Mingalabar Myanmar
My dear friend Norman left Burma in 1955 never to return to his beloved homeland. I was now visiting his dearly missed birthplace 57 years later and sadly he has passed away and will never hear about my exciting experiences.
Katie had just qualified as a lawyer and before starting her associateship the travel bug had hit her again. This time I felt so fatigued at work and it was time for some R&R although our destination was more eye opener than relaxation but we did not know this yet. Katie felt Myanmar would be perfect as the government now actively encouraged visitors and how much better to be at the van guard rather than the rear of visitors. A taste of what was to come involved our visa application at the Myanmar embassy behind Green Park Tube in Shepherd’s Market old stomping ground for London Courtesans. The building was imposing with lashings of dark wood and an elegant Burmese lady dealing with our applications. The small waiting area had many posters advertising Myanmar’s charms and several earnest travellers quietly gave details of their exploratory itineraries. We were similarly behaved but our intentions were more robust and we did not want to be part of anyone’s herd we wanted to go it alone.
A few months later we were on Oman Air flight to Muscat and Kuala Lumpar. The flight was uneventful on the first leg apart from excruciating ear pain the hostesses panicking as I rocked from side to side with piteous moaning and crying ringing through the aircraft. I chewed swallowed and rubbed both ears frantically to no avail and was given cups of hot water to apply to each ear to relieve the pressure. Blessed relief as we swooped down into the sandy kingdom of Oman. The sizzling sun and dazzlingly white robes of the Omani men striding confidently around the airport contrasted pleasingly with the elegant darkly clad Omani ladies. Although demure these ladies were not the delicate closeted creatures we imagined as one lady in the Costa Coffee absorbedly read 50 Shades of Grey. Kuala Lumpar airport was very quiet on arrival and the mini bus sped through the dark heavy tropical foliage to Concord Hotel where we rested our weary bones for just a few hours. Our room was situated in a barrack like compound and we endured a freezing room with fierce air conditioning. The early hours breakfast did not tempt us and the sleeping staff roused themselves to show us the awaiting cab. Back to the Asian Air Terminal for our Yangon flight. This terminal was teeming with people at 5.00am SE Asia gets its act together very early. We attracted much attention being two of the very few Westeners waiting for flights. Most of our co-travellers were young Burmese men do they work in Malaysia but have their permanent abodes in Myanmar? As we flew down after a relatively short flight and thankfully only a twinge of ear ache a tapestry of very green fields dotted with broad rivers and red roofed Dak Bungalows came into view. Very 1950s British vibe.
The airport was a sedate affair with deathly serious immigration officers checking all incomers as though their lives depended on it it probably did. Some visitors from China and Thailand wore rather gharish outfits contrasting very unfavourably with those of the elegant longyied Burmese ladies with their smooth dark hair dressed with fresh flowers
and impossibly slender figures clothed in beautiful patterned blouses and long flowing skirts. Outside the immigration in arrivals hall the locals waited anxiously for their returning relatives and chattered excitedly like beautiful exotic birds.. Their chatter was
drowned out however by the deafening loud calls of home grown birds. The air was heavy with moisture and revving of taxis desperate for a fare. A young German girl asked to share our taxi downtown and proceeded to argue that the fare $10 was too high. She was sofa surfing with a NGO and would meet up with them in Bogyoke Market within walking distance of the Panda our hotel. Katie and I were embarrassed but the driver was stoic and insisted the drive would take at least half an hour. It did.
The streets were teaming with smooth skinned Burmese going about their daily business by car/tuk tuk/on foot and my senses swirled under the assault of noise hurry and sheer pandemonium. Elegant ladies carried pink plastic luncheon baskets whilst the men carried tiffin cans presumably full of hot soup/noodle combination. Roads and pavements were in a shocking state of disrepair the populace seemed bright and cheerful. Because of intermittent power supply street generators hummed away with power cables swaying loosely above our heads.
The Panda hotel was modern and comfortable and allowed us a few hours of blessedly peaceful sleep. I marvelled at the penthouse view over acres of large tropical trees with glimpses of heavy river traffic up and down the Rangoon River. The hotel staff all very young and dressed in smart caramel coloured longyis and jackets were eager to help us and practically carried us in to the waiting taxi for a local Burmese lunch. Our charming waiter practiced his English whilst helping us to a typical lunch of 1 kg rice beef and chicken stir fry with Tiger Beer and a sweet sago like pudding. ( a favourite of the long gone Raj?) The buffet was invitingly laid out for everyone to choose although sadly I did not have any appetite. Our next Taxi took us to the Bogyoke Aung San market full of a good natured crowd going about their daily marketing. I adored the patterned silks for longyis but we thought all the beautifully dressed ladies may have purchased their own co ordinated outfits elsewhere. None of the silks for sale seemed as nice as those worn around us.
The nearby streets were full of grand old colonial style buildings in varying states of repair most shocking. Some boarded up or with walls blackened with mould and although home to locals, trees and plants were growing out of the windows or up to the ceilings. It was sad to see the state of the once grand houses and offices and it is unlikely that many will be restored as their dilapidation has gone too far. Many years before Norman had given me a travel book Handbook to India Pakistan Ceylon and Burma first printed in 1859 and finally my revised version printed in 1959. This book was fascinating as it included a beautiful map of the city of Rangoon laid out on the American Grid Plan in blocks. Sadly the current state of the city is poor with nearly all the wonderful public buildings mentioned now very dilapidated. We walked past the High Court City Hall and Union of Burma Bank (Government Central Bank) in Bandola Square. We also saw The Port Commission Building Customs House The Marine Club
Small Cause Court in Strand Road all boarded up. The Secretariat and Legislature in Sparks Street, The President’s House in Ablone Road The Jubilee Hall celebrating Queen
Victoria’s Jubilee in Simpson Road and finally we passed the General Hospital in Bogyoke Street. These wonderful buildings still stood but were now blackened with mould and in very poor repair. Hopefully now the country is opened for travelers investment will follow and restore some of them to their former glory. We noticed that some buildings mentioned in our book had gone for ever namely the new Burma Broadcasting House in Prome Road Kanbawza Palace on Kokier Hill a Chinese style palace which was converted to a hotel in 1959 both there no more. Rangoon University in Prome Road still stands although the book mentions that its library was destroyed by bombing in the 2nd World War. We have learnt that many of the old road names used in my book have been replaced by Burmese names which made our discoveries difficult. I was expecting a beautiful elegant colonial city and felt disappointed by the general air of decay and extremely poor infrastructure. However the people were well turned out and we marveled at how the ladies looked so fresh and well dressed knowing that their homes were probably very cramped and may lack even basic facilities. Interestingly we found all loos were equipped with a small water spray next to the loo and wondered if ladies have a quick wash and brush up as they go about their day.
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