The Golden Land (30 page)

The driver pulled up at the rear of the house next to an old car. There were two small buildings in the yard and several bicycles were parked under the large trees. Washing was strung out along a line and there was a clutter of empty paint pots and stacked boards all spilling from a small studio. An outdoor fire was smouldering in front of a small cottage and two old chairs sat under its awning. Natalie could also see that the house had an informal outdoor eating area near the kitchen.

Connie led the way inside as Ko Wai Yan carried Natalie's bag. Natalie was surprised to enter an enormous room. It had high ceilings complete with old, slowly moving fans. There was an iron spiral staircase in one corner and at the other end of the room broad polished wooden stairs led to another floor that, Natalie realised later, overlooked the gallery at the front. Leading off the spacious room were numerous bedrooms. When Natalie had been in the house longer, she discovered that upstairs, at the rear of the house, was a long sitting room and a small study, both of which had views over the garden.

The house was decorated with a mixture of colourful Italian fabrics, silk cushions, old Chinese screens, sculptured Buddha figures and Burmese lacquerware, while the walls were covered in dozens of brilliantly hued canvases of very contemporary paintings. It was an eclectic, comfortable fusion of cultures, art and business.

‘How beautiful. This is the last thing I imagined I'd find on my arrival in Rangoon. Yangon,' she corrected herself. ‘I still say Burma, too, like my Burmese friends at home instead of Myanmar.'

‘Many people still say Burma. Myanmar is the written, literary name of the country, while “Bama” is the spoken name, adapted by the British to Burma,' said Connie. ‘Natalie, please consider this your home while you are here. We'll talk about your travelling to Mandalay later. But settle in for a few days and we'll introduce you to our local lifestyle. If you're up for it, Win wanted to take you to lunch at his favourite restaurant. Come and meet him, he's probably finished his class now.'

‘Who is he teaching?' asked Natalie as she followed Connie to the front gallery.

‘Up-and-coming Burmese artists. He likes to nurture them and give them a bit of polish and guidance. When he thinks they are good enough, we organise a show of their work in the hope that they might sell a few paintings.'

‘Do many people here buy art? Or is it just foreigners?' asked Natalie.

‘There's not a big foreign market here, and few tourists carry enough money. We sometimes send pictures out to Bangkok and India. And some of the expats and diplomats are keen. Actually, one of the senior generals fancies himself as a collector. Trouble is he always wants a very preferential price, so we never display the good pieces when we know he's coming. Damned if we're giving those away! Win, here's Natalie!'

Connie's husband came to meet them from the front gallery. Still holding a paintbrush, he lifted his hands in a gesture of mingalabar, or greeting. His shirt over his longyi was spattered with coloured paint. ‘Welcome, welcome, how was your journey?' He was a tall, handsome Burmese and his cultured accent sounded faintly English.

‘Very good. Having a stopover in Singapore made it easy . . . Oh, wow!' Natalie stopped. The gallery walls were hung with works that were a riot of colours, patterns and abstract shapes. Canvases were stacked on the floor along one wall; in another area easels had been set up and there were several artists working.

‘It is a feast for the eyes, isn't it?' said Win. ‘Something to be digested slowly. Speaking of food, Connie, have you asked our visitor if she would like to come to The Garden?'

Connie laughed. ‘Win might be Burmese but his stomach is international. Have you tried much Burmese cooking, Natalie? Perhaps you would prefer something more familiar? We have some quite good places that serve European food.'

‘I love what I've tried of Burmese food.'

‘Good. Then we shall take you for a little lunch. I hope you are not too tired?' Win began but Connie took his arm.

‘Let's not overwhelm Natalie. You go and clean up, Win.'

Natalie smiled at her hosts, so attractive and hospitable. ‘I'd love to look around your gallery for a bit.'

Connie and Win left Natalie to walk quietly around the gallery and absorb the work on display. The artists smiled shyly at her, nodded politely and went about their work. Natalie was swept away by the vibrancy and creativity she saw. She stopped in front of several paintings stacked against a wall. One particularly intrigued her: a sepia and brown textured mass that could have been either an ocean or perhaps a sea of people. Standing out from the background was a slash of pink, which possibly represented a figure.

One of the artists, a woman, stood beside Natalie.

‘You like this picture?'

‘Yes, I do. I'm trying to understand it. Is this one of yours?'

‘Oh, no, this is by a famous artist. It is sad story.'

‘I would like to hear it, if you want to tell me.'

‘Yes,' said the woman softly. ‘I would like. The artist family come from the Irrawaddy delta and had very bad time in Cyclone Nargis. So he paint this picture about the cyclone and he win a prize. So he take the money to help his people but when he come to a village everybody all drowned. But then he see one little boy, looking for his mother, father. He was wearing a pink shirt. So the artist come back and put this pink on the picture. It means for hope and future,' she explained.

‘That's beautiful,' said Natalie. ‘Can you show me your work?'

The young girl showed Natalie her dramatic canvases. They were interpretations of Buddhist figures built up with thick layers of paint and gold leaf and looking as though many hands might have touched the figures and worn away some of the gold leaf.

‘First I make statues with clay and then I make paintings of them on canvas,' said the artist. ‘Other time I make paintings like Myanmar old art. What you see on the walls of pagodas and stupas.'

‘I haven't seen those yet. This is my first day here,' said Natalie.

‘Oh. I hope you like my country,' she said with a smile.

‘I think I will like it very much,' said Natalie, smiling in reply.

Win insisted on ordering many different dishes for their lunch, so Natalie could taste the flavours of Yangon.

‘Connie likes the Shan food from the hills, but you must try these,' he insisted as small bowls and platters of appetising soup, curries, rice, noodles and salads appeared.

They were seated in the front garden of a spacious colonial-style Burmese home, which was screened from the road by large trees. Lanterns hung from the trees and Natalie imagined that at night it must be a romantic setting. When she went inside to use the restroom, she saw that the interior of the house had been converted into several separate dining areas.

‘This is lovely, Win. Thank you, Connie, I'm lost for words. This isn't what I expected at all!'

‘This mightn't be the official capital anymore but Yangon is a great city, especially for tourists and the well heeled. But there's still an awful lot of hardship in this country after Cyclone Nargis,' said Connie.

‘Yes, I've heard. Actually, before I leave for Mandalay I want to try to find the family of a dear friend of mine back home. She's worried because her parents have moved out of Rangoon and she hasn't been able to find out where they are. She's been an activist and she fears that if she comes back to Burma to look for them, there will be reprisals,' said Natalie.

‘I've heard that story many, many times,' said Connie. ‘Do you have any clues?'

‘I have their last known address in Rangoon, but they may have moved to the delta. My friend has not heard about them since the cyclone.'

‘Win, do we know anyone who could help Natalie?'

‘Yes, I think we might. What about Khin Myo Thein? He was helping distribute food to Kunchangon. We were hit badly here in Yangon, but not so badly as the villages further south.'

‘It was amazing what the people of Burma, both rich and poor, donated or collected for the victims,' said Connie.

‘I'm sure we'll be able to make enquiries for you,' said Win.

‘But that is not the only reason for your visit here,' prompted Connie.

‘No, apart from wanting to see Burma, there is another reason. Did Vicki fill you in?'

‘She was quite discreet. We don't know what it is you have to take to Mandalay or for whom, but we are happy to help,' said Connie.

Briefly Natalie summarised the saga of her kammavaca. ‘This is quite an emotional trip for me,' she finished. ‘I so want it to work out. I have to arrange travel to a place called Maymyo. Is that near Mandalay?'

‘It's now called Pyin Oo Lwin and it's about an hour outside Mandalay,' said Win.

‘Natalie, we don't want to let you travel by yourself,' said Connie. ‘We've contacted a friend who can help you.'

‘That's very kind of you. I know I haven't even been here twenty-four hours, but this is not the scary place I'd imagined. I'm sure I'll be fine, I don't want to impose.'

Connie lowered her voice. ‘Natalie, you need someone to go with you who speaks the language and will make sure that you don't inadvertently do something that could land you in trouble. You are a tourist so it is normal for you to hire a guide. Myanmar can be a difficult place for the inexperienced.'

‘Burmese are usually very respectful and friendly. It is the uneducated soldiers and those working for the government who can cause trouble,' said Win gently. ‘The government has people everywhere, watching, and it is very, very easy to displease them, even for no apparent reason. And this could happen if you are making contact with someone connected to the old royal family.'

‘The person who will be of most help to you is an old friend,' said Connie. ‘He trains teachers in specialist courses and even teaches the tour guides. You will be in very good hands.'

‘Having a guide would be wonderful,' said Natalie.

‘Yes, it would be a great pity not to take advantage of U Phyu Myint. He will open your eyes to the many riches Myanmar has to offer, and he will also keep you safe.'

‘I hope I'm not causing you any trouble, Win,' said Natalie, concerned.

‘No, no. We deal with foreigners a lot and because I am married to Connie there's no problem about having a foreign guest in our house. But it is not so easy for other people and in other places.'

‘Now you're scaring me,' said Natalie, trying to smile.

‘Nonsense, you're not doing anything illegal. This isn't an open country like yours, so it is always wise to be a little cautious. But you'll be fine,' said Connie.

Win left Connie and Natalie at the central market, and Natalie was impressed by the colonial entrance and the multitude of cobblestone lanes under the huge roof, all crammed with shops and stalls.

‘I could spend a week in here!' Natalie exclaimed, looking at the jewellery, handicrafts, fabrics, household wares and displays of food.

‘This is a big attraction for visitors and it's still the main market for the city. It was called Scott's Markets after the British public servant who built it in the twenties but who's now mainly remembered because he introduced football to Burma,' laughed Connie. ‘The name then changed to Bogyoke Aung San Markets after General Aung San. Bogyoke means general. Maybe you can find a gift for your children in here.'

The time in the markets passed very quickly. Natalie was fascinated by the busy Asian bazaar. It was so different from the shops at home, noisier, so much hustle and bustle. Food was piled in baskets or spread on raised platforms and mats. Women sat with their children and gossiped. They gave her frank, friendly and interested stares as she walked past. Natalie smiled back and asked Connie what the yellow paste was that the women had smeared on their faces.

‘Thanakha. It's a paste made from a lovely smelling tree bark. It keeps your skin soft and works as a sunscreen and mosquito repellent. You can buy little sticks of thanakha, which you grind with a stone mortar and pestle. But you can buy it ready-made, too.'

A woman held out a sample of the paste for Natalie to try. ‘It smells lovely. I could buy some to take home.'

She didn't see much in the way of children's toys or clothes, but Natalie knew Charlotte and Adam would love the cheap sandals she found. They were plastic and decorated with cartoon pictures. When their wearer walked, the sandals squeaked and lights flashed.

‘You might regret buying those,' Connie said laughing. ‘What say we go back home and have a rest and then we'll take you to the Shwedagon Pagoda at sunset? It's very special.'

‘That would be wonderful,' said Natalie.

At sunset they joined the stream of people – local families, monks, business people and the elderly, as well as some other foreigners – all heading to the most famous landmark in the country. There devotees would say prayers, ask for favours, give thanks and sometimes just meditate in the peaceful surrounds. It was expected that all Burmese Buddhists should worship at least once in their life at the Shwedagon.

The sun was low in the sky as they approached, its rays setting alight the golden dome with its jewelled hti atop the pagoda. The hti was a beacon that glittered over the city.

Connie explained to Natalie that there were four different entrances at each of the cardinal points of the compass but the southern entrance was the most popular. Natalie saw that the complex of stupas, pavilions, statues, temples and shrines was spread over a very large area. The flight of steps they climbed from the street was worn by the feet of centuries of worshippers, and guarded on each side by statues of mystical chinthe.

They entered the cool shadows of a covered walkway where wandering sellers and some stallholders offered them candles, flowers, packets of gold leaf, food, books and pamphlets, miniature paper umbrellas, religious objects and souvenirs. Smiling children held up strings of fragrant flowers, and nuns dressed in pink robes with shaved heads gently asked for alms. Occasionally a woman sat calmly nursing a baby at her breast, while older children played nearby, ignoring the requests of beggars for charity, and some pilgrims just rested quietly.