By: Genie

 Mingalarbar! Aside from the Burmese Harp, and much like “open sesame”, this expression will be the first sound you will hear upon arrival, and probably the only one you will remember upon departure. It is precisely with this passe-partout word, literally “hello/welcome”, spoken by thanaka-decorated, smiling faces of men and women, clad in longjis, that every journey begins, and everything reveals itself in Myanmar. Nonetheless, to talk or write about Myanmar, implies to venture into a semi-unknown world... at least to “lay” Western tourists who still haven’t pushed themselves that far into the East. Despite being strategically located between the two colossal neighbors, China and India, and despite being a quintessential component of the Indochina enclave, mass tourism, like the one witnessed in Thailand or Viet Nam, just to name two, has yet to invade Myanmar. 

Albeit this fact alone has its benefits (i.e., less pollution, less crowds, less queues, etc.), the major downside is that lesser-known towns are overshadowed in favor of Yangon, Bagan and Mandalay, respectively its current, former imperial and former religious capitals. Such is the case with Inle Lake, for example. Truth be told, travel literature and the internet are filled with countless images of Intha fishermen, depicting their singular leg-rowing technique and distinctive conical nets. But although they might seem representative of the Myanmese identity to foreign eyes, they become almost invisible and secondary once one makes his/her way through the pristine creeks and marshes of the Lake, where time seems to have stopped, crystallizing eternity into a lithography of yesteryear.

Having said this, it must be added that we live in an era where the demonization of technological devices and media, particularly social media, is rampant. Luckily, however, the usage that some of us make of it hasn’t drifted away from its original purpose; that is, sharing portions of one’s “real life” (all which occurs away from our electronic hardware and software) in a live, debonair fashion. Consequently, with this thought in mind, and wanting to describe as accurately as possible my personal odyssey on Inle Lake -and in Myanmar- the very day in which it began, I had to re-read my Facebook status of 20 January 2018, which can certainly convey the immediacy of my emotions past:

 Genie is feeling in a "Hanging Gardens of Babylon" state-of-mind at Inle Lake.

January 20 · Nyaung Shwe, Myanmar ·  

...I've always felt viscerally and primordially bonded to anything "summery" (or that has the summer feel) and the proximity to water. In fact, it's no wonder that, aside from Rome, some of my top destinations are Venice, Miami, Miyajima (in Japan) and Aswan (in Egypt). Yet today's venue not only made it to my top destinations list, but also elevated the aforementioned bond to significant new heights. If ever there was a place that brought to life the century-old "mental pictures or clichés" that Westerners have had all along regarding the Far East (so much so, that almost all European castles/palaces have a "Chinoiserie" room, with colorful maritime or pastoral scenes of the Orient), this must be it. By saying "clichés", I don't mean it in a negative way. On the contrary, the fairy-tale-like "Chinoiseries" have existed and are alive and well in Inle Lake. To summarize its allure and my sensations today, there can only be one word: PARADISIACAL!!!...

Naturally, this was written before witnessing the equally paradisiacal beauty of the three above-cited “capitals”, with their surviving, “unfinished” (Mingun) and/or precarious brick pagodas and their corresponding golden pinnacles, the Irrawaddy River running parallel to the numerous plains and the Royal Palace (in Mandalay), the wandering monks and nuns in their burgundy and pink attires and the monumental gold-leafed Buddhas. Unless one has seen them all, particularly Bagan, where the sunrises and sunsets acquire an overall breathtaking dimension and novel meaning, it is no wonder one can never be fully imbued with the Myanmese charm and age-old spirituality.

During its time as the Imperial Capital and prior to its final submission to the Mongols (i.e. from 849 until 1287 AD), over 10 000 pagodas/temples were built in the dry plains of Bagan. Moreover, Bagan is a highly seismic area, a characteristic that accounts for the major earthquakes that have plagued it and which, together with the temporal erosion, have brought down the pagodas/temples standing today to roughly 2 200, including the self-ironic “Leaning Pagoda of Pisa” (as an Italian, I must admit it put a smile on my face!) In any case, Bagan’s mythical status as a pilgrimage destination remains unaltered, especially thanks to its most famous monuments, that seem to have defied the adverse environmental conditions over the centuries and are visible in all their glory.

Interestingly enough, some of Bagan’s main highlights are nicknamed through superlatives. One cannot help but be blinded by the light of “the most beautiful pagoda”, the gold-plated Shwe Zi Gon. Following Shwe Zi Gon is the “tallest pagoda”, the two-storey Thatbinnyu temple, with its white-stucco coated walls. The “largest pagoda” is Dhammayangyi, which is said to have been inspired by the early step-pyramids of Egypt. Last but not least, among the most recent is the “most artistic” pagoda of the four, the majestic Ananda, erected in the 11th century and devoted to Buddha’s eponymous cousin and main disciple. In its interior, aside from towering golden Buddhas on each of the four main walls, are copious stylized golden arches and gold-framed niches containing gilded miniatures of Buddhas. Each visitor is bound to be inevitably overwhelmed with “shining” stupor!

Still and all, in February 1991, thus wrote of Bagan the noted Italian travel writer of the late 1900s, Tiziano Terzani: “[…] There are views in the world before which one feels proud to belong to the human race. Bagan at dawn is one of these. In the immense plain, marked only by the silver glimmering of the great Irrawaddy River, the clear silhouettes of hundreds of pagodas slowly emerge from the darkness and fog: elegant, light; each as a delicate hymn to Buddha. From the top of the Ananda temple you can hear the roosters singing, the horses pawing along the unpaved roads. It is as if some magic had stopped this valley in the bygone moment of its greatness.”

Surely, the golden obnubilation of the senses posited by Terzani must have manifested itself during an early morning hot-air balloon ride. Matter-of-factly, it is not until one has hovered over its golden pinnacles at the break of day that one can fully grasp the magic and magnificence of Bagan. As the sun rises in the East, its rays illuminate the entire archeological area. Little by little, the great plain becomes a diamond-studded bed that climbs over the Irrawaddy River and blends into the horizon, as the contours of the sun-kissed pagodas slowly spring up from the earth. Only then and there, in what would appear to be a figment of one’s imagination but is actually incredibly real, does one definitively discover the most authentic and immortal, shwe (gold) essence of Bagan.