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When it comes to the attractions of foreign countries, some are too hot, some are too cold, and some are just right. A place like Thailand, which bends over backwards (and into many other positions) to entice visitors, is really too hot. Everything is so easy and tourists are everywhere. Modern air-conditioned busses reach all corners of the country. Beach resort restaurants are more likely to have hamburgers on the menu than pad thai. Might as well stay home.
At the other extreme, while it's nice to think that you're are the only foreigner in town, it's not so nice when there is no guest house or place to eat. One time Deb and I ended up on an island in Indonesia where the only way we got a bed was by finding the village chief. Mongolia was great, but it would have been impossible if we hadn't connected and traveled with a local woman who had studied law in New Zealand. Without her, we never would have made it out into the countryside where there were so few people it sometimes took us all day in a jeep to find someone, *anyone*, who could take us in.
For the last four weeks we were traveling in Burma, or Myanmar, the new official name. Much to my surprise, for travelers, this is a place that is just right. If you're thinking that Myanmar is a repressive dictatorship with no political freedom or respect for human rights, well, you're right. China's not winning any awards from Amnesty International either but that hasn't stopped us from making friends and feeling an affinity for life in this country.
In Myanmar, I didn't expect that people suffering under a brutal regime would remain so warm and hospitable. That's certainly not the case in China, where people are nice enough to us, but where there is little concept of public service. Undoubtedly, some people in Myanmar were helpful because they hoped to get our money, but many more people answered our questions, led us to restaurants, helped us to buy train tickets, and served as translators, without any compensation beyond the satisfaction of kindness.
There is a controversy about traveling to Myanmar and debate about whether the citizens or the government benefits more from tourism. We met plenty of people who were unhappy with their political leaders, but nobody who told us that we were making a mistake by visiting their county. People seemed genuinely happy to see us, and charmed by our awkward efforts to explore their culture.
We often wandered aimlessly, keeping our eyes open for the unusual. In Mandalay, the largest city after the capital, we found an old amusement park along the river front. At first I thought it was abandoned; the ferris wheel was half buried in trees and the lake pavilions sank into the water, tilting at precarious angles. But there was a ticket taker at the gate. The price of admission was an amount so low most beggars would be offended to receive it. We figured it was worth a chance.
Inside, we saw bumper cars loaded down with entire families, a dragon-cart monorail listlessly towing around a collection of teenagers, and a kiddie wheel slowly spinning toddlers in tiny cars. Most bizarre and intriguing was a combination roller coaster/boat slalom, with half a dozen two-passenger boats bobbing in a pond, and a tunnel shaped like an alligator. There was a line of track that towed the boats up out of the water, and hurtled them splashing back down.
It took a while before I was convinced that this ride was functional. The track supports were rusted and ramshackle. It took even longer to believe that once the ride started up, either I or the machinery would survive. The drive mechanism was makeshift, with threatening hooks and lurching chains. But once other people started boarding, we joined in. My doubts reemerged when I stepped into our little boat and found water sloshing around my feet. I reasoned though, that even if the boat sank, in the shallow, stagnant water I was more in danger of dysentery than drowning.
The astonished looks on the bystanders faces did little to reassure me that our judgment was sound. Or maybe they were just surprised to see foreigners on the ride. In either case, we were all smiling when, after two loops around the course, my boat hadn't sunk, the track hadn't collapsed, and I accepted that being soaking wet is not a bad way to face the tropical heat.
Not all of Myanmar is untouched by tourism. In 1996, the government declared Visit Myanmar Year and encouraged entrepreneurs to open guest houses and restaurants. Many responded. One small town took advantage of their proximity to a variety of tribal villages and began offering treks into the countryside. In Mongolia, you sometimes have to drive for hours to find signs of human habitation. But in Myanmar you can comfortably walk to many villages where people, while not unfamiliar with city ways, still live a traditional life of farming.
As in Mongolia, there's a limit to what you can do on your own. Many educated people in Myanmar speak English, but few villagers do. Plus, without guest houses and restaurants, you really can't sleep anywhere without an invitation. We went on a two-day trek with a local guide; one day in, one day out, and one night in a local home. Our guide made all the arrangements, even to the point of having snacks to give to children along the route, who invariably greeted our arrival in their village with outstretched hands.
It is tempting to scornfully dismiss poor children's needs as begging. But many families are in a real financial bind. We met a retired government employee whose monthly pension was less than the price of a single bottle of restaurant beer. Inflation accounts for some of the dismal finances, but even a currently employed teacher only makes enough each month to buy a six pack. Even without drinking beer it's hard to make ends meet. Anyone who can, supplements their income with tourist dollars. Many guides and taxi drivers make more in a day than a government employee makes in a month.
For a village family, hosting a tour group for the night can be a windfall. There are some hurdles; the family has to have enough blankets and sleeping mats to accommodate 4 or 5 extra bodies on their living room floor. They have to keep enough food on hand so that when the visitors unexpectedly arrive, there'll be enough to eat. (Without phones, there is no way for the guide to tell the host family when strangers will be showing up.) They have to build an outhouse twice as tall as normal, to accommodate a foreigner who may be standing rather than squatting.
But the rewards go to both sides of the bargain. We were delighted by our host family. They cooked us one of the best meals we ate in Myanmar, and welcomed us to watch their food preparations, cooking over a tiny campfire stove. We played games with their children and went with them on a tour of the local monastery. Dealing with us was much easier for them than farming; they were getting paid for being cheerful and accommodating, which of course made them even more cheerful and accommodating.
Tourism can't raise the entire country out of poverty, nor should it. The government has a responsibility to develop a sustainable economy and to offer its citizens the opportunities of education and enterprise. But visiting the country now, while the people are struggling to get a footing and find a path to success, gives them some hope and encouragement. I have to think that, despite the politics, sharing time and experience with them is just right.
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