Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo
© Thomas Wilson Shawcross and Rich Marcy 3 Dec 2005
Cleverly concealed in its native habitat, the Golden Boulder
amply rewards the perceptive traveler who can find it
In a departure from my usual routine in writing “Today’s Story,” I have decided to write just the introduction to someone else’s story. In this case, that “someone else” is my good friend Rich Marcy, who, unaccountably is still on speaking terms with me. You will understand why I say “unaccountably” after you have read Rich’s amazing travel adventure.
But first, a few words about the Boulder . . .
I first became aware of the Golden Boulder about thirty years ago, when I was doing some research on Burma (now called Myanmar). I was considering going there on holiday, as I had seen some terrific travel posters of the Plains of Bagan. Here are two images I found at www.asiatours.net :
As noted in Wikipedia: Bagan (Burmese), formerly Pagan, was the ancient capital of several ancient kingdoms in Myanmar (Burma). It is located in the dry central plains of the country, located on the western banks of the Ayeyarwady River (Irrawaddy River), and is 145 km (90 mi) southwest of Mandalay. UNESCO has long tried unsuccessfully to designate Bagan as a World Heritage Site. However, Bagan's chance of becoming a World Heritage Site is now slim, as the government has renovated many temples and pagodas without taking into consideration their former architectural styles.
Oh, how I wanted to go to Bagan! This looked so different from what I normally experience. But the icing was put on the cake when I read about another of Burma’s (now Myanmar’s) great attractions: the Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo. Who wouldn’t want to see a giant gold boulder that was so precariously balanced; tourists could make it wobble by prying beneath it with a small stick?
I almost went to Myanmar when I was working in Thailand and Singapore, but I didn’t want to go there by myself, and I couldn’t persuade any of my colleagues to join me. They were put off by the warning posted on the Lonely Planet travel guide that said it was dangerous to go there (just because Myanmar was in the throes of an extended civil war, and if one used the official government-sponsored travel agency, rebels would try to shoot you, and if you didn’t use it the government would try to arrest you).
When my good friend Rich Marcy was nearing the end of his work assignment in Japan, he asked me for suggestions regarding what he should see before returning to the US. Well, of course, I suggested the Golden Boulder. Come to think of it, I think I forgot to mention that civil war thing to Rich, but I doubt that would have influenced Rich’s decision anyway.
Rich decided to go see the Golden Boulder of Kyaktiyo. Here is his story:
The following story was written by my good friend Rich Marcy:
Epilogue:
Fortunately, when Rich traveled to Bagan, it’s thousand-plus temples and stupas were not concealed under temporary bamboo enclosures.
See: http://students.ou.edu/M/Richard.T.Marcy-1/travel.html
The Golden Boulder on the day Rich Marcy was there
The Golden Boulder on almost any other day
Rich Marcy in Bagan
Cleverly concealed in its native habitat, the Golden Boulder
amply rewards the perceptive traveler who can find it
In a departure from my usual routine in writing “Today’s Story,” I have decided to write just the introduction to someone else’s story. In this case, that “someone else” is my good friend Rich Marcy, who, unaccountably is still on speaking terms with me. You will understand why I say “unaccountably” after you have read Rich’s amazing travel adventure.
But first, a few words about the Boulder . . .
I first became aware of the Golden Boulder about thirty years ago, when I was doing some research on Burma (now called Myanmar). I was considering going there on holiday, as I had seen some terrific travel posters of the Plains of Bagan. Here are two images I found at www.asiatours.net :
As noted in Wikipedia: Bagan (Burmese), formerly Pagan, was the ancient capital of several ancient kingdoms in Myanmar (Burma). It is located in the dry central plains of the country, located on the western banks of the Ayeyarwady River (Irrawaddy River), and is 145 km (90 mi) southwest of Mandalay. UNESCO has long tried unsuccessfully to designate Bagan as a World Heritage Site. However, Bagan's chance of becoming a World Heritage Site is now slim, as the government has renovated many temples and pagodas without taking into consideration their former architectural styles.
Oh, how I wanted to go to Bagan! This looked so different from what I normally experience. But the icing was put on the cake when I read about another of Burma’s (now Myanmar’s) great attractions: the Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo. Who wouldn’t want to see a giant gold boulder that was so precariously balanced; tourists could make it wobble by prying beneath it with a small stick?
I almost went to Myanmar when I was working in Thailand and Singapore, but I didn’t want to go there by myself, and I couldn’t persuade any of my colleagues to join me. They were put off by the warning posted on the Lonely Planet travel guide that said it was dangerous to go there (just because Myanmar was in the throes of an extended civil war, and if one used the official government-sponsored travel agency, rebels would try to shoot you, and if you didn’t use it the government would try to arrest you).
When my good friend Rich Marcy was nearing the end of his work assignment in Japan, he asked me for suggestions regarding what he should see before returning to the US. Well, of course, I suggested the Golden Boulder. Come to think of it, I think I forgot to mention that civil war thing to Rich, but I doubt that would have influenced Rich’s decision anyway.
Rich decided to go see the Golden Boulder of Kyaktiyo. Here is his story:
The following story was written by my good friend Rich Marcy:
Ah yes, Burma! The land of mystery that has captured our
collective imagination for hundreds of years. (And, of which, I didn’t know
anything about, until a good friend of mine told me about it, just shortly
before I left for Cambodia.)
On my friend’s prompting, I ended up doing some research and
found Burma to be an extremely interesting place, to say the least. Myanmar
(Burma) is one of the oldest Buddhist countries in the world, closed off in
isolation for the last couple of decades by an extreme military regime, and home
to Buddhist temples that are hundreds of years old. I also found out in my readings that Myanmar
is also home to the amazing balancing Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo!
The Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo is a huge boulder (33 feet high) that is precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff, at the very top of a mountain (Kyaiktiyo mountain, to be precise). Its balance is so sensitive, that visitors were once allowed to push on it, and watch it sway back and forth on its precipice (visitors are no longer allowed to do this, for obvious reasons). Even now, no one has any idea of how the boulder has been able to stay up there.
It’s called the Golden Boulder because it is entirely covered in gold. Buddhist monks from all over Myanmar make pilgrimages to it year-round (it’s one of Myanmar’s holiest sites), and when they arrive, they press gold leaf onto it.
The Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo is a huge boulder (33 feet high) that is precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff, at the very top of a mountain (Kyaiktiyo mountain, to be precise). Its balance is so sensitive, that visitors were once allowed to push on it, and watch it sway back and forth on its precipice (visitors are no longer allowed to do this, for obvious reasons). Even now, no one has any idea of how the boulder has been able to stay up there.
It’s called the Golden Boulder because it is entirely covered in gold. Buddhist monks from all over Myanmar make pilgrimages to it year-round (it’s one of Myanmar’s holiest sites), and when they arrive, they press gold leaf onto it.
After reading all of this, I couldn’t get it out of my mind
– I had to see the Golden Boulder! So, shortly after leaving Phnom Penh and
flying into Bangkok, I took the next flight to Yangon and began my own
pilgrimage.
Once I arrived in Yangon, I consulted my guidebook. It said: ”to get to the Golden Boulder, you must go to the Yangon Bus Terminal, and take a 5 hour bus ride to Kyaiktiyo. Then, when you get there, you must work out local transportation to get to the mountain base. There will then be transportation there to get you up the largest part of the mountain, stopping short of the peak, so that you can then walk the rest of the way up to the top, to see the Golden Boulder.”
It all sounded straightforward enough, so the minute I landed at the Yangon International Airport, I made my way to the information desk, and got a taxi to the Yangon Bus Terminal. It was really no problem getting there (it only took 15 minutes from the airport), but I wasn’t really prepared for what I had to deal with once I got there.
The Yangon Bus Terminal was unlike any terminal I had been in before. For one, there was no central building, or even central spot, to speak of. The terminal was really nothing more than a muddy field crowded with people and dilapidated buses, with a number of wooden shanties on the periphery. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. And looking around the crowd, at the hundreds of Burmese people moving about, I quickly realized that I was also the only Westerner there.
I started going up to the shanties and asking about Kyaiktiyo. Absolutely no one knew what the hell I was talking about (this is just a hunch now mind you, but I think this may have something to do with the fact that I was speaking English and not Burmese).
Once I arrived in Yangon, I consulted my guidebook. It said: ”to get to the Golden Boulder, you must go to the Yangon Bus Terminal, and take a 5 hour bus ride to Kyaiktiyo. Then, when you get there, you must work out local transportation to get to the mountain base. There will then be transportation there to get you up the largest part of the mountain, stopping short of the peak, so that you can then walk the rest of the way up to the top, to see the Golden Boulder.”
It all sounded straightforward enough, so the minute I landed at the Yangon International Airport, I made my way to the information desk, and got a taxi to the Yangon Bus Terminal. It was really no problem getting there (it only took 15 minutes from the airport), but I wasn’t really prepared for what I had to deal with once I got there.
The Yangon Bus Terminal was unlike any terminal I had been in before. For one, there was no central building, or even central spot, to speak of. The terminal was really nothing more than a muddy field crowded with people and dilapidated buses, with a number of wooden shanties on the periphery. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. And looking around the crowd, at the hundreds of Burmese people moving about, I quickly realized that I was also the only Westerner there.
I started going up to the shanties and asking about Kyaiktiyo. Absolutely no one knew what the hell I was talking about (this is just a hunch now mind you, but I think this may have something to do with the fact that I was speaking English and not Burmese).
I started using a couple of Burmese phrases that I picked up
in the guidebook, but none of these were really getting me very far. I finally
came up to a shack of people that actually smiled and nodded in acknowledgement
when I said the word, “Kyaiktiyo.” Of course, shortly thereafter, they continued
on in Burmese and, again, I didn’t understand a word. I just continued to grin
like an idiot, and hoped that eventually, I would understand what was going on.
It didn’t happen. The Burmese at the shack grew tired of
talking to me, and began to talk amongst themselves. I didn’t know what the
hell else to do, so I just stood there, and continued to look at them and grin.
They were starting to get annoyed, and averting their eyes from mine (god
knows, I don’t blame them; I would have done exactly the same). Nonetheless, this was the closest I had gotten
to Kyaiktiyo yet, so I was sticking with it. Eventually, just to break up the tension a
little bit, I said, ”Kyaiktiyo?”
Finally, one man broke. He got out of his chair, and came up to me and said, “Kyaiktiyo?”, and I, still grinning like an idiot, said, ”Kyaiktiyo!” He then literally grabbed me by the arm, and led me, for the next 15 minutes, through the urban jungle that was the Yangon Bus Terminal, until we reached the sorriest excuse of a truck I have ever seen.
It was loaded with people (there were approximately 17 people crammed in the back). The man who had escorted me by the arm began talking with the driver. The driver listened to the shack-man, all the while laughing and nodding, and then eventually gestured to me to come sit in the front of the cab with him, in between him and his friend who was holding onto some pvc pipe out the side window. I crawled in between them, with all of my stuff (a month’s worth of backpacking gear), and we set off in the truck.
All the while I was thinking, “Truck? Dang. I’ve just started this trip, and I’m already off the fucking page of the guidebook.”
Going down the road in this truck, I started thinking about all of the things that I read from the State Department about transportation in Myanmar. For one, the Burmese drive on the right side of the road, just like in the US and Canada. However, 90% of their vehicles are set up with right-hand drive, just like in the UK, effectively leaving a blind spot on the left-hand side of the vehicle that could aptly be called a “death zone.” In addition, I also read that it’s best to stay off the roads at night, because the truck drivers who are driving at that time are often high on spiked betel nut (which is an amphetamine-laced, leafy-like substance that produces a very red mouth and very red spit, and can be seen everywhere in Myanmar). I didn’t think much of this second fact (as I was too busy focusing on the first) until the driver literally offered me some.
I wasn’t sure at first, if it was the same betel nut that the State Department had talked about, and I assumed I was just being paranoid. Shortly after the driver offered me some, though, he pointed at it with his other hand (of course, thereby effectively taking both hands off the wheel of the truck to do so), and then pointed at his head, rolled his eyes and his head at the same time, and then laughed. Given everything going on at the moment, I nodded appreciatively and gestured, “no thanks, maybe next time!”
The driver was a really nice and funny guy, and throughout the whole time I was in the truck cab, he continued to talk to me in a non-patronizing manner, even though he knew I didn’t speak a lick of Burmese. He was often joking around; at one point, he even pointed at the front of the truck and laughed, noting with his hands how high the front of the truck was off of the ground, due to the amount of people we were carrying in the back. I laughed along, all the while quietly shitting my pants.
Eventually, we pulled into another large, bus terminal. I then realized the difficulty at the former bus terminal –there were no buses going directly to Kyaiktiyo from that location, and I had to make it over to this one in order to leave today.
Same as before, I was lead by the truck driver to another man, who then, fantastically, took me to a bus, and after taking my money (US equivalent: 50 cents), sat me on board. At last, I was finally going to be taking the 5 hour bus ride to Kyaiktiyo. Waiting to depart, this was all somewhat confirmed by the many Buddhist monks coming on board. There were quite a number of them, and it was already an interesting experience sharing a bus with them. Some of them had tattoos on their hands, very crudely drawn, and it made them look very bad-assy. On one hand, it seemed like somewhat of a visual contradiction to their roles, given the general pacifist nature of those who typically follow Buddhist precepts; on the other hand, it seemed right somehow too - the idea of life being difficult, and that you really have to earn enlightenment, seemed to be driven home in those tattoos and their sunburned and wrinkled bald heads.
We waited until the bus was filled to capacity and then we were off. The bus ride went pretty smoothly, despite the rough shape the bus was in. Despite the fact that each bus in the terminal was prominently labeled as having air conditioning, none of them actually had it. My particular bus did not have any windows, so it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. The thing was though, that this was absolutely fine with me. I actually like the heat, and don’t like air-conditioning, and the breeze from the open windows was nice. Plus, the unadulterated view of the Burmese countryside was amazing.
Finally, one man broke. He got out of his chair, and came up to me and said, “Kyaiktiyo?”, and I, still grinning like an idiot, said, ”Kyaiktiyo!” He then literally grabbed me by the arm, and led me, for the next 15 minutes, through the urban jungle that was the Yangon Bus Terminal, until we reached the sorriest excuse of a truck I have ever seen.
It was loaded with people (there were approximately 17 people crammed in the back). The man who had escorted me by the arm began talking with the driver. The driver listened to the shack-man, all the while laughing and nodding, and then eventually gestured to me to come sit in the front of the cab with him, in between him and his friend who was holding onto some pvc pipe out the side window. I crawled in between them, with all of my stuff (a month’s worth of backpacking gear), and we set off in the truck.
All the while I was thinking, “Truck? Dang. I’ve just started this trip, and I’m already off the fucking page of the guidebook.”
Going down the road in this truck, I started thinking about all of the things that I read from the State Department about transportation in Myanmar. For one, the Burmese drive on the right side of the road, just like in the US and Canada. However, 90% of their vehicles are set up with right-hand drive, just like in the UK, effectively leaving a blind spot on the left-hand side of the vehicle that could aptly be called a “death zone.” In addition, I also read that it’s best to stay off the roads at night, because the truck drivers who are driving at that time are often high on spiked betel nut (which is an amphetamine-laced, leafy-like substance that produces a very red mouth and very red spit, and can be seen everywhere in Myanmar). I didn’t think much of this second fact (as I was too busy focusing on the first) until the driver literally offered me some.
I wasn’t sure at first, if it was the same betel nut that the State Department had talked about, and I assumed I was just being paranoid. Shortly after the driver offered me some, though, he pointed at it with his other hand (of course, thereby effectively taking both hands off the wheel of the truck to do so), and then pointed at his head, rolled his eyes and his head at the same time, and then laughed. Given everything going on at the moment, I nodded appreciatively and gestured, “no thanks, maybe next time!”
The driver was a really nice and funny guy, and throughout the whole time I was in the truck cab, he continued to talk to me in a non-patronizing manner, even though he knew I didn’t speak a lick of Burmese. He was often joking around; at one point, he even pointed at the front of the truck and laughed, noting with his hands how high the front of the truck was off of the ground, due to the amount of people we were carrying in the back. I laughed along, all the while quietly shitting my pants.
Eventually, we pulled into another large, bus terminal. I then realized the difficulty at the former bus terminal –there were no buses going directly to Kyaiktiyo from that location, and I had to make it over to this one in order to leave today.
Same as before, I was lead by the truck driver to another man, who then, fantastically, took me to a bus, and after taking my money (US equivalent: 50 cents), sat me on board. At last, I was finally going to be taking the 5 hour bus ride to Kyaiktiyo. Waiting to depart, this was all somewhat confirmed by the many Buddhist monks coming on board. There were quite a number of them, and it was already an interesting experience sharing a bus with them. Some of them had tattoos on their hands, very crudely drawn, and it made them look very bad-assy. On one hand, it seemed like somewhat of a visual contradiction to their roles, given the general pacifist nature of those who typically follow Buddhist precepts; on the other hand, it seemed right somehow too - the idea of life being difficult, and that you really have to earn enlightenment, seemed to be driven home in those tattoos and their sunburned and wrinkled bald heads.
We waited until the bus was filled to capacity and then we were off. The bus ride went pretty smoothly, despite the rough shape the bus was in. Despite the fact that each bus in the terminal was prominently labeled as having air conditioning, none of them actually had it. My particular bus did not have any windows, so it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. The thing was though, that this was absolutely fine with me. I actually like the heat, and don’t like air-conditioning, and the breeze from the open windows was nice. Plus, the unadulterated view of the Burmese countryside was amazing.
Along the way, I saw Burmese farmers, wearing their Tatamaw
hats, and religious stands along the highway, with huge loudspeakers (which
were for asking money from people who are passing through). There were long
stretches of farmland, and shacks out in the middle of nowhere. Every once in
awhile we would stop to go to the bathroom, or to eat at a local stand. It was very nice.
After approximately 5 and a half hours, we came into a town, and I was hoping that this might be it - this might be Kyaiktiyo. I asked a couple of Burmese passengers, and they nodded that yes, this was Kyaiktiyo. I started getting very excited. I went up to ask the bus driver, and he nodded the same. The bus then came to a halt, and the driver then gestured for me to get out. I was thinking about what I would have to do next (the guidebook said that I would have to hook up local transportation at this point), so I couldn’t believe my luck when there was a truck right there at the stop, waiting to take passengers to the base of the mountain.
There was however, one problem: this truck was an even bigger piece of shit than the one I had been in Yangon. I have been in some pieces of shit before (I’ve personally owned a number of them), but this thing was really a work of art. I could hardly believe it was still making it down the road.
After approximately 5 and a half hours, we came into a town, and I was hoping that this might be it - this might be Kyaiktiyo. I asked a couple of Burmese passengers, and they nodded that yes, this was Kyaiktiyo. I started getting very excited. I went up to ask the bus driver, and he nodded the same. The bus then came to a halt, and the driver then gestured for me to get out. I was thinking about what I would have to do next (the guidebook said that I would have to hook up local transportation at this point), so I couldn’t believe my luck when there was a truck right there at the stop, waiting to take passengers to the base of the mountain.
There was however, one problem: this truck was an even bigger piece of shit than the one I had been in Yangon. I have been in some pieces of shit before (I’ve personally owned a number of them), but this thing was really a work of art. I could hardly believe it was still making it down the road.
After I was led into the cab, the door had to be secured
with wire from the outside. As I looked at the inside of the door, and the
inside of the entire cabin, I noticed that everything that could have possibly
rusted and fallen out had: the door handles, the radio, the siding, entire parts
of the dashboard, everything. There were no seatbelts and, as we went down the
road, I noticed that the steering of the wheel seemed at times to bear little
relationship to the actual direction of the truck. The man driving the truck
was quite elderly and frail looking as all hell.
I was just putting all of this together in my head as we barreled down the road (all the while, thinking of an emergency plan in case all hell broke loose), when, just as I started to think I had it all figured out, I heard an odd grinding noise. I traced it all the way up into the front windshield, which, to my surprise, was actually not a windshield at all - it was panes of window glass fitted into the frame. Now, just in case you are not aware of this, the importance of a proper windshield is that it is made of a type of safety glass that will crack and splinter like a spider web upon impact, but not break; in other words, they will not, in the event of an accident, shatter and blow razor sharp shards of glass into your face. Guess what window pane glass will do?
So here I was, on my way to the Golden Boulder - or certain death. I am happy to say, that after a couple of hairy turns, some uncertain stops with the truck driver asking me questions in Burmese (and of course, me responding with an idiotic grin and my mantra, “Kyaiktiyo?”), we arrived at the base of the mountain.
By this time, I had been traveling for approximately 9 hours and the time was now 6 pm. There was still sunlight out, and I started to think that maybe I would actually see the Golden Boulder today. I walked my way through the town, and came up on a small hill where a large truck was parked, with many people sitting in the bed in back. I was hoping that this might be the truck up the mountain, and I was right. I bought a ticket at the stand next to the truck, climbed in the back, and waited. After a half an hour, the driver climbed inside the truck, and we started up the mountain.
At this point, I figured I had about an hour left of sunlight in the day. The guidebook said that it would take a half an hour for the truck to get to its stop near the peak, and another 45 minutes to walk to the top. I figured that if I really stepped it out, that maybe I could make the top within the sunset. I was getting very excited.
The ascent was very steep and beautiful, and as the truck wound its way up the mountain in second gear (often times in first), the scenery was unbelievable. Very lush jungle, with the sun hitting it all just right. And there I was sitting in the back of this truck filled with Burmese people, no one speaking a drop of English. It was really great.
And then, just short of the top, something odd happened. Without any explanation, we suddenly slowed and pulled over to the side of the road and the truck driver shut off the truck. At first, I thought that it was maybe perhaps to give the truck’s transmission a little break. But then we waited, and we waited. The driver did not even get out of the cab. No one climbed out from the back of the truck. No one moved. Everyone spoke in the same even calm tones (all in Burmese, of course.) And I just sat there in the back, wondering what the hell was going on.
Eventually, night fell. At one point, even knowing that it was likely going to be useless, I couldn’t resist turning to the woman next to me and asking with a big smile, “why are we not moving?” Of course, she just looked at me without saying a word, also smiled a big smile, and then nodded politely. I did the same, and then continued to look straight ahead, into what was now nothing but inky blackness. And then I giggled a little bit. Several minutes later, inexplicably, the truck driver started the truck, and we started back up the mountain again. To this day, I have no real idea of why we stopped. Ten minutes later, we were at the head of the walking trail.
At this point, it was already night, and I was pretty tired, so I decided that I would climb up to see the Golden Boulder first thing in the morning. I got a room at an inn that they had at the base camp, and promptly passed out, waking up the next morning at 5:30 am. It was still dark when I hit the trail going up to the peak, so I broke out my flashlight. There was no one else on the trail going up, at least not initially. Eventually, I ran into some Buddhist monks who were making their pilgrimages up the mountain, and who, unlike me, had climbed all the way from the base of the mountain up. Everyone was nodding and smiling at each other.
I couldn’t see very much in the dark, but for what I could see, it was all very nice, with the steep path up the mountain bordered by the thick jungle. It all felt (I almost hate to say it) very mystical, and there was a fog surrounding everything. The climb was a nice hike, just physical enough to get the blood going. When I reached the platform, I was already starting to feel some accomplishment; passing through the two huge monuments that guarded the entrance, I actually felt as if I was entering some new world. I was starting to get pretty amped up by the whole experience, and was starting to think about how impressive it was going to be to see this golden boulder surrounded by fog, balancing in the wind, up on the top of a mountain.
The white tile platform at the top was huge, and it’s a little misleading to call it a platform, because it extends for what seems to be forever. It’s really huge, and has many interesting statues and gazebos on it. I gathered that this was all supporting infrastructure for the constant pilgrimages to the Boulder. It looked as if a lot of it was under construction, with great piles of dirt and tiles stacked up everywhere. As the sun started to come up, I quickly passed by the majority of it, getting eager to see the Boulder itself.
But I couldn’t seem to find it. Eventually, I came upon a pretty large construction site, all decked out with scaffolding and steps leading up the side of it. Looking at it, I deduced that this was perhaps a reviewing stand being built to better view the Golden Boulder, and I got excited, because then I realized that the Golden Boulder had to be just on the opposite side of this thing. As early as it was, there were already a number of people praying in this very area, and I thought this is gotta be it; I gotta be close. I worked my way around the reviewing stand to get a better look.
When I finally got to the other side, I found nothing. I was starting to get dumbfounded. Where is this thing? It’s supposed to be huge! For some reason, I then started thinking back to a conversation I had with myself back when I was in Bagan, and saw the construction that was going on in some of the temples. I was laughing to myself then over the idea that, in a country so isolated from the world as Myanmar, it could be possible to just make things up about yourself and get away with it. Hypothetically, Myanmar could tell the world, “oh yeah, sure – we have 1000 year old ruins. They’re amazing. You should come see them sometime.” And then they could just promptly build some structures that look old and interesting. Most people, including myself, wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
I was just putting all of this together in my head as we barreled down the road (all the while, thinking of an emergency plan in case all hell broke loose), when, just as I started to think I had it all figured out, I heard an odd grinding noise. I traced it all the way up into the front windshield, which, to my surprise, was actually not a windshield at all - it was panes of window glass fitted into the frame. Now, just in case you are not aware of this, the importance of a proper windshield is that it is made of a type of safety glass that will crack and splinter like a spider web upon impact, but not break; in other words, they will not, in the event of an accident, shatter and blow razor sharp shards of glass into your face. Guess what window pane glass will do?
So here I was, on my way to the Golden Boulder - or certain death. I am happy to say, that after a couple of hairy turns, some uncertain stops with the truck driver asking me questions in Burmese (and of course, me responding with an idiotic grin and my mantra, “Kyaiktiyo?”), we arrived at the base of the mountain.
By this time, I had been traveling for approximately 9 hours and the time was now 6 pm. There was still sunlight out, and I started to think that maybe I would actually see the Golden Boulder today. I walked my way through the town, and came up on a small hill where a large truck was parked, with many people sitting in the bed in back. I was hoping that this might be the truck up the mountain, and I was right. I bought a ticket at the stand next to the truck, climbed in the back, and waited. After a half an hour, the driver climbed inside the truck, and we started up the mountain.
At this point, I figured I had about an hour left of sunlight in the day. The guidebook said that it would take a half an hour for the truck to get to its stop near the peak, and another 45 minutes to walk to the top. I figured that if I really stepped it out, that maybe I could make the top within the sunset. I was getting very excited.
The ascent was very steep and beautiful, and as the truck wound its way up the mountain in second gear (often times in first), the scenery was unbelievable. Very lush jungle, with the sun hitting it all just right. And there I was sitting in the back of this truck filled with Burmese people, no one speaking a drop of English. It was really great.
And then, just short of the top, something odd happened. Without any explanation, we suddenly slowed and pulled over to the side of the road and the truck driver shut off the truck. At first, I thought that it was maybe perhaps to give the truck’s transmission a little break. But then we waited, and we waited. The driver did not even get out of the cab. No one climbed out from the back of the truck. No one moved. Everyone spoke in the same even calm tones (all in Burmese, of course.) And I just sat there in the back, wondering what the hell was going on.
Eventually, night fell. At one point, even knowing that it was likely going to be useless, I couldn’t resist turning to the woman next to me and asking with a big smile, “why are we not moving?” Of course, she just looked at me without saying a word, also smiled a big smile, and then nodded politely. I did the same, and then continued to look straight ahead, into what was now nothing but inky blackness. And then I giggled a little bit. Several minutes later, inexplicably, the truck driver started the truck, and we started back up the mountain again. To this day, I have no real idea of why we stopped. Ten minutes later, we were at the head of the walking trail.
At this point, it was already night, and I was pretty tired, so I decided that I would climb up to see the Golden Boulder first thing in the morning. I got a room at an inn that they had at the base camp, and promptly passed out, waking up the next morning at 5:30 am. It was still dark when I hit the trail going up to the peak, so I broke out my flashlight. There was no one else on the trail going up, at least not initially. Eventually, I ran into some Buddhist monks who were making their pilgrimages up the mountain, and who, unlike me, had climbed all the way from the base of the mountain up. Everyone was nodding and smiling at each other.
I couldn’t see very much in the dark, but for what I could see, it was all very nice, with the steep path up the mountain bordered by the thick jungle. It all felt (I almost hate to say it) very mystical, and there was a fog surrounding everything. The climb was a nice hike, just physical enough to get the blood going. When I reached the platform, I was already starting to feel some accomplishment; passing through the two huge monuments that guarded the entrance, I actually felt as if I was entering some new world. I was starting to get pretty amped up by the whole experience, and was starting to think about how impressive it was going to be to see this golden boulder surrounded by fog, balancing in the wind, up on the top of a mountain.
The white tile platform at the top was huge, and it’s a little misleading to call it a platform, because it extends for what seems to be forever. It’s really huge, and has many interesting statues and gazebos on it. I gathered that this was all supporting infrastructure for the constant pilgrimages to the Boulder. It looked as if a lot of it was under construction, with great piles of dirt and tiles stacked up everywhere. As the sun started to come up, I quickly passed by the majority of it, getting eager to see the Boulder itself.
But I couldn’t seem to find it. Eventually, I came upon a pretty large construction site, all decked out with scaffolding and steps leading up the side of it. Looking at it, I deduced that this was perhaps a reviewing stand being built to better view the Golden Boulder, and I got excited, because then I realized that the Golden Boulder had to be just on the opposite side of this thing. As early as it was, there were already a number of people praying in this very area, and I thought this is gotta be it; I gotta be close. I worked my way around the reviewing stand to get a better look.
When I finally got to the other side, I found nothing. I was starting to get dumbfounded. Where is this thing? It’s supposed to be huge! For some reason, I then started thinking back to a conversation I had with myself back when I was in Bagan, and saw the construction that was going on in some of the temples. I was laughing to myself then over the idea that, in a country so isolated from the world as Myanmar, it could be possible to just make things up about yourself and get away with it. Hypothetically, Myanmar could tell the world, “oh yeah, sure – we have 1000 year old ruins. They’re amazing. You should come see them sometime.” And then they could just promptly build some structures that look old and interesting. Most people, including myself, wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
At that moment, I was starting to wonder whether or not the
Boulder really existed or not. I went back to the reviewing stand and stared at
it a little while, thinking to myself, “well, if this is meant to view it, then
it must be around here somewhere.” And that’s when I started to stare and stare
at the reviewing stand. And then I
noticed the people praying, and noticed that it looked as if they were praying to the reviewing stand. And that’s when
I realized that this was not a reviewing stand being built - it was the Golden Boulder, completely encased in wicker and
construction scaffolding.
I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked. I was stupefied. I was completely fucking amazed.
Here I was. On this mountain top, literally thousands of miles from home. I had gone through some fairly challenging hoops to see this Golden Boulder balancing on this very cliff. And here it was - completely and effectively out of view.
And that’s when I think I was enlightened.
It started off as a small smile, and then grew into a tremendous laughing fit, and I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how perfect it all was. Everything. Every bit of it. This journey, the Boulder, my life, the world – all of it. Every bit of it. I thought of that quote by Charles Simic, where he says, “Do I love Jesus? Yeah, sure. Hell, I love everyone.” I thought of everything. And I thought of nothing. And it was all so perfect, that it just made me laugh and laugh.
And when I got done laughing, I stood up, looked around at the few people who were, oddly enough, looking at me warmly with nice smiles, smiled at them back, waved, and then started my journey back down the mountain.
* * * * * *I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked. I was stupefied. I was completely fucking amazed.
Here I was. On this mountain top, literally thousands of miles from home. I had gone through some fairly challenging hoops to see this Golden Boulder balancing on this very cliff. And here it was - completely and effectively out of view.
And that’s when I think I was enlightened.
It started off as a small smile, and then grew into a tremendous laughing fit, and I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how perfect it all was. Everything. Every bit of it. This journey, the Boulder, my life, the world – all of it. Every bit of it. I thought of that quote by Charles Simic, where he says, “Do I love Jesus? Yeah, sure. Hell, I love everyone.” I thought of everything. And I thought of nothing. And it was all so perfect, that it just made me laugh and laugh.
And when I got done laughing, I stood up, looked around at the few people who were, oddly enough, looking at me warmly with nice smiles, smiled at them back, waved, and then started my journey back down the mountain.
Epilogue:
Fortunately, when Rich traveled to Bagan, it’s thousand-plus temples and stupas were not concealed under temporary bamboo enclosures.
See: http://students.ou.edu/M/Richard.T.Marcy-1/travel.html
The Golden Boulder on the day Rich Marcy was there
The Golden Boulder on almost any other day
Rich Marcy in Bagan
posted by Tom Shawcross | 9:58 AM
1 Comments:
what amazing photos and story...thanks for sharing!
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