The Romaniac – Cultural explorer / human rights activist / avid reader

Latest posts

Human rights

Trip to Bangladesh – Day 1

Since November 2017, I had been planning on working on a documentary film project on women victims of sexual violence at the hands of the Burmese military, who has used it as a weapon of war not only against the Rohingya, but also in the past against the Shan, Kachin, Karen, Mon and other ethnicities of Myanmar.

Finally the big moment arrived yesterday, January 24, when our team met at the Bangkok airport for our flight to Bangladesh. I was a bit stressed out about the situation at the border at Dhaka international airport, as I had discovered that there was a mistake on my journalist visa: they noted my nationality as “Romanian” (which is true), but my visa was in my US passport! Luckily, they didn’t spot the issue at the border and allowed me in!

View of a Delta in Rakhine State, Myanmar, on the way to Bangladesh

Bangladesh is a land of “green and water” as Gary Bass called it in his authoritative book on the War of Liberation, The Blood Telegram with a special emphasis on Nixon and Kissinger’s support and encouragement of Pakistan (at the time Pakistan and Bangladesh were one country, but the military power lay with Pakistan) as it was conducting a full-fledged genocide here (10 million refugees and 200,000 killed). The land is quite beautiful, everywhere you look there is sprawling vegetation and rivers, lakes, and ponds cutting through the fields and forests.

Just like in Myanmar, the longyi is widely used by Bengali men

Our final destination is Cox’s Bazar, which is the closest major town to the Rohingya camps. After a 40 hours trip that included a stop in Shanghai and Bangkok I finally made it! Because we arrived too late for a visit at the camps, I chose to go instead to Ramu, about 30 minutes outside of town, to visit a famous Buddhist temple that was attacked and destroyed during a wave of inter-communal religious violence in 2012: Bhubon Shanti, with its 100 foot (about 25 m) long statue of the Gautama Buddha, the longest in Bangladesh.

While on the temple grounds, I made friends with some of the children that go to the monastic school there. Shy at first, and speaking very little English, they were a bit reticent to engage at first, but I won them over eventually and they started showing me around. In truth the place is pretty small but it was nice to spend some time with my new friends.

I also befriended the abbot of the temple, who is a famous meditation teacher in the country: Bhikkhu Ven Karunasree. He explained that there are not many Buddhists in the country compared to the Muslim majority and sizable Hindu minority. However, his temple is open to people of all creeds.

He went to great lengths to explain that neither he nor the other monks discriminate against others based on their religion. He told me that people of all religions are welcome: “Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists… everyone can come to my temple, no problem” he said. He also explained to me how Hindus routinely come to the temple to pray. As if to confirm his sayings, a group of Hindu women walk up the stairs leading up to the giant statue right at that time!

Sure enough, Bhikkhu Karunasree and I also got to discuss the events of 2012. He told me that an angry mob, riled up by the violence against the Rohingya Muslims engulfing Rakhine (Northwestern Myanmar) during that time, came upon the temple and razed it to the ground. While the Buddha statue was not destroyed completely, it was badly damaged. However, that was not the end of the story: the Bangladeshi government intervened quickly to stop the riots, and afterwards spent over two million dollars to rebuild this temple, as well as 13 others that had been damaged in the riots, in addition to prosecuting over 935 of the perpetrators. Overall, he is happy with the Bangladeshi government and tells me that the current situation is calm. But, of course, he is concerned with what is happening in Myanmar (the ethnic cleansing of the Muslim Rohingya) and the impact it could have on the Buddhist community in Bangladesh.

As the women approached him to receive his blessings, one of them spoke to him and he translated: they had just traveled 50 miles (70 km) to pay their respects to the Buddha. While that may not sound a lot for a developed country, here it can take up to two hours!

In fact, driving around here is a crazy experience. Maybe I had an extra special one, because I begged my driver to get here as fast as possible, but I have never seen anything like this before, and I’ve been to plenty of places with crazy driving. Absolutely anything goes: whoever has the biggest car just plows his way in, driving rickshaws and mopeds right off the road, until a bigger car (or bus) comes the opposite way. And of course, in the middle of this chaos, pedestrian and animals crossing the roads with seemingly total disregard for their lives. Total chaos…

Loving Bangladesh so far, the people I’ve met have been super helpful and friendly. I would certainly like to come spend some time “touristing” around the country. But for this trip, we have to stay focus and on point: we only have 5 days in the camps, starting tomorrow. A lot of things are still up in the air for the documentary, but with the team that we have of passionate and strong-willed individuals, I know that we will pull through no matter what!

Books I Read

“Thirst For Love” by Yukio Mishima

“If it weren’t for love, people would get along fine. If it weren’t for love…”

As expected from Mishima, the towering figure of modern Japanese literature, this short novel packs a robust punch. First published in 1950, it centers on the Sugimoto family, with a strong emphasis on Etsuko, the widow of Ryosuke, and Yakichi, her father-in-law. Shortly after the death of her “philandering” husband (for some reason this word keeps popping up in reviews, but we can also call him for what he was: a cheating asshole), Etsuko leaves Tokyo to move-in with her father-in law on his farm in a small village on the outskirts of Osaka. There she joins Yakichi’s other son, the good-for-nothing Kensuke and his mild-mannered wife Chieko, as well as the wife of Yakichi’s youngest son and her two children (the son himself is in a prison camp in Siberia). The household also has two servants, the youth Saburo and the country-girl Miyo, who both grow in importance as the novel progresses.

Mishima exposes the three main themes of the novel early on: that Etsuko’s husband, Ryosuke, was a monster of emotional cruelty towards her, from whose abuses she is still reeling; that Yakichi, even though entering his old age, has decided to make Etsuko his lover, a desire to which she has silently acquiesced to; and that Etsuko is secretly in love with Saburo.

As the novel picks up pace towards its frenetic denouement, the beautiful violence of Mishima’s style is in full display as he follows Etsuko’s torturous internal convolutions between the three poles of the bizarre emotional triangle she finds herself a prisoner of.

On the surface, this close-quarters family drama replete with love, jealousy, and near-incest (Etsuko calls Yakichi “Father” even as his rugged old man fingers caress the softness of her still youthful skin) would seem to recall Yasunari Kawabata’s masterpieces The Sound of the Mountain and Thousand Cranes. But Mishima’s writing is the Ying to Kawabata’s Yang: whereas the interplay of strong emotions in Kawabata’s works is graceful and subtle, in Mishima’s it is raw and in-your-face.

Even though it’s been nearly ten years since I finished The Temple of the Golden Pavillion, the only other Mishima novel I’ve read, his brutal writing style has lingered in my memory. In The Golden Pavilion, the protagonist eventually falls victim to his obsession with the Kinkakuji temple, whereas in Thirst for Love it becomes gradually clear that Etsuko’s obsession with Saburo cannot end well. While she calls her feelings for him “love”, they are in reality a much more complex mix of suffering, desire for an escape from her oppressive everyday life, narcissism, egoism and a large dose of jealousy.

“If you can deny yourself jealousy, you can stop loving” Etsuko tells herself.

And yet, while capable of showing extreme control over the image she presents to the world, on the inside Etsuko is like a small ship lost in a massive storm when it comes to her feelings for Saburo. She can’t control her jealousy, which eats away at her.

In one of the central scenes of the novel, when the entire family walks over to the village Autumn Equinox ceremony, Etsuko nearly loses her head when she spots a half-naked Saburo running wildly with a crowd of young men as part of the celebrations. She lets herself be carried away by the multitude of spectators until she bumps into him, yet instead of regaining her composure and stepping aside (at the time this was still a very stratified society in which a woman in her position should not allow herself to be caught with the village youths), she digs her nails into his back in a desperate plea to get his attention. Alas, to no avail… This incident sums up his feelings for her: as a woman she is simply invisible to him, he only sees her as a slightly aloof master of the household he works in.

The village incident also illustrates the suspense that permeates the entire novel. Etsuko’s peculiarities seem destined to clash with the formalistic countryside setting in which she is forced to live. I have to admit that after that part of the novel, I found it hard to put down, and simply HAD to keep on reading. And I was not disappointed as events over the last quarter of the book rush in an ever-accelerating crescendo, until the dramatic conclusion, which in hindsight may have been forecast, but when you are caught in the flow of the novel it will nevertheless surprise you.

On a deeper level, it could be argued that the book symbolizes the struggle of post-war Japan as Mishima saw it, between the “masculine” traditions of old Japan and the “feminine” Western influences imposed on society after WWII. Saburo is a fine example of Mishima’s idealized vision of traditional Japan: simple-hearted, un-intellectual, close to the earth, living a Spartan life, unmaterialistic, mindful of his place in society and physically strong. Etsuko, in contrast, represents “new” Japan: a refined lady, she is clearly more at ease in the city than in the countryside (Mishima goes to great lengths to show us that she has a very hard time adapting to the more rudimentary way of life of her father-in-law’s household), she wears elaborate clothing and exotic cologne, she flaunts society’s norms and she is constantly travailed by a complex mix of contradictory emotions.

One of my favorite books so far this year, made me eager to look for more novels by Mishima. I will not wait another ten years to read the next one!

Travel blog

Trip to the Golden Rock Pagoda

PRO TIPS

1) Don’t believe the naysayers: you can do a one-day round-trip visit from Yangon to the Golden Rock Pagoda (highly recommend hiring a car vs. going by bus)

2) Highly recommend taking the truck service up the mountain, it’s fun and safe (but not if you have motion sickness)

Kyaktiyo, or the Golden Rock Pagoda, is the most famous pilgrimage destination for Myanmar’s Buddhists. Together with the Mahamuni Buddha image in Mandalay and the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, it constitutes the “Grand Tour” that every Buddhist in the country hopes to accomplish at least once in his or her lifetime (with the caveat that women are not allowed the same access to the most-inner parts of either one of these). This was a big reason why I wanted to visit Kyaktiyo, having already visited the other two holy sites. I was also fascinated by the image of a giant rock, seemingly barely suspended by a thread over the void.

However, just prior to my trip, some friends who had been to Myanmar recently tried to discourage me, saying that it would take me two days, there was nothing else to see in the region, and at the end of the day, it was “just another pagoda” in a land full of them. Other tourists I met in Myanmar also supported the notion that I could not visit it as a day trip from Yangon. They had stayed at a hotel at the base of the mountain, thus making it a two day trip. And I just didn’t have an extra day to spend, as time was tight.

In the end though I decided to stick with my original plan, and attempt the day trip there. In a way I “cheated” because I left in the morning from Bago, which is already almost 2 hours away from Yangon. I also didn’t take the bus, but instead rented a private car (a taxi really) for the round-trip. My driver charged me 120,000 Kyat, but I then realized that I could have probably made the trip for 100,000, which is about the equivalent of $80 at the current exchange rate. Especially if you are traveling with more than one person, I think it’s not too bad. The added bonus was that I was able to recline my seat all the way and sleep for at least 2 hours of the 3.5 hours trip to the foot of the mountain.

As I wanted to catch the sunset over the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, I knew I only had about three and a half hours in which to climb up the mountain, visit the pagoda grounds, and then climb down. I had heard that there were two options to go up the mountain, either in a semi-private jeep, or by taking the regular trucks, which are repurposed dump trucks fitted with metal benches. Since the Golden Rock Pagoda is the most important pilgrimage site in the country, thousands of people travel here from all over Myanmar every day. Trucks leave every five minutes or so to go up the mountain. My driver, U Soe, made the choice easy for me as he drove me straight to the truck stop terminal.

The energy level there is unreal. A throng of people is constantly rushing the empty trucks, not only approaching from the raised platform, but literally climbing on the trucks from all sides. It looks like an assault on the trucks. Understandably, I was a little perplexed and shy about the whole thing. Of course, I was the only foreigner in sight. But U Soe was gently encouraging me.

Go ahead, go ahead, no problem…

But I don’t have a ticket!

No problem. Go inside. Then buy ticket later.

Still not 100% comfortable with U Soe’s instructions, I nevertheless did as he told me and boarded the bus through the back, barely in time to squeeze into the last available seat. To my surprise, not only were there seat belts on the metal benches, but people were actually putting them on, which was a first in Myanmar. After we cleared the first control post (where I finally got to purchase a ticket for about 2,000 kyat), I understood why.

The ride up to Kyaktiyo is a real-world roller coaster! The road winds up the mountain at impossible angles, and while you generally go up, sometimes the road takes unexpected dips. And the whole thing at what seems an insane speed. Not for the faint of heart.

At times, the convoy of trucks inexplicably stops, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, but in reality in a spot where the road is large enough to allow another convoy of trucks coming from the other direction to descend the mountain. The drivers and the control posts use an ingenious walkie-talkie system (and other signals) to direct the two-way traffic on this one-way mountain road. I heard that when you purchase the private jeep ticket, you also get life insurance with it, but as far as the regular trucks, it seems that you are on your own!

Riding up and down the mountain was a big reason why I liked my trip to the Golden Rock so much. Especially on the way back, as I became emboldened and jumped off my seat to the back section of the truck, which is usually dedicated for larger pieces of luggage. With one leg strapped inside a hanging belt and holding on to the truck’s frame for dear life, I was able to “surf” by trying my best to keep my balance standing up while the truck was speeding down the narrow mountain road. But at every control post, I had to jump back in my seat, if not the driver would come around and scold me, even though he didn’t care when local kids did it!

On my ride up the mountain, I was lucky to seat next to Sayarzaw Min, a Yangon private car driver who had just dropped off his customers at the jeep station, and was going to visit the pagoda himself until his customers decided to return to Yangon. We chatted a bit on the way up, but we really hit it off when got off at the mountain top and he gave me the best advice of the day: just walk the rest of the way, don’t use the porters. Had he not been there, I may have felt for it even though they were asking for the equivalent of $35 for what turned out to be less than a 10 minute walk to the entrance of the temple grounds itself.

So instead Sayarzaw and I just walked up the gentle slope, on a path choke-full of pilgrims, with innumerable vendors lining up both sides, selling anything from street food, to wooden beads, to kids toys, fruits and of course the ever-present betel nut rolled up in a leaf (kuon).

Before acceding to the topmost platform, from where you can actually see the Golden Rock, I had to pay the “foreigner fee” (around $10) and sign a foreigner “guest book”. Interestingly, I was only the third such visitor of the day, and the first American. And of course, we had to take our shoes off before entering the actual pagoda grounds, just like for any other pagoda in Myanmar.

Legend has it that the suspended Golden Rock is anchored to the ground by one hair strand of the Buddha. It is said that a Burmese hermit received the hair strand, and in turn donated it to a local king, who then built the pagoda to host it. Strangely enough, I have not been able to find anywhere the actual history of the pagoda, no information on when it was built, only that the road leading up to it was built in 1999. Before that, all pilgrims had to make the trek up the mountain by foot, taking about 3 hours. Even now, the more hardcore pilgrims do this trek, and then spend a night or two on top of the mountain, either in one of the guest houses or sleeping on the pagoda grounds themselves. And since the end of 2017, there is also a cable car that leads to the top, but what’s the fun in that?

Given the limited time I had, finding Sayarzaw was the best thing that happened to me that day. He was very familiar with the grounds, he knew exactly where to go to buy golden leaves (to put on the rock), he knew the good angles to shoot, and he also showed me parts of the temple complex I may not have thought of on my own. He really turned out to be clutch when I went to put the golden leaves on the rock itself. The Golden Rock is separated from the temple grounds, and to reach it one has to go through a metal detector and then a short draw bridge. The catch is that absolutely NO electronics are allowed past the metal detector, including cameras and cell phones. Had I been alone, I would have found myself in a real bind, with my backpack full of camera gear. But with Sayarzaw, I had no hesitation to leave ALL of my gear with him, including two pro cameras and 3 top-of-the-line lenses. Same as in Mandalay with my motorbike driver Sai Sai, I was able to develop a deep trust and understanding with him in a very short amount of time.

Once I returned from putting the gold leaves on the rock and saluting the Buddha, it was Sayarzaw’s turn. As a sign of our newfound friendship, I insisted on buying him some gold leaves too, and he in turn entrusted me with his cell phone and his personal bag, while he also went across the bridge to the Golden Rock.

While I waited for him, I noticed a fairly large covered area behind me—the ground of the temple gets really hot with the noon sun, and remember you can’t be wearing shoes!—where women and children sat chanting sutras and giving thanks to the Buddha. Just like at the Mahmuni temple in Mandalay or the Shwedagon in Yangon, women are strangely excluded from approaching the holiest site on temple grounds.

This is especially striking when considering that the Buddha was the first leader of a religious movement (or some would say a philosophical system) who openly welcomed women, and he even founded the order of Buddhist nuns during his lifetime, making it the oldest female monastic order in the world. Even more puzzling, the Buddhist path followed in Myanmar is called Theravada, which roughly translates to the path of the Ancients, meaning that practitioners only recognize the teachings contained in the Tripitika, the oldest Buddhist writings, as truly authentic, as opposed to Mahayana Buddhism, widespread in China, Tibet, Japan and Korea, which also includes more esoteric sutras. So, ironically, even though the Theravada Buddhists of Myanmar claim to be “closer” to the original teachings of the Buddha, they are less inclusive of women than many other, less “pure” forms of Buddhism! Apparently, this is based on tradition, and not necessarily Buddhist teachings, but it is still quite bewildering to see.

After the Golden Rock itself, Sayarzaw took me to the back of the temple where there is a large village/small town that spreads on the entire top of the mountain. Here can be found many guesthouses, as well as housing for the myriad of vendors who hawk their goods on the pagoda grounds. As I was losing track of time taking pictures, my friend reminded me that we needed to leave if I wanted to make it back to Yangon in time for the sunset. With regret, I followed him towards the bus terminal. But as soon as we got there, I cheered up again, anticipating another fun ride down the mountain.

Overall it was a bit of a difficult trip considering the driving time involved (close to 10 hours including the trucks up and down the mountain) versus the actual time spent at the pagoda (maybe an hour and a half at most), but well worth it. I didn’t get to eat all day, but the level of energy of the crowd at the Golden Rock was so high, that it spread to myself, and I didn’t even notice I was hungry. As usual, I was very careful to stay hydrated—I probably drank 8 litters of water that day—as the temperature reached into the low 100s F (37-39 Celsius), and by the time I realized I was hungry, I bought some grilled chicken skewers for around 300 kyat (25 cents!), and some locally prepared kuon (betel nut) to quench my hunger until we’d arrive back in Yangon.