Travel Report: Pictures

I am finally getting around to organizing some of these crazy pictures that I have been taking. Unfortunately, I don't really know where to put them so that you all can see them, since everybody is using different ways of communicating. Large amounts of you are on facebook. So go there for now, to see sum. Copy them, send them around, show them to your Mama, its all good!

I will try to organize some more in regards to all of you who are not interested in facebook.

This first photo thingy is all about the trippy temples from this trip.

Click on the Temples Schmemples album on the page

new fav website

The scary thing about this site is that there are actually pictures of real women with these Freudian wet dream phallic symbols out there.

Travel Report 26: On the road from Mandalay

Even though I can not seem to let go of Mandalay I really should show you Pyin Oo Lwin. Another escape-the-heat-and-sun-because-our-greedy-wallets-bit-of-more-then-our-rosy-cheeks-could-swallow British hill station. They built these all over their empire for their poor martyred henchmen souls to escape from scorching and/or humid summers – pussies those red coats, I tell you. First they take all your crap, then they complain that its too steaming hot. Your climate, get your mind out of the gutter. One could never satisfy those old imperials. If they didn’t like the heat, they shoulda stayed up on that frigid unfriendly island of theirs. There is a crazy pre-great-flood (no, I don’t believe the flood actually happened, neither did Noah, its a freakin’ figure of speech) train heading up into the mountain, which U Volker and I did not want to take. Leaving at 4AM is a little too early, and you know, it seems as if it will be any day now, that this train will not make it up the rather steep grade to the hill station, and instead start rolling backwards at post-hyper-drive age speeds for a short distance and then fly off into empty real space. We didn’t want to have anything to do with that so we decided to instead take Mr M’s trooper of a car.

trooper

Any imported car, and they are mostly 30 year old hand-me-downs, cost an average of 50k. Yes, US Dollars. Those are import fees. So when you look at the car and see a 30 year old POS think of it as being the equivalent of a medium size BMW. Can you imagine owning a BMW if you live in any other third world country? And then it doesn't even do all those cool Beemer things. Also the car did not have much more of a chance to make it up that bloody mountain, but how am I going to push a train if it doesn’t want to move anymore?

The ride is fascinating. Very steep, with a very immediate change of climate and fauna. Everywhere there are tea and coffee plantations and many government installations. After the Brits left, Burma fell apart and the Junta took over, the Junta subsequently claimed these prime spots. One can not say they did not learn from the Brits. Myanmar's Westpoint is up here, as are all the finest school of the various Junta Government Branches. One area is the new Burmese-Shan-Mountain Silicon Valley. A huge, carved into the mountainside, complex which apparently will start an internet revolution in Burma. All those none-principled Indian software geniuses, being busy little bees, setting up the Information Highway of Burma's dark future. This highway will not be light up brightly, it will not contain multitudes, and many roadblocks will make movement arduous. Yet even in Burma the spirit of gratis open internet channels thrives in any and all internet shops around the littlest town. Everything is blocked except google. You can google chat, google foto, google email. I still don't understand the deal that the Junta made with google. Or should we believe that google code is too smart for those none-principled Indian Software geniuses to block? Hardly. In any case if you do not use google, or want to access some blocked sites, I suggest going through a proxy server setup. The fastest internet connection I had in-country was in Bamo, the pipe came in from China. Go figure. I guess the China teak/rubber business man wants his Skype to work flawlessly.

We finally arrive in Pyin Oo Lwin. Three beautiful Shan Princesses are from here, and apparently nearly singlehandedly chased an old friend of U Volker out of the country back in the stone age (1960s). I guess the man could not deal with his own effect on the ladies anymore. That, or these weird miniature Wells-Fargo horse drawn carriages were too much for him.

Wells Fargo, Phil should get a kick out of this

Inhabitants of the town are much more ethnically diverse than in towns of the burmese lowlands. Up here on the south-eastern outskirts of the Shan States the cultures mix. Shan, Karen, Kachin and Burmese and many of the smaller tribes are present and known by their garb. There is also a large contingent of Indian and Muslim merchants here.

Minarets?

Remnants of the British empire under whose rule this town was booming. Most of those had been forced out after Ne Win's Coup d'etat, but some still remain. The town is strange, less friendly, more on guard.

this dude is not so much on guard, but en fashion guard

We ourselves are already on edge after seeing the military and government installations right next to the newly built luxury hotels and spas - for western tourists with their heads very far up the dark recesses of their backsides. If your head is stuck there, so that you do not realize who died building your surprisingly cheap luxury diggs, and into whose pocket your money goes, then my dear, you are a cretin not fit to travel outside your own country. You should stay at home and try to be as inconspicuous as you possible can.

We head straight to the train station, where we hope to meet the train coming from Mandalay and going further up the Shan Plateau. We want to take the train because it goes over the biggest steel bridge in the world at the time of its building shortly after 1900. The Gokteik Viaduct is another remnant of French/British colonial ambitions clashing. It is like Africa today, where China and the rest of the world trip over each others feet while building infrastructure projects in order to win the locals over to their sides in order to be allowed to scrape the last resource out of that dark earth for your hungry consumerist gullets. From the condition of the train and the wobbling of its under carriage whilst moving we determine not to consider risk in the face of danger. I think I said it before: The Seasoned Traveler sometimes throws caution to the wind and lets the chips fall where they may (my daily dose of ennui inducing clichés is hereby fulfilled).

We share the wagon with a French lemming herd and our food with some local commuters. We wanted the cheap seats in the back but white people must sit in first class. Slowly the train chugs up and up into wide valleys. Asian cliché picture moments are a constant on either side. I recommend sitting on the right as it tends to afford a view of valleys passing by. Here the paddies are already past harvest time, as opposed to the low-lying plains where rice will not be harvested until weeks from now. Various stops along the road afford opportunities to buy local amoebic delicacies from local anorexic looking folk. There is most definitely a difference in the wealth and diet of the mountain tribe peoples of Burma compared to the Burmese. We stick to pealable fruit and roasted nuts of one kind or another. As we approach the gorge spanned by Gokteik Viaduct the french lemmings go foto nuts. It is mildly infectious. Kind locals point to especially appealing vistas, which are as usual too wide and fancy for my puny digicam. Sometimes the Seasoned Traveler must rely on the souvenirs of his mind in the face of insurmountable obstacles (more cliché, I know, sorry).

We stop at the last station before the viaduct, and are reminded again, not to take any pictures when crossing over - Big Junta Brother's paranoia about the strategic importance of this bridge in case of the always impending US attack is amusing. So the lemmings go even nuttier because here is their last chance at a shot of the bridge.

nuttie lemmings

Shortly after we move on and cross the thing on which it is forbidden to take a picture. So I take two. Although the CIA hasn't asked me for them yet. Maybe I overexposed them too much.

Hell, I might have even taken more than 2

Its nothing special, we stop at the next station, U VOlker and I get out, are met by ever reliable Mr M. and drive back across the Plateau to Pyin Oo Lwin. The viaduct was definitely a case of the journey being the goal of the trip. But the journey on this train, accross this plateau, I recommend to anyone.

And if anyone is looking for a reasonably priced guide in the Mandalay region I can only to highly recommend Mr. M, whose details I will gladly provide.

Travel Report 25: Mandalay, let me go

I know you all thought I would keep writing about Mandalay forever, and I should. It was an impressive town. It left an indelible impression on my mind. But that puny thing can’t pony up anymore fascinating details about that town. Except that when I will go back I want to meet some Pongyis. It seemed as if the situation was a little too precarious to just roll into a monastery and start chatting to folks. As a foreigner this will cast suspicion on the monastery, since the recent uprising had been started by monks and foreigners are always accused of fanning the flames of liberty. Although these flames were all home cooked:

How many monks does it take for us to think it is not an individual incident anymore? And how many of those do you want to see burned?

The dictators of Burma do not want to be surprised by the next uprising, so the monasteries are now infiltrated. And for that reason I thought I better not enter those just right now.

Not all monks participated in the protests. Not to repeat myself, but every one of the monasteries has different interpretations of buddhism and how to exist in 21st century Burma. Some want to practice a somewhat more robust, involved in current affairs buddhism, while others prefer a rather abstract search for enlightenment. I need to understand these differences better as I would like to unlearn my so hard to fight vicariously lived religious conservatism. You ask what that is: I seem incapable of letting people of faith re-interpret their relationship to their religion. I am quick to criticize Pongyis that do not live according to age old precepts (eyes no further than six feet in front of you on the ground walking barefoot when begging, no separating of food in alms bowl, don’t handle money). Even though it should not concern me I feel somewhat cheated by their, what I think of as, loose interpretation of their faith. In fact, the more conservative they are the happier I should be, as it will lead the masses the quicker to agnosticism. Let’s take it slow with atheism, the world wasn’t made in a day either (I hear it took six). Maybe it is just that I do not want another religion to learn the secrets of modern internet based marketing that other faiths seem to adopt which makes me a vicarious religious conservative. So as I said, next time I go back I will have some fireside chats. If they’ll have me, and my local doesn’t ask me if I lost my mind because he sees me carried off in chains to build a new Burma Road.


Actually there is one thing I should tell you about. I am reading this book right now “Piano Tuner”, even if you do not care for Burma you will like this. As of current reading main character is in Mandalay, and visits a few Pwes. There is a special season for Pwes, and Mandalay is known for its Pwe, uhm, proclivity. A Pwe is an all night affair of games and food. Sometimes they even take more than one night. The difference to an Austrian Mayfest, or a village fair in Nebraska, is that the main attraction of a Pwe is a theater troupe and sometimes a puppet show, performing various ancient stories.


Nothing against the climbing of a de-branched, de-barked, waxy-slippery 60 foot pine tree, that fastest-up-the-tree peasant of them all surely deserves the little Maria Maiden.

And whoever bakes the tastiest pie also has my tastebud’s admiration, as long as its Mustika Piirakka (Suomi JFGI - I must complain here, you, dear readers, have not been giving the thumbsup to my JFGI definition on Urban Dictionary, according to Google Analytics I have had at least 3 page views in the last 6 month, but still only 32 thumbsup on the, alas, least voted for option. Put your money where your mouth is. While you are at it, are you a fan or not?!?!?!).

But the sheer otherworldliness of a Pwe beats all of that. If only because my Uncle watches in horrid disbelief as I shovel one after the other local delicacy down my hungry for exotics throat. He declines politely my offer of some or other roasted root, sticky rice in bamboo shoot, Husband and Wife (no I don’t eat humans, yet, it is one half each of an egg fried in an egg-shaped hole), “Peter, Du hast nen Knall, I have had my share of tropical Amoebas and I suggest you do not try to emulate that particular experience”. What can I say, I love my Buckle und a Eitrige, am besten mit an Sechzener Blech, but Burmese are known to be great snackers. And not just because they eat deep fried cockroaches. In case you want to know the girl roaches are more expensive because they usually carry little roachy eggies (think of caviar, if that helps you) in a little belly chitin pouch, and nothing is more delicious than that - obviously. I was not going to be denied that snackaction just because of some ameba that might eat my insides. Although that cold noodle was probably pretty stupid, I have been feeling funny eating acidic foods since then. Maybe my little houseguest is more in favor of ph-neutral foods. Good for immune system, I tell myself.

Ok, I promise I am done with Mandalay now. I think. The next post should reach you from the Shan Mountains. Mmm, the sound of that. Like the Sierra Madre, just so, I don't know, less Clint and much more Indochine.

see, its all your fault

The eyeballing masses have apparently been streaming to read my drivel and for that reason I seem to have received the below. So now that you have spent your valuable time on my blog I shall waste it some more by making you look and click on shoulderhairremovalproductads, ads that tell you that someone is rich while you are broke (facebook) and headhairregrowithproductads. Generally I will make myself a complete nuisance in your life. You better not become a fan (5th link down next to pic, yes this is a shameless plug for myself) of this blog on facebook because otherwise I will rule the world soon. Right.

Well, it would mean a lot to me if you did fan (just in case you missed it the first time) me, and in exchange I will not make you click on stupid ads on my stupid blog (notice the clever plausible deniability I employed here?). Actually, if you don't become a fan I will take your first born, eat your lunch and make you test shoulderhairremovalproducts - daily. This does not mean that I know which porn site you visited yesterday or where you bought your shoulderhairremovalproducts (I am sorry, I will stop using that now), instead whenever I post something to the facebook thing, it will appear in your feeds (am I kissing my own privacy good bye here?) and hopefully your gazillion friends will infect all their amazingly popular fans virally, and I end up ruling the world anyway, and taking it away from Herr Zuckerberg.

If his ancestors would have gone the same direction as all those Greenbaums (sorry Josh) did, his name would be Sugarberg. Come to think of it, no wonder he wants to rule the world. OVER MY DEAD BODY SUGAR! You may be a mountain and dropped out of Harvard, but I will... I don't know, use your very geeky site to promote mine, I guess.

Anyway, here is that silly email I received which kicked all of this into lowgrade-fusion-gear:

Peter,

We want to know if you'll partner with us to accept advertising on your blog Gloaming of the Mind? We have received a lot of page views this week for your blog Gloaming of the Mind.

Our website, www.wikimetro.org, is the largest online BlogAd marketplace with more than 50,000 blogs in more than 2,300 US cities and towns. Ads on blogs that partner with wikimetro have replaced newspapers to become the best choice for advertising by local businesses, and many bloggers listed on wikimetro now make their full income by writing blogs that carry ads for local businesses.

Please consider partnering with us--blogging is fun and are replacing newspapers (ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU CANT EVEN GET YOUR GRAMMAR RIGHT? "BLOGGING ARE REPLACING NEWSPAPERS?" WHAT'S NEXT, EATING ARE REPLACING YOUR BRAINS?) for advertising. If you want to talk by phone, we are here 24/7, just follow this link to your blog on our site

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When you open this link, click "Is this your blog?" then sign in (or register) and set the price that you will accept for an ad on your blog, and also tell us how to pay you.

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Email: aritza.lamperez@wikimetro.org
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Motto: "Everything Local"
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Travel Report 24: Temples of Mandalay

Lest we forget what the real reason for my uncle's visit to the Golden Land is:

Another project brought to you by
the kind folks at the Wellenburg

This was a fascinating little Kindergarten. Finished only the very year of our visit. They even had solar panels, financed by a kind french soul. I saw them myself. Two millimeter of dust on them, no way the 10 % of the energy from the sun these panels would convert were actually converted. I asked the sisters about them, they told me that the panels are not working. The inverter was turned off. I wish my boy Stamati was there, to mess with inverters and marine batteries. They would have had half the neighborhood powered by the time he was done. Alas, it would have been pointless, as three month later two millimeter of dust would have accumulated on the panels again.

I have no comparison to other kindergartens or schools in Burma. Other than the ones that I saw from the outside at Inle Lake later and the ones that are my uncle's projects. At Inle Lake I bycicled past a few schools and thought 'Maybe if kids in Austria would be encouraged to holler and sing and dance all day long, my dear countrymen would not be so mieselsüchtig (lit: depressionaddicted) all life long'. Here I thought that if I could somehow guarantee myself sweet little anklebiters/dreikäsehochs such as these I would have had kids yesterday.
Mandalay is also where the money kindly donated to my Uncle's charity is used to support students at higher institutions. We are talking about Med and Chemistry students. For this Volker relies on Dr H's judgement. He makes the call in regards to who is eligible for contributions. The good Dr. is another fascinating Burmese character. Went to USSR in 1966 to study Animal Husbandry, it is what his country told him he must do. Never mind that he wanted to be an engineer. When this country tells you frog, you mostly jump and study the donkey's ass as if it was your own. He speaks Russian, English, Burmese and a couple of tribal languages. Fascinating as it was to chat to him, to compare situations around the world, to gain insights into struggles of every day Burma, it was outstanding to hear his thoughts on the recent attempted uprising by the Pongyis of Burma. He was relieved that the monks did not succeed in their endevour because otherwise Christians such as himself, and other minorities, would have had to worry about Theocratic Buddhism (my words for his sentiment). Noam Chomsky would think this very American, as in most secure nation that is most scared of evil knievel. I tell you, these religious folk provide endless hours of entertainment. I don't know what made me keep them at arms length for so long. Imagine all the laughs I lost out on.
I however refuse to miss out on all the great architectural leavings of their representations of god's wealth on this fine earth. his natural works are obviously not good enough for us, which is why we build mosques, churches, temples, synagogues. Each one of the faiths even has their own perfect miracle. You all have heard about the maria face in the toast on ebay. But there are also creepy claims to reality with beards growing on Jesus figures (Austrian St. Stephen's cathedral), bleeding wrists/ankles and crying eyes.

In Mandalay there is a Statue of a Buddha onto which the faithful have been sticking goldleaf for going on some hundred years now. They stick it everywhere, except the face.

You may ask, rightfully, why my atheist family
member is sticking goldleaf on this buddha.
What blessing can we hope to get?
My mother's. What can I say, nobody is perfect :)

The Miracle is that the body of the Buddha is about twice the size than what it was when it was originally erected. All that goldleaf seriously put some weight on the old man.

Holy smokes, look at all that gold

Yet, the face is still perfectly proportional to the body, even though the size of the body has increased so much with gold while the face was never touched.

They even have proof pictures of miracle. amazing!

Now, how did the face grow proportionally along with to the body? I don't know. Why don't you go ask the guy with the bleeding ankles, or the girl with the crying eyes, or the facial hair issue guy. You, with your western slant towards reality may think 'Well, of course the busy little monks come out at night, and switch the head'.

Where is the blood, the tears and the beard coming from then?
But let's let size not matter and neither the miracles or the tears and blood. Instead here is an anachronism of buddhism that should give all you wanabehippiesunderthebodhitree pause.

Peace-loving, veggie-eating, rebirth-giving, equitability-with-gaia-seeking
buddhism doesn't like the ladies to enter into its holiness

Its none of my business what you believe and I never have accused religion of logic but can we get some Reformation please? Anyone? While you are at it, extend that open hand to that closed muslim fist as well. Let's all move our ancient orthodox believes into the 21st century, or at least into the 18th. That way we can all post on facebook how gloriously we have been fighting the lord's war on evil knievel. Or dare I say, maybe even just straight up forget about his (h)ornery behind.

Travel Report 23: Mandalay, Imperial City of Burma

Rangoon/Yangon is not the capital of Burma/Myanmar. It was that since the end of British rule, not before that, and only until the current paranoid regime finished building a capital in the center of the land, where there was nothing before. Like Washington DC and Canberra. Tactically for the same reason, which can mean that the strategies of nations remain the same, be they friends or foes.

Now Mandalay, let it roll of your tongue, as you savor the view from the Pagoda above the city. Mandalay is the location of the last palace of a King of Burma.

If this looks too freshly painted to be 150 years old,
that's because it is. This palace was rebuilt with forced labor
in recent years, to attract foreign dollars into govt pockets.

Remember how the Khmer Rouge used Angkor Wat as munitions depot? I think you saw bullet holes in one of my previous posts. Well, the Brits did the same during WWII with this one. The result was that it burned to the ground.

Surrounded by the true ancient capitals of Burma. Amarapura, Sin Wa and that ancient Abode of buddhism Sagain, Mandalay is the seat of the last rightful ruler of all Burmese. Which is not to say the rightful ruler of all that is inside Myanmar's borders today. The wall around the thing is 2.2 km by 1.4 miles. I didn't say they built small back then.

Just thought I would throw this little buddha in,
for all you letter challenged people.

While mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of history of Angkor Wat proportions the day starts early to catch good light, a lost monk or two and no tourists. On our way through Amarapura I experience my first surprise of the day. None of the thing actually survived except a low wall. The question begs how Angkor survived through the eons while this did not. Right, Angkor buried in jungle (no native knew about those colossal ruins for 700 years, mhm), while Amarapura is out in the open, hence destroyed or at least recycled several times.

This bridge, made of teak, reaches across this lake to an island.

People have been crossing it by foot for generations. Amazing sights reward the walker.


As we walk across the bridge, dissonant sounds reach us from the island. We speculate if this is another recorded sermon delivered by tape to the local monastery (I kid you not). We walk on, I am involved in one or another deep theological discussion with Mr Myoswe, who kindly humors my interest and thoughts, while setting of various cascades of analyses and paradigm shifts.

The bridge is long and so is the discussion.

The sounds of religious officialdom increase as we walk through the misty morning glow. Edible ducks sprint away from us. We know they are edible because they dont fly. The ones that fly aren't eaten.

As we get to the end of the bridge we see the reason for the auditory hoopla.

The hoopla is not completely her fault,

but you can forgive me for thinking so.

It seems we have stumbled our way into an initiation ceremony. To which, in true Burmese fashion, we are immediately invited. We take of the shoes, we ogle without ogling, we wonder at the manifestation of bonne chance we seem to keep attracting. Maybe telling ourselves that the proper Reisende deserves this, means that he actually does.

Not Mozart, but then again
Austrians don't invite strangers to
their Bar Mitzvah either

And while they feed me with local delicacies I can ignore most every sound wave, except maybe Schönberg and Silbelius and those two depressed soundmurderers are thankfully stuck in the collective memory of a weird anti classical protest movement somewhere in central/northern Europe. Personally, I believe Schönberg wrote that stuff because his wife was rather sonant - opposite of dissonant, of course - with his best friend, if you catch her drift. Sibelius, on the other hand, has Finish winters as his excuse for what they brazenly call music. They didn't even dare to use it in Guantanamo Bay, for fear of Geneva Convention consequences. By the way, I am going to see a Schönberg Opera in a week or so. If you don't hear from me, I went to Forks looking for a bunch of fine Vampires in the Twilight to take my life in an orgy of blood and diamond skin. And hopefully no more sound.

Cooking for large amounts of skinny people

Volker in his well earned status as gut gewürzter Reisender insisted that we not partake in this meal. And most likely saved me from Amoebas that might have felt like a centipede, only inside my stomach. I was ready to sit and eat, but deferred to his judgement, as I was sure I could test my wimp of a belly on some other occasion as well. Which came at the ready made pwe later that night:

Unless you eat crushed glass with your
morning müsli you probably should not eat any of this


You can enjoy this view of Sagain though

Travel Report 22: Mandalay

Volker and I arrive in Mandalay very early in the morning. We are not really sure when, as we are sleeping. The ship actually braves the ghosts and sand banks of the river to dock at the freight harbor (a couple of planks over which 10s of Kulis sprint with bales from inside the ship on their heads).

Our trusted transport, at a different location though,
I didn't get a photo of the local stevedores

We descend from the ship to rather curios stares for the rather curios strangers disambarking into the general hubhub of a ship being unloaded as it would have been 100 years ago. Up the dirt bank of the Irrawaddy, hire a couple of trycicles, and in we go to Mandalay and the pre-booked hotel. Later Mr. M picks us up. A professional guide whose knowledge of Mandalay and surrounding areas is only surpassed by his willingness to teach silly foreigners how to properly eat with their hands, burmese style. I am sure nobody actually does this in Burma anymore.

Mandalay is the current center of buddhism, which is of the theravada kind in Burma. If you have been to Rome and strolled around the areas that the catholic church frequents. Think of that, only 300 hundred years ago, except that they had really dirty internal combustion engines. And the monks don't wear dark Kuten but burgundy robes. And... Ok, this is getting too hard to transcribe from dirty pre-hi-tech vatican to modern center of theravadan Buddhism. So here goes:

Mr. M and Volker at 1st monastery we visited in Mandalay

There are many monasteries in Mandalay. There are as many different schools of buddhism as there are different ways of interpreting other religions.

The monasteries are quite ingeniously built.
During the scorching summers of Central Burma
the monks and accolades would shelter
under the monastery at noon

I was often surprised by how well used the monastery seemed. There was always someone praying, offering, meditating or doing something or other pious. To my jaded european eye it seemed strange to actually witness people at their services. Our churches are merily tourist attractions.

The craft used in the building of these is equally impressive to catholicism's need to impress

The many different schools of buddhism are literally that. Every male will enter a Monastery at least twice in his life. Once as a youth, an indeterminate age and once as an adult. But frequently in between when the mood is right, the woman mean or the season slow.

Ohm, peace and quiet. You see the paintings
on the walls. Modern events are explained via
buddhist wisdom, and vice versa.
Yes, that's burmese.

There are other monasteries who frown upon their members doing such things as handling money, spending idle hours not meditating, eating not-strictly-donated food or gambling. These can be interpreted as conservative. The different interpretations of day-to-day operations of a theravadan monastery are wide ranging. The conservatism of a monastery is entirely dependent on its Abbot.

Yet, as the churches in Europe do, these
abodes of peace provide serenity.

And calm oases in these hectic towns. My Uncle is not normally a none-energetic person.

teak

These are all from the 1st monastery we visited with Mr M in Mandalay. There are many more to come.

I will probably show you all of them. I know, its a threat. But I promise not too many words and more pictures instead. Like comics, Rupert Murdoch papers and magazines at the checkout.