The Moustache Brothers Are In/YANGON - MANDALAY

In the morning, I'm supposed to leave at 10 so Madoka can take her Burmese lesson, but I end up hanging around till after 11. But she's such a classy dame, she doesn't even mention it on my CouchSurfing profile. Even more embarrassing, I left late because I was trying to use the internet. After this, though, it's free traveling spirit from here on out.

I do eventually leave though, and go to Chinatown, which is sort of funny to me to find in a non-Chinese Asian city. Walking around, I get a chance to try some traditional Burmese street food, like a "donut" and an "egg tart". They're both alright.

Look at all these exotic delicacies. A free spirit like me is going to have to try them all, in the interest of cultural openness.

There's a street vendor selling some sort of juice from big metal vats, which I feel it necessary to try so I can remain the King of Drinking From Questionable Water Sources.

Seems legit.

The "juice" is a very strange and not very pleasant combination of sweet, sour, and salty. Another vendor is selling the children's Nazi shirts that I saw earlier. I do not buy one, because I am not a Nazi nor a child.

Also durians, which meant the market smelled incredible.

Then...well, I'm not sure I want to say what I did next. I feel like you're going to judge me. Just...don't judge me alright? I went to an internet cafe for, like, 3 hours. I know I'm weak, but dammit I wanted more music, and frankly Yangon isn't the most happenin' city as a pedestrian at 2 in the afternoon. I'm left wandering around the city, occasionally taking pictures of old architecture, because that seems like a thing to do and this is how low I've run on stimuli.

Hey, that looks old

What's up drab-town, why so gray

I bet someone appreciates you more than I ever can

Good for you, gettin' fixed up all nice

Is this ugly or beautiful? I don't even fucking know.

There are some sights though, such as Mahabandoola Park, where there's some okayish topiary, and a Burmese family of 6 that insists I be in all their group photos.

There isn't a whole lot else to do. I take a few more photos, then wait out a storm in Cafe Aroma after dinner. There are a couple white guys in there I think about talking to, since backpackers are so rare, but something about their Beer Lao tank tops makes me reconsider.

Pictured: No lie, it really rained pretty hard.

Once I get home to Madoka's place, I consider what to do post-Burma. Flights to Kuala Lumpur are super cheap since they're the hub for Air Asia, and I've read somewhere that Kuala Lumpur has the cheapest 5-star hotels in the world, so I book one, the Shangri-La, for the night I leave. It's $134 for the one night. What the hell. As I am less of a rich person and more of a cheeky homeless type with a twinkle in my eye and some skin falling off, I'm not sure if this is a great deal for 5-star luxury, but it seems about right. Almost immediately I realize I booked it for a night I get in late. What the hell.

Evan gets in late, around 10 pm. He gets on Skype, bitches about traveling alone, and something that's happened to him that he doesn't want to talk about, but wants us to know that it was not good. No one is sleeping, it's past midnight, and I have to be up at 4. I read the Lovecraft short story The Shunned House. With thunder and lightning crashing outside, it's surprisingly effective at keeping me awake.

I take a taxi to the airport at 4:30. I've borrowed Madoka's Lonely Planet, which goes against my totally arbitrary and ridiculous principles, but Burma is tough and I need the maps. As I wait for the Air Mandalay counter to open, I notice the vast majority of foreigners in Myanmar seem to be French. Something about French backpackers and hard-to-reach places, I guess. Feel free to insert your own joke here for some post-modern story interactivity. I've always imagined this blog as the House of Leaves of dumb travel shenanigans. Also, I hear post-modern story interactivity is French third base.

There are no plane announcements in English, which leaves me feeling like I've missed my flight until a friendly stranger gestures that it's time to go. On the plane itself there is no assigned seating, which is the first time I've ever seen the like of it.

Once we've arrived in Mandalay, I share a cab with a Burmese ad exec who gives me his card and recommends I try the city's coffee. Since Mandalay is home to the notorious political comedy troupe The Moustache Brothers, I ask our driver innocuously about "a famous comedy group." He's not sure what I'm talking about, so the ad guy explains that I'm looking for Par Par Lay, their leader. The driver says they aren't in town. Huh.

I get a room at the Royal Guesthouse. It costs $8, and the bathroom is down the hall. It'd be four dollars more for an attached bathroom, but after booking a 5-star room in KL, I feel like pinching the pennies. Really make myself appreciate it.

And constantly having to pay for two beds by myself is really making me appreciate being basically alone in life.

After a sweet nap till 4 in the afternoon, I hail a bike to take in the sights. An obvious choice would be the Royal Palace, but Wikitravel tells me it was rebuilt by the government using forced labor, so not the coolest place to visit, moral-wise. Apparently it also isn't that impressive and is kinda falling apart, so all around not the best attraction.

It is quite a wall it has, though. Dang gurl, dat wall.

I settle on the more moral choice of climbing Mandalay Hill. It's a...hill, but with just the most temples and pagodas on it. Let's take a little photo walk, and enjoy the sights together:

If you're gonna spend some time in Myanmar, get used to the sight of these guys outside of everywhere. I like 'em.

Wowzers! Time to start walking!

One of those Buddha guys I hear so much about!

A lot of love. Maybe...too much love.

Alright, guys, I get it. You like Buddha. Let's move on.

Ugh these fucking stairs

Another Buddha, but big.

Some more big Buddhas. You're really going for it, Mandalay Hill.

And this is...a harrowing scene of torture and pain?

Yeah, I think that's what it is. Bummers-ville, Population: These dudes.

Just...a great big horrible cage of suffering. And why is that priest sitting there like such a dick?!

So then there was this walkway around one of the temples that led to some good viewpoints.

And as to be expected, the ground was covered in broken glass.

Which makes sense, for a place that requires you to walk around barefoot.

I could have tetanus, but this is pretty good I guess.

Oh yeah, and there were just all the cats.

Along the way up the hill is a little temple that's all about snakes. According to the story I half-remember, a couple snakes slithered in from the jungle one day, and these snakes were holy or lucky or something. To honor these snakes of legend, the temple has a couple of big honking snake statues that you can rub the head of for some of that transitive snake-luck.

Yeah, rub that fake snake's dome.

Get that scale-y luck.

Some more temple kitties. Not snakes.

Some rooms got kinda sparkly, to let you know that Buddha can be fabulous.  Kinda makes Jesus look like Hank Hill in comparison.

Oh boy, is that more temples I see in the distance? And like, a gajillion stupas? I was worried I would run out!

Myanmar: "We're krazy for stupas"

At the top of the hill, a young monk strikes up a conversation with me. I expect him to go on about his spirituality, or ask for alms, but instead he's just incredibly envious of the fact that I went to university. I choose not to explain my particular experience at one of America's premiere drinking schools. Apparently it's got the drop on spiritual enlightenment, though. Nothing like a 21-year old who's lived 8 years in a monastery saying he's jealous of you to put some things in perspective.

After mentioning my mom wanted me to get her some prayer beads, the monk helps me find a seller. I peruse some nice beads for 500-1,000ks, but the young monk insists I should spring for the 3,500 ks beads, made of premium sandalwood. "It is for your mother," he persuades. I buy them, head down in shame. Dammit, dude, you're a better person than me, I get it. If I run out of money in this country, I put it on your dumb, bald, enlightened head.

It's past 6 now, so I wind my way back down the hill band buy some 500 ks ice cream. The ice cream makes me wonder why the fuck I keep buying ice cream in Burma. God dammit, Jamie, just stop it already. There are a bunch of dogs and cats lounging on the cool tile now that the sun is setting. Some dogs start barking along a wall at me. Fuck you, dogs. You don't know about my ice cream standards. You don't know shit. 'Cause you're dogs.

My bike driver outlines a giant, extensive tour for tomorrow, and I nod dumbly, assuming it'll be fine. Everything's always fine, fuck it.

I ask the driver to take me to Too Too Restaurant, which has supposedly the best Burmese food in Mandalay. I order the tiger prawn curry, their signature dish. It is...okay, I guess. To me, Burmese food always seems to be missing an integral component. Flavor, maybe. One of those things that matter in food dishes.

Overall I'd say it was somewhere between edible and delicious. Damn, food writing's easy.

For dessert, the driver takes me to a shop to get some of the local delicacy, Htou Moun. It's an extremely sweet and oily jelly candy that reminds me of Turkish Delight. We eat it at a small tea shop where a crowd of locals has gathered to watch Myanmar play Pakistan in soccer on one tiny, ancient television. The reception is terrible. At one point the power goes out. A young boy who was up till now enjoying the game smiles at me, points up at the useless light bulb, and says "Myanmar." I drink some coffee as per the ad exec in the cab's suggestion. It is very sweet and not very special. Burma wins the game, 4-3.

Contrary to whatever that cab driver claimed, the Moustache Brothers are very much in town, so I head to their residence and wait outside drinking Myanmar Beers with the rest of the travelers here for the show. For those who don't know, the Moustache Brothers are a family comedy troupe from Mandalay that do a combination of stand-up jokes and traditional Burmese dance. The members are two brothers, Par Par Lay and Lu Maw, along with their cousin, Lu Zaw. In 1996, Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw were arrested for telling political jokes during a performance, for which they served six years in a labor camp. They were released under the condition that they remain under house arrest, and only perform for foreigners.

SO COOL.

Lu Maw, the only member who speaks English and therefore acts as host, ushers us into their garage where the show will take place and hands out free leaf cigars. In addition to classic Burmese puppets and statues, the walls are covered in pictures and posters of seemingly every Hollywood actor or celebrity who's ever even mentioned the situation in Myanmar, along with a great number of photos of the Moustache Brothers with famed politician and political prisoner Aung San Suu Kyi. It was at a performance in her home that Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw were arrested.

If the name Par Par Lay sounds vaguely familiar to you as it did to me, the pictures on the walls reminded me that he's mentioned very briefly in the Hugh Grant film About a Boy. I could spot at least 3 posters from the movie hung up around the walls.

There's one!

Spot the foppish Englishman!

Now, I wasn't sure what to expect from their comedy act, but it definitely wasn't what happened. Credit where credit's due, these guys are badass political rebels and all, champions of free speech, inspirations to the Burmese people...but their jokes are just absolute the fucking worst. The entire set can be summed up by Lu Maw talking about about how Jennifer Lopez has a big butt, and then asking us not to tell his wife that he likes Jennifer Lopez's big butt. Ad nauseum. He also shows a peculiar obsession with English idioms, likely from learning English around a lot of douchebag backpackers.

There are a few jokes about the Burmese government as well, which to be fair are a little funnier. They mostly cover the topics of not having electricity, and how corrupt people are, and how they like to shoot innocent people. Comedy gold. Par Par Lay also had an extended segment where he sat with chains draped about himself, while Lu Maw cracked a few more jokes about things that make me sad. You know what, I think I've got a picture or three of just that:

Lu Maw's wife actually did show up, and none of us told her about Jennifer Lopez. Awkward!

And then, of course, she danced.

And actually that was the most interesting part of the show for me, when they launched into a traditional Burmese dance routine, complete with puppets and costume changes. I didn't understand any of it. At some point I think there was an ogre.

After the show the Moustache Brothers take pictures with the audience, holding up nonsensical signs somehow related to Par Par Lay's jail stint and intelligence agencies around the world.

Yeah, like that.

All the women working for the troupe, their wives perhaps, bring out a huge cardboard box from which they start selling t-shirts. The funds go to help political prisoners, which makes that pretty much the most badass shirt possible to own, so I buy two.

Sadly, Par Par Lay died a little over two years later, in August of 2013. I don't really know what to say about that, other than he put on an unforgettable show, under circumstances I can't imagine and hope never to experience. Here's to you.