Burmese days [- A visit to Burma under the dictatorial military junta]

Sun 11 Mar 2007
LIANNE GUTCHER
Living.Scotsman.com (Scotland, UK)

WHILE a trip to Burma doesn't qualify as a holiday in the axis of evil, not everyone will fancy spending their two weeks in the sun in a country run by a heavy-handed dictatorship. Reportedly short of cash, the junta has recently been trying to attract more tourists and is opening up parts of the county previously barred to foreigners. But deciding whether to go poses a dilemma.

Some opponents of the regime, including the elected leader Aung San Suu Kyi, who has spent more than ten out of the past 17 years in some form of detention, have asked visitors to stay away until democracy is restored. In their view, tourists do more harm than good, and the hard currency they spend serves only to swell the government's coffers and bolster its position. But there are others - equally anti-government - who welcome tourists, arguing that their presence will help to erode the regime's authoritarian grip. They ask that visitors be careful where they spend their cash and avoid the government-run hotels, restaurants and trips. Before setting off, I decide this is what I will aim to do throughout my trip.

My arrival in Rangoon, the former capital (now renamed Yangon), couldn't have been easier. I was worried that security would go through my bags with a fine-tooth comb, but in the event I breeze through arrivals and am soon on my way downtown.

My first impressions run counter to what I understand about the Burmese situation. The police presence is much less visible, for example, than it is in the UK, and poverty is much less in evidence here than, say, in Cambodia. Before long, however, my taxi passes a huge red sign at the side of the road. In Burmese and English, it says, 'People's desire: Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views; oppose those trying to jeopardise the stability of the state and progress of the nation; oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the state; crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.' I'm starting to get the picture.

Rangoon is a great place to get acclimatised to Burma, and there's a lot to drink in. This is one of the few countries in south-east Asia where everyone continues to wear traditional dress. Men and women both wear sarongs, or longyis, and Mandalay slippers, which are essentially flip-flops with rubber soles and velvet thongs. Everyone looks neat and tidy, and the women are especially elegant and graceful.

Women and children wear thanakha on their faces, a yellow paste made by grinding the bark of the thanakha tree in water. It has a cooling effect on the skin and protects it from the effects of the sun. The men chew on betel nuts, which produce a mild feeling of euphoria but leave their teeth, lips and gums a garish red colour. The people seem friendly and generous to a fault, characteristics demonstrated by the most of the Burmese I meet on my trip.

The city's tourist sights are few, but a visit to the Bogyoke Aung San museum makes for an interesting morning. It was formerly the family home of General Aung San, the leader of Burma's independence movement in the 1940s and father of Aung San Suu Kyi.

Mingling with pilgrims at Burma's most sacred Buddhist temple, the Shwedagon Paya, is great fun, as is a visit to the Bogyoke Aung San market, a key stop on Rangoon's tourist trail, where it is possible to pick up lacquerware, textiles, gems and parasols. Taking afternoon tea in the cool surroundings of the Strand, perhaps south-east Asia's most beautifully preserved colonial-era hotel, is a decadent pleasure - and a bargain, at US17.

Leaving Rangoon, tourists generally head for three main destinations: Mandalay, Bagan and Inle Lake. Regardless of which way you go, however, the journeys are long and uncomfortable. At best, the buses are rickety, and tend to set off at the uncivilised hour of 5am.

Mandalay was Burma's last capital before British rule, and the city remains historically and culturally important. It is teeming with monasteries, many of whose monks are quietly doing what they can to undermine the regime.

On my first day here I climb Mandalay Hill, which has beautiful views across the city. I am keen to race to the top to catch the sunset, but am waylaid by two monks who want to talk politics - something forbidden between Burmese and foreigners. They point out Mandalay's university and the city's main prison, which is situated next door. The proximity is no coincidence, they say - if there is any student unrest, it is easy to sweep the miscreants into jail. During our conversation, the monks keep looking around to check no one is listening in. It's unnerving. They never mention Suu Kyi by name, calling her simply "the lady".

In addition to monks, Mandalay is famous for its performing artists and tea shops, which serve sweet, strong tea and delicious Indian and Chinese snacks. I get a flavour of both at the Shwe Pyi Moe café, where Lu Maw drops by for daily refreshment. He is part of a pwe, or vaudeville troupe, called the Moustache Brothers. They are so famous they get a mention in the Hugh Grant film About a Boy.

The comedian's brother was sentenced to seven years' hard labour for making a joke about Burma's military leaders. He was freed early because of foreign pressure, but the brothers are forbidden from performing outside their home, where they put on a nightly act for tourists.

"People have got to come to Burma," says Lu Maw. "Without them we will starve." He tells me about some of the good that has come from having visitors in the country. Tourists who saw children being forced to work alerted the International Labour Organisation, which put a stop to it - at least in the big tourist centres. There are still large swathes of Burma from which outsiders are barred, areas in which ethnic unrest is widespread and where there are reports of human-rights atrocities on a large scale.

Bagan is an area of some 40km2 dotted with thousands of 800-year-old temple ruins. Alongside Angkor Wat in Cambodia and Borobudur in Indonesia, this ancient city ranks as one of the three most impressive archaeological sites in south-east Asia. Scrambling up the monuments to enjoy the views across the plain, I feel very much as if I'm in an Indiana Jones film.

The country's best lacquerware comes from Bagan, and the best in the area can be found in the Art Gallery of Bagan. Curators at the British Museum considered the gallery's owner, Maung Aung Myin, to be such a master craftsman that they commissioned a piece from him, which you can see in London.

One of the highlights of Inle is visiting the markets, where hill tribes come to trade. Inle Lake is set in breathtakingly beautiful countryside and is famous for its fishermen, who practise a distinctive rowing style - they stand at the stern on one leg and wrap the other leg around the oar. The lake is covered by reeds and floating plants, making it difficult to see above them while sitting.

My day's boat trip on the lake proves to be a lot of fun, with a two-hour excursion around the backwaters and canals, but my pleas for more scenery and fewer stops for shopping are steadfastly ignored by my guide.

In all, I spend three weeks in Burma, but I have still only managed to see a fraction of the places I wanted to visit. At the top of my list of targets if I return is Putao, which nestles at the foot of the Himalayas and welcomed only 43 foreign tourists last year. And the next time I go, I plan to bring a bundle of magazines and books. Many Burmese are desperate for news from the outside world, which they are certainly not going to get from copies of Reader's Digest circa 1964 - the only publication in English that I have seen for sale.

Shortly after leaving Burma, I pick up a copy of the Bangkok Post in Thailand and read a story about a massacre in Burma by government troops. It is very sobering to realise this happened while I was there, blissfully unaware.

A friend I met while travelling perfectly sums up the dilemma of visiting repressive regimes. "I don't know whether to be happy about my trip or sorry for the people. A bit of both, I guess."