13.01.11 Yangon First Impressions
Traffic! Yangon has a population of 6million so is not as tiny as I assumed. And bearing in mind the admonishment from Pete’s organisation that We Must Not Drive* and that even the rustiest bucket cost an average of $20 000, I kind of assumed there wouldn’t be so many cars. But there is, loads and the freeways through town are usually 3 if not 4 lanes wide either side. There’s a lot of pollution too! And the cars, well. Mostly old Toyotas with barely there upholstery and certainly no floor except the thin bit of metal stopping your feet from touching the tarmac. There are no seatbelts in the back of cars in Yangon. It is extremely rare to find rear seatbelts, even in the more modern (e.g. 1990’s) cars. They simply didn’t make them for the Asian market. So if you want to belt up, sit in the front. Which makes us, with our European (not to mention slightly child-safety-fanatically Swedish) attitudes and car seats, look a little quaint to say the least.
So there is an awful lot of traffic and an awful lot of cars, mostly held together by string and karma. If you get a taxi where all the doors open and windows close you are in a luxury sedan.
It’s plenty lush mind. An awesome array of palms, bamboo and the ubiquitous bougainvillea which grows like a weed. And trees and bushes of all kinds. In fact, just imagine all those little pot plants in IKEA blown up to tree size and you get the picture. And flowers! I don’t know the name of many but there is hibiscus and frangipane, arum lilies of all kinds and some giant yellow and spiky red flowers that are so common I almost don’t notice them anymore. And orchids! Orchids everywhere, some just hanging on our washing stands and strung on market stalls and balconies, growing without much attention at all. Until Cyclone Nargis in 2008, Yangon was known as the Garden City of the East but apparently a lot of trees have gone and with them the shade needed to grow more. Hard to imagine there was even more plant life as it’s pretty green and colourful to my mind. Lovely.
Which is needed to cover up some of the more unsightly buildings. The sad fact of sudden onset consumerism is that more buildings are thrown up as cheaply as possible and that means concrete. Fantastically versatile and fantastically environmentally unfriendly, it simply holds damp and moulds in a tropical climate. And becomes black and unsightly, demanding a lot of upkeep. Downtown there is an old colonial part and some quite impressive buildings, such as the old Post Office and British Embassy. Plus a fair smattering of shiny highrises, though how long they will remain shiny for is anyone’s guess. We do have some very stately mansions around our manor too, but many have fallen into disrepair and the once grand upper story, made entirely of teak, is often hanging on by a thread.
It’s also a BUSY town. People, people everywhere, sitting outside roadside eateries, shopping at makeshift market stalls and bustling their way to work and home and the monastery. The pavements are laughable, or would be if they weren’t so dangerous. Basically they are badly maintained storm drains, and some holes are big enough for you to fall in. And some are full of rubbish and stagnant water and no doubt rats and general yuckiness of all kinds. Getting a buggy along is a challenge but we manage by picking it up and carrying it and Alfie over the worst parts. More often though, Pete will take him in the backpack carrier which he loves and is a little less ardous, though perhaps not for Pete! Crossing roads is a lesson in confidence as you often cross 6 lanes by weaving through the traffic – there is no concept of pedestrian crossings here and I often end up following a monk or two (having taken a deep breath to fortify my courage). That said, there is much politeness between the drivers and rarely any horns tooted or voices raised, nor pedestrians run over. I guess it kinda works.
There is no discernible Myanmar look; the people are many and varied in colour and physical features. I think Myanmar has one of the most ethnically diverse populations in South East Asia and you can see that in the faces you encounter every day. Although, they are generally tiny it has to be said! How I wish I’d come here 10 years ago when I too was small and thin; I looked in a clothes shop the other day and thought they looked like dolly’s clothes. At a size 10-12 I’m probably considered obese but that is a compliment here (hence much rubbing of Alfie’s chubby legs). And another thing they have in common is that they are all unfailingly polite, friendly and helpful with a quiet positivity I think we seem to be missing in the West. Just yesterday Alfie didn’t want to come home from the market, being enthralled by some chickens and a cockerel as usual. A young man walked past and Alfie rather sweetly held up his arms to be lifted (for a better view probably) and seeing my dilemma, carrying my shopping as I was, this young guy picked Alfie up and carried him all the way home for me (about a 7 minute walk), dropped him off, waved goodbye and cheerfully set off back the way we had come. How fricking lovely is that?
There is a real mix of traditional and Western clothing too, though most wear the longyi (sarong skirt) in a variety of cotton/silk prints. The men tend to be a bit more sober with darker colours, less patterns and a smart shirt on top. They do look very dapper! There’s also a lot of young men with very trendy haircuts and skinny jeans; one of our young guards even wears black nailvarnish and I don’t think he’s a Goth. I guess I hadn’t expected the people to be so ‘modern’!
But then most of my cultural references regarding Asia come from reading James Clavell’s Tai Pan series one summer when I was 17 so pretty much everything is bright and new and wondrous to me.
Next up I’ll let you know a bit more about where we live, how the other half live and how ex-pats survive, even when there’s no Schweppes Tonic Water to be had!
*causing a death of any kind, even in an RTA, results in a mandatory prison sentence.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Childcare Options
14.01.11 Childcare Options
So today I took Alfie to Rainbow Children’s House which had been recommended to me as a great nursery. He absolutely loved it! Marched straight in to one of the rooms and started playing. It had a lovely feel to it and Maggie, the owner, was very warm and welcoming and the rooms were stuffed full of toys and books of all kinds, plus a huge outdoor courtyard with ride-ons and a sandpit and a covered area for playing with blocks (MegaBloks and Duplo rule don’t they?). There were about 14 kids from 1 to 3 or 4 years old and I think 6 or 7 staff of both sexes. In fact one young man took quite a shine to Alfie and chaperoned him about for the hour or so we were there.
But oh! How heartbreaking it is too! There was my angel child, agog at two older boys playing with some wooden railway thing and he dashed over to join in. Whereupon they promptly picked up their toys and ran off together laughing. He just stood there wide-eyed and bewildered for ages. I’m even crying at the memory of it. (It’s still jetlag…)
Not that he didn’t do his fair bit of snatching and shrieking too. I was very impressed with two boys who on separate occasions, when asked to share by Maggie, simply got out of the cars they were playing in and walked away with no fuss, leaving them for a younger child to play with. I am bothered by the concept of sharing. It seems such an adult idea and no matter how I wrestle with it, from a child’s point of view there is no benefit is there? Apart from assuaging adults and stopping them from shouting and getting angry, which I feel uncomfortable with. I do of course tell Alfie that he can’t have other kids toys on demand and I hope I recognise which child had what first so that I’m fair about that. But I think he’s only just getting used to being his own person and finding out the power that lies in ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and the fact that he can exercise choice; the idea of sharing seems to me a step that should come later than we adults allow it to.
But nursery is a lot about sharing. And the thing I like most about it is the chance for him to watch other children and see how they play. He learnt, just this morning, how to peddle the car by watching another boy who was very adept and fast. I’ve no doubt he would have got there eventually and of course mummy and daddy would have demonstrated but it seemed a heart-warming and natural process; observation, attempt and success. And all on his own too!
So a lot of mixed feelings. Not least, what’s in it for me? He and I have spent so much time together, I would miss him dreadfully, not to mention worry. Out here for example, we are each other’s playmate until both he and mummy find other people to interact with and we’ve had quite a few periods when it’s been just the two of us. Which is both magical and tedious. Am I being selfish in keeping him home or am I, as some would say, making a more confident and less aggressive child? I worry that he won’t keep up his phenomenal language skills; will they realise he knows all his animals and their noises and the names of fruits and a lot more besides? Will they understand that he’s not trying to get out of the gate, he’s just fascinated with locks and bolts and handles and things. Can they see that he plays peekaboo games of his own invention at every opportunity? They won’t know that putting his finger into the opposite palm means In the Night Garden and they won’t know the MakkaPakka dance or the difference between ‘daddy’, ‘teddy’ and ‘daisy’ which could sound the same to the untrained ear.
But then I did like the mix of children of all nationalities (French, Malay, Indian, Burmese-American etc – many ambassador’s and businessmen’s children) and the music and movement hour and soft play room and shelves and shelves of book (Alfie’s favourite pastime, closely followed by cars and farm animals). Maggie herself was an exuberant Indian lady with a two year old boy and a patient understanding of nervous mums (he is your first child? He is your only child? she asked, knowing the answer). She also talked about the importance of attachment and trust and is keen to toilet train the kids as soon as possible; her son was toilet trained from six months old! I have read about this and have to admit that I am not so sure about it… But she is very flexible and charges a flat monthly fee of around $140 which compared to England is amazingly cheap. So you can use the facilities as much or as little as you like, from 8am – 6pm Monday to Friday as you wish. Or perhaps for a couple of hours in the morning for, say 3 days a week, like a playgroup, which is what I’m thinking. I’m hoping to find part-time work for 3 days a week and I would be happy knowing that he has Rainbow’s as an activity.
We will of course get a nanny and are in the process of finding one. Which means I had lunch this week with some ladies who lunch and let them know I am looking. This is how things are done out here. In fact it was the rather fabulous J (or the Bling Lady as Pete called her), a leggy blonde with 4year old twin girls, who recommended Rainbow’s in the first place. She seemed confident I could find a Burmese girl who spoke good English, for around $170 a month. Again, I’m after more of a playmate who will take him to Rainbow’s and swim with him and keep him occupied while I go and do things like grocery shopping, which is turning slowly nightmarish with a toddler in tow.
And I would love to have a coffee morning at home here once a week, with mums and kids. After all we will have our climbing frame with swing and lots of toys and the pool as an attraction. Rather fortuitously, we have new neighbours moving in today with a young boy about a year old and we have just heard that the last empty house will be taken by a Japanese-American couple with a 9 month old baby. So we really will be a family compound, hurrah!
I’m sure in three months time it will all have fallen into place and I will be less emotional and Alfie will be happy as a pig in poo. Which incidentally, is two new words he said this week!
So today I took Alfie to Rainbow Children’s House which had been recommended to me as a great nursery. He absolutely loved it! Marched straight in to one of the rooms and started playing. It had a lovely feel to it and Maggie, the owner, was very warm and welcoming and the rooms were stuffed full of toys and books of all kinds, plus a huge outdoor courtyard with ride-ons and a sandpit and a covered area for playing with blocks (MegaBloks and Duplo rule don’t they?). There were about 14 kids from 1 to 3 or 4 years old and I think 6 or 7 staff of both sexes. In fact one young man took quite a shine to Alfie and chaperoned him about for the hour or so we were there.
But oh! How heartbreaking it is too! There was my angel child, agog at two older boys playing with some wooden railway thing and he dashed over to join in. Whereupon they promptly picked up their toys and ran off together laughing. He just stood there wide-eyed and bewildered for ages. I’m even crying at the memory of it. (It’s still jetlag…)
Not that he didn’t do his fair bit of snatching and shrieking too. I was very impressed with two boys who on separate occasions, when asked to share by Maggie, simply got out of the cars they were playing in and walked away with no fuss, leaving them for a younger child to play with. I am bothered by the concept of sharing. It seems such an adult idea and no matter how I wrestle with it, from a child’s point of view there is no benefit is there? Apart from assuaging adults and stopping them from shouting and getting angry, which I feel uncomfortable with. I do of course tell Alfie that he can’t have other kids toys on demand and I hope I recognise which child had what first so that I’m fair about that. But I think he’s only just getting used to being his own person and finding out the power that lies in ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and the fact that he can exercise choice; the idea of sharing seems to me a step that should come later than we adults allow it to.
But nursery is a lot about sharing. And the thing I like most about it is the chance for him to watch other children and see how they play. He learnt, just this morning, how to peddle the car by watching another boy who was very adept and fast. I’ve no doubt he would have got there eventually and of course mummy and daddy would have demonstrated but it seemed a heart-warming and natural process; observation, attempt and success. And all on his own too!
So a lot of mixed feelings. Not least, what’s in it for me? He and I have spent so much time together, I would miss him dreadfully, not to mention worry. Out here for example, we are each other’s playmate until both he and mummy find other people to interact with and we’ve had quite a few periods when it’s been just the two of us. Which is both magical and tedious. Am I being selfish in keeping him home or am I, as some would say, making a more confident and less aggressive child? I worry that he won’t keep up his phenomenal language skills; will they realise he knows all his animals and their noises and the names of fruits and a lot more besides? Will they understand that he’s not trying to get out of the gate, he’s just fascinated with locks and bolts and handles and things. Can they see that he plays peekaboo games of his own invention at every opportunity? They won’t know that putting his finger into the opposite palm means In the Night Garden and they won’t know the MakkaPakka dance or the difference between ‘daddy’, ‘teddy’ and ‘daisy’ which could sound the same to the untrained ear.
But then I did like the mix of children of all nationalities (French, Malay, Indian, Burmese-American etc – many ambassador’s and businessmen’s children) and the music and movement hour and soft play room and shelves and shelves of book (Alfie’s favourite pastime, closely followed by cars and farm animals). Maggie herself was an exuberant Indian lady with a two year old boy and a patient understanding of nervous mums (he is your first child? He is your only child? she asked, knowing the answer). She also talked about the importance of attachment and trust and is keen to toilet train the kids as soon as possible; her son was toilet trained from six months old! I have read about this and have to admit that I am not so sure about it… But she is very flexible and charges a flat monthly fee of around $140 which compared to England is amazingly cheap. So you can use the facilities as much or as little as you like, from 8am – 6pm Monday to Friday as you wish. Or perhaps for a couple of hours in the morning for, say 3 days a week, like a playgroup, which is what I’m thinking. I’m hoping to find part-time work for 3 days a week and I would be happy knowing that he has Rainbow’s as an activity.
We will of course get a nanny and are in the process of finding one. Which means I had lunch this week with some ladies who lunch and let them know I am looking. This is how things are done out here. In fact it was the rather fabulous J (or the Bling Lady as Pete called her), a leggy blonde with 4year old twin girls, who recommended Rainbow’s in the first place. She seemed confident I could find a Burmese girl who spoke good English, for around $170 a month. Again, I’m after more of a playmate who will take him to Rainbow’s and swim with him and keep him occupied while I go and do things like grocery shopping, which is turning slowly nightmarish with a toddler in tow.
And I would love to have a coffee morning at home here once a week, with mums and kids. After all we will have our climbing frame with swing and lots of toys and the pool as an attraction. Rather fortuitously, we have new neighbours moving in today with a young boy about a year old and we have just heard that the last empty house will be taken by a Japanese-American couple with a 9 month old baby. So we really will be a family compound, hurrah!
I’m sure in three months time it will all have fallen into place and I will be less emotional and Alfie will be happy as a pig in poo. Which incidentally, is two new words he said this week!
Money Matters
06.01.11 Money Matters
The official currency here is the kyat (pronounced ‘chat’) and it has no connection to any other currency in the world. So the exchange rate is a bit arbitrary to say the least. The official rate, according to the Myanamar government (which recently held very successful multi-party democratic elections by the way, as they tell us on the TV every 5 minutes or so) is six kyat to the dollar. So 6 kyat = $1. I emphasise that because the black market rate is in fact about one thousand kyat to the dollar. That is 1000 kyat = $1. I say black market, it is so open even the fairly posh hotel we stayed in for our first two nights printed all the menus in kyat, say 4000 for a beer. Then cheekily asked you to pay in dollars, working on an exchange rate of 850kyat to the dollar.
We did alright in fact, as Pete only managed to get a rate of 820kyat to the dollar that day, probably because it was the day before a public holiday (4 January is Independence Day here) and because there is still a fair smattering of tourists around. Oh, and the money lender didn’t like one of the serial numbers on a dollar note so he deducted about 1500kyat. True! They can also quite randomly decide that they don’t like the look of your money and will not accept any kind of tear or fold, plus use different rates for different denominations. So we have to keep a stock of pristine dollars about, in varying denominations. Because of course if you pay in dollars for anything (such as at the temple where the tourist visitor rate is $5 or 5500kyats) you have to pay the exact money because no-one has any change, and they don’t want to get rid of their dollars in any case.
Ditto the kyats really, because the internet caff and the taxis invariably demand exact money. The notes themselves are beautiful if a little random (the 1000 note is 2 different sizes) and often falling apart – Pete’s colleague working the delta region gets paid in kyats wrapped in plastic, they are so disintegrated.
Did I mention there are no ATM’s? And it is virtually impossible to access foreign money or accounts here. This means Pete gets paid in cash and every time he travels outside Myanmar, has to stock up.
Although on a good day you can apparently get 1200kyats to the dollar, the difference means a great variation in our cost of living. And needless to say Western goods are expensive. (No more Mini Baby-Bel for our boy, at almost a dollar a pop you can kiss them goodbye sunshine!) Rumours abound that the exchange rate will drop to as little as 600kyats to the dollar which would be disastrous not only for us, but for a lot of the projects Pete is working on. That’s a 40 – 50% drop in budget right there! And rents are already creeping up, with one business landlord demanding his rent be paid in kyats rather than the originally contracted dollars, for example.
There is also the FEC, Federal Exchange Currency, which is 1FEC = $1. I haven’t seen any of these yet but Pete’s staff are paid in FEC’s which is common practice, apparently.
All in all, a little random and a lot worrying.
The official currency here is the kyat (pronounced ‘chat’) and it has no connection to any other currency in the world. So the exchange rate is a bit arbitrary to say the least. The official rate, according to the Myanamar government (which recently held very successful multi-party democratic elections by the way, as they tell us on the TV every 5 minutes or so) is six kyat to the dollar. So 6 kyat = $1. I emphasise that because the black market rate is in fact about one thousand kyat to the dollar. That is 1000 kyat = $1. I say black market, it is so open even the fairly posh hotel we stayed in for our first two nights printed all the menus in kyat, say 4000 for a beer. Then cheekily asked you to pay in dollars, working on an exchange rate of 850kyat to the dollar.
We did alright in fact, as Pete only managed to get a rate of 820kyat to the dollar that day, probably because it was the day before a public holiday (4 January is Independence Day here) and because there is still a fair smattering of tourists around. Oh, and the money lender didn’t like one of the serial numbers on a dollar note so he deducted about 1500kyat. True! They can also quite randomly decide that they don’t like the look of your money and will not accept any kind of tear or fold, plus use different rates for different denominations. So we have to keep a stock of pristine dollars about, in varying denominations. Because of course if you pay in dollars for anything (such as at the temple where the tourist visitor rate is $5 or 5500kyats) you have to pay the exact money because no-one has any change, and they don’t want to get rid of their dollars in any case.
Ditto the kyats really, because the internet caff and the taxis invariably demand exact money. The notes themselves are beautiful if a little random (the 1000 note is 2 different sizes) and often falling apart – Pete’s colleague working the delta region gets paid in kyats wrapped in plastic, they are so disintegrated.
Did I mention there are no ATM’s? And it is virtually impossible to access foreign money or accounts here. This means Pete gets paid in cash and every time he travels outside Myanmar, has to stock up.
Although on a good day you can apparently get 1200kyats to the dollar, the difference means a great variation in our cost of living. And needless to say Western goods are expensive. (No more Mini Baby-Bel for our boy, at almost a dollar a pop you can kiss them goodbye sunshine!) Rumours abound that the exchange rate will drop to as little as 600kyats to the dollar which would be disastrous not only for us, but for a lot of the projects Pete is working on. That’s a 40 – 50% drop in budget right there! And rents are already creeping up, with one business landlord demanding his rent be paid in kyats rather than the originally contracted dollars, for example.
There is also the FEC, Federal Exchange Currency, which is 1FEC = $1. I haven’t seen any of these yet but Pete’s staff are paid in FEC’s which is common practice, apparently.
All in all, a little random and a lot worrying.
Jetlag and Culture Shock
06.01.11 Jetlag and Culture Shock
It’s a week since we left England and all in all I’d say we’re doing pretty well on the jetlag front. They say it takes a day for every hour’s difference and we’re 6 and a half hours ahead here so… Alfie and I especially seem to have adapted without too much trouble, Pete is still struggling a bit but then he has had to go to work as well.
Amazingly, Alfie slept right through nights 3, 4 and 5. On other nights we had to do a bit of midnight watching of the Tweenies DVD, especially the first night of course. He then fell asleep around 5am which was a shame as we had to get up an hour later and leave the hotel at 7am for our flight. As you lot were drinking champagne and wishing each other a Happy New Year we toasted you with our coffees at the breakfast bar of a hotel in Bangkok, which is 7 hours ahead. Just as well really, because we missed the Thai New Year entirely, not being able to make it past 10pm despite our best efforts.
And not only has he had the time difference to contend with, he’s also spent the last week cutting 2 of 4 molars now coming through, bless him. What with all that and the heat, missing mormor (his constant companion for the last 2 months), a slightly stressed mummy and daddy and a horde of admirers grabbing his chubby legs every time he steps out the door, he’s doing remarkably well, and all with his usual sunny outlook.
Jetlag is a funny old thing because it isn’t just about feeling tired at odd hours; your appetite is all up the spout too. And then there’s a certain blackness that descends, I guess because you’re all out of sync with your biorhythms or something, so the 4am slump we often sleep through, happens mid-morning, when you’re expected to be your perkiest and the sun is shining and all is well. And the sleep you do get can be a bit, well sort of bobbly. Like you’re weaving in and out of dream sleep and constantly almost surfacing before disappearing into the depths again. Not particularly refreshing.
Then there’s the culture shock. Here I am in somewhere so alien I find it difficult even to describe (though describing and writing helps no end) and it suddenly hits me that this is it. Here I am and I’m miles away from friends and family and there is just me and Pete and Alfie and I have to get on with it, no choice. And so I veer from excitement to depression at an alarming pace several times a day. This ties in with the jetlag too of course and the newness of it all. Some things are so ridiculous (the money thing, see separate entry) that it is mostly laughable, but at certain times of day it becomes infuriating. Take yesterday, when I had to use the loo at the Shwedagon Paya (see separate entry) and paid 1000 kyat, about $1, for the privilege. Pete was outraged and so cross with me for paying it. But as I said to him, next week I might feel able to argue about it. And the week after I will laugh at how silly I was to pay it. And the week after that I might even go back to the lady and demand my change. But now, just for now, I’m paralysed by my culture shock and worn out by jet lag and a little bit suffering from a dicky tummy and you know what? It’s only a dollar. And of course ordinarily he wouldn’t be cross about it, just surprised and bemused, but he’s suffering too and when you add in a fierce 30+ heat then life just feels a little hard work at times.
Then I lay on my new bed in my big new ensuite bedroom and look out at the palm trees and frangipane and bougainvillea, having just swum a whole 8 lengths of our little pool (12m long if that) which is approximately 5 steps from our front door and I feel a lot better. I imagine telephone conversations with my girlfriends, which helps too and think of a time in the not too distant future when I will have some new girlfriends who I will be able to have real conversations with, maybe even on a mobile phone if I’m lucky! Alfie and I have just shared a feast of watermelon, ‘apbuu’ (apple), tropical bananas so sweet they render the ones at home completely tasteless and of course ‘noi noi’s’; his favourite clementines which we eat in vast quantities because they are no bigger than a walnut and deliciously sweet too. Our maid Mu Mu (female names are always doubled) is here and takes care of all the cleaning, washing and ironing and killing the hated cockroaches on her way. I can sit and write this in peace in my air-conditioned room, listening to the noisy birds outside and every time I apply my sun lotion I feel like I’m on holiday. Life isn’t so bad after all.
It’s a week since we left England and all in all I’d say we’re doing pretty well on the jetlag front. They say it takes a day for every hour’s difference and we’re 6 and a half hours ahead here so… Alfie and I especially seem to have adapted without too much trouble, Pete is still struggling a bit but then he has had to go to work as well.
Amazingly, Alfie slept right through nights 3, 4 and 5. On other nights we had to do a bit of midnight watching of the Tweenies DVD, especially the first night of course. He then fell asleep around 5am which was a shame as we had to get up an hour later and leave the hotel at 7am for our flight. As you lot were drinking champagne and wishing each other a Happy New Year we toasted you with our coffees at the breakfast bar of a hotel in Bangkok, which is 7 hours ahead. Just as well really, because we missed the Thai New Year entirely, not being able to make it past 10pm despite our best efforts.
And not only has he had the time difference to contend with, he’s also spent the last week cutting 2 of 4 molars now coming through, bless him. What with all that and the heat, missing mormor (his constant companion for the last 2 months), a slightly stressed mummy and daddy and a horde of admirers grabbing his chubby legs every time he steps out the door, he’s doing remarkably well, and all with his usual sunny outlook.
Jetlag is a funny old thing because it isn’t just about feeling tired at odd hours; your appetite is all up the spout too. And then there’s a certain blackness that descends, I guess because you’re all out of sync with your biorhythms or something, so the 4am slump we often sleep through, happens mid-morning, when you’re expected to be your perkiest and the sun is shining and all is well. And the sleep you do get can be a bit, well sort of bobbly. Like you’re weaving in and out of dream sleep and constantly almost surfacing before disappearing into the depths again. Not particularly refreshing.
Then there’s the culture shock. Here I am in somewhere so alien I find it difficult even to describe (though describing and writing helps no end) and it suddenly hits me that this is it. Here I am and I’m miles away from friends and family and there is just me and Pete and Alfie and I have to get on with it, no choice. And so I veer from excitement to depression at an alarming pace several times a day. This ties in with the jetlag too of course and the newness of it all. Some things are so ridiculous (the money thing, see separate entry) that it is mostly laughable, but at certain times of day it becomes infuriating. Take yesterday, when I had to use the loo at the Shwedagon Paya (see separate entry) and paid 1000 kyat, about $1, for the privilege. Pete was outraged and so cross with me for paying it. But as I said to him, next week I might feel able to argue about it. And the week after I will laugh at how silly I was to pay it. And the week after that I might even go back to the lady and demand my change. But now, just for now, I’m paralysed by my culture shock and worn out by jet lag and a little bit suffering from a dicky tummy and you know what? It’s only a dollar. And of course ordinarily he wouldn’t be cross about it, just surprised and bemused, but he’s suffering too and when you add in a fierce 30+ heat then life just feels a little hard work at times.
Then I lay on my new bed in my big new ensuite bedroom and look out at the palm trees and frangipane and bougainvillea, having just swum a whole 8 lengths of our little pool (12m long if that) which is approximately 5 steps from our front door and I feel a lot better. I imagine telephone conversations with my girlfriends, which helps too and think of a time in the not too distant future when I will have some new girlfriends who I will be able to have real conversations with, maybe even on a mobile phone if I’m lucky! Alfie and I have just shared a feast of watermelon, ‘apbuu’ (apple), tropical bananas so sweet they render the ones at home completely tasteless and of course ‘noi noi’s’; his favourite clementines which we eat in vast quantities because they are no bigger than a walnut and deliciously sweet too. Our maid Mu Mu (female names are always doubled) is here and takes care of all the cleaning, washing and ironing and killing the hated cockroaches on her way. I can sit and write this in peace in my air-conditioned room, listening to the noisy birds outside and every time I apply my sun lotion I feel like I’m on holiday. Life isn’t so bad after all.
Shwedagon Paya
06.01.11 Shwedagon Paya
Or Shwe Dagon Pagoda if you prefer. There is often 3 different ways of spelling things here and no-one minds too much. So, yesterday we went for our first visit to the famous Shwedagon Paya (temple) which sits majestically at the top of a hill in the middle of Yangon and is a very sacred and holy place of pilgrimage for Myanmar’s if not the world’s Buddhists.
It is a ‘heart-stopping’ (Lonely Planet) ‘golden mystery…a beautiful, winking wonder’ (R. Kipling) or a sort of golden, bobbly dome affair (stupa), 98m from base to top and all covered in gold. And I mean GOLD. Some 60 tonnes of it, it is said, though it is also rumoured that the bottom half is just paint these days. And the official leaflet says there are 79 569 diamonds and precious stones inlaid at the top. Boy does it glisten in the sun! It can be seen for miles around, even at night and is a sight so spectacular, even Pete, who in his own words has seen a few things in his time, said he had seen nothing like it. It is quite, quite lovely.
It sits in a complex of gates and temples reached by a long, long series of steps. Or in fact escalators or even a lift, depending on which side you come in, North, East, South or West. We only discovered this latter fact on the way down but the exercise was good for us. Each gate has a Hall of Adoration and then there are deities and gods for all the planets, days of the week, some animal spirits (nats) and so on around the central golden-ness and also all around the sides too. In some of these temples people sit and eat their food and congregate and chat, it’s all very convivial. And on a lower level around the base people have shops and bustle about their business. It’s not like the Vatican in reverence though it’s probably just as important. And with equal amounts of gold, probably.
We had a great time wandering round, although the sun was blistering so it was nice to pop into a temple now and again. It’s hard to describe how opulent and impressive these are, many have giant Buddhas lining the sides, others have dragons and lions and such. Some are fairly simple, some are stone or marble, a couple are of the most ornate carved teak and all are colourful and beautiful, to my eye at least. There were lots of families and we saw a very sweet young boy of about 4 learning to pray with his mum and dad on each side. He was collapsing with tiredness and tedium and when he spotted us he tugged and tugged at mummy and daddy to look but to no avail. The look of disappointment as we disappeared out of view!
In fact we caused quite a stir all round. As Pete said, the monks could have cartwheeled naked around the temple and no-one would have noticed because apparently a white family with a blonde and blue-eyed boy is much more fascinating. To say we stick out is an understatement. There are tourists here of course, but not many. And not many with a shiny blonde angel child who smiles and laughs non-stop and is carried on his Daddy’s back in a baby-carrier (which also causes huge consternation wherever we go outside England, let alone Myanmar where I bet there aren’t many around).
Although we had been told that feet are considered dirty (we take our shoes off almost everywhere) and that it is considered offensive to touch someone’s head, including children, the first thing anyone did on approaching Alfie was, oddly, to tickle his feet and ruffle his hair. They were also taken by his chubby cheeks and legs which all got a good grabbing – so far he thinks this is funny but I can imagine the novelty will wear off quite soon. ‘He is fat!’ they declared merrily, ‘my brother’ laughed one man, plonking his little girl next to Alfie while the wife took a photo, ‘may I?’ said a raft of young ladies as they lined up with their cameras. If we thought Alfie caused a stir in Milan or Nairobi it was nothing compared with this. It’s the same in the supermarket. Pete and I will be discussing something and turn around to see 12 people surrounding us, pulling faces at our son. It was lovely in the hotel café the other day when the entire staff, from security to reception ran around after him while we had a drink. But at the Shwedagon Paya it got a little out of hand, at one point we couldn’t stop walking for causing such a crowd around us. It’s a bit weird but I am also enormously proud of my son for having such a lovely temperament and taking it all in his stride.
When we eventually set him down he went running off without a backwards glance and delighted in climbing around the temple steps. He is adept at getting strangers to do his bidding, causing much melting of hearts by stretching his arms out to be lifted up (so he can see better) and even bestowing the odd cuddle on an unsuspecting stranger. He even begged a few spoonfuls of rice off a security guard much to her amusement but was very definite in refusing a 4th helping, saying ‘ne’, shaking his head and running off again.
So that was our first experience of the famous temple. In time we will get a season ticket and no doubt take all our visitors there, probably even treat ourselves to a guided tour. But for this time we had seen enough after a couple of hours. And Alfie needed a rest from his fans!
Or Shwe Dagon Pagoda if you prefer. There is often 3 different ways of spelling things here and no-one minds too much. So, yesterday we went for our first visit to the famous Shwedagon Paya (temple) which sits majestically at the top of a hill in the middle of Yangon and is a very sacred and holy place of pilgrimage for Myanmar’s if not the world’s Buddhists.
It is a ‘heart-stopping’ (Lonely Planet) ‘golden mystery…a beautiful, winking wonder’ (R. Kipling) or a sort of golden, bobbly dome affair (stupa), 98m from base to top and all covered in gold. And I mean GOLD. Some 60 tonnes of it, it is said, though it is also rumoured that the bottom half is just paint these days. And the official leaflet says there are 79 569 diamonds and precious stones inlaid at the top. Boy does it glisten in the sun! It can be seen for miles around, even at night and is a sight so spectacular, even Pete, who in his own words has seen a few things in his time, said he had seen nothing like it. It is quite, quite lovely.
It sits in a complex of gates and temples reached by a long, long series of steps. Or in fact escalators or even a lift, depending on which side you come in, North, East, South or West. We only discovered this latter fact on the way down but the exercise was good for us. Each gate has a Hall of Adoration and then there are deities and gods for all the planets, days of the week, some animal spirits (nats) and so on around the central golden-ness and also all around the sides too. In some of these temples people sit and eat their food and congregate and chat, it’s all very convivial. And on a lower level around the base people have shops and bustle about their business. It’s not like the Vatican in reverence though it’s probably just as important. And with equal amounts of gold, probably.
We had a great time wandering round, although the sun was blistering so it was nice to pop into a temple now and again. It’s hard to describe how opulent and impressive these are, many have giant Buddhas lining the sides, others have dragons and lions and such. Some are fairly simple, some are stone or marble, a couple are of the most ornate carved teak and all are colourful and beautiful, to my eye at least. There were lots of families and we saw a very sweet young boy of about 4 learning to pray with his mum and dad on each side. He was collapsing with tiredness and tedium and when he spotted us he tugged and tugged at mummy and daddy to look but to no avail. The look of disappointment as we disappeared out of view!
In fact we caused quite a stir all round. As Pete said, the monks could have cartwheeled naked around the temple and no-one would have noticed because apparently a white family with a blonde and blue-eyed boy is much more fascinating. To say we stick out is an understatement. There are tourists here of course, but not many. And not many with a shiny blonde angel child who smiles and laughs non-stop and is carried on his Daddy’s back in a baby-carrier (which also causes huge consternation wherever we go outside England, let alone Myanmar where I bet there aren’t many around).
Although we had been told that feet are considered dirty (we take our shoes off almost everywhere) and that it is considered offensive to touch someone’s head, including children, the first thing anyone did on approaching Alfie was, oddly, to tickle his feet and ruffle his hair. They were also taken by his chubby cheeks and legs which all got a good grabbing – so far he thinks this is funny but I can imagine the novelty will wear off quite soon. ‘He is fat!’ they declared merrily, ‘my brother’ laughed one man, plonking his little girl next to Alfie while the wife took a photo, ‘may I?’ said a raft of young ladies as they lined up with their cameras. If we thought Alfie caused a stir in Milan or Nairobi it was nothing compared with this. It’s the same in the supermarket. Pete and I will be discussing something and turn around to see 12 people surrounding us, pulling faces at our son. It was lovely in the hotel café the other day when the entire staff, from security to reception ran around after him while we had a drink. But at the Shwedagon Paya it got a little out of hand, at one point we couldn’t stop walking for causing such a crowd around us. It’s a bit weird but I am also enormously proud of my son for having such a lovely temperament and taking it all in his stride.
When we eventually set him down he went running off without a backwards glance and delighted in climbing around the temple steps. He is adept at getting strangers to do his bidding, causing much melting of hearts by stretching his arms out to be lifted up (so he can see better) and even bestowing the odd cuddle on an unsuspecting stranger. He even begged a few spoonfuls of rice off a security guard much to her amusement but was very definite in refusing a 4th helping, saying ‘ne’, shaking his head and running off again.
So that was our first experience of the famous temple. In time we will get a season ticket and no doubt take all our visitors there, probably even treat ourselves to a guided tour. But for this time we had seen enough after a couple of hours. And Alfie needed a rest from his fans!
Inya Lake Hotel
02.01.11 Inya Lake Hotel
So here we are in Yangon, ensconsed in the rather fantastic Inya Lake Hotel. When we arrived, via a 15 minute drive from the airport, Alfie and I were welcomed by an army of concierges on the majestic porch, who took care of our luggage while we wandered through the foyer (we had so much luggage that Pete had to wait at the airport with half of it for the driver to come back for him). And would you believe it? There in the foyer of our hotel was a menagerie of animals! Real, live baa’s (2 pygmy goats), quack quacks (2), bok bok’s (1 chicken), a cockadoodledoo and 4 little bunnies. All inside a straw-laden picket- fenced enclosure which I think was supposed to resemble a nativity scene or some such. What luck! Alfie immediately stamped his (and therefore our) approval on this place. Genius!
The hotel itself nestles on the northern shore of the lake which lies in the north/middle of Yangon. It does seem to be rather far from anything so for 3 days we haven’t ventured out. As there is 34 acres of grounds and the most fantastic pool however, that doesn’t seem as bad as it sounds. The pool is huge and has an equally large baby pool attached with a wonderful mushroom-like fountain, a bridge to swim under, steps and a fairly steep incline to over 2m at the deepest end.
Pete declares the building to be Socialist. By which he means it is supposed to impress (and repress?) while all the time being made, in fact, of concrete. Indeed it is on a grand scale. How many London hotels have room for a live nativity scene in their foyers I wonder? And it is also a Testament to Teak of course. Vast acreages of floor being laid in it and all the furniture being made of it (and it is SO heavy). Our room is enormous (just as well with 15 pieces of baggage) and everything epitomises an air of faded grandeur as you might expect when the mighty have fallen. I feel I am getting into some Socialist prose here.
The staff are beyond lovely, besotted with Alfie and endlessly patient when he wants to play with the ornamental lions (he and the doormen growl and roar sweetly at each other). The uniforms are beautiful with brightly coloured lime or turquoise or royal blue blouses and matching skirts, or sarongs, for men and women alike. Well, the men have a more sober, plain shirt but all wear the ‘longyi’ (skirts).
All in all, not a bad place to get over our jetlag and acclimatise to the sun.
So here we are in Yangon, ensconsed in the rather fantastic Inya Lake Hotel. When we arrived, via a 15 minute drive from the airport, Alfie and I were welcomed by an army of concierges on the majestic porch, who took care of our luggage while we wandered through the foyer (we had so much luggage that Pete had to wait at the airport with half of it for the driver to come back for him). And would you believe it? There in the foyer of our hotel was a menagerie of animals! Real, live baa’s (2 pygmy goats), quack quacks (2), bok bok’s (1 chicken), a cockadoodledoo and 4 little bunnies. All inside a straw-laden picket- fenced enclosure which I think was supposed to resemble a nativity scene or some such. What luck! Alfie immediately stamped his (and therefore our) approval on this place. Genius!
The hotel itself nestles on the northern shore of the lake which lies in the north/middle of Yangon. It does seem to be rather far from anything so for 3 days we haven’t ventured out. As there is 34 acres of grounds and the most fantastic pool however, that doesn’t seem as bad as it sounds. The pool is huge and has an equally large baby pool attached with a wonderful mushroom-like fountain, a bridge to swim under, steps and a fairly steep incline to over 2m at the deepest end.
Pete declares the building to be Socialist. By which he means it is supposed to impress (and repress?) while all the time being made, in fact, of concrete. Indeed it is on a grand scale. How many London hotels have room for a live nativity scene in their foyers I wonder? And it is also a Testament to Teak of course. Vast acreages of floor being laid in it and all the furniture being made of it (and it is SO heavy). Our room is enormous (just as well with 15 pieces of baggage) and everything epitomises an air of faded grandeur as you might expect when the mighty have fallen. I feel I am getting into some Socialist prose here.
The staff are beyond lovely, besotted with Alfie and endlessly patient when he wants to play with the ornamental lions (he and the doormen growl and roar sweetly at each other). The uniforms are beautiful with brightly coloured lime or turquoise or royal blue blouses and matching skirts, or sarongs, for men and women alike. Well, the men have a more sober, plain shirt but all wear the ‘longyi’ (skirts).
All in all, not a bad place to get over our jetlag and acclimatise to the sun.
Internet and Telephone
15.01.11 Internet Access and Landline Phone
Because I haven’t got internet access and the few times I have logged on I’ve been unable to access my blog, some of these entries will be posted all together. I’ll do my best to put them in date order but the date I wrote them will appear at the top in case of confusion, so you can see when I wrote it. Hope that makes sense!
We are working on internet access at home and should have this sorted in the next month or so. In the meanwhile, as I am without childcare (something else I am working on!) I can’t easily get to an internet café. My blogposts and email replies are therefore limited to the weekend when we might go to a restaurant or hotel with wifi. And even then I don’t particularly want to spend hours on the laptop!
So apologies in advance for erratic replies and communication generally. We do have a landline telephone and our number is 01 544172. I can’t remember the country code for Myanmar and I’m sure it’s a minimum of around 18p a minute, but DO check International Call Checker which you can access via Martins Money Tips, if not via Google (in the UK at least). You can also make calls via Skype of course (you’ll still pay but it’s cheaper) and if you prefer to talk for free, Pete is often online at work; his Skype name is alfredsdad (and I’m alfredsmum)! We are six and a half hours ahead of the UK. We’re about 6 hours behind Australia, depending on which state you are in.
You are very welcome to call and do remember that the phone lines here can be erratic so don’t give up. You may hear an engaged tone even if we’re not engaged for example.
If all this sounds too complicated then do please keep the emails coming as they are very much appreciated, even if we aren’t able to reply at once!
Because I haven’t got internet access and the few times I have logged on I’ve been unable to access my blog, some of these entries will be posted all together. I’ll do my best to put them in date order but the date I wrote them will appear at the top in case of confusion, so you can see when I wrote it. Hope that makes sense!
We are working on internet access at home and should have this sorted in the next month or so. In the meanwhile, as I am without childcare (something else I am working on!) I can’t easily get to an internet café. My blogposts and email replies are therefore limited to the weekend when we might go to a restaurant or hotel with wifi. And even then I don’t particularly want to spend hours on the laptop!
So apologies in advance for erratic replies and communication generally. We do have a landline telephone and our number is 01 544172. I can’t remember the country code for Myanmar and I’m sure it’s a minimum of around 18p a minute, but DO check International Call Checker which you can access via Martins Money Tips, if not via Google (in the UK at least). You can also make calls via Skype of course (you’ll still pay but it’s cheaper) and if you prefer to talk for free, Pete is often online at work; his Skype name is alfredsdad (and I’m alfredsmum)! We are six and a half hours ahead of the UK. We’re about 6 hours behind Australia, depending on which state you are in.
You are very welcome to call and do remember that the phone lines here can be erratic so don’t give up. You may hear an engaged tone even if we’re not engaged for example.
If all this sounds too complicated then do please keep the emails coming as they are very much appreciated, even if we aren’t able to reply at once!
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