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:
Ah yes, Burma! The land of mystery that we all know and love.* (Okay, so who am I kidding?! I didn’t know anything about this place, until a good friend of mine told me about it, just shortly before I left for Cambodia). (“Myanmar? Huh??”)
Anyway, on my friend’s prompting, I ended up doing some research and found Burma to be an extremely interesting place, to say the least (It’s one of the oldest Buddhist countries in the world, closed off in isolation for the last couple of decades by an extreme military regime, home to Buddhist religious sites that are hundreds of years old, etc. etc.) I also found out in these readings, that Burma is also home to the amazing balancing Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo!
The Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo is this huge boulder (33 feet high, actually), that is precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff, at the very top of a mountain (Kyaiktiyo mountain, actually). 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 it is able to stay up there.
It’s called the “Golden” Boulder because Buddhist monks from all over Burma make pilgrimages to it year-round (it’s one of Burma’s holiest sites), and when they arrive, they press gold leaf onto it. It is entirely covered in gold.
After reading all of this, I was completely hooked. 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 pilgrimage.
Once I arrived in Yangon, I checked my guidebook, and found that it said: ”to get to Kyaiktiyo (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 nothing prepared me for what I had to deal with once I got there.
First off, when someone says “Bus Terminal” to me, I usually think of some of the terminals that I have spent time in, like in North America, or Japan, or Europe, with some terminals being very nice, and some terminals being quite rundown. But usually, to the best of my memory, they all had a central "building" they resided in. The Yangon Bus Terminal is literally a dirty crowded field filled with people and dilapidated buses, with some wooden shanties around it. 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. (Granted, I was 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 just rattled 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 at 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 the same.) But this was the closest I had gotten to Kyaiktiyo yet, so I was sticking with it. Eventually, just to break it up a little bit, I said (you’re not going to believe this - ), ”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 for a truck I have ever seen.
It was loaded with people (there were literally 17 people crammed in the back), and 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? I’ve just started, 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 Burma. For example, 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 is 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 this amphetamine-laced, leafy-like substance that produces a very red mouth, and very red spit, and can be seen everywhere in Burma). 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, assuming I was just being paranoid. But when the driver offered me some, 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 actually 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 (I think it was 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 this rickety truck was off of the road, due to the amount of people we were carrying in the back. I laughed, all the while quietly shitting my pants.
Eventually, we pulled into another large, you guessed it, “ bus “terminal” (I guess, by definition, accurate enough). And hell, I was already starting to appreciate this kind of craziness!) I then realized the difficulty at the former bus terminal -there must have been no buses there going to Kyaiktiyo, 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 an actual bus, and after taking my money (US equivalent: 50 cents), sat me on board. Now, it seemed, 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, which also was a great contradiction, and yet, seemed right somehow too. The idea of having to really 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 shape the bus was in. All of the buses in the terminal, interestingly enough, have “Air-Con” prominently displayed on the fronts and sides of them; and yet, none of them have air conditioning, and have nothing more than the most incredibly worn seats in them. The thing is though, 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 fine. Plus, the unadulterated view of the Burmese countryside was amazing (when I say unadulterated, I mean that my view was not obstructed by a smoky sealed-glass window. Or any window, for that matter!)
Along the way, I saw Burmese farmers, wearing their Tatamaw hats, and religious stands along the highway, with huge loudspeakers (which I later found out, were for asking money from people who are passing through). 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.
After approximately 5 and a half hours, we came into a town, and I started to get the feeling 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 was 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 couldn’t believe it. I have been in some pieces of shit before; hell, I’ve personally owned some questionable cars in my life. But this thing was unbelievable. Again, I was led into the cab (and again, there were something like 13 people hanging out the back - now a common sight to me), but this time, 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, etc. etc. There were no seatbelts (of course), and as we went down the road, I noticed that the steering of the wheel seemed to bear little relationship to the actual direction of the truck. The man driving this truck was literally in his 60’s, and frail looking as all hell.
I was just putting all of this together in my head as we barreled down the road, 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 a grinding noise. I traced it all the way up into the front windshield, when I noticed that this was not a windshield at all - it was actually panes of window glass fitted into the frame! (In case you are not aware of this, the importance of using an actual windshield in a truck is that, in the event of an accident, the windshield will crack and splinter like a spider web, but will not 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 psyched.
The ascent was very steep, but 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, all filled with Burmese people, no one speaking a drop of English. It was really great.
And then, we ended up stopping at what seemed to be a rest stop just short of the top, and the truck driver shut off the truck. 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 bed of the truck. No one moved. Everyone spoke in the same even calm tones (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 it was going to be useless, I couldn’t resist anymore, and looked at the woman next to me, and said with a smile, “why are we not moving?” Of course, she just looked at me, smiled a big smile, and then nodded politely. I did the same, and then continued to look straight ahead, into what was now nothing, 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 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.
Although I couldn’t see very much in the dark, for what I could see, it was all very nice, with the steep path up the mountain bordered by the jungle, and it all felt (I hate to say it!) very mystical. There was a fog surrounding everything, and it was all very perfect. And the climb was a nice hike, just physical enough to get the blood going in the morning. When I reached the platform, I was already starting to feel some accomplishment, and passing through the two huge monuments that guarded the entrance, really did make me feel as if I was entering some new strange 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 boulder surrounded by fog, balancing in the wind, up on the top of a mountain.
The 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 had many interesting statues and gazebos on it. I gathered that this was all supporting infrastructure for the pilgrimages that surround the Boulder. It was interesting, because it looked as if a lot of it was under construction, with great piles of dirt and tiles stacked up everywhere (at their religious sites, the Burmese do not allow anyone to wear anything on their feet, so they place tile down everywhere.). As the sun started to come up, I began to quickly pass 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 huge structure, all decked out with construction scaffolding, with 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! I started thinking back to a conversation I was having with myself back in Bagan, and the construction that I had seen that was going on there. I was laughing to myself then over the idea that in a country so isolated from the world as Burma, that it might be possible to just make things up about yourself. I mean, hypothetically, wouldn’t it be funny, if you were in charge, to just tell the world, “oh yeah, we have 1000 year old ruins. They’re amazing. You should come see them sometime.” And then just build some structures that look old and interesting. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. And right now, I was starting to doubt whether or not the Boulder ever 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 stared and stared at the reviewing stand. And then looked at the people praying. And then 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 journeyed under some pretty difficult circumstances, and under some fairly harsh conditions, 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 was enlightened.
It started off as a small titter, which led to a moderate giggle, and then finally I had to sit down, and I fell into a tremendous laughing fit. And I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how perfect it all was. Everything. Every bit of it. The 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.” And I thought of that great cartoon by Rodriguez, “The Colossal Joke.” 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
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 we all know and love.* (Okay, so who am I kidding?! I didn’t know anything about this place, until a good friend of mine told me about it, just shortly before I left for Cambodia). (“Myanmar? Huh??”)
Anyway, on my friend’s prompting, I ended up doing some research and found Burma to be an extremely interesting place, to say the least (It’s one of the oldest Buddhist countries in the world, closed off in isolation for the last couple of decades by an extreme military regime, home to Buddhist religious sites that are hundreds of years old, etc. etc.) I also found out in these readings, that Burma is also home to the amazing balancing Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo!
The Golden Boulder of Kyaiktiyo is this huge boulder (33 feet high, actually), that is precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff, at the very top of a mountain (Kyaiktiyo mountain, actually). 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 it is able to stay up there.
It’s called the “Golden” Boulder because Buddhist monks from all over Burma make pilgrimages to it year-round (it’s one of Burma’s holiest sites), and when they arrive, they press gold leaf onto it. It is entirely covered in gold.
After reading all of this, I was completely hooked. 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 pilgrimage.
Once I arrived in Yangon, I checked my guidebook, and found that it said: ”to get to Kyaiktiyo (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 nothing prepared me for what I had to deal with once I got there.
First off, when someone says “Bus Terminal” to me, I usually think of some of the terminals that I have spent time in, like in North America, or Japan, or Europe, with some terminals being very nice, and some terminals being quite rundown. But usually, to the best of my memory, they all had a central "building" they resided in. The Yangon Bus Terminal is literally a dirty crowded field filled with people and dilapidated buses, with some wooden shanties around it. 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. (Granted, I was 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 just rattled 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 at 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 the same.) But this was the closest I had gotten to Kyaiktiyo yet, so I was sticking with it. Eventually, just to break it up a little bit, I said (you’re not going to believe this - ), ”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 for a truck I have ever seen.
It was loaded with people (there were literally 17 people crammed in the back), and 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? I’ve just started, 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 Burma. For example, 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 is 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 this amphetamine-laced, leafy-like substance that produces a very red mouth, and very red spit, and can be seen everywhere in Burma). 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, assuming I was just being paranoid. But when the driver offered me some, 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 actually 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 (I think it was 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 this rickety truck was off of the road, due to the amount of people we were carrying in the back. I laughed, all the while quietly shitting my pants.
Eventually, we pulled into another large, you guessed it, “ bus “terminal” (I guess, by definition, accurate enough). And hell, I was already starting to appreciate this kind of craziness!) I then realized the difficulty at the former bus terminal -there must have been no buses there going to Kyaiktiyo, 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 an actual bus, and after taking my money (US equivalent: 50 cents), sat me on board. Now, it seemed, 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, which also was a great contradiction, and yet, seemed right somehow too. The idea of having to really 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 shape the bus was in. All of the buses in the terminal, interestingly enough, have “Air-Con” prominently displayed on the fronts and sides of them; and yet, none of them have air conditioning, and have nothing more than the most incredibly worn seats in them. The thing is though, 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 fine. Plus, the unadulterated view of the Burmese countryside was amazing (when I say unadulterated, I mean that my view was not obstructed by a smoky sealed-glass window. Or any window, for that matter!)
Along the way, I saw Burmese farmers, wearing their Tatamaw hats, and religious stands along the highway, with huge loudspeakers (which I later found out, were for asking money from people who are passing through). 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.
After approximately 5 and a half hours, we came into a town, and I started to get the feeling 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 was 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 couldn’t believe it. I have been in some pieces of shit before; hell, I’ve personally owned some questionable cars in my life. But this thing was unbelievable. Again, I was led into the cab (and again, there were something like 13 people hanging out the back - now a common sight to me), but this time, 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, etc. etc. There were no seatbelts (of course), and as we went down the road, I noticed that the steering of the wheel seemed to bear little relationship to the actual direction of the truck. The man driving this truck was literally in his 60’s, and frail looking as all hell.
I was just putting all of this together in my head as we barreled down the road, 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 a grinding noise. I traced it all the way up into the front windshield, when I noticed that this was not a windshield at all - it was actually panes of window glass fitted into the frame! (In case you are not aware of this, the importance of using an actual windshield in a truck is that, in the event of an accident, the windshield will crack and splinter like a spider web, but will not 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 psyched.
The ascent was very steep, but 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, all filled with Burmese people, no one speaking a drop of English. It was really great.
And then, we ended up stopping at what seemed to be a rest stop just short of the top, and the truck driver shut off the truck. 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 bed of the truck. No one moved. Everyone spoke in the same even calm tones (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 it was going to be useless, I couldn’t resist anymore, and looked at the woman next to me, and said with a smile, “why are we not moving?” Of course, she just looked at me, smiled a big smile, and then nodded politely. I did the same, and then continued to look straight ahead, into what was now nothing, 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 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.
Although I couldn’t see very much in the dark, for what I could see, it was all very nice, with the steep path up the mountain bordered by the jungle, and it all felt (I hate to say it!) very mystical. There was a fog surrounding everything, and it was all very perfect. And the climb was a nice hike, just physical enough to get the blood going in the morning. When I reached the platform, I was already starting to feel some accomplishment, and passing through the two huge monuments that guarded the entrance, really did make me feel as if I was entering some new strange 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 boulder surrounded by fog, balancing in the wind, up on the top of a mountain.
The 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 had many interesting statues and gazebos on it. I gathered that this was all supporting infrastructure for the pilgrimages that surround the Boulder. It was interesting, because it looked as if a lot of it was under construction, with great piles of dirt and tiles stacked up everywhere (at their religious sites, the Burmese do not allow anyone to wear anything on their feet, so they place tile down everywhere.). As the sun started to come up, I began to quickly pass 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 huge structure, all decked out with construction scaffolding, with 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! I started thinking back to a conversation I was having with myself back in Bagan, and the construction that I had seen that was going on there. I was laughing to myself then over the idea that in a country so isolated from the world as Burma, that it might be possible to just make things up about yourself. I mean, hypothetically, wouldn’t it be funny, if you were in charge, to just tell the world, “oh yeah, we have 1000 year old ruins. They’re amazing. You should come see them sometime.” And then just build some structures that look old and interesting. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. And right now, I was starting to doubt whether or not the Boulder ever 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 stared and stared at the reviewing stand. And then looked at the people praying. And then 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 journeyed under some pretty difficult circumstances, and under some fairly harsh conditions, 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 was enlightened.
It started off as a small titter, which led to a moderate giggle, and then finally I had to sit down, and I fell into a tremendous laughing fit. And I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how perfect it all was. Everything. Every bit of it. The 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.” And I thought of that great cartoon by Rodriguez, “The Colossal Joke.” 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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