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First a big ‘thank you’. I’ve been so touched by the warm-hearted and thoughtful messages you’ve sent in the last two weeks, in response to my posts on my recent visit to Burma/Myanmar. Everyone commented on my photos of lovely Burmese ladies in country markets— and Myanmar scenes at the Schwedagon pagoda, selling lilies in the market, and a chic young woman carrying bundles of vegetables on her head. Oh, and the pretty girl with pigtails wearing a straw hat was a favorite. Thank you for your great feedback—including from friends who have Burmese family ties. I loved every word. I have one final Burma post, this week, on the sublime hotel I discovered in Yangon (formerly Rangoon), the capital. It’s a hidden retreat, calm and verdant. Very Burmese and at the same time a crossroads for travelers on their way to Mandalay or returning from Bagan. Think of it as a place where the winged energy of delight flies overhead, and bedrooms are adrift with slumbered sheets. Come with me for a visit. My flight (flights) out to Burma was long—from San Francisco, via Narita (Tokyo), and Bangkok, and then finally touching down in Yangon and swiftly negotiating formalities. I slept most of the way, but still I was swooping around the globe, mentally and physically. I could not wait to get there—and was uncertain what was in store. Research on present-day life in Burma is rather scarce—this is a country that has been closed off from the world since the fifties. I could not get a sense of it, could not tap into the zeitgeist. Googling ‘Burma’ brings up all the unfortunate last half-century of misrule and juntas and wacky governance (buying Japanese cars with right-hand steering wheels in a country that drives on the right is rather odd—and no-one wanted to contradict the general, for example). On arrival, the airport was brisk and well-organized and I sensed no sign of heavy-handedness. My passport was stamped by a smiling young woman. I’m not going to get all political—I’m a design writer not a pundit—but I reassure you that I saw nothing at all untoward in the weeks I was there. The Governor’s Residence sent a guide and driver to greet me at the airport. Moments later, we swept into the driveway of the hotel—and I knew I was going to love Burma. I walked over a covered bridge, frangipani and jasmine fragrances hovered in the warm air, and the manager lead me to my suite. I felt at home. The Governor’s Residence, a fortunate discovery A designer friend who had recently returned from Burma happened to mention The Governor’s Residence. She had enjoyed dinner there, and knew I would like its Burmese style and eccentric individuality. I was traveling alone (a luxury and the perfect way to encounter new friends), and wanted a hotel that would be welcoming and tranquil—and especially with a management and staff that would take care of me. Before I left I was not certain how easy it would be to negotiate Yangon or whether I could venture out alone to explore temples and pagodas, visit the Bogyoke market (to find pearls), or simply go for a walk. I wanted to be met and greeted and for things to be easy and smooth. The Governor’s Mansion has European management, and is part of the Orient-Express group. My friend Ruth reported that the staff is polished and very cosmopolitan. And Ruth was right. The hotel, with its 1920s colonial-era fretwork-trimmed verandas and windows curtained with vines, feels uniquely Burmese. It had been the residence of a regional governor. It’s in the leafy ‘embassy row’ neighborhood and had been redesigned and decorated a few years ago by the French designer, Patrick Robert, a Yangon resident now, who is constantly updating and refreshing. Burmese arts and crafts are on display--lacquer bowls, handmade silver pagodas, wood sculptures. I loved peering at the framed old sepia photos of women in nineteenth-century Burmese dress and scenes of idyllic country villages (that still look the same today). The Governor’s Residence is set in rain-drenched acres of tranquil tropical gardens, with a lily pond and a decorative swimming pool (that looks more like a pond than a dive-in pool and a hidden corners for sipping fresh ginger tea or a gin and tonic. The brilliant chef is Australian, and he makes magical breakfasts with all the Burmese tropical fruit (mangosteens, lychees, mangoes, papaya with fresh lime juice) and arrays of breads and everything possible delicious. For lunch there was fresh ginger-scented lemon-grass and fish soup, a colorful platter of spicy tiger prawns and vegetables, and papaya and lime. Fans whirred overhead, rattan shades fluttered gently, wait staff in elegant Burmese costume were utterly decorative, and the temperature was a perfect 75 deg F. The hotel shop offers books on Burma (that’s where I found ‘Burmese Days’ by George Orwell) as well as lacquer boxes, silk skirts, embroidered shawls and pretty things to take home. I had plans—visiting pagodas, walking around the hotel neighborhood, Bogyoke Market, the old Colonial buildings, poking around the old and funky parts of town, and seeing as many temples and Buddha statues and quirky architecture as I could. I wanted to see old Rangoon. I must say I did not especially feel like leaving the hotel. I’d linger on, reading, watching the Koi slithering around the lilies in the pond, meditating, breathing the floral air, gazing at dew-damp banana palm leaves shimmering in the August sun, and listening to the turning of the universe. It’s that kind of hotel. Guests arrived and departed, to and from goodness knows where. Time passed. I was in Burma now. I was in no hurry. Rooms are not overly decorated. It can be humid and hot in Yangon (and damp in the rainy season) so the bare teak floors and simple window coverings and linens are a blessing. It’s rather monochromatic décor, and easy for a travel-dazed guest to step into, sleep in, take time. Every amenity was there—but I focused on the setting, the architecture, and the lovely staff. I could not have been happier to be there. I hope you will plan a trip to Burma. I took a cruise up into the northern gorges of the Irrawaddy River on the Road to Mandalay, climbed the tottering towers of temples in Bagan, encountered novice nuns in Mandalay, and discovered a country that time forgot. Except that now, contact with the world is accelerating and travelers are hungry to visit. Set out now and stay as long as you can (28-day visas are now available). I wish you a calm and magical stay at The Governor’s Residence. Travel well, travel safe, travel far—and I hope you land in Burma. CREDITS: Photography of The Governor’s Residence courtesy of Orient-Express. For more information on the hotel: www.orient-express.com
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First a big ‘thank you’. I’ve been so touched by the warm-hearted and thoughtful messages you’ve sent in the last two weeks, in response to my posts on my recent visit to Burma/Myanmar. Everyone commented on my photos of lovely Burmese ladies in country markets— and Myanmar scenes at the Schwedagon pagoda, selling lilies in the market, and a chic young woman carrying bundles of vegetables on her head. Oh, and the pretty girl with pigtails wearing a straw hat was a favorite. Thank you for your great feedback—including from friends who have Burmese family ties. I loved every word. I have one final Burma post, this week, on the sublime hotel I discovered in Yangon (formerly Rangoon), the capital. It’s a hidden retreat, calm and verdant. Very Burmese and at the same time a crossroads for travelers on their way to Mandalay or returning from Bagan. Think of it as a place where the winged energy of delight flies overhead, and bedrooms are adrift with slumbered sheets. Come with me for a visit. My flight (flights) out to Burma was long—from San Francisco, via Narita (Tokyo), and Bangkok, and then finally touching down in Yangon and swiftly negotiating formalities. I slept most of the way, but still I was swooping around the globe, mentally and physically. I could not wait to get there—and was uncertain what was in store. Research on present-day life in Burma is rather scarce—this is a country that has been closed off from the world since the fifties. I could not get a sense of it, could not tap into the zeitgeist. Googling ‘Burma’ brings up all the unfortunate last half-century of misrule and juntas and wacky governance (buying Japanese cars with right-hand steering wheels in a country that drives on the right is rather odd—and no-one wanted to contradict the general, for example). On arrival, the airport was brisk and well-organized and I sensed no sign of heavy-handedness. My passport was stamped by a smiling young woman. I’m not going to get all political—I’m a design writer not a pundit—but I reassure you that I saw nothing at all untoward in the weeks I was there. The Governor’s Residence sent a guide and driver to greet me at the airport. Moments later, we swept into the driveway of the hotel—and I knew I was going to love Burma. I walked over a covered bridge, frangipani and jasmine fragrances hovered in the warm air, and the manager lead me to my suite. I felt at home. The Governor’s Residence, a fortunate discovery A designer friend who had recently returned from Burma happened to mention The Governor’s Residence. She had enjoyed dinner there, and knew I would like its Burmese style and eccentric individuality. I was traveling alone (a luxury and the perfect way to encounter new friends), and wanted a hotel that would be welcoming and tranquil—and especially with a management and staff that would take care of me. Before I left I was not certain how easy it would be to negotiate Yangon or whether I could venture out alone to explore temples and pagodas, visit the Bogyoke market (to find pearls), or simply go for a walk. I wanted to be met and greeted and for things to be easy and smooth. The Governor’s Mansion has European management, and is part of the Orient-Express group. My friend Ruth reported that the staff is polished and very cosmopolitan. And Ruth was right. The hotel, with its 1920s colonial-era fretwork-trimmed verandas and windows curtained with vines, feels uniquely Burmese. It had been the residence of a regional governor. It’s in the leafy ‘embassy row’ neighborhood and had been redesigned and decorated a few years ago by the French designer, Patrick Robert, a Yangon resident now, who is constantly updating and refreshing. Burmese arts and crafts are on display--lacquer bowls, handmade silver pagodas, wood sculptures. I loved peering at the framed old sepia photos of women in nineteenth-century Burmese dress and scenes of idyllic country villages (that still look the same today). The Governor’s Residence is set in rain-drenched acres of tranquil tropical gardens, with a lily pond and a decorative swimming pool (that looks more like a pond than a dive-in pool and a hidden corners for sipping fresh ginger tea or a gin and tonic. The brilliant chef is Australian, and he makes magical breakfasts with all the Burmese tropical fruit (mangosteens, lychees, mangoes, papaya with fresh lime juice) and arrays of breads and everything possible delicious. For lunch there was fresh ginger-scented lemon-grass and fish soup, a colorful platter of spicy tiger prawns and vegetables, and papaya and lime. Fans whirred overhead, rattan shades fluttered gently, wait staff in elegant Burmese costume were utterly decorative, and the temperature was a perfect 75 deg F. The hotel shop offers books on Burma (that’s where I found ‘Burmese Days’ by George Orwell) as well as lacquer boxes, silk skirts, embroidered shawls and pretty things to take home. I had plans—visiting pagodas, walking around the hotel neighborhood, Bogyoke Market, the old Colonial buildings, poking around the old and funky parts of town, and seeing as many temples and Buddha statues and quirky architecture as I could. I wanted to see old Rangoon. I must say I did not especially feel like leaving the hotel. I’d linger on, reading, watching the Koi slithering around the lilies in the pond, meditating, breathing the floral air, gazing at dew-damp banana palm leaves shimmering in the August sun, and listening to the turning of the universe. It’s that kind of hotel. Guests arrived and departed, to and from goodness knows where. Time passed. I was in Burma now. I was in no hurry. Rooms are not overly decorated. It can be humid and hot in Yangon (and damp in the rainy season) so the bare teak floors and simple window coverings and linens are a blessing. It’s rather monochromatic décor, and easy for a travel-dazed guest to step into, sleep in, take time. Every amenity was there—but I focused on the setting, the architecture, and the lovely staff. I could not have been happier to be there. I hope you will plan a trip to Burma. I took a cruise up into the northern gorges of the Irrawaddy River on the Road to Mandalay, climbed the tottering towers of temples in Bagan, encountered novice nuns in Mandalay, and discovered a country that time forgot. Except that now, contact with the world is accelerating and travelers are hungry to visit. Set out now and stay as long as you can (28-day visas are now available). I wish you a calm and magical stay at The Governor’s Residence. Travel well, travel safe, travel far—and I hope you land in Burma. CREDITS: Photography of The Governor’s Residence courtesy of Orient-Express. For more information on the hotel: www.orient-express.com
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Dhammayangyi Temple. Built by Narathu who was also called the ' Kalagya Min or the king killed by the kalas. The Myanmar chronicles assert that while the constr
Sparrows at Sule Padoga After the sheer size, splendour and vibrancy of the Shwedagon Pagoda, the smaller and less ornate Sule Pagoda didn't really stand a chance. Lying at a busy intersection in downtown Yangon, it's noisy and surrounded by hawkers. After a brief look around we returned to the entrance to retrieve our shoes. Either side of the main entrance sat a number of ladies, each holding washing up bowls that were covered in netting and emitting a series of chirps. This is what I'd come here to see. In order to earn merit with their Buddhist religion, many visitors purchase a captive sparrow and set it free. For a dollar, or 1000 kyats, you're handed a small blue-billed sparrow and told to kiss its head before releasing it into the air. Unlike so many of these potential scams, surprisingly the bird did actually fly away rather than loop round back to the seller. Later at the waterfront market we saw the sparrow wholesalers, with a large mesh cart full of the tiny birds. Given
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Sagaing is about 20km from Mandalay and is reached by crossing the Ayeyarwaddy River over the Ava Bridge. Ava Bridge Our driver was very proud of the bridge and spewed out all sorts of facts and figures. The Ava Bridge was built by the British in 1934 and remained the only crossing of the Ayeyawaddy until a Chinese built bridge was completed in 1998. There was a twelve year gap during the war as two of the sixteen spans were destroyed to hinder the advancing Japanese. Today it's also known as Inwa Bridge or Sagaing Bridge. Umin Thounzeh A steep covered pathway leads up the hill to the first platform called Umin Thounzeh, or Thirty Caves. These are home to forty five Buddha's in a crescent shape colonnade, pictured above. A man outside the entrance told me to take off my shoes and carry them inside. No problem. A lady inside told me off for carrying my shoes and told me to leave them outside. Slight problem. Sagaing Hill The top of the hill is lined with golden stupas, and allows a
Pescando, Lago Inle Fishing, Inle Lake (August 2003) www.vicentemendez.com Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
(Digamos y que quede entre nosotros que este post debería haber sido escrito el 3 de Agosto de 2009) – ¿Es usted el español? Asentí. – Puede bajarse aquí. Aquí significaba en una carretera perdida en medio de la lluvia. Odiaba la lluvia. En un país que sólo tiene tres estaciones, verano, invierno y lluvias, […]
(Digamos y que quede entre nosotros que este post debería haber sido escrito el 3 de Agosto de 2009) – ¿Es usted el español? Asentí. – Puede bajarse aquí. Aquí significaba en una carretera perdida en medio de la lluvia. Odiaba la lluvia. En un país que sólo tiene tres estaciones, verano, invierno y lluvias, […]
Ywama Village Our boat journey started with the obligatory trip to a couple of shops – this time a silversmiths and a pottery. It was all very attractive, but highly unlikely to survive the baggage handlers on our flights back to China. In the back of the store was an unexpected sight – members of a local tribe who seek to stretch their necks with golden hoops. The elderly lady did indeed have a very long neck, but her purpose in life mainly seemed to be as a curiosity for tourists. Worse was her grand-daughter who was unenthusiastically being groomed and stretched to become her successor. I snapped a photo then immediately felt a bit awkward. This feeling wasn't shared by the middle-aged English couple who were there at the same time. Their conversation went along these lines: "Mingalaba – see we've learnt your language" - Mingalaba means hello. Now you're fluent. "Take a photo of me with the freak" – this despite it being clear that nearly everyone in the room spoke English. "Now
On his recent journey through Burma, Jonny Bealby of Wild Frontiers was awed by the astonishing, rarely-visited sights and warmth of the ordinary people
One of Yangon's more famous markets is the Bogyoke Aung San market where the tourist can find a lot of Myanmar goodies in one place at very affordable prices.
AsiaExplorers is a website which I created in 2003 to document my discoveries of Asia.
Ultimate Myanmar honeymoon guide: honeymoon places in Myanmar, things to do in Myanmar, romantic hotels, recommended transportation & restaurants, and more.
