The Shwedagon Paya

     Like the lotus bud petals below, the banana bud is actually covered with no fewer than 13,153 plates of gold, measuring 1 sq ft each--unlike the lower elements, which are merely covered with gold leaf. The seven-tiered hti is made of iron and again plated with gold. Even without the various hanging bells it weighs well over a ton.
     The hti tiers get smaller from the bottom to top, and from the uppermost tier projects the shaft, which is hung with gold bells, silver bells and various items of jewellery. The topmost vane, with its flag, turns with the wind. It is gold- and silver-plated and studded with 1100 diamonds totaling 278 carats--not to mention 1383 other stones. Finally, at the very top of the van rests the diamond orb--a hollow golden sphere studded with 4351 diamonds, weighing 1800 carats in total. The very top of the orb is tipped with a single 76-carat diamond. -- Lonely Planet, Myanmar

That is a description of just the very top of the Hershey's kiss-shaped stupa at the center of the Shwedagon Paya (Pagoda) in Yangon. Though you can barely see it without binoculars, it is a jaw-dropping display of wealth, especially in one of the poorest countries on Earth.

Jaw-dropping is a pretty good description of the Paya in general. At the time I said it was the most incredible man-made thing I had ever seen. That kind of thing is hard to gauge, but it was certainly the thing that I was least prepared to see. I felt the same as when I first walked through the high Sierra, completely overwhelmed. It is enormous and sprawling. It shines and glitters. There is gold and paint and wild looking statues. There are Buddhas everywhere. There is a room full of Buddhas that seems like a house of mirrors. Some of the Buddhas are enormous. The chinthes, the mythical beasts that guard the entrances, were absurdly massive. There are huge bells and gongs and banyan trees. And of course, there is the giant gilt stupa crowed with jewels.

There are little details also. There are psychedelic neon lights like halos around some of the Buddhas. There are little nooks and alcoves filled with shrines, each different. There is one series of paintings, comic book style, telling the life of the Buddha and translated into some mystifying form of English. The colors are vivid and multitudinous, bordering on garish. I imagine that the ancient cities of the Mayans, Incas, and Aztecs looked like this in their prime.

Photographs don't do the paya justice because its power lies in the constant interplay between the grand whole and the unique individual parts, as one wanders within it and the clouds dance behind it in the sky and the blaring brightness of the day turns to a soft glow at night.

Physically the paya is astounding, but what makes it magical is the people. Unlike so many European religious buildings, the Shwedagon Paya is a living, breathing place. It is no museum. It is the center of the life of the city and the most important place in the country, a place every Burmese person aspires to see before they die. There are people all around, especially late in the day after work, praying, chanting, washing the Buddhas, or just hanging out with friends. For all the fierce creatures, it is a pretty laid back place. There don't seem to be many rules other than modest clothes and bare feet. No one bats an eye when a heathen like me grabs a mallet and gives one of the huge bells three bongs.

We loved it so much we went twice, once on our own and once with Mike Grafton. The first time we stayed for four or five hours. As we were resting in the late afternoon we met Varasami, our monk friend. We sat and talked with him for an hour or so and then walked with him as the evening came on.

Varasami told us many things about the paya. It is more than 2000 years old though it has been rebuilt, added to, and changed much over the years. The legend is that two merchants were given eight strands of Buddha's hair by the Buddha himself (see photos of the marble recreation below). They presented these precious hairs to a king who enshrined them in gold.

The four entrances face the cardinal directions. Around the central stupa there are eight shrines that correspond to the eight days in the traditional  Buddhist week (they have two 12-hour Wednesdays). In Myanmar, the day of the week on which you are born is very meaningful. Burmese names usually indicate their day and locals always pray at their day's shrine when they visit the paya. Aung San Suu Kyi was born on Tuesday. According to Lonely Planet, the government installed a closed-circuit television camera in front of the Tuesday shrine to intimidate her. I imagine it is gone by now.

Varasami explained to us many of the symbols and rituals of the place, patiently answered our questions, and lightly corrected our misconceptions. He pointed out the novice monks climbing on the central stupa to collect the gold leaf that had fallen. As evening turned to night and the lights came on he showed us how the diamonds on top glowed in different colors depending on where you stood to look at them.

Evening and night are the most stunning times at the paya. Each minute as the sun is setting brings a new color and a new light to the stupas, towers, and shrines. The gilt of the central stupa changes from brilliant and glinting to a soft warm glow. When the lights come up and the people are walking all about you with their families and friends, smiling and talking, it is like walking through a magic festival. One of the calmest festivals in the world. Every few moments I would find my jaw dropping all over again.

 

Mingalaba from Yangon

Mingalaba, according to one video we watched, translates as "may you have auspiciousness." In practice it is a sort of hybrid of "hello" and "bless you." It was one of the few words we mastered fairly quickly. Luckily Yangon (Rangoon under the British), despite being a large congested city with areas of severe poverty, and ruled for years by an erratic and brutal military dictatorship, turned out to be one of the friendliest cities in the world.

Burmese people tend to be beautiful, with easy smiles and open faces. The culture is conservative but decidedly un-macho, so many women as well as men are gregarious and look you in the eye. Most everyone seems to welcome foreigners and many speak at least a little English as Burma was once a British colony. A mingalaba and a smile will almost always be returned and will often lead to conversation. In the few days we had in Yangon before Mike Grafton joined us, we had a lot of time to wander the city and meet people.

At the Shwedagon Pagoda (on which there will be a separate post) we met Varasami, a monk from the World Buddhist Meditation Institute where he studies meditation, Pali (the Indian language of Buddhist scripture) and English. We spent two hours talking with him and he explained many of the mysterious statues and altars at the site. We were surprised that he, like many people we met, talked boldly about politics. He expressed his disdain for the previous military government and his admiration, even reverence for Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. He said that he was one of the monks that marched against the government in 2007, many of whom were beaten, jailed, even killed.

Varasami invited us to visit his monastery which we did at the end of our trip. We met many of his friends who are studying English as well. Hilary is now Facebook friends with a monk named Issariya and I have been exchanging emails with Varasami who hopes to visit New York next year.

Outside a tea shop near our guesthouse, we met U Tin Win (U and Daw are honorifics, basically on par with Señor and Señora but literally translating to "Uncle" and "Auntie") who invited us to tea. We were trying to catch a train so we had to decline. He gave us his address and told us if there was anything we needed we should be sure to come and see him. The morning Mike arrived we visited U Tin Win at home and took him to lunch at a simple (on the sidewalk, no walls, a tarp for a roof, pots heated by fire) but delicious Burmese restaurant that he recommended.

U Tin Win had been a lawyer, at one time for Aung San Suu Kyi ("She is our hope," he said) but has now retired due to health problems. He spends his time reading books in English. When we stopped by he was reading a giant volume of Dostoyevsky containing The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov, and Crime and Punishment. He was also a fan of John Steinbeck and Jane Austen. He said that there are some good Burmese writers but they are "like frogs singing in a well." He showed us pictures of his wife, an ethnic Shan beauty who had died a number of years before. They have several children and many grandchildren. He is a lovely man.

On our train out to the northern suburbs to see a pagoda with a giant marble buddha and some white elephants we met a sweet young woman named Win Win Aun. She spoke no English but she and Hilary managed to carry on a 45 minute conversation by flipping back and forth through our Lonely Planet Burmese phrasebook.

Waiting for the bus back from the suburbs we met Nyan Lin. He worked for a car dealership and a building company. He was one of the few people we met who had a smart phone. Most people don't have cellphones at all, let alone smart phones. SIM cards until recently cost thousands of dollars and still cost hundreds and many people live on two or three dollars a day. Nyan Lin not only told us which bus to take and talked with us, but insisted on paying our bus fares. As we rode along he proudly pointed out the stone bus shelters his company had built for the city free of charge.

While poking our heads into St. Mary's, the grand and elaborate brick catholic cathedral in central Yangon, we met Raymond who seemed to be a deacon. He is Burmese but looks to be of Indian or Bengali decent. He teaches English to the local youth and wanted us to try to find some workbooks and CDs to use in his class (suggestions welcome). He told of his dream to build a school for the orphans of the city. He played beautiful melancholy hymns on an electric organ as we padded around in the empty expanse.

At our guest house, the Motherland (2), we were well taken care of by the friendly staff who kept track of everything with paper receipts and carbon paper. They sent a group of young men in longyis (the usually plaid sarong-like garment that most Burmese men wear) to fetch us from the airport.

One person I will never forget is the taxi driver who drove us to our overnight bus to Mandalay. I don't even know his name. When he arrived to pick us up a horrific thunderstorm had just let loose. The kind of storm that happens in the tropics (especially in the monsoon season) where you are almost afraid to go outside for fear of drowning. He only realized that he was taking us to the main bus station, an hour outside the city, after driving to a small bus stop 20 minutes in the wrong direction; when he found out he barely changed expression. He calmly piloted his jalopy of a cab with its barely functioning headlights and windshield wipers through the worst snarl of third world traffic I have ever seen, fording temporary rivers and occasionally restarting the wheezing engine. I would have been driven insane with fear and frustration, but our taxi driver was the picture of concentration and equanimity. I was in awe. He made me want to become a Buddhist.

Here are a few more pictures from Yangon: