Bagan

I got up early, packed and ready to go. After witnessing a fight in my dorm, changing beds to separate the men, and seeing a rooster die in a cock fight, I was ready for a change of scene. Pavlo and Daniel got up to say goodbye. It’s weird how you can become so close to people in just a couple of days of traveling with them. Pavlo is a crazy Greek photgrapher, who, when asked where he’s from, says “Greece, can you give me some money?” It’s not really possible to describe how insane he is, but he is insane. A fifty-year-old wild man, with a heart pure as gold, but a personality that makes you either love him or hate him. The guy in the hostel, with whom he picked the fight, clearly hated him. I loved him. Walking through the streets with him is an experience in itself. He is loud, vivacious, and completely over the top. He isn’t afraid to make people feel uncomfortable. In fact, he loves it.

“People everywhere, they have humor, you see? It’s OK to fuck with them.”

I don’t know. But he taught me a lot. I am starting my trip in a country with zero crime, especially towards foreigners. The government is very clear in their message to the Burmese: treat foreginers kindly and help them. People here don’t heckle you, follow you, or otherwise harass you. They walk by, sometimes stare, but mostly just nod and offer the friendly “Ming guh la bah,” which means hello. But because Myanmar is so safe, I am not learning what it is really going to be like once I leave this place. The borders beyond are filled with con-artists and pick-pockets, and it’s important to always be a smart traveler. So Pavlo never stopped trying to teach me lessons in this field. If I left my bed for a minute to go to the bathroom, I would come back to find my iPod, KIndle and Camera.

“Stupid girl! You see!! You have to be SMART!” he’d say, throwing my goods back on my bed. Ok ok I get it. But I knew he was the only one in there, and he wouldn’t steal from me to save his own life. I get it.

He immediately assumed a role in my life as protector. We went for a walk in the afternoon, through downtown, when it suddenly started pouring rain. We popped into a little photocopy shop to get shelter, and I gave him my Lonely Planet book so he could copy the Laos section. The rain didn’t look like it was going to let up. A Muslim man came in, and Pavlo grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey! You speak English? Why does everyone here hate Muslims?”

Oh man. I ducked out. Without a word, I slipped away into the pouring rain, and ran down the street. I needed to get my hair fixed. It was a bit jagged and ridiculous, and I had seen a beauty salon down the street when we walked past earlier. I went in, and got my haircut. It took maybe an hour, and by the time it was done, the rain had abated. I hope they aren’t waiting for me. I went back to where I left them, and they were gone. The man behind the counter pointed down the street. I started walking, and just as I looked up, I saw Daniel waving and jumping in the middle of the road ahead of me. They had waited for me.

“I was worried about you! Ask him, I was!” Daniel nodded in confirmation as I approached.

“I’m traveling alone, sillys, I am going to be on many streets alone for more than an hour. Don’t worry!” But I was glad they had waited. That meant the cab ride back would be only 30 cents instead of a dollar.

Daniel, the Aussie, is the opposite of Pavlo. Quiet, smart, and cool-tempered, I never really understood how the two got along. I spent my last night in Yangon sitting in the lobby with Daniel learning about how to use my camera, and talking about everything from the Holocaust to relationships. Earlier that evening, there was another altercation between Pavlo and a German woman, who called him a Jew. That was a crazy fight too.  Not a pretty scene, but a fun thing to talk about later. I will miss these two, and I am grateful to have met them on my first few nights.

I boarded a bus at 7 am to Bagan. It was supposed to take 10 hours. Of course, it took 13, because the bus broke down in the sweltering heat, and took hours to repair.

I got to Bagan in the dark, completely unsure of where to go. Chen Chen, the girl working at the Motherland Inn, where I stayed in Yangon, had gotten me a room for $7 in Bagan. Another very lucky grab. She said it was the last one open, and she got it by a favor because her sister works there. In exchange for her getting me the room, she asked me to bring a gift to her sister. So I carried with me a scarf, wrapped in newspaper, to deliver to someone at the Winner House, the next place I was going to.

I started walking in the dark. Chen Chen said it was about 20 minutes walk, and I felt like stretching my feet after the long ride. After walking about 5 minutes, it occured to me that I didn’t really know which way to walk. A white man with a box of Corn Flakes walked past me.

“Hey! Excuse me!” I said, as he passed. “Do you know where we are? Or how to get to the Winner House?”

“Umm. Do you have a map?” he asked, with a British accent.

I pulled out my map that Chen Chen had given me of Bagan.

“Yeah, it’s this way,” he said pointing in the direction I had come from. “I’m walking that way if you want to walk with me.”

We walked and talked through the night. It was about a 30 minute walk. He had been spending every season since 2007 in Bagan, as a hot air balloon guide. What a life. He told me what to do and where to go, and he dropped me right at the door of my hostel. I realized he had walked quite a ways past his destination, so I thanked him profusely. What luck.

Today, I woke up with the sun, rented a bike, (they call it Hire Bike here, I don’t think they know that the word should be “Rent”), and rode towards Old Bagan.

The street was lined with old temples, and as far as the eye could see there were thousands of them. I rode for an hour and was starting to get dehydrated. I stopped for a water break and a Burmese man pulled over on his motorbike.

“Hey, where are you from?” he asked. We started talking. He had very good English, and was very friendly. I told him I had been looking for a place where I could go up into the temples and see from above. He said he’d show me some spots. I followed him to a temple down a dirt road, struggling to keep up with him as I awkwardly rode through sand. We parked our bikes and took off our shoes. He led me up a tiny, steep, stairwell, which was completely dark and terrifying. It was barely wide enough to squeeze through. Definately not for the claustrophobic.

We got up to the top, and the view was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. The Earth was covered with temples, spread between trees and roads. There are over 4000 of them in Bagan, hundred of years old.

We went to a couple of other temples together, and then I asked him to take me to the highest one so that I could sit up there alone. He dropped me off at the highest temple in Bagan, and I made the climb up.

It was spectacular. I sat up there for 4 hours, until the sun had drained me of every last bit of energy. I couldn’t get enough. It was peaceful and quiet and calm. And just beautiful.

I made my way back to town, getting lost, and riding for 3 hours. I rode all the way around Bagan. I stopped for lunch at a cafe that Nobby, the Enligshman who walked me to my hostel had recommended. There were 3 other Americans there, using the WiFi to see who won the election.

As I approached, I could hear them talking about it.

“So, who won?” I asked, without introducing myself.

“It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but it’s pretty clearly Obama!” one guy said, smiling.

No way!! No WAY! Take THAT Fox News.  They made it seem like it was close.  We high-fived, and I sat down to have a beer with my felow Patriots. Today is a day I am so proud to be American.  My faith in the American people has been restored. I couldn’t belive it. I could put to rest my draft of A User’s Guide to my Uterus that I had been writing in case Romney won. You know, so that they would understand what to do in case that thing didn’t “shut itself down” in the event of a “legitimate raping.” I was so relieved. It’s amazing how many people here, Burmese and foreigners, were interested in the US election. Everybody, EVERYBODY I have met had told me that the whole world was in shock that the country could be so divided and that anyone could like Romney. One man from Holland asked me if everyone had just gone completely crazy, or were they just racist. A girl from France asked me if it was really possible that people could believe that Obama was not a US citizen. Yes, yes, I confirmed sadly, the birthers are real. A guy from Spain explained to me how happy people in his country were when Obama was elected in 2008. He said it gave hope to them that we weren’t just a country of racist, misinformed people. Well, today I am proud to be an American. I am so goshdarn happy that once again, we can have progress for another four years. Now, I am here, drinking a celebratory beer and smiling, as people pass, giving the thumbs up and saying “Obama” with a big smile on their faces. Tomorrow, I will get on boat for an overnight trip to Mandalay.

And my sister showed me this–Megyn Kelly, of Fox News, in an incredible moment of genius:

I wish I could see Donald Trump’s face right now.  Mine?  It’s beaming.