Wednesday, April 28, 2004
I'm in a Thai shopping mall. It is an evil place. I'm smiling as I say that because I believe it, and then I don't. My heart is split between being an American who is comfortable with the familiar Western surroundings of this shopping center (a hallmark of a consumerist society), and feeling sad, disgusted, and angered by the rising tide of an interconnected global economy that is turning Southeast Asia into a twisted image of the U.S. As I look at the scene before me from this Internet café I see Thai teenagers desperately trying to be part of the Thai pop culture mainstream through the type of clothing, music, and food that they consume. A part of me hopes that Myanmar does not fall prey to the same social, cultural, and economic long run fate as Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore. I selfishly hope that Myanmar can continue to maintain the innocence that I saw in a people who have not fallen into the trap of a greedy, capitalist society that encourages the populace to seek self-gratification through consumerism.
I returned to Bangkok yesterday from my twelve-day journey through the central part of Myanmar. My thoughts and emotions are still raw, so I will do my best to accurately convey what I experienced.
Where shall I begin? I will begin by confessing that yes, indeed, I fell in love with Myanmar. The people, the culture, the Buddhist traditions, the temples, the ox-drawn carts, the old, beaten roads, the red-stained, betel nut chewing teeth of the Burmese, the beautiful Burmese women and children wearing thanaka on their faces and arms, and the colorful longyi (sarong) worn by everyone.
And although I had a severe stomach bacterial infection from something I ate soon into the trip, I can tell you that if afforded the opportunity to return, I would do so in a heartbeat.
Yangon
April 16, 2004
The Thai Airways commercial airliner began its descent toward Yangon International Airport. I looked from my aisle seat across the row of seats to my left and saw through the airplane cabin window the dense canopy of a tropical forest that stretched to the horizon. The only signs of civilization were the occasional golden pagoda spires that broke through the lush greenery marking the locations of Burmese Buddhist temples. I did not see buildings or a grid street plan typical of urban areas near most capital cities. I only saw distant golden spires and the vast expanse of tropical vegetation as the plane continued its descent. I then thought of what Joseph Campbell once said in his 1988 The Power of Myth television miniseries: "If you want to see what a society really believes in, look at what the biggest buildings on the horizon are dedicated to." He explained how during the Middle Ages Roman Catholic cathedrals defined the skylines of most, if not all, European cities. In the decades after the American and French Revolutions government buildings were constructed to compete with the tall spires of Protestant and Catholic churches. Today, corporate skyscrapers are the architectural apex of developed cities. These towering feats of the First World reflect Western civilization's cumulative, excessive, and corrupting adoration of money. But in Myanmar, you find only Buddhist temples that reach for the skies, and that–according to Joseph Campbell–is a clear sign as to what is respected and practiced among the Burmese.
The plane approached the runway and landed. As we neared the main terminal building I realized that the Thai airliner was the only commercial aircraft in the entire airport; an indication of Myanmar's political and economic isolation. The plane stopped, the fasten seat belt sign turned off, I unbuckled myself from my seat, stood up, and began to gather my bag and belongings. Passengers began to line up in the aisles, the airplane cabin doors were opened, and we exited the plane by walking down a passenger boarding staircase where we were immediately hit by the thick, humid air. Parked at the base of the staircase was a decades-old Japanese public bus. I boarded the bus, and when it was partially full the driver turned the ignition key and drove it to the terminal building. I tried to read bits and pieces of the Japanese script on the bus while thinking that it was odd that the Osaka bus route map and safety instructions were still in the language of the Land of the Rising Sun. It felt as if the bus had been snatched from Japan two decades ago and dropped magically into Myanmar to continue working a new route without any need to provide information in Burmese. Later in my trip I would see public buses that still had the painted logos for JR (Japan Railways), Keio (a train and bus line in Tokyo), and Seibu Bus.
Going through customs at the airport was quick and easy. I didn't see any armed security guards or military men–in fact I did not see a single firearm during my time in Myanmar. But what did catch my attention as I passed through customs was the face of one of the customs officials who had applied–in a circular motion–a yellow cream to her cheeks. I later learned that most, if not all, Burmese women applied thanaka (a cosmetic paste made from ground bark) to their face and arms;1 a tradition that has continued for over 2,000 years.2
I exited the Yangon International Airport and was instantly approached by a Burmese taxi driver in his early thirties wearing a blue plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves and a dark blue longyi. He took off his sunglasses and offered to drive me to the city center. I asked him how much for the ride. He gave me his price, which I calculated into US dollars and agreed. But he insisted that I look for another tourist to share the ride to cut down the cost. I was pleasantly shocked by his recommendation. In Thailand taxi drivers did their best to cheat me out of my cash. But in Yangon this Burmese taxi driver was trying to help me save money! I told him it was no trouble for me to pay his fare, but he pointed out a young, lone female backpacker with dark brown, shoulder length hair that was walking out of the airport. He said he would wait for me to ask her. Deciding to give it a shot, I ran to catch up with the backpacker who appeared to be in her late twenties, and asked if she wanted to split a cab with me. She agreed and away we went to Yangon.
I formally introduced myself in the taxi. She reciprocated by telling me that her name was Daisy, that she was from the Netherlands, and that she had been traveling for nine months, which made me a backpacking novice compared to her.
The taxi neared the outskirts of the Yangon, and along the sides of the street we saw thirty or more people standing on covered platforms elevated by scaffolds spraying water from garden hoses down at the passing cars, pedestrians, and traffic police; they were celebrating the last day of Thingyan (the Burmese New Year festival), which was similar to the Songkran festival in Thailand with the exception that no one used talcum powder or water guns. The taxi continued slowly as we watched to our right people seated in the back of a blue pick-up truck get heavily doused. Then in an instant a Burmese teenager armed with a garden hose ran up to our taxi and sprayed directly into the driver's open window. Daisy and I could only giggle like children in the attack that left us soaked. The taxi continued further into the capital, and we saw more and more people spraying water from scaffolds while others jumped out of their cars to dump, launch, throw, and catapult buckets of water at other cars and pedestrians.
Everyone was so happy, but to put it in the words of a Frenchmen I met later that day: "Judging by how happy these people are today you would never guess that they are under a military dictatorship."
The taxi driver took me to the May Shan Hotel, which was located just in front of the supposedly 2,500-year-old Sule Pagoda (a 44-meter-high Burmese stupa at the center of Yangon) that served as a rallying point during the 8888 Nationwide Popular Pro-Democracy Protests. Daisy chose to stay at a hostel, but we decided to meet at her hostel in an hour. After I checked into my hotel, dropped my bag in my room, and washed my face I began walking in the direction of Daisy's hostel.
The walk was wonderful. Everyone was smiling at me. I was the only foreigner within several city blocks and everyone looked at me with great curiosity. It was delightful to see so many friendly, curious faces. And beautiful teeth! The Burmese had perfect white teeth, whereas in Japan I regularly saw people who had teeth that looked as if a small explosive device had gone off in their mouths. And then I saw a few Burmese men who had teeth stained red. I later discovered that men, as well as women, in Myanmar often chewed paan, which was a "stimulating, psychoactive preparation of betel leaf combined with areca nut and/or cured tobacco,"3 which had "adverse health effects."4
I arrived to the hostel and saw Daisy waiting on the porch wearing a blue, short sleeved shirt, beige cargo shorts, and flip-flops. We quickly decided to explore the Burmese capital. The first thing we went to see was Yangon City Hall, which was blocked off to ensure that uninvited pedestrians did not obstruct or gather before a large stage with an already active show. In front of the stage there were many rows of perhaps four to five hundred white or red plastic chairs; and there were already approximately two hundred VIP guests seated and enjoying the live spectacle while vertical blue pipes sprayed water all over them. A few of the seated guests held umbrellas. As Daisy and I watched we soon realized that the crowd around us was staring at us; we felt like aliens. Everyone looked at us as if they had never seen a foreigner before, and I'm sure that for a few of them that may have been the case. We were then initiated into the celebration as one Burmese after the other approached us to pour water–and sometimes ice water–down our backs and on our heads. I held my camera at arm's length so that it would not be damaged. After a few moments, my shirt was so soaked that it looked like I had taken a shower in it. Daisy and I decided to politely walk away so that we could see more of the city.
Upon my first impressions, I would say that Yangon was a very poor city: it was dirty, and characterized by dilapidated, neglected colonial buildings; the streets were lined with decades-old cars and buses, and–as I would discover at night–it was a city plagued by constant power outages. But for some reason, during my first day–and for the duration of my time in the country–the poverty I witnessed did not cause me to feel the type of discomfort and culture shock I had felt when I traveled through developing countries such as Peru, Mexico, Morocco, and Chile (back in the 1980s). I felt right at home in Myanmar. It was strange to feel such a thing because for all the countries I had been fortunate to travel to in South America, North Africa, and Asia, I had felt some degree of discomfort, shock, and/or sadness as a result of the visible poverty, but in Myanmar that was never the case. A Buddhist monk might say that I had lived a past life in Myanmar, but the real reason as to why I felt so at home in Burma was because the people there made me feel at home.
Soon enough, while walking along the streets of Yangon, locals from the black market approached Daisy and I to exchange money. We agreed to a rate of 810 kyats to the dollar. We were then led to a teashop that had a satellite TV showing some Hollywood action film (Myanmar's military junta seemed to be relaxed about broadcast censorship–in my hotel room I saw programs from China, Thailand, MTV from Indonesia, and movie channels from the U.S.). We exchanged our money and left with huge wads of Myanmar kyats.
We began our 30-minute walk to the famed Shwedagon Pagoda, and along the way we were doused, yet again, in water by locals before running into a group of fun-loving Burmese punks who sported dyed blue hair. I asked to take a picture with them, and they quickly posed with me for a photo. But after Daisy took a few clicks with my camera they sprayed my hair and shirt blue with cans of spray paint. I then looked like them!
We continued walking and stopped at the Maha Wizaya Pagoda where we saw a row of makeshift restaurants near its main entrance. We chose a restaurant that appealed to our senses, sat down, and ordered traditional Burmese food and drinks while gazing at the towering golden pagoda.
After lunch, we went to the main entrance, took off our shoes as required, and entered. But quickly realizing that the intense midday sun had baked the smooth stone flooring around the pagoda, Daisy and I quickly walked on the white marble tiles, as opposed to the scorching black tiles, to reach the entrance into the pagoda.
The interior of the pagoda was cool and quiet. We saw, lined along the wall, several bodhisattva statues that had concentric rings of colorful, small light bulbs that flashed intermittently to display animated geometric patterns behind their heads. The walls had colorful painted murals of scenes depicting Burmese men and women kneeling and praying to an illuminated Buddha; in one particular scene, a demon could be seen raising its hand before striking down a fearful disciple. The walls of the archedpassageways that led to the main stupa chamber had painted landscape scenes of forests,which transitioned into three-dimensional tree trunks and branches made ofplaster with plastic green leaves to add to the effect. At the center of the chamber was a white and gold stupa perhaps three meters high with seven or eight seated bodhisattva statues surrounding it; all around the stupa were offerings of flowers and burning joss sticks. The domed, blue tiled ceiling of the chamber depicted the Buddhist cosmos composed of constellations outlining the shapes of animals and objects: a horse, a crane, an elephant, an alligator, a cat, a seated Buddha, an arrow, a Burmese house on stilts, etc.
After snapping a few photos, Daisy and I decided to continue our walk to the Shwedagon Pagoda. Upon arriving we saw two massive, white and golden leogryph statues guarding the southern entrance (there were four main entrances: one for each of the four cardinal directions). We approached the entrance gates, took off our shoes (as required), and walked through the wooden, roofed step walkway that led up Singuttara Hill. It was a pleasant experience to ascend the hill in the cool darkness of the walkway that was lined with shops that sold drinks, flowers, books, Buddhist charms, joss sticks, and other items. We reached the exit and saw the Shwedagon Pagoda directly in front of us.
The Shwedagon Pagoda is the most sacred Buddhist temple in Myanmar, and in my opinion, one of the most beautiful temples I had ever seen. It is 99-meters-tall and is clearly visible to any aircraft that arrives or departs from Yangon; the current stupa dates to the 18th century, but archaeological evidence dates the pagoda back to the 6th century.5 The base of the stupa is covered with 8,000 golden plates; the crown is encrusted with 5,448 diamonds and 2,317 rubies; and the diamond bud at the very top of the pagoda has a 72-carat diamond.6
For a country with a GDP per capita of $256.66 (2006),7 I was surprised to see so much wealth invested into the Shwedagon Pagoda. In addition to the diamonds and precious stones there were glass containers filled with cash donations throughout the holy complex. It was apparent that the Burmese believed in the spiritual power of their temples and gave willingly and gladly to support them.
The Burmese are devoted to the practice of Theravada Buddhism (about 87.9 percent of the population practice the religion).8 The majority of Burmese men live in a Buddhist monastery at least twice during the course of their life: the first time when they are young (between the ages of 7 and 13)9 and the second when they are much older. All the men I had spoken to during my time in Myanmar described their experience in the monastery as wonderful. Burmese women can also live in a monastery as nuns (they are required to shave their heads; and wear light pink robes, and a light orange cloth across their chests or on their heads to protect against the sun). Many men and women I met–husbands, wives, taxi drivers, and hotel managers–practiced meditation and prayed on a daily basis. This religious dedication was perhaps a significant factor as to why it felt like 99 percent of the people I encountered in Myanmar were so genuine, loving, innocent, giving, simple, kind, and honest. They truly practiced their Buddhist beliefs. I could not say the same about Thailand since in cities and towns that attracted tourists there were many touts that tried to cheat the farang (foreigner).
I should mention that during my last night in my guesthouse in Bangkok (the night before I left for Myanmar) the lady who washed and ironed my clothes came to my room to deliver them and explained that she was tired and that she was going to go sleep in my bed! I couldn't believe it. I thanked her for the clean laundry and asked her to leave, which she did. Bangkok, unfortunately, did live up to its infamous reputation of easily available prostitution. In contrast, my hotel in Yangon displayed signs in nearly all directions that read: "NO PROSTITUTION, please!"
It became readily apparent to me within the first day in Myanmar that the country was at the top of my list of Asian nations that I would like to return to. I had yet to see Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, and China, but I had a strong feeling that none of those countries would be able to hold a light to what I was experiencing at a spiritual level in Myanmar.
Well, getting back to the Shwedagon Pagoda. I wish I could keep writing about it, but I should stop for today. I will write more about it tomorrow, and the taxi journey I took through the central part of the country. I should mention that while walking around the grounds of the Swedagon Pagoda I had another idea for a book (tentatively entitled Thieves of Burma). The story (a heist story) would entail a team of American or European thieves who plan to steal the 72-carat diamond at the top of the Shwedagon Pagoda; events in the story would lead to each team member's spiritual transformation. A tremendous amount of research would be required for the story as I would want it to detail Burmese Buddhist and nat superstitions, the history of the country, the current military regime, while working in a love story between one of the thieves and a Burmese native. Please note, although this is a public blog, my idea for this story has already been registered with the Writers Guild of America, West.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-04-28T04:55:00-07:00
Thursday, April 29, 2004
I'm back again, so let us begin.
Yangon
April 17, 2004
While I had breakfast in the hotel dining area I asked the Chinese lady who owned the establishment the best means of traveling to Mandalay. She said that a good way to go would be to hire a taxi who could not only take me to Mandalay, but provide stops at towns and cities along the way. She explained that it would cost me about US$250 for about ten days of travel. I thought about it, and told her that it would be a great way to see more of the country. She explained that she would make a couple of phone calls so that a private driver could come to talk to me about planning my travel itinerary and negotiating a price, but she added that since it was the New Year holidays it might be difficult to get a hold of a driver since most Burmese people would be praying at the pagodas. "No worries," I told her. "I'll go out for a walk and return by 12:30 to see if you've been able to find a driver."
I left the hotel, walked around Yangon City Hall, and met an old Indian woman on the street whose shoulders and upper back were severely hunched forward. She spoke perfect English and asked, "Hello, do you remember me?" I entertained her and answered, "yes." She went on, "There you see. I saw you yesterday, and I tried to talk to you, but you disappeared. Do you want to have a coffee with me?"
She seemed harmless. I agreed to her request. She then led me down the streets of Yangon telling me how she "knew all," and how she had taken various foreigners around the city and the country and that she had even been in a magazine. We soon sat down in a yoghurt shop. She had some buttered bread and a drink while I ate strawberry yoghurt.
"Yes, there you see. I know all," she began as we started eating. "My father was British. Long ago, you see, long ago. Here–have a look at this," she began shuffling through her ragged purse and pulled out a decades-old identification card with a black and white photo of her when she was young and beautiful. "That is me, you see. That is me."
I took and looked at the frayed photo, and smiled.
"I was beautiful then, you see. Now, no more. I am falling apart. You see this?" she asked holding a plastic bag full of pills and plastic prescription bottles. "This is my medicine, you see. I was riding these old buses a month ago. Sitting in the back, I was. And then there was a bump, and I flew off my seat and landed hard back down. A terrible pain I felt in my back after that. Terrible pain. Now I have to take these medicines, you see. Where do you stay?"
"At the May Shan Hotel," I replied.
"The Chinese. The Chinese own that hotel, and a restaurant too. Rich, they are. Why do you give your money to them? How much are you paying for you room?"
"Ten dollars," I lied.
"Too much," she said shaking her head. "Too much. I know all. I can show you everything. Where to stay and eat for nothing–nothing for you. I can help you. I don't need much. If you are happy you can give me a little something. Pay for my food or a bit of money so that I can buy my medicines."
"Yes, that sounds nice," I said trying to assure her that there was a likely (unlikely) possibility that we could forge a relationship of her as travel guide and I as patron.
"You see. I know all. All! We can go around the country if you want–by bus if you like and stay at cheap hotels. I don't need much. You will save much money with me. And at the end you can give me what you like. I was in a magazine, you see. I wish I had that article with me. I will bring it tomorrow so that you can read it. It's in English. You can read it. In an Australian magazine."
"You're famous," I complimented her.
"Then," she lowered her voice, "when we are away from the streets, and the listening ears of others, I can tell you all you want about the military, the British, the Japanese. Everything. I know all."
I barely said more than a few words during our conversation, which is usually the way I like it as I prefer to listen and observe than talk; people love to talk ... so I let them. As the conversation went on and on I solidified my decision to not hire her to show me around. She talked too much! Too much for my tastes, which says a lot–she rambled continuously without really saying anything. If someone loves to talk, and I am learning something, then great, but I wasn't learning much from her. But, she did entertain me. She was a character. Her way of speaking, her strong-willed personality, and constant use of the phrase "I know all," painted a portrait of a personality in my mind that I would never forget; a personality that will find its way into defining a character in one of my stories.
When I returned to the hotel the Chinese owner approached me and explained that a taxi driver would soon arrive to negotiate the cost of hiring his services for a nine-day journey around the country. I waited in the lobby, and soon enough I saw the same man who had driven me from the airport to my hotel the previous day accompanied by another man by the name of Aung who was dressed in a cream-colored, button-up shirt and dark brown, tiny-squared plaid longyi. We sat down and decided that for nine days I could travel to the following places: Bago, Kyaikto, Taungoo, Nyaung Shwe (Inle Lake), Bagan, and Pyay (during our negotiations they explained that nine days would not be enough to go to Mandalay). We agreed upon a price of $350, which included all travel expenses (gas, repairs if needed, etc.), and my driver's accommodations and food expenses. Cheap. Very cheap. So, we shook hands and decided that Aung and I would leave the next morning at 8 a.m.
Afterwards I walked to Daisy's hostel and was informed by the receptionist that she had left for lunch. I decided to wait, and sat down on the veranda of the hostel to read a book. She returned about 30 minutes later, and before making our way to Kandawgyi Lake we went in search of a camera shop where she could transfer the photos from her digital camera to a CD.
We eventually found a camera shop, but the shop assistant didn't know how to operate the store computer. Nervous that she might lose a sale the assistant allowed me to try to work the computer to download the photos from Daisy's camera, but Daisy grew impatient and we left.
Our next stop was the train station, where Daisy got the train schedule to Mandalay. We continued our search for the lake–I led the small expedition because it was my idea–but as we walked and walked I could feel Daisy growing impatient with me. She then told me that she didn't think I knew where I was going. The comment angered me, but I kept quiet until I found the lake. It looked pleasant, but there was a high fence all around it preventing us from gaining access. We chose a direction and walked along the fence hoping to find a way in until we met a petite, young German traveler with short, wavy brown hair and thin metal frame eyeglasses by the name of Manuela. After brief introductions, she said that she had been backpacking in Myanmar for the past month. She offered Daisy and I some travel advice with a sweet German accent before we parted ways.
Daisy and I decided that our quest to find a way in to see the lake was not worth the additional time we would need, so we decided to see the Chaukhtatgyi Buddha Temple. We took a taxi, entered the temple, and saw the massive 66-meter-long reclining Buddha statue that was enclosed in what appeared to be an airplane hangar. After marveling at the statue, I participated in a game of kick the plastic bottle cap in random directions with a wonderful group of Burmese children. It should be noted that the temples in Myanmar are leisurely in nature; a place where one can come to seek shelter from the intense sun, pray, relax, and socialize. The children in the temple found an unlimited number of ways to play games because, as any child knows, to sit and listen with the adults who were talking and gossiping is flat out boring. So, there I was, barefoot, playing with these wonderful children. Daisy watched and took a photo.
We left and returned to Yangon, where Daisy, skilled in bargaining, finally had her digital photos copied onto CDs. We had our last meal together at a Thai restaurant, said goodbye, and I went back to my hotel to pack my bags and sleep.
Yangon to Bago to Kyaikto
April 18, 2004
Aung and I set off bright and early in his decade-old, white Toyota sedan. We first had to stop to see his wife and young son; he had to give them some money. But before we arrived to meet them, Aung pointed out, as we passed it, a nat (spirit) shrine dedicated to those on long journeys; he explained that he had already paid homage to it this morning.
As I was to discover the nats (spirits worshipped in Burma) are everywhere; there are 37 Great Nats, and many other nats who hold dominion over trees, animals, places (both natural and artificial), and other elements. The Burmese are very careful to never offend the nats. They always pay their respects to them, and as I experienced with Aung he paid homage to them not only for himself, but for me as well.
Aung shared a story with me about a group of German tourists that he had driven around the country. He explained that one of the German men in his car had to empty his bladder. He pulled the car over and the man walked up to a tree and urinated on it. Aung immediately begin chanting. When the German was done, he asked Aung what he was saying. Aung explained that it was rude for him to urinate on the spirit (nat) of the tree, so he chanted on his behalf to apologize to the nat. The German felt guilty and together they prayed and offered their apologies and respects to the tree spirit.
We stopped at Aung's village, got out of the car, and approached the open-air market and shop that his wife operated. Aung's three-year-old son was standing in front of the shop wearing clothes that had a patterned design that was the same to the clothes his wife was wearing. I said hello to his wife, who was beautiful! Aung said goodbye stoically–no hug or kiss–and we left.
Bago is about 70-kilometers northeast of Yangon. We arrived in an hour and a half, but only stopped at one temple because I was not interested in seeing a temple that was so similar in design to the temples I had already seen in Yangon. So, we stopped briefly at Kyaik Pun Pagoda (built in the 7th century AD, although it did not look that old due to its renovation), which was a temple of four back-to-back 27-meter-tall seated Buddha statues. I was approached by a little Burmese girl selling postcards when I got out of the car. I told her that I did not need any postcards. She then took me all around the temple and we exchanged a few words. I decided that I wanted to take a picture of her so I offered her some money for her photo. She refused to take my money and said that I could go ahead and take a picture of her. I then forced some money into her hand and she posed taking a very proud stance. The picture came out great: she had a wide smile and stood with such terrific pride.
Aung and I returned to the car and drove to Kyaikto.
The great thing about traveling by car in Myanmar was that I could see what life was like for many of the people outside of the cities. That's obvious, you may say, but it was interesting to see, for example, the horrible state of the road system that were, at times, composed of only one lane for traffic moving in both directions. Not too many people can afford a car in Myanmar (four cars per 1,000 people in 2004)10 so it was not a problem to travel on these one lane roads between towns and cities because we rarely came across another car or bus. The means of transportation that I did see on a regular basis were ox-driven carts that moved at a snail's pace. At times these carts were piled high with harvested bundles of long, dried grass or bundles of bamboo sticks. I also saw two-wheeled, horse-drawn carts and trishaws. But the vehicles that continually caught my attention were tractors that had been converted to serve as open-air passenger vehicles. I took a photo of one of these vehicles and saw many different improvised versions of them. As for the buses, there were many, and packed well beyond capacity; the roofs of the buses were covered with seated Burmese men, monks, teenage boys, and women. And hanging for dear life during long, arduous journeys on the rear bumpers of these buses were more Burmese men wearing poorly made sandals that provided very little grip. Another means of transportation were old pickup trucks that had rows of wooden benches (essentially planks) bolted down in the cargo bed where people sat and crammed together. These pickup trucks were the most common way people traveled in Myanmar, and after seeing all of these examples of travel in the country I was very thankful for having the foresight to rent a taxi during my nine-day journey. I don't think I could have survived three days traveling by these local means of transportation simply because those buses and pickup trucks were packed beyond comprehension.
In the afternoon, we arrived to the Golden Smiles Hotel in Kyaikto. The hotel was rustic, and my room unnecessarily spacious; at the end of my journey I met the owner of the hotel in Yangon (she was from Belgium and had been doing business in Myanmar for the past six years). After I got settled into my room and ate lunch, Aung took me to an informal, open-air station where I jumped into the cargo bed of one of those pickup trucks and traveled up the Eastern Yoma mountains on a pilgrimage to Golden Rock.
Golden Rock (a picture of it is on the cover of the Lonely Planet Myanmar (Burma) 2004 edition) is a "massive, gold-leafed boulder delicately balanced on the edge of a cliff at the top of Mt Kyaiktiyo."11 Golden Rock, like Shwedagon Pagoda, is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites in Myanmar because, according to legend, the rock sits on top of a strand of the Buddha's hair.
The pickup truck stopped, and all passengers (many devout Buddhists) had to get off and ascend the rest of the mountain by foot. The hike up the mountain was painful; I was completely out of shape. I sweated, trekked, and sweated more until I finally made it to the top of this beast of a mountain. Along the way I walked through a row of shacks selling religious trinkets, medicinal roots, herbs, monkey skulls, severed goat heads; and toy guns made from bamboo that were painted red, white, and blue with the letters "USA" inscribed on them. I wasn't proud. Myanmar, in my mind, was a land of smiles and dedicated Buddhists who spoke honestly and acted honorably. But the people of Myanmar saw the U.S. not as a land of liberty and democracy, but one of oppression; a society that lived by the gun to settle their international disputes or to forcefully take what was not theirs. With the ongoing war in Iraq, I think the Burmese were accurate in their view of the United States.
Once I arrived to the top of Mt. Kyaiktiyo I found a large, flat expanse of marble tiled floors, shrines, and the Golden Rock itself, which I could have touched if I chose to but did not because I found it unjustified that Burmese women (devoted practitioners of their faith who prayed before the rock) or any women for that matter were prohibited from approaching and touching the rock.
I was surprised to find that there was a town just beyond where the Golden Rock was located. I spent some time walking through the town until I decided to call it a day. I descended the mountain by foot and pickup truck, and returned to the hotel with Aung where I collapsed on my bed with a throbbing headache.
I later woke up that night to find that the electrical power had gone out (a daily occurrence in Myanmar), and to the most horrible case of diarrhea. I will not say more.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-04-29T04:42:00-07:00
Sunday, May 2, 2004
I can't believe it's already May 2. I will depart Bangkok tomorrow and continue my journey home. I just read an email from my friend Aaron Deupree who had traveled through Southeast Asia in 2002, and is currently living and working in Switzerland. He offered some very insightful comments that I would like to share.
"I've heard recently that Cambodia and Vietnam have changed a lot. Backpackers wearing dumb shirts saying, 'Beware of Landmines: Cambodia,' as if that's cool. Well, I think you'll enjoy those places anyway.
"I felt the same way as you at times. Why does everything have to be homogenized, globalized, and Americanized? Well, for better or for worse, people want prosperity and security, so right now that means skyscrapers and McDs. Nevertheless, the cosmetic changes that happen in a society are often only skin deep. Thais will always be Thais and do Thai things, even in big shopping malls with Gap and Kmart. Just like Japan–a very Americanized country, but it's still very Japanese–the Japanese psyche remains strongly in place, even when little Japanese boys and girls want American stuff, they will be Japanese, and their parents have enjoyed the postwar prosperity–and when Yankees like us step off at Narita, the familiar signs of 7-Eleven are not really enough to make us feel at home."
What Aaron said was true, and now that I have been in Bangkok for nearly a week I do not deplore it as much as when I had first arrived here from Myanmar.
I'm reading a book entitled Night Market: Sexual Cultures and the Thai Economic Miracle by Ryan Bishop and Lillian S. Robinson. The book takes a very critical look at the sex industry in Thailand and its impact on the Thai economy and people. It is impossible to walk through this city and not see farang (foreign) men in their thirties, forties, fifties, and sixties with a Thai prostitute attached to their arm. What is the motivation for these men to travel halfway around the world to fulfill their pathetic, sexual fantasies? The authors of the book cite one study that estimated that about half of all child Thai prostitutes are HIV positive.12 If that is true, along with increasing infection rates among Thai men and women due to prostitution and injecting drug use (30 percent to 50 percent prevalence among IDUs),13 then how much of the virus is being transmitted to the West by these American and European sex consumers? How many of these foreign sex tourists from developed nations, which include Japan and Malaysia, partake in this $4.3 billion per year Thai sex industry (3 percent of their GDP in 2003)14 and transmit STDs to their unknowing spouses or partners? Will HIV/AIDS prevalence continue to increase in Thailand (1.4 percent of the population from 2003 to 2005)15 to that of South Africa (the highest prevalence with just under 12 percent of the population infected).16 What is worse is the impact the HIV/AIDS epidemic is having on the increasing demand for young, virgin girls from the Thai countryside (in part due to the "high HIV prevalence among female sex workers" in urban settings such as Bangkok where rates are as high as 20 percent).17
Children and young adults are "lured under false pretenses"18 or sold off to brokers by family members in the rural, poorer areas of Thailand to become commodities within the Thai sex trade. The younger the girl, the more likely she is a virgin, and the higher her value to a sex consumer or tourist. Burmese girls are sought and smuggled into Thailand through the Golden Triangle (the northern border that Thailand, Burma, and Laos share) or through other "various waterways" along the "porous borders",19 because HIV has a slightly lower prevalence in the Burmese population (1.3 percent in 2005 according to UNAIDS)20 in part due to its political and economic isolation. Conservative estimates place the number of men, women, and children, "but particularly women and young girls–engaged in prostitution as part of Thailand's illegal sex tourism industry" between 200,000 and 300,000 (the "figure does not include foreign migrants").21 Of that number 30,000 to 40,000 prostitutes are under the age of 18.22 It is sickening to consider these figures, and disturbing to contemplate why there is even a demand for such an exploitative industry.
In the end, it is apparent that HIV/AIDS will become an increasingly larger health problem that will erode a prospering Thai economy that in part has been built on a sex tourist industry.
"The ESCAP study points out that the expense of caring for an AIDS patient can be devastating. In Thailand's Chiang Mai province, families report spending an average US$1,000 a year in direct medical care costs – the equivalent of half the average annual household income in the region. In the Chiang Mai study, a third of AIDS-hit households reported that their incomes fell by 48 percent. By the time the AIDS patients had died, 60 percent of families had used up their savings, 44 percent had sold land, 42 percent had cut down their food consumption, 28 percent had sold a vehicle, and 11 percent had borrowed an average of US$1,700 each."23
In speaking with Thais in Bangkok most have explained to me that they despise the sex industry in their country. They say that if they could have it their way they would shut it down for it does not reflect proper Thai thought and behavior. The Thai government would be wise to confront the sex industry and diminish it, and with it the increasing prevalence of HIV/AIDS, but attempts by the Ministry of Public Health "to publicize the dangers of AIDS for both Thai sex workers and tourists" have been challenged and met with protests by the Tourist Authority of Thailand24 that seeks to preserve a multibillion dollar industry that generates employment (legal and illegal), spending, and tax revenue. So as long as the big bucks flow into the country from the pockets of Occidental sex tourists–as well as from Thai, Southeast Asian, and East Asian consumers–the sex trade and industry in Thailand, and other nations, will continue to thrive.
But even if a nation's government takes a strong stand to limit the sex industry's supply chain, typically, and unfairly, through legislation criminalizing (in the case of Thailand's 1960 Prostitution Suppression Act) "the provider of sexual services" while leaving the "consumer of sex ... immune to prosecution,"25 it will mean little if there is persistent demand. The people of all nations will need to address the sex trade and industry within, and beyond their borders, by bringing to light those who drive the demand for a global sex industry that has enslaved 22 percent of modern slaves (current estimates of the total number of forced laborers in the world is 20.9 million).26
The tentacles of Thailand's sex industry supply chain stretch far beyond the borders of Southeast Asian nations:
"Organized trafficking groups such as the yakuza in Japan and Russian gangs have slowly emerged in the country. What is certain is that sex trafficking in Thailand is no longer limited to its East Asian neighbors. Russian and Eastern European victims have become more common in the country."27
I remember when I went to renew my visa in Japan in the summer of 2003 at the Immigration Bureau office in Tokyo that I saw many young women (perhaps just under a hundred in total) from Thailand, Russia, China, the Philippines, and Eastern Europe escorted–guarded–by Japanese men who I assumed were part of the yakuza red-light district network. These women, in plain sight, were brought to the Immigration Bureau to submit and renew their visa working papers.
Louise Brown explains in her book Sex Slaves: The Trafficking of Women in Asia that "because Japan is a collection of islands, the only way to enter the country are by boat or by air, and potential entry points are limited and closely monitored. Prostituted women have therefore usually entered on legitimate visas – either as tourists or entertainers. These allow them to stay for three months, and they can be extended to a maximum of six months. A few of the women vanish when their visas expire and will stay on illegally. Others return home. Another group enter the country on expensive, false passports that have been produced by the criminal underworld's lucrative forgery department. This is especially true in the case of Thai women and is one of the main reasons why they incur such high debts."28
Taungoo to Inle Lake
April 20, 2004
The ride from Taungoo to Inle Lake was a rough and long one–eight hours if I recall–on a one-lane road that was in desperate need of repair. During the journey, I saw the landscape change drastically from a dry, tropical savanna climate and environment to a vast desert. Cactuses, shrubs, and scattered trees dotted the terrain with the occasional pond and bathing wild water buffalos.
Along the journey I saw small communities of Indians whose women wore traditional, brightly colored sari garments in shades of purple, red, and orange, which was a striking contrast to the plain blue, brown, and grey colors that defined Burmese patterned longyi.
One thing that I have noticed on my travels is that countries with strong, developed economies tend to favor styles of clothing that utilize more mundane colors. Go to New York City or Tokyo (the financial capitals of the two most powerful economies in the world) and the majority of working professionals wear black, grey, or dark blue business suits. Travel to a developing country like Myanmar or Thailand and you will see more people wearing bright and vibrant colored clothing. Why is that? Why have we Westerners repressed the vibrant colors from our wardrobes? The paintings on ancient Greek vases reveal that the Greeks wore brightly colored dress "decorated with elaborate designs".29 Yellow was one of the most common colors in the ancient world (the source of the dye derived from a "number of plants"); along with blue, which was derived from indigo (a plant native to India and southeast Asia);30 while Tyrian purple ("a dye extracted from the murex shellfish, which was first produced by the Phoenician city of Tyre in the Bronze Age") was desired due to its striking color and "resistance to fading," but expensive as a result of the difficulty in manufacturing the dye,31 thus the color became a status symbol often associated with aristocrats and emperors from the time of the Roman Empire to European monarchs in the 18th and 19th century. It is strange that now we Westerners with our increasing per capita incomes and ability to import whatever dyes we seek through international trade do not increase our demand for interesting and vibrant colored outfits. Instead we settle for dark blue, black, grey, and white.
At one point during the journey Aung pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road so that I could try toddy (palm wine) from a roadside stall. Burmese farmers produce the alcoholic drink by extracting it from the sap of palm trees to then leave the collected liquid out to ferment. After a couple of hours or a day (depending on the percent level of alcohol desired) the alcoholic beverage is ready to be consumed.32 I had three glasses and felt a slight buzz, which caused me to smile for a portion of the journey north to Inle Lake.
Inle Lake is located in the central eastern mountains (Shan Hills) of Myanmar. As we ascended the mountains Aung drove cautiously around the many curves of the battered road. Suddenly we began having car trouble; the car kept stalling. I wasn't worried for some reason; part of me was curious to discover how we would solve the problem of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. But we didn't get stranded. Aung pulled the car over on two separate occasions to work on the engine. We continued to have car trouble, but luckily, we came across a nat shrine dedicated to cars and safe travel. Aung pulled the car up to the shrine and advanced and retreated from it as he chanted. We then heard the caretaker of the shrine begin to howl her chants behind our car. After, she approached us–Aung gave her a donation–and explained that there was a Buddhist monk that needed a ride. Aung and I agreed that we would be more than happy to have the monk join us; we were both selfishly thinking that a Buddhist monk in our car would bring us not only good luck, but also the good favor of the nats to provide a temporary end to our car troubles for the day.
The monk was in his late seventies. His skin was dark brown and he only had a few teeth left, which he revealed when he smiled. Who knew what he thought of me. I must have been as curiously interesting to look at as he was to me.
The monk got into the back seat of the car. We said goodbye to the shrine caretaker, reversed the car onto the road, and continued (we did not have any more car trouble for the rest of the day). About 30 to 40 minutes later the monk told us to stop and we dropped him off. Aung and I then decided that it was best to soon stop and park the car in the shade of a tree to keep the engine from overheating. We drove another 10 to 15 minutes and stopped in a small village. All the children of the village quickly gathered around me when I got out of the car. I pulled out my digital camera and began filming them and then showed them the images that I had recorded. They were absolutely astonished by my camera, and all they could do when they saw themselves in the camera's small monitor was laugh hysterically. I then decided to begin making them paper airplanes. Before Aung and I left I gave the children the pad of paper I had been using to make the paper planes, and a few pens and breath mints.
Aung and I arrived in Inle Lake before nightfall. We checked into our hotel and later had local Burmese food.
I will be departing Bangkok tomorrow so I will continue to discuss the journey in Myanmar over the next few days. For now, I must go.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-05-02T21:40:00-07:00
Tuesday, May 4, 2004
I am now in Ayutthaya, Thailand, which is about an hour north of Bangkok by car. Before I came here I was in Bangkok for six days–much longer than I expected as a result of recovering from a severe stomach infection that I had developed in Myanmar.
I must share with you an incredible chance meeting I had while in Bangkok. If you remember, on my second day in Myanmar, I met a petite German woman by the name of Manuela; I later learned that she was from Hamburg. We had exchanged emails on that day in the hope of meeting up in Thailand. As soon as I returned to Bangkok we emailed each other, met up, and spent several enjoyable days together.
On Saturday, April 1, Manuela wanted to go to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, the largest market in Thailand.33 Manuela was on a mission to find and buy fake Swatch watches in the hope of selling them for a profit on eBay back in Germany. When we arrived at the market we saw thousands of Thais and foreigners shopping for copycat brands ranging from knock off Levi's jeans to The North Face backpacks and European fútbol club jerseys. We searched high and low for the Swatch watches with no luck, but funny enough I ran into Angela Nichols (a talented artist and good friend who I had known during my three-and-a-half years in Tokyo; I own three of her paintings: two paintings are in my parent's house and the other hangs over the fireplace of my sister's house). Angela's paintings are colorfully vibrant and uplifting, just like her. We were both pleasantly shocked to have run into each other in the most unlikely of places as she had left Tokyo at the end of January, whereas I had left at the end of March. Both of us had thought, as we said our goodbyes in January, that it would be a few years before we ever saw each other again, but there we were, standing before each other, in this massive market in Bangkok. What a small world!
Angela explained that she was spending time with her friend Laura, and so she gave me Laura's cell number so that I could contact her to meet up with them in the evening. After leaving the Chatuchak Weekend Market with Manuela, and having lunch, I called Laura and met up with Angela and her, and their other expatriate friends, at Nana Station, which was near the infamous Nana Entertainment Plaza (a three-floor, red-light district building). We actually had drinks at a bar on the ground floor entrance of the Nana Plaza (the bar was full of foreign men with Angela and Laura being the only foreign women in the sleazy establishment). We then walked to Little Arabia to have dinner (where I learned that none of the restaurants in the Arabic district served alcoholic beverages thus explaining why we had gone to Nana Plaza first for drinks). After eating kebabs, couscous, falafel, and lamb tagine we sat outside and smoked from hookahs in an Arabic-style café. I got a buzz from the scented tobacco and beamed with a wide grin for most of the night.
Well, here I am in Ayutthaya at an Internet café killing time because I have to wait to take my overnight train to Chiang Mai. Ayutthaya makes for a great day trip or overnight stay from Bangkok. It was originally the "second Siamese capital after Sukhotai" until 1767 when the Burmese invaded and destroyed it.34 The former capital is located on an island that is surrounded by three rivers giving it access to the sea,35 which enabled trade with merchants throughout Southeast Asia, East Asia, and Central Asia, and as far as Europe (Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands, and France) in the 16th and 17th centuries. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and was the world's largest city in 1700 AD with over a million citizens.36 The archaeological ruins of the city are "characterized by the remains" of Buddhist monasteries and "tall prang (reliquary towers)"37 whose architecture reminded me of the temples that I had seen in Bagan, Myanmar; but I also saw several temples that looked like temples that I was expecting to see in Angkor Wat, Cambodia.
"The Ayutthaya school of art showcases the ingenuity and the creativity of the Ayutthaya civilization as well as its ability to assimilate a multitude of foreign influences. The large palaces and the Buddhist monasteries constructed in the capital, for example at Wat Mahathat and Wat Phra Si Sanphet, are testimony to both the economic vitality and technological prowess of their builders, as well as to the appeal of the intellectual tradition they embodied. All buildings were elegantly decorated with the highest quality of crafts and mural paintings, which consisted of an eclectic mixtures of traditional styles surviving from Sukhothai, inherited from Angkor, and borrowed from the 17th and 18th century styles of art of Japan, China, India, Persia, and Europe, creating a rich and unique expression of cosmopolitan culture and laying the foundation for the fusion of styles of art and architecture popular throughout the succeeding Rattanakosin Era and onwards."38
A famous landmark at the Wat Phra Mahathat temple in Ayutthaya is the severed sandstone head of the Buddha entwined in the vein-like roots of a banyan tree.39
Let's see if I can finish up my Myanmar thoughts.
Inle Lake
April 21, 2004
The most pleasant aspect of Inle Lake was its location in the mountains, which provided a cooler climate. I stayed at a quiet and charming hotel in Nyaungshwe that Aung had recommended over another hotel that he insisted was haunted.
After eating breakfast at the hotel on the morning of the 21st Aung drove me to a river that fed into Inle Lake where I met a man who was to be my guide. My guide (whose name I cannot recall) and I boarded a long, thin wooden boat, and our pilot maneuvered the boat out of the pier and south into the lake.
Our first stop was Kaung Daing, the site of a five-day market (every five-days villagers from around the lake converged on the site to bargain, buy, or sell). We stepped off the boat and walked toward the market, but on the way, we saw several men, women, and monks gambling. My guide quickly explained that I should not take any pictures since it was illegal to gamble in Myanmar. There were two games that I saw people playing. The first consisted of three very large dice (perhaps the size of one's head) with each side depicting the colored image of a particular fish or animal. The dice were held up against a short, wooden vertical board, and after people had placed their bets the dice were released so that whoever had bet on the three sides of the dice that faced up won. The other game consisted of another type of dice that was spun and then covered by a large bowl so that no one could see which side of the dice faced up when it stopped. After people placed their bets the bowl was lifted to reveal who had won.
In the market, I saw vendors selling fresh fish, skinned chickens and pigs, grounded red peppers, mounds of a very salty paste, dried fish for snacking on, tofu, and anything else the Burmese considered appropriate for an outdoor rural market. There were also hygienic items such as soap and organized piles of thanaka wood used to make the cosmetic cream that I had seen applied to the cheeks and faces of many women and children in Myanmar. Weighing scales and measures were always used in the transaction process.
After the market, my guide and I boarded the boat again and traveled to a collection (or village) of simple houses that were built on stilts over the lake. In the village, I met two blacksmiths that were working with their young apprentices in fashioning metallic items that would be sold to the villagers, fishermen, and farmers all around the lake. I watched as they cut scrap metal, heated and molded it, and hammered it down into shape. They produced knives, fishing spears, teakettles, gongs, hoes, and farming tools.
We boarded our boat again and headed south to the floating village of Inbawkon. On the way, I saw tomato fields that rested on thick marshes being attended to by farmers who appeared to glide on their boats as they moved from one row of crops to another. I also saw farmers in the middle of the lake raking up marine vegetation and piling them onto their boats; this collected vegetation was to be used as natural fertilizer for their crops. The technique employed by these farmers to maneuver their boats consisted of wrapping one of their legs around the oar and moving it in such a way that it not only moved the boat forward but also steered it.
In Inbawkon I went into a silk weaving factory. Everything was made by hand and I spent a significant amount of time watching the women operate their foot-treadle looming machines trying to understand how they created the patterns in the cloth they were weaving. I also saw a girl cutting open lotus flower stems and extracting thin fibers, which she moistened by sprinkling water from a bowl. I was absolutely amazed by this and later saw a scarf made from these lotus stem fibers.
"Creating the lotus fabric itself is a handmade artisanal process that requires time ... as it takes approximately 32,000 lotus stems to make just 1.09 yards of fabric; approximately 120,000 for a costume."40
After Inbawkon we traveled slowly by boat through another lake village built on stilts to observe the daily life of the people. I smiled at the villagers with fascination as they smiled at me with perhaps the same kind of wonder while I took photos. I am particularly fond of a photo I took of a young girl sitting on her boat with a beautiful, and slightly chubby, smile.
We had lunch before we continued to Nampan village where I saw the traditional process by which paper was produced, as well as umbrellas that were waterproofed by coating it with juices from a wild berry.
We then went to Hpaung Daw U Pagoda to see its famed five gilded and small Buddha statues. But inside I did not see the golden Buddha statues. Instead, I saw centered within the shrine of the main hall five golden, ball-like (snowman shaped) objects elevated on a stepped hexagon pedestal that could only be approached by men who displayed their devotion through the act of gently placing thin square sheets of gold–no bigger than a large coin–onto the Buddha images. Over decades of devotees continuing this gilded practice the five images have been so caked in layers of gold leaf that today they simply appear as golden balls.
My guide led me up the few steps of the shrine to get a closer look at the five golden images, but he then stepped back and kindly complied to the request of three women to take their gold leaf offerings and place them onto the images.
Upon exiting the pagoda, I saw a boy wearing what appeared to be make-up, a crown, and dressed in shiny, silk, pink embroidered garments; he was surrounded by proud family members and an emotional mother. I first thought that he was a boy, but then assumed from the make-up and pink dress that he was a girl. But my guide informed me that he was indeed a boy and that I was witnessing the Theravada Buddhist shinbyu (novitiation) ceremony, which symbolized the most important obligation of parents to release their son to become a monk and embrace the life and teachings of the Buddha. He said that the boy was dressed in traditional royal attire to represent the same path taken by Prince Siddhartha 2,500 years ago who rejected the luxury of his material, royal upbringing to set forth in search of the Four Noble Truths through a monastic lifestyle.41 I later saw the boy seated on a throne and shielded from the sun by two golden Burmese umbrellas in a private, long-tail boat that had large arrangements of flowers at its center while traditional Burmese music blasted from a bullhorn located near the bow. My guide further explained that the boy was most likely being taken to the monastery to complete the ceremony by exchanging his fine silk garments for white robes before Buddhist monks shaved his head. After, the boy would be given his saffron-colored robe and alms bowl.
After resting at a monastery where I was able to pass some time by playing fútbol with monks who were half my age we went to Nga Phe Kyaung (also known as "jumping cat monastery"), our last stop. A satisfying and consistent breeze flowed through the dark wooden temple built on stilts as men and women sat or lay lazily all around the floor of the monastery while children played outside. A monk threw dried fish crumbs to a group of temple cats and held out a metal ring that the cats eagerly jumped through.
Later that night Aung–dressed up, which was unusual, and full of joy–picked me up from the hotel so that we could eat dinner at his friend's house. I later learned that he had been in the markets shopping and cooking for me for most of the day. It was a very kind gesture. We arrived at his friend's house and I saw outside in the fenced backyard of the home a table with candles. He poured me a glass of Mandalay Rum and the feast began. This, unfortunately, was the beginning of the end for my stomach (as I'll explain in a moment). The Burmese family was very hospitable; it was actually the family of the guide who took me around Inle Lake. Over dinner I learned from my guide that he had lived and worked in Malaysia and in Bangkok, Thailand, but when his father passed away he returned to Myanmar to take care of his mother. He confessed that he missed working in the factories in Malaysia and Thailand and that he wanted to return because he did not like working as a guide around Inle Lake. He also confessed that his brother had died five years ago from a heroin addiction, and that heroin consumption was a big problem in the Shan State ("the average level of [opium] addiction [in 2004 as reported by village headmen] was 2.2%" in Shan State villages that cultivated opium versus 0.2 percent in non-opium producing villages).42
Portions of the Shan State, mostly the areas east of the Salween River, are not controlled by the Myanmar military junta. Instead several ethnic armies, including the Shan State Army and the United Wa State Army, operate independently of the Myanmar central government, essentially creating a state within a state, and are heavily involved in the heroin trade. These ethnic armies defend their territories and provide only enough in social services to sustain farmers through the revenue generated from opium production and the export of heroin43 to Thailand and China. (A 2012 UN report stated that Burma produced 25 percent of the world's opium, ranking second after Afghanistan.44 The report also highlighted the increased production reaching a record 690 metric tons valued at $359 million.45) Unfortunately, Thai and Burmese sex slave trade agents also operate in the Shan State to lure impoverished girls and young women (ranging in age from 12 to 22)46 with false promises of lucrative jobs in Thailand; once recruited they are quickly sold "into brothels in Thailand".47
There are nine dominant ethnic groups in the Shan State: Shan, Intha, Pa-O, Danu, Lahu, Lisu, Taungyo, Ta-ang, Ahka, and Jinghpaw (Kachin),48 as well as other ethnic groups such as the Wa headhunters. I saw a few Pa-O women in Inle Lake wearing traditional black garments (blouse, jacket, longyi) while wearing orange, red, or yellow turbans.
Getting back to dinner. The Burmese family displayed their generosity by continually filling my plate with fish, rice, and other traditionally cooked foods. In my want to be polite and not waste the food that I had been served I desperately tried to finish everything on my plate while complimenting them on the taste. What a mistake. They mistook my false appetite as a sign to keep feeding me, and by the time I had my last spoonful of fish I began to feel sick. Finally, dinner was over and Aung dropped me off at my hotel. I then went into my room and tried to rest, but my upset stomach turned for the worse. To make a long story short I spent most of the night either on the toilet or vomiting into the sink. Thank God no one was there to see or smell the horror in my bathroom that night.
Inle Lake to Bagan
April 22, 2004
This was a long eight-hour journey by car. It was on this trip that I came across beggars for the first time in Myanmar. Aung and I had lunch in a town on the way to Bagan (I couldn't eat much) and when we returned to our car a very old woman approached me and held out her hand. Then a boy dressed in rags came up to us. I thought the woman and the boy were together so I gave some money to the boy, but he ran off. The woman kept holding out her hand. I told her that I had nothing left to give her, and the boy, now across the street, called out to us and began to make fun of the old lady and her inability to get any money from me. I then got into the car and we left.
When we arrived to our hotel in Bagan I simply went straight to my room and rested. I was very sick and suffering from severe diarrhea.
Bagan
April 23 to 24, 2004
During my stay in the semi-arid landscape of Bagan, I explored as many temples as I could handle. There were over 2,000 temples and chedis (remnants of the 10,000 plus temples built during the height of the Pagan Empire) dotting the region in all directions. Many of these temples were built nearly 1,000 to 700 years ago. The construction of these temples started with King Anawrahta (founder of the Pagan Empire) who in 1057 AD–after his conquest of Thaton–brought back to Bagan tens of thousands of artisan and craftsmen captives who were used to build the religious monuments.49
Bagan was a magical place, especially at sunset. I climbed one of the numerous temples with a small group of tourists on my last evening in Bagan, sat and relaxed with bare feet, and looked out into the horizon to see the silhouettes of temples peppered throughout the area. Bagan was a ghost of its former imperial self, and it was often said by locals that many of the temples were haunted. In fact, I saw a ghost! Well, not personally, but funny enough I was shown a photo that a Frenchman took at the Dhammayazika Pagoda a couple of years ago, and right there in the photo was an image of a man that should not have been there ... it was a real photo of a ghost. And it was a bit frightful to see.
All right, I am caught up on Myanmar. After Bagan, Aung and I traveled south to Pyay for a night and then back to Yangon.
Stay tuned for my travels into Northern Thailand and Laos.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-05-04T00:57:00-07:00
Free-Rider Problem: Thank God for Public Health Care (2019)
I mentioned in my April 28, 2004 entry that I had suffered from a severe stomach bacterial infection while in Myanmar caused most likely from something I had eaten. The infection got to a point where during my last few days in the country my abdominal cramps worsened, I was getting weaker as a result of not eating much, and there was blood in my stool! I spent my last two days in bed at my hotel in Yangon counting the hours until I could take my return flight to Bangkok where I planned to go directly to the hospital. I was very hesitant at the thought of going to a hospital in Myanmar because after traveling for a couple of weeks around the country I could see that it was an isolated and impoverished nation. Since I had spent time in Bangkok and saw that Thailand was a rising, developing nation I believed that the hospitals in Bangkok would be more capable in treating me than the public health facilities in Myanmar.
I flew back to Bangkok on Tuesday, April 27, withdrew a significant amount of cash from an airport ATM to pay for the upcoming medical expenses, took a taxi into the capital, checked into the same hotel I had stayed in before flying to Myanmar, and then got ready to go to the hospital. I left the hotel, hailed a tuk-tuk, and went directly to the emergency room of a public hospital. The ER was modern and very clean, which eased my anxiety of being treated in a developing nation. I went to the front desk, explained my symptoms and condition to a nurse, and waited in the waiting room. After waiting for nearly an hour my name was called and I was led by another nurse into a consulting room where I waited to see a doctor. Ten minutes later the doctor came in to see me and I explained to him that I had been traveling in Myanmar and while there I developed stomach cramps, had diarrhea, vomited on two occasions, and that I had blood in my stool. He then asked me to provide a stool sample in a plastic cup. I went to the washroom and returned with a sample. The doctor then asked me to wait in the waiting room again until he had the results of the stool sample culture test.
I went back into the waiting room and prayed that the money I had withdrawn from the airport ATM would be enough to pay for the medical visit and treatment. About an hour later the doctor came to speak to me in the waiting room and explained that I had shigella gastroenteritis and that I needed to take antibiotics, he then gave me a small medical plastic bottle with the pills. He said that I should be fine, but if my condition worsened to come back. I then asked him how much I owed the hospital for the visit and the pills. He answered with the following words that I will never forget: "Nothing, we are a socialist country, health care is free for the people."
My jawed dropped. I was amazed by his answer. As a U.S. citizen accustomed to paying for every medical visit and pharmaceutical drug I was absolutely amazed that a developing nation like Thailand could offer free public health care whereas my country, which was much wealthier, could not. This experience had absolutely opened my eyes to the incredible benefits of universal health care.
According to a 2012 World Bank report: "Under Thailand's health schemes, 99.5% of the population have health protection coverage."50 In comparison, the percentage of people in the United States "with health insurance coverage for all or part of 2016 was 91.2 percent, higher than the rate in 2015 (90.9 percent)."51 But keep in mind that these percentages are–in part–a result of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (Obamacare), which was passed in 2010. Prior to the passing of Obamacare, the Census Bureau's 2006 data revealed that "the percentage of people without health insurance for the entire year was 15.8%, an increase from 15.3% in 2005."52
· During 2006, 47.0 million people were without health insurance for the entire year, a 2.2 million increase from 44.8 million people in 2005.
· The uninsured are disproportionately between the ages of 18 and 24, and have family incomes below $25,000. In 2006, 29.3% of 18 to 24 year olds are uninsured, the highest uninsured rate of any age group.
· While the majority of the uninsured are low-income, almost 38% of the uninsured have family income above $50,000.
· Employer-sponsored insurance continues to be the largest source of health insurance coverage in 2006, covering 59.7% of the population, a decline from 60.2% in 2005.
· The percentage of children under 18 without health insurance rose from 10.9% in 2005 to 11.7% in 2006.53
It is perplexing to think that the world's most powerful economy is unable to achieve Thailand's level of universal health care. In addition, it should be noted again that Thailand has successfully achieved universal health care for 99.5% of its people by allocating 3.15% to 4.1% of its GDP (2000 to 2018) toward health expenditure.54,55,56 Thai government expenditure on health as a percentage of total government spending ran anywhere between 12% to just under 18% from 2000 to 2015,57 and was 15.6% in 2017,58 and 15.3% in 2018.59
The U.S., on the other hand, allocates between 16.4% to 17.1% of its GDP (2010 to 2017)60 to provide health care coverage for only 90% of its total population. U.S. government expenditure on "Medicare, Medicaid, the Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP), and Affordable Care Act (ACA) marketplace subsidies" accounted for "26 percent of the budget in 2017, or $1 trillion."61
"As would be expected, wealthy countries like the U.S., tend to spend more per person on health care and related expenses than lower income countries. However, even as a high income country, the U.S. spends more per person on health than comparable countries. Health spending per person in the U.S. was $10,224 in 2017, which was 28% higher than Switzerland, the next highest per capita spender."62
In a data analysis report published on the Peterson-Kaiser Health System Tracker website it is stated that "on average, other wealthy countries spend about half as much per person on health than the U.S. spends."63 More specifically, "the average amount spent on health per person in comparable countries [similar OECD countries] ($5,280) is roughly half that of the U.S. ($10,224)."64
Why does the U.S. spend such a "disproportionate amount on health care"?65 The answer lies within the size of its private health care system; "its private sector spending is triple that of comparable countries."66
"While the U.S. has much higher total spending as a share of its economy, its public expenditures alone are in line with other countries. In 2016, the US spent about 8.5% of its GDP on health out of public funds–essentially equivalent to the average of the other comparable countries. However, private spending in the U.S. is much higher than any comparable country; 8.8% of GDP in the U.S., compared to 2.7% on average for other nations."67
Free market economists often argue that there is improved productive efficiency as a result of the competitive nature of a market that is not influenced by government intervention. In theory, and in reality, there is a high degree of truth to that statement as long as there is the competitive element in the market that results from low barriers to entry, which provides the opportunity for hundreds, to thousands, to tens of thousands, or more, firms to enter the market and compete. The competition between firms fulfilling a similar consumer need provides a market equilibrium price to be established; a firm that charges too high a price loses since consumers gravitate toward the firms offering a substitute good or service at a lower price; and a firm that charges too low a price sees the opportunity to raise price to the market equilibrium. Competition is key to any well-functioning free market. The U.S. propagates itself as a high functioning capitalist nation. U.S. citizens, buying into the propaganda, often confuse socialism with communism and support further capitalist legislation that erodes their own federal government social benefits. But U.S. government financial bailouts (like the $700 billion U.S. financial-sector rescue plan of 2008) are rarely categorized as a socialist, interventionist policy by right wing politicians.
This all aside, how productively efficient is the U.S. (predominately private) health care system? According to the World Health Organization, the overall efficiency of the health system in the U.S. ranks 37 out of 191 nations (Costa Rica is 36, and Slovenia 38).68 The top ten ranking countries are as follows:
1. France
2. Italy
3. San Marino
4. Andorra
5. Malta
6. Singapore
7. Spain
8. Oman
9. Austria
10. Japan69
The European nations in this list would typically be categorized by U.S. conservative politicians and supporters as socialist. When your health is on the line would you rather be living in a full-fledged capitalist or socialist nation?
But getting back to the question, why is it that health care in the U.S. is so damn expensive? From an economic standpoint, part of the answer is the lack of competition within the sector–thus that central element to any free market capitalist system is missing within the U.S. health industry. According to the "Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS) ... 91.1 percent of the U.S. population had medical insurance" in 2016.70 To break that percentage down, "according to the 2017 U.S. census, 67.2 percent of people have private insurance while 37.7 percent [66.6 million people enrolled in Medicaid and 56 million enrolled in Medicare71] have government health coverage."72,73 The U.S. population in 2017 was 325.7 million, thus 218.8 million Americans have private health insurance as their only option as they do not qualify for either Medicare or Medicaid. Private health care providers and pharmaceutical companies know that the majority of the U.S. population has no access to a cheaper alternative (namely public health care), this places them in the unique position to raise price as much as they would like (remember, as stated previously, on average the U.S. spends about $10,224 on health per person whereas similar OECD countries spend about $5,28074).
In addition, private health care providers and pharmaceutical companies also know that the elasticity of the drugs and health services (necessities) they provide are inelastic, which is an economic term describing the phenomenon in which a company is able to raise price by a percentage that is greater than the percentage decrease in the quantity demanded. A horrifying example of this was when former hedge fund manager, founder, and former CEO of Turing Pharmaceuticals, and convicted felon, Martin Shkreli increased the price of the "lifesaving drug Daraprim [a drug that costs "around $1 to make" and "used to treat AIDS, malaria and cancer patients"] by more than 5,000 percent ["$13.50 per pill to $750 per pill"] in September 2015."75 If no cheaper alternative is provided to consumers in desperate need of a lifesaving drug such as Daraprim, then consumers simply pay the hiked up price.
Another example is the high price of insulin for those suffering from type 1 diabetes ("the average U.S. list price (WAC) of the four insulin categories increased by 15% to 17% per year from 2012 to 2016"76). This price gauging (the price for one vial in 1996 was $25, but in 2019 it retails "around the $300 range"77) is typical behavior of oligopolistic firms, in this case, the three biggest manufactures are "Sanofi, Novo Nordisk, and Eli Lilly, who account for more than 80% of the insulin supply globally."78 Economists often warn that when a few firms dominate the market there is the danger that they may collude and become, collectively, a monopoly. Thus, this market for the provision of insulin has failed absolutely for T1 diabetics such as Ms. Marston who has to spend "$2,880 a month just to keep" herself "alive," which is more than she was making "even working 50 hours a week."79
How do U.S. citizens solve all of this? It is an extremely daunting question, but I feel that I found part of the answer in that Thai public hospital that treated me (a foreigner) for free.