Bagan is Benighted

Reasonable people might recount our evening bicycle ride on the plain of Bagan using very different descriptors—thrilling, frightening, unusual, unwise, heart-warming, heart-pounding. All would probably agree that we earned our supper.

Along the way we passed through a technological existence far removed from our day-to-day. The road crew applied hot tar and gravel by hand. Goat herders whistled their charges along sandy paths. West Pya-Saw village was built of thatch and bamboo, lit by candle.

We reached our intended sunset viewing pagoda just in time to catch the afterglow. The Shan Mountains turned to silhouette, and distant temples began to light up in glorious and varied styles across the plain. Some of the largest brick-only structures had their outlines illuminated with fairy lights. Those with more gold in their spires were spotlighted as if they were parts of a film studio logo. The lovely Dhammayazaka, which seemed to glow from within like a giant tree ornament, guided us home.

We surely needed its landmark as we rode back through the nearly pitch-black and suddenly quiet village. Our progress was slowed by a flat tire and the dune-like conditions of the track. Only 45 minutes earlier, the same route was a busy swirl of livestock and cooking and evening gossip. The rhythms of that pre-modern place, like its close neighbor Pya-tha-da Pagoda, must be governed primarily by the sun.

After finally reaching the paved road we hugged its edge. Depending on your point of view, we were either invisible or invincible. We pulled off whenever we saw a car approach, at one point nearly colliding with a large gravel pile that the road crew had left near the shoulder. Note for next time: no leaving home without the headlamp.