Alms and the Man, my apologies Mr Bernard Shaw

A new twist to 'when in Rome live as the Romans do'.

It was January when travelling overland in South America. We knew it would be summer in the Southern Hemisphere but really did not expect such high temperatures ( 38°C) and humidity.

Unlike Bernard Shaw's heroine (in Arms and the Man) who learns about the  reality of the world around us, we became part of that reality. The humour was not compromised. 

As we ambled the streets of Sao Paulo, even along streets that we had been warned against, we felt very much at home because our skin colour was similar to that of the local inhabitants. We dressed simply, as we were always wont to do in our travels ( branded clothing or shoes and accessories have never interested us, except to marvel at the prices as we windowshop). I carried an unassuming tote while Drink had his fanny pack with our documents. 

Homeless but not helpless

In Brazil and Argentina homeless people are treated with respect. Once we noticed a policeman approach a number of the homeless who made their barebones homes under bridges. He was not filing complaints. In fact, he had a friendly chat.

Unaffectedness draws welfare

In Sao Paolo we found ourselves in the Japanese part of the town. Sao paolo has the largest population of Japanese outside of Japan. They have assimilated very well not only because of their tan but also culturally for the most part. So here we were near shops selling Japanese goods while we noticed a museum dedicated to the Japanese history in Brazil. As usual, Drink encouraged me to visit the museum while he sat on the pavement outside. When I returned I saw him sitting shirtless, just like some of the local population. His cap was beside him, and, guess what? He had some pesos in it. He had been mistaken for a beggar and kind souls had given him alms. Maybe we could make enough money to visit all the museums!

Something similar happened in Paris. The grandchildren and I emerged out of the Metro to walk towards the Louvre hoping to see the Mona Lisa. Drink decided to find a spot nearby to sit and wait for us. So off the three of us went ( we actually got into the Museum for free, stuff for another blog later on ). Nearly 3 hours later we came back to the Metro entrance that is done up like a skeleton Cinderalla carriage embellished with  colourful baubles. Drink, shoeless, had been taking a nap on the bench in its shade with the cap over his face. He woke up to see coins in the cap. They would pay for our trips to answer nature's call.

Charity begins at home

While waiting for the bus ( an 18hour bus ride all the way down south to Buenos Aires)at the Iguazu terminus in Argentina  immediately after immigration procedures at the Brasilian side of the border we felt we should have a little something from a buffet, not necessarily because we were hungry but we needed a seat in a cool atmosphere which couldn't be found anywhere else in the bustling terminus.  

While slowly savouring the food we did what we love doing- people watching. A young affluent looking couple with a little chubby boy walked in through the doors and took up the table beside us. They ordered and as they were eating a few boys gingerly walked into the restaurant towards the tables occupied by non-foreigners and probably begged. I say probably because the children were not dressed in rags. But as soon as the family had finished, the father walked towards the counter at the buffet, bought a few boxes of food, and together with his little son walked to the door and affectionately handed out the food.

When in Buenos Aires,  a local friend visited us for dinner. We shared a lot of information about the Argentinian culture.  She said her country men were all immigrants at one time or other. They called themselves the boat people and that is the root of their compassion.

These are the occasions that leave an indelible memory.

2. Myanmar, 2001, a precarious road trip

Continued from 1. Myanmar, 2001

Blending in

Comfortable with our lungyis and having well understood not to speak a word out of place (usually keeping mum) when questioned at the check point or at ticket booths, we were ready to take on other parts of Myanmar.

Precautions

The uncle insisted on getting us a reliable driver who not only spoke a smattering of Tamil, but also was savvy.  He knew the lay of the land, especially of the local population made up of different tribes in different regions.. The driver pulled up with a van. The three of us, the uncle, his wife, the youngest daughter and an effeminate male family friend made up an intersting group - there was ample space in the seven seater. Our hosts packed enough food for a day. We set off from Yangon quite early in the day driving towards Mandalay. Passing by villages every now and then we stopped at a wayside restaurant to stretch our legs and for a sip of the traditional chrysanthemum tea. It was also a toilet break, with reasonably clean squatting toilets. We probably ordered some rice and vegetables too. 

Watch your words

We had been stopped several times at military checkpoints to make sure that the Myanmese citizens had their travel permits, and we our passports. Every village had teak trees planted 5 thick along the sides of the road. It was illegal to chop down a teak tree (even if you had one growing on your land, according to the villagers). They all belonged to the government and were worth as much as gold. Several trucks laden with teak logs  passed us as we invariably and patiently waited at the numerous check points. Our hosts advised us to just keep our mouths zipped while the driver did all the talking. 

Cross the bridge when you come to it, but where is it? 

At a village we had to cross yet another river. Bridges across many such rivers had been destroyed during the war. Being summer, the bottom of the river was dry and cracked except for some pools around which it was muddy,a hazard for our tyres which could dig themselves deep into the mire. A bus was already spinning its wheels in the muck. We had to act fast. If it suddenly rained upstream there would be a flash food and there's no saying when it would subside enough for us to cross safely, if we had not already been washed out to Indian Ocean. Our driver called for the villagers to literally carry the van across as we walked along. The river could easily surge within a few mins if the rains fell upstream. We could have been trapped in the village till the waters subsided. There was no dearth of rice and people were vey generous. But the houses on stilts had palm leave roofs and woven bamboo for walls. Very pretty and idyllic but the idea of getting stuck is not very palatable.

We crossed to the oppositte bank , walking part of the way, holding our breath and hoping it would not rain. Across the river the scenery changed. Now we saw fields of ground nuts, and, later, countless mechanical nodding donkeys working the oil wells.

Bagan of a bygone era but still relevant

When we arrived in Bagan it was dusk. We found a dingy place to stay for the night. As foreigners we were charged nearly 10 times the rate the citizens paid. We were a little rattled when the hotel 'reception' kept our passports. Our room was large enough to accommodate all of us, with an equally large poorly lit bathroom. We cooked some rice in a China made rice cooker which only turned out burnt rice.  

Feeling refreshed we drove along and into the thousant yraer old Bagan complex ( a UNESCO world heritage site), with more than 2000 temples, over a stretch of 30 kilometers,where we managed to visit three of the red brick structures marvelling at the spirituality of the Myanmese and the extensive restoration work done on the various monasteries and temples. The ruins revealed the architectural techniques that have stood the test of time. 

Buddha dazzles in serene surroundings

Walking the wildly overgrown grounds on which the Bagan pagodas, monastries and shrines are spread out, we explored a few ruins before entering the main temple. The presiding Buddha of the temple bedazzled us with the huge diamond embedded in his forehead. 

Reflection in reflection?

On the way was a temple on a hill and it looked new. The uncle said that military bigwigs had the temple built. It was one of a kind. Being afternoon the sun reflected off the millions of mosaic glass pieces adorning all the pillars, must have been at least twenty. It is a wonder how one could sit down calmly in  prayer with all the reflection.

Continues into 3. Myanmar, 2001