But officially the government moved its headquarters 250 miles north to the middle of nowhere about eight years ago. Nobody got much notice. The inauguration of the new capital kicked off at 6:37am on 6 November 2005, less than two weeks after most of the Yangon civil servants who would be working there had first been given the news that they had to move. Secretive planning for Naypyidaw—the name translates in English as “Abode of Kings”—reportedly grew out of conversations between the generals and soothsayers.
Outside Asia, many people still haven’t heard of the city that one critic has called “more a sprawling army compound than a functioning metropolis.” Indeed, this planned community without any community has aspects of a fortress. Naypyidaw’s suburbia-style street grid simplifies crowd control. Being between mountain ranges makes it much easier to defend than a river town like Yangon. And rumor has it that connecting the many ministries and mansions are miles of tunnels.
I had a chance to stay in Naypyidaw this past week as a helper to someone attending a major financial meeting, the largest event ever held there. Had it taken place anywhere else, I wouldn’t have been interested. Because this place simply isn’t like anywhere else.
Vast, and too quiet, Naypyidaw is functional but not fun. The city is able to host the South Asia incarnation of the World Economic Forum by day, but unable to provide any entertainment by night. In the words of one Korean attendee, “It’s easy to get around here, but there’s nowhere to go.”The roads are wide, empty six-lane highways in both directions. City blocks stretch for nearly two miles, lined only with a few dozen 100-room hotels. There are no food carts, no beauty salons, no bookstores, no bicycle shops, no tour companies, no dogs, no traffic, no clinics. Just hotels. And not a Marriott nor a Hilton among them.
Surreal, yet oddly attractive, Naypyidaw’s appearance is clearly intended to impress. The city’s landscaping budget reportedly dwarfs that of all the country’s other municipalities combined. A large lawn surrounds the parliament building, which appears to be two or three times larger than the one in Thailand. Streetlights stay on all night, unlike most cities in Myanmar, where electricity is sporadic. Five golf courses allow for open-air financial negotiations between government officials and businessmen seeking favors. Everything is spread out under a big sky, complemented by silhouetted peaks in the distance.
I got on the back of a motorcycle to head for the ministry zone. My errand was simple: hand-deliver a couple of documents. Mostly I was looking forward to passing through something resembling a city center along the way. No such thing. Those clever generals perhaps wanted to prevent Arab-Spring-style gatherings, long before such movements arrived in the Middle East.Soon the motorcycle driver and I found ourselves wandering from Finance to Communications, stopping along nearly vacant roads to ask directions of gardeners. The individual ministries are spaced every half-mile or so, always set back from the streets far enough that they can’t be seen. Which may be a good thing. Viewed up close, these buildings have already begun to decay. Mold and wrinkles cover the exteriors. Inside, you find sparse furniture and an air of listlessness that goes beyond the level you might expect, even of a developing country bureaucracy.
Though Naypyidaw doesn’t have a downtown, or really anywhere that could be considered a public square, there is a telling cultural symbol occupying what appeared on my map to be the exact geographical center of the city. You’re probably thinking: a large monument to a hero? a religious edifice of some kind? maybe a flagpole? No, it’s a museum… yet not one that celebrates particular moments from the country’s past. Rather, Naypyidaw offers pride of place to the natural resource that partly provided the millions spent to transform a jungle into row upon row of pattern-built office space. Yes, it’s the Museum of Gems.
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