The Temples of Kings

22nd Feb 08

I’ve been ill. Two full days of stomach pains, purging and mild fever. Instigated I suspect (as we always do in such cases) by what I had last eaten before my energy processor began to misfire and occaisionally backfire?!?! I lifted medicine from my hard knocks mental booklet of no pain no gain recovery and improvement techniques and starved for 24hrs. I’m almost back in the groove and last night had a delightful unbroken seven and half hours sleep. The longest I have slept for three nights at least. The two full days of illness were my last couple of days in Myanmar. Spent amongst the dour delights of downtown Yangon. Not the most illustrious finale to my Myanmar experience but enough to put the Bagan days into perspective.

The Bagan days (15th – 19th Feb) were relaxed exploration personnified. I had a full glorious three of them. Daytime sun was relentless. However temperatures moved into the uncomfortably hot zone for only 2 or 3 hours of the afternoon. Beyond nightfall temperatures fell to levels that demanded long sleeves and trousers plus bit more.
The region of Bagan covers around forty square kilometres and consists of Nyaung U, Old Bagan and New Bagan. Terrain is pretty flat. The North Western flank of the region is marked by the massive Irwawaddy River.

During the eleventh and twelfth centuries seven or eight succesive kings of the region were so bored and lost for ways of being a bigger and better king than their predecessor that each indulged their power and authority to make increasingly large and populous marks on the landscape and ultimately history. The result is two and a half thousand temples, shrines, pagodas and stupas that range in size from small and compact to massive with internal stairways leading up to terraces that offer rousing vantage points across the flatland of the region. All but the smallest of temples have a Budda statue inside each of the four compass point facing sides of the building. Many of them are of red brick construction and some have gold leaf coverings. Some are internally endowed with wall paintings presumably from the build period!!
Temples are not particularly my thing but I cannot deny the enjoyment of cycling the quiet roads and lanes with camera, water and wallet to discover the extent of those Kings indulgent follies during that period.
There were two notable acquaintance experiences.
Gita and Aloo had discarded their Spanish names and assumed Indian names for their travel in the region and possibly beyond…My early morning need for quiet solitude meant the chances of our breakfast room nods and brief hello’s turning into friendly conversation were unlikely. However a fate meeting of late morning cyclists at a road junction between Old and New Bagan resulted in friendly lunchtime chats over the next couple of days. Gita and Aloo’s ideas about food people and life were not so far removed from my own. Vegetarian lunch at a local dusty floored shack where customers were attended by local urchins earning a little for their families suited us just fine. We filled the air with tales of past travel and future dreams, and our stomachs with the satisfying mixture of rice and spiced vegetable delicacies. Gita set the pace of self indulgence by a ‘sleep time’ declaration and led out on one of the benches for a Burmese siesta. Aloo and I continued to explore the world across the depleted lunch table. Tea and cake completed the whole cosy experience at Gita’s return to the world of the conscious. Gita and Aloo wanted to live the life of the land they were in as much as possible. To behold their thoughts and indulgent yet warm and friendly nature was another outstanding landmark in my travel experience. Super couple.
The other notable acquaintance experience occured late in the afternoon of my final Bagan Day. I’d cycled leisurely around the Nyaung U town centre and was drifting back toward my temporary residence with thoughts on everything but the traffic when I realised this white saloon had arrested itself in my path. I careered around its left hand perimeter giving wide berth to the opening doors. I detected a commotion as though something had been discovered or found and then heard the name Graham mentioned. I braked forward of the vehicle and looked back to see Juan standing with his arms on the top of the open rear door and Connie with her head out of the front passenger window. It was indeed a suprise and a pleasure to meet them again in the dusty town road of Nyaung U. It took us just a few minutes to arrange ‘dinner’.
It was the post dinner activities that are most worthy of note here. With stomachs of Myanmar food and veins tickled with beer we ambled toward an audible source of music and song. Myanmar’s version of Gladstonbury was well underway on open land and makeshift stage not minutes from our dinner location. The final hour in the amusing company of my delightful friends from Majorca was sat at the outfield of the concert sharing Myanmar Rum and Star Coke that the ‘hot dog’ vendor had conjured up from somewhere. Stories were of Spanish and Majorcan fiestas gone by and hopes were of a hangover free morning. I flew from Bagan to Yangon within hours and I remember Connie saying, reassuringly, more than once that it would be ok as I could sleep on the plane. That frequently relayed anecdote for the alcholically confused!! I was still conscious enough to realise that making it to the plane might be the bigger challenge.