Asian Adventure 21 :: 22-27 Feb '11 :: Yangon and Bagan

"Grand" Hotel

"Manchester, Portsmouth, Liverpool, Arsenal", said the taxi driver after he had learned my native country. An impressive knowledge of the English premier league teams and strong brand awareness of the BBC seems to sit with many Myanmar citizens.

Near City Hall

Beautiful Shwedagon Pagoda

Dusty roads, uneven pavements with man-sized gaping holes and road barriers covered in barbed wire characterise Myanmar's highways. Colonial buildings stand decaying, their façades covered with black soot and mould. Night falls; limited street lighting makes the pavements even more precarious to the untrained eye. Over-loaded buses, battered and falling to pieces clatter past at speed, weaving in and out of rows of saloon cars from the 1980s. A knee-high child lingers by the side of a busy road, examining something freshly plucked from the floor. No obvious parent is in sight.

Downtown, the streets team with foodstalls and betel nut sellers. Here, you can experience the true smell of Asia - a heady mixture of exhaust fumes, street barbecues, decaying tropical vegetation and the occasional whiff of sewerage.

Street food


Snake head, anyone?

Betel nut stall

Every other block, you'll find a set of home telephones laid out on a table or a make-shift booth. It costs over US$1000 to buy a SIM card in Myanmar. People either rent mobile phones or stand in the street on a home phone hooked up to the local network, which is sketchy at the best of times.

Home phone a friend

The local currency notes are limp and blemished, as if they have been through the washing machine and left out to dry in a muddy puddle. Perversely, US dollars won't be accepted as tender unless they are clean and crisp, as if fresh off the press.

Traditional dress is prevalent and thanaka (a yellowish-white cosmetic paste made from ground tree bark) coats the cheeks of many women and children. Whilst heavily controlled - many have had their passports confiscated - people are warm, welcoming and calm. Strange for a country ruled by a military so distant - how many people know that the capital was moved from Yangon in 2005 three hundred kilometres north to Nay Pyi Taw?

Cleaning time at Shwedagon Pagoda


Sunset prayers at Shwedagon Pagoda

Taxis rides are a beltless swerving adventure in a car that doesn't even have a tape deck, only a short wave radio. Forget about the cooling fan, the windows are permanently down. Those with an aversion to hairdryers should not apply. Our last taxi driver of the holiday was high on betel nut, at every traffic light throwing his head back and cackling as he saw the whites of our eyes in his rear view mirror. It was one of those moments when you had to laugh. Nervously.

Travelling up north on Air Bagan is a reprieve from the bustling streets of Yangon. Welcome to the land of horse and cart. A bandana face mask comes in useful for the dust kicked up by your trusty steed and a torch can save you from descending pitch black interior temple staircases. Children pester you for 'bon-bons' (clearly, the French hand out the most sweets) and no major temple is without rows of 'same same but different' souvenirs. That said, the views are simply stunning.

Bagan Skyline

View of the largest temple in Bagan

Rare Double Buddha

In all, Myanmar is a mystery. The expectation that the military would be highly visible and that you might just get locked up for whispering "Aung San Suu Kyi" did not materialise. Yangon is rough, ready and fast decaying. Bagan is peaceful, nostalgic and so far only gently kissed by the plump lips of tourism. What will happen in the next twenty years is uncertain. As political corruption allows infrastructure to crumble and sag, will the Myanmar of today eventually wither and die? Will the rulers simply keep moving to new outposts where they can build shiny new palatial homes leaving behind one urban mess after another?

Check it out:
Kandawgyi Palace Hotel, Yangon
Monsoon (85-87 Thien Byu Road, Yangon)
Bogyoke Aung San Market (Scott Market), Yangon

Twenty-fifth month, blink and you'll miss it

This month, we have mostly been...

- Entertaining at home. Make your own flour tortillas. There's a challenge. Not really, when you have a bored husband turned wannabe baker at home. Hey presto, Mexican Party! Arriba!

- Enjoying. Is having two 'New Year' celebrations greedy?

- Travelling to Tokyo for the Digital Creative Conference. I was very lucky to be invited as a guest to the conference, where I formed a great bond with the legendary Bill Thompson:


Bill enjoying his goblet of wine at Bar Piano in Drunkard's Alley.

I was also very lucky to be able to meet up with my dear friends, Rie, Yusuke and Adam. As usual, Rie took me to the most delectable places to eat both super fresh seafood and 'heroin-grade' beef (highly addictive). Here are the business cards. Like the menus: No English. Perfect.

Asian Adventure 20 :: 3-6 Feb '11 :: Hanoi

Hanoi Rocks. The words, stuck onto a school bag, have stayed with me for the past fifteen years. My trip felt long overdue. Shame then, that we chose to go to Hanoi when our dates coincided with the Tết holiday. So smug had we felt when booking our cheap flights four months previously. So annoyed we felt when we arrived in 'post-apocalyptic Hanoi'.

Renowned for its busy and bustling streets filled with motorbikes and food stalls spilling across each pavement, Hanoi was a ghost town. After leaving our bags at our simple but effective hotel, we wandered the Old Town streets, dodging the odd wire hanging from the mess of cables overhead and marvelling at the anorexic buildings constructed to house several generations under one roof. After an unsuccessful attempt at finding nourishment at one of the few street food stalls (it tasted like crushed beetles wrapped in caterpillar skin), our grumbling bellies were soothed in the ubiquitous noodle chain, pho24.


Skinny living

That evening, we had a rather disappointing meal at Restaurant Bobby Chinn. For a restaurant that prides itself on its 'fusion' menu, this felt more like, 'blended cuisine'. Neither Asian nor Western; neither good nor awful. It was all just somewhere in between - nothing to excite the palate nor particularly to induce vomit. Distinctly average.

Thankfully, we were destined for a relaxing trip around Hạ Long Bay for the remainder of our long weekend, so the next morning we zoomed at breakneck speed to the coast care of the Paloma Cruise minibus. Only one stop was made for the rest and refueling of our driver - at a roadside cafe attached to a huge store selling an odd collection of marble statues and other random trinkets. Shockingly, photographs of people purchasing statues with their full names and email addresses adorned the outside walls. Weird 101.


No word of a lie

Arriving in the Bay, we were greeted on board by a loud blasting of 'Happy New Year' by Abba and a welcome speech given by our dear leader, who had an intriguing approach to the English language. Mostly, "We are so happy" interspersed with details of the cruise itinerary and the history of the poorly timed Tết holiday. We consoled ourselves with a Hanoi 'bia' on top deck with a slight chilly wind on our faces.


View from top deck

Just before dinner was served, we took part in a cooking (read: rolling) class where we assembled spring rolls and watched the chef dunk them in oil. Surprisingly, even the ones made by the stubby fingers of Chinese children onboard with their multi-member families were edible. Note to self: Add spring rolls to foolproof recipe list.

And then came a string of further disappointing meals (was the usual chef on his bloody Tết holiday too?) which were more Thai than Vietnamese, and more oil than substance. We retired early to bed after a short-lived attempt at squid fishing. Believe.

The next morning, we awoke to find ourselves in Vietnam's boat parking lot. Time to ride: off we pootled on our speedboat to clamber into a rowing boat steered by a pitiful lady struggling under the weight of four Western fatties. Trying not to be too distracted by her huffing and puffing, we enjoyed peering into the lives of those who live in the Floating Village. Next up was Sung Sot Cave (a.k.a. 'Amazing Cave'). Let's put it this way: apart from the penis rock, don't be fooled by the nickname. If piped music at a heritage site is your thing, however, please feel free to arrange for an extended visit.


I hope your biceps are strong...



Highlight of the trip to 'Amazing Cave' is 'Penis Rock'.

We exited the Bay in much the same fashion as we had arrived, only this time, our fellow minibus passengers had to ask the driver to conduct the vehicle a little less maniacally. Very amusing. We were rather enjoying the skill with which he demonstrated the signature Vietnamese haphazard weave. Back in Hanoi, we had enough luck to taste some of the dishes we had been craving by simply going to the Elegance Diamond Hotel's restaurant. Finally, cha ca la vong and bun cha were no more strangers and we slurped and munched with delight.


The height of fashion in downtown Hanoi

Overall, we felt like we had been in Hạ Long Bay about ten years too late - long after tourism's grubby fingers had touched everything. And we were just unlucky to coincide with the Tết holiday in Hanoi. Our love for Vietnam is far from over - we are only just beginning.