Bago is a busy provincial town in southern Myanmar, complete with a bustling market, a noisy, dusty main street, and a crumbing train station. In the 14th century CE, Bago was the capital of a Mon-speaking kingdom that spread over this region. Pagodas and temples were built across the bottom land that lined the banks of the Pegu river. The city grew in importance, both as a center of trade and a hub of Theravada Buddhism.

History was not kind to Bago, nor contact with the outside world. The Portuguese opened trade with the Mon Kingdom in the late 1500’s. By the end of the century, the Europeans had taken over. Two centuries of troubles followed, which saw the town looted, burned, rebuilt, and abandoned. Eventually, the Pegu river changed course enough to cut of Bago from the sea, thus ending its reason for existence. The British took over in the mid-1800’s and the name of the town became Pegu.

These days, Bago gets a few tourists out of Yangon, mostly folks on day-trips. My One and I were all set to explore the scattered temples and palaces from the relative discomfort of rented bicycle seats. Oh, the joys of rattling across rutted backroads aboard a rickety Mao bike, or worse, a barely functional bicycle cleverly disguised as a modern mountain bike. Many are the times I have wished for a cutting torch, a grinder, or even a sledgehammer; some device for taking revenge on the evil that lurks inside the very core of Southeast Asian rental bicycles.

Our first stop was to be Shwemawdaw Pagoda, the tallest Zedi in Myanmar, despite what the folks in Yangon will tell you. After that, we would enjoy the splendors of ancient palaces, reclining Buddhas, and other wonderful attractions. But first, I had to turn into an insufferable idiot.

And now for the mea culpa:

For the most part, I am able to take the heat, horrible bicycles, crappy maps, and complete lack of road signs in stride. Nine days out of ten, I laugh about the hardships, knowing that they are a part of the journey, and usually make a good tale. This wasn’t one of those nine days, at least not at the opening.

The first problem was that I was nursing a little gastrointestinal bug. It was nothing serious, not a debilitating, floor-crawling, where-are-my-antibiotics sort of bug. No, this was just enough of a belly bug to give me a good case of the rumbles and turn me into an ill-tempered pig.

It was hot, I got us lost, and then I got us lost again. We found a wonderful small pagoda, not the one we were looking for, and My One took a break from me to enjoy it. I sulked in the shade. Eventually figuring out where we were, I managed to steer us to the Shwemawdaw Pagoda, but not before pulling a few stupid bicycle stunts that pushed things passed the bearable. My One told me, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of my actions: Message delivered, and clearly.

We circled the pagoda under a merciless noon sun, making merit as the hot marble baked our bare feet. I am happy to relate that the combination worked wonders. The Travel Gods smiled on me, and I regained my traveler mojo. I did my best to make amends, and we pedaled off to take a lunch break.

My Heart had picked out a traditional Myanmar joint, and it proved to be a worthy pick. Not a Farang in sight, crowded with local folk; the place seemed like an oasis. The young serving staff were at a loss as to what to do with us. At least five smiling faces were crowded around our table, uncertain as to how to proceed. We ordered by pointed to pictures of food on the wall, which amused everyone. All was well, the food was good, and joy was restored.

After a wonderful meal, we paid the ridiculously cheap bill. The idea of a tip so confused them that one of the young women followed us to our horrible bikes, trying to return the money we had forgotten on the table.

I was back on my game and we were back on the bikes. Our next stop was Kanbawzathadi Palace. the original wooden palace buildings were burned down in 1599. The palace was reconstructed in the 1990’s. We were more interested in the shady palace grounds than in the buildings.

A few twists and turns aside, we found the palace gate and pedaled into the green shade. The smaller outbuildings held our attention far longer than the main palace. The tour buses idling outside the palace, disgorging folks for a quick photo op, until the guides herded their charges back into the air-con cocoons. As far as I could tell, the tourists were mostly Myanmar folks from other parts of the country.

We found our happy place at a smaller palace building a few hundred meters from the main event. It was quiet and shady, with a few local couples looking for a place to be alone. The sleepy watchman ignored us altogether. We wandered about, rested, and enjoyed the quiet.

After an obligatory (and quick) walk through the main palace, we were back on the bikes and braving the main-street traffic. Our next destination was an enormous reclining Buddha, which would push morning’s unfortunate into unimportance. 

The Shwethalyaung Buddha is big; really, really big. It is so big, one cannot take a photograph of the whole thing. This reclining Buddha is 180 feet long and 52 feet high. More remarkable than the size is the fact that this immense statue of the Buddha was lost for more than a century. How you lose a thing the size of a small ship is beyond me, yet that is what happened.

Built somewhere around 1000 CE, the huge statue saw the fortunes of Bago rise and fall. When poor Pegu (Bago) was pillaged, again, in the mid-1700’s, the statue was forgotten. The jungle grew over the massive thing was and it was forgotten. It was not until 1880, during British colonial rule, that the Buddha was rediscovered.

The Buddha is housed under a strange structure that resembles a dirigible hanger from the 1930’s. The cover protects the Buddha and provides a lovely bit of shade for over-heated bicyclists. I was quite happy to spend the rest of the afternoon here, wandering around, discovering small (and very large) details, and watching the pilgrim folk.

We strolled about, took a rest on the cool tile floor, and explored the bas-relief murals on the back side of the statue. The murals were a series of pictographs depicting the story of how a faithful Buddhist wife led an erring ruler to the proper path. In graphic detail, we see how the wife worships the Lord Buddha instead of the local deity. The priests condemn the wife, telling the ruler that she must die. The king agrees that it must be so, but as she is led to her death, her faith in the Lord Buddha causes the images of the false idol to shatter. Thus seeing the truth, the king and kingdom embrace the teaching of the Buddha, and the king causes the huge reclining Buddha to be built. Everyone lives happily ever after, except the broken idol.

At the feet of the Buddha, My One and I were engaged in a bit of tourist theater. A little kid ran up to smile at me, I smiled at him, and before you know it the whole family was involved. In short order the dad of the family was arranging the kids and Farrang for a group photo. Other folks wanted in on the show, so there was a shifting cast of folks sitting around us on the cool tiles, everyone posing for photos with the strange foreigners. There was much laughing and giggling as moms and dads directed their offspring this way and that. Then the adults had to have pictures as well. A good time was had by all, including My One, who is normally a bit camera-shy.

I don’t know how much of my recovery I can directly attribute to being around the Buddha’s likeness, but it certainly did not hurt anything. I managed to finish the day in fine spirits, if not perfect health, and without any further peskiness. We pedaled homeward along shady lanes, past a tiny parade in a small hamlet, waving at kids and giving out our best Ming-ga-la-BAH.

We were tired and hot, happy to give up the bikes, and happier for the lovely shower in our guesthouse. All was well once again.

With noodles for dinner, and my guts at least deciding to remain neutral, I adorned to the garden for an evening cigar. We were kept company by myriad insects and one curious amphibian. I believe it was a White-lipped Frog, (Chalcorana chalconota) but I could be mistaken, If anyone can come up with a more accurate identification, I would be happy to send you an eBook for your trouble.

Tomorrow would be a serious travel day, a distance day, a long day aboard Yangon-Mandalay train.

Thanks for your interest in my blog. I do hope you enjoy it. If you liked what you read here, how about a free short story? My short fiction piece “The Dino Kid” has recently been featured at the great journal Every Day Fiction. You can check it out here:

“The Dino Kid” at Every Day Fiction

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