June 23
I arrived in Rangoon from Bangkok. I am in Burma to help a restaurateur friend redecorate her four restaurants. The Rangoon restaurant is from scratch. The two in Pagan and one in Mandalay are redos. It is monsoon season. Three hundred people have been invited to the opening party in Rangoon, July 23rd. We have a month to pull this off.
I get my first look at the project. The Rangoon restaurant is in a wedding cake of a house. It’s big and white, with columns and balconies. There had been a small lawn in front but today it is a construction site. My friend’s restaurants cater to the tourist trade. From experience she knows tourists prefer to eat al fresco (although Rangoon in monsoon season is anything but fresco) and she has ordered a two-story open-sided structure to be built where the lawn was. It is dubbed “the pavilion”. At present, it’s a jumble of lumber with a few 2” x 4” s rising vertically.
The inside of the house is where I’m to focus my attention. It has shiny teak floors and white walls. You enter a large, elegant room with a swooping, cantilevered staircase out of the Ziegfeld Follies. Three rooms open into this room. A temporary office with desks, filing cabinets, and electronics has been set up in one of them. The main room warehouses the furniture from the restaurant’s previous incarnation. Upstairs there is a large landing area, almost as large as the big room downstairs, four bedrooms and a terrace.
There is stuff everywhere. The kitchen, not my purview, is behind the house. It’s large, busy and hot and feeds us fantastic meals at lunchtime with a tablecloth, napkins folded in the shape of lotus flowers and impeccable service. Our dining area is wherever there is open floor space.
The driveway alongside the house has been roofed over with corrugated sheeting and ends in a two-story building which my friend has added to the property. It’s to be used as an office, a showroom for her line of rattan…. It hasn’t been decided.
June 25
I spent my first night in Rangoon at my friend’s house. We thought we had approval for this (the Burmese government does not permit visitors to stay in private houses). We found out yesterday that permission had been denied so last night I moved into a hotel near the restaurant.
Today is a social day. We are attending three functions: at 11:00 the 90th birthday celebration of my friend’s last remaining aunt. As is often the case, it will be held in the hall of a Buddhist monastery. This is important information as modest dress is required and I don’t want to make a faux pas. Food, of course, will be served and politeness requires that you eat with relish.
From the monastery we drove to the restaurant. My friend and her sister have been invited to a wedding and I’ve graciously been included. A costume change in the restaurant bathroom ensues. Mop off the sweat as best you can and don your wedding finery. Did I mention it’s monsoon season and hot and humid?
Burmese weddings are extravaganzas. This one is in the ballroom of one of the leading hotels. Everyone is in formal Burmese dress which is very becoming to both men and women. Burmese ladies love jewelry and buy a lot of it. Diamonds are “the” stone.
I’ve never seen so many in one place in my life. The flashiest item of jewelry is a hair ornament worn by the bride. It’s a cascade of diamonds attached to a hairpin.
The grand finale to the party, which features entertainers and a formal tea service, is the procession of the newlyweds through the ballroom, preceded by the members of the wedding party. Dry ice provides the illusion that the couple is walking through a ground mist. Processing halts halfway through when, as often happens, the electric circuits overload. Everyone waits quietly and patiently until the lights blaze back on a few minutes later.
Back to the restaurant for a third costume change. This time we are headed to a restaurant to celebrate the birthday of a friend of my friend. Good food, good conversation but I can hardly hold my head up. I’m still very jet lagged. Read more.
June 26
Today eight monks have been invited to bless the premises. They will chant for about an hour and then they will be offered lunch. While the chanting goes on upstairs, I’m downstairs trying to get on the internet. With help, I am successful but not without feeling a bit nostalgic when the old dial-up talking monkey noise precedes my connection. I haven’t discovered the Wi-Fi internet room at the hotel yet. A pleasure to come.
I try to adapt to the working conditions. It is hot and humid with no AC. It is noisy as we are at the saws and sanders stage of the pavilion construction. There are no drawn plans, no measurements, no color charts for anything. We all wait for my friend to instruct us verbally. Everyone knows our deadline is June 23rd, but no element of the project has priority. There are about thirty carpenters and electricians working. They’re all in longyi, the Burmese sarong, barefoot or in flip flops. Everyone looks busy and hard-working.
I suggest two possible color schemes for the main room. I have brought color chips from Home Depot as an afterthought, but they are lifesavers. We theme the four dining rooms based on my friend’s splendid art collection. We will have a Burmese room, a Thai room, a Bali room, and a Chinese room. My paint chips and art books we bought in Bangkok guide us to a color scheme in each room.
The lighting is all wrong. It’s too bright, washes out and flattens the art on the walls and is all around unacceptable. But I’m the only one who thinks so. I’m told the lighting must be bright so people can read the menu and that the electricity supply makes lighting difficult.
In our decorating arsenal we have a powerful tool: a mural painter. I’ve seen his work elsewhere in Rangoon and it’s brilliant. We flip through our art books looking for designs for our themed rooms. Nothing is too difficult. This guy would cost a fortune in the US but here he’s available, incredibly cheap, and immensely talented.
As there are no drawings, it’s hard for me to visualize what the finished pavilion will look like. I know it will have two floors accommodating seventy to a hundred diners, a bamboo roof, and railings instead of walls. It’s basically two floors with a roof. My friend asked me to come up with a design scheme for the pavilion. I do draw with measurements based on the spacing of the rising 2’x4’s and suggest an artistic scheme: fierce Tibetan tigers upstairs and tropical birds’ downstairs. I know our resident artist can toss these off.
I’m also working on the driveway. It’s a mess of dirt and pitted concrete. It will be repaved, and I’ve proposed we paint geometric designs on it to break-up the long expanse of concrete. I do more drawings with measurements for that.
I suggest a service staircase to connect the kitchen to the second floor to help with traffic flow. I’ve been overridden on any ideas which interfere with the wait staff having plenty of room to serve the guests. Most tour groups allow one to one and half hours for lunch. It’s a set menu with sit-down service with all the trimmings and the waiters don’t want to walk an extra step if they can help it.
June 27 and 28
Burma has a new capital as of a few years ago. It’s called Naypyitaw which translates as “the capital”. I am there for three days because my friend and fourteen other restaurateurs have been invited by the government to set up a food court to feed the visitors, mostly Chinese, to the gem and jade fair. Not many foreigners get a visit to Naypyitaw, so I’m excited.
All the roads in Naypyitaw are at least six lanes across and beautifully paved. There are no vehicles of any kind on them. Occasionally, a truck goes by with workers standing in the flat bed. I see no private vehicles, no buses, no trucks transporting goods. There is literally nothing moving around.
Near the fenced Parliament Building which must be five times the size of the US capitol, there is total silence. The adjacent complex of administrative buildings shows not a sign of life. Leading up to this area is a road which is sixteen-eighteen lanes across, too wide for me to get an accurate count. It looks like an airport runway which my Burmese companions explain to me is what it is. The government says it’s for Burmese air force planes when the US invades Burma….
I count at least ten new hotels on the road in from the airport. Ours is a bungalow-style hotel, tastefully presented (excellent linens!) but showing poor workmanship and decorated with awful art. Until guests started arriving the morning of the gem show, July 1st, I counted three guests at breakfast.
One evening we drove to a hotel resort twenty minutes out of town. It’s on a hill. Our rental car driver, so squished up against the wheel to make more room for his back seat passengers that he can hardly move his arms to drive, slows to a crawl. Incredibly, he makes it to the top.
We have Chinese food which is surprisingly good. We are the only guests. Except for the hotel staff, there is no one in sight. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree, a change from Rangoon where brown outs and black outs are daily events (see wedding, June 25) and where the roads are riddled with potholes.
Near our hotel are apartments for the civil servants of Naypyitaw. I don’t see a piece of laundry, a servant, an animal, a car, or a bicycle anywhere. I didn’t get into the gem fair but in the yard of the fair building, I did see all the blocks of jade that were to be auctioned. Sales at the food court are not brisk. It seems the Chinese buyers pack hot plates and prefer to do their own cooking in their hotel rooms.
June 29
We returned to Rangoon. My friend is leaving very early tomorrow morning for Bangladesh, a scheduled business trip we knew would break up my time in Burma. I chose to spend my week off in Chiang Mai and Bangkok. We will reconnect in Rangoon, July 7th.
July 7th
I’m back at my hotel in Rangoon, checking in for the third time. I found the Wi-Fi computer room and mastered the technique for getting online. Joy!
July 8th
We’re back at the restaurant after a week’s absence. The pavilion is one floor up but not much has happened. We are fifteen days from opening.
The restaurant is in a residential area. Apparently, zoning is not an issue. The racket of construction must be deafening for the neighbors. That noise pales, however, when I hear the loudspeakers from the Buddhist temple a few doors down fire up. It’s a temple fair or some such and they blast music, prayers (?) who knows what to the entire neighborhood. I secretly pray that this will not occur on our opening day. After that, perhaps the dinner guests will enjoy this note of local color?
Also on my worry list is the weather. It is monsoon season and every afternoon there are torrential downpours that can last into the evening. Our goose is cooked if it rains on opening day as nobody will come.
The Indonesian batiks I bought in Bangkok for the wall of the Bali room are rejected. It seems no Burmese man will eat in a room with ladies’ sarong on the wall. Today I brought up the issue of signage as there is none to date. My friend went outside the gate with her factotum, pointed at the top of the wall, motioned with her arms to indicate placement and size and that was that.
I come from the measure twice, cut once school, dictated by labor costs. Burmese skilled labor is plentiful and cheap. If the results don’t measure up on the first try, it gets redone. The first try is just the working model.
July 9
Highlight today is dinner with a Burmese Grande dame, auntie S. Older ladies are all aunties. She’s in her 80s, sharp as a tack, speaks beautiful British English and always looks chic and put together in her Burmese costume. She likes pearls and I’ve never seen her without them. We traveled together in Burma several years ago and she made sure she had small denominations of kyat (the Burmese currency) to give to kids along the way. She knows everyone who’s anyone in Burma. Remembers Aung San Suu Kyi when she was a teen-ager. We eat in a slightly faded French restaurant featuring red velvet and a piano player who sadly is off tonight.
July 10
We’re headed to Scott’s Market, a warren of shops in a huge building edged with a shopping arcade. It dates from the time of the British. I’ve been there many times and only go under duress. It’s shoulder-to-shoulder crowded, hot and there’s nothing I want to buy. Lots of tourist items, mixed with elaborate Burmese jewelry incrusted with gems, fabric vendors, cosmetics, and knockoffs. The few antique dealers make it tolerable.
All the stalls are about three feet off the ground, and you must look up at the salesperson and her wares. Women merchants rule in Scott’s Market. We’re here to pick out fabrics for tablecloths, seat cushions and napkins. It pours rain while we’re inside shopping so now it’s hot and humid.
Tonight, we’re eating at the fanciest restaurant in Rangoon. It’s French. I have carrot soup with ginger, a cheese soufflé (on Auntie S’s recommendation) washed down with white wine and topped off with three home-made chocolates. The décor and service are superb.
July 11
Today we’re celebrating another auntie’s 90th birthday. It’s at her house. I know the whole family as her son is married to my friend’s sister. She was a beauty in her time. I’m flattered that she remembers me from previous visits. The male contingent of the family is on the terrace, enjoying each other’s company and lots of beer and whiskey.
July 12
We’re flying to Mandalay today where my friend has another restaurant. The drive from the airport, over an hour, is beautiful. We see bullock carts, the sun filtering through the dust of the road which is lined with enormous tamarind trees. Golden temples, reflecting the light of the tropical sun, line the banks of the Irrawaddy River.
The city itself is all hussle-bussle. It’s Burma’s trading town and it’s buzzing with energy. People walk with a purpose. There are lots of new buildings which unfortunately are not attractive. We’re away from the monsoon belt of Rangoon and here it’s hot and dry. Our hotel is splendid; a five star with a beautiful spa. The buffet breakfast has great croissants!
July 13
The restaurant in Mandalay, as in Rangoon situated in a residence, also features a lovely garden with a bamboo arbor which I want to see uplit at night. There is a one-story version of the pavilion under construction in Rangoon and five individual pavilions sheltering single tables. The driveway has just had new concrete laid which required the potted plants to be moved out of the way. Their current disposition gives the effect of a messy nursery. It’s a good place to start.
I press gang the waiters. These pots are big, numerous and heavy. We’re all sweating like stevedores. Tourist season in Burma hasn’t started yet so there are few guests. The restaurant looks sad and empty as the waiters only set up as many tables as they expect guests. There is one lonely table for six set up in the pavilion which easily seats eighty. The unused tables and chairs are piled to one side.
Despite the lovely garden setting, the restaurant is uninviting. We decide on a few simple visual changes and head to Mahamuni Temple to shop for decorative elements.
Mahamuni is one of the most famous and most visited temples in Burma. The sanctuary has a huge, seated Buddha image so encrusted with centuries of gold leaf donated by devotees that the body is now a golden lump.
We pay our respects at the shrine and start our tour of the shops. They are in the arcade that leads to the shrine, holy ground, so we are barefoot. Marketplaces and places of worship would seem ill-matched, but I recall the markets that grew up near the cathedrals in the Middle Ages and the money changers at the temple in Jerusalem from the gospel of Matthew. This marriage of religion and commerce has ancient roots.
We found several statues and silver-leafed umbrellas. Our choice of statues is restricted by who is depicted. The restaurant manager rejects several of our selections as they are either bad spirits (called Nats) or good Nats that must be respectfully displayed above eye level. We want these figures about four feet off the ground. As with the batik sarongs, culture overrules art.
Driving back to the restaurant we encounter a dozen or so Buddhist nuns walking in the road. I hear them before I see them as they are chanting in unison, a very melodious sound. Burmese Buddhist nuns wear pink robes. They shave their heads as do the monks and live as a community, often caring for young girls who are poor or abandoned.
Today is a special day for them; they may go around and solicit alms. They are all over town, a bit like Halloween with everybody in the same costume. The nuns approaching are headed for a driveway where the lady of the house is waiting to put money in their begging bowls. My friend and I jump out of our car and put money in each bowl as they pass by us. They bless us and smile beautifully. It’s one of my favorite moments of the trip.
Tonight, we dine al fresco in solitary splendor in the restaurant garden. Service and food are better than first rate. We leave Mandalay feeling we’ve accomplished a lot in a short time. Most of the changes we’ve set in motion will be executed after we leave. We checked out of our five-star hotel. I want to use my credit card. This requires a telephone call to Rangoon, a copy of my passport and a wait of 12 hours for approval. Burma is strictly a cash economy and my friend travels with wads of kyat notes to settle accounts.
July 14
We are headed to Pagan, thankfully a short flight away as there is no air moving in the plane’s cabin and it’s oppressingly hot and stuffy. Pagan is in a semi-arid area so it’s even hotter than Mandalay. It’s a magically beautiful place. The landscape is flat and dotted with hundreds, maybe thousands of red brick pagodas, what’s left of a great city after it was sacked by Genghis Khan in the 13th century and damaged by an earthquake in the last century. There is nothing to break the vista of all those pagodas; no building, electrical pole, tower, just temples for 360 degrees.
It’s a major tourist destination and deserves to be. On our way in from the airport we stopped so my friend could pray at one of her favorite temples. While she prays, I admire the 12th century murals. Today is the beginning of Buddhist lent and we donate the princely sum of $7 each to pay for the electricity at four temples for this evening’s festivities.
As it’s a full moon, my friend has arranged a boat cruise to watch the sunset over the Irrawaddy River. Two of her waiters serve us wine and hors d’oeuvres while we cruise on our little blue wood boat with its very loud motor. On the water, she points out the blazing temples that are the beneficiaries of our electrical donation. It’s another favorite moment of the trip.
Our hotel, walking distance to one of her restaurants, is a two-story building with open hallways overlooking a beautiful garden. My friend requests breakfast in the garden and the staff set up a table just for us. One of her restaurants is the riverside in a forest preserve. It’s very large and could easily hold 250 people but as in Mandalay, the waiters only set up for the number of guests expected. It ruins the look of the restaurant, giving it a temporary and slipshod appearance which I know it is not.
The other restaurant is centrally located and is a knock-out. It’s constructed of exposed red brick like the city’s ruined temples. Enormous teak pillars support the roof, rising at least twelve feet. There are bas-reliefs on a few walls, banged about to look old. It’s elegant and tasteful with a front garden and a brick walkway from the gate. Same sparse table set-up as in Mandalay and the Riverside restaurant. I’m in Burma to look at all the restaurant with fresh eyes and this pattern is one I urge my friend to correct.
July 15
At breakfast my friend sees a fantastic twelve-foot palm in the garden. It’s one of over a dozen individual ceramic pots which line the edge of the garden courtyard. We both think the same thing: it would look sensational against one of the red brick walls of the in-town restaurant. My friend politely asks if she could possibly have the plant for her restaurant. She is a frequent guest at our hotel and rates special treatment. Last night, for example, we each had a massage in our room for $12. The manager promises to arrange the transfer of the plant. Having recently moved a lot of pots in Mandalay, I know this pot will need an army of strong men just to budge it. “Don’t worry. It will happen”, my friend reassures me.
July 16
We spent the day in the two restaurants making decorative adjustments. As in Mandalay, most of the changes will be carried out after we leave. We have dinner at the in-town restaurant. We’ve already added torches to the garden, repositioned art, plants and tables and we’re pleased with the effect.
There is a commotion near the stairs leading from the garden. The plant has arrived! In the cool of the evening (no mad dogs or Englishmen they) twelve men and several advise-givers have gotten the plant to the restaurant by tipping the pot on its side and rolling it carefully down the street to the restaurant. Four steps stand between them and a successful delivery. They make ingenious use of a spare tire and two 2” x 4” pieces of lumber used as an incline plane, easing the pot over the spare tire onto the 2” x 4s”. Another quick roll of the pot to the desired location and the job is done. I am in awe, but my friend doesn’t think it’s a big deal. The plant looks sensational in its new home.
July 17
We go lacquerware shopping after breakfast. Pagan, with its dry climate, is the center of Burmese lacquerware production. My friend buys four splendid antique offering bowls for her collection. Then we drive to her special temple, the one whose restoration she has paid for. It’s not a very popular temple but she loves it. To attract more Burmese devotees, she’s cleverly put in a first-class toilet which I witness does attract worshippers. All the stone Buddha’s have the name of a donor painted on their base. Banana Tree will soon be among them.
Our next stop is a weekend health clinic staffed by volunteer medical personnel from all over Burma. It’s set up in the garden of a gorgeous house belonging to a famous artist and is sponsored by the Women Handicraft Entrepreneur Association of which my friend is a prominent member. These clinics are held several times a year in various locations with different sponsors each time.
The volunteers look busy and engaged. They’re all wearing matching t-shirts and baseball hats. Patients wait patiently in the shade of trees.
Banana Tree is donating one hundred thousand kyat (about $135) and I am the only foreigner there. I am treated as if I were Bill Gates. Photos are taken and retaken of me presenting my gift. I was interviewed by a newspaper reporter.
My friend has the driver take the back roads to the airport for our flight back to Rangoon. We pass through a spectacular and deserved temple area. We boarded our flight for another claustrophobic airplane ride.
I checked into my hotel for the fourth time. Opening is a week away and I can’t wait to see the progress at the restaurant while we’ve been in Mandalay and Pagan.
July 18
The painting is done. Not just the walls, but the murals too. I was horrified when I understood that all the paint and color work would be done without our supervision while we were in Mandalay and Pagan. All they had to go by were my tine Home Depot paint chips and pictures in art books. But it looks great! I’m excited to finally see concrete results. The driveway concrete work is also finished. The pavilion has a second floor and a roof.
With a week to go there is still no signage or any sign of the new gate. None of the electrical work is done and there are still piles of lumber and debris in the driveway and furniture and items for the showroom everywhere. Thankfully, the office set-up in the Chinese room has been moved to the new building at the end of the driveway. It’s been decided that the showroom will be on the large second floor landing and in a small first floor wing of the pavilion. At least now we know what goes where.
July 19
Today I’m going to electrical supply stores to shop for lighting for the pavilion. We find fixtures that are attractive and inexpensive.
I’m becoming agitated by the working system on the project. There are a dozen computers in the new office but there is one ladder on the premises which none of the workers use. They prefer to build pyramids of furniture to the desired height, usually a table as the base, maybe a bookcase sideways on top of that and a final piece on top of that. Naturally it takes a while to find the pieces of furniture suitable for the job.
This makes me go nuts. At one point I saw an electrician on one of the pyramids working on lives wires. It’s 220 volts current. When I discreetly pointed out this was dangerous the chief electrician reassured me that they’re used to it.
Hanging a painting is a two-hour affair. The foreman must appear and instruct the carpenter who must build the furniture pyramid and summon an assistant who arrives without hammer, nail, or tape measure. When these are secured, there’s an elaborate measurement ritual before the nail is finally pounded in.
I must constantly correct my body language. I naturally stand with my hands on my hips when I’m observing and thinking about a problem. This posture is associated with the British colonialists and is considered rude and overbearing.
July 20
I watch with satisfaction as the electrical fixtures we bought yesterday are installed. I began merchandising the two showrooms. There is merchandise on every usable surface. Everything must be cleared before I can start displaying. There is construction dust everywhere. My friend gives me an assistant with a little English but it’s mostly me pointing and motioning my instructions. But at the end of the day, it’s done. It’s a good feeling to have accomplished something tangible.
The new gate is supposed to arrive today, but it hasn’t materialized. Both floors of the pavilion are full of workmen, piled up chairs and tables and excess merchandise from the showroom. The partition wall on the terrace which will block the view of the neighboring house is just going up. We have three days left.
July 21
It rains all day and nothing much gets done. Still no sign of the gate. No progress on the electrical work in the pavilion either. The four themed rooms and the main room are presentable. Art has been hung and tables are in place. There are details to attend to, but these can be done after opening night. The partition carpenters press on valiantly in the pouring monsoon downpour.
It seems orchids are not plentiful in Burma and are therefore expensive. My friend wants lots of orchids for opening night and they are coming today, accompanied luggage, from Thailand. There’s a big suitcase packed solid with orchids stems so that each guest gets a stem.
The potted contraband orchids are to be attached to the posts supporting the driveway roof which now has bamboo matting on the underside. I’m assigned to landscape duty: displaying the potted orchids and rearranging the potted plants to form an entrance along the driveway. The extraneous items and construction debris has to be cleared. There’s no place to store what we don’t need so it all goes to my friend’s sister’s yard. She sends us beautiful potted wild orchids, also from her yard, for the driveway.
July 22. The party is tomorrow.
The partition on the terrace which is a mess of carpentry debris is finally finished. About ten waiters and carpenters appear and a massive cleanup starts. My favorite carpenters join in.
He’s the silent, hard-working one with the big tattoo on his back. He’s about five feet tall without an ounce of body fat which is obvious because he works without the benefit of a shirt. I’ve never seen him smile or chat with the other workers. He’s totally focused on his task. His tool belt is the top of his longyi (sarong). Longyis are fastened with a quick bunch and tuck of the fabric, not what I would call securely. At his waist, tucked into his longyi are a big hammer, a screwdriver, and a tape measure.
He’s now hosing down the terrace and needs a rag. He reaches under his longyi, pulls off a raggedy pair of Bermuda shorts and starts mopping up. I want this guy on my team.
The two floors of the pavilion are finally clear to be arranged for dining. The electricians are holding everything up. They’re all over the place, stringing wires and putting up light fixtures. We work around them as we set up tables and chairs. A full dinner will be served to the guests, buffet-style. I’m thankful I have nothing to do with feeding the guests but if what the kitchen has been serving us for lunch and dinner every is anything to go by, it will be superb.
July 23. Opening Day
The gate and signage appear and are installed. Both look great. The electricians are still running back and forth and climbing on their furniture pyramids. We work on putting finished touches to the décor.
My friend asked me to write her welcome speech. I found a computer in the office and set to work. It doesn’t have the right tone, so I made several revisions.
Incredibly, it’s a beautiful day with blue skies, the first in weeks. To keep the odds of no rain in our favor, my friend has called in the “rain man”. He’s going to pray the rain goes away during the party.
At about 4 p.m. my friend and I go back to shower and change into our party finery. When we return at 6, the whole staff, who have changed into their party clothes but without benefit of showers like us, are assembled in the driveway. They applaud us and garland us with jasmine. I feel they deserve the garlands, but their touching gesture makes us both mist up a bit.
The rain man is in the office out of sight, praying and burning incense. My friend said that the guests would arrive early and she’s right. They start appearing at 6:30 p.m. The rest of the evening is a blur which ends with all the staff celebrating after the guests leave. Much beer is consumed by all, including the waiters who pose for photographs with me. It does rain but not until 8:00 so the rain man gets paid. The chief electrician has been scurrying between the rooms all evening, finishing his work. Nobody minds.
Bangkok orchid smugglers are headed for a morning visit to Burma’s most revered Buddhist temple, Shwedagon. I joined them. I cannot visit Burma without a visit to Shwedagon and this is my last chance as I leave later today for home.
It’s raining and the marble floors of the sanctuary are dangerously slippery, which is probably better than when it’s sunny and the marble is so hot you must run across it like hot sand at the beach. You don’t want to tread on the black marble. It will fry your feet.
With help I find “my” Buddha image. It’s the one for people born on Saturdays. Our symbol is the naga dragon and there one coiled at the base of my Buddha. I pour water over the marble seated image and the naga, asking for their blessing. I spent the rest of our visit watching visitors at prayer in this special place.
I’ve lined up a massage for myself for later in the morning before my flight home. Body and spirit are tended to today. It feels right.
I leave my friend and all my new friends at her restaurants grateful for a lifetime of memories of my 25 days in Burma.