#MonkSelfie

Myanmar, or Burma, or whatever you want to call it, was the one stop along our voyage that I was completely confused about.  A of all: I had NO idea what to expect when stepping both feet into it, and B of all: I didn't even know what to call it.  We would be docking in a city called Rangoon, or Yangon? I think they were the same place, I really didn't know.    All I knew about Myanmar before coming on Semester at Sea was that it was the least developed of the southeast asian countries, until a few years ago zero tourists were allowed in year year, and lastly, that something bad had been taking place there for a long time.  I expected it to be a sad port, with sad people, and sad sights.  I expected to have a melancholy experience, feeling repressed by the government that for the first time on the voyage would actually restrict where we could travel (tourists are only allowed to go to three places that make up the ‘tourist triangle’).  

Before embarking I downloaded an episode of Anthony Bourdain Parts unknown where he traveled to Myanmar (Burma).  Now, having been, I must say that  he did an amazing job trying to describe a country that is just completely indescribable to someone from a developed country.  The rolling black outs, the gaping holes in the sidewalk exposing open sewers, recognizing that he was 19 hours into a 10 hour train ride, such things are truly too foreign for us to understand without seeing.  Above all of these issues however, he stressed the warmth and the generosity of the people in Myanmar (Burma).  And really,  He couldn’t have been more right.  The restaurants we ate in regularly lost power, I almost fell, more than once, into gaping holes in the sidewalk, and although we avoided the trains at Anthony’s suggestion, those who did endured the most bone wrenching, eye opening (literally eye opening. Though many people spent nearly 20 hours on a train from Yangon to Bagan, they were unable to sleep due to the incredibly warped and turbulent train tracks that were built in the 1920’s, and last rehabbed before WWII), train ride of their lives.  We opted to fly this route, and well, that was an experience in it’s self ( I’ll explain below).  Above the tell tale down sides of visiting a developing country (and this country was literally developing before our eyes.  The ships docked all around us were bringing in new (used) cars from Europe by the thousands), our greatest take away from Myanmar was the warmth and generosity of its people.  They were kind, they were generous, and more than anything else, they were curious.  For the first time in months, people were approaching us out of curiosity or the desire to practice their English, not the desire to scam us out of a couple bucks.  Once we let our guard down, it was an amazing shift.

Myanmar was a place of paradox (no boat pun intended).  Not only does the country and it’s capital each have two names, the old and the new, but everywhere you looked, your brain couldn't quite fit the pieces together.  The architecture in the capitol city Yangon was nothing like I had ever seen before.  The buildings were elaborate, once upon a time decadent British colonial masterpieces, now crumbling before our eyes.   Buildings were plastered with warning sighs from the government that they were not safe to inhabit, though without fail wet laundry hung outside nearly every window.  Bright white pillars that once exemplified British royalty were now grey and decaying.  In one of the poorest countries on earth, rural streets were lined with solid gold pagodas soaring sometimes hundreds of feet in the Air.  Shwedagon Pagoda in the heart of Yangon has an 80 karat diamond on the tip of its spire.  This diamond is worth twice the GDP of the entire country.  It just doesn’t make sense. 

Walking down the streets of Yangon it is extremely evident that this city, stunted by years of war and military rule, is finally blossoming into the powerful city it can become.  In time Yangon may become a great Asian city, it may follow in the footsteps of Ho Chi Mihn city, or even Bangkok.   For now however, Yangon is stuck in its awkward phase.  The number of cars are far too many for the streets to handle, electrical wires are Gabby’d (This is a verb.  It means to tangle things well beyond what one would think is possible.  In addition to being tangled beyond the realm of possibility, it often includes getting things tangled together that have no business being tangled together in the first place.  i.e. : today when looking for a computer charger, Gabby pulled the computer charger out of her beach bag.  In addition to the computer charger, Gabby also pulled out nearly an entire spool of yarn that had intricately wrapped its self around the cord in a series of perfect and Jesse proof knots that resulted in nearly 15 minutes of unsuccessful de-Gabby-ing the cord/yarn, followed by 15 seconds of cutting the yarn everywhere I possible could to free the enslaved computer cord.  What were a computer charger and yarn doing in Gabby’s beach bag??  Gabby’d…) on the side of nearly every building, and sewers are open on the side of each street, creating an imposing mote like obstacle to exiting any sidewalk.  New age restaurants are popping up all over the city, with kind of funny New York City clubby names like Gekko and Vista.  The food is fancy, the decorum sheik, but without notice they lose power just like the rest of the city.

 

Of all of the strange paradoxes that Myanmar presents, the hardest for the brain to comprehend is that of the modern day monk.  Myanmar is an extremely religious country.  Nearly 90% of the population is devout Buddhist, and of this 90%, all must at some point in their lives join the monastery.  Some stay for a week, some stay their entire lives, but all must join.  For a first time visitor to Myanmar, this results in a very unique scene.  While there are people walking around town dressed in normal (for developing SouthEast Asia) attire, most both young and old are dressed in the standard issue saffron monk robe or pink nunary get up.  It’s pretty shocking to see at first.  The first monk I saw, I awkwardly followed close behind snapping candid pictures.  After fully circling this poor monk, I realized that most people around him were wearing the same thing.  I took some pictures, ok, a lot of pictures, before realizing this was going to be a thing, and that I didn’t have to snap a picture every time a monk took a step or kneeled in prayer.

But then it happened…  We were on a field program visiting and learning about Shwedegon Pagoda (mentioned earlier, with the 80 karat diamond on top),  the largest Pagoda in Myanmar, when I saw what was turning into the quintessential Burmese photo opportunity (or so I thought).  I framed the shot just right.  I had a monk, in full monk regalia in the bottom corner, staring up at the beautiful Shewgadon pagoda extending to the heavens above him. I focused the camera just right, started to click the shutter, then, to my dismay, the monk started to turn around.  Damn it I thought, I missed the framer, the picture that was forever going to appear blown up and framed on my wall!!  Not so much.   The monk turned 180 degrees to face me then reached into his saffron robe, unzipped a hidden pocket,  his hand re-emerge gripping an Iphone-6.  He raised his arm, lined up his shot, then Boom, a Monk Selfie.  I couldn’t freaking believe what I was seeing.  I caught it all on film, and nothing could possibly have captured the spirit of Myanmar better then this #MonkSelfie.  Just like Myanmar, it was magic. 

While in Myanmar Gabby and I were afforded an opportunity that well, I never expected to have.  Short(ish) back Story: Some friends of ours on the voyage  had traveled to Myanmar 16 years earlier, and, while watching a sunset in Mandalay were getting harassed by one particularly persistent Monk.  This Monk kept approaching them, not asking for money, or collecting alms, but saying rather Bazaar sentences.  Sentences that while my Spanish literacy is minimal, sentences that I know how to say in Spanish, and well, Hebrew for that matter.  “Hello, How are you? What is your name? My Name is____ .   From where are you? I live in ________? Where is the Library”.   He was persistent, and after being asked time and time again “from where are you?”  our friends finally gave in and told the persistent monk from where they were.  This short conversation turned into 3 days spent together.  This monk wanted more than anything to practice his English, and well, knew his way around town, so our friends obliged him.  He told our friends that he goes up to that spot every night, where the tourists watch the sunset to practice his English.  After 3 days together our friends parted ways with their monk.  Our friends exchanged information with their monk, he hoping one day to visit the America, they, loving that they could now refer to someone as ‘their monk’.  This relationship grew over the years, and started as pen pal style letters addressed simply to

Unan (his monk name)

Monastery

Mandalay, Burma

Somehow these letters always found their way to their monk.  Sometime after sending a letter, our friends would receive a hand written letter back, often written in Shakespearean English.  These letters got fewer and farrer between, but they (ironically) would send a Christmas card every few years to “Unan – Monastery – Mandaly, Burma”, and without fail would receive a letter soon there after.  Our friend was delighted to one day receive a friend request on Facebook from ‘Unan”.  That’s right, just one name, like Madonna, but a monk, Unan.  Their friendship had gone electronic.  Soon after being hired to come on this voyage, our friends contacted their monk (how freaking cool is it to have an ‘our monk’) to let him know they would be coming back to his homeland, and that they would love to see him.  He said great, Ill take the 37 hour train ride down to see you, that would be wonderful (or something similar, probably written in a more Shakespearean  manor), and with great anticipation, after 16 years our friends anxiously awaited the arrival of their monk.  Getting him on board the ship was a bit difficult to say the least.  He had no drivers license, his passport had expired years back, and the ship was docked nearly an hour outside of town, but after hours of waiting/searching, they found their monk, and they got him on board.

            In the days to come, I learned a number of things from hanging out with ‘their monk’.  To save space, as this is already an outrageously long blog post, I will list what I learned in bullet point form:

·         Monks do not eat after noon, it distracts the brain

·         Unan was a self proclaimed international monk

·         Unan was a city monk, and did not understand “How rural monks did it”

·         The smaller the monk (Unan was exactly 1.0 Gabby tall, and had 1.0 Gabby surface area as well), the larger the cell phone/tablet they stash in their robe pocket (his phone put the Iphone 6+ to shame)

·         Monks have cellphones/tablets

·         Monks have robe pockets

·         Monk robes are incredibly complex and can be used or worn during nearly any situation

·         Monks do not eat for pleasure, they eat for sustenance.

o   (this point requires a back story) 

§  After coming aboard and receiving a full ship tour, 11:30 rolled around, and Unan needed to eat before noon (see point 1). 

§  We took him to lunch…

§  We had not considered the possibility that he had never before seen a buffet. 

§  He saw a buffet

§  He lost mind

§  He was unable to wipe the smile off his face no matter how hard he tried

§  I asked him why he was trying so hard to wipe the smile off his face

§  He told me he thought people would think he was weird or from the country if they saw him get so excited by a buffet

§  I thought it was weird that monks worried about these things

§  He took a selfie with the buffet (I guess monk selfies are a thing)

§  People in the lunch room lost their minds

·         Turns out he was right, but regardless, suddenly there was a monk, in full monk garb, taking a picture on a cruise ship in front of the lunch buffet, it was weird, but in the most amazing kind of weird way possible

§  He didn’t know how to serve himself from the buffet, so our friends piled a mountain (I mean a mountain) of food on his plate.

§  He ate it all (he cut a dinner role with a fork and knife, which was one of the cutest things I have seen in my entire life)

§  Our friends excitingly asked “so, what was your favorite thing?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!)

§  A look of confusion filled his face

§  He was silent for a minute

§  He then said “for me, this question is hard, I do not eat for pleasure”

§  We all then remembered we were sitting with a monk, not Buddy the Elf from Elf

§  Monks don’t eat for pleasure, but they sure like roasted potatoes

·         Monks are given monk names when they first join the monastery

·         Unan did not remember his given name, his family simply calls him ‘monk’

·         Monks only require 4 hours of sleep, because when they are asleep their minds are truly at rest

·         Even monks get upset by the incredibly slow internet connection we have on board

o   At one point Unan gritted his teeth and said ‘ I want to throw this thing overboard when it does this”

o   He showed us the spinning wheel of death on his phone/tablet

o   We lost our minds

o   I’ve never felt more validated in my entire life…

·          An unfocused mind lacks dignity…

I now recognize that this did not save space, and well, has caused the exact opposite of my desired result.  Oh well.

Ok, after writing 3 more pages, I have decided to break this blog post into two parts.  It would just get too long, so, uhhh, stay tuned for part II coming soon.  

 The first Monk I saw

 Shwedegon Pagoda

 #MonkSelfie

Shwedegon

Gabby seems to be dressed as a monk...

 Unan and me