Burmese Days

Freezing is the word I'd use to describe Hong Kong of late. In fact, a few weeks back, we shivered through the single coldest day the territory has experienced in over sixty years! Picture me and Fredric sitting in our apartment, cloaked in several layers of clothes and blankets—with three heaters plugged in surrounding us—and you'll have a pretty good idea of what our weekend was like. Each time I opened the refrigerator door, the air emanating from inside was actually warmer than the air in my living room! So with Chinese New Year fast approaching, the dropping mercury convinced me it was necessary to flock to warmer climes over the imminent holiday.

But where to go?

I've been trying to coordinate a visit to Burma—more and more frequently referred to as Myanmar these days—for the past several years now, and it's actually been my top destination ever since I checked India off the list of unvisited countries last February. So when I found a reasonably priced and well-timed direct flight from Hong Kong to Yangon on Myanmar National Airlines, it seemed like my dream might finally become a reality. I immediately put the fare on hold for up to a week, a free option offered by MNA, and continued to explore possibilities. 

The following morning, on my tram ride to work, I flipped a page in the Standard, Hong Kong's free English-language daily newspaper, to see the country listed as one of the new year's hottest travel destinations, like someone was trying to send me a signal. The next day, I looked out the back window of my ding ding to see the tram immediately behind us covered in an MNA advertisement, with the ancient ruined temples of Bagan gloriously beckoning me to visit. It just about made up my mind for me.

After exhaustively fare-checking online, I realized the itinerary I had on hold was absolutely ideal. I would fly in to Yangon on a Friday afternoon, and return to Hong Kong the following Sunday morning, meaning I would have eight full days and parts of two others to explore as much as possible. The prices were getting more and more expensive every time I checked, and the fare I had on hold seemed more like a bargain as the days wore on. So, before the week expired, I finalized my booking.

I began playing Frank Sinatra's jazzy version of On the Road to Mandalay and Dorothy Lamour's sultry Moon Over Burma constantly on YouTube. These two great old time tunes really evoke the mystery and exoticism of the former British colony and helped get me ridiculously excited for my trip.

Research was on! My friend Matt gave me his Lonely Planet guide, and I began reading up. And my friend Christine was a tremendous resource. She's lived in Burma for nearly a year now, and even when we both lived in Singapore back in 2013, she was jetting over there for work increasingly more and more frequently. As my inter-Burma itinerary took shape, she helped by booking buses and flights. And I don't think I could have done it without her.

Two visits to the Consulate General here in Hong Kong and my visa was firmly affixed to my passport. And as the trip got closer and closer, my friend (and former roommate) Derek joined in. And then, just about a week before our departure, my friend Christina (henceforth known in this blog as CriCri and, on the odd occasion, Creeks), another '09 alumni from the Villanova School of Business, hopped on the Burma bandwagon!

With mere days to go until the trip, to make the cold even more unbearable, my hot water heater decided it was time to kick the bucket! I had to use the kettle to heat water in order to wash my hair, and this was pretty much the last straw.

While visions of Bagan's temples danc'd in my head, mixed with low temperatures, cold showers, frequent sightings of Tram 19, endless loops of those classic songs, countless e-mails back and forth with Christine and our travelling trio slowly taking shape, I can't recall ever being more thirsty for an upcoming holiday. 

As the final kicker, I arrived home after work on Thursday night to see TCM was showing an old Errol Flynn flick called Objective, Burma! Boy, was a I ready to get on that plane the next day!

The first of many Myanmar Beers, on my flight to Yangon

Upon landing at Yangon International, I changed a hundred dollars into Burmese kyat (pronounced chat) at one of the exchange counters. I had been warned, by Christine and others, that only crisp, new, perfect bills are acceptable in Burma, so the afternoon before I flew, I visited my bank and withdrew enough C-notes to get me through my trip. They looked pretty good to me. However, the teller scrutinized the first Benjamin I handed over, grimaced and tossed it back at me. I had a mini-panic attack, but luckily my second note was acceptable. 

Christine and her boyfriend Jim very graciously offered me a spot on their futon for the first two nights in Yangon, before we headed off to Bagan and then onto Inle Lake for the rest of our adventure. So as soon as I had my kyat and a SIM card, I called Christine to let her know I was en route to her apartment. 

As seen from my taxi ride from the airport

Although she and Jim were at work, they suggested I head straight to the Shwedagon Pagoda and meet them for dinner afterwards. So I dropped my bags, changed and hopped straight in a taxi to Yangon's most famous attraction as the sun set. 

The Shwedagon is much more than the iconic pagoda at its center. Encircling the golden spire is a veritable village of temples, smaller pagodas, stages, statues, bells and thousands of people, a mix of tourists and Burmese, including hundreds of monks and nuns in their red and pink robes. 

As the first major stop of of this trip, Shwedagon was an awe-inspiring experience quite unlike anything I've yet discovered on all my travels. At one point, I got so overwhelmed by the gentle chanting of the nuns and golden spire and flickering candles and otherworldly atmosphere that I had to sit down, with chills running up and down my arms. 

I slowly wandered clockwise around the massive central pagoda twice, and if Christine hadn't called to coordinate our meet-up, I could have easily made a third rotation. There is so much to see, but just pausing for stretches of time to soak everything in is essential to understanding its strange and captivating charms.

Of all places, Christine asked me to meet her and Jim at a local Pizza Hut! Don't worry, it was just a convenient landmark between Shwedagon and our dinner venue, and made it easy for me to hop into their taxi. We then continued on to an amazing restaurant called Port Autonomy, where my hosts treated me to delicious food in a tranquil, chic setting. It was an intriguing mix of Mexican and Burmese food, and I absolutely loved it! Serendipitously, several of Christine and Jim's friends were also there, and it was good to get my first taste of Yangon's tight-knit expat lifestyle.

Following dinner, we headed downtown for a stop at a new rooftop bar called Yangon Yangon. We lingered over our drinks, with a stunning view of the pagoda glowing in the distance while Christine and Jim pointed out other monuments around the bustling metropolis.

We caught a taxi home and carried on our conversation over some Bhutanese whiskey Jim had in the apartment. But before long, slumber was beckoning. I went to sleep like a five year old on Christmas Eve, ineffably excited to link up with Derek and CriCri, who had booked their own Yangon accommodation, the following morning and jump right in to the real Burma.

Christine picked our brunch venue, Feel Myanmar, a typical Burmese free-for-all once visited by Anthony Bourdain—and ever since on tourists' radar. And I totally understand why! The dishes seemed endless, and (almost) every option was delicious. It was here that I tried my first tea leaf salad, which soon became a staple of our diet for the next week, a crunchy, fresh and absolutely delicious dish. We also tried our first mohinga, Burma's national dish, which is a pungent fish stew eaten for breakfast. 

In addition to Christine, Jim, Derek and CriCri, we had two other members of our Yangon party: Alli and Pete, good friends of Christine's who were on their honeymoon in Burma and who's last full day happened to coincide with our first! It was great getting to know them, and as they had just come from Bagan and Inle Lake, it was also convenient to pick their brains for tips and suggestions about our future destinations! 

That afternoon, we visited the timeworn Drug Elimination Museum, which details Burma's struggle to eradicate "the drug menace" from society. Many unintentionally humorous exhibits combined with an extremely passionate curator who showed us around helped make the museum a very memorable stop on our tour. My personal favorite? Either the monster hand that comes out of the ground in front of a haunted house each time visitors press a button, to signify that drugs will lead to your early grave, or a photo captioned, "Prime Minister General Soe Win test [sic] authenticity of seized narcotic drugs and poppy seeds..." It's good to be the Prime Minister! 

The next event of the jam-packed day was a boat cruise down the Yangon River, complete with a DJ spinning tunes and a stunning sunset that turned the sky impossibly lovely hues of purple, red and gold. 

Chock full of expats, the boat was a great experience we never would have found out about had it not been for Christine and Jim. Although our group helped drink the boat out of beer long before we returned to the pier, it was still an incredible party!

Back on dry land, we made our way to Chinatown, where we enjoyed yet another incredible local meal—an al fresco, curbside barbecue on atmospheric 19th Street. The ambiance was unbeatable, with hundreds of other diners chattering away as we all chowed down on delicious skewers while sipping cold Myanmar Beer.

Before calling it a night, I agreed with Derek and Creeks to meet at 5:15 the following morning back at Shwedagon. I knew it would be totally different and equally incredible in the golden glow of dawn, and as my friends hadn't experienced it yet, it seemed like the only chance we'd have to visit on what was sadly our last day in Yangon. 

I feel so fortunate to have visited the pagoda twice, and at totally different times of day. The veritable buzz of activity during my twilight visit—serving as my de facto introduction to Burma since I had only been in the country for a handful of hours—was an unforgettable experience. But to see it again with Derek and CriCri that morning, as the sun rose over the gilded spires, felt even more spiritual and ethereal.

I wasn't aware of it at this point, but it turns out I'd watch the sunrise each and every one of our Burmese days from this point onward.

One particular moment that morning served to make it truly the stuff of legend, a simple yet endearing stretch of minutes where our trio was invited to indulge in a free breakfast of mohinga in a nook nestled behind some of the side temples. Truth be told, I'm not even sure what induced us to wander down that particular alley. But while we were exploring, a friendly-faced Burmese lady approached us and beckoned us to have a seat at one of the low tables, where we were given bowls of rice noodles. Some nearby nuns were chanting in unison, and as we listened, a young man appeared with a bucket of broth and a ladle. He spooned the thick soup-like contents of the pail into our bowls, and, I must say, it ranks high on my list of all-time great breakfasts. 

After we had our fill of the pagoda, we meandered over to nearby People's Park, followed by a coffee break in Yaw Min Gyi before ultimately heading back to Christine and Jim's, who were going to take us around the colonial downtown leading up to the departure our bus to Bagan that night. From my first moments in the city, I felt instantly smitten, but this afternoon confirmed just how special a place Yangon really is, a place I would like to get to know better, and if the opportunity ever arises, a place I would love to call home for a few years.

Cramped in the back of our cab downtown

Our exploration started at the posh Strand Hotel, with a drink at the legendary bar. A sign at the entrance proclaims to all that enter here that "smoking is allowed in the Strand Bar for traditional reasons." I felt like an old movie star, Gibson in hand while the ceiling fans whirred high above. And, though I'm not a smoker, I couldn't resist buying a pack of cigarettes and puffing away in the classic surroundings. (And you can bet that although I left the bar fifty dollars poorer, I was one martini glass richer!)

Afterwards, we headed out to stroll through the crumbling colonial grandeur of downtown Yangon. The Strand Hotel is remarkably restored, in perfect condition, just like it has just been built. But most of the other buildings in this neighborhood seem caught in a photogenic stage of deterioration. A friend of Christine and Jim's had told me a couple nights before that Yangon boasts more colonial buildings than any other Southeast Asian city. And as we further explored the city this afternoon, I have no reason to doubt the veracity of her claim. 

We passed the British Embassy with its carved crest capping the arched entryway; then came the Red Cross Building with murals sprawled over the lobby walls telling the history of the organization. But the cool thing about Yangon is that it isn't only iconic structures stealing the show but rather that plenty of anonymously glorious buildings also compete for space on its vibrant streets.

We popped into a neat shop, Pomelo, specializing in local made crafts, and we encountered a million pigeons squatting on the side of the road. Local ladies sell corn and other treats for these citybirds, and Derek and I forked over a couple of hundred kyat each to feed them. One thing that was amazing about our afternoon was the friendliness of the people we passed by. Always smiling, quick to offer a Mingalabar to our accented greetings. 

Popping into one dilapidated building, we found the skeleton of an old birdcage elevator mouldering in silence and took the stairs up to a hidden art gallery ensconced on the second floor. Through the open window, the elegant A. Scott & Co, erected, according to its facade, in 1902, stood proudly across the way. Cascading down the street, a colorful row of timeworn structures told tales of the Rangoon of my dreams. These buildings can't exist in this condition very much longer. They'll have to be restored or finally fall into pieces. Even if preserved, however, they'll lack the fading charm they now exude, as the paint chips and weeds spout from crevices. The afternoon was just dissipating, but I was loving every minute of it. 

Pangs of hunger were treated with a pit stop at the trendy Rangoon Tea House, where a mid-meal black out triggered reactions from two people in the entire restaurant—CriCri and me. Everybody else, it seemed, was so used to these quotidian occurrences that they may not have even noticed.

Our last stop on our downtown tour was the former Scott's Market, now called Bogyoke Aung San Market in honor of Myanmar's national hero (and father of Nobel Peace Prize laureate and democracy icon Aung San Suu Kyi), who was assassinated in 1947 after helping to secure Burma's independence from Great Britain. 

A few friends had advised me that Yangon didn't warrant much time and that after checking out Shwedagon, it was best to head to greener pastures. What fools! I'm glad I had tour guides like Christine and Jim to help me make the most of my time there, and I plan on returning to visit them again as soon as I can. But because we had almost nine days on this trip, it made sense to get going. Future weekend trips to Yangon are easy with several direct flight options from Hong Kong. But Bagan and Inle Lake require extra time, and we had to take advantage of our schedule.

Thanks guys for an incredible weekend in Yangon!

At 8pm that night, we were on the bus to Bagan, a journey that would take around nine hours. Before the departure, we loaded up on snacks, took our seats toward the back of the bus and struck up a conversation with two chatty Burmese ladies seated behind us in the very last row. As fate would have it, they worked for the tourism office in Bagan, and suggested several temples to visit for sunrises, sunsets and daytime exploration. 

But before long, I closed my eyes and was fast asleep. I regained consciousness at several points, but never for more than a few minutes. It was a restful evening, and, ironically, probably the most sleep I got on any single night of this vacation!

Shenanigans on the night bus to Bagan! Before I passed out...

We arrived just after 5am and caught a taxi to our accommodation, the Thante Hotel in Nyaung U. Of course, at that hour, our room wasn't ready. But we dropped our bags, freshened up and got back in our taxi to head to a pagoda called Pyithada, which the ladies from the bus had recommended as a sunrise vantage point. It was the tip of a lifetime!

It was so dark when we arrived that we could hardly see a thing. Our driver showed us the way to an internal staircase leading to an expansive terrace. But for the first twenty minutes or so, we couldn't even see where the earth ended and the skies began. Ever so faintly, it became clear that dawn was approaching.

Slowly, the landscape was illuminated, revealing the flat Bagan Plains sprawling for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see. It wouldn't quite be accurate to say we had the place to ourselves, but our viewing platform was so large we all had more than enough space to take in the show. Then, the spires of the temples began to appear, as the sun peeked out from beyond the horizon. A low mist hung close to the ground, obscuring the base of many of the temples while their pointed stupas pierced the mist like needles.

Old pros who had been in Bagan two or three days at this point began giving us tips. Pointing out where the hot air balloons would rise. Or gesturing towards faraway Mount Popa to alert us to a potential day trip. A chatty Filipina named Krae warned us upon learning that we had three full days in Bagan, "That's too long. You will get bored soon." But I knew then what I can confirm now: she was dead wrong. At least for me, I don't think this place could ever get old.

In every direction, crumbling pagodas of every shade of brown imaginable stood proudly. And the brighter it got, the further we could see. Flocks of birds darted across the skies. Suddenly, we spotted the hot air balloons that shuttle high-paying tourists over the scene every morning. Although they were fully booked by the time we got our act together, simply viewing them floating across the plain was awe-inspiring. Our introduction to Bagan couldn't have been more fitting. And I can safely say it was probably the most memorable sunrise I've ever seen. 

Back at our hotel, we registered and settled into our room before heading out for some lunch. Our pick, recommended by Matt's Lonely Planet, was nestled beside an ancient pagoda on Nyaung U's so-called Restaurant Row. We made up our minds that after lunch, we would hire a horse-and-buggy to take us around to see some pagodas. We actually first had our driver, Yee Taw, drop us back at the hotel so I could grab my charging camera.  And then we headed out for a long, full day of exploration.

Yee Taw and Swe Toe

Our first stop was the nearby Shwezigon Pagoda. Its entryway was, in reality, a makeshift market, lined with stalls selling the usual suspects of Burmese souvenirs: lacquerware, puppets, sandals and figurines. It was quite an atmospheric runup to the pagoda complex itself, made all the more memorable by the colorful cast of characters peddling their wares, some with family in tow!

This was also where I struck up a conversation with a bettel-nut chewing Burmese lady. Her teeth were tinted red, and her gums were even darker. A few days before, Jim had bought me some bettel nuts, and I pulled my own bag of the local leaf-wrapped nuts out of my pocket. She said mine looked a bit "off" and made me a deal. "You give me some kyat, I go buy some new ones for you and also use it to buy some for myself, too. Alright?" I liked her honesty, so I forked over a thousand kyat note. She promised she'd find me with the goods and my change after I was done exploring the pagoda.

As we wandered around the elaborate complex, some other ladies came up to us with sheets of gold leaf and taught CriCri and me how to gild the surface of a pagoda. And on our way out, I bought a puppet before my bettel-nut buying local friend reappeared with some change and a fresh bag of the addictive little leaf-wrapped nuts.

Riding around the whole day was as bumpy as it was glorious, but it was an incredible way to explore the archaeological treasures of Bagan. Our driver took us to a couple of temples that were clearly a part of the standard "tourist circuit," but when we grew tired of the crowds, we'd just pick a more isolated one next. And if a particular temple of interest was locked, we simply had to scout around for the "key master" to open it up to us. Then we had the ruins all to ourselves to explore, with literally thousands of options to choose from.

At one, we were admiring the view from an open platform when an impish twelve-year old named Coco appeared to greet us. Although we had climbed a pitch-black internal staircase to reach the vantage point, Coco preferred the local method, scaling the pagoda's stone exterior like a monkey to greet us. He spoke admirable English—and even a little French—and seemed genuinely interested in speaking with us. We chatted about America, and Obama, and after a while, he offered to show us some nearby temples. 

Coco motioned to one across the field, "which," he boasted, "has a little bit of Buddha paintings and a little bit of snake," but CriCri was not sold on his description. I, of course, was, and so Coco guided me through the weeds to an indistinguishable temple who's interiors were covered from floor to ceiling in magnificent murals. I'd never be able to find it again, but I feel lucky to have been ushered inside by an expert guide under five feet tall. 

I stepped on something sharp at the temple, and my foot began to bleed. Making lemonade out of lemons, we stopped at a nearby roadside restaurant for an afternoon snack of milkshakes, fried noodles and other local delicacies, while I waited for the wound to clot. And then it was time for sunset!

Swe Toe just kept plodding along, taking us to a temple with a grand vista across the plains where we staked out a good spot, watching the sun disappear beneath the horizon, already excited with anticipation for its reappearance the next dawn.

Back at the Thande, I had a quick dip in the pool, and we all took turns showering the day's accumulated dust off of our bodies. Thanks to our Lonely Planet, we had a nearby dinner destination in mind, but it turned out to be shuttered. Still, our evening stroll around Nyaung U lead us to a nice-if-not-necessarily-stellar spot for dinner and gave us a fascinating view of the town itself, with its homes, shops and snippets of Burmese nightlife, which consisted mostly of people sitting outside near street stalls grilling meat and serving cold Myanmar Beer. 

Typical "store" in Nyaung U

Helpfully, the Thante's lobby had a whiteboard signposted with the timings of the following day's sunrise and sunset, so we booked a taxi to take us to Shwesandaw, rumored to be the best vantage point for the daily spectacle. Again, it was pitch black when we arrived, but the masses had already taken up the temple's uppermost tiers. We had to settle for the third level down, but the view was to die for.

Immediately ahead of Shwesandsaw is the mammoth Dhammayangyi Temple, and as the skies brightened with the impending sunrise, its jagged silhouette was perceptible to the east. Suddenly, the telltale signs of the event were in the air, as if the gods had just ignited a flame to illuminate the plains for the mere mortals below. 

But the sun itself had failed to make an appearance, though impossibly beautiful shades of oranges, auburns, golds and rubies colored the air. The reason became clear when the faintest arc of the sun emerged from behind Dhammayangyi itself, which had been obscuring the magnificent orb. Take my word for it, the photos do not even come close to recreating what we were fortunate enough to have witnessed first hand. But even knowing they never could didn't stop me from snapping away. 

The day before, we had an enormous space to wander about, while this morning it seemed like we were hanging on for dear life. And although the views were somewhat similar, it felt like an entirely different experience. In spite of the lack of space, we still managed to chat with our neighbors, including a friendly Dutchman named Martijn, who instantly bonded with Creeks when it turned out one of the forthcoming stops on his Southeast Asian tour was her favorite diving spot, Sipadan in Malaysia. 

Of course, after the hot air balloons lifted off and ultimately descended, and the air warmed with the promise of another scorching day, the assembled crowds dissipated and we had the iconic pagoda pretty much to ourselves. I climbed up to the previously-cramped-but-now-empty top levels while Derek and CriCri took the chance to squeeze in a few much needed moments of shut eye. 

Our driver took us next to Tharabar Gate, dropping us off near the preserved entryway of the old palace and ninth century city walls. From there, we planned to explore as much of Old Bagan as we could on foot. 

Pete and Alli had told us not to miss a vegetarian restaurant nearby, memorably called Be Kind to Animals the Moon. We plopped down at a table on their beautiful patio but we were so early that the food menu was not yet being served. We did enjoy a round of coffees, teas and milkshakes before crossing the dirt path to Be Kind to Animals Yar Pyi, with its slightly envious sign imploring, "Lonely Planet might not talk about us (yet) but lovely people...say we are the most delicious." 

I can't say anything good or bad about the food at The Moon, but I can tell you that Yar Pyi was one of the most memorable meals of the whole trip. We had tea leaf and pennywort salads, an out-of-this-world tomato peanut curry, a local omelet and something simply called coconut soup, which we wrote in the guestbook—cleverly inserted into menus—was "one of the best things we've ever put in our mouths." Chatting with the owners as they proudly showed off photographs of their numerous daughters and sole son added a nice epilogue to the meal. 

The menus contained blank pages on which satisfied diners could add their own reviews!

A few hundred meters away was the well-restored Ananda Temple, which gives a good idea of how many of the ruins must have looked in their prime. With a spire nearly two-hundred feet high, and plenty of quirks inside and out, the Ananda was a great place to inspect. One tall Buddha sticks out, because when you gaze at him from afar, a broad smile greets you in return; however, when you stand at his feet and look up, a melancholy air emanates from his doleful visage, his grin transformed into an unmistakable frown. 

Let a smile be your umbrella...

Don't bring a frown to Old Bagan...

Derek, unfortunately, made an executive decision to head back to the hotel midway through touring Ananda. Something he ate—and we never quite figured out what, since we had all sampled bites of pretty much every single dish ordered at every single meal—had messed with his stomach, and some down time at Thante was necessary.

Creeks and I carried on, admiring the magnificent murals in Ananda Ok Kyaung, a sanctuary dwarfed by its neighbor but arguably more stunning, with literally thousands of figures, human and animals, going about their twelfth century local Burmese life. The guide inside handed us flashlights to shine upon the paintings to scrutinize their breathtaking attention to detail. 

We explored a local market and nearby upscale hotel before returning to the temples. While removing our shoes outside Shwegugyi, we struck up a conversation with two of the most interesting tourist we'd yet chatted with, Joe and Marie. A sixty-something year old married couple (from New Jersey!), they've been travelling the world for nearly a year! Though Creeks and I were on foot, Joe and Marie had hired a driver for the day, and asked us if we wanted a lift to some nearby temples.

We continued on with them to Thatbyinnyu Temple and then to a lonely library called Pitaka Taik, before ending up at the massive Gawdawpalin Temple. If there was a lesson to be learned from our exploration over these first two days in Bagan, it was probably that a temple's exterior is no indication of what you'll discover once inside. Some of the most impressive facades give way to bland interiors, while some of the most worthwhile destinations are concealed within outwardly modest walls. The solution? Just check everything out!

Staircase up to Pitaka Taik

Parting ways with Joe and Marie, we began walking towards the riverfront hotels of Old Bagan, when a chipper Derek—now feeling significantly better—called and expressed a potential interest in reuniting with us. He'd call back in a little bit to let us know for sure. We awaited confirmation atop yet another viewing platform—and again, one we had all to ourselves for most of the hour or so we spent up their. 

After a long while sitting on our high perch looking out towards the dipping sun and countless spires, CriCri and I started getting creative with our photo ops. We both knew well how lucky we were to be experiencing this. Timing is everything. "In ten years, there's no way people will be able to climb up temples like this, and have them all to themselves," she commented. And it's sad but true. On the one hand, it will be good for conservation and preservation as throngs of tourists descend upon the archaeological wonders; on the other, I'll always feel extremely lucky to have experienced it before it became truly overrun with visitors, as I have no doubt it soon will.

As we were getting ready to leave, two young Burmese girls, about the same age as Coco, climbed up to join us on the terrace (and tried to offload some postcards). They said their names were Poo Poo and Wee Wee, but their stifled giggles and obvious interest in our reaction made me think these sobriquets are merely for the benefit of English-speaking visitors. Either way, what impressed me most was that even after we politely refused to buy anything from the duo, they graciously guided us down through the dark stairwells, imploring us to mind our heads and lighting the way with flashlights.

Steps away was the Bagan Hotel River View, where we told Derek to meet us. Creeks and I toyed with the idea of a sunset river cruise, but an open table at the edge of a wooden deck overlooking the Irrawaddy was far too inviting. A fresh, cold Myanmar Beer and some crunchy onion rings... That was exactly what the doctor ordered! The sun dipped behind the hills on the opposite bank, and white lanterns dangling from the trees lit up in gold as dusk encroached upon the tranquil scene.

Another bottle of Myanmar Beer? Why not? The light show was just beginning, orange giving way to scarlet giving way to violet giving way to deep purple before all finally turning to black.

Derek had asked his taxi to wait, because our plan for the night was to check out the 'nightlife' in New Bagan, one of the three main accommodation hubs surrounding the Bagan Plains. Back in the planning stages of the trip, I'd weighed the pros and cons of each. Old Bagan was the priciest, and one day, I hope to return and stay somewhere as ritzy as the River View. But for this first trip, it was nixed. That left the choice of New Bagan or Nyaung U. It was a tough decision, but Nyaung U won out for me. Still, everybody we seemed to be chatting with so far had gone with New Bagan. And we wanted to see what we were missing.

We made a beeline for Ostello Bello, a popular hostel complete with a forecourt where a large crowd of backpackers gathers most evenings to unwind after the long day. This particular night, we arrived in the midst of a pub quiz that was taking place. We made friends with a kindly, older German traveler, who even bought us some beers, while we did our best to answer the questions. And we indulged in an uber-Western meal of pizza and chicken fingers. Those two ladies from the night bus even showed up to drop some brochures off at the front desk. And a few other familiar faces were scattered among the crowd. Like Rick's Cafe in Casablanca, it seems that everybody comes to Ostello Bello.

And I'm glad we checked it out; I most definitely had a fun night there. (I also loved riding in the back of a pickup truck to return to the Thante afterwards!) But I'm happy to report that I think we made the right choice by staying in Nyaung U. The backpacker scene in New Bagan was overwhelmingly Western and, to be honest, a bit commonplace after having hit up similar haunts across Southeast Asia. I preferred the distinctly Burmese, local side of life that surrounded us in Nyaung U.

How else to begin our last full day in Bagan than with a third sunrise from an ancient temple? We chose Buledi as our final vantage point, but when our taxi dropped us off, it was clearly full to capacity, so we scaled its less-famous next door neighbor, who's name I never managed to learn.

Over three mornings, we had become the old pros, doling out advice to some newly arrived French youngsters who were about to leave once the sun was hanging low in the sky. "The hot air balloons will be lifting off in a couple of minutes. You'll want to stay and check it out," Derek told them, and they thanked him profusely.

Simultaneously, I struck up a conversation with Jaden from Canada and Michal from Poland, who had just gotten off the night bus an hour or so earlier. Jaden's been backpacking around since last July, and when I learned that, I nearly fell off the pagoda. Michal then announced that he's already a year in to an intended two-and-a-half year voyage! Creeks and I could hardly conceal our travel envy, but talking to these guys was so interesting!

Heading back to the hotel, I looked out the window of our cab as we drove past my friend Ben, who was riding a motorbike. "Oh my gosh, that's one of my friends from Hong Kong," I exclaimed! "Please stop the car!" I opened the door and jumped out waving, as Ben and his friend Jean pulled over. What a small world to bump into them on a dusty highway! We made plans to meet up for diner later that night.

My friend Nicolas was also in Bagan with two friends, Alex and Davide. And I sent him a message back at the hotel, Although nearly every other young backpacker we had met over the course of this trip had been staying in New Bagan, in a nice twist of fate, both Nicolas and Ben were staying in Nyaung U, so we were all within walking distance of each other's hotels. Before heading out for the day, Nicolas also expressed an interest in bringing his group along for the dinner later.

After a day in a horse cart followed by a day on foot, now was the time to explore the remaing temples via bicycle. The hotel had about fifteen or so parked out front, so we got a map from the front desk and agreed on a rate the roughly converted to about three US dollars for a full day before picking our bikes.

And then we just started cycling. Less than twenty minutes later, after stopping at an impressive temple just off the main highway, we took a left onto a dirt path and just started exploring. These temples weren't large enough to have signs stating their names. Many were overgrown. Several had bats hanging from their ceilings (and droppings on their stone floors). But they were fascinating!

Buddha and bats

The first major temple we spied was the unmistakable Dhammayangyi, which had provided us with our most photogenic sunset two days earlier. Massive doesn't quite do justice to the enormous temple; even colossal seems like an understatement. And the mystery surrounding its construction and murky past only adds to its strange appeal. 

Before going inside, we had a beer under the shady awning of a small shop while a local repairman had a look at a troublesome wheel on Derek's bike. He fixed it, and refused to take any kyat for his help. And then we ventured through the gates to the temple itself. 

Continuing east from Dhammayangyi, we pulled into perhaps the most impressive of all the temple ruins I'd seen in Bagan: Sulamani. It was nice that a temple's embellished outside was just as impressive as it's intriguing interior, filled with murals, statuary and carvings.

At this point, the road turned from tightly packed dirt—difficult but manageable to peddle on—to loose sand—nearly impossible to peddle on. We did our best, stopping frequently, and we were even forced to walk our bikes for certain stretches. But our reward was well worth it: Sinbyushin Monastery, an abandoned complex with plenty of buildings, including a central temple with beautiful views. 

We were unsure if we were allowed in at first, but some friendly ladies were enjoying their lunch beside the temple and pointed towards the entrance, implying that we should go in and have a look around. 

It was the only temple I'd seen so far with statuary outside, with three external stone figures, hands folded in prayer, gazing out over the plains. And when we got inside the main hall, we discovered a pair of steep, dark stairways leading to an expansive viewing platform. An even steeper pathway—and I'm deliberately refusing to use the word staircase here because it was really just crumbling bricks that may have been a staircase in a former life—lead to a narrow ledge. Climbing one level further, through sheer upper body strength alone, took me and CriCri to the very top, just beneath the spire itself. (Derek took this opportunity to announce that he was actually afraid of heights! How'd you keep that a secret for so long, buddy?)

"Stairs"

My feet no longer belonged to a self-respecting human being but rather to some unknown beast. You know those smaller toes you never really think about? Not your big toe, or even your second toe, but the third and fourth ones? Well it dawned on me that I was actually using them unconsciously to grab on to stones as a climbed. 

While Creeks soaked it all up from the top tier, I ventured back down to explore some more with Derek. We found a unlit opening carved into a wall, and with the light of his iPhone, we hunched through the dusty tunnel for close to ten minutes. It was exactly what you'd dream of finding in the attic of an abandoned monastery, filled with cracked Buddhas—some of them headless—and unused bricks. And I felt like a real life Indiana Jones crawling about the seemingly forgotten passageway. 

There was a whitewashed temple that really stuck out from the viewing platform of the monastery, so of course we had to check it out. After spending a good chunk of the afternoon at the complex, we continued peddling over the sands towards it, unsure if the path would even lead us to it. A few minutes onward, however, and I jammed on my handbrakes. To our left, on a light brown field with crumbling temples beyond, some goatherds were allowing their flock to graze. It was a beautiful, pastoral scene that I thought only existed in paintings in art museums. To wander among it, to speak to the shepherds, to be surrounded by the animals as they crossed the field, was a moment I'll never forget. 

The white temple—Leimyethna by name—was so different from all the others around it, and undeniably stunning from the outside. I'm glad we got to see it up close. But cooler than its rather bland interior was the local volleyball game taking place beside it. We hurriedly explored a few other brick structures nearby, trying to find a suitable sunset spot. But we weren't having much luck. 

The sun was dropping quick, and knowing it was our last day in Bagan, we retraced our path to the monastery to savor it. After two previous sunsets, we knew we wouldn't have much time to linger after the show. We were still a good half hour's ride from the lit, paved main road. And we certainly didn't want to be peddling along on the dirt paths when true night descended. But we couldn't pass up a final chance to watch the golden glow of twilight fall upon the vast plain. Yes, it was a rush to get back to the highway afterwards, but we made it just in time. And you can bet a shower was never more well deserved than when we finally got back to the Thante, exhausted, dusty and sore. But, oh, my, oh, my, what an unforgettable day!

To cap it all off, I managed to coordinate the group dinner, too! Ben and Jean, Nicolas, Alex and Davide and Derek, CriCri and myself all had a pleasant evening under the stars on Nyaung U's Restaurant Row. I think we were all pretty exhausted from our days, but it was still fun to chat with everybody and quaff plenty of cold Myanmar Beer to commemorate our last night in town. 

How anyone could get tired of Bagan, at least after only three days, is beyond me. But we didn't really have a choice. If we wanted to fit Inle Lake in to our trip, it was time to move on. For the record, I could easily have stayed two or three (or more) days in the ancient capital, but our flights were booked and, so, the next morning, off we went to Heho, the closest airport to our next destination. As we sat in the airport waiting for our departure, the sun rose over the runway, a far cry from the string of amazing dawns we'd experienced, but a beautiful sight nonetheless. 

By the time CriCri had joined in the trip, the flight Derek and I had booked was already sold out. Still, she managed to get herself a seat on a flight leaving less than an hour after us, so we just waited in the minuscule airport until she landed. Then we all took a taxi to Nyaungshwe, the tourist-hub-of-a-town nestled on the main canal connecting to Inle Lake.

Although Creeks and I would have two nights in Inle, Derek had just one. As such, our only opportunity to spend a full day in a longboat on the lake was to head straight out upon dropping our bags at the Inle Star Hotel!

Located right on the canal, the hotel was ideally placed for our situation. The friendly staff secured our bags in a backroom off the lobby and found a boatman for us within minutes. It was all a bit chaotic, but probably around ten minutes after getting out of the taxi at our hotel, we were already gliding down the canal headed towards the main body of the famous lake!

Bagan shows off the glorious past of Burma incredibly. But Inle Lake gives visitors a much better idea of typical daily life of the Burmese people. We realized that we hadn't just taken a vacation to another country, but that we had taken a trip to another era. It was like visiting some 1930s dream of Asia. And somehow, even though it was one of the first destinations in the country to be groomed for tourism, it managed to feel remarkably undiscovered and untouched by the modern world.

The Intha fisherman spend their days on humble, wooden skiffs. Blessed with preternatural balance, they often stand on one leg, with the other wrapped around their oar, which is used to steer the boat and propel it around the calm waters.

People live in stilt houses right on the waters of the lake itself, washing their clothing and their bodies with it. And in spite of the tourists, they seem little fazed by the camera-toting foreigners ever-intrigued by their quotidian routines.  

As interested as I was by it all, I was getting fiercely peckish. "Guys, are you hungry?" I asked Derek and Creeks. "Because if I don't eat in the next two or three hours, it's going to start negatively affecting my attitude." Luckily, it didn't come to that. Our driver pulled over to the aptly named Nice Restaurant, where we indulged in Shan Noodles and a pitch-perfect grilled fish fresh from the lake. In case you couldn't guess, we also had a couple of Myanmar Beers. After that, I was good to go! 

Inle's villages are famous for their craft workshops. And that day, we checked out many of them. Before we even stopped at the first one, we could hear the clack-click-clackety-clatter of the weaving workshops as our boat snaked its way up the narrow channels of In Phaw Khone. Once inside, the weavers are happy to show off their trade. One woman was drawing thread out of the stems of lotus plants, a tedious preliminary phase that can take months to get even a small amount of usable strands. Upstairs, a few other girls were hard at work creating the actual shawls, scarves or other garments for sale in the attached shop. 

One of my favorite stops of the afternoon was the cheroot factory in Nampan, where a well-oiled line of local women was hard at work rolling local cigars. A friendly saleslady allowed me to try several before deciding on which flavors I wanted to purchase. And I got a nifty cylindrical holder to store them in, with the inlaid figure of an Intha fisherman to remember the day. 

We sailed past the floating gardens and made our way to the village of Ywama, where the Paduang woman sell their crafts. The tribe is world famous for their practice of placing brass rings around the necks of some of the women, lowering the collar bones and creating the illusion of extending the neck. I wasn't sure how I'd react to the sight of the so-called giraffe ladies, afraid gawking at them might conjure up feelings of visiting a human zoo.  

However, upon entering the shop, we encountered ladies who were chatty and friendly. And they seemed proud of their tradition, not enslaved by it. Perhaps they're just good at pretending—and aware of how lucrative it is posing for photos for Western tourists—but I was strangely moved by the experience, and especially by talking with the two younger girls, working hard at their weaving, who said they were the daughters of the older ladies seated a few feet away. 

We sailed to the Jumping Cat Monastery, but the felines (and monks) all seemed to be lazing in the late afternoon, hardly moving except to breath let alone jumping through their hoops. Thankfully, the lovely teak architecture was itself worthy of a visit, and combined with drop dead gorgeous lighting provided by the setting sun, it was downright spectacular.

And as it dipped lower and lower, we headed back out upon the lake to take in a sunset so incredibly different from the past string of days that it is difficult to compare them. In Bagan, as I've described, the sun dips behind the mountains, dispersing the last of its last rays over thousands of temples. But here, over Inle, the setting sun turns the whole lake a common shade of golden, nearly matching that of the sky. And the silhouettes of the local people against this backdrop is truly magnificent. 

On the way back, re-entering the canal connecting the lake to the town, I looked up and saw the moon. It dawned on me that this was actually the first time on the trip that I'd seen the moon over Burma, as Ms. Lamour sang so long ago. 

First glimpse of the moon over Burma

You know the song. Or, maybe you don't actually, since it's quite obscure. But I think the first time I realized there was a place called Burma was back in middle school when I first heard that old tune. So looking up into the darkening skies to drink in my first glimpse of it was quite a special little moment, even though it was just the tiniest sliver of a crescent, hardly the "heavenly light" referenced the song. 

 

It was our last night as a trio, and we decided to celebrate with a communal feast. The friendly front desk staff at our hotel gave us a map of Nyaungshwe and pointed out a few restaurants recommended by Lonely Planet and TripAdvisor. As we were walking in that general direction, who should ride by on her bicycle but Krae, the Filipina we met atop Pyithada. She joined us for dinner, and afterwards, our trio now a quartet, we took in a local puppet show. In the tiny theater, an old master made his wooden marionettes truly come to life. 

Little, unexpected bits of happenstance abound in Burma, injecting magical moments here and there. And walking back to the hotel after the puppet show, we chanced upon one such incredible interlude. It was simply the town skating rink, abuzz on the Thursday evening. But watching the Burmese teens, a mix of dazzling pros and klutzy amateurs, gave us a little slice of Nyaungshwe nightlife way cooler than any bar could have been.  

A rotating market schedule makes the rounds of the villages surrounding Inle Lake, and the following morning, we were up early to watch the sunrise over the lake before exploring Maing Thauk, the place where the market happened to be that day. 

It was actually pretty cold when we started our journey, but we had been warned by Pete and Alli to wear layers, because once the sun was shining over the scene, it would quickly reach the normal temperature level. 

The lake becomes ground rather quickly in spots, and the reeds and grasses growing from the water grow thicker and thicker until turning to bona fide land forming the village of Maing Thauk. Stepping out of our boat, the palpable sense of market day was in the air. Villagers from all over were there, armed with baskets and bags to tote their goods home with them. 

The market was full of interesting sights. Flowers, fruits and vegetables, antiques, food stalls. And although the local produce was oh-so photogenic, I think the memories of the morning that will stick with me most are all culinary ones! We just ate so much. I promptly resigned myself to the fact that I might get sick from the treats of the morning, and I was totally fine with it. There was no way I wasn't experimenting and experiencing everything this place had to offer! And since the hygiene of pretty much every food stall was slightly questionable at best, I figured if I tried one, I might as well try them all.  

A few steps into the market, we saw a young man making a pancake-like goodie out of batter, cracking an egg into it, and folding it on a hot stove-top. We got some coffee and silky milk tea to wash it down, and Creeks even helped herself to a second cup. 

A few steps away, we had a second snack: a deep, red sticky rice with mystery meat inside. And then, an old lady with a kindly face and laughing eyes served us another delicious treat, a flat, crepe-like pancake, complete with a spicy dipping sauce. Part of the fun was not knowing exactly what we were eating, and another part of the experience was eating among the locals, with hundreds of people bargaining for their daily necessities surrounding us as we ate. 

We all took our own path that morning, crossing each other here and there, but turning down rows and back paths that seemed to hold untold treasures as we saw fit. At one point, I saw CriCri seated yet another food stall, and I joined her for some deep fried pastries and a gelatin-like square of savory goodness. Then we linked up with Derek, who was ogling at the fishmongers gutting and peddling the lake's precious natural resources. 

Foodies at heart, CriCri and I only had our mind on the fish for a few moments before we found another stall a-callin'. It was a hot, lightly-fried plate of tofu, but a simple description like that in no way does justice to the deliciousness contained therein. 

The market, taken on the whole, was an utterly beguiling experience, one of the most photogenic spots we'd seen on the trip, and probably the best market I've ever gotten the chance to explore. It was colorful in both senses of the word, literally full of vibrant hues and filled with interesting people wearing interesting clothes buying interesting things. And full of curious stares and friendly smiles. 

Exploring the little village itself, we found a ritzy hotel and grabbed some complimentary bikes to cycle around. We were unsuccessful in trying to locate the crumbling remnants of an old colonial fort mentioned in our guidebook, but what we stumbled upon instead was one of the gems of the trip, a Burmese Brady bunch of friendly kids who delighted in posing for photos!

Of course, passing back through the market to reach our boat, Creeks and I just had to have one last snack. As fate would have it, the bowl of Shan noodles we decided on turned out to be just quite possibly the ultimate culinary highlight of the entire trip. Prepared by a laughing lady with a toothy grin, it was clear she knew she whipped together an all-time winner. I could tell by the way she giggled to herself when she witnessed our reaction, as Creeks and I looked at one another with a combination of wide-eyes, wordless stares, muttering oohs and ahhs, unable to find the words to communicate our satisfaction but knowing our delight was ever-so evident. It was bewilderingly delicious, in a rare way that I can't describe but will never forget. 

Back in Nyaungshwe, we had a rather-rushed check-out process from Inle Star, and then we re-located to the second hotel, where Creeks and I would be staying for the night, sadly without Derek. The Zawgi Guest House couldn't compete with Inle Star in terms of location, but it more than compensated in charm and hospitality! And although being off the canal mandated a bit longer travel time to reach the attractions of the village, the Zawgi's location in the midst of a local neighborhood gave us a better insight and understanding of local life. 

A quick lunch followed at a typical roadside eatery, our dining companions the local boat drivers and touts. It might not have been strictly necessary after all the mini-breakfasts we'd enjoyed, but I'm glad we indulged. Then we opted for a pancake break at a backpacker-friendly restaurant serving Western desserts.

Like that, Derek was gone. And the reality that our trip was drawing to a close was suddenly unmistakably tangible to Creeks and me. What better way to force it out of our heads than a sunset tasting at Red Mountain Winery! We got a tuk tuk to drive us up, and who did we pass on the way but Michal, the Polish backpacker who's been on the go for a full year. We invited him to hop in and join us for the tasting. We snagged the last empty table in the outdoor seating area, and although the wine might not have been the world's best, it was a darn sight better than we expected. 

We each ordered the "tasting flight" that gave us a sampling of four or five of the winery's most popular varietals. Then we picked our favorite and ordered a bottle, reveling in the view and our good fortune at having gotten such a good spot just before the evening's spectacle. 

Meanwhile, Martijn and a friend of his happened to walk by, looking for seats. His eyes lit up when he recognized us, probably not because he was so happy to see us as much as because the two empty chairs at our table made it possible for him and his friend to sit outdoors while most of the latecomers had to stand. (His arrival completed the hat trick, as we had now randomly reconnected with someone we had met at each of the three sunrises from Bagan in Inle!)

The view was enough to make it feel like we'd been magically beamed to some vineyard in Tuscany or Burgundy! And the sheer virtue of the fact that it was all so improbable—A winery? In Burma?—made it another sunset to remember. 

Michal came back to the Zawgi with us, and we had a Myanmar Beer on our porch. But he had to be making tracks, because he was trekking into the mountains to camp for the night and had miles to go before he'd sleep. We also had (much less strenuous) plans, meeting up with Ben, Jean and friends of CriCri's named Leslie and Anita, for a grand group dinner at one of Nyaungshwe's hippest restaurants, the View Point.

It was an uproarious dinner with near constant laughter. Ironically, the food played second fiddle to the conversation, as we all recapped great moments from our Burmese days. It was also slightly bittersweet, tinged with the inevitable sadness that it was all about to come to an end. 

Creeks was off early the next morning, although I still had most of the day in Inle before my own flight back to Yangon at 4pm. Although I had squeezed in a quick breakfast at Zawgi with Creeks before she flitted off to the airport, I couldn't resist a bowl of Shan noodles at the town's main market. A notch or two below the previous day's, perhaps, but a lovely start to what turned out to be another lovely day. 

Burma is undeniably famous for its monks, and the rest of the day, I really got a serious dose of them. A few monasteries near to Zawgi were brimming with the red-robed young men. Whether they were walking in rows, heading to their prayer halls, or just lingering in the common courtyards of the complexes, the monks seemed to be deeply engrossed in their spiritual work. 

One of the most moving moments of the trip for me was when I changed upon around one hundred of them all seated inside a hall, chanting together. I heard the murmur as I wandered around the seemingly silent grounds, the din growing louder as I got nearer to the hall. I knew I was about to witness something special when I saw hundreds of sandals all neatly arranged in a line outside the doorway. Although the video I took doesn't come close to properly documenting the experience, it's the best I can do.

  

I wandered down to the canal afterwards, hoping to charter a boat to visit one of the villages we hadn't been able to fit in on our first day. With my timing, however, I wouldn't have time. I guess, though, it will give me a good reason to return in the future. And just wandering around the town again, sharing the roads with monks and locals, was great.

I popped back to the Zawgi, and the lady manning the front desk suggested I use my remaining free time on bicycle to ride out to a monastery on the outskirts of town. 

The monastery was just gorgeous. Set on wooden pillars, which I guess prevent it from water damage if the lake ever rise during flooding in the rainy reason, it feels truly ancient. And it was just teeming with novice monks.

The kind ladies at the Zawgi had arranged for a taxi to take me to the airport at 2pm, and so I cycled back to Nyaungshwe, stopped a Lonely Planet-recommended spot for lunch and pulled back into the hotel with around two minutes to spare. I dropped off the bike, bid farewell to the friendly staff and headed off to Heho, feeling extremely fortunate to have experienced so much of the real Burma in this tiny haven of a place. 

One last sunset, stepping off the plane back in Yangon

Traffic from the airport to my AirBnB accommodation for my last night made the drive seem endless. The fact that my cabbie had no idea where he was going certainly didn't speed matters up. But my last evening was another fun one. My hosts took me to a party hosted by the Goethe Institute, in an old colonial mansion. Ben and Jean came, too, and it was another event that confirmed for me that I could easily make a home for myself in Yangon. As I journeyed back to the airport at 7am the following morning, all I could think about was returning as soon as possible. 

I was fully expecting to love everything about this trip. In fact, at a few points before I left, I wondered if I was putting too much pressure on Burma for it to possibly live up to my expectations. But I'm not exaggerating one bit when I say it is undoubtedly on my short list of the two or three best vacations I've ever taken. From getting to catch up with Christine and Jim in Yangon and get a taste of their expat life there, to the glorious, Indiana Jones-esque temple hopping of Bagan, to immersing ourselves in the thriving, local life in and around Inle Lake, Burma met and exceeded every single expectation I set for it. I can't wait to go back. And, if enthusiasm, desire and zeal are any indication, not only will I be back again very soon, but I'll spend a significant amount of time, money and energy on fully exploring everything that this magical, incredible country has to offer!