Shwe LellmanBrown Pagoda Donations Welcome

Tazaungdaing Festivities continue in Hinthada

Dear little friends

After the Wild West seediness of Okeshitpin Hinthada seems more lush, civilized, welcoming. Quiet treed lanes house a collection of old British mansions in various stages of upkeep, with large yards and circular driveways that may or may not have ten feet of undergrowth creeping over the house.

We had our friend make a reservation for us at the Aung Myint Moh Guesthouse, it seemed cheaper than the nearby hotels and we had some concern that it would be full over the holiday. So when we pulled up in our luxurious Toyota-looks-like-a-Volvo, the manager seemed to have been alerted already, there were 3 or 4 young guys at the ready to scurry up and down the stairs with our bags, it was all rather dramatic. How lovely after the angst of finding a guesthouse in good ol’ Okeshitpin.

We took a scorching hot walk around Hinthada, and returned to our guesthouse to be greeted by the owners dressed in their holiday finest requesting a photo with the sweaty gross foreigners.

There was some nostalgia for Pyay. This happens. You are in a town long enough to find the one clean restaurant and you are pretty sure you won’t find another one in this next town you have just landed in. As it happens, two of the hotel boys plopped us behind them on their motorbikes and swooped us to Lucky7 where mosquitoes ate us alive and we had lime juices and some nice vegetable stirfry. It took us another day to find a counterpart to the Pyay restaurant but find it we did, part of a chain called Mahar Yangon. While we did not sample all of their delights, we know that they, too, had many busy workers with very loud voices, and we eventually discovered that one of the cashier girls that seemed to be everywhere at all times like a tornado was actually two identical twin sister cashier girls who were both equally industrious and fast-moving.

The girl on the left has an identical twin sister and all of the workers at this noisy tea shop work like the devil but it took us awhile to figure out why the girl on the left seemed to be everywhere, all the time.

There are several moderately significant temples in town but nobody seemed to know where any Tazaungdaing Festival activities might be taking place. Yes, there was a festival, they were delighted to inform us. Yes, yes, there is a pagoda down that street! We would walk there to see what was shaking. Nuttin’. Just a few bored teenagers being edgy together and sleeping dogs.

On the morning of the 11th there was a constant parade of, let’s call them “very visible and audible temple fundraiser float/trucks” going by. Maybe the Trishaw Teamster Union 8888 was going to donate money and robes to the Shwe LellmanBrown Pagoda, but it’s not like they just write a check and put it in the mail. This is no quiet anonymous Venmo donation for an end-of-year tax write-off, kids. No, the trishaws are decked out with tinsel and flowers and they carry all the booty in a line, crisp new bills folded up into quaint formations, things piled high, decorative twinklies all a-flutter, one or two trishaws with huge distorted speakers playing deafening music, let me clarify that, one trishaw with speakers, another behind it with the generator and a patched wire dangling between.

Some of these corteges had trucks with dancers on them. Inexplicably there would be trucks at the end full of young men doing some serious raging to what seemed very much like secular metal music. I took to wearing earplugs that morning. But it was great fun, we stood on the hotel balcony and watched and waved. Once again we were the only foreigners in town.

Sometimes Bruce goes into this mode while we wander some place and he inexplicably turns here or there. I’ve learned to mostly go along with this, like he has some kind of zen mojo juju adventure fishing line pulling him hither and yon. We were on bikes, riding a quiet lush lane, then he stopped. Down an alley we could hear live musicians and singing. We looked at each other and said, “Nat Pwe!”. Sure enough, we parked our bikes and took out cameras and sat quietly for two hours observing, listening, filming, taking photos. Neighbors came and went. Children sat intently watching as the nat kadaws danced and sang, with several younger rookie nat kadaws also joining in the rituals, dancing, attending people who fell into trances, it was absolutely fascinating.

This was a polished troupe, with every note and ritual choreographed. I ended up sitting near one of the drummers and had a firsthand view of all the various Burmese instruments. A woman and her two little ones scooted over for me, the family hosting the nat pwe handed over cold water and an energy drink for both of us, we felt perfectly welcome and at ease to watch and listen.

Bruce watching the nat pwe with the neighbors. The dressed figures represent some of the nats.

One of the family members that sponsored the nat pwe has entered a trance and other performers keep her safe by tying a red string or sash around her and guarding her from falling.

There is a narrative to the nat pwe that I can only guess at. Everything that happens means something. I’m not going to be able to sum it up, and as it happens, while we spent two hours there, the host informed Bruce that there were still ten more hours ahead! In between “acts” the musicians played soothing “wait” music, while the performers did costume changes and the assistants rearranged the requisite props, such as certain leaves, foods, fruits, alcohol, live fish. It was a well-oiled machine, that performance, so all the more charming that it was set up on a leafy lane and dogs lay down on the straw mat to watch as well.

All of the musicians were first rate, but this one played beautiful soft music during scene changes.

Two of the performers act out different animal spirits, including some very realistic frogs. In this photo the nat kadaws are playing the roles of an elderly married couple, or at least that is how I interpreted it, I could be completely off base.

Eventually we had to split. So there we were, rolling back down the little lush lane and shaking our heads in disbelief at our good fortune and the generosity of the community in sharing this baffling, intricate ritual with us. We have a friend who LIVED in Burma in the late 50s who has never seen a nat pwe.

We were out on our bikes again later and thought we should check out another part of Hinthada and stumbled upon what looked like an evening eating spot, with chairs and tables being set up and vendors lighting fires and setting up booths. The pagoda next to this area looked attractive, we peeked in the gate, and lo and behold, hundreds of little oil lamps were being placed and filled. We locked the bikes to a fence, shucked off our sandals, and entered, immediately being greeted by a cadre of MPT staff, the company sponsoring this particular lamp lighting. MPT is one of the cell phone companies in Myanmar, the “government” one. It is the one most used in the rural areas so that’s what I put in my phone, and now we were getting feted and selfied and posed with various regional managers. They gave us brown shoulder sashes with MPT logos on them, which I surreptitiously ditched but Bruce of course saved. “For padding”, he explained.

Thumbs up with some local regional managers and staff of MPT, a national SIM card company, sponsors of this Tazaungdaing lamp lighting.

As the evening darkened and the moon rose, the lighting of the lamps commenced and crowds of people appeared to enjoy the beautiful flicker and glow of hundreds of lamps burning in their neighborhood temple. Many, many selfies were taken, some with the homely foreigners. I have an informal rule now, that if people want selfies with me they have to take one with my camera too, or have somebody else take them. Now I have a fun collection of photos with me and many perfect strangers, all of them far cuter than myself.

For all the tranquility of the scene, there are occasional moments like this one, where a child is pouring more oil onto lit lamps. I mean, what could go wrong?

Back to Mahar Yangon for dinner. The hard-working identical twins were still hard at it, this was at least 7 hours after we had had our tea there earlier. They dashed around and made change and barked out orders and scooped up dishes. If everybody in the world worked this hard things would be a lot different around here. Unfortunately slothful people like me swing things the opposite way. Families were still coming in for a post-Tazaungdaing meal, with little kids sporting balloons and twinkly-lighted cat ears and such.

Over our fried rice with an egg on top we assessed our time in Hinthada as an unqualified success. It was time to put the “hop” into our hopscotched bicycle trip and make a move toward Pathein, this time on our own four wheels. Onward.

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Linda SladekAmazing the new town and Nat Pwe and candle lighting- love the informative, engaging, humor in your words, Andrea! Wonderful photos, 'Mynmar selfie book' in the making...
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4 years ago