My Burmese Days began in 2000 with a night train ride from Rangun to Mandalay. The train departed Rangun, thanks to its conglomerate of architectural styles and tropical morbidity for me the most atmospheric city in South East Asia, shortly before sunset. The Mahagony-wood-framed windows hold no glass, so that the tropical airstream makes the curtains bounce against  my arm like a warm velvet glove. The train can only move slowly, Outside, rice paddies twinkle in the last rays of the setting sun, farmers with conical hats push their buffaloes home and pagodas stand out in front of the now purple sky. From Mandalay we take the slow boat to Bagan and witness the endless circle of Burmese life around us. Passengers bend to one (of the many) pagodas rising above the river banks, cattle come on board and leave, as do vendors who sell delicious Burmese curries snd Mohinga a fish soup with rice noodles. In Bagan, we take bicycles to get around and to grasp the vastness of its site where more than 2000 temples and pagodas bear witness to its role as capital of the Burmese Empire a 1000 years ago.

Seen from now the trip feels like a voyage into a different time, when Burmese still had hope to become happy soon.

On my way to my second trip to Myanmar I read George Orwell’s Burmese days. While drinking a lot of G & T Orwell portrays British imperialism. At that time drinking had always been a good excuse since there was obviously no other Malaria prohylaxis than Quinine which is an ingredient of tonic water. 

This time I try to search for the Buddhist soul of Burma 300 kilometers south of Rangun. I arrive at the statue of Zinathuka Yan Aung Chan Tha, with a length of 180 and a height of 34 meters the world’s largest reclining Buddha. For the first time ever I made it inside the head of the Buddha (which is eight floors high). Unfortunately my current location does not help finding out whether Buddha minds the construction of an even more gargantuan reclining Buddha next door. So far I always thought that the final goal of Buddhism was nirvana, the end of suffering and desire. In Myanmar it wasn’t to be.