Travels in the Land of Hunger

MYANMAR (BURMA) & BANGKOK, THAILAND

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

I'm in a Thai shopping mall. It is an evil place. I'm smiling as I say that because I believe it, and then I don't. My heart is split between being an American who is comfortable with the familiar Western surroundings of this shopping center (a hallmark of a consumerist society), and feeling sad, disgusted, and angered by the rising tide of an interconnected global economy that is turning Southeast Asia into a twisted image of the U.S. As I look at the scene before me from this Internet café I see Thai teenagers desperately trying to be part of the Thai pop culture mainstream through the type of clothing, music, and food that they consume. A part of me hopes that Myanmar does not fall prey to the same social, cultural, and economic long run fate as Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore. I selfishly hope that Myanmar can continue to maintain the innocence that I saw in a people who have not fallen into the trap of a greedy, capitalist society that encourages the populace to seek self-gratification through consumerism.

I returned to Bangkok yesterday from my twelve-day journey through the central part of Myanmar. My thoughts and emotions are still raw, so I will do my best to accurately convey what I experienced.

Where shall I begin? I will begin by confessing that yes, indeed, I fell in love with Myanmar. The people, the culture, the Buddhist traditions, the temples, the ox-drawn carts, the old, beaten roads, the red-stained, betel nut chewing teeth of the Burmese, the beautiful Burmese women and children wearing thanaka on their faces and arms, and the colorful longyi (sarong) worn by everyone.

And although I had a severe stomach bacterial infection from something I ate soon into the trip, I can tell you that if afforded the opportunity to return, I would do so in a heartbeat.

Yangon

April 16, 2004

The Thai Airways commercial airliner began its descent toward Yangon International Airport. I looked from my aisle seat across the row of seats to my left and saw through the airplane cabin window the dense canopy of a tropical forest that stretched to the horizon. The only signs of civilization were the occasional golden pagoda spires that broke through the lush greenery marking the locations of Burmese Buddhist temples. I did not see buildings or a grid street plan typical of urban areas near most capital cities. I only saw distant golden spires and the vast expanse of tropical vegetation as the plane continued its descent. I then thought of what Joseph Campbell once said in his 1988 The Power of Myth television miniseries: "If you want to see what a society really believes in, look at what the biggest buildings on the horizon are dedicated to." He explained how during the Middle Ages Roman Catholic cathedrals defined the skylines of most, if not all, European cities. In the decades after the American and French Revolutions government buildings were constructed to compete with the tall spires of Protestant and Catholic churches. Today, corporate skyscrapers are the architectural apex of developed cities. These towering feats of the First World reflect Western civilization's cumulative, excessive, and corrupting adoration of money. But in Myanmar, you find only Buddhist temples that reach for the skies, and that–according to Joseph Campbell–is a clear sign as to what is respected and practiced among the Burmese.

The plane approached the runway and landed. As we neared the main terminal building I realized that the Thai airliner was the only commercial aircraft in the entire airport; an indication of Myanmar's political and economic isolation. The plane stopped, the fasten seat belt sign turned off, I unbuckled myself from my seat, stood up, and began to gather my bag and belongings. Passengers began to line up in the aisles, the airplane cabin doors were opened, and we exited the plane by walking down a passenger boarding staircase where we were immediately hit by the thick, humid air. Parked at the base of the staircase was a decades-old Japanese public bus. I boarded the bus, and when it was partially full the driver turned the ignition key and drove it to the terminal building. I tried to read bits and pieces of the Japanese script on the bus while thinking that it was odd that the Osaka bus route map and safety instructions were still in the language of the Land of the Rising Sun. It felt as if the bus had been snatched from Japan two decades ago and dropped magically into Myanmar to continue working a new route without any need to provide information in Burmese. Later in my trip I would see public buses that still had the painted logos for JR (Japan Railways), Keio (a train and bus line in Tokyo), and Seibu Bus.