I just got back from my trip in Myanmar feeling a sweet longing in my body.

With the butterflies in my stomach, I start unpacking. Every clothes, every item, even the smallest, recall me of this land. It is as if every thing inside my backpack was a present from Myanmar.

Myanmar was a journey very much desired as well as long-awaited. It was like the moment before a date with a person you are already deeply in love with.

Because this was love. An intense yet soft, excruciating yet kind, rude and yet romantic love. Unforgettable.

This is why I am writing a love letter about this journey in Myanmar.

Dear Myanmar

We said goodbye in Yangon. It was our last romantic dinner near Shwedagon Paya, with that golden sparkle around us, I still keep in my memories.

Yet, our journey together, Myanmar, started at Mandalay. There, you really bewildered me and caught me unprepared.

I was lost seing you so odd. First of all, Myanmar, there was absolutely nothing Western about you, not even a Sturbucks. You are like frozen in time, on a timeline where cars and ox-drawn plows cohexit, as well as computers and spindles to spin silk. On your lands, I saw your underdevelopment, due to the brutal domain of bureaucrats and soldiers. In fact, they even tried to tear up your identity, changing your name from “Burma” to “Myanmar” – just recently legitimized by Aung San Suu Kyi.

And yet, you radiate great dignity, characteristic of a strong, humble, kind and religious country.

You have charm, Myanmar, hard to describe.

You are a fusion of the East, a set of ethnic groups and religions whose origins blend with the neighboring lands of China, Thailand, Bangladesh, India and Laos. At every step, you showed me something different and new about you. Therefore, I felt unprepared, even though I thought I knew everything. But, you know, love is hard to understand, and you gave me further confirmation of that.

You, Myanmar, you has some characteristics that make you an unrivaled corner of the World.

My first memory is the sunset from the hill behind Mandalay. I was surrounded by monks dressed in purple, wondering around the pagoda, the one covered in mirrors.

I followed them, tiptoeing barefoot, and then I stopped to observe you, Myanmar, analysing every detail you wanted me to see. Those monks kept approaching the tourists to talk to them, laugh and take selfies with that amazing reddish light as a background. The view from the top was unique – green expanses and hills on the horizon surrounded by a clean sky. And then the female monks. It was my first time seeing them, isolated and in silence, seated on their knees, in their bright pink robes and their shaved heads bowing to Buddha. I have to admit it, I was fascinated.

Exactly there, I felt connected with you, Myanmar.

After that, Myanmar, you took me by hand and showed me every side of you, from the most contradictory to the most admirable, without fear, diffidence or shame, even if you could hurt me.

Starting from the road towards Bagan on a ramshackle minibus full of people. We were driving fast, Myanmar, a slalom between cars, scooters, carts and people. I was scared, but through the window I was also able to notice your poverty and the dirt along the roads. Piles of papers and bottles scattered everywhere, junk used to improvise tents for the homeless, numerous stray dogs, the dust coming up at every screech, enough to make me cough.

I was disgusted seeing the red, almost rotten teeth of the people proudly chewing betel, a mixture of tobacco, spices and lime, then spitted on the ground. Also, my feet. They were so dirty walking barefoot, I even stopped cleaning them every time we entered a temple. An endless take off and put on the shoes.

You made me almost cry, Myanmar, when this little boy came to me with those big, sad eyes.

Still in Bagan, observing the temples from a small hill, he ran towards me, his feet covered by the reddish soil, to sell a picture “he draw” – the same one sold at every stands. After that, the little boy seated down on a pile of bricks, sighing while observing the peaks of the pagodas. I looked him in the eyes. We were both disheartened.

In a word, Bagan is magic. And yet, it is also very unsettling.

And you, Myanmar, you were just like that, a confusing yet surprising revelation.

You’re humble, Myanmar, and yet you are so respectful and faithful with that golden light, dazzling from how passionate you are.

Almost all the peaks of your payas are of solid gold shining on the hills of Saigan. An almost tangible luminous aura surrounds your most important places of cult. This is because of all that gold donated to the Buddha, like the Shwedagon Paya, the Caves in Pindaya and the Kyaiktiyo pagoda in the Mon State.

Your devotion, your spirituality, your veneration prevails over everything.

You are so contemplative, Myanmar. I can feel the soul of the people walking on your land, in harmony with everything around.

And I felt it, not only in the places of pilgrimage, but also in the daily life I experienced with you. From the moment I woke up with the first light of dawn to the evening, before going to sleep – early, because you do not like to party.

Nearly all the time during the day, everywhere I was, calm and peace were around me. Like when we stopped to admire some views. I thank you, Myanmar, for that. It was never the same, I was never tired watching them. I would have stayed there for hours. The profiles walking on the U Bein Bridge, the hot-air balloons flying slowly on the Bagan plain, the countryside in Pindaya, the uplands reflecting on the Inle Lake, the quiet on the Irraddawy riverbank. These are just some of the moments carved in my mind.

And finally, you filled me with joy introducing me to your Burman people along the road, source of your greatest wealth.

Starting from the attentive artisans to the silk weavers, whose works left me speechless. From the drivers to the boatmen, from the monks to the farmers, everyone smiled at me, showed me how to address Buddha, offered me a meal or a cup of tea to drink together. All those families asking me for a picture together and than thanking me. All those women posing with tanakas on their faces, a yellow powder with numerous beneficial properties. And lastly, all those children that healed me with their simple spontaneity.

I have so much left to say to you about our date.

Myanmar, you shocked me, moved me, hugged me and made me cry. It was intense love. Being so different, we kept getting closer and moving away from each other, at the same time.

However, you know, opposites attract. To me, being always the same is boring, and you were a steady but wild discovery. It was impossible for me to lose interest towards you.

This journey, Myanmar, deeply touched me, because you know, it was what I needed during this strange moment of my life, a physical and inner journey, strenuous and discordant, to energize my traveller’s soul.

Globalization has not touched you yet, so you can still show your most authentic and raw sides. This makes you an unforgettable journey. A journey intertwined in my mind with a vivid indulgence I will never forget.

မင်္ဂလာပါ (maingalarpar)

– Thank you, Myanmar

A special thanks to my partner in life and in adventure, Gabriele, who patiently followed me and took pictures during this journey in Myanmar.

Chiara Travel Psych

Una psicologa con la valigia sempre in mano.
Benvenuti nel blog di Psicologia del viaggio.

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