Up and at ’em at 5 AM–but after eight hours of sleep. I went down to the extraordinary breakfast buffet –about as long as a football field–and drank too many cappuccinos until the group trickled down.
We had a very full day in front of us, but started late in deference to jet lag.
First stop was the Cetana English Proficiency Center, in some ways the flagship operation for the Cetana Foundation. We emerged from the bus 15 strong and plunged into the insanity of a multi-story market building, with every kind of shop and service on every floor. There were no classes in session, but the center’s director, Nan Ji, spoke to the group about the challenges and rewards of teaching English in Myanmar.
Next stop was Bogyoke Aung San Market, known before independence as Scott’s Market. I took a group right up to the wonderful textile stores run by two families from Chin State, famous for their weaving. On the last trip I had brought back a large wall hanging made by the Naga People, the most primitive people in Myanmar, and I couldn’t resist buying a second one, this time grey on a scarlet ground: really stunning. I then took a smaller group down to buy longyis, the traditional long skirt worn by men and women alike. I scored a very nice dark green number. I wore it back to the bus, drawing a number of amused but friendly comments from passersby–and from a few policemen!
A first round of shopping behind us, we treated ourselves to lunch at The Strand, the epicenter of colonial power in the twentieth century. The place reeks of empire, and is consequently very beautiful, an oasis of peace and privilege as chaos ensues outside.
The place had a special meaning for us and our good friends the Bradleys, since we had celebrated Sue’s birthday here two years ago. It was only a shame that we didn’t have time for a gin rickey in the bar, which is extraordinary.
We then visited the River Gallery, owned by our acquaintance, the expat New Zealander Gill Pattinson. The art is very eclectic, and she has some beautiful lacquer pieces. And she still sells the series of figures carved from antique teak that represent Burmese fashion over the centuries, the “Burmese Sisters.” The women on the trip last time had given Sue a sister as a gift, and I gave her a matching statue on our return back then. They sit proudly on our mantle in Princeton.
Now the fun really began: a tour with an exceptionally well informed young historian who works for the Yangon Heritage Trust, a non-profit that is attempting to save and restore the colonial center of Yangon–the largest collection of colonial architecture in Southeast Asia. They have their work cut out for them: the buildings are not merely decaying, but covered inside and out with thick layers of mold, the result of the very humid climate here. We took a different route (this was our third tour with them), and saw a whole new range of extraordinary colonial buildings before embarking on what amounted to a “religions of the world” tour: we passed or viewed three mosques, a cathedral, a Baptist church, a synagogue, a Chinese temple, and, of course, countless pagodas. The star of the show, though, was Yangon’s street life: sidewalks teeming with tea shops, hawkers, lawyers working out of the backs of pickups, and of course people from every tribe in Myanmar…and there are 135 of them, many with tribal dress. Along the way we paused for a group picture in Independence Square with Yangon’s City Hall in the background.
This is the view down Sule Pagoda Road in downtown, with Sule Pagoda closing off the view at the end of the street.
Immediately after the tour we went to Pandomon Restaurant, a joint that serves traditional Burmese food, for a dinner hosted by the owner of the travel agency with which the foundation has worked for many years. U Tun Naing’s is a story all too common in Burma: until 1962 he was the Burmese Consul in Washington; after the 1962 military coup he was a travel agent. He is a lovely and very generous man, and we’re proud to call him our friend. After the feast, he presented each of our travelers with a longyi. The women’s wraps were lovely, subtle patterns in silk. The men’s less so: a kind of garish tartan plaid. But most of the men’s eventually got worn: on hot days, when the guys are in shorts, they need to cover up to enter temples, and a longyi is just the ticket.
It had been a long day, but a glorious one, and the group was already beginning to bond.