The Golden Rock is Gratifying

In most parts of Myanmar, the narrow dirt motorcycle tracks linking villages are perfect for bicycling. If you surround those tracks with a few bamboo and rubber plantations, sprinkle some oxcarts along the way, and map a route in the shadow of the Golden Rock, you’ve got the recipe for a rewarding three-day outing from Yangon.

Fourteen of us took that trip last weekend. We guessed at intersections and rode through streams. When the way got too rough at one point, we abandoned our bikes and went swimming.

All the while, the Rock barely balanced on a ridge three or four thousand feet above us. It was too close not to check it out. I had gone up that ridge by truck just ten weeks before. This time, we chose to reach it on foot. An eight-mile-long trail leads from the village of Kinmon to the shrine. We set off extra early to arrive in time for sunrise.

Naively I expected to have the trail to ourselves. Why would anyone else get up at 2am for a walk in the dark, when they could wait a few hours and pay to be driven the whole way?

Clearly I don’t think like a pilgrim. Thousands of people passed us in both directions, often holding children or candles or both. Many were coming down from the Rock after sleeping on the marble plaza the night before. Some were likely trying to squeeze the journey into two days by catching the first bus back to the big city.

Just as the sun peeked over the dark ridges in the distance, we reached the final stairway. It was shoulder to shoulder with pilgrims and monks and vendors. A few older visitors had paid four porters to be carried on palanquins. On the plaza itself, still thousands more were waking up. Two or three dozen visitors were already adding yet another square of gold leaf to the stone.

I felt night-and-day different from my first visit a few weeks earlier. As the Rock began to glow, its power to inspire sacrifice struck me clearly. Last time, our not-so-hidden agenda was to receive a special blessing through our visit. On this trip I found myself simply grateful that the Rock had not tumbled in the meantime, and hopeful that future generations could also come to appreciate it.

For most of the thousands around me, the journey was not about tourism or recreation. Many of them had probably struggled to get there, or at least stretched their finances. In this land of making do, travel is usually a luxury. Yet acts involving sacrifice may be what Myanmar people feel are most valuable during this challenging time in Myanmar's history.

The Golden Rock is Glorious

Lest you think it not worth the trip five hours from Yangon to see a painted rock perched precariously on the edge of a minor Myanmar cliff, think again. It is absolutely worth it. Make the journey. Plan a long visit.

Stay the night at the top of the mountain. The views alone will reward your efforts. Not that the voyage is difficult. First you ride pleasantly through rice fields en route Kaeiktyo. Next you transfer to an open-top truck, along with 70 other passengers, for a nearly straight uphill on a kooky curvy road.

The engine groans as the route crests false peak after false peak. You traverse sharp ridges. Fog descends, waterfalls pound, air brakes squeal. This section confirms your decision to see for yourself what else the place offers beyond what the postcards show.

Finally, on foot now, and without shoes, you ascend a flight of steps until you reach a glistening white plaza. Along the way you pass a series of lesser stones. You glimpse smoky hilltops in the distance.

At last, the golden boulder dawns. The size and position of the photogenic Rock makes a fitting climax to your journey. Four tall Westerners, or five short Asians, could stand on each other’s shoulders and still not touch the top of the shining egg. Adding another couple dozen feet to the spectacle is a chedi, which from a distance looks something like a court jester’s cap, but on closer
inspection reveals itself to be a proper crown.

Some pilgrims believe the site is holy because long ago a hair of the Buddha was embedded in the Rock to keep it from pinwheeling over the edge toward the wide Sittaung River below. Just in case, you hold your breath so that you’re not responsible for a “holy roller.”

Then you sit. Breathe. Smile.

Popa is Resplendent

Solstice in Southeast Asia generally doesn’t make much of an impression—night and day are always just about the same length.

Yet recent mornings here in Yangon have stood out. The light has a quality I’m not used to. At daybreak the sun’s rays seem to filter down through the trees and strike the earth at a different angle than they do in Thailand. This city’s latitude isn’t too much different from Bangkok’s and Chiang Mai’s… perhaps Myanmar’s weird in-between time zone makes this place an exception, like Harry Potter’s Platform 9¾?

New Year’s morning offered up some special magic. A few friends and I chose to welcome 2014 at Mount Popa, an inactive volcano near the center of Myanmar.

We traveled by overnight bus. It was before dawn on the 31st when we arrived. For starters we just practiced the slow art of teashop-sitting. As daylight appeared, the little town at the base of the mountain woke up. Now and then a truck idled in the street, hoping to be noticed. Fruit sellers spread out their produce on little mats, only to abandon them in favor of gossiping by the roundabout. The colors were brighter than in the big city. The birds had more personality.

That afternoon we toured a temple perched up on a kilometer-high pillar that geologists say is a volcanic plug, left over from a long-ago eruption. Locals say this wide rock column is the epicenter for nats, Myanmar's special brand of supernatural beings. Many of these mythical spirits are thought to congregate here, exerting their animist pull on the Burmese Buddhist cosmos. Sunset drew near, and the resident monkeys began to screech. We surely felt there was something extra- about the place.

With only a few hours of bus sleep under our belts, bedtimes were early—to hell with New Year’s Eve. Besides, we set our alarms for 3am. That’s the time you have to be awake and climbing if you want to greet the first rays of the year from the peak of the volcano.

In the dark we took a wrong turn or two. We worried we might arrive too late. No other hikers seemed to have the same idea, so there was nobody to ask except for some dogs we met along the way. They were no help.

Half-light began to make the trail obvious. Grassland replaced forest. We could tell we were getting close.

Enough glow leaked from somewhere to keep us from falling into the crater. It was exactly in between night and day. Officially, 2014 had arrived about six and a half hours earlier.

For us, the new year got off to a memorable start when the sun peeped over the horizon, making the soft edges sharp. Bright orange reflected off the cliffs and into the valley. Down where we began, the golden roof of the nat temple glistened.