Journey Along the Thai/Burmese Border
This is part of our Window on Southeast Asia series.
For a year after I started working in Thailand, I avoided traveling to Myanmar (previously known as Burma), despite the pull its beautiful and enigmatic culture had on me. There were many at the time who believed that boycotting tourism there would help the people free themselves of the terrible junta that rules the country. To explore Burmese culture without visiting Myanmar, I visited several towns near and just over the border. I would come to change my mind about the boycott, especially after talking to Burmese citizens in those towns. I have already written about those reasons in my article about Bago and won't bother reiterating them. I was glad I observed the boycott for the first year, because it inspired me to explore Burmese culture along the Thai-Burmese border, and introduced me to many interesting people.
The city of Mae Hon Son (shown in the picture above) is high in the mountains west of Chiang Mai, just a grenade throw from one of the more volatile parts of Myanmar. The population is mostly ethnic Shan, a people related to the Thai but who have been heavily influenced by the Burmese. For the past 1000 years the Shan have either ruled or been ruled by the Burmese, mostly the latter. In that thousand year they've largely adopted Burmese culture.
My guesthouse was a bamboo hut thatched with leaves, a practice common to the Shan, next to a picturesque pond in the middle of town. The lake is crowned by two picturesque Burmese/Shan style temples, both of which reflect in the pond. One has an immaculately white chedi (a stupa or mound-like structure) decorated with gold paint. The other has a traditional Burmese style pagoda with a seven-tiered roof. Each roof is decorated with silver, with each of them becoming progressively smaller. Above the highest, smallest one is a steeple crowned by nine gold umbrellas, which also become progressively smaller as they rise toward the top.
The peaceful feeling of the town was enhanced by the surrounding mist-covered mountains. I climbed a 1500-foot stairway to the top of one mountain where a temple is located. Once I reached the temple I was met with a magnificent view of Mae Hong Son valley. At the edge of the temple grounds I looked out at the mist-shrouded forests and listened to the tinkling of tiny gold bells atop the chedi. As I watched the mist float past the trees and listened to the monk's chanting, I almost expected some of the mythical creatures displayed at the temples to emerge from the mist. I might have stayed there for 20 years like Rip Van Winkle had I not been distracted by four West African guinea hens walking past, which were as out of place as the country-western bar in the middle of the town below.
I went to the shower room of my guesthouse wearing just a towel as it was after 11:00 PM. I left the key to my hut in the shower and, just as I remembered it, a girl who worked there appeared and offered to get the key. As I sat down to put my shoes back on, she asked where I was from. I asked her the same question and was surprised to find out that she was from Myanmar (Burma). She had come from a village in the Shan states when she was 11, seven years before. When I asked her why her family came to Thailand, she said that she couldn't tell me with her bad English (which wasn't that bad). She had a cheerful face with a twinkle in her black eyes that didn't flinch as she told me this.
Like most South East Asian people, the Shan hide their emotions behind a smile and a pleasant expression on their faces, a sort of veil of happiness. This makes it hard to know how they really feel about something. With some experience it's possible to tell a real smile from one intended to hide something, but even that isn't always foolproof. This girl's veil of happiness became only slightly thinner when she told me that her brother had died two months before, something she didn't elaborate on. I had to wonder if she really couldn't tell me why she left Myanmar because of her "bad English," or just didn't want to.
The Shan states have been fighting a guerilla war with Myanmar ever since a 1962 coup that brought a government that has consistently taken its place along side Sudan and North Korea on any list of the world's worst human rights abusers. The ethnic Shan have been especially targeted. The girl's face kept the same happy, almost carefree look I've grown used to seeing on South East Asian faces as she told me about leaving her village. But how could someone in her shoes be the least bit free of care?
When I asked her how her village in Myanmar was different from Thailand, she pointed out that more people grew rice in her village, there was much less electricity, and people were poorer. After telling me how much easier and more comfortable life was in Thailand, she told me her goal was to return to the village with her family. Her job at the guesthouse certainly seemed easier than anything she might do in a small village in Myanmar, yet she really wanted to spend her life back in her village once she saved some money to take to her family. It wasn't what I expected, but family and one's village can have a very strong pull on people.
One Friday a few weeks later I took the bus to the nice but ordinary town of Tak. The next day I took a minivan up the winding road to Mae Sot, a town that is less than attractive yet anything but ordinary. As soon as I arrived in the outskirts of Mae Sot I knew I was somewhere different. Many of the residents are Burmese, Indo-Burmese Muslims, Indians, and Karens (a minority ethnic group in Myanmar,). The Burmese are easy to recognize by the skirt-like sarongs worn by the men and the green powder on the cheeks of the women. Muslim men wore turbans and robes, and all sorts of people wandered the streets.
After having been lulled by the outskirts of Mae Sot, the bustling downtown area came as a shock. It's certainly an assault on the senses. The bus stop is in the market, which can quickly overwhelm anyone who isn't prepared for its dizzying array of traditionally dressed ethnic groups, the bewildering smell of spices and simmering foods belonging to those ethnic groups, and a feeling that can only be described as, "Toto, we're not in Kansas any more!" Into the mix is the occasional red-toothed hill tribe person, their teeth having been stained by years of chewing betel nuts.
I spent most of the day wandering around the colorful, busy streets (which seemed quieter after the rain started in the afternoon), taking in the many sights, sounds, and smells. The people who worked at my guesthouse were as colorful a mix as the town itself. The owners are Chinese and the employees are Burmese, Karen, and Indian. I got to chatting with an intriguing young lady in her 20s who was working there. She was an ethnic Pa-o, an offshoot of the Shan.
Her face, while attractive, seemed unusually serious for a South East Asian, though she often broke into a sudden, broad smile. I had to wonder what her deep hazel eyes had seen in Myanmar. They reflected only the light of the room, but her face reflected something darker. Unlike most South East Asians, she couldn't hide everything behind a veil of happiness. She told me that she was from a small town in central Myanmar and was working in Thailand for a year to earn some money. Her village had been taken over by rebel armies and the government several times. These days it's in the government's hands. A dark cloud came over her already serious face as she told me about that. She then pointed out the fact that she didn't have a father. It sounded on the surface like a sudden change of subject, but probably wasn't. When I asked her what the biggest difference between her town in Myanmar and Mae Sot is, she gave a simple, stark answer: in Mae Sot they have electricity, jobs, and money.
Just like the Shan girl in Mae Hong Son she wanted to return to her village in Myanmar despite the fact that they live by candlelight. She's lucky she can return home. Earlier in the day I met a Burmese man at a temple who fled Myanmar after having participated in the 1988 democracy movement. It was crushed by the ruling junta and at least 3,000 students were killed. He had to walk through the jungle for weeks until he reached Thailand. He would certainly be killed if he went back.
During a lighter moment we found a frog in a hallway. The dark cloud seemed to lift from her face as we joked around with it. She told it how lucky it was (or rather she told me and I told it). In her village it would have been dinner!
The next day I headed to the border where the Burmese authorities allow one-day visits to the town of Myawadi. It had been raining since the previous afternoon and showed no signs of letting up. After finishing the Thai formalities I crossed the bridge where a small white line separates the freest country in Asia from one of the most repressive in the world. As I walked across the bridge I heard someone making a kissing sound. That seemed odd since South East Asians normally disapprove of public displays of affection. As the day wore on I kept hearing that sound, until I realized that it was just the Burmese way of getting someone's attention. One day I know that will lead to an amusing story involving a Western tourist unfamiliar with the custom.
On the Myanmar side I was greeted by a tour guide even before I was greeted by a border official! After agreeing to pay 50 baht an hour for a tour, the two guides and the driver of a three-wheeled cart took me to the main temple. The four entrances were guarded by 15-foot, highly stylized lions. At the feet of the lions lie the tail of a naga (semi-divine sea dragons popular in India and South East Asia). There are four nagas that stretch around a quarter of the complex each. In the center of the complex is a 150-foot gold chedi, "zedi" in Burmese. It is surrounded by smaller zedis, which hold statues of the Buddha, angels and Burmese spirits.
Temple Entrance in Myawadi
Around the zedi are roughly 10-foot high statues of Burmese angels that are half woman, half lion. Outside a chapel I saw a lady pouring water over a Buddha statue to make merit. It didn't matter that it was already raining on the statue, as she made merit by intending to do a good deed.
At the end of the tour we had lunch in a Burmese restaurant. The waitress was clearly amused at the way I ordered from the Burmese language menu. I flipped a coin, pointed to whatever it landed on, and asked for that. That's how I ended up with goat curry.
After paying my guides, it was time to wander around the town, watching daily life and learning what an average Sunday in an average town in Myanmar is like. I went back to the temple with the huge zedi and started walking along the residential streets. Off the main roads were dirt (or rather mud) streets flanked by wood and bamboo homes thatched with leaves, much like the Shan homes near Mae Hong Son.
Typical Residential Street in Myawadi with Leaf-thatched Roofs
The guide had told me that the main market was closed on Sunday, but I found a smaller market open. It consisted of stalls on either side of a dirt/mud road that was almost a creek. There were coconuts in the road that made it easier to walk. In many stalls the whole family was sorting vegetables, doing business, eating, and drinking tea. At the end of the market I found myself on a hill overlooking a large thatched-roof neighborhood that probably looked no different 300 years ago, a sea of bamboo homes topped with leaves.
As I walked back I couldn't help but notice how normal everything seemed and how the people looked no less happy here than anywhere else. They would have good reason not to be happy. Myawadi was fought over for years by the rebel Kareni National Union (KNU) and the Burmese Junta, and many were killed. It was finally taken by the government in 1995. Reports of atrocities followed. In some cases, the Burmese army force-marched civilians through mine fields to clear them. There are still tens of thousands of refugees in camps in Thailand.
You wouldn't know any of this by looking at the people's faces. Heaven only knows what these people have suffered, but on this day they had little trouble smiling, laughing, and playing with their children. Just as I was walking along the main street, I saw something that almost seemed to have been put there to prove my point. It had been raining since 3:00 pm the previous day, and sometimes heavily. The main street was elevated, and an area below was flooded. There I saw a flooded restaurant with at least nine inches of water covering the floor. Sitting at the table on chairs partly underwater was a Burmese family eating, drinking, laughing, and having a jolly old time, seemingly oblivious to the water. If any scene ever summed up South East Asian people, that was it. Nothing, not even floodwaters, will stop them from enjoying life.
Dining in a Flood
From there I walked through another neighborhood with mud streets. Many people were sitting on their bamboo porches watching the rain, and one family posed for a picture with their baby. Like children everywhere the baby had a big, happy smile that disappeared half a second before I took the picture! People who live with so much rain can't appreciate it as much as I do, being from San Diego. Most Thai people were baffled to hear that I liked the rain. Yet, the people on their verandas seemed to enjoy the excuse to relax on this sleepy, rainy day.
A Happy Family
A year and a half later I would fly to Yangon (Rangoon) and see the better-known sights of Myanmar. These days I'm glad I had originally planned to avoid Myanmar, because that decision inspired me to see places along the Thai-Burmese border I might have otherwise missed. It also led me to meet people who provided insights into life in modern Myanmar, and the pull that life in its villages has on its people.
