My Man in Myanmar

Travel Story by Anna Maria Espsäter

Myanmar

It simply couldn't be done. That's what every travel agent in Bangkok told us. It just wasn't possible to travel overland into Myanmar from Sangkhlaburi in western Thailand. We were going to have to book expensive flights from Bangkok to the capital, Yangon with a specialist travel agent who would arrange our visas and we'd have to part with $100 a day to be able to pay a visit. Never mind the fact that this was way over our budget, my friend and I also had no particular desire to pay cold, hard cash straight into the pockets of one of the world's most notorious military regimes. Instead we decided to risk it and make our own way up to the border town of Sangkhlaburi to see if we could make the crossing - despite the warnings.

Once there, it was easy and cheap enough to arrange a day-permit to cross the border in the back of one of the pick-up trucks that regularly ply the route. After a bumpy ride surrounded by locals chewing the exceptionally tooth-decaying beetle nut or smoking what looked like enormous joints, we arrived in the tiny border village of Payathonzu, also known as Three Pagodas, and set about exploring the place. After an hour we had wandered through the narrow streets of the entire village, noticing its market selling an alarming amount of precious wood furniture. Very little else seemed to be going on and flagging a bit in the heat, we sat down in the only small café that was open. 'Is this it?', I wondered. It was my long-held obsession with visiting every country in the world that had persuaded me to try and visit Myanmar even if it was only for a day. Now I was starting to doubt my own reasoning, asking myself what the point of coming all this way was. Little did I know that our sole day in Myanmar was about to turn into one of my fondest and most special memories of the entire 3-month sojourn around Asia.

Having recharged our batteries with some rather dubious looking and tasting tea, we headed off towards the outskirts of the village to investigate what looked like a monastery with a number of buildings sprawled over a large area. Crossing the compound we passed a school with classes in full swing. The teacher spotted the two of us from the window he immediately stopped class and came out to greet us. As it turned out he was one of the head teachers at the school, which was run by the monks of the monastery for all the orphans in the area. He was in the middle of giving as English lesson and what better way for the children to learn than by practising on real foreigners! Thus we found ourselves giving an impromptu English lesson to a class of silent, wide-eyed and rather stern looking orphans in a tiny, forgotten village on the Myanmar-Thai border. This proved to be a bit of a challenge, but in the end all the children, around 40 of them between the ages of 10 and 15, were given a chance to practise their very limited English.

Their teacher was a very knowledgeable man, quite out of place in such a rural, impoverished setting. So impressed were we by the resourcefulness of the monks and teachers that after giving the lesson we decided to donate something to the school. Apart from English, our newfound friend was also a geography teacher, but he lacked a world map. Venturing back down to the village market we found a laminated map for him to use for his classes. Trundling back we handed over the map to one of the monks was who immediately surrounded by curious school children, pouring over it. Our friend the teacher, however, was nowhere to be found. Somewhat discouraged we returned towards the village, only to find him down the road, smiling, waving and smoking one of the enormous locally made cigarettes.

He invited us to have some coffee, which turned out to be much better than the local tea, in a coffeehouse nearby and started telling us about the village. During the talk it became apparent that he had been sent to this outpost and that he had actually been a university teacher in Yangon before arriving in Payathonzu. Why he wouldn't say, but I became certain that he wasn't there of his own free will. You don't mess with the government in Myanmar. During the course of the afternoon we were treated to numerous, sometimes distressing insights into life and strife in the little village. The teacher knew everyone that there was to know and while in the coffeehouse we were introduced to the local midwife. She was also the local nurse and explained via our friend that many children had been orphaned as a result of conflicts in the area, which was now under military control, but had previously been a Mon and Karen (two ethnic groups) rebel stronghold. The military had seized control, raised the village to the ground and simply built another one on top of the ruins of the old. And all this we were told in a matter-of-fact manner over coffee.

After coffee we thought our man was returning to class, but he had other ideas and instead took us to meet the village doctor at his surgery. The doctor seemed only too pleased to see us. For one we didn't need his assistance and after showing us his empty medicine cabinets and general shortage of equipment, that must have come as a relief. He was the only doctor in an area of 2000 families, no mean feat with the complete lack of resources around him. Needless to say he was only too happy to leave his surgery for the afternoon to take us around in his car. We were by now feeling somewhat guilty to be taking up these friendly people's precious time, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. Off we went with the teacher and the doctor to visit the same three pagodas from which the village gets its name. One is perched on a hilltop just outside the village and the car climbed rapidly to the highest point where we were treated to a fantastic view of the other pagodas straight ahead of us, with Thailand on the one side and Myanmar on the other; stretching out before us. The doctor and the teacher, in the traditional sarongs worn by all the local men

except the orange-robed monks, were beaming with pride at being able to show us such a vista.

It was a flying visit though, as the doctor soon had to head back to his endless list of patients, but he did take the time to tell us about his work and the endless challenges that he must face every day. On a daily basis he sees as many as 100 patients mainly for malaria or diarrhoea as there is no clean drinking water available. It seemed he had also been sent there by the government. Our exhausting, but interesting day was coming to an end and sadly our permits didn't allow us to linger on in Myanmar. Our teacher walked us to the border posts where we were to take another pick-up truck back to Thailand. We hugged and promised to keep in touch - we'd had an unforgettable day in Myanmar.

The debate is still raging as to whether or not you should visit Myanmar and after my experiences there I am inclined to say yes, do go, but think carefully about how and where you spend your money. There is no point going on an organised tour and staying in fancy hotels, as the money you spend is most likely making its way into the pockets of the military regime. Try to travel independently if at all possible and support the local economy. The people of Myanmar are more than keen to meet visitors and have a chance of more news from the outside world. They were some of the friendliest and most hospitable people I have ever come across, with a genuine love of their country despite its current political situation. I have since written repeatedly to the address given to us by the teacher and sent the photos we took, but on no occasion have I been able to verify whether anything I did send actually arrived. Looks like my man in Myanmar may be lost to me forever.

Read more about the author of this story:
Anna Maria Espsäter

Previous Story | Next Story