The things we’ll do for a big hairy rock
Trip Start
Sep 10, 2010
1
87
98
Trip End
Feb 19, 2011
Kyaikto, Myanmar
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
It is oft said that a pilgrimage is not a pilgrimage without a bit of en route suffering and pain, and gosh did we have a dose of both of them in order to reach Mt Kyaiktiyo, or the “golden rock” as we non Burmese call it. First, by way of explanation, we will plagiarise our travel guide which says of Mt Kyaiktiyo “floating on clouds of atmosphere high above the coastal plains and, it seems, almost within touching distance of the heavens is the prayer and wish drenched balancing boulder stupa of Kyaiktiyo.”
We have to say, they so got that description right. The journey from Mandalay is however, somewhat of a challenge. We left our hotel about 4pm and after several lengthy taxi price negotiations which would make war maker Blairs efforts in the Middle East seem easy, we got to the highway bus station about 10km outside the city on time to catch our 5pm bus south, which left at 5:30; so on time by Burmese standards. Despite the sanctions, most buses for tourists, or those locals who can afford it, are older Japanese buses of a much higher standard and comfort than you’d expect to find in the non Asian Tiger nations. We had tickets to Bago, a city about 12 hours south of Mandalay and 3 hours north of Yangoon from where we planned to catch another bus to Kinpun, a nothing sort of town but the base camp for pilgrims en route to Kyaiktiyo. Despite the Burmese TV shows playing all night at maximum volume on the video player (they don’t have DVD in Burma yet, unless you are a military connected chap) we got a few hours sleep in between the two hourly stops for drinks, food or potty stops. We expected the journey to take about 12 hours so were awake and ready to get off the bus by 3am onwards, only to arrive unexpectantly in Yangoon at 5am, instead of passing through Bago, to where we had tickets. The bus had used the only new town bypass in Burma to completely bypass our stop in Bago; we were of course the only two fools on the bus who did not know that despite buying a ticket to Bago and getting on the Bago bound bus, and reminding the bus boy that we wanted to get off in Bago, the bloody thing did not in fact go to Bago.
Undeterred by what is a minor hiccup in travelling in Burma, we eventually found a man who knew where a bus to Bago would leave from and it was only 15 minutes or so walk away from where we had arrived, though we have to admit that at 5am after a 12 hour bus journey, carrying a backpack that last 15 minutes seemed like a long journey. So, at the new bus stop we found the bus which, instead of going to Bago, and then meaning a wait and a change for Kinpun, would go directly to where we wanted to go. Result!!
Well, for 15 minutes it was a result. This time we were on a Korean bus, and as our Japanese readers will no doubt attest, these are not half as good as Japanese buses, and so it proved. Comfort left a lot to be desired - we can only assume that Koreans have much shorter legs and narrower bottoms than Japanese folk. They certainly have smaller bottoms than the Scots, and my squashed cheeks can certify to that. It was rather like moving from the club class of the Mandalay Japanese bus to the Easyjet of the Yangoon to Kinpun bus. And not only that, but we broke down after 15 minutes, which even an old Japanese bus sold illegally to the Burmese Junta would never do, or so Cheu says. Luckily we were next to a rest stop though its loos made a long weekend in Tenko look like the Ritz. Turned out we had dud batteries, but no problem, just an hour later a new bus arrived, and instead of switching people to the new bus, they swapped over the batteries, letting us continue on our journey and leaving the second bus at the roadside with no power. We are sure it made sense to the locals, who all seemed to enjoy the leg stretch stop - after all, we had been going for almost 15 minutes without an incident.
We somehow arrived in Kinpun on time and checked into the hotel right next door to the bus station - there is not a lot in this town, it’s really just an over priced base camp for accessing the Golden Rock.
We had to admit a terrible sense of disappointment when we could see the golden rock from our bathroom window, and whilst it was quite high up in the hills, we could not imagine earning so many Buddhist brownie points just by making that short climb and then prostrating ourselves at the foot of a gold covered boulder. When we tactfully mentioned this to the hotel staff they laughed and said “no, that’s just a copy, the other one may kill you.” Good to know we may become martyrs to the cause.
You have two ways of getting to Kyaiktiyo; you can walk 7 hours up a mountain road (that so was not going to happen despite the appeal of some of the Buddha’s teachings) or you can take an open backed truck for the one hour uphill climb, and then you can walk the last bit which is too steep for traffic to climb. Well, if you belong to the government/army there are some trucks all the way up, but for us mere democrats, the only way up the last stretch is by thigh power. Jane Fonda’s aerobic burn has nothing on this mother!!!!
We should explain about the trucks - they are designed to carry cement or bricks, but they have been cleverly adapted with wooden planks strung across the open back, onto which they manage to squeeze between 60 and 80 little Burmese people. One large European and a middle sized Japanese count as just two little Burmese person; there are no space concessions for us. It was a hot, dusty, scary and utterly thrilling ride up to the back of beyond and the end of a jungle come mountain road. The only way to avoid being thrown off the back of the truck is to use your powerful thighs to grip on to the buttocks/hips of the person who is lucky, or unlucky, enough to be sitting on front of you. There are no handrails, and its like riding a bucking bronco. No complaints from us on this one.
It’s hard to explain quite how horrific the walk upwards is. At times we think it was close on 45 degree angle, though most of the time just 25 or so degrees. The sun is relentless, baring down like the worse boss in the world. There is almost no shade except for the odd fleeting moment when the wind might bend a branch to partially cover the track, but you do get the occasional glimpse of the golden rock every now and then to keep you motivated. Buddhists, of course, gain some sort of satisfaction from suffering in the name of their beliefs as they make the climb - we gained motivation by watching the lazy fat tourists being carried up the hill on a deck chair secured to two bamboo poles by tiny but immensely fit Burmese men. We’ve pondered becoming a Buddhists on our return to London but only if we can retrospectively claim some merit points, what with the number of bloody mountains and stairs we have climbed in the last 5 months to see another pesky statue of the Lord Buddha. If these were green shied stamps (and you are old if you understand that comment) we could have had a couple of weekends in Butlins by now.
After an hour or so, and six pints of sweat, 5 blisters, three arguments and several well directed insults to people who asked “are you hot?“ you make it to the top. The pain and heart attack fears you endure during the climb all pale into insignificance. The golden rock is truly a great wonder of the world, even if it is a wee bit smaller than we had thought. They could do with bigging it up a wee bit to help make the wow factor increase. If course, for the devout, size doesn’t matter; the spiritual delight is worth it, innit!!.
There is a tiny bit of a fun fare feel to the place, and its not got the “holy” feel you’d expect, but its magnificent and sublime. The story is that in the 11th century a hermit gave the king of the day a hair of the Buddha and told the king to search for a place which resembled the shape of the hermits head, and there to build a stupa atop the hair. Well, that hermit had a funny shaped head, but nonetheless, what we now see is a breathtaking sight. Again women are not allowed to approach the rock; quit right too, they’d only chitter chatter and get in the way of men’s business. Men can approach and place gold leaf onto the rock which makes it shimmer in the sunlight. Ladies can save their money (and chit chat) but are allowed to sit on the platforms alongside or below the rock and meditate or do whatever it is that Buddhist ladies do on such occasions - sorry lady readers, we don’t mean to mock, but it is funny to see. We know some of you would not be happy with this arrangement, and thankfully nor are the local women.
We think its only in Burmese Buddhism where this sexism exists, and there is real pressure here for change, but we will need to read up more about this later to check the facts. Certainly many women here say there is nothing in the Buddha’s teaching to support these oddly male only practices we see in Burma, and having read three free pamphlets on the faith, we have to side with the ladies, as usual, though perhaps deeper reading is needed on the matter. Will take an evening Pali class when job hunting. .
So after a bit of wandering around to mountain top and refusing to buy gold to stick on a big boulder, we mounted our truck for the trek downwards which is as uneventful as is the town of Kinpun. Our hotel, the Sea Sar Guest House, was a nice set up of bungalows dotted around what would be lush green gardens were it not for the dry season, and the restaurants offered the usual dull over priced food and beer you’d expect in a town in the middle of nowhere, where pilgrims and tourists have no choice but to pay up. Getting close to your god, or guru, isn’t cheap these days - have you seen the price of this years Prada collection !!!! At least our hotel had an attached restaurant serving edible food at only 25% more than you’d pay in Yangoon and the beer was only 50% more than anywhere else in Burma. It’ not cheap being an alcohol drinking devotee, or a pseudo Buddhist for the day.
And so tomorrow we head for Bago again but this time to stay there and not just for transit -hopefully we will get on a bus which actually stops there, and then its on to Yangoon for our last two nights in Burma. We have to say that whilst we have found Burma quite a challenge and not as invigorating as Cambodia, its certainly up there on the list of must visit counties, before the commercialism which is already very much in evidence, ruins it forever. You don’t have many more years left to catch it as it is, before its wonderfulness is gone.
And one final comment on the people - many of them really are incredibly handsome. Great smiles, mesmerising eyes and quite the best skin you ever can see in Asia. One little draw back are the teeth of the men who chew that betel nut all day - brown teeth and the need to constantly spit red phlegm onto the pavements really is not the look to win you admirers. Dentists will have a field day when this county opens up but I would not fancy probing the deeper recesses of the average Burmese male mouth. Sorry boys, that look just doesn’t work.
