The next day, rising early to the buzz of scooters, I was instructed by the front desk to report to Tourist Burma. I had no idea why, but it is all part of traveling Burma , and the red tape that goes with it. There was a new person there, a rather plump bald man who requested to look at my passport. He flipped open the passport to my picture, studied my face for what seemed about half a minute, returned to the photo, looked up again to revisit my face, and then handed it back with a smile. No questions asked, just a nod, I was free to go. I chuckled to myself that I must be the talk of Tourist Burma, “You should see how skinny and ugly this American kid has become, compared to how he used to look. He was handsome!”
The Grand Palace , according to my Lonely Planet guide book, was one of the two “must sees.” When I was told it was about one mile away, I started to walk. It was so hot, and I felt so sluggish, I passed on that “must see.” Instead I made my way out to Mandalay Hill, which according to the book, the walk to the top of the hill to see the breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside was billed as a “not to be missed.” This ranked higher even than a must see. But when I looked up at the hill, and read that there were 1,700 steps, plus the scorching heat, and feeling just so out of it, I did miss it. I passed on something that was probably very special. Ican’t remember this ever happening before. A valid indicator how weak I had become.
I was feeling lightheaded and hungry. Hordes of local kids followed me and crowded around and stared as I sat at a food stall eating some stew. Hawkers arrived waving things in front of me to buy. I just did not feel good, and those around me demanding my attention were getting on my nerves. I just wanted some peace and headed back to my hotel. Feeling queasy, I stopped to vomit. A group of about ten kids watched, some laughing, others caringly running to assist me with water. This was, of course, the last thing I needed.
Not wanting to push my luck any further, I called it a day. I retired to my hotel. Writing in my journal, I thought of the school teacher I met on the train.
The next morning, still feeling nauseous, I thought it might be wise to explore a near-by small village, rather than deal with the noise and commotion of the city. The train ride up from Rangoon had shown me glimpses of rural Burmese life. I was hoping now to discover some of this on my final day before heading back to Rangoon . I boarded a bus and headed out, not having any idea where I was going. I was seeking a village that just “felt right” to me. After riding the bus for about forty-five minutes, I caught a glimpse of a pagoda above a lake. I got off at this village named Taguntaing.
And this is where we pick up the story from the beginning…I had seen some pagodas straddling above the lake. But to get there I had to navigate through a dense cornfield. As the corn got higher, it became increasingly difficult to see where I was going. It was only 10:30 in the morning, but the heat was intense. Surrounded by this corn, it was almost claustrophobic. My stomach was uneasy. I was feeling just so weak that I could barley walk more than a few minutes at a time. Then dizziness set in. I was doubled over vomiting, not once, but convulsively again and again.
As I was curled over, trying to get my bearings, I heard a rustling. I looked up and there was a short dark skinned man of about thirty years old carrying a machete. His machete looked menacing. But from the look he gave me was not one of his being angry, but of surprise and concern. After explaining what I was doing here, he insisted that I come with him back to his house. Retracing some of my prior steps, and then veering off to the right, we continued through the corn field for another ten minutes before arriving in front of a simple straw hut, like the ones I had seen on the ride up on the train.
His name was Man Ko Win. Sitting on his wooden bench outside the straw hut, positioned between the cornfield and the rural dirt road which ran about thirty yards in front, he served me some milk tea and a biscuit. “You look bad, you should rest.” Feeling my forehead, he said, “you have a bad fever, come lay down over here.”
He led me to the inside of the hut with a dirt floor. Kicking a couple of chickens away, and taking a hand broom and brushing the floor, he said, “I am going to go into the village to get something for your illness. You just take a nap.” By this time several young children of the village had gathered around the open window of his hut, jockeying for position as their eyes peered at me with curiosity. Man Ko Win told the kids to scram, so I could get some needed sleep. Then before leaving, he introduced me to an older gentleman named simply Billy who lived next door. He assured me Billy would check on me if I needed anything.
My sleep was deep and undisturbed. However, when I woke up I was sweating, but I was shivering as well. I called out, “Ko,” but it was Billy who entered. Through hand gestures, he displayed two crawling fingers, and then showed me five fingers on his other hand. From his actions it looked as if Ko went somewhere and would be back at five o’clock. I then gestured that I was freezing and needed a blanket. He gestured he understood and returned soon with a blanket.
When Billy brought me the blanket, he insisted that I return to the cot and rest more. Billy also placed a cold cloth on my forehead. He pulled the bench inside the room, and this old man with his aged deep dark lined features, watched over me until I was again asleep.
I heard voices, and when I awoke, for a moment I could not remember where I was. I was in a daze, and then I recognized Ko standing over me. He sat on the edge of the cot and spoke quietly, almost hushed, but you could feel the strength in his voice. “I want you to take this.” He held out several leaves on the palm of his hand. The leaves all green in color, about an inch in length, had the texture of sage, but no smell. I am sure he could read the hesitation on my face, and he said, reassuringly, “Please take. This will help calm stomach.” I chewed the first couple cautiously, basically no taste. With no seeming after effects I downed the remaining leaves with greater ease.
After a short time, surprisingly, my stomach actually did feel better. So I left my cot and joined Ko on the wooden bench. Together we shared a dinner, of boiled chicken with rice, followed by his home grown plums, which were especially delicious. No curry.
As I sat with Ko and sensed the calm of the place, I felt at ease. The lonely dirt road, running in both directions as far as you could see with its thick green vegetation, was so tranquil and welcoming in comparison to the bombastic buzz of Mandalay . For two hours or so, we just sat looking out, talking now and then, sipping our milk tea. A water buffalo would meander by, a woman supporting a long pole across her shoulders balancing two large containers loped past, a couple of bikers coasted by, each waving to Ko.
I felt so comfortable with him and protected. Even though knowing him only a mater of hours, I had trust in him to do what he thought was best for me. “Ko, thank you very much for your kindness in taking care of me,” I said as we had finished the chicken and now began to sip our milk tea. He nodded quietly, his face breaking into a slight smile. I looked over at Billy who was sitting behind us smoking a huge cheroot, a cornstalk about eight inches long and very popular in Burma . I noticed he was stirring something in the wok.
Man Ko Win was forty-one years old. However, with his smooth dark skin, open face and easy smile, looked ten years younger. He previously worked for government services for fourteen years. Living in Rangoon , he became tired of the noise and congestion and moved to this village of Tanguntaing about five years ago.
He felt good also getting free from working under the controlling clutches of the government. He was now doing all he could to make it as a farmer growing plums. “I love the peace that the village brings, and being on my own, doing my own business,” he said. I asked him about his family. “I have two young children, who live with their mother in Rangoon . I care for them, but I prefer to be apart from them, to see them every so often. I like the solitary life.”
Ko went on to talk about Burma , and not in a positive way. “The country is not stable. The government is corrupt, led by a ruthless man named Ne Win, who has been in power for sixteen years. We are isolated from the outside world.” Ko went on to say that the Burmese are not allowed to travel out of the country; and if you do, you are never allowed back in. “If I was to talk to you and a policeman saw me, he would likely stop and want to know what the conversation was about.” He continued speaking of the oppressive measures. “Mail is opened. Burma is a very poor country, and the government has power over private industry.”
Many people Ko knew in Burma had crossed the border over the mountains to enter Thailand , and even India , as both presented more opportunities for the independent business person. Ko said he was strongly considering doing this.
It was now almost 9:00 p.m., the sky was turning orange and pink, and a soft breeze gave nice relief from the humidity. Billy called out to Ko. Ko got up and went over to where he was cooking. He looked in the wok, nodded, and picked it up and showed me. Inside the wok were what appeared to be grasshoppers frying. Ko nodded his head approvingly and said something to Billy.
Although my stomach felt better, I started to get the cold chills again. Ko gestured to go back to the cot and sleep. However, before I did Billy came forward with a glass of green liquid. It looked awful. “Is that drink part of that?” I gestured to the fried grasshoppers. Ko, nodded, “Trust me, this will be good for you, bring back strength.” By this time, I had built up so much trust in Ko that I would probably eat or drink anything he suggested.
It tasted like it looked, only worse; it was terrible! I only hope it does me good, I thought.
Just as I began to get comfortable in the cot and began to doze off, it just hit me. I remembered about having to return to my hotel in Mandalay , and needing to catch the 7a.m. train tomorrow to Rangoon , before my seven day VISA expired. How could I forget? How could I make such a serious mistake!
I called out to Ko. He joined me by my cot, and I explained to him the VISA restrictions and how I could be in big trouble with Tourist Burma. He was cool and collected: “We will deal with this tomorrow. But you are not going anywhere tonight. There are no busses that early. Just sleep well.”
The next day I woke feeling better, but I was very anxious about my VISA situation and dealing with Tourist Burma. Would there be a big fine, would I be put in jail? I once again expressed my concerns to Ko. He just calmly said, “I am sure they have their strict rules. I will go with you and hopefully help the situation out.”
As I began to pack, in order to catch the first bus into Mandalay , Ko said, “Scott, why are you needing to rush off? You missed your train already. We will go in later. I want to show you something very beautiful.”
~ to be continued ~
Top picture: with Man Ko Win in his house
Bottom picture: a market in Mandalay, Burma
No comments:
Post a Comment