Shwedagon Zedi Daw, the 99 meter gilded pagoda situated on a hill in Yangon, is the most sacred of Myanmar’s Buddhist sites.
“Then, a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon, a beautiful winking wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple-spire. It stood upon a green knoll, and below it were lines of warehouses, sheds, and mills. Under what new god, thought I, are we irrepressible English sitting now?”
~ Rudyard Kipling, 1889
Shwedagon Pagoda (Shwedagon Zedi Daw) is possibly even more magnificent now than it was when Kipling first saw it.
Situated west of Kandawgyi Lake, high up on Singuttara Hill, its golden dome, reputedly tipped with 5,448 diamonds nd 2,317 rubies, can be seen from almost anywhere in Yangon. It is so much part of the Burmese psyche that Queen Shinsawbu (1394–1472), who donated her weight in gold to repair and maintain the pagoda, had her bed positioned so she could look at it during her final days. By the early 16th century, Shwedagon was the most important Burmese Buddhist pilgrimage site, and in more recent years it has also become a centre – and a symbol – of nationalist and political protest.
Morning light in the sacred Bodhi Tree near Shwedagon’s South Entrance.
Luminous white marble Buddhas, lavishly trimmed with gold, in a shining hall.
Shwedagon Pagoda is revered by Burmese Buddhists because it is said to contain the relics of the present Gautama Buddhaand the three Enlightened Buddhas immediately preceding Him. Legend has it that two Burmese brothers, Taphussa and Bhallika, met the Lord Gautama Buddha in BC 588 and were given eight of His hairs as sacred relics. When they returned to Burma, the presiding King helped them find the site of the older relics enshrined on Singuttara Hill, and the stupa was built – making it over 2600 years old; thus the oldest pagoda in the world.
Historians and archaeologists, however, suggest that the the pagoda was built by the Mon people between the 6th and 10th centuries CE.
Either way, the original site is old, and improvements and renovations of the pagoda and the surrounds have continued over the years.
Looking up to the birds, the spires and the heavens…
A Burmese woman, wearing thanaka on her face, sits in the shadows of the hallway.
A monk saying morning prayers.
Reflections in a golden Buddha
Burmese Buddhist ritual is strongly rooted in astrology which originated from Hindu Brahmanism. According to Myanmar astrology, the week is divided into eight days (Wednesday is split into two parts) and a person’s fate is dependent on the planet ruling over the day of their birth. The base of the pagoda is octagonal, allowing for eight planetary posts, each with a guardian angel or deva, and a small Buddha in a shine. The faithful, who may bring offerings with them, make their devotions or entreaties at the post which corresponds to the day of their birth.
A Burmese monk quietly sitting with his alms (begging) bowl.
Faithful often bring offerings when they say prayers at their planetary post.
Each of the eight posts has lit candles and incense burning.
There are monks in every nook and cranny.
A monk shields his face from the bright morning light as he walks around Shwedagon Pagoda.
A visiting nun pauses to have her photo taken.
There are 64 alcoves around the base of the pagoda; most with Buddha images, many with monks.
We – the intrepid Karl Grobl and ten photographic enthusiasts – visited Shwedagon Pagoda twice on our brief stay in Yangon: once in the morning and once in the evening. We wanted to witness the life of the pagoda, rather than just its intrinsic beauty, and our guide Mr MM assured us that those were the times that would be busiest with Burmese pilgrims.
I was lucky enough to engage in conversation with locals on both visits. In the morning, I met a man who was there because it was his wife’s birthday, and she wanted to make merit. He had lived in both the USA and Thailand as part of a diplomatic family, and we were able to discuss (albeit cautiously on my part!) the impact of the recent political changes. In the evening, I chatted to a young monk about life, religion, and the cultural importance of Shwedagon, as we took refuge from the rain under an awning.
A bilingual Burmese monk, and his not-so-bilingual friend.
A little afternoon rain doesn’t dampen the faithful who have their umbrellas handy.
There were few tourists around, but the locals were out: the same umbrellas that protected visitors from the harsh morning sun now shielded them from the soft evening rains.
At each of the eight planetary posts, there were Burmese buddhists washing the little Buddhas; …
… this both pays homage to the Buddha and cleanses oneself of sins.
As the rain falls and the light drops, we spot monks on the pagoda “terraces”, just below the “bell”.
A reclining Burmese Buddha.
Detail: gilded columns in one of the many halls.
Incense and evening worship.
Night lights over Shwedagon.
While there is some argument that the riches in the pagoda could be used for much-needed infrastructure development, it has survived early Portuguese pillaging, two wars with the British and years of colonial occupation, as well as earthquakes of varying severity.
The military government clearly knows the importance of Shwedagon to the people of Myanmar: in 2006 they commenced work on Uppatasanti Pagoda, an almost-exact replica in Naypyidaw, the new capital of Myanmar. In September 2007, they attempted to restrict access to the Shwedagon Pagoda, leading to clashes between security forces and protesters – mostly monks and nuns – which resulted in at least five dead.
It still stands tall, a glittering jewel that seems to symbolise Burmese resilience and hope for the future.
Beautiful as always, as funny as this is, I asked myself the same question as we neared the end, the … what if the money was redirected etc etc… but it occured to me, without faith, what material objects could these people have that would mean more or be as important, I can’t think of anything one could own that would be more important that how one feels. The history, the sensibility and the devotion can not be equalled.ReplyCancel
Thanks, Signe, for putting it so succinctly! Without faith (in something), life becomes empty. “He who has a why for life can put with any how.”
– Frederick Nietzsche
Thanks for the visits, John and Gabe. The place had me awestruck!ReplyCancel
Selim Hassan -October 25, 2012 - 2:47 am
And Hobbes said … The condition of man is a condition of war of everyone against everyone and the life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. (Leviathan) But your Nietzsche quote is more uplifting!
I spent the summer of 1984 in and around Yellowstone, primarily flyfishing but also taking some time out for exploring. It is an absolute must-visit for anyone who enjoys and marvels at natural wonders.
But back to Thomas Hobbes … I was resting one evening (all alone I thought) by Lewis Lake in the southwestern part of Y/Park in a little cove when two guys drove up to the lake, walked around a bit and then discussed what a waste it was that all that prime real estate was locked up in a public park. They speculated how they could sell lake-front plots for a huge profit and make a killing. I guess some people don’t realize that sound carries very well over still water. I was pretty naive at that time and was actually horrified that somebody would think to do that to an incomparable public treasure. Now, I know better–we are generally inclined to destroy, not preserve and enhance.
Thanks for the memories, Ursula, and hope to see you again soon in Thailand.ReplyCancel
Morning sunshine over Roaring Mountain, Yellowstone National Park.
How many parks can claim UNESCO World Heritage status?
Yellowstone National Park, the world’s oldest “National Park”, established in 1872 by an act of American congress, has been a designated World Heritage site since 1978. Home to more geothermic activity than anywhere else on earth, Yellowstone is also one of the last, nearly intact, temperate-zone ecosystems, providing a refuge and natural home for many plants and animals that no longer thrive elsewhere.
UNESCO also recognises Yellowstone for its “extraordinary scenic treasures”; an assessment I’d have to agree with. While we loved seeing Old Faithful and some of the other iconic Yellowstone National Park activity, it was equally impressive to see just how much else the park has to offer.
The horses wait for their morning riders: Yellowstone Plateau.
I had vague childhood memories of the Paint Pots at Kootenay National Park in British Colombia, and so was curious to see Yellowstone’s Artist’s Paint Pots. This is one of the less-visited attractions in the park, but we enjoyed the short walk (1.8 km) along the trail and boardwalk that takes you around pretty geothermic hot springs, mudpots, fumarole, and a small geyser.
Small lake, Artist’s Paint Pots, Yellowstone National Park
A bubbling hot spring ~ one of the many fascinating, but nameless, features at the Artist’s Paint Pots.
Subtle colours and beauty ~ Artist’s Paint Pots Yellowstone
Steam rises everywhere from hot springs and from cracks and fissures in the earth.
It amazes me how many plants survive and thrive at the edges of the geothermal pools.
Some of the small springs bubbled with amazing enthusiasm!
Impossibly clear springs contrast with red and white soils and green grasses.
New-growth lodgepole pines grow next to the steaming hot pools.
Nature’s Still Life: This area suffered major forest fire in 1988, and the evidence is still around.
Some of the “paint pots” are brightly coloured by cyanidia, a unicellular red algae.
The milky-blue colour in some of the features comes from silica, suspended in the water.
Visitors try to capture the white-on-white.
The boiling white mud in the Paint Pots is a clay mineral called kaolinite.
There is a constant “plopping” noise as the clay in the mud pots builds up heat and bubbles over.
Another silica milky-blue pond.
Beside the trail back to the car park, autumn Fringed Gentians (Gentionopsis crinito) signal the onset of cooler weather.
It was a delightful stop, and a good introduction to some of the natural beauty the park has to offer.
We looked out the windows of our accommodation at Annascaul, on the southwest tip of Ireland, and although the sky was heavy and overcast, we hoped it might not rain…
We were not half a block out the door, when our hopes were dashed: rain, drizzle, fog, mist; our day was beset with precipitation of all sorts. Although the the Gulf Stream is supposed to warm the Dingle Peninsula, I was not convinced as we started our walk from Annascaul to Dingle, shivering in our raincoats.
Main Street (only street?) Annascaul, including our accommodation, The Anchor.
The South Pole Inn was originally opened by Annascaul’s famous son, Antarctic explorer Tom Crean (1877-1938), after his retirement from the British Royal Navy.
Ireland’s religious roots are in early Celtic Christianity. As a consequence, Madonas and crucifixes are less commonly seen outside churches here than in many other Catholic countries.
Another day walking in Ireland: mist, green, and sheep.
A dappled gray pony is a nice change from the ubiquitous sheep!
If Irish council workers were stopped by rain, they’d never get anything done. These two are cutting back the brambles on the narrow road verges.
A donkey and a skewbald pony watch our passing.
Cottage ruins often seem to be left where they stand.
Descending through the mist and rain into Kilmurray Bay, with the remains of the Minard Castle, built in the mid-16th century by the Fitzgerald’s and destroyed by Cromwell in 1650, perched on the hill.
“A stolen ringbuoy – a stolen life.” Kilmurray Bay
The beach at Kilmurry Bay is framed by rounded boulders thrown up by the sea. The ruins of the Minard Castle tower (fenced off with “Keep Out” warning signs) stand on the hillside.
A small creek runs into Kilmurry Bay from in front of the Minard Castle ruins.
Wet and wild: Buttercups and fuchsia counterpoint the ever-present greens.
Eventually, Lispole village came into view, but it soon became clear that unless we were to deviate from the country road we were on, we would not actually go through it. So, we took advantage of our packed sandwiches and a short break in the rain to have a quick lunch perched on the roadside before heading off up hill again.
A Gothic church in the village of Lispole is set amid green hills and mist.
A wooden door on an old stone shed is almost hidden by grass, creepers and ivy.
Foxgloves give a splash of colour.
View over Short Strand and the hills of Dingle Peninsula.
It was one of those days: whether it was the cold, the damp or our tiredness I don’t know, but our walking route never seemed to quite match our notes. We never saw the Ogham stone that was meant to be in an ancient graveyard (not the first one we missed, either); we didn’t find the “arrow painted on the roof of the turf shed” that was meant to be a way marker; and we didn’t see the point at which we were meant to have two walking options. Fortunately, we ended up on the one we wanted by default, passing the 18th century Garfinny Bridge before finally coming into Dingle.
Called “the rainbow bridge” because of its shape, the pretty Garfinny Bridge arches over the Garfinny RIver.
Built in the 18th century without the use of mortar, the Garfinny Bridge is the last of these bridges standing in Ireland.
Coming into John St., DIngle.
And, as always, the cold, the wet and the fatigue were quickly forgotten over a pint and a plate of fresh fish and chips at the local pub.
A woman on a crowded Yangon train is quick with a smile for the camera.
After thirty-six hours of airplanes and airports, and sixteen hours of sleep, I’m sitting on my balcony with a coffee while welcome swallows and noisy miners swoop around my head. My ears are ringing with the screech of lorikeets and rosellas as they jockey for position in our trees, and light is falling on the estuary as the pelicans glide in for graceful landings.
It is nice to be home, but my head is still swirling full of images of monks and temples, stilted houses and leg-rowing fishermen. I’ve just had the privilege of spending two weeks in a different time and place: in Myanmar, a magical land poised on the brink of change. I’ve come home with full CompactFlash cards, a full hard drive, and a full brain; it will take me ages to sort through the images and impressions.
Where to start?
With the golden beauty of Schwedegon Pagoda? The iconic wooden U Bein Bridge? The confusion and noise of colourful markets? The profusion of purple-robed monks or pink-clad nuns? The mystic calm of the Began stupas? The balletic-grace of Inlay Lake’s leg-rowing fishermen? The shy smiles of the people everywhere?
In the end, I’ve decided to leave the more “iconic” images for later, and to start at the end: with the oppressively hot, crowded and chaotic Yangon ring-train, where the dusty darkness inside the old carriages contrasts with the blinding light outside, where the fragrance of fresh flowers alternates with the stench of dirty refuse, and where the press of people transporting themselves and their belongings or wares around the rails of Yangon provide a microcosmic view of the country as a whole.
I was travelling with photojournalist and phototour-workshop leader Karl Grobl, his trusty Myanmar “fixer” and guide, Mr. MM, and nine other intrepid culture and photography enthusiasts. For two weeks we’d been touring around this amazing country, treated to local sounds and sights, tastes and smells; searching for “the” iconic Burmese image – all while fiddling with ISO settings, f-stops and exposure compensations. The Ring Train was our last stop and ultimate test: to find subjects in the dark and crowded carriages; to find light where there wasn’t any; to manage exposures in rapidly changing conditions – in short, to make pictures in a nigh on impossible situation.
Most of the the pictures I attempted that day will never see the light of day, but I found a few that I think give us a glimpse into everyday Burmese life.
Stark Contrasts: extremes of light and dark illustrate the difference between long periods of waiting and sleeping on the floors, and the purposeful rush when the right train comes in.
Waiting in Colour: The railway station in Yangon was a much more orderly place than I expected after my experience of trains in India.
Burmese Tracks: The current Yangon Central Railway Station was built in 1954 in Burmese style.
On the Platform: One of the hallmarks of Asia is people’s ability to wait…
Water for travellers is shared all over Myanmar: for a scarce and precious resource, people seem to be rather profligate with it!
Passing Passenger: An elderly Burmese gentleman smiles for the tourist.
Posters all but obscure the platform office. The man working the window is barely visible.
A Glimpse into the Office: With the oppressive heat and humidity, and minimal ventilation, it is no wonder that this worker is down to his singlet.
Waiting for the train.
Portrait of a Burmese Theravada Buddhist monk – after he put his cigarette out!
All over Myanmar, women carry goods on their heads effortlessly.
Contrasts: a man looks out from the dark train interior to the bright Yangon afternoon.
Trussed live chickens vie for space on the floor of the railway carriage.
Looking through the crowds out onto a Burmese train platform.
And the world goes by…
… Jump!
A face in the crowd.
This old lady had a bucket full of kyat, so was doing quite well begging on the train.
Betel nut and “betel quid” chewing is ubiquitous in Myanmar. Even on the trains, vendors are ready to fix a chew or three.
The snack vendor is ready to change train cars; she hasn’t sold much on this one.
Daughter and mum – both sporting thanaka,the cosmetic paste made from ground bark, on their faces.
Markets are everywhere; the military presence is reportedly less than it used to be, although visitors like us still meet friendly “strangers” who ask pointed questions about our group’s size and purpose.
Looking outside.
Vendors squat on the floor where they can find space, selling their food and drink.
Myanmar is home to a number of ethnic groups – most of whom get along well, notwithstanding various fights for independence going on around the country.
Harsh light can’t dim a beautiful Burmese smile.
A cherished boy-child is there to farewell me as I finally leave the Ring Train in the same place I got on.
Like I said, just a glimpse into the colour and magic that is Myanmar; I can only hope it retains what is good and innocent as it is thrust, with the opening of it’s borders, into the future.
I will get back to the more “classic” images soon – in the meantime, I wish you Happy Travels!
Love it, love it, love it!
Ursula, you did it again….capturing the essence of the story through your engaging images and rich, colorful, descriptive text. It’s a wonderful package with your signature “Ursula insights” and your vivid descriptions, all of which make us all feel like we were along for the ride (and some of us were…and we all wish we could describe it as eloquently as you did). Thanks for sharing. Bravo on a story well told. In-flight magazines across the region are in need of stories like this one!
Cheers,
KarlReplyCancel
Wow, transported me right back there In an instant. We “worked” the same car, so wonderful to see your perspectives. When I am “homesick” for Myanmar, I will be a frequent visitor to your blog!! Please keep posting!! Great story!ReplyCancel
Bonnie Stewart -October 1, 2012 - 1:14 pm
Great job Ursula! Wonderful story and pictures. Enjoyed meeting you. BonnieReplyCancel
[…] about the “Circle line” (one including a multimedia piece the other just photos) and a more comprehensive blog post about the journey, wonderfully crafted by Ursula Wall, just click the appropriate link and […]ReplyCancel
“I want people to be overwhelmed with light and color in a way they have never experienced.”
~ Dale Chihuly
Dale Chihuly’s Japanese-inspired Niijima Float Boat and Ikebana Boat.
I was first “introduced” to Dale Chihuly’s glass installation-artworks in Canberra in 1999.
It was while I was wandering around Floriade, Canberra’s festival of spring flowers which is held annually in the park along Lake Burley Griffin, that I came across a version of the Ikebana Boat floating in a pond. This was back in the days of film, but the sight of that glass-filled boat, in amongst the water-weeds, so impressed me that I made framed prints of one of the photos I took.
So, I was really pleased to be able to visit the relatively-newly-opened Chihuly Garden and Glass Exhibition in Seattle Center, Seattle’s 300,000 square-meter downtown parklands, arts and entertainment complex.
Chihuly is a bit of a local hero in Seattle: billed as a “true Northwesterner”, he was born and raised in Tacoma, less than an hour away, and did his early study in the region before moving on to other parts of the country and overseas. In 1971 Chihuly co-founded the Pilchuck Glass School, an international center for glass-art education in Washington State, and he is still very involved with education and arts organisations in the region.
The Chihuly Garden and Glass Exhibition opened on May 21, 2012, after being first proposed by the Space Needle Corporation in 2010, and being approved by Seattle City Council on April 25, 2011.
The International Fountain, build in 1962, is one of the features in the 300,000 square meter Seattle Center park, arts and entertainment complex.
Seattle Center is a centre-piece of every-day life.
The iconic Seattle Space Needle
Chihuly glass sculptures and Seattle Centre buildings reflected in the base of the Space Needle.
An attendant outside the exhibition space helps visitors find their way through the busy Seattle Center park.
The “Glass Forest” concept came out of an exploration of blowing glass to resemble botanical forms. The pieces are blown from the top of a stepladder so the glass can flow to the floor.
In the Northwest Room, walls are decorated with some of Chihuly’s early influences, as represented by his collection of Native American photographs, weaving and tapestries.
Delicate threads and beads are embedded in the soft shapes of Chihuly’s baskets, cylinders, and soft cylinders; all inspired by Native American basket and textile weaving.
Colours and shaped in the Sealife Room.
Part of the Persian Ceiling fixture.
Chihuly says the Mille Fiori (a Thousand Flowers) series was inspired by his mother’s garden.
Japanese-inspired Niijima Floats.
One of the many large “Chandeliers”.
Colour intensity marks the Macchia Forest series.
The 40-foot-tall glasshouse provides a bridge between the darkened inner rooms and the bright outdoor gardens.
The suspended glass flower-sculpture in the Glasshouse is 100 feet long.
In the garden, glass is part of the landscaping.
Chihuly is far from being a starving artist: he is a skilled marketer and his works – large and small – sell around the world.
The eight-inch “Jasmine Basket” retails at $5,500USD.
Shoppers browse and buy – even if it is only post-cards, trinkets and T-shirts.
After dark, the large balls in the gardens reflect the Space Needle.
The back-lit flowers in the Glasshouse provide a frame for the towering Space Needle next door.
It was a delightful sensory treat, and is well worth a visit – both in daylight and after dark.
Glorious, I particularly love the Blue/Glass garden. However they are all so lovely, glass is amazing and his use of colour, the flow and movement is wonderful. Must have been an amazing experience walking amongst it.ReplyCancel
- Performing the Ganga Aarti from Dasaswamedh Ghat, Varanasi
- Buddha Head from Shwedagon Pagoda, Myanmar
- Harry Clarke Window from Dingle, Ireland
- Novice Monk Shwe Yan Pyay Monastery, Myanmar
Packets of 10 for $AU50.
Or - pick any photo from my Flickr or Wanders blog photos.
It was a delightful stop, and a good introduction to some of the natural beauty the park has to offer.
Like I said, just a glimpse into the colour and magic that is Myanmar; I can only hope it retains what is good and innocent as it is thrust, with the opening of it’s borders, into the future.
As always, informative @ beautiful
I remember my visit 7-8 years ago. Spectacular. Wonderful pictures to stir the memories. Thank you
Beautiful as always, as funny as this is, I asked myself the same question as we neared the end, the … what if the money was redirected etc etc… but it occured to me, without faith, what material objects could these people have that would mean more or be as important, I can’t think of anything one could own that would be more important that how one feels. The history, the sensibility and the devotion can not be equalled.
Thanks, Signe, for putting it so succinctly! Without faith (in something), life becomes empty. “He who has a why for life can put with any how.”
– Frederick Nietzsche
Thanks for the visits, John and Gabe. The place had me awestruck!
And Hobbes said … The condition of man is a condition of war of everyone against everyone and the life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. (Leviathan) But your Nietzsche quote is more uplifting!
I spent the summer of 1984 in and around Yellowstone, primarily flyfishing but also taking some time out for exploring. It is an absolute must-visit for anyone who enjoys and marvels at natural wonders.
But back to Thomas Hobbes … I was resting one evening (all alone I thought) by Lewis Lake in the southwestern part of Y/Park in a little cove when two guys drove up to the lake, walked around a bit and then discussed what a waste it was that all that prime real estate was locked up in a public park. They speculated how they could sell lake-front plots for a huge profit and make a killing. I guess some people don’t realize that sound carries very well over still water. I was pretty naive at that time and was actually horrified that somebody would think to do that to an incomparable public treasure. Now, I know better–we are generally inclined to destroy, not preserve and enhance.
Thanks for the memories, Ursula, and hope to see you again soon in Thailand.
Selim, as depressing as your observations are, you always make me smile! 🙂
[…] source – https://www.ursulasweeklywanders.com/culture/the-heart-of-myanmar-shwedagon-pagoda-yangon/ […]
[…] Pagoda Shwedagon. Image via: ursulasweeklywanders.com […]