After twelve hours to travel 200 miles on our bucking bronco train, we finally arrive at our destination, Nay Pyi Taw (sometimes spelled Nay Pyi Daw) station, which is very grand station, reminiscent of a smaller scale Heathrow T5, given there are only one or two trains a day. Nay Pyi Taw is the new capital of Burma, relocated here from Yangon/Rangoon at a cost of 4.6 billion dollars. We are some of the first few Westerner's to come here as it only officially opened to non Burmese in 2012. It was obvious that we were a rare breed as we left the station forecourt, the small crowd closed in around us, and it was obvious they found us hilarious... Laughter all round. And odd to be in a place where no one spoke any English at all. Finally a fat, well dressed, less than engaging greasy spiv came over and said a taxi to our hotel was £30. Robber, we thought, we haven't just got off the boat (well, train, in our case...), it was only a six mile trip, only to find out later that it was the official going rate. But refusing to pay it, we finally negotiated, after much sign languauge and changing of buses (small open air tuk tuk type vehicles for locals) a fare of £6 total. So there we were, three huge people with even bigger bags crammed in with tiny women and babies, much to everyone's amusement. And probably breaking a cardinal rule for foreign travellers who should probably use official overpriced taxi's only...
The taxi bus had no idea where we should be dropped off, but eventually found it and dropped us off at the end of the sandy path leading to the hotel. Some areas of the capital are off limits to us, and we have to stay in the hotel zone. We thought we had booked online, but the internet obviously wasn't working that day... Again, much amusement at our arrival at the Tungapuri Hotel, where the staff were surprised at our unannounced arrival on foot with bags in tow. But it was fine, brand new, clean and really nice staff who spoke very little English. It's been open a while, but our rooms looked like no one else had ever used them. And even funnier when we saw in the light the next morning that there was actually a proper road and we needn't have struggled through the sand after all... No wonder we looked odd as we arrived by the back route as if we had just crossed the Arabian desert....
The whole city of Nay Pyi Taw is hard to describe. Perhaps a much more expensive Milton Keynes (in the 70's) on speed with no people is one way. Everything is brand new, huge plush hotels with landscaped grounds in the hotel zone, mostly, apart from our more modest one, five and six star looking places. And all looking empty. The road from the staion was a modest eight lane, but some are fourteen lanes - and no traffic or people in sight. Huge roundabouts lit up like Xmas trees using huge amounts of power with fountains playing. Street lights and manicured gardens everywhere. Unlike the rest of Burma who rely on generators for the frequent power cuts, it has 24 hour electricity, it is bizarre. It appears to be the military dream of a capital. They moved one million civil servants here from Yangon to staff all the ministries. Everything is on a grand scale. The workers live in housing blocks depending on job role and marital status and each has a different colour roof denoting the occupation of the inhabitants. Everyone we spoke to in Burma about this place laughed at the absurdity of it. Whilst most had not visited it they knew enough. The huge waste of financial resource on this grandeur when most Burmese struggle to make a living is incomprehensible, and it's so obvious. Just outside the city limits the scenes of rural poverty along the railway are shocking in comparison. Even the civil servants living there, we are told by people in Yangon, whilst many have better housing and a constant supply of power, don't like it. No real local markets, only the shopping zone, and no access to traditional medicine shops and pharmacies, they have to go through the more expensive medical system. And whilst one can applaud any nation for wanting to present their capital in a better light on the international stage, this one is so over the top. Indeed the name itself is generally translated as "royal capital", "seat of the king" or "abode of kings". The name literally means "royal city of the sun" in Burmese - telling.
We knew where we wanted to go for dinner. The local government airline, Myanma Airways is not noted for its safety record, and they reckon the safest way to get on one of these planes is to have dinner on the one parked outside the Sky Princess Hotel's Cafe Flight. So off we go, it wasn't far. No way was a car taxi available for less than £30, and the local mode of transport inside the city is motorbike taxi. It had to be done. Gill on the back of one, David on another and Ant bringing up the rear, not a crash helmet in sight. But not a bad short trip down the eight lane highway with no other traffic to get in our way. We walked back....
And the Cafe Flight restaurant was fab. It is in a full size Fokker 28 aircraft (thanks to David for the identification...) decked out inside like a private plane, with low lighting and comfy seating. But perhaps it was a private plane with low lighting and comfy seating in a previous life before the General bought something bigger... And reasonably fast wifi.... And good food and more local Shan State why why. We were happy! Ant was also able to fulfil a dream and do the whole safety briefing at the front of the plane - I hasten to add we were the only people in there..... he did rather a good job!
The next day we wanted to do a city tour of the highlights - not many, we discover. Apart from the sheer surreality of driving round a huge showpiece city with grand spreadout buildings, fine hotels and no people, compared to the unbelievable poverty just outside the city confines. We expected that tours might be available from a selection of leaflets in the hotel lobby, a normal expectation as we were in the third largest city in Burma. No, it appears a city tour was not something that had ever been requested before. So via pidgin English again, we got a suggested itinerary from the charming receptionist, who then directed the taxi driver what we should see. Not a lot frankly! Our first highlight was the pagoda, Uppatasanti Paya, built by General Than Shwe and his wife, an almost exact copy of Shwedagon in Yangon, but just thirty centimetres shorter and, we assume, minus the precious jewels. Here it was shoes off as normal, but we had to be dressed in longyis. Again to the huge amusement of the few locals visiting. David and Ant's longyi knots are getting better.... An impressive, empty, huge place with golden Buddha's, acres of marble and the requisite golden stupa.
Moving on, we decided to pass on the fountain park where fountains apparently aren't turned on very often and head for the more politically sensitive areas of the Parliament Building and City Hall. We had thought we had read that this was an off limits area but asked the driver to take us anyway. Gill of course was terrified, convinced she was about to be banged up abroad in a Burmese jail. But no, after passing identical grand ministry buildings tucked away inside leafy enclaves, we stop at the side of the fourteen lane highway outside, a road capable of flying a plane full of escaping Generals from if the need ever arose we thought...
Again, a ghost city, just the odd motorbike going by and no military or police to be seen. The Parliament building, surrounded by a high, artistic wrought iron fence was unbelieveble. Huge, ornate, grand, it seemed twenty Houses of Commons would fit inside. It is an extremely impressive parliamentary complex apparently consisting of 31 buildings and a 100 room presidential palace.
We even peered through the wrought iron fence to take the picture, well David and Ant did, Gill held back in case of arrest so at least she could visit them in prison.... Then on to see City Hall, another grand building but not quite on the scale of the Parliament building. The taxi pulls to a stop and we get out, surreptitiously pointing our camera towards it as a burly guard starts to walk over. We're not sure who was more terrified at this point, Gill or the poor taxi driver.... We had to tough it out, we smiled nicely and got back in to the car as fast as we could as we think the taxi driver was told, get those people away from here - NOW!
So then onto safer ground, the shopping mall! And here we didn't need to worry too much about a budget as there was nothing we wanted to buy. Not a Western brand anywhere to be seen. Lukewarm lattes in a bakery with no cakes. This is Burma's Pyongyang, the Generals they be mad! It's quite appropriate that George Orwell travelled widely in Burma, as this is certainly 1984. Indeed many Burmese call him the prophet, with Burmese Days, Animal Farm and 1984 seen as a trilogy fortelling Burma's development from imperial outpost, through the revolution to the right wing military dictatorship it is today.
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