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Pulling up his longyi, Naung Naung proudly shows us the tattoo of a rabbit on his right thigh, surrounded by a faded swirl of Pali inscriptions. "This one makes me jump higher", he explains, his face deadly serious, before pulling open his tattered shirt to reveal a tiger on his chest. "And this one gives me courage!" This goes on for a few minutes, as he shows us a succession of significant tattoos - each located on a specific part of the body - and tells us the blessing each one bestows. I'd read a little about this custom before, (sometimes precious stones and amulets were inserted just beneath the skin to complement the inks and enhance the mystical significance), but hadn't realised it was still practised. I'd read that in times of war, many Burmese soldiers asked for tattoos over their hearts, as this was believed to render the wearer impervious to bullets. Another man told me that some monks are allowed even more powerful tattoos, such as one which can make them invisible when they wish it.

Burma Three: Lingering a little longer with the lotus-eaters

Michael Meadows
2007-03-08 16:37:11

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back across the lake to our guesthouse.

We didn't do much else during our time in Nyaungshwe, except for a bike-ride out to the nearby hot spring at Kaungdaing, (nothing special in itself but the ride out there is great, if very bumpy in parts). The rest of the time we just sat around, talking with Naung Naung, (pronounced something like "know-know"), and the rest of the gang at Remember Inn and the neighbouring Thanaka Cafe. (The cafe is named after the cream-coloured sandalwood paste that almost all Burmese women & children wear. Applied in varying - Brian & I both came to consider it very beautiful. On the ladies that is, not ourselves! =P)

In the couple of days we were there, we got to know a few of the other staff as well, staying up late each night to discuss life & love and smoking cheap Burmese cigars, (usually favoured only by toothless old ladies; those still blessed with teeth generally preferring to chew the little leaf-wrapped betel-nut packages instead). On our last morning, one of the Thanaka Cafe cooks - one of the gentlest and most lovely women I've ever met - invited us to her family's home for breakfast. Our last hour in Nyaungshwe was spent there, sitting cross-legged on bamboo mats with the entire family, slurping down big bowls of delicious, peanut-flavoured Shan soup. It was with a lot of regret that we had to say our goodbyes to everyone and catch the bus to Yangon - our longest yet at 22 hours. The trip passed uneventfully, although as we got off in Yangon, Brian nudged me and pointed to the driver. He'd driven the whole way himself - no second driver or stops of more than 45 minutes - and looked more dead than alive by this stage.

Back at the Garden Guesthouse, the manager looked up from gloomily picking his nose, crowed with surprise at seeing us again, and then extended his hand enthusiastically to welcome us back. =P Dropping our bags in the same room as we'd stayed in before, we spent ...