In the world, there’s a handful of places you must visit before you die. The Great Wall, The Pyramids, Angkorwat, Machu Pichhu, The Playboy Mansion Grotto, etc. Yet there is one dusty field full of relics that deserves to be on the list that most people have never even seen a postcard of.

About an hour from Rangoon by turboprop, Bagan sits right on the Ayeyarwady river in central Burma. It’s a dusty, sandy desolate place that makes you wonder why the hell anyone would even go there. Well it’s because it probably has the highest concentration of Buddhist temples per square kilometer than anywhere else on the planet. Scattered across the vast desert plain are thousands of mostly abandoned temples like McMansions in America’s suburbs. At some point the Buddhists must have hit some kind of housing bubble, followed by a credit crisis and deep recession thanks to the media giving non-stop attention to doomsayers predicting the sky falling out thus creating a self fulfilling prophecy and one kick ass playground.

A demon water spout used to scare away hippies and other undesirables

The area is divided into 3 main towns. The airport you fly into is actually in Nyaung-oo. The more expensive and luxury hotels are in Old Bagan (where we stayed). They are within walking distance of the temples, but absolutely nothing else. Fact of the matter is that no one walks around to the temples, they’re way too spread out, and it’s too hot. There is also New Bagan, which is farther away from everything, but has some small cafes, places to eat, and some really cheap guesthouses. If you go, stay in Nyaung-oo. It has plenty of internet cafes, restaurants and bars, plus it’s close proximity to the airport makes it even more convenient. If you use Franklin to light your Cubans, and Jefferson in lieu of TP, then by all means stay in New Bagan and hire a car to take you around to the temples.

This giant gold pagoda is actually not a giant bell

Transport around town can be done by bike, horse cart, taxi, and bus. If you speak Chinese you might run into some tourists from Yunnan and hitch a ride in the back of their pickup truck, while touring around all the temples and getting free history lessons. That was our preferred mode of travel. Another method that every single human will insist is impossible is renting a motorcycle/scooter. Apparently the police don’t allow foreigners to use them without special permit, but it seems this doesn’t matter if the person you are renting them from has the right connections (or forms of payment). If you want, head to New Bagan and talk to the owners of the guesthouses there, they should point you in the right direction. The best experience I had was cruising at 100km/h past sweaty faced white guys pedaling their asses off in the sunshine. The Buses are about 300 kyat from one town to the next, and consist of small flatbed trucks that have wooden planks in the back for benches, and metallic roofs covering the bed for people to climb up onto. Be warned that if a jackhammer were a mode of transportation, it wouldn’t be too far from the comfort level of the buses.

A regular, but very delicious Burmese meal consisting of a number of different meats and pickled vegetables

Bike is a decent way to get around if you’re looking to shed some of that weight you’re not gaining from all that delicious Burmese food you’re afraid to try. An important warning however, if by chance you are heading back to Old or New Bagan from Nyaung Oo at night, take the main road, not Anawrahta Road. Although Anawrahta Rd. seems like the better choice because it is generally not used much at all, and it has street lights, those lights turn off at about 10:30pm. We found this out the hard way half way home. It wouldn’t have been a problem anywhere else, but Burmese people have evolved from their environment and possess natural nightvision, and often don’t bother to turn on their headlights even though it’s impossible to see anything. Luckily we made it back without getting flattened, but wrong turns into the twilight were plentiful.

The temples themselves are often deserted with the exception of some random farmers hanging around the outside, or kids reciting memorized English history of the temple they are at. Without forgetting Buddha’s foot fancy, taking off our shoes gave us the freedom to explore the temples as much as we could gain access to. Often we could climb up to the second or third level of the temple through hidden passageways. Within the temples there’s sometimes amazing murals that remind of hieroglyphics or posters in some stoner’s bedroom. They are not protected in anyway and within time I’m sure the oils from people’s grubby meat hooks will eventually destroy them, just like everything else of value in this country. Even though sunsets are hella clichéd, we still caught one decent one after a failed attempt to find a temple we could climb up into. Even though we were stranded in the middle of some dusty field that made riding our 50’s era bicycles rather futile, there was something unreal about it that bitch smacked most other sunsets black out. I pray someone could come along and do the same to the ruling Junta, so that this amazing place might have a chance at kicking it for another 1000 years.

Had no idea what this massive inaccessible colonial complex in downtown Rangoon was

Rangoon is the former capital of Burma and sits right on the Indian Ocean. It’s rumored that because of this, the xenophobic and paranoid generals moved the capital hundreds of miles inland to Naypyidaw to avoid a possible invasion against a country like the USA. Bad news fellas, you could move your capital to the moon if it makes you sleep better, it ain’t gonna make a difference if Uncle Sam comes a knockin’. Rangoon was once a booming colonial city, and probably a great place to get your opium fix. Thanks to this colonial past, it has some interesting architecture, and an infrastructure that might have been really good a couple of decades ago.

The power only runs part time in Rangoon, so everyone has generators

I guess some Burmese are trying to compensate…

…For their short comings!

Walking through the downtown historical district is done in about an hour or two because it really isn’t much. You can tell much has been demolished. What remains is in a sad state of disrepair. I can’t help but wonder what beautiful buildings lie leveled underneath the independence monument park. I saw only two colonial buildings that are still in mint condition. These were the Strand Hotel, and the British Embassy. The Strand is probably the only establishment in Burma that accepts credit cards, so if you’re looking for a good place for afternoon tea, snacks, or to get loaded on 8-buck drinks, you’ve found your oasis. The British embassy has a library, with lots of books on Burma, as well as uncensored BBC and possibly internet. If you try taking pictures of it from the outside, the guards will come chasing after you and try to force you delete the pictures like they did to me. These geniuses can be fooled quite easily by quickly removing your memory card before they get to you. It’s a surprisingly small downtown for such a large city. They have a population of a about 4 million, but really it feels to be about a tenth of that.

Independance Monument on top of what was probably a much nicer structure

I was almost arrested, imprisoned and tortured for this picture of the British Embassy. Savor it like it’s your last

There are a couple of major pagodas in Rangoon that are worth checking out if marveling at other peoples’ beliefs is what flies your kite. While I can appreciate their cultural and historic significance, in a way they also creep me out, so I only saw the main ones, the Sule, and the almighty Shwedagon.

We got the Shwedagon about 10 minutes before it closed, because other than some stray monks, it was virtually deserted. If you see one pagoda in all of Burma, this is the one you have to see. The stupa is supposedly coated in millions of ounces of gold that makes it look like a giant glowing cycloptic nipple after some BDSM play. Definitely go at night, it looks the best, there are few people there, and you might not be charged entrance admission like us (we went in the wrong doors). My friend got in trouble because even though she had taken off her shoes, she was still wearing stockings covering her feet and that’s a faux pas. Can someone please explain to me why Buddha has a foot fetish? Why do the feet have to bare? I asked a few people, and the answer I always got was, “just ‘cause” without any underlying logic. Junk like that racks my brain medieval style, especially when it has to do with religion. I can appreciate it when there is some kind of back-story, like Buddha spent his formative years in a Nike Sweatshop or some shit. But when there’s no reason whatsoever…well that would be like a culture where people knock on doors with their butts and wear spaghetti as a hat.

The Shwedagon

When we arrived at the Sule, we missed the sign that said foreigners had to go through the eastern entrance (we went in via the north). One of the ladies at the door asked us to pay a donation that we assumed was the entrance fee, so we dropped in $4 for the both of us. The place is actually really small, and there was too many people praying and getting their god on, so after about 90 seconds we decided to leave through the east door. Here someone who had not seen us enter this way demanded that we both pay $5 entrance fee for foreigners. Knowing full well there was no way we were going to pay that much to have made a slight detour through a badly modified temple, we played dumb and walked away. I don’t feel that bad about it either. The donations probably go towards temple upkeep cause they’re paid by locals, but I can see the foreigner admissions going to the government officials’ KTV budget. To be honest there isn’t much to it either, lots of Buddha statues with very kitsch neon glowing lights in the background and lots of modern modifications that sure don’t make you feel like you’re walking through a 2000-year-old temple.

Neon light lameness, at least his thirst is quenched.

The Sule from a distance

Rangoon also is probably one of the few places in Burma where there is anything resembling a western nightlife scene. Unfortunately we didn’t get a weekend there, and only had a Wednesday and Thursday. First we checked out a club that was supposedly owned by some movie star. Can’t remember paying cover, or drink prices, but it was mid-range. it was about a third full and there was …gasp…a cover band! Wow! I’ve never seen one of those before! (Sadly I was unable to determine if they were Filipino in origin due to Burmese people having English ability on par to them) The place died early, maybe 10pm, so it was time to hit up the next joint. We went to some club that was formerly called BME but it changed its name to Racecar McGoosecock or something. Surprisingly it didn’t play a shitty euro dance music mashup like most Chinese clubs, but instead cranked out recent house tracks. The $5 cover was steep but included a drink. Sadly we didn’t get to see the place fill up, but it was worth it to see some of the Burmese youngns act a fool.

A common streetscene, people drinking tea and chewing on beetlenut

Public transportation. These were the nicest public buses I saw in the country, most were just pickup trucks cruising around with people jumping on and off.

Private transportation. Nazi Mobile or Budhist Buggy, you be the judge.

Sewer system in downtown Rangoon getting it’s maintenance

Just before leaving Kunming, I was getting ready, doing the planning, I figured, the country only has a GDP per capita of $233 per year, if I bring in say $700, I should be like Warren Buffet up in this bitch. I worked out that at 7 nights, $25 a night on a medium to high end hotel (split with my friend), $525 would be plenty left over for getting around, eating, and maybe even some left over to buy a precious gemstone or three. These optimistic plans of mine could be summed up nicely with one word: fail.

With my rough budget worked out, I thought I was good to go. Too bad I didn’t take into account several other factors that were destined to drain my cash with greater efficiency than a vodka shop opening up in my kitchen.

Just because it’s a poor ass third would country, doesn’t mean everything is dirt-cheap. Most things are more expensive, than they would be for people from other not quite developed countries like China. For example the taxis would routinely cost twice as much as in China, yet in China you can put your feet down on the floor without worrying about causing the car to slow down Fred Flintstone style.

If you’re a foreigner (ie. unable to speak Burmese), Burmese people just assume you’re a living breathing pile of American dollar bills. I mean; I’d love to look in the mirror and see a thousand Benjamin Franklins staring back, who wouldn’t? The guy was a sexy beast. But thanks to this perception, you’re charged at least double for everything. I would be cool with it, because outside Burma, I make a million times more than they do, yet in the small warped reality within Burma’s borders, chances are they’ve probably got more saved up under a mattress somewhere than I do, and I have no way to get more.

When they aren’t charging you double or triple what the locals are paying, they’re trying to figure out new ways to charge you for things. Take for example the airports, where when you arrive in taxi, a guy will quickly run over, grab your bag a bring it to the check in counter 10 feet away. He’ll then ask you for $1 for that amazing service. The first time this happened to me, shame on me, the second time it happened, when I wasn’t even allowed to take my bag, I told the guy to fuck off and was done with it. Don’t take this the wrong way; I’ve got nothing against the common Burmese people, who are all just trying to make a buck. I just think that there’s a line on what you can do to make that buck, and if you cross it with me, I will rip off your head and poop down your throat.

If you ever decide to go, and I know you’ve already heard about this if you’re planning a trip, but I’ll say it anyways, make sure your US dollars are MINT. Even the tiniest tear and they won’t take it. If it ‘s well worn, with heavy creases, they won’t take it. If it’s got certain serial numbers on it, they won’t take it. I find this all very hypocritical, considering most of their money looks like this:

An average looking Burmese banknote.

Finally, the solution to this money problem is simply to bring a suitcase full of it. No seriously it’s probably one of the safest countries I have ever visited. Next time I go I’m bringing like ten grand. Probably the most annoying part about this whole deal was that I didn’t bring enough cash to buy stuff from people whose profits would have gone into their pockets and other people who weren’t the dirty bastards of the government/army/demonic hordes.

I made it to one of the last frontiers I’ve wanted to travel to over the tail end of the Chinese New Years break. The place? Burma or as it calls itself: Myanmar. What follows are a bunch of incoherent ramblings concerning this enigmatic military playground.

So is it Burma, Myanmar or Pyi-daung-zu Myan-ma Naing-ngan-daw? In Chinese, it’s been called miǎndiàn (缅甸)(remote suburb) since the Yuan Dynasty set it up as a puppet province during its hegemonic heyday.

When the British came along on one of their jolly old imperial journeys, they first went through India, where it was called Brahma-desh or Barma, both were probably derived from the Burmese name Bama. These were taken and eventually mutated into “Burma”, and thus Burma became the English name. Fast forward a century or two, and the military government is throwing a temper tantrum when it finds out through democratic means that the people of Burma don’t really want to be ruled by a bunch of authoritarian douche bags. Some point not long after, they decided to rename the English name of the country to Myanmar, not to distant from the Burmese language name of Myanma that’s been used for centuries.

The problem now is that…well…you can’t just pick your own name! Especially not in a language that isn’t your own! That’s just fucking idiocy. It’s why you’ve got Chinese people running around with names like “Fenwick”, “Colour” and “Sandwich”. Thankfully, the major English-speaking countries have refused to recognize “Myanmar” and continue to use Burma. It should be noted that some media whores outlets do indeed use “Myanmar” hence the confusion.

Personally, I will continue to use Burma, as that’s what my grandparents always used, and being as they were born in the country in question, I think they knew what was what. Alas, when I arrived in Burma, and referred to it as such to the locals, they had no idea what I was talking about, so I quickly started saying “Myanma” in order to squeeze important facts out of them. For example what brand of beer they preferred. Sadly, it was “Myanmar Beer”.