My Notes from Myanmar series has ended its course. That was a short trip after all.

At this juncture, I would like to thank those of you who have been following this series.

Now, rather than letting my posts on my visit to Myanmar be buried deeper and deeper down the archives as time goes by, I thought I would create an archive page dedicated to them so that visitors to this space who are interested in reading the accounts can find it easily and navigate through the series of posts from this page. The links to the posts can be found on my Notes from Myanmar page.

Finally, let me just do a little “publicity” on what else to expect on my travel-related posts. I am planning to post a series of accounts on my trip to Laos last year. So, if you are interested in finding out about somebody’s experience in Laos, do watch this space!

She has been a great travel companion.

It all began in London, where she caught the eyes of her would-be owner. That marked the very first backpacking adventure of her owner and it was also the first one that they went through together. For the next nine years, she followed her owner around on her backpacking trips. Over mountains and across deserts, through rain, shine and snow.

Traveling in Europe was a breeze. It was the subsequent journeys that were rather tough on her. She had to rough out long bus journeys, such as a 48-hour one in China, and end up having herself covered with dust gathered from those long-haul rides. In places like India and China, she often did not enjoy the same privilege as her owner who was able to get a humble seat in long-distance buses. She had to end up being packed with others on top of the vehicle, exposed to the unforgiving sun and the elements.

In Cambodia, she followed her owner onto the roof of a speedboat that took them on a 5-hour trip from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap and then back. The boat was jetting along the Tonle Sap River, constantly splashing the river’s water onto its roof-top occupants. She had to endure getting wet from the trip while her owner suffered from a sun-burnt nose after failing to cover it up properly while falling asleep on top of the boat, under the late morning Khmer sun.

While these journeys were hard on her, they also brought out the tough side of her. She had never snapped. In Ladakh, she survived a gruesome 19-hour journey on top of a Tata Sumo, riding past some of the world’s highest roads, while her owner was sick from the ride and had to have the car stop twice so that she could throw up.

However, like her owner, outings like that just made traveling to many other places seem like a piece of cake to her – Malaysia, Vietnam, the US, the French Alps, Thailand, Laos, and finally Myanmar.

Despite having gathered the earth and dust of these many places from the repeated travels over the 9 years, she has never relieved herself of this coat of particles that has accumulated over the years. At least, her owner did not make her do it, even though she knew that it was quite gross. Like the rows of honours that decorate a military man’s uniform, this has become similar to something that spells out her illustrious travel records in the past years.

It was only after Laos, when her owner had to move to the US, that she decided it was time that she ought to be restored to her clean self. She would then bring her along to the US. She put her in the washer, where she had a good spin, ridding her of the earth and dust that have been her companion for years. The washer’s water was coloured black by the particles that it discharged, leaving her in a brilliant shade of maroon that neither she nor her owner has seen in years.

That probably dealt her the deadly blow. Without the honours that are symbolic of her past, she was no longer what she was. The earth and dust that has seeped into her fabric were like her battle scars. They made her strong. Without them she was weakened considerably. You could feel that just by touching her with your hands.

In Myanmar, she broke. Her zipper was ripped. It was like telling her owner that after ridding her of her earth and dust, she no longer had what it took to rough out another journey. Her time has come to an end.

Nonetheless, having been a great travel companion to her owner for the past 9 years, she still accompanied her till the end of the Myanmar trip. Her owner held her together with a piece of cord. It worked well and it was as if nothing has ever happened to her. She did not disappoint.

Now, Myanmar is over. To the very first backpack that I have ever owned, and that served me while I took my very first steps in exploring the world, you have very well accomplished your mission. May you rest in peace.

1998 – 2007
Karrimor Discovery 65L
My first backpack
R.I.P.

Most of the countries where I backpack to in recent years are the less developed countries in Asia. Despite having done this over and over again, I still feel challenged.

I do not mean having to live with traveling in less comfort – rickety buses, bumpy roads, dusty rides, primitive toilets, run-down accommodation, no running water, no electricity, unhygienic food, and so on. To me, these are quite bearable. In fact, the actual conditions are not really as bad as what people make them sound. I like roughing it out.

What I have yet to come to ease with is the attitude I should have towards the locals. Yes, me, a shoestring traveler from a more developed country, with a job that gives me a more-than-decent pay, how should I carry myself in front of the local people, who make a harder living than me?

Years ago, at Angkor, some kids showed me around a temple and later asked me for some money. I walked away, unsettled by the encounter. An ex-colleague later told me that I could have brought with me some pens and simple gifts to give away in villages where I visited. This would have made the children very happy.

That was my first encounter with a variation of begging, other than people who approached me in the streets and stuck out their hands in front of me, point-blank. Or should I not call it a variation of begging, but look at it as something people have to resort to, when they are pushed to the corner, to make ends meet?

I always remembered what the ex-colleague said to me, though I never put it into practice. I went to more places over the years. In some villages, it is not uncommon to come across kids who come up to me, or any other visitor, and ask for something.

At some of the temples in Bagan this time, some of the things kids asked from me included bonbons (sweets in French), stylos (pens in French), pens (in English this time), notes and coins of my country’s currency etc. Some were even all over me, pointing to my compass and then to my whistle dangling from my bag, asking me to give it to them.

It was very tempting to just give it to them, and in some occasions, I did – some Singapore coins. I told myself, they were just kids, and they were rather adorable. Those were just some humble items that can be easily replaced (well, most of the time, at least).

However, at the back of my mind, I knew that my act was going to encourage the children to approach other foreigners, asking for similar things, thinking that it was alright. That, to me, was not alright. I saw myself joining the band of culprits who were responsible for getting the village kids in India and elsewhere going after me for pens, stylos and whatever. I held back after a while.

To give or not to give? I think we should ask ourselves this question – with our own kids (supposing we have them), would we like them going around accepting offers from strangers? Would we want them to grow a habit out of it and go around asking those strangers to offer them something? My guidebook suggests – and I agree – handing gifts to adults so as not to encourage begging among the younger ones.

Although I may prefer to call myself a backpacker or a shoestring traveler, at the end of the day, I am a tourist. There is nothing noble about it. I do not go into a less developed country, thinking that I am a saviour to the locals with whom I cross paths. However, being human, we would like to help people out where the situation is appropriate.

I am not what I call a “souvenir” person, and I shun vendors as much as possible at tourist attractions. Sometimes I ignore them, especially the extremely persistent ones (I did not come across any of such in Myanmar, but this happened a lot to me in India), pretending I did not understand the language they talked to me in.

I came across a young lad at the Buledi Pagoda. He spoke fluent English and tried to sell me some sand paintings. I was not interested until he told me he was raising money for his studies in the university. I got one painting from him.

We chatted for a while later. He told me that he will need USD 500, just for his first year. He has raised over 300 so far, but time was running out for him as school would be starting soon. He was not confident of being able to raise enough money for his fees. He told me he would be studying English and he wanted to become a tour guide. I sincerely wished him good luck before we parted.

There was another younger boy tagging along with him. He was 13. He was selling postcards. He followed me around the pagoda’s terrace, trying to persuade me to buy a set of his postcards. Somebody must have taught them the trade. He showed me every single postcard in the set, naming the temple pictured in it and what it was known for (the biggest, tallest, etc.).

I was firm with my ‘no’, and I think he could sense it, for his ’sales pitch’ was reduced to a squeak and the boy was looking up towards me, brows locked, making a last attempt at saying with his little voice, “Only 1000 kyats” (USD 1 = 1200 kyats). As if it was a plea, as if he was questioning how I could be so hard-hearted with a little boy, who already has sweat oozing from his little nose as the morning sun began to warm up the day.

You have not bought any postcards. Couldn’t you just spend this small money that could have made the school day of a little boy?

The boy was adorable. I told him that I would get a set of postcards from him and I asked to take a picture of him. It turned out to be a nice picture and I have mailed it to him in Bagan. I hope it reaches him.

How does one decide how much of such goodwill to give away? As a tourist who can afford more than traveling on a shoestring, I am aware of the fact that tourists like us play a role in the livelihood of people local to the places we visit. However, I am also aware of the fact that we cannot possibly help everybody.

I did turned away a vendor, a mother who needed to send her children to school. She showed me around a temple, chatted with me about her family situation and wanted me to buy some laquerware from her. Nothing extravagant, just modest jewelry containers and accessories about a dollar each. Yet, I refused.

My aim here is not to try and find reasons for when I ought to help and when I ought not to, because I cannot. Who am I to do that? It is ridiculous, the more I think about it, that how much money a mother, or anyone in the family brings home every day depends on the fancy of tourists like myself.

This is the kind of things travelers to less developed country will need to handle – the question of when to help and when not. Delicate question, I must say. Throw in the element I raised earlier about encouraging begging and a sense of reliance. It is important to be mentally prepared, think of what you will do when faced with such situations, and be consistent. In my case, I did not have a plan, and of course, I could not be consistent.

I know that I am not the budget traveler that I used to be when I was fresh out of school. I can now afford to do things that I could not. For instance, now I tip. Not for everything, but when there are reasons to.

My guesthouse in Bagan hires a guy to take care of the guests’ breakfast everyday. He is a very nice and friendly guy. Besides breakfast, he also helps out with other tasks of running the guesthouse.

We had a conversation in the morning on the day I was leaving for Yangon. I learned that his family lives in a village 6 hours away. He sends his pay – 8000 kyats a month – to his mother. “Very little money,” he admitted. He has no vacation. The job does not provide for his meals and he eats at a nearby monastery. He told me that gifts and tips from guests supplemented his pay.

He served good breakfast every morning and has been very helpful during my stay at the guesthouse. I made up my mind to leave him a tip when I go.

How much tip was appropriate then? I did not want to give so little that it seemed miserable – like leaving people the one-cent change not out of appreciation for their service, but more so because you do not want the coins to bulk up your wallet. Neither did I want to give out outrageous amounts that are beyond the norms. At the end, I settled for a dollar for every night that I stayed at the guesthouse.

I could see the joy on his face when I offered that token of appreciation to him. I was glad that it made him happy. As long as I can afford it, I believe I will continue to do this when I receive good service when traveling in less developed countries. I just hope that tourists everywhere take care when performing such gestures to avoid ending up creating an “I expect you to give me money” mindset among the locals. I have seen this in way too many places.

We often speak about being sensitive to the environment, to nature of the places we visit. We get advised against leaving behind rubbish, feeding the bears etc. Responsible tourism goes a long way beyond that. It is also about being sensitive to the locals’ living conditions, helping them to be self-reliant and allowing travelers who arrive after you, even years later, to enjoy the location and the interaction with the locals as much as you do.

I am a tourist. There is nothing noble about it. As with all other human, I need to learn to be a responsible person.

05 June 2007 (Tuesday) – Bagan

So, I was too late for sunrise today and only managed to catch a glimpse of it. So was I for sunset yesterday.

It was raining heavily yesterday afternoon. I thought that washed away my chance to catch my last sunset on the terrace of one of the many ancient temples on the vast Bagan plain. Some time later, in the late afternoon, I could hear, from my room, the sound of rain taken over by that of traffic and of activities on the street below.

The rain has stopped. It was still bright outside. I was not bothered and kept on playing game after game of Bubble Breaker on my O2 Atom. I will not have enough time to make it to the temples before sunset, I thought. Besides, I was not even sure of the location of the one I had in mind. Had it not rained, I would have gone out earlier to look for it.

It was only after a while that I stepped out of the room to check out the sky outside. Over the rooftops of the buildings across the street, I saw clouds dyed orange, accompanied by a piece of a soothingly fiery setting sun. The clouds have brought the rain. They were also going to make this sunset a spectacular one.

I wanted to capture something out of this one. Just something. I knew I did not have time to make it to the temples known to have great views of sunsets. Perhaps I could just find a spot along the street with a good view? I picked up my gear, took my bike and rode away on the street that was still wet from the rain. In my mind, I was still running through the destination options that I had.

I settled for the field next to the Shwezigon Paya, which was just 5-10 minutes’ ride away. Indeed, the sun, already disappeared beyond the horizon, has left hues so dramatic on the beds of clouds in the sky behind the temples. Without my tripod with me, I snapped a few shots at low shutter speed, hoping for the best effect to turn out.

Tiny drops of rain soon began to fall again. It was time to make my way back to the guesthouse before I had to seek shelter somewhere and be stranded in the next round of rain that would bring some coolness back to this city in a wet Bagan night.

These were the remains of the previous day’s sunset that I managed to catch. A spectacular one.

Buledi’s shadow looming over the Bagan plains. I was too late for sunrise today and found my way to the Buledi Pagoda after missing out on the sun making its entrance from below the horizon. It was a tranquil moment I spent at Buledi this morning.

View on a quiet morning at Buledi. I watched the oxen work in the field. I have another picture taken later and it showed a wider strip of ploughed land – the fruit of their labour.

Temples of Bagan

Since I did not have too much time in Bagan after discounting the down time brought by bad weather, I only managed to see those temples that figure prominently on the typical tourist loop.

Besides those, I biked to the Myinkaba area on my own to visit some of its temples, but I found it too much of a hassle to take out my camera from my haversack once I was off my bike and put it back in again before I rode off. As a result, I did not take too many pictures of the temples around Myinkaba even though there were a couple of nice ones around.

In this post, I will share some pictures of the temples more “well-known” to tourists.

This is the stately Dhammayangyi Pahto, the largest temple in Bagan.

Dhammayangyi Pahto – a close up. This temple is known for its very fine brickwork. Note that the bricks here are laid very closely together.

Buddha images at Dhammayangyi Pahto. These images sit at the western shrine of Dhammayangyi. To be exact, they are images of the previous Buddha and the next Buddha to come, Gautama (Shakyamuni) and Maitreya respectively.

Dhammayangyi Pahto – another view, from its entrance.

Ananda Pahto is coined as the “most beautiful temple in Bagan”. Approach any local in Bagan, including young kids, and you’ll be amazed at how much ease everyone can recite to you the names of “the most beautiful temple”, “the biggest temple”, “the tallest temple” etc. in Bagan.

A Buddha image at the Ananda Pahto.

Terrace around the Thatbyinnyu Pahto. This temple is Bagan’s tallest, but let’s forget about this fact for this picture.

It was past midday when this photograph was taken. You can’t wear shoes into the compounds of the holy temples and pagodas of Bagan. That poses a great challenge when walking round the temple in the hot afternoon sun. You burn your feet on the ground. It is a skill to aim for the next patch of shaded ground in your trajectory and dash to it, before letting your soles take a break and aim for another one again. Little wonder that there are so few visitors in the day.

Click on the picture to see the comments I made on it.

Façade of the Maha Bodi Paya. This is modeled after the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodhgaya of India. The latter is supposed to be the place where the Buddha attained Enlightenment.

Sunset from the Shwesandaw Paya – Shwesandaw Paya turns into a very touristic place in the evening, where everybody would come to catch the sunset. I was one of them.