Monks in Myanmar

One of the first things you notice in Myanmar is there are an awful lot of monks. Not the odd orange-robed monk that I remember from Thailand. But monks everywhere (up to half a million apparently), from very young to very old. They wear dark red robes, and they are particularly noticeable walking around barefoot in the early morning, seeking out donations of food for their morning meal.

Some go singly or in small groups; others are in long lines - maybe 20-30 monks of all ages, walking in single file according to seniority, sometimes with a monk at the back ringing a bell. Each monk has his round wooden alms bowl and they go around to houses, shops or market stalls where people wait to put something in their bowl - often a spoonful of rice, some curry, a packet of flavourings, vegetables or fruit, sometimes money, occasionally something like washing powder or razor blades.

It's not too hard getting lay people to donate. Almost 90% of Myanmar's population is Buddhist, and monks hold the highest status in society. Women get up super-early in Myanmar, partly to get rice/food ready before the monks come round.

Nuns go round too, in pink robes, with (depending on the region) a tray for the alms on their heads, or a bag for the alms and a conical hat, or a folded cloth on their head. They have lower status than monks. Pah.

The idea of being a monk/nun and the rules around collecting alms were utterly mysterious when we first arrived. My ignorance about this, as about so many other things, was infinite. So I've tried to learn a bit - mostly from the internet, but also from talking to people. Apologies if you know lots about monks and their habits (sorry!), but I've found it fascinating. I'll give you a bit of an idea of what I've discovered. Most of the information around is about monks, not nuns, but I'm assuming similar rules apply. 

The morning alms round is fundamental to Burmese Buddhism (and maybe in other parts of the world) and is incredibly important for both receiver and giver. And there are strict rules. 

For example, monks can't favour rich or poor neighbourhoods in the hope of getting a better quality meal, and must accept anything they are given (though they can swap it later with another monk). 

Traditionally, the wooden bowls don't have compartments, so everything goes in together - curry and cake, oranges and a packet of seasoning in one glorious (but stomach-curdling) mess. However non-purists are allowed to use the upturned lid of the bowl for a degree of separation (cookies from sauces, for example) and some wimps have bowls with compartments.

Monks are not allowed to ask for anything directly (except in an emergency), are not allowed to express thanks for what they receive, and cannot make eye contact with the donor. 

Most foods (there are a few exceptions like fruit juice, butter and sugar) have to be eaten the day they are given - no hoarding for a rainy day or saving something for a snack later. 

Collecting alms isn't seen as begging, but a way for the locals (even very poor people) to do the deed of dhana and acquire merit. In fact, the Buddha got very cross with one of his followers who didn't go out very often because he fasted for a week at a time, and didn't need the food. Thar was unfair on people who were denied the chance to give alms, apparently.

The benefits for the giver are greater, I understand if they give the food to the monk with their own hands. We were told that people in richer areas without a monastery nearby often drive to a monk route in the morning to give out food.

As a monk or nun, you get two meals a day - a very early breakfast (5am-ish, I think) and then lunch. After 12pm, can't eat again until breakfast the next day. You have to walk around barefoot when you are collecting your alms in the early morning, though I've noticed monks mostly wear jandals/flip-flops the rest of the day. 

Monks only get to eat what they collect (and unlike European monks, they aren't allowed to grow their own food). Certainly you don't see many fat monks in Myanmar, and some of the older ones (who presumably are life-long followers) are positively skeletal. Hopefully life will get less tough for monks as the Myanmar economy improves.

Monks have eight compulsory possessions (robe, alms bowl, water filter (so bugs don't get into the water and die, because the number one precept is around not killing living things), needle and thread (to mend their robes), belt and some others I have forgotten. They can also have things that assist them in the pursuit of Buddhist life and learning - an umbrella to keep off rain and sun, paper, religious books, medicine, basic furniture - but NOT a high or large bed, perish the thought. 

Travelling light: monks often get to travel for free, but that doesn't mean luxury transport...

Entertainment is frowned upon - so no YouTube, TV or video games, sorry guys. TIckling another monk is frowned upon, as is hiding another monk's needle case/belt/alms bowl etc, even as a joke. You can't go for a pleasurable swim, light a fire to keep warm, or swing your arms about in a public place. You absolutely mustn't discuss Buddhist teachings with a layperson carrying an umbrella. It all sounds a bit serious to me. Still, novice (kid) monks get lighter treatment - being allowed to play football and the impressive kicking volleyball game. You even see novices with cellphones, though I suspect the abbot doesn't know about that.

Novice monks at a teak monastery in Hsipaw playing chin lone, a game where you kick or head a cane ball between players

Like i said, there are anything up to half a million monks from a population of around 53 million. They aren't all "professional" monks, however; all males are expected to enter the monastery at least twice in their lives - once between 10 and 20 years old (or sometimes younger), as a novice, and once after 20, as a monk proper. You might spend 1-3 weeks as a monk, or you might stay for life. You might do your two stints, or go back for more. A few of the Burmese refugee guys working with Geoff in New Zealand have returned to Myanmar recently to do their stint as a monk.

Quite a lot of girls/women also do short periods being a nun, but it isn't expected in the same way as for men.

Life as a monk involves lots of praying and study, very strict discipline, sleeping in a dormitory, and washing with cold water. But for many people, especially in rural areas, it's one of the best ways for a kid from a poor family to get an education. Moe, a young guy I met in Hsipaw, had been a monk for seven years, in both Mandalay and Yangon, before leaving to earn money for his family - first in the construction industry in China and then as a guide in Hsipaw. He said he had learnt a lot as a monk - first Pali, the language of the Buddhist scriptures, and what monks are chanting on TV in the morning. Later, Moe had learnt English and Chinese - both of which had been useful later on. 

But the monastic life is not for everyone. Sai, our fabulous trekking guide in Hsipaw, described his three weeks as a novice monk (he was about 13) as some of the worst days of his life. For him, getting up super-early and not eating after midday were the main hardships. Seems teenagers are the same all over the world. 

Sai said his parents had given him a bit of money when he left for his three-week stint and for the first couple of days he used it to buy noodles. He hid them in his dormitory and snuck out and ate when everyone else was praying. But his ruse didn't last long - on the third evening a monk found him eating and he got the "bamboo massage" treatment (a beating). At the end of the third week, all the novices were asked if they wanted to stay longer.  Sai politely declined and returned joyfully to his village.

The only teenagers without a cellphone...

As always, many thanks to Geoff for his fabulous photos

Taking the train - with rice and mice and green tea salad

The Lonely Planet guide book is a bit disparaging about trains in Myanmar, comparing taking a train to travelling by horse: bumpy, uncomfortable, long, and subject to endless delays. The most positive thing the book had to say was that train travel is very cheap, which is true. It also quoted a local saying: "It's not as bad as some people say, not as good as you hope."

Certainly trains appear to be under-resourced. The narrow-gauge network was started by the British in the late 1800s, and rebuilt after extensive damage during WWII. But since then, apart from replacing steam trains with diesel, and a modicum of weeding along the tracks, I suspect there hasn't been a huge amount of investment. Certainly the bits of track we had seen before embarking on our first train adventure didn't inspire confidence. (But did give me a new respect for British Rail and NZ Rail.)

Look carefully and you can see this is part of the Hsipaw to Pyin Oo Lwin train track

Another stretch of track. You can see why the trains don't go very fast. In other places, the vegetation on either side is so close to the train it comes in through the windows.

Still, while staying in Hsipaw, we heard good things about the train to Pyin Oo Lwin (the old Burmese colonial hill station capital) from another traveller, who said the scenery was fabulous, the excessive bouncing was mitigated by the extremely slow speeds, there was plenty of legroom, a wonderful viaduct, and lots of people who came on board selling delicious food. Oh, and the mice were endearing. 

We were already tempted, and then we discovered the bus (the main alternative) left at 5.20am, which Sam wasn't going to be thrilled about, and went along a twisty, dusty road shared with queues of trucks, tuk-tuk taxi vans, cars, motorbikes etc. 

We decided to give the train a go. 

A view of the outside of the train. Has seen better days...

And it was quite wonderful. Tickets go on sale at Hsipaw station 30 minutes before departure (9.30am), so you queue up with all the other foreigners for a handwritten ticket and seat allocation. There are two classes - upper (with soft seats) and lower (with wooden benches). Upper class tickets cost 2700 Kyat each (less than $NZ3 or €1.50). A bargain.

The scenery around Hsipaw, where the rice harvest is in full swing. Once the rice is harvested, the villagers (mostly women) gather up the stalks into bundles and then make them into stacks (men's work, making haystacks). The stacks store and protect the harvested rice until the winnowing machine comes around (see images below).

The carriages and seats are admittedly a bit battered and old, though your soft seat comes with a clean cover. There is (as reported) heaps of leg room, and the seats swivel round so you can face forward whichever way the train is travelling. The windows open and the views are wonderful - across paddy and vegetable fields to the hills beyond. You travel so slowly that playing Minecraft on your laptop is quite possible throughout (the 142km journey takes a little over six hours, which even discounting stops, averages out at not much more than 25km an hour. By contrast the Japanese bullet trains go around 300km/hour). There is indeed a very fine viaduct, where the train slows down even further, to avoid (apparently) putting stress on the worryingly-under-resourced infrastructure. The gorge far below is magnificent.

The viaduct and gorge (top photo, here and below)

We saw mice on several occasions, though it was hard to tell if it was one or many. And the toilets are a definite downside, especially when you are seated at the end of a carriage, as we were. We were definitely aware of them by the end of the six-hour journey. Sam proudly lasted the distance without having to brave the stinky hole in the floor. 

A successful haul of snacks from Kyaukme station

But the other highlight was the food, with stops at a couple of stations where stalls were set up on the platform, plus sellers who came onto the train and walked up and down with baskets on their heads containing a variety of tempting food and drink.

We bought little plastic bags of green tea salad (a definite Burmese favourite), which you had to eat with undersized skewers - not easy.

We also bought quails eggs, green mango/pineapple with chilli and salt, peanuts, and little salty bean snacks. Curry was available should we have wanted it, and was reported to be excellent. 

The train left on time and arrived (we think) within the margin of error for the journey.

Our carriage driver at Pyin Oo Lwin station proudly informed us that his conveyance dated from 1885, when the British took over central Burma and moved in a lot of infrastructure from their neighbouring colony in India. This included the driver's family and British/Indian-style carriages. Note: it's not just tourists that use them to get around town, but I suspect foreigners have given these carriages a stay of execution. Locals prefer the tuk tuk communal taxis, like the one at the back of the picture. And unlike the sprightly Cuban horses, Burmese ones go at a stately walk, so it's not a speedy means of transport.

And Pyin Oo Lwin has 130-year-old horse-drawn carriages waiting at the station to take tourists and locals into the old colonial town, where we stayed in a room in a former British army officer's house.

And I know I keep saying this, but it really was all very fine.

This isn't actually where we stayed, but instead is another former British colonial officer family residence, Candacraig. It's where Geoff stayed when he visited Burma in 1982, back when you could only get a one-week visa and visit a very limited number of towns. These days the Candacraig Hotel is closed for renovation, and has been for four years, without any signs of renovation taking place. Which is a shame as it's a beautiful place.

Unbearable poverty in Mandalay

A few days ago I wrote a blog post about getting used to the poverty in Myanmar. And then we went to Mandalay, the country's second largest city.

And maybe it was just the places we went in Mandalay, compared with what we saw in Yangon, but what we saw there was a whole new ball game in terms of destitution. Wandering along beside the river one morning was pretty shocking - families living in tiny, unstable-looking shacks on stilts among the piles of rubbish; men struggling up the muddy banks and gangplanks with huge, heavy bamboo poles, or loading and unloading 25-50kg sacks from the boats, and then wheeling them away on cycle rickshaws. I have no idea what these guys get paid, but I suspect it's almost nothing. And what happens if you slip and get injured? Presumably that's the end of income for your family.

It's hard to tell from a photo, but these are seriously heavy sacks of rice. The guy below is carrying two!

This cycle rickshaw guy had already loaded up with two sacks of rice and was off getting another when I took this shot. Surely he can't pedal with more?

I have a horrible suspicion that these children and their mum live in this "house". It's good to see they have a mosquito net, but what do they do when it rains? The shack in the photo below definitely houses a family. 

It wasn't just the loading and unloading of the boats - almost everything was still done manually - thousands of eggs were being sorted by hand in a stall by the river and put into plastic egg cartons; a group of men was husking hundreds of coconuts with wood-handled machetes underneath a tarpaulin.

Why is it that children living in the worst slum conditions are often the most cheerful and friendly? Certainly the case here.

It looked like a very hard life, and reading later that the government is considering dismantling the slums beside the river to make way for a night market, I could only hope that the alternative would be an improvement for these families. But who knows - history of resettlement in other cities doesn't give one much optimism.

You'd have thought almost anything was better than this, but maybe not...

The following day was equally disheartening. A queue of monks lining up at what looked like a monk soup kitchen, although may have been part of a more positive Buddhist ritual.

And then the most depressing sight of the trip so far - down by the railway station. Overnight it had rained heavily and we came across an area of families with small children, and skinny old people living under tarpaulins against the wall of the railway yard. Everything was soaked from the storm - bedding, clothing, matting - and mums were trying to get wet fires going to cook something for their muddy undernourished kids in the most appalling conditions. 

Having someone's (dry) car parked next to your unbearable hovel must make it even worse

Not even the Burmese could look cheerful that morning - one stick-thin woman squatted despairingly in the mud, watched by her two children. She barely looked up when I pressed some money into her hand. Around her, skinny-looking men were setting off on battered cycle rickshaws for another day's work, and people were starting to hang out clothes and bedding over railings and trees to try to get them dry. 

And then unexpectedly I came across this pair of small boys playing with a broken plastic water pistol, bits of an old calculator, and a scrawny puppy on a damp mat under a damp tarpaulin behind an open drain. Both were dressed in filthy t-shirts, and one with a gunky, half-closed eye, but they were chatting and laughing together. 

And maybe that was the most unbearable sight of all.

Breakfast in Burma

Everything starts early in Myanmar. Landing at Yangon airport in the dark soon after 5am, there were sparks cascading down the side of the terminal building. Someone up there doing a spot of early-morning welding. 

Actually it's sensible to start your day early. Even now at the beginning of Myanmar's winter season (November-February) temperatures in most places we've been to (outside the hill towns) get up into the 30s during the day and there's 60-80% humidity. It's hot.

So we've got into the habit of getting up between 5am and 6am and heading off to explore - sometimes with a destination in mind (the river, a pagoda, a market), sometimes not. 

Always with breakfast in mind. The people here take breakfast seriously and there are loads of streets stalls and little cafes offering a myriad of delicious early-morning eating options. 

A typical Burmese tea shop

The tea shops are a good start, although almost exclusively a male domain. They are mostly open at the front, but dark inside, with peeling paint. You sit on low wooden or plastic stools/chairs and there is (free) green tea in a kettle or thermos on every table. Black tea is available for a few cents. This tea is kept brewed in a big kettle at the front and then mixed with sugar and condensed milk - it's poured back and forth (see top photo) before being served in a small china cup.

Deep fried dough strips are a tea shop favourite, delicious when hot, chewy and uninspiring 15 minutes later. In some places with more Indian influence there are samosas, or there might be sweet buns or a sort of fried dough pancake with egg, served with little bowls of hot or sweet sauces. 

The pancake/egg breakfast from a little shop in Mandalay - particularly yummy. Below, Geoff is enjoying his, with a cup of tea.

At our favourite tea shop in Mawlamyine, the husband served the tea and his wife sat behind a raised counter taking the money and placing single cigarettes in small containers. Customers bought a cigarette and lit it using a lighter attached by string of rubber bands above her head. 

I ate noodle soup here one morning in Yangon. Not sure where Geoff was. They absolutely wouldn't let me pay for it.

Women are more likely to eat at a small breakfast stand on the side of the road. Rice noodles are a staple, with vegetables and maybe chicken - teaspoons of chilli, peanuts, coriander, sugar, sauce etc added at the end. Sometimes the noodles come in a creamy broth - again with a choice of additions like onions, fried chicken, egg, or tofu crackers crumbled on top. Mohinga is another traditional breakfast - noodles in a fish and shallot-based broth, with bits of banana stalk. In Hsipaw I got hooked ona sort of rice porridge, with a sweet soya-like sauce and various condiments.

Banana-flavoured sticky rice from the market - another awesome breakfast dish

Takeaway is popular, with the stall holder filling a small plastic bag with the (often quite sloppy) food, and then tying the handles for the customer. Takeaway tea and coffee (the latter made from a combined coffee/milk powder/sugar mix) come the same way - in a plastic bag. Any sauces you need for your breakfast dish come separately in another plastic bag. God knows how many plastic bags are used every day in Myanmar.

In the drive-through version of breakfast takeaway you don't even need to get off your motorbike - just drive up and order. 

Drive through breakfast. The man on the bike and his son were waiting for their pancakes. The stall-holder put them in a plastic bag; another bag contained his cup of tea. 

The music of choice in breakfast stalls is Buddhist monks chanting - I suspect it's on the radio, though it sounds the same every day and can become rather monotonous for the uninitiated, with a word that sounds rather like "video" (but which presumably isn't) repeated seemingly at the end of every sentence. At more upmarket tea stalls you might even get monk TV.  Like the radio, but with the chanting monk visible for increased value. Apparently they change the pictures every month or so - we only saw this guy while we were there. 

The larger words underneath are what the monk is saying, in an old religious language that even most Burmese speakers can't read. Below that in smaller print is (if I understood correctly) religious news. 

Sets you up for the day a treat, it does.

One morning in Mawlamyine we stumbled across this community breakfast and were literally dragged in to eat with everyone from the street. Organisers collect money from local individuals, shops and businesses and when they have enough, they put on a free street breakfast. We had noodle soup (chicken? fish?, I can't remember...) with chopped coriander and chilli. It was delicious. We sat on the ground on a sack. The photos below are the organisers cooking and serving up, and some school kids enjoying their food.

The school uniform in Myanmar seems to be the same everywhere in the country - green longyi for older children (boys and girls) and green shorts for younger kids, with a white shirt