There are certain moments in life when you should absolutely not be allowed to make financial decisions.
Drunk.
Hungry.
Emotionally compromised.
And apparently sitting on an airplane with a credit card and an in-flight magazine.
I was casually flipping through whatever glossy publication had been stuffed into the seatback pocket when I found an article about Yangon, Myanmar.
The description promised something along the lines of: Colonial grandeur. Buddhist pagodas. Delicious food.
Well, fuck.
That sounded delightful.
Ancient architecture. Exotic temples. Amazing photography. Mysterious Southeast Asian destination that wasn’t completely overrun with tourists.
My brain immediately screamed YOLO, because apparently the responsible adult responsible for evaluating international travel decisions had stepped away from the control panel.
Not long afterward, I booked a flight to Yangon.
And I would now like to formally congratulate whoever wrote that magazine article.
You magnificent marketing bastard.
You sold the absolute shit out of Yangon.
DESTINATION: Shwedagon Pagoda
GPS COORDINATES
16.7718, 96.1531
CLOSEST AIRPORT
CURRENT WEATHER
few clouds (82F / 28C)
AIR QUALITY INDEX (AQI)
Moderate (52)
WELCOME TO YANGON. GOOD FUCKING LUCK.
I’ve traveled to enough questionable places that my personal definition of “sketchy” has become considerably more forgiving than it probably should be.
I’ve wandered through abandoned buildings. I’ve explored Chornobyl. I’ve stood around the ruins of Centralia. I’ve voluntarily driven motorcycles through parts of South America where Google Maps apparently switches from Navigation Mode to Possible Kidnapping Adventure Mode.
Yangon still made my internal threat-detection system light up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Transportation? Shitshow.
Hotel? Different flavor of shitshow.
Food? Occasionally identifiable.
General infrastructure? Optimistic.
Safety? Questionable.
Safety again? Still questionable.
Did I mention safety?
Because safety was rapidly becoming the recurring theme of this delightful cultural adventure I’d purchased because an airline magazine used some nice adjectives.
The Yangon I encountered felt extremely impoverished, unwelcoming and intensely unsafe. Some streets were crowded with markets, deteriorating buildings, improvised storefronts and things sitting on tables that I assume were food because people appeared to be selling them as such.
Meanwhile, somewhere inside an airline publishing office: “Colonial grandeur.”
Sure.
Let’s go with that.
BUT THERE WAS THIS GIANT FUCKING GOLD THING…
There was, however, one place I absolutely wanted to see.
Shwedagon Pagoda.
Also known as Shwedagon Zedi Daw, Shwedagon Paya, the Great Dagon Pagoda, and various transliterations of Shwe Dagon, it is the enormous golden Buddhist pagoda dominating the Yangon skyline.
And if you’ve ever searched for Shwedagon Pagoda Myanmar, you’ve probably already seen the photographs.
Huge golden stupa.
Smaller temples everywhere.
Monks walking around.
Intricate architecture.
Enough gold to make Fort Knox feel financially insecure.
This was precisely the sort of thing that causes me to make questionable international travel decisions in the first place.
So naturally, I went.
During the day.
Because adventure is wonderful, but I am also rather attached to several of my internal organs.
WALKABLE, ACCORDING TO AN APP WITH NOTHING TO LOSE.
The Shwedagon Pagoda is located in Yangon, reasonably close to the central parts of the city.
Which meant I could walk there.
Technically.
This is another important distinction I’ve learned while traveling: “Walkable” describes distance. It does not necessarily describe wisdom.
The walk took me through intensely local neighborhoods and markets where Yangon wasn’t particularly concerned about presenting itself for tourism.
This wasn’t the sanitized souvenir-shop version of Southeast Asia. There were crowded streets, extreme poverty, crumbling buildings, local vendors muggers, monasteries and markets selling an impressive assortment of things that ranged from recognizable produce to organic matter requiring additional investigation.
It was fascinating.
It was authentic.
It was photogenic in a documentary-photography sort of way.
And my situational awareness was operating at approximately DEFCON 2.
Then, eventually, the neighborhood opened up.
And suddenly…
GOLD.
A ridiculous amount of gold.
OH. HOLY SHIT. THE MAGAZINE ACTUALLY GOT SOMETHING RIGHT.
My first reaction to Shwedagon Pagoda Yangon was essentially: Well… fuck me.
Because Shwedagon is spectacular.
Not “pretty cool considering everything I went through to get here.”
Not “worth visiting if you’re already in Yangon.”
Actually spectacular.
The central Shwedagon stupa rises about 99 meters, or roughly 326 feet, above the complex. Its enormous golden structure towers over dozens of smaller stupas, shrines, prayer halls and statues packed around its base.
And yes.
The Shwedagon Pagoda really is covered in gold.
Thousands of gold plates cover portions of the structure, which seems almost absurd after walking through some of the impoverished neighborhoods surrounding it.
The contrast is impossible to ignore.
Outside: people struggling through everyday life.
Inside: HELLO, WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE OUR BUILDING COVERED IN PRECIOUS METAL?
Subtlety apparently wasn’t included in the architectural plans.
WAIT UNTIL YOU HEAR ABOUT THE FUCKING DIAMOND
Gold wasn’t enough.
Obviously.
Because once you’ve covered a giant Buddhist monument in gold, the next logical architectural decision is:
Diamonds.
At the top of the Shwedagon Pagoda sits the hti, the ornate umbrella-like crown topping the stupa. The upper portions are decorated with thousands of precious stones, and the very top reportedly contains a 76-carat diamond.
Because apparently somebody looked at the enormous golden pagoda and thought: “Needs more sparkle.”
Mission accomplished.
Searches for Shwedagon Pagoda diamond, Shwedagon Pagoda gold, and even is Shwedagon Pagoda real gold sound slightly ridiculous until you’re standing underneath the thing.
Then you understand why people ask.
It doesn’t look like someone added a tasteful amount of decorative gold.
It looks like Buddhism unlocked the unlimited-money cheat code.
THE PHOTOGRAPHY HERE IS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS
This was also where my anxiety about Yangon briefly disappeared.
Because Shwedagon Pagoda is absurdly photogenic.
The giant central stupa gives you the obvious wide shots, but the real fun comes from wandering around the complex and finding compositions between the smaller temples, statues, columns, monks, worshippers and reflections.
Every few meters there was another angle.
Another shrine.
Another ridiculous piece of architecture.
Another opportunity to take Shwedagon Pagoda photos that looked considerably more serene than the person holding the camera actually felt.
And unlike my experience photographing something like the Northern Lights in Iceland, the subject wasn’t going anywhere.
No blizzard.
No clouds.
No aurora disappearing precisely when I got the tripod configured.
Just one enormous golden Buddhist monument patiently waiting while I filled another memory card.
Finally, cooperative tourism.
INSIDE SHWEDAGON PAGODA, THINGS GET EVEN BETTER
The Shwedagon complex isn’t simply one giant golden structure surrounded by an empty courtyard.
It’s effectively a sprawling religious compound.
Walking around inside Shwedagon Pagoda reveals smaller pagodas, Buddha statues, prayer halls, ornate carvings, bells, planetary posts and worshippers performing religious rituals.
Shwedagon is considered the most sacred Buddhist pagoda in Myanmar, and tradition holds that relics of four Buddhas are enshrined there, including strands of hair associated with Gautama Buddha.
So while I was wandering around thinking:
HOLY SHIT THIS LIGHTING IS AMAZING,
this was very much an active religious site rather than an elaborate photography set constructed for my amusement.
People prayed.
Flowers and offerings were placed at shrines.
Devotees poured water over Buddha images associated with days of the week.
Others walked clockwise around the central stupa.
And somewhere in the middle of all this was me, carrying enough camera equipment to suggest National Geographic had dramatically lowered its hiring standards.
APPARENTLY “NO PANTS” WAS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE CULTURAL POSITION
Shwedagon Pagoda also has a dress code.
And this presented a slight problem.
Because Southeast Asia is hot.
I wear shorts.
These two concepts have maintained a very successful partnership throughout much of my travels.
Unfortunately, sacred Buddhist temples tend to have opinions about this arrangement.
Visitors are expected to dress respectfully, with shoulders and knees covered. Shoes and socks also come off before entering the main pagoda platform.
If you’re dressed like you’ve just wandered over from a hotel swimming pool, coverings or a traditional longyi may be available.
Which means you can arrive looking like an underprepared tourist and leave looking like an underprepared tourist wearing borrowed fabric.
Cultural adaptation.
THE GOLDEN PAGODA OF MYANMAR WAS WORTH THE SHITSHOW
The strange thing about Shwedagon was how dramatically different it felt from the Yangon I’d experienced outside.
The city had me constantly looking around.
Shwedagon had me constantly looking up.
For a couple of hours, I forgot about my questionable hotel.
I forgot about transportation.
I forgot about the food roulette.
I even temporarily stopped wondering whether booking international trips because of airline magazines constituted a diagnosable behavioral disorder.
I just wandered around the Golden Pagoda of Myanmar, taking photographs and appreciating how completely ridiculous and beautiful the entire place was.
And that’s ultimately the frustrating part.
The marketing people weren’t entirely lying.
Myanmar really does have extraordinary Buddhist architecture.
Shwedagon Pagoda really is magnificent.
There genuinely are incredible cultural experiences buried inside Yangon.
They had simply omitted several paragraphs from the brochure.
Something like: “Come experience Myanmar’s colonial grandeur, magnificent Buddhist pagodas and delicious cuisine while maintaining the situational awareness of a Secret Service agent.”
Would I have booked the ticket if the magazine had said that?
…
Who am I kidding?
Probably.
ONE LAST LOOK AT SHWEDAGON… AND THEN GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE
Eventually I finished photographing Shwedagon and had to confront an unfortunate logistical reality.
I still had to leave.
Which meant walking back through Yangon.
Returning to my hotel.
Surviving another evening.
Getting transportation to the airport.
And boarding my flight the following morning.
Suddenly the peaceful Buddhist enlightenment portion of the itinerary was officially over.
But Shwedagon Pagoda had accomplished something impressive.
For a few hours, it made the entire ridiculous trip feel worthwhile.
It was enormous.
It was culturally fascinating.
It was ridiculously photogenic.
And standing underneath a 99-meter golden pagoda topped with a giant diamond was exactly the sort of absurd travel experience that had caused me to yell mental YOLO while sitting on an airplane in the first place.
So congratulations, anonymous airline-magazine writer.
You got me.
Your article worked.
I booked the flight.
I went to Yangon.
I survived Yangon.
And Shwedagon Pagoda was absolutely fucking spectacular.
Now please point me toward the airport.