The previous night, after having a light dinner with my new friend, he dropped me back off at the hotel I was staying at. I was wandering around with my headlamp and literally ran into Anneke and Kees, a couple in their early 60’s from the Netherlands. I went out again with them for dinner at a Chinese restaurant, and when walking back to the hotel we passed by Cordelia, the Swiss girl from MSF. We went to search for some amoxicillin for me, as I had this horrible chest infection from Inle Lake and it had been nearly two weeks and it wasn't going away at all. She was with an Italian co-worker, and we marveled at how crazy it was that I could buy a full dose of amoxicillin at a tiny vendor on the side of the road, but the Italian guy couldn't find any toothpaste or shampoo.
After dinner, Anneke and Kees stayed to chat on the balcony, and they shared some stories of when they traveled through Burma 20 years ago. We talked about if things had gotten better or worse, and I was really surprised and a bit ashamed when I learned that they had come from Yangon all the way overland, on the bus to Pyay which took 15 hours in a crammed bus where they were sitting on top of dried fish, and then taken the boat from Taunggok.
On the 7th, the hotel staff was kind enough to prepare me breakfast at 5.30am, still in the dark, and then I took a trishaw to the jetty, with the young boy from the hotel cycling next to us. It was really, really cold. He had managed to talk to the owner of the boat and get the price down a bit, for which I was really grateful. I got on the boat and sat. And waited. And waited. It was 2 hours before the boat made any movement at all – meanwhile, the sun had come up and it was warmer. I slept the majority of the way to Mrauk U. There was a mother with 3 small children on the boat, as well as a few men. When I was able to wake up during the boat ride, it was beautiful.
There was farmland on either side of us, with large haystacks, there were water buffalo wandering about, and the outline of the Chin hills behind us, in the distance. They looked foreboding and inviting at once. When we arrived at the jetty, there were a whole crowd of people working at various guesthouses. I actually saw a recommendation for the Golden Star Guesthouse on Thorntree forum, and since it hasn’t made it into any guidebooks yet, I decided to give it a try. The manager Than Htun is a great character; he’s really short with slightly large ears and his grin takes up half his face. I checked in and went for lunch.
I went to For You restaurant where I met the local schoolteacher who was a bit…off…and then the dentist who worked across the road came to say hi. He had been Mr. Rakhaing in 1976, and although he was getting older, he still had a very muscular build. He showed me his antiquated dentistry equipment, including a cleaning machine that had a foot pump – he showed me that it had been made in Japan in the 1930’s. The collection of fillings and surgical instruments was much more interesting than I had expected.
I headed off to the temples which I had come to see. Mrauk U was the ancient capital of Rakhaing State, and it’s often compared to a min-Bagan. In fact, it is completely different. The temples are smaller, and often more simple. The spherical, at times conical shape of the structures gives them the impression of being from outer space, or at least from a completely different era. I went by foot to Shittaung, Andaw Paya, Ratanabon, and continued down the path. There were beautiful small villages scatteres amongst the ruins. I saw another tourist in the distance; other than him, the only human beings to be seen were women carrying wood or water on their heads or hips, and children running around with their school bags. It was so…quiet.
At Pitaka Taik, a small, old (supposed) library, I needed a break from the hot sun, and found a group of kids and women with the same idea. The ever useful origami skills were used, and we walked back towards the village together.
I went to Haridaung for sunset, considered “the” sunset spot in Mrauk U, and sure enough, there was a group of Germans there handing out bonbons to children who were laughing and dancing and wanting to get in photographs. The children ran over to me and the instant they realized I wasn't going to give them sugar or writing utensils, skipped back towards the Europeans. It was a frightening foreshadowing of what may come to be in Myanmar, much like what Southeast Asia and Africa already is.
That evening, I went into town to see what was available. It was surprisingly lively, and rather than going to the 3 restaurants with English menus, I sat down at a street stall where a man was making fried rice, fried noodles, and soup in the same wok. It was really tasty and really greasy, and I was exhausted. The complete darkness of the town, the sky that was so heavy with stars it almost seemed to crash down, and the silence from the utter lack of vehicles meant I fell asleep instantly.
Showing posts with label Sittwe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sittwe. Show all posts
Monday, August 20, 2007
Myanmar: Sittwe: 6 February 2007 (Written 17 August 2007)
At the airport in Thandwe, there were a few older sun-poisoned Europeans, and then there was one girl who stood out. She looked European, was tall, tanned, and athletic. We started chatting, and this was how I met Cordelia, a Swiss girl from MSF (Medecins Sans Frontieres, Doctors Without Borders). She was working in some really remote areas in Rakhaing State near the border with Bangladesh. Turned out she was exactly the kind of person I wanted to be speaking with.
Burma has had the grand majority of NGOs pull out of the country due to human rights abuses, and the ironic claim by the government that everything is ok and that they don’t need help. Perhaps this contributes to the difficulties in Burma; everything is presentation, and very little thought is given to what the actual situation is. People are told to smile, to put their best face forward, to make sure that nobody can tell that you are hungry, sick, and tired. There are entire propaganda speeches and publications on this topic of showing the West how developed and happy they are. So, NGOs come in, look around, and see that everything looks fine, and leave. According to Cordelia, the medical system is a disaster. There are numerous different strains of malaria, and people get infected all the time. They may build up resistance to it, often choosing to not get treatment due to financial issues, and instead stay mildly sick for weeks on end. When using antibiotics, even if a doctor tells people to use the full course, which would cost 1USD, people choose to stop taking the drug as soon as the symptoms subside, causing the sickness to recur and the body to build resistance to the drug.
We arrived in Sittwe, and as expected, Zaw Lin Oo was waiting at the airport. Lonely Planet mentions how there is one licensed guide in Sittwe who is taking commissions off every service provider (hotel, trishaw, taxi, boat) in BOTH Sittwe and Mrauk U. In Ngapali, I met a German couple who had been to Mrauk U the previous year and they mentioned that in Sittwe, I would find a wonderful guide waiting at the airport and I should definitely go with him. He takes you everywhere, he knows so much, and it’s free! I thought it sounded strange, but it didn't register with me. It was only when I was re-reading the section on Sittwe that I realized he must be the guide that LP talks about. And man, was he pushy. It surprised me that he was able to come all the way into the airport, past security and baggge claim. In fact, he was the only person that was able to do so – all other drivers, friends, family, hotel workers, and would-be guides were patiently waiting behind closed doors. It just so happened that I was the only tourist on board the plane. He went after Cordelia too but she said her MSF driver was there and so I was on my own. This increased the pressure because if he didn't get me for business that day, he’d go home empty-handed. I insisted that I had everything set up already, that I knew where I was going to stay, and kept walking past. He was relentless, demanding to know who had supposedly stepped in his territory. He suggested that we share a taxi together so that it would be cheaper, but it was obvious that he was doing that so he could find out where I was going to stay. Finally, he sped off in a taxi.
I had made quite a scene at the airport (or he made the scene and I was part of it) and by this time, everyone was just watching me, mildly interested. I wasn't sure whose side people were going to be on so I went over to the trishaws to try and get a ride into town. An English-speaking guide came over to me and I was really defensive. He showed me a piece of paper from the tourism board talking about Zaw Lin Oo and how they were trying to stop his monopoly. It’s really a horribly sad situation. There are so few independent tourists getting all the way out to Sittwe and Mrauk U (as my detour in Thandwe and Ngapali suggest, it’s not the easiest of trips to make), and for one person to be taking all the money from it, as well as being pushy about it, is just despicable. I explained to the man that I was quite comfortable without a guide and I was sorry for doubting him, and I think it was ok.
I found a trishaw driver who took me to the Prince Hotel. My first mission was to find out about boats to Mrauk U, as I had just missed the government ferry going upriver. I got a trishaw down to the jetty where a small crowd of men laughed gently at me, saying I had already missed the boat, so they said, tomorrow-tomorrow-tomorrow. Hmm, I would have to wait 3 days. I had read/heard that there were private boats usually going up everyday and I could probably get a ride on one. I asked around and did find someone who planned to go the next day, but he wanted about 8 times the price of the government boat. I tentatively told him I would be there at 6am, and left. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around aimlessly, getting lost. Sittwe is very lived-in. It’s not a tourist city, and due to its stature as the capital of Rakhaing State, it has attracted a large variety of people, including a very large population from Bangladesh.
I went to find an internet place, and the man there told me that there was a man across the road who had lived in Tokyo for 7 years. I was curious, and really had nothing else to do, so I went over to chat with him. I was instantly invited to sit and chat. He has asked me not to reveal his name or profession, so unfortunately I cannot explain what he was doing while we spoke.
And speak he did. it was as if he had a whole fountain inside of him that was waiting to spurt out, and he had finally found a good outlet. He claimed confidently that although the government spies could understand terms in English, they didn't have a clue in Japanese. So it was that I spoke the most Japanese since I had left Japan a month earlier. I was interested in politics, and he was too, so he gave me a brief history of the political climate specifically in Rakhaing State. He was surprised at how much I knew of the political history of the past fifty years throughout the country as a whole. The Arakan League for Democracy used to exist, but it was made illegal in the 80’s, when the NLD was gaining too much popularity. There was an NLD office in Sittwe previously, with just two men working there, day in, day out. One of them was sent to jail for political dissent, and the other died (of old age or government intervention, no one was quite sure). Spies were everywhere; at one point in the 90’s it had gotten to a point where government would publicly announce their positions, threatening to tell report people to the government as dissidents unless they paid hefty fees.
Through all this, I was wondering, how did he get to Japan, and why was he back in Burma? Without asking, he told me that his mother was getting old and after 7 years in Japan, she was ready to see him again. He came back, essentially for her, and she passed away shortly thereafter. He is now married with a 3 year old daughter. When I asked whether or not he would rather still be in Japan, he said with a sad smile, “There is no point in thinking about things like that because it is not possible.”
Burma has had the grand majority of NGOs pull out of the country due to human rights abuses, and the ironic claim by the government that everything is ok and that they don’t need help. Perhaps this contributes to the difficulties in Burma; everything is presentation, and very little thought is given to what the actual situation is. People are told to smile, to put their best face forward, to make sure that nobody can tell that you are hungry, sick, and tired. There are entire propaganda speeches and publications on this topic of showing the West how developed and happy they are. So, NGOs come in, look around, and see that everything looks fine, and leave. According to Cordelia, the medical system is a disaster. There are numerous different strains of malaria, and people get infected all the time. They may build up resistance to it, often choosing to not get treatment due to financial issues, and instead stay mildly sick for weeks on end. When using antibiotics, even if a doctor tells people to use the full course, which would cost 1USD, people choose to stop taking the drug as soon as the symptoms subside, causing the sickness to recur and the body to build resistance to the drug.
We arrived in Sittwe, and as expected, Zaw Lin Oo was waiting at the airport. Lonely Planet mentions how there is one licensed guide in Sittwe who is taking commissions off every service provider (hotel, trishaw, taxi, boat) in BOTH Sittwe and Mrauk U. In Ngapali, I met a German couple who had been to Mrauk U the previous year and they mentioned that in Sittwe, I would find a wonderful guide waiting at the airport and I should definitely go with him. He takes you everywhere, he knows so much, and it’s free! I thought it sounded strange, but it didn't register with me. It was only when I was re-reading the section on Sittwe that I realized he must be the guide that LP talks about. And man, was he pushy. It surprised me that he was able to come all the way into the airport, past security and baggge claim. In fact, he was the only person that was able to do so – all other drivers, friends, family, hotel workers, and would-be guides were patiently waiting behind closed doors. It just so happened that I was the only tourist on board the plane. He went after Cordelia too but she said her MSF driver was there and so I was on my own. This increased the pressure because if he didn't get me for business that day, he’d go home empty-handed. I insisted that I had everything set up already, that I knew where I was going to stay, and kept walking past. He was relentless, demanding to know who had supposedly stepped in his territory. He suggested that we share a taxi together so that it would be cheaper, but it was obvious that he was doing that so he could find out where I was going to stay. Finally, he sped off in a taxi.
I had made quite a scene at the airport (or he made the scene and I was part of it) and by this time, everyone was just watching me, mildly interested. I wasn't sure whose side people were going to be on so I went over to the trishaws to try and get a ride into town. An English-speaking guide came over to me and I was really defensive. He showed me a piece of paper from the tourism board talking about Zaw Lin Oo and how they were trying to stop his monopoly. It’s really a horribly sad situation. There are so few independent tourists getting all the way out to Sittwe and Mrauk U (as my detour in Thandwe and Ngapali suggest, it’s not the easiest of trips to make), and for one person to be taking all the money from it, as well as being pushy about it, is just despicable. I explained to the man that I was quite comfortable without a guide and I was sorry for doubting him, and I think it was ok.
I found a trishaw driver who took me to the Prince Hotel. My first mission was to find out about boats to Mrauk U, as I had just missed the government ferry going upriver. I got a trishaw down to the jetty where a small crowd of men laughed gently at me, saying I had already missed the boat, so they said, tomorrow-tomorrow-tomorrow. Hmm, I would have to wait 3 days. I had read/heard that there were private boats usually going up everyday and I could probably get a ride on one. I asked around and did find someone who planned to go the next day, but he wanted about 8 times the price of the government boat. I tentatively told him I would be there at 6am, and left. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around aimlessly, getting lost. Sittwe is very lived-in. It’s not a tourist city, and due to its stature as the capital of Rakhaing State, it has attracted a large variety of people, including a very large population from Bangladesh.
I went to find an internet place, and the man there told me that there was a man across the road who had lived in Tokyo for 7 years. I was curious, and really had nothing else to do, so I went over to chat with him. I was instantly invited to sit and chat. He has asked me not to reveal his name or profession, so unfortunately I cannot explain what he was doing while we spoke.
And speak he did. it was as if he had a whole fountain inside of him that was waiting to spurt out, and he had finally found a good outlet. He claimed confidently that although the government spies could understand terms in English, they didn't have a clue in Japanese. So it was that I spoke the most Japanese since I had left Japan a month earlier. I was interested in politics, and he was too, so he gave me a brief history of the political climate specifically in Rakhaing State. He was surprised at how much I knew of the political history of the past fifty years throughout the country as a whole. The Arakan League for Democracy used to exist, but it was made illegal in the 80’s, when the NLD was gaining too much popularity. There was an NLD office in Sittwe previously, with just two men working there, day in, day out. One of them was sent to jail for political dissent, and the other died (of old age or government intervention, no one was quite sure). Spies were everywhere; at one point in the 90’s it had gotten to a point where government would publicly announce their positions, threatening to tell report people to the government as dissidents unless they paid hefty fees.
Through all this, I was wondering, how did he get to Japan, and why was he back in Burma? Without asking, he told me that his mother was getting old and after 7 years in Japan, she was ready to see him again. He came back, essentially for her, and she passed away shortly thereafter. He is now married with a 3 year old daughter. When I asked whether or not he would rather still be in Japan, he said with a sad smile, “There is no point in thinking about things like that because it is not possible.”
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