When I was younger, I found myself looking towards Europe and America as dream destinations. Like most Asians, I was lured by the West, its riches, interesting
alienity and First-World modernity, enshrined in movies and storybooks. And if the call of the White-man got too strong, but we had little money, then Australia and New Zealand would, and did, make good alternatives.
Having seen a large part of the West now, I find myself looking at places closer to home.
It doesn't fail to amaze me sometimes how tiny and sterile Singapore is. I am not ungrateful for the peace and prosperity we have got going here but really, how much do we, as S'poreans, academically far superior and with a heady Internet penetration rate that belies our minisculity, know about Asia? I think the answer is obvious. Precious little.
Angkor? Sukhothai? Borobudur? My Mum would chastise me now for paying good money to see stone. Buddhist stones at that. She's a devout Christian you see. But if all you care about is to get a good photograph of that monolithic stupa, rising above the dusty plain, bathed in the crimson glow of sunset, then I suppose you're better off in Disneyland. Wars were fought, Kingdoms were forged, whole Cultures were born, right at our doorstep. And yet sometimes, we bother ourselves with the Eiffel Tower that stands now in the over-rated romantism of Paris.
In March or April, I plan to visit Bagan. On the banks of the Irrawady River, 145km from Mandalay, Myanmar. Its an archeological site about 42 square kilometres big, and where, at its height in the Middle Ages, served as capital of the Burmese empire and also its religious heart. At one point, almost 13,000 temples were strewn over its vast plain. But now only about 2000 remain. In the earthquake of 1975, many of these magnificent stupas and chedis were destroyed. And UNESCO is still hesitant to award Bagan, World Heritage Site status, because the ruling military junta has not always restored some of the temples in a fashion that pays due homage to their ancient heritage.
In some ways, Bagan is even more magnificent than Angkor. In its variety of architectural styles, the variation of materials used to built the structures and the glistening gold of its gargantuan gilded stupas. There is color in this old-world charm of monochromed sandstone. And I can only imagine, gliding over the vast beauty of it all, in a hot-air balloon, the exhilaration that must come from gazing upon history.
Let some of the pictures, which I grabbed from fellow photographers' flickR accounts, bear testament to this.
Labels: Travel