Being on the road for 10 months, one begins to miss her
family, Skype is great and the email updates too, but theres nothing like a
good hug and conversation human to human. Their faces were becoming blurry,
pixelated images in my mind, and hugging a computer screen to say goodbye does
not adequately fulfil my needs for family affection. I was off to Burma for a
month, a country I have dreamed of visiting since I was a child, and she
decided to come and join me on this adventure.
At the airport I landed an hour before her, I eagerly stood
thinking, have I changed, do I look different, do I act different, does she
look different, does she act different?? Deciding to calm down I plonked my
heavy bags on the cool floor and sat, soon realising I had chosen the wrong
spot being close to a bin every ten seconds there was a taxi driver lifting the
lid and spitting a red substance down, then look up giving me a wide red smile
and asking if I needed a lift somewhere, ‘no, no thank you, I’m waiting for my
mum to arrive.’ Ha! it was so sweet to be saying this.
My uncle Bob, my dads sisters husband is of Burmese origin,
born and raised in Burma till he was 17 years old when he moved to Australia
with his family. He was one of my favourites growing up, and his loving and
caring nature, enthusiasm and giggle at everything personality intrigued me
most of my life. Mum told me that when we were living in Sydney up until I was
2 years old he would look after me often, and when we first moved to Coffs
Harbour mum said that I ran up to a large Aborigional man hugging his leg, pulling
me away she said, ‘whos that el?’ and I replied that’s my Bob dad, clearly
missing his company.
I remember thinking it was so bizarre when Bob would come
out for breakfast wearing this skirt wrapped around his round waste tight and
tucked in at the front, but now after being through Asia for so long, it seems
like a necessity for anyone to own and use. During Christmas visits to Sydney I
often met with his loving family for Burmese food, (that I thought was really
strange, but now love) and received hand me down traditional clothing from his
mother, beautiful longis (cloth wrap), bags, and tops. I was given books on the
Dalai Lama, and Burmese culture, beautiful pages covered with images of women
with rings around their necks stretching up like a giraffe, shy children with
the deepest brown eyes, streets lined with saffron and maroon coloured monks,
and shelters built from organic materials or anything they could gather that
protected them from the weather. It was a culture that inspired me, doing
paintings and drawings of Burmese children; and I know that I have forever
wanted to connect with the people and land of this country.
After hugging in the airport for a good amount of time all
people watching and smiling, mum and I headed for a taxi into Yangon, there was
one driver in particular who either needed to spit a lot or just really wanted
to give us the lift into town. Sure enough he grabbed our bags and led us to
his car which was parked out of the terminal in a back carpark, a pirate taxi
that broke down about 10 times on the highway during the 20 minute drive into
town. It was a hilarious entry into this city, and though tired and frustrated,
all we could do was laugh as the driver stalled and stopped and fiddled with
the engine adding oil and jolting the car in the middle of hectic traffic. We
got to the room and unpacked, talked and talked and it was like we had never
been apart for so long.
The next few days were spent exploring Yangon, going to the
Schwedagon Pagoda, local markets and visiting Bobs Auntie Mai Mai. The
Schwedagon was beautiful, blue skies speckled with clouds, the gold of the Paya
was luminous and the tinkle of noise coming from the bells and jewels hung from
up high relaxing and mystic. We walked circles sitting and observing the people
coming to make offerings and smiling at the beautiful children everywhere.
Getting lost we eventually found our exit and went to have a coffee at one of
the local road coffee shops.
Visiting Auntie Mai, I must admit I was a little nervous or
shy or something, a new family member to meet for the first time. But when we
arrived to a beautiful large white building surrounded by bright tropical
flowers, vines and entered to meet the family, all nerves were gone. Mai was
softly spoken but full of information, she hid it well but I could see that she
was so excited to meet us talking of day trips to go shopping at the Gem
warehouses and clothing outlet stores, she loooovvveesss shopping, and we were
a good excuse to go. She was wearing the most beautiful clothing, a green and
pink embroidered longi with traditional side button-up matching top, small
pearl earrings, an apple jade bracelet, and her hair in a low neat bun. She was
so beautiful and meeting her reminded me of the first time I saw a picture of
Aung San Suu Kyi, so resplendent in dress but with this notable strong woman
detail in her eyes, noting the experiences of living under a military
regime.
Mum has done a lot of travel in her life, and as dad says,
shes the best travel agent, knowledgeable, organised and planned, but leaves a
lot of room for change, spontaneity and relaxation. After a few days in Yangon
we caught a bus early one morning to Bagan, the town of one zillion kabillion
Pagodas. We arrived super early, slept our energy back, and then walked around
this sweet town. The road was so dusty and full of motorbikes, the people
smiling selling snacks on the side, horse carts, bicycles, the smell of rubbish burning, the giant trees;
they all reminded me of Baucau Timor Leste. I felt home again when breathing in
this thick chemical smell of plastic, how I became to love this smell so much I
do not know, but its not just the smell, its when its mixed with the thick
heat, dirt and dry winds. The feeling I recieve when I smell this is head raising
and eye closing, it reminds me of returning to Coffs Harbour from being away. The
car would go up this hill near the Big Banana and from the top you have a view
over the whole city down to the beach, with the windows unwound, you get a
revitalising fresh damp breeze touch to your cheeks, its salty and cooling and I
knew I was home again. Somehow the smell of burnt plastic now too has this nostaligic
feeling attatched to it.
After being lost in nostalgia for a day constantly saying to
mum, ohhh this reminds me of timor, oh that reminds me of timor, and mum continually replying
'yess el I know you miss East Timor', I collected my feet and mind back into the
now and started appreciating beautiful Bagan. We only spent two days here, and such
a special atmosphere was appreciated during these days. Everyone seemed to live
their lives out in the open street, they are used to tourists and it’s a very
comfortable place to be travelling. I was kind of shocked by this a little, it
was so established, it was so easy, and boy did the children have a skill for
English around the pagodas. It was hot, and ma and I opted for horse carting it
around the instead of riding the bike, and I was glad for this. We saw
the bike riders sweating and the paths were so twisty and turny to each Pagoda, for sure we
would have got ourselves lost. Arriving to our first stop and empty of
tourists, this beauty had a small staircase up three levels, we were able to
climb rite to the top and look out over the flat stretch of farmland, shrub and
scattered temples. It was a magnificent view and with a cool breeze brushing
your neck, dust twirling in the dry farm land, standing high and gazing, you
certainly felt in another world.
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| Pidgeons eagerly awaiting someone to feed them |
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| Schwedagon Pagoda |
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| Lunch with Mai Mai and Oung |
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| Enchanting garden |
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| I want this car! |
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| At the market, made beautiful by a lady putting thanakar on my face |
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| Temple in Bagan |
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| What a beautiful lock |
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| Sand paintings. |
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| Eating locally made yoghurt and Molasses with a beautiful boy |
