a loudspeaker somewhere in the distance.
After a good night’s sleep we are on the road early. The morning is cool, like early summer and the heat doesn’t become oppressive until about noon. Until then we tool along with our windows rolled down saving our air conditioning and fuel. I am feeling good and ready to take photographs so we stop several times along the road. In one small town, Lwin pulls over. There is a wedding in progress and he stops for me to take few shots. I am immediately accosted by one of the guests who insists that I come in and take a picture of the bride and groom. The music stops, I am shown a seat. Tea, cakes and a pack of cigarettes is placed before me. I am embarrassed by upstaging the young couple on this there most important day. They seem bemused and not at all pleased. They are young, perhaps fourteen, and sit solemnly on a small raised stage in the front of the building, he in a dark western style suit, she in a white wedding dress. So, I smile, take a few photographs bob my head up and down, mouth inanities, thank the guests and make a speedy exit. Onward and upward!
Richard
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