Number two was the beggar who came up to me and called me 'clean', there is a crossover in the word for clean and white. Language codifies a hierarchy based on the skin colour. The Aryan invasion of South Asia 4000 years ago has left many marks, many wonderful but this would have to be one of the most disturbing. Racism is so incessant, so incomprehensible, from the attacks on Indians in Australia, the discrimination against the indigenous people, it runs across the planet making me think how totally flawed our species is. I hope aliens don't find us in this state, its embarrassing.

Number three was our trip to Cox's Bazaar, reputed to be the world's longest beach and it is most beautiful. It was a Bangladeshi holiday, at first I got a bit annoyed at the pure chaos in the organisation, then I decided to go with the flow and all was good. It is always difficult to travel with more than a couple of people, but half a dozen Bengali's is pure theatre. One person details a plan, the next person completely ignores that person and details a plan, followed by another person and then the next. Everyone lays out a plan without any consideration to the others plan, a plan is not built, it happens, it is a plan where there is only the present, the past and the future do not exist. Two friends, Jami and his wife, brought 13 bags and a kettle, there was a birthday, business, three restaurant malfunctions, Faiz transformed from geek to photographer taking over a thousand pictures a day, more events than can be fit in a day without completing any. We were only there for a day and two nights but it was a good time.

The coastline south of Cox's Bazaar is quite beautiful, it would be an excellent spot for international tourism, good food, wonderful coastline hugged by a cliff but swimming fully clothed and the lack of alcohol would make it difficult. I sat looking out at the sea, watching the sunset thinking a beer would be just wonderful. Maybe as a family tourist destination, but then I imagine white women in bikini's, Bangladesh, I don't think so. A Saudi prince wanted to develop the area on the obscene condition that Bengali's are banned. Then I think, it doesn't matter whether the place develops or not for internationals, its a lovely holiday spot for the locals, low population, a break from the mayhem of the rest of the country, let it be.

Bangladesh is undoubtedly changing, on a purely selfish note I was shocked to see the number of white people across Dhaka, I took it that this was my desh, my panidesh, the only white guy in the country, alas my Bangladesh is being discovered. It was excellent to see my friends again, they are all doing well, although I was saddened by my sparing partner Jami's decline into moderation from pure fundamentalism. The passage of life makes it difficult to maintain extreme views, it requires blind commitment and a total disregard for reality. I don't think either of us are capable, my desire for an atheist planet has waned, it would be boring, lack colour, I'ld have no one to argue with. Maybe when atheism becomes the dominant position I will take up the cause of God. Then I think no, I've just lost all interest in the question, the suggestion or anything to do with it, lost interest in opposing something that doesn't exist. It makes me sigh, I used to enjoy arguing but as I get older it just becomes so boring, tiring, circular, pointless and more than anything else I've realised I'm not right, the opposing position is not wrong, it just is, and what it is, is very funny.

Now I am in Mumbai, India, tracking down Parsi's.

Related posts:

1. Bangladeshi Business

When I first arrived in Yangon I met a Burmese man, we got on well, he gave me an introduction to Burmese culture, Buddhism, mohinga, the national dish and took me around Yangon. He asked if I would like to visit a monastery where the Abbot is learning English and is keen to meet foreigners, he warned that they had been involved in the 2007 protests which intrigued me, I asked if it would be safe, he said no problems. We arrived at the monastery, entered and I sat and spoke with some monks whilst my friend went in search of the Abbot. He returned apologetic, the Abbot could not meet with me. About a week before the monastery had been visited by National League for Democracy who had donated food and now there were some problems, we decided it best to leave.

The day after I decided to leave Yangon to travel to a spirit festival, a Nat-Pwe near Mandalay, in the centre of the country. I travelled through the tourist heartland of Myanmar for two weeks then returned to Yangon, I was bored of sights and had made a number of connections with people in Yangon. I returned the day that the verdict in Aung San Suu Kyi's most recent trial was to be handed down. There was a lot of mis-information going round, she had been freed, condemned, only international news had a uniform answer. The following day I met my friend, as he walked gingerly down the street I asked him what he thought of the recent verdict. I did not mention her name, this is a serious mistake in Myanmar, I asked about the lady. He replied that we should go somewhere more discreet, he had a story to tell, we found a place above a noodle store to speak. This is what he told me.

A couple of days after I left he had met with a French man, a pro-democracy activist who was collecting information on the repressive activities of the Burmese government. They had discussed the situation in Myanmar, he had offered to introduce him to some people who could further illuminate the conditions of the people. The French man left, then things started to get serious. My Burmese friend was about to board a bus when a man came up to him and said that he should come with him, if he resisted there would be trouble, two uniformed police arrived and took my friend to the police station.

At the police station they sat him on the ground, they asked him about me and the other foreign man he had met. It transpired that the police had been watching the monastery that we had visited a fortnight before. Since our visit they had been following him, they had seen him meet the French man. The police wanted to know about me, my name, where I was from, what I was doing in the country. My friend replied that I was simply a tourist and he wouldn't give my name, they then hit him in the back with a baton and asked again. He put his hand around to protect his back then the police pulled his legs apart and proceed to smash his balls. They continued to ask him about me, the French man, what we were doing in Myanmar. He kept on telling them a partial truth, I was just a tourist, which I was and the French man, well, he also said he was just a tourist. The police held him for the night. They made him promise on some holy water that he wouldn't engage in political activities, it sounded to me like the equivalent of a Christian making a promise on the Bible. He is a village boy and quite devout, this meant something to both him and the police. The following day some family members and friends had tracked him down to the police station where they paid a bribe to get him released.

Since that day he had to leave his house and was hiding out as a lay person in a monastery.  He had been to the hospital to get his balls looked at, they had been badly beaten, one was swollen and the doctor said he would need an operation to fix it.  Walking, sitting, standing for long periods had all become difficult.  I have paid for his operation yet his situation sits on my conscience.

After he told me this I decided I should leave Myanmar.  I worried about my other Burmese friends, was I been watched, could I cause trouble for them by association?  I felt responsible for what had happened to him. I understood this was not my fault or intention, but it is difficult in this situation not to blame yourself.  My friend said to me that it was simply an unfortunate set of circumstances.   He did not know the police were watching the monastery, if he had know we would not have gone.  Yet still, if we had not met he would be living in his house with his balls in regular shape.  I realise the world is one giant cauldron of causal interactions, maybe something else would have happened to him if we hadn't met, maybe something good will come of this.  I spoke with other Burmese friends about this, they said he should have been wiser, he lives here, he knows what its like.  When he said the monastery had been involved in the 2007 protests I trusted his judgement that it would be safe to go.  I can't help but think to go to Myanmar and interact with the people you are putting them in danger in some way, not everyone, but now one guy has lost his home and has had his balls smashed in.  Aung San Suu Kyi said this years ago, I convinced myself that it was fine to go, she has not re-iterated the tourism boycott since 1995, but she has been under house arrest, she has only been able to get out a few snippets since.

I have travelled to a lot of places, I don't believe the world is static, it never has been, it has always been a giant melting pot, the silk road, all the travellers, the traders, the migrations over the eons.  The human story is one of interaction, this has led to many of the great changes.  My decision to go to Myanmar has brought about no positive outcome, I didn't expect it to, I wasn't seeking it.  I knew about the military from the writings of Aung San Suu Kyi before I decided to go, the people of Myanmar, more than anyone else, know how bad the military government is.  Still the people I met were most welcoming, I made numerous friends, even after the events I have recounted here they still think it was good idea for me to go, they, like all people are interested in people from other lands.  My friend who was beaten is unrepentant, he wants the French man to continue his activities, he wanted me to tell his story.  He wants me to return, as do other people I met there, they have said to me that the people of Myanmar need to have their eyes opened.  I replied that the people already know how bad the military government is.  They tell me that the people think that this sort of government is the norm throughout the world, everyone knows its bad yet they have reluctantly accepted it, the people of Myanmar need to know most of the worlds people live with far greater freedom than they.  If I travel through and tell the tribal people of the situation of their brethren in India and Thailand they will realise it can be different.  Still I am torn, if I have gained anything from this its to try and follow my conscience.

Myanmar is a fabulous place, they have a wonderful culture, the people are between the softness of South East Asia and the friendly intenseness of South Asia.  They have amazing festivals, the syncretism of Buddhism and the spirit worship of Nat, a continuous and intact culture where they have kept their languages, dress and food, the multi-cultural, multi-racial mix of Bamar, Indian, Chinese, and tribal cultures, the loving kindness of Buddhism, a land full of smiles but there is a darkness that overhangs.  When the military are ejected and Myanmar is free I will be there within days, but until then I doubt I will return.

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Why a military government
2. Myanmar – Nat Pwe, Spirits, generals and Smiles
3. Myanmar: Palaung Hill Tribe of Shan state

Bagan

15 Photos

Mandalay

5 Photos

Nat-Pwe

24 Photos

Shan State

35 Photos

Yangon

20 Photos

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Why a military government
2. Myanmar – Nat Pwe, Spirits, generals and Smiles
3. Myanmar: Life under military rule

A new perspective on why, or why not, maybe its better said as the lack of why. There are many charming facets of Myanmar culture but the military government is a real conundrum. How can a country have such peaceful people and have such a violent repressive government at the same time? It is the same people, the military are not a different ethnic group, or different religion, there is the pervasive Buddhism, the respect for the monks yet they can fire on them at the same time, the reverence for Aung San and the fight against British colonialism yet at the same time the demonization of his daughter.

After spending the first two weeks jumping from place to place, two nights here and a night there I decided it was time to slow down and get a better feeling for the place. So I’m back in the capital Yangon for the Aung San Suu Kyi verdict. I’ve been meeting a lot of Couch Surfers, locals, who can’t host due to government restrictions but who will discuss most subjects freely with me. A man I met told me of his eyes were opened when he learned the word “porque”, why, he said “In Myanmar we don’t ask why. We don’t ask why we should not wash our hair after dark, or have our back facing the door, why we should not talk when we eat, why we do the same business we have always been doing, or why Buddhism?” . He sees a lack of desire in the people, as the countries around hurtle forward, Myanmar is still, the Indians and Chinese run the economy. People are not greedy enough, which for a foreigner is part of the charm, it is the languid gentleness of the people, the pervasive softness. Maybe it is also this trait that allows such a government to exist? I ask myself, could such a government exist in the west, my first reaction is no, we are too violent, too prone to excess of emotion, discontent runs through western culture, it is the engine. Then I think if Hilter, Mussolini, Franco, Stalin, Lenin, western culture has had some of lived through some of the most extreme excesses of government in history. It must be something else.

I think it is something common to all societies, including the quasi democracies of the west, the people are broken, broken in varying degrees across the world and broken in slightly different ways. Everywhere and most definitely here, people are resigned to the situation as is if there might be something else but it is not possible. They have tried to change it, but it will not change, there is a begrudging acceptance. Demonstrations will only hurt the people more, disrupt the economy, the poorest will suffer even more. I don’t understand why, but everywhere people can gamble money but will not take other risks.

After the verdict yesterday I should say, that apart from one man I have met, everyone here loves Aung San Suu Kyi, she is revered, as daughters of the first president, independence leader, for her writing, her positions. I hope she prevails.

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Life under military rule
2. Myanmar – Nat Pwe, Spirits, generals and Smiles
3. Myanmar: Palaung Hill Tribe of Shan state

Into the Palaung and Lisu Hill Tribes of Shan state in Myanmar through winding broken roads, villages perched on the top of hills, each village with a Pagoda and a monastery, a collection of Monks, novices, smiles that are impossibly wide, bamboo huts clinging to the side of a hill and the freshest food directly from the field.

Again luck brought me to a festival, each full moon the Buddhist villagers of Palaung tribe congregate in one village.  The morning is spent in meditation and prayer, listening to the Monks preach followed by endless amounts of food, rice, vegetables in curries and pork avoided.  The women in fantastic tribal colours, belts of wire, shaven heads with a towel wrapped around their heads, their dress comes undone with one tug on a cord at the back, so I'm told.  The men in baggy pants, think old China, massively oversized held up by a belt.  After lunch the dance starts, six oversized drums, likes congas that weigh a tonne, carried, cymbals, a gong are paraded in a wide, slow moving circle round a flagless flagpole.  They lead the men who make up the outer circle, the older, the leaders make smooth movements, think Jet Li doing Tai Chi to music, it is the opening scene of "Once Upon a time in China"  Following them the men get progressively more drunk and younger, til the boys at the end who shout out of time, their movement inebriated making a perfect juxtaposition to the women who make up the inner circle, a block, full of grace, harmony by comparison, delicate movements of the hands, in time, rising and falling, small movements of the feet.  There are many things the same around the world, women been beautiful and men making dicks out of themselves is universal.  It is the women who are the repositories and transmitters of culture, dress, food and language.  The circles move slowly and make only a few rotations, it finishes, the men and women form into smaller groups, each group sings a song at the same time.  The Monks, the married, the elderly and two tourists look on from the shade.

The Palaung make their money from tea, five hundred years ago the then King of Shan state demanded tribute, animist, tribal and living a subsistence life there was nothing they could offer.  He gave them tea and taught them how to cultivate it, today it is their cash crop.

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Why a military government
2. Myanmar – Nat Pwe, Spirits, generals and Smiles
3. Myanmar: Life under military rule

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Palaung Hill Tribe of Shan state

Myanmar, once known as Burma, is the jewel of South East Asia, IMHO, the people, the culture is a hybrid, at the intersection of three great civilizations. The pervasive Buddhism that seeps into even corner of life is magnified by the backwardness of the military regime. There are few parts to this essay, spirits then guns/politics. I’ll start with the most interesting, the Nat, the spirit world, the pre-Buddhist animist worship. The Buddhists do syncretic better than the other major religions who always seem to co-exist uncomfortably with anything that wasn’t written down in their own dogma.

A chance meet in Yangon, formerly Rangoon, formerly the capital and biggest city, the entry point into Myanmar, informed me of a Nat Pwe in the centre of the country, near Mandalay. A spirit festival, and one of the countries largest I made plans and headed for a village transformed, a fare from the middle ages, a market, countless people on a pilgrimage to consort with spirits mediated by transvestites. Temporary stalls, bamboo style, bamboo civilization, a town constructed without lines, a mash of stores selling, sweets, a ferris wheel, farming equipment, machetes, wooden nat for the house, clothes, mortal and pestles, a make shift cinema hall and endless stalls selling noodles. The centre is two temples, one Buddhist and one for the Nat. The Buddhist temple has a golden Buddha where two men apply further gold leaf, people pray on their knees, hands clasped, four spokes carrying stalls selling their necessities of worship draw out from the Buddha.

One leads to the Nat temple which is overflowing with people, with amp’d sound, an ensemble of clashes, drums beaten without rhythm, flutes, a cacophony of unrelated sound without order that the Nat adore, that draws them to this place. A woman sings a distorted chorus of sound that would never pass as music but its what the Nat love, it is integral to the experience, for the communion. People are jammed in, barefoot in the temple, crowds jammed in so tight, everyone is covered in sweat, I sweat so much my face burnt dry as if it had been smeared with chilli. The crowd surges forward towards the two Nat statues, guarded by transvestites, the spirit-medium, the intermediaries between our world and the spirits. They bless the flowers the pilgrims bring who then toss them high above on a crypt that hangs from the ceiling, if the flowers hold the wish is granted. It is a sauna, the lady-boys dance, the crowd is intoxicated by rum, the heat is unbearable, the lady boys, the spirit-mediums approach a women and touch her in the forehead and transfer the Nat into her body, she convulses, she is possessed and starts flailing wildly, not a dance, arms and legs in all directions, drenched in sweat, eyes closed, they fall, trip and are caught. The normally demur ladies of Myanmar are out of control. The ground is covered in flowers, the temple’s gold glistens, the sound is intoxicating, I can stand no more than ten minutes at a time less I be possessed. I can see the mechanism of possession, pushing people to the limits until they can control themselves no longer and have a psychic schism, a temporary psychosis. It is a rave, I have seen this before, it is moderated psychosis. The temple is guarded by two giant stone lions who are doused in water to keep them cool as the people over heat.

Throughout the festival there are stalls paid for by wealthy families where a troupe of spirit intermediaries, the transvestites stay. They have a leader, sometimes a woman but often an old lady-boy, groups of women surround them, they are fortune tellers drinking endless green tea. I have my fortune read, they tell the story of my life, totally incorrect, not one detail did she get correct then she moved onto my future. What questions did I have for the Nat: Will I will the golf tournament at the end of the year? No When will I be married? When I am 35, 35 is my year, I will win the lottery, marry a rich woman. I will live more than 75 years but I should never work for the government, private enterprise is the only way. The ceremony is performed at each one so that each family may commune with the Nat culminating in its members been possessed by the Nat. The lady-boys are revered, men even marry them who are not gay. Throughout the festival are monks, hermits, nuns, there is no conflict. Two days was enough.

Part two, general impressions, the people are really wonderful, the smiling is infectious, Buddhism is pervasive, it is more traditional, more conservative than the rest of South East Asia, women aren’t walking around advertising sex, none of the sex tourism that is ruining much of the rest of South East Asia. It is an amazing mix, so many Indians and Chinese, brought by the British, they intermarry most of the time, but as is the rule, no Hindu-Muslim marriages. I met a girl ¼ Bangla, ¾ Burmese, she is Muslim, the religion comes down from the father. A man who is Buddhist has a Muslim wife, his concession to her parents was no pork in the house. I must say, if there is one good thing about dictatorships it keeps the religions in check. Freedom brings the fascists out. The people have the generosity of South Asia with the quietness, the gentleness, softness of the East.

I met a tourist who came here 20 years ago, he says it hasn’t changed at all. The early 80’s Toyota Corolla, my first car is the latest and greatest here. They live off second hand Japanese cars. In 1973 the glorious General Ne Win decided to change the side of the road that everyone drives on, from left to right, what a great anti-colonial action but it must have been a disastrous year on the roads. Still all the cars are from Japan and are for driving on the left hand side, overtaking is just ridiculous, the driver is already in the wrong lane before he can see oncoming traffic.

Everyone I meet hates the government with a passion, but there must be people who support it, any government requires some degree of consent to operate. Also the people I speak with want to talk with foreigners, lovers of the military would not talk with me. Everything is in decay, the buildings are derelict, in Yangon sits Trade House, a four storey building with smashed windows and one solitary dog at the door, I don’t mean a soldier, I mean a dog that goes woof. Everything needs to be painted, since the 2007 massacre of Monks and associated villains, apparently the Buddhist soldiers couldn’t fire so they brought in Christian and Muslim soldiers, there has been an economic blockade, the economy already stagnant has gone into a tailspin. Markets in Yangon are empty, foreign banks don’t exist, maestro, mastercard, visa, only Chinese and Singaporeans are doing business. One guy of Indian descent said to me, fuck the Asians, they do nothing for us, we need the Americans to invade, NATO will be our saviour. I ask him about Aung San Suu Kyi, the pro-democracy leader, daughter of the independence leader and first president Aung San who has been under house arrest for 20 years. He despises her and her father, he said the day after independence he asked all the Indians and Chinese to leave. He ruled for about 10 years before other generals had him executed. The building where he was executed has lain unused, surrounded in barbed wire. The Indian friend says Suu Kyi should lead the people and fight but she won’t. So he says total economic blockade and invasion is the only answer. I must say, his opinion is not shared but any of the Buddhist Burmese I met, they all love Aung San Suu Kyi, she is venerated and I think correctly so.

Everyone must stay in their designated house, no foreigners can stay in a locals house, if you want your girlfriend to stay over you need government permission. The police come round a couple of times a month and check all the houses. The police took a friends ID, next day he had to go to the police station and bribe them to get it back. The country is covered in road blocks, made by locals to collect money, by the police to collect money and occasionally by the police to check movement. Monks and Nuns are everywhere and are venerated.

This is a fascinating country, even though the government is totally fucked the people smile constantly and it is infectious. The Buddhist prayers are beautiful, spreading loving kindness. I have seen roads been built by smiling children, internet sites are blocked but people no how to get around the restrictions. It is Chinese style rule but not as efficient. Out of internet time, I am going tribal for a couple of days before I go see Bagan.

Related posts:

1. Myanmar: Why a military government
2. Myanmar: Life under military rule
3. Myanmar: Palaung Hill Tribe of Shan state

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