The Golden Land (34 page)

In some dark, quiet, ancient vaults people pray, chanting their prayers, while in other vast temples it seems bats and birds and small creatures are the only worshippers. Despite the slow scraping of centuries, you can still witness the work of those long-ago artisans, the gash of a tool, the perfection of ornamentation painted over 800 years ago. You wish the architects and artisans who created these buildings could return and see their lonely handiwork still surviving.

Swooping pigeons broke the stillness. I didn't like to chatter. If I asked a question, it was answered softly, but generally Mr P and I wandered in silence. Occasionally he pointed to something I might have missed. We saw half buried Buddha statues. There is so much detail, from the deep underground to the dainty depictions of Buddha's life, to the enormous sky-reaching tiers of temples. Trying to visualise the old city with its palaces and pagodas amid these ruins is sometimes easy, but sometimes blurred.

Weaving between the walls, where lichen, grass and cactus grow, and mud sticks to your feet, there are echoes of the pounding of processions. It is easy to imagine how kings, queens, slaves, pious monks and village people once inhabited this unique landscape.

On the way back, the sun was setting and people were returning home to prepare for the evening. I could hear the gongs ringing from a monastery. There were village boys shouting as they played soccer on a patch of grass next to where a small stupa had squatted for centuries. My head is still bursting. Everything is so immense, moving and powerful it's really hard to absorb it all.

My final memory of today was so different. On the way home, Kway Kway started to sing Queen's ‘Who Wants to Live Forever' in Burmese!

Later that evening, Natalie went down to the lobby to send Mark a short email.

She pushed the send button and nodded to the hotel desk manager. He was almost sure, he assured her, that her email would get through. ‘Today is good,' he explained. Natalie didn't ask why this was so because another tourist was waiting to use the old computer in the hope of also making contact with the modern world outside this living museum in which they'd found themselves.

In the hotel's restaurant Natalie ordered a local beer and went to watch the glimmer of lights on the river. She could tell that the other guests who were returning from exploring Bagan were drowning in all that they'd seen, just as she was. They nodded and smiled politely to her but did not seem anxious for social chit chat. Anyway, thought Natalie, the day had been too overwhelming for trivia.

She decided to return to her room to read for a while and went to her drawer to retrieve her book. Immediately she saw that her carefully folded clothes were not as neatly arranged as she had left them. It was not the way she had unpacked. Hurriedly she looked around and saw that her small suitcase had been moved. Someone had definitely gone through her things. Nothing seemed to have been taken, but she felt disturbed. It was quite creepy.

She debated with herself about asking if she could move to another room. She wished she was having dinner with Mr P so she could ask him what to do, but tonight she would be having dinner by herself in the hotel. Suddenly the faintly lit gardens looked sinister and not as romantic as she had first thought. So she took the torch from beside her bed, thoughtfully provided by the hotel for the regular blackouts, and slipped it into her pocket.

As she walked quickly along the garden path that wound from her room to the hotel lobby, she patted her shoulder bag, feeling the hard shape of the kammavaca at the bottom as usual. She was shocked that someone had checked her room. Perhaps this happened to all foreigners. Everyone told her how there were people always watching you. She'd ask Mr P what he thought had happened when she saw him in the morning.

As she walked past the front desk, she heard several tourists talking in fractured English to the staff, asking about local restaurants. The staff explained that there were several small eating places up the road within easy walking distance. Natalie decided she didn't want to eat by herself in the hotel, so she asked the girl at the desk if she should go there too, and the girl smiled and nodded. ‘They are going to good place. Very simple, nice food.'

When the foreign tourists set off, Natalie trailed behind them.

Outside the hotel the rutted road was ill lit; a few pale lights hung from power poles sagging with spaghetti nests of looped cables. It was still early evening, and there was a lot of activity on the street. Along the roadside were braziers and small fires, illuminating cheerful Burmese faces in their glow. Whole families were eating at these roadside stalls and the smells were delicious.

At one eatery the tourists ahead of her stopped to ask what was being cooked and took a photo. Bicycles without lights glided past her. When she looked into the houses she could see that their rooms were lit by a single dim bulb. Candles were burning at shrines and at a small temple a seated Buddha statue was illuminated by a string of Christmas lights.

The small party eventually arrived at a large eating house, where loud disco music roared and a bulky old TV screen was showing music clips of Burmese singers covering American hits from earlier decades. The noisy music was obviously an attraction for the Burmese, but Natalie didn't enjoy it. She was relieved when the tourists she'd been following stopped and decided to go into a smaller restaurant decked out in a lot of fluorescent pink but with no loud music. Natalie hesitated, then, as the others sat down, she brushed aside the coloured plastic strips hanging in the doorway and went inside.

A woman and her daughter, who looked to be about twelve, were running the place. The young girl smiled shyly at Natalie, who smiled in return and said, ‘Just me. One person, please,' as she held up one finger.

The girl glanced at her mother, who was passing around plastic menus with coloured pictures of the dishes to the other newcomers.

One of the tourists looked up and waved to Natalie. ‘Oh, hello there. Would you like to come and join us?'

‘Yes, do,' echoed his wife.

‘Thank you. I'm Natalie.' She shook their hands and sat down as they exchanged names.

‘You are Australian?' asked the man, who introduced himself as Claudio.

‘Yes. You guessed.'

‘Where do you think we are from? This is Paulo, his wife Mariana and my wife Erika.'

‘Maybe South America but I'm not sure,' said Natalie.

‘Brazil,' said Claudio.

They were a friendly lot, though Claudio spoke the best English. They all ordered their dinner from the pictures on the menu, as well as some beer and lemonade, and then they talked about Bagan. All agreed that it was the most extraordinary place and far too big to see in a short period of time. They discussed where they had been already in Myanmar and where else they intended going. Natalie explained that she had only been to Yangon, but was going on to Mandalay and then to Pyin Oo Lwin.

‘Do you feel safe travelling around Myanmar?' she asked them.

‘We do. Of course, the military presence is never far away, even though it might be out of sight,' said Claudio. ‘But because we are tourists I don't think that there will be any problems. And you? You are on holidays?'

‘Yes, mainly, although there are a couple of people I want to look up. I left my husband and children at home,' said Natalie.

‘So you are travelling alone in this country? That is a brave thing to do. Do you miss your husband and your little ones?'

Suddenly Natalie realised that she did. Especially Mark. She'd had the most wonderful day, but tonight she was at a table with two married couples who could share their experiences with each other, and she felt quite alone. She wished that Mark had been able to come as well, so that they could enjoy the wonders of Burma together. But the feeling passed and she joined in the laughter as myriad appetising dishes appeared on the table.

Natalie was impressed to learn that Claudio and Paulo were doctors who frequently travelled to third world countries to work. ‘We have been working in northern Thailand, in the refugee camps, but when we finished our wives met us and we travelled to Burma. We are going to Sri Lanka as well.'

When the meal was over, Natalie reached for her wallet, but Claudio stilled her hand.

‘Please, be our guest. The meal, it is so inexpensive, and your company has been delightful.'

‘Thank you very much. It was delicious. I'll have to try and remember some of the dishes.'

Natalie was glad of the Brazilians' charming company as they walked back to the hotel.

‘I'm sure we shall see you again, Natalie. That's how it happens. When you are visiting the popular places, you run into the same people. Sleep well.'

Claudio gave her a warm hug and kissed her on both cheeks, as did the others, so different from the Burmese protocol of respect that meant not touching people unless they were close friends or family.

Natalie had enjoyed her time with the Brazilians and she felt more of a seasoned traveller as she made her way back through the hotel garden to her room. She was glad that there was a light on above her door to ensure she'd found the right room, which looked as she'd left it. Remembering Claudio's comment about tourists being safe, she decided all would be okay, although she would talk to Mr P in the morning.

She settled into bed. The ceiling fan whirred above her and the elderly air conditioner in the room next to hers rattled. She turned on her radio and found the BBC World Service.

She must have fallen asleep. The radio was still on but the air conditioner next door had stopped. She could hear soft voices, possibly some of the staff finishing up for the night. Then she remembered that her shoulder bag was still hanging from the back of the door and she decided that she wanted it closer, so she reached for the light but it didn't go on, and she realised there was a blackout. She groped for the little torch and got up but as she reached the door, the knob began to turn. She stood frozen for a second, then she hurriedly checked that the safety chain was locked. Was someone trying to get into her room? She checked that the window was also locked. Sure that the room was secure, she put the shoulder bag under her pillow. She listened for a while, before slowly drifting asleep.

Mr P was waiting for her as she came into the lobby to check out the next morning.

‘Did you have a nice meal last night?'

‘Actually, I went down the street to a local place with two Brazilian couples. It was very nice. I was glad to get out of the hotel.' She lowered her voice. ‘I was a bit unnerved. While we were out yesterday, I think someone went through my things in my room. When I went to my drawer my clothes had been disturbed.'

He nodded sympathetically. ‘I'm afraid this happens. See the man in the corner over there?'

Natalie turned around to see a rather plump Burmese man dressed in a longyi and shirt like most of the local men.

‘Military. We'll probably see him or someone like him when we get to Mandalay. What is the expression? Justifying his existence? Don't worry. They are not interested in you unless you have a pile of money, guns, drugs or stolen artefacts,' said Mr P quietly.

‘Artefacts?' asked Natalie, sounding worried.

‘There is still a busy trade in illegal Burmese antiques. Despite the government saying it has cracked down, it goes on.'

Natalie felt herself go cold. Did the military know about her kammavaca? No, that was silly. She wasn't trying to take it out of the country. Quite the reverse. She did wonder, however, what Mr P would say if she told him that not only had her room definitely been searched yesterday, but that later on someone may have been trying to break in to it. Now thinking about it in the light of day, she wasn't sure, however, it might be safer to tell Mr P why she was visiting the former royal princess, Aye Aye.

N
ATALIE LIKED THE EARLY
morning start to each new day's journey with Mr P. She looked forward to the day's adventures. Life at home would be pretty dull and predictable after this! They set off for Mandalay, still with the driver who had met them at the airport, who was introduced to her as Soe Soe.

In the middle of nowhere, where two large highways intersected, they slowed at an impromptu market. In both directions dozens of people had spread out great mounds of freshly picked flowers. Roses, carnations, daisies, chrysanthemums, orchids and tropical blooms Natalie couldn't identify were laid on the ground. Buyers heaped huge bunches of them onto their bicycles and carts and into vans to drive to their stalls in nearby towns. Mr P told her that people would buy the flowers to take home and place on their household shrine. All Buddhist households had an altar with freshly cut flowers.

‘They've all been here since dawn. This is a convenient place, halfway between the market gardens and the buyers,' said Mr P.

A little further on, he suggested they make a stop at a large and famous monastery. They arrived as several hundred monks were queuing patiently for their main meal of the day. Ladles of rice and vegetables were heaped into the monks' bowls from giant cooking vats in the courtyard. The monks then filed into the main dining hall where they sat cross-legged at their low tables. The senior monks sat in silence by windows, while the other monks sat along tables in order of seniority. At the tables furthest away from the stern gaze of the senior monks, the young novices giggled and chattered over their food. Local people were also welcomed in the hall, and they prayed towards the Buddha figure as they waited for the monks to begin their meal before they ate, as well.

Natalie thought that it was interesting but she also felt it was a bit invasive watching the monks eating their meal, so she was pleased when Mr P took her out quietly and showed her the grounds of the monastery. There Natalie felt calm. She was still rattled by what had happened in Bagan. Mr P must have sensed that she was distracted, so he suggested that they sit for a few moments in the sun in the garden and share some fruit he had bought earlier in the morning.

Natalie slowly peeled a banana and said, ‘Last night, someone might have tried to break into my room.' She took a bite of her banana and told him what had happened.

‘Sometimes the authorities can be overzealous but there could be a simple explanation,' he said calmly. ‘Perhaps it was just someone getting their room confused with yours in the dark.'

‘I'd like to think so. But sometimes I feel like I am being watched.'

‘That is a common feeling in this country.'

‘I know, and you're probably right, but I'm concerned because I am taking something to Aye Aye, and I don't want anything to happen to it. It's nothing dangerous or illegal. In fact, I'd like to show you.' She took off her shoulder bag.

‘You do not have to do that. It is not my business,' said Mr P.

‘I think you might find it interesting. It once belonged to King Thibaw.' She unwrapped the silk scarf from around the box, opened it, took out the kammavaca and handed it to him. Mr P wiped his hands on his handkerchief, carefully unfolded the kammavaca and studied both sides of it intently.

‘This is very beautiful. Unusual. I'm sure she will be very glad to receive it.' He looked at it a while longer then, seeing the driver approach, he quickly slipped it back into its box and handed it to Natalie.

Natalie put it back in her shoulder bag. ‘You said you'd heard she was a colourful personality. How do you know her?'

‘I have never actually met her, but she has done some very interesting things, so she is quite well known in Myanmar.' He nodded to Soe Soe. ‘The driver is here, shall we continue on to Mandalay? And then we shall see what we can discover about your friend's parents.'

As they stood up Natalie smiled. ‘I feel so much better for having told you what happened in Bagan. I wouldn't want anything to happen to this kammavaca.'

‘Rest assured, I do not think it is something that the authorities would be interested in. Perhaps outside Burma others might be fascinated but kammavacas are common here!'

They drove into Mandalay in the late afternoon, passing boxy new apartment blocks, office buildings and hotels.

‘It's not as attractive as Yangon,' said Natalie.

‘No, and it's not very old, either. It was the last capital of the Burmese kingdom and then only for a short time.'

‘Is the royal palace still here? I'd like to see it,' said Natalie.

‘It was bombed in World War Two and very little was left. Mandalay was neglected for many years and became run-down, and then a fire razed parts of the downtown area. However, when the road to China was repaired, Mandalay started to boom and in the 1990s a replica of the palace was built. The sad thing is while they were rebuilding this palace the military were busy pulling down the quaint Kengtung Palace, a very important part of Shan history. And then they built an ugly concrete box of a military hotel in its place. The Shan people have never forgiven them.'

‘That's terrible,' said Natalie. ‘Mandalay seems to be a bustling business centre.'

‘Chinese money,' said Mr P. ‘Mandalay is not so far from the Chinese border, so the city is regarded as something of a Chinese satellite. About fifteen years ago the Myanmar government allowed businesses to explain away undeclared profits by simply paying a special tax. Everyone was happy. The government got money it wouldn't normally have had and the businesses kept their illegal earnings. A lot of them invested their wealth here in Mandalay, hence all the new buildings.'

A large old truck laden with huge bamboo baskets and wooden crates rumbled past them.

‘It's carrying produce to China and the Chinese send back their manufactured goods.' He lowered his voice. ‘But there is a lot of illegal money behind the growth of the city, from heroin, rubies and jade.'

‘There's the replica palace,' exclaimed Natalie as they drove past the low walls of the fort-like palace, which were reflected in its placid moat. ‘So I suppose this is what it looked like when King Thibaw lived here with his queens and concubines,' she said looking at the walls and buildings surrounded by lawns.

‘And there's Mandalay Hill,' said Mr P. ‘We can climb to the top for the sunset. There are a few flights of steps, but the ascent is gentle. There are pagodas and monasteries all the way up the hill.'

‘How do people who can't manage the steps get to the top?' asked Natalie.

‘There is a lift,' he said.

‘That's good,' said Natalie.

‘It is broken,' said Mr P.

‘Oh. I see. So we'll walk.'

‘Yes.'

They both laughed.

‘But there are many seats for rest stops. It is considered meritorious to climb to the top,' said Mr P.

‘Then I'll do it!'

‘First we shall go to your hotel. This is a modern-style place. I will go to my friend's house, where I'm staying the night, and come back for you in half an hour, okay? I will make enquiries about your friend's parents in the morning.'

Natalie thought that apart from the white stone elephants guarding the front entrance and the abundance of red and gold Burmese puppets and traditional lacquered furniture, her hotel was so modern and soulless it could have fitted in quite well on the Gold Coast. The lounge bar was named the Kipling.

She dropped her bag in her clean but charmless room, which could have been anywhere in the world. But when she opened the curtains she found she was looking up at Mandalay Hill. It was dotted with golden-roofed pagodas and red-tiled monasteries, and at its peak was spread the Sutaungpyei Pagoda, the wish-fulfilling pagoda as Mr P called it. At the base of the hill were the walls of the former royal city. She felt that she was definitely in a mix of old Burma and modern Myanmar.

Natalie and Mr P took their time trudging slowly up the canopied broad terraced steps of the hill, jammed with soothsayers, palm readers, and even tattoo artists. This place was the most crowded location she'd seen in her time in Myanmar, with lots of pilgrims and tourists. Mr P told her that as well as being a place to meditate, Mandalay Hill was a favourite spot for lovers to meet. There were lots of stalls, selling everything from food and drinks to the paraphernalia pilgrims required for their devotions. Stone seats were conveniently placed for rest stops, but since the steps were wide, shallow and gradual, Natalie didn't feel out of breath. When they finally reached the upper terrace, a panoramic view of the city spread below them.

Gazing down, Natalie could see the palace and its moat, together with its temples and pagodas. Mr P pointed to one pagoda, which was surrounded by hundreds of miniature white pagodas.

‘Those shrines hold stone inscriptions of the entire Pali canon. It is known as the world's biggest book. That,' he said, pointing to the shimmering coils in the distance, ‘is the mighty Irrawaddy River. Over there, behind those hills, is Sagaing.'

‘Mandalay is such a dusty, dry place.'

‘Trees were cut down for fuel to make bricks to build the pagodas,' said Mr P.

‘I have to say, the city doesn't live up to the romance of its name,' said Natalie.

They watched as the rose-gold sun began to sink behind the western hills, and then slowly made their way back down the terraces, dodging entreaties to buy food, make donations, or purchase fragrant strands of white flowers.

Mandalay Hill was now very crowded with people watching the sunset. Natalie took her water bottle from her bag and, as she tilted her head to sip the tepid liquid, she felt her bag being tugged. Her squeal shocked the small assailant as well as Mr P, who tried to stop the boy from darting off through the crowd. Natalie clutched her bag, relieved to feel the solid shape of the kammavaca in the bottom.

‘Who was that?' gasped Natalie. ‘A pickpocket?'

‘Bad boys, shave their heads, buy robes and pretend to be novice monks asking for donations from tourists who don't know any better.' He sounded apologetic.

‘He didn't beg or ask for anything . . . He just wanted my bag. Never mind, he didn't get it,' she said, trying to sound unperturbed although her knees were shaking. ‘Well. What are the plans? When do we see the palace?' she asked.

‘It is best if we see the palace early in the morning, before we leave,' said Mr P. ‘But if you like, we could stroll along the moat now.'

The moat is obviously popular at this time of day, thought Natalie, as they joined others meandering along the broad thoroughfare that ran beside the water.

‘I'm looking forward to seeing the palace, even if it is only a replica, so I can try and imagine how it was when King Thibaw was given the kammavaca,' said Natalie to Mr P. It's so strange to finally be here. I wonder if Uncle Andrew saw the real palace, she thought to herself.

They stopped at a café and Mr P ordered local beers and salted snacks, a palata, which was a fried flat bread sprinkled with sugar and beans, some Chinese dumplings and spicy samosas. The two sat and watched the traffic sweep past as people headed to their homes. When they'd finished their beer, Mr P hailed their driver, who'd been waiting for them.

After Mr P left her at the hotel lobby, Natalie glanced at her watch and realised that the children would already be in bed asleep. She decided that she'd call home in the morning. There were a few people milling around now, so she headed to the Kipling Bar to have a drink before dinner and an early night.

There was no-one at the long bar so she went into the smaller lounge. A young waiter swiftly handed her a menu and asked her what she'd like to drink. Natalie gave him her order and leaned back in her chair, marvelling at the fact that she was in Mandalay. She tried to remember the words to the famous poem. The waiter reappeared with her drink and she signed for it.

‘Do you like Mandalay?' the waiter asked politely.

‘I don't know yet. I've only been up Mandalay Hill and walked around the moat. Tomorrow I'm seeing the palace but then I'm going to Sagaing.'

‘Oh, there is so much more to see here than Sagaing! You should see the U Bein Bridge, longest teak bridge in the world. Very good for photographs,' said the waiter.

‘Everything in Myanmar is good for photos,' said Natalie. She helped herself to some spicy peanuts and took a sip of her drink. Feeling like a sophisticated world traveller, she swivelled her chair around to see who else was in the lounge. There was a European couple and a man reading an English newspaper.

When the man lowered the paper and Natalie saw he was Burmese. He glanced at her and raised his paper again.

Natalie froze. It seemed that she'd seen him before. Or had she? Did he remind her of someone she'd met? Why was he familiar?

Then it hit her. Suddenly she was sure that it was the same man whom she'd seen in the Strand Hotel, the morning she'd had coffee with Connie. She put her glass back down. Was she imagining things? Surely it was just a coincidence.