Temple Tour Tribulations/MANDALAY

I meet my driver, Boma, after breakfast around 8:30, or "late" as he calls it. He gives me a lot of guff for sleeping in, especially for a guy showing me around on my dime. You'd think he'd be happy to spend less on gas, but I guess punctuality is more important to some folks. He takes me to Kuthodaw Pagoda, where they have "the world's largest book": the Tipitaka, the entirety of Therevada Buddhism's scriptures, written across 729 marble tablets housed inside as many white stupas. It looks like this:

There's a lot of these things.

Here's one of the things in the thing.

You could probably crush a couple of these on a long plane ride.  729 long plane rides.

There's just so many...

...It's...stupa-ndous.

Sorry. Here's some stupa puppies.

In fact, some eagle-eyed readers may remember seeing it from above, in one of my pictures atop Mandalay Hill:

Hemingway probably would've snipped a few lines here and there.

As I'm walking around the "book", I hear a young girl say "hello". I whirl around trying to place the noise, but it takes awhile to realize she's above, on top of a stupa. Curiously, the place is lousy with people picking something in the trees planted around the pagoda. People are just...vertical in this place. I don't know. An old man with one eye is sweeping and must have seen my confusion. "Piss?" he asks, and gestures towards a gate. Gives new meaning to the term "bathroom reader"!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA laughed the trees.

Once I've had enough, which is fairly quickly because what am I gonna do, read?, Boma whisks me to a couple of other tourist spots. However, I've refused to buy the $10 Archaeological Zone ticket necessary to see these sights, 'cause it supports the corrupt government and I'm socially conscious 'n shit, so I see 'em all from the gate. I feel smug as all hell.

Who needs to see the inside of another goddamn temple when you've got oodles of self-righteousness to occupy your time.

I'm actually able to go inside Mahamuni Pagoda, also known as "the Shwedagon of Mandalay", which I'm sure is an impressive and meaningful statement to some people. The big thing here is the Mahamuni Buddha image, supposedly one of only five images of the Buddha created during his lifetime. According to Wikipedia he also breathed on it and "imbued it with his essence", which sounds like something you shouldn't be doing in public, spiritual leader or not.

I find a spot were people are praying in front of the Buddha, and after kneeling for a minute a monk comes up and tells me that I'm in the women's section.

Typical feminazis, hogging all the best views.

He leads me to a government dude who rents me a longyi for 1,000 kyat (about a dollar), infomring that it's the dress code of the temple. After all my efforts, the government got me to pay up for something in the end. Somehow, I always knew when I finally gave in to The Man, it'd be while wearing a dress.

And color-clashing like a motherfucker.

Mr. Monk proceeds to take me on a whirlwind tour of the temple, including the Buddha chamber. He shows off the gorgeous mosaics and decorations, and also asks me how to say "velociraptor" in English, because I am wearing a t-shirt depicting a bandito riding such. We're both learning a lot, I guess is what I'm saying.

Worshipers are allowed to reverently affix gold leaf to the Mahamuni Image, as long as you don't have gross girl hands.

The temple has some pretty extensive grounds in addition to the Buddha pagoda, with a museum and a pond full of fish and turtles that are fed rice cakes by passing visitors. The museum is a bit rundown and covered in dust, but does contain some impressively ancient relics from across the country.

Also this lobster.

Throughout the temple my main man monk was able to explain the little rituals going on around us, things I had seen before but I had no idea about. I mean, it was all the usual "luck/wealth/prosperity/tradition" in the end, but still, it was nice to understand the protocol of the devotions.

Wettin' heads

Rubbin' tummies

He also gave me a quick rundown on some of the early stories from the religion, but none of them compared to what was depicted in this one painting:

Whoa, no one told me Buddhism was metal as fuck.

All in all, Mahamuni was a good time. Travel writing: Nailed It.

Place got some moves.

Mon monk ami curtly ends our tour near the entrance, and I prepare to bid adieu. Unfortunately, he's got a different idea. Turns out he doesn't agree that this is one of those free good-time tours that I keep thinking exist for some reason. Instead, he informs me I should give him 50-100 dollars USD. "For English books in the classroom," he says. Bad, bad monk. I tell him I don't have that much.

"40 is okay," he says. I pull out all the USD I have and show it to him. It's 7 dollars.

"15 is okay," he intones, ever so graciously. I repeat that I don't have that much, just 7 dollars. He tells me kyat is also okay. Just to humor him, I pull out all the kyat I have, about 900 in small bills. I hand it over plus the USD, an amount by which he is visibly displeased.

"Normally people give me 100 or 200, and I give them big blessing. But since you give so little, I give you little blessing." He gives me his "little blessing" and fucks off back inside the temple like the dick he is. Of course, I find out later that real monks will never ask for alms or donations, and I was scammed totes for real. For about 8 bucks, but it's the principle of the thing. I may not have many principles left, but a flimflam monk taking me for a boner ride is definitely against them. If only there was some way I could have known...

Maybe the fact that he looks like a goddamn Skeletor could have been a clue.

Next stop on our tour is Inwa, the ancient capital of Burma from the 14th to 19th centuries. If I ever seem strangely knowledgeable or well-read about this sort of stuff, rest assured I'm looking up about half of it after the fact. While traveling, I'm pretty much a dum-dum. If you want to know where the nearest caipirinha happy hour special is, though, I'm fucking Arthur Frommer. You know, the dude at the end of Euro Trip.

We eat lunch, and I futilely try to charge my camera. We drive over a bridge that Lonely Planet tells me is forbidden to take pictures of, so I take a picture of it.

I mean, come on.

A ferry takes me across a river to where I can get a horse cart to see yet more government ticket monasteries from the outside.

Vroom!

Just a whole bunch more of this junk.

Burma, I hate to judge anyone for their hobby, and clearly building pagodas is your thing, but like, board games are going through kind of a renaissance right now. Maybe shake it up a bit, is all I'm saying.

Maybe it's because I've been reading a lot of Lovecraft at night during thunderstorms, but I'll eat my hat if this isn't a tomb of something unfathomable that slithers in the darkness of men's dreams.

Yeah, I'm just about over all this.

But I'm not over dogs! This one's got a LEAF. Yes you do! Yes you do!

After seeing Namyin watchtower (that's right, the Namyin Watchtower)...

This one.

It's got a Forbidden View of the Forbidden Bridge.

Travel Tip: To avoid touts, wait for their AI routine to finish and eventually their sleep animation will activate. Now you are free to stealth past.

...I take a break for lunch. This being the main tourist circuit, some Canadians from my hostel are in the same restaurant. We chat awhile, and they tell me that seeing the monks eat breakfast in the morning was lame. The monks, probably tired of being watched by tourists, would take their lunches back to their rooms, because they are in fact people and not idealized automatons of Western mysticism. And after all the shit Boma gave me for being late and missing it, one would expect at least...fucking Yoga Flames from Street Fighter or something, I dunno.

The bike doesn't make it much farther before blowing a tire, which Boma gets patched at a small shop on the way. These things happen, etc. We limp along to Sagaing, where I climb Sagaing Hill.

You know what kinda hill I'm talking 'bout.

Travel Wrong: Nice Views and Pleasant Vistas

Wonder what's up these stairs?!

WHOA SO UNEXPECTED WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN IS THAT LIKE A GUY OR SOMETHING?!

Our last stop is sunset at U Bein Bridge, the oldest and longest teakwood bridge in the world. I didn't really know teakwood was a thing before this, but count me suitably impressed. A gathering of people from the Moustache Brothers show are also here, and a couple of Myanmar beers later we get on a boat together to watch the sunset. Of course, my camera continues to have no battery left. If you've ever been to Mandalay, rest assured the view is exactly the same as all the paintings everyone is always trying to sell outside temples. Families, monks, and the guys who sell souvenir images of the the aforementioned all walk its teaky length home, silhouetted against the last purple-pink light of the day.

One of the Moustache Brothers folks, Mathieu, mentions that he's taking a bus to Bagan tomorrow. He's the kind of backpacker (French) who's been traveling for seven months, spends a month in each country, sees everything, probably lacks intermediate math skills because too cool for school, etc. We make vague pronouncements about seeing each other in Bagan.

On the way back to the hostel, Boma's bike gets another flat, which he patches. Can't help it, etc. Then it goes flat again. Geez, Boma. I don't want to tell you your job or nothing, but maybe...new tire? I'm not even mad, really. I walk most of the last few blocks, until some guy gives Boma a trishaw, and we ride that the last block or so. We settle up, and I give Boma 10,000 ks. He is not happy about it, and insists I should help him pay for his busted bike. I do not consider it. In fact, my brain shuts down the neurons that might have even attempted to fire up a thought that would weigh the possibility of considering it. Also, that mountebank monk is still pissing me off. Sooo...no deal. Sorry, Boma and Boma's Bike. I ask the staff of Royal Guesthouse about sharing a taxi the next day, but all the ride shares are full. Getting my own is going to cost 12,000 ks. Woof. Sleep is getting uneasy again.

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.