Thailand 26: March 12, 2003

Just a few notes on Chiang Mai, Luang Prabang, and Angkor Wat, since we've written about them before. Of course, we didn't travel with my Mom and Dad on earlier trips, so this was a bit different. I don't want to say my mother takes a lot of photos, but if you're one of those types who likes to play the markets and you hear my mom is about to vacation, buy stock in Kodak. Art shots, family shots, street-scene shots, she likes them all.

A couple of highlights. In Chiang Mai, while the women went shopping, Dad and I visited an elephant camp. I'm not sure that given a real choice, elephants would select to perform at one of these things, but when the alternative basically is extinction, I don't feel too bad poneying up some money to watch. The elephants really were impressive -- dancing, playing soccer. At the end, three elephants were given a palette of paints and a blank canvas. One did some sort of pointilist thing, another worked up its version of elephant impressionism, and the third actually painted a tree, complete with brown branches, green leaves, and yellow and red fruit.

In Luang Prabang, we stayed in a hotel right behind a local elementary school. I'm not sure of the entire Lao school curriculum, but it seems to involve a lot of running around and yelling. Luang Prabang is a lovely, small Lao town, remarkably well-preserved since it was designated as a world-heritage site. In the evening, the local vendors and hill-tribe women set up a small market on the main drag. It seems as much an opportunity for them to get together and chat with friends as it is to sell to the locals and to tourists. Their wares spread out on plastic sheets under low watt light bulbs two feet off the ground, they can pull out calculators to negotiate for anything. At the end of the market was a small carnival with a few games of chance. I played the throw-the-dart-at-balloons game. Much to my chagrin, I did not win, thus forfeiting my chance at the grand prize -- a bottle of fish sauce.

Mom and I boated up the Mekong to the Pak Ou caves where Mom went up and down 500 steps to see the caves full of Buddhas. We ventured up the Ou river to see what our guide described as "ancient" drawings on the Ou cliffs (Of course, our guide said everything we saw was very, very old and I suspect that anything pre-1960 would classify as pre-historic to him). Mom, Dad and I also visited the waterfall at Tat Kuang Si, where Mom and I clambered up the waterfall face (note: the Lao version of a protective barrier is a bamboo pole loosely fastened to another pole underneath the torrent of water, just slightly different from U.S. measures).

Angkor was amazing. You can return several times and always see something new. However, Siem Reap is fast becoming a place that isn't really Cambodia. It's a collection of comfortable hotels (with dozens of new ones going up every year) and nice restaurants, surrounded by unbelievably poor countryside. I think most locals are very happy with the development of Angkor as a tourist site. Many earn incomes several times what they would as rice farmers. And, when you get out of the city area, you see small, bamboo huts with tiny plots of land and large earthenware ovens in the front yard for boiling palm sugar -- the only sources of money for most residents. You just hope that Cambodia manages Angkor properly so that it maintains its attraction to foriegn visitors without losing its importance to the locals.

Burma is very different from Thailand, Laos, or Cambodia. It's where South Asia and Southeast Asia meet. While Thailand retains some ancient Indian or Brahman royal traditions and Cambodia has a horde of ancient Hindu temples, Indian influences in Burma are much more modern, from cuisine (a mix of Indian, Thai, and Chinese -- but not quite as good as any of the three) to attire (almost all the men still where the traditional sarong-like Longyi) to entertainment (lots of Indian musical films) and culture (overstuffed buses with dozens of men riding on top). Its a place where women and children wear facial paint to prevent dry skin, where taxis are all broken-down 1980s right-hand drive Japanese imports, despite the fact that the Burmese also drive on the right side of the road. On every corner, locals have placed jugs of water and cups for passers-by to use. Multi-story apartment buildings have no doorbells, so residents rig up their own, hanging lines of rope down from their porches attached to bells so that visitors grab the rope (it can be difficult fo figure out which one in a popular building) and pull to notify their neighbors that they have visitors. One advantage to visiting a pariah country is a lack of other tourists crowding up the attractions. (as holders of diplomatic passports, Liz and I did not need to change the mandatory $200, we stayed with friends while in Rangoon, and did not patronize government-affiliated businesses) When we visited the Shwedagon Pagoda, the temple complex that dominates Rangoon's skyline and is Burma's largest tourist attraction, we saw maybe 10 other Western tourists. The remainder were local residents visiting the temple to chat with friends, make merit, or take pictures of their kids. We witnessed a party for two young boys about to enter the monkhood. Their fathers lifted them on their shoulders (see picture), while a long line of female relatives carried flowers. Other visitors left offerings to the temple's guardian ogre, including a tray full of lit cigarettes.

Burma is surprising in how normal it feels on the surface. The human rights abuses are horrendous. It's unclear whether the military dictatorship is more evil or more incompetent. Yet, most people go about their day-to-day affairs as they do in most countries. Women dress colorfully. Children play in the streets. It certainly doesn't give the feeling of North Korea or what the life in the Soviet bloc must have been like. However, at times you are reminded (even as a casual tourist on a brief trip) that things just aren't right. On our flight to Pagan, the inflight magazine, like all domestic publications, contained a large statement reminding the Burmese populace not be "stooges" of outside forces. A roadblock still prevents people from driving past Aung San Suu Kyi's home.

We spent two days in Pagan, a one-hour flight north of Rangoon in the dry region of the country. Pagan was the capital of the Burmese kingdom at about the time Angkor was the capital of the Cambodian kingdom. At its peak, the area around Pagan contained nearly 13,000 temples. Time and natural disasters (mostly earthquakes) have destroyed many of the temples, but nearly 2,200 remain dotted all over the several kilometer plain between a low mountain range and the Irawaddy river. In the dry season, the temperature routinely hits 100 and the only green is cactus (the area does get a lot of rain in the short monsoon season), but the thick temples are quite cool inside. Pagan has no single temple as impressive as Angkor Wat, but they are remarkably well preserved and create a stunning vision at sunset when you watch the colors slowly change on hundreds of temples. (Picture 2) As you fly into Pagan airport (correction, Pagan airshack), you see temple after temple lined up to the horizon. Unlike Angkor, which has now become a major world tourist site, Pagan is still largely empty of tourists, making it easy to go where you want. It also allows the temples to retain their Burmese flavor. In one 11th century temple, we saw a group of twenty local women circle the shrine, stopping at every Buddha image to chant prayers. Local guides take you around on horse drawn carriages that pass sheperds with their goat herds, groups of women carrying baskets and tables on their heads, and dried fields of cotton, sesame, and peanut.