Natural Wonderland

As the sun rose above a curtain of coconut palms in Myanmar, the honey light revealed a scene along Ngapali Beach so achingly photogenic that it felt unreal.

Twenty oxcarts and women with bamboo baskets hanging from poles across their shoulders waited on the sand for the night fishing fleet. Many of the solid old boats--with square sails, long oars and not a motor among them--undoubtedly dated to the days of these fishermen’s grandfathers. The men landed and dragged their iron anchors onto the beach. Two by two, men and women, smiling and laughing, ferried baskets overflowing with silver fish to immense plaited mats, where the fish were spread to dry, sparkling like mirror shards. The oxcarts were pulled slowly into the water alongside the boats and took on the bigger fish, the barracudas and the yellowfin tuna that would be taken fresh to the morning market or to the kitchens of the beach resorts.

This was pure old Burma, whose tangled and troubled past wiped it off the tourist map decades ago. Burma’s leaders squandered the wealth of what was once the richest nation in Southeast Asia, hobbled its people and, as the world watched disapprovingly, drove the country into an abyss of isolation, slamming the door shut on the world.

The people, 42 million divided among 132 ethnic groups, many of whom do not speak a common language, carried on in a place where the cultural clock stood still, without access to outside media, international phones, the Internet and, in many cases, visitors.

And yet here I was on the beach, among these friendly villagers, everyone wearing grass sandals and longyis (the traditional Burmese sarong), the men tucking theirs up short and the women letting theirs swirl in the water as they brought in the night’s catch. I took one last look and turned around, heading back to the beach resorts and the 21st century, to the new Myanmar, a country quietly inviting the world back by opening the tourist infrastructure to private enterprise and foreign investment and all but eliminating travel restrictions.

“You try to guard yourself by saying it is not real,” Somerset Maugham once wrote of Burma. “It is a beauty that batters you and stuns you and leaves you breathless.” Maugham knew it, and now Myanmar wants the world to know it, too.

on this fine february morning, i ended my run at the Bayview Resort and walked over to the pool deck, where Maria, my traveling companion, sat sipping English tea. I ordered robust French coffee, eggs benedict, half a papaya with lime, and chilled orange juice. And some warm, just-made croissants.

The gracious waiter, a local Rakhine, smartly attired, impeccably polite, said in his soft English, “May I repeat your order, please?” and did, just to be sure he had written down my $5 breakfast selection correctly.

Out on the beach, a couple of early birds had already claimed their favorite cushioned beach chairs. A small fenced enclosure nearby bore a wooden sign: “These turtle eggs protected by order of Mr. Oliver.”

Along the curving shoreline, scattered pods of beach chairs and shade umbrellas were the only indications of the six hotels hidden under the palms. A dot just offshore marked the limit of my vision. Peaceful Islet, accessible at low tide. Beyond that was the fishing village. There are other fishing villages scattered on other palm-lined beaches up and down this country’s undeveloped coastline and out among its many islands, but only here on Ngapali Beach (pronounced “Napoli,” like the Italian town) will you also find private European-owned and -managed luxury beach resorts.

The two here are the country’s first. The Bayview (German management) and the Sandoway (Italian), just into their second full season when we visited, were already operating near capacity through the season. Both are products of the new tourism here, and since they opened, they have drawn a well-heeled international clientele in search of something off the usual tourist circuit.

For years, Burma was completely off the circuit. Since the early ‘60s, the country has been ruled first by a military despot and then by the military itself. Then, a glimmer of light: The first free multi-party elections in 30 years, held May 27, 1990, gave the main opposition party, led by Aung San Suu Kyi, a decisive victory. But the light faded quickly; the military refused to hand over power and has been ruling since.

When the government organized a “Visit Myanmar Year 1996/97,” Suu Kyi, daughter of one of the country’s early heroes and winner of the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize, and her party called for a tourist boycott, saying the proceeds would go into military coffers, not to the people.

In those days, when tourists were forced to use overpriced government hotels and inefficient government transportation almost exclusively, the boycott made sense to many. “Visit Myanmar Year” was a flop. It embarrassed the government and disheartened the people, tens of thousands of whom lost their jobs when the expected tourists never arrived.

The 1997 Asian financial crisis further strained the economy. Together they helped galvanize the government into making much-needed reforms. New ministers replaced old; government red tape was cut; liberal privatization laws encouraged foreign investors and local entrepreneurs; and travel restrictions were lifted. A new era of internationalism had begun.

Today tourists can use private hotels, airlines and travel agencies and countless private entrepreneurs exclusively as never before. With privatization and a growing free market, tourist dollars are directly supporting growing numbers of local people, and enthusiasm for the tourist boycott has dwindled. Even Paris-based UNESCO now favors increased international tourism to Myanmar and disagrees with leader Suu Kyi and her National League for Democracy, who still oppose the development of the tourism industry.

The tide is turning, but the numbers are still small. Last year, according to official Myanmar statistics, 200,000 foreigners entered the country, although those numbers may be inflated. That’s a trickle in a nation the size of England and France combined.

Those who do visit, however, find a warmth and a welcome that are touching, even overwhelming. One afternoon, while I stood on the platform below the immense golden Shwe Dagon pagoda in Rangoon, now called Yangon, an elderly monk making his meditational rounds stepped up beside me and lowered his fan. “What country are you from?” he whispered in cultured British English. When I told him America, he smiled.

“So glad you’re here!” he said.

The new spirit of international tourism, with its nearly unrestricted geographical freedom, has finally opened up the coast, one of the last natural wonderlands of Southeast Asia, and made it easily accessible to independent travelers.

The beaches of Myanmar loop south from Bangladesh nearly to Phuket in southern Thailand, a 1,760-mile coastline that includes more than 850 tropical islands (the largest of which is larger than Tahiti). Much of this area is virgin territory to the tourist. Ngapali Beach (known as Sandoway to the British who once ruled the country) on the Bay of Bengal in the sparsely populated state of Rakhine is the shining exception.

We had heard about this beach years ago from an old Asia hand who had been there. “If you ever get the chance,” he had said, “check out Sandoway Beach. Best-kept secret in Southeast Asia.”

So we were drawn here, as are others, by a culture that is authentic and undiluted, by a people who are deeply religious and respectful, by a place that is stunningly beautiful and unmarked by the masses.

At Sandoway, sea turtles swim ashore at night to lay their eggs in the still-warm sand. And just off the beach you could swim with huge whale sharks, docile, vegetarian creatures that congregate offshore during their winter migration.

In the past, travel along the coast was slow and difficult. Now our 50-minute flight to Thandwe from Yangon saved us about 15 hours by car or five days by ancient coastal vessel. We flew northwest over a rugged mountain range that still isolates Rakhine state from the rest of Myanmar. Until 1783, this coastal region was an independent kingdom called Arakhan. (The fabulous ruins of Mrauk U, about 175 miles north of Ngapali, was the capital.) No taxis waited outside the sleepy airport, just a half-dozen small buses beside the banana trees, one from each of the beach hotels.

Fifteen minutes and two thatched villages later, we pulled into the Linthar Oo Lodge, a mid-range cabana hotel that sits in its own shady compound in the middle of the beach. We chose one of the older wood-and-fan bungalows at the northern end, liking the feel of these inexpensive units more than the newly upgraded concrete and air-conditioned cabanas on the other side. Ours had two beds and a cold-water shower, and a pleasant porch looking under the palms to the beach.

The Linthar Oo had a stock of well-used bikes for rent for less than a dollar a day, so we kept ours for the week. On bikes we easily explored the seven miles of beachfront from the south end of Ngapali at the fishing village to the airport. We found there were actually five beaches, split into gentle coves, each with its own clean sand and turquoise waters. One beach was called Kipling Cove; local legend had it that Rudyard Kipling began writing his Jungle Books here. Author George Orwell, then known as Eric Blair, was stationed in the nearby town of Thandwe in the ‘20s. The teak and tin-roofed town, with its colorful morning market and traditional teahouses, still uses the original 1930s telephone exchange left by the British and is a delight to visit.

It was the British, ruling this region as a colony until 1942, who named this country Burma after the dominant ethnic group, the Burmans (although, at first, England referred to it simply as “further India”). Yangon was anglicized into Rangoon, and Thandwe ended up, poetically enough, as Sandoway, a name that attached itself also to the nearby beach. In 1989 the military government changed the official country name to Myanmar, reviving the formal, pre-British name. Many other names on the map followed.

Our beach was the only one with any development. Five new hotels, however, all private and locally owned, are scheduled to open along the airport beach within the next two years, according to Oliver Thet, resident manager of the Bayview Resort. An enthusiastic 40-year-old from Germany with a progressive vision and a Schwarzenegger accent, he’s the “Mr. Oliver” of the turtle egg sign.

I asked him about that sign, and, like so many things in Burma, there lay a story within the story.

“Turtles bury their eggs at night all along the beach,” he said. “They’re endangered hawksbill sea turtles, and the fishermen dig the eggs up and sell them at the morning market.” A few weeks earlier, he explained, he and a group of hotel guests were at the Thandwe market and saw some of the Ping-Pong-ball-sized turtle eggs for sale.

“I bought them all and told the vendors I’d buy any others that came in.” Oliver (as he likes to be called) reburied the eggs under a naturalist’s supervision in front of the hotel, where he could keep an eye on them. The village fishermen now let Bayview buy the turtles caught in their fishing nets and, with a bit of fanfare to help raise local awareness, the hotel then releases them. “In this way, the fishermen don’t lose their traditional livelihood and the turtles are being saved,” Oliver said. A catch-and-release program, Ngapali beach style.

The Bayview--with its catamarans and kayaks for rent and a shimmering pool--sitting just a few yards from our bungalow, became our local beach hangout. Lunch at the tiny Sunset Bar, with its teak tables in the sand and full menu from the hotel’s superb restaurant, became our daily routine.

One afternoon, after a lunch of green curry chicken and crisp salad, and with a cold Mandalay beer to sip, I asked Oliver his opinion of the tourist boycott.

“Tourism breaks chains,” he said. “That’s why I never could understand Aung San Suu Kyi and the boycott. A few months ago, I was driving my guests past the old government hotel here. There was a group of prisoners working on the road wearing their white longyis and white shirts. They had chains on their legs. It was hard to explain to the tourists what they were seeing.”

All prisoners, he said, must work, and hard labor shortens their prison time. “I wrote the minister of tourism a long letter and suggested it was not a good image for the tourists to see when the West thinks so badly of Myanmar anyway. Maybe, I suggested, the prisoners could wear their chains under their longyis so they wouldn’t be seen. “Well, three weeks later I drove by the same prisoners again. I noticed this time they wore their longyis over their chains. Then the next time I saw them I couldn’t believe my eyes. There they were in their white prison longyis, carrying axes and machetes, and they had no chains at all. I said to myself, ‘Now the minister has gone too far. He’s not only taken away their chains, he lets them go about armed!’ That’s when I realized that tourism can break chains.”

My travels have taken me all over Asia, so I’ve seen my share of beaches. I’d rank Ngapali as the most relaxing beach I’ve visited. Our afternoons were given over to rejuvenating siestas. We whiled away the hours in the half-shade and read and snoozed. Our sole distraction was deciding where to dine. Thursday night was easy: That was the big beach barbecue at the Bayview, with tuna and barracuda and a dozen kinds of pasta for just $10 per person.

A half-dozen local restaurants a few yards away on the beach road offered traditional Burmese and local Rakhine dishes for the more adventurous palate. A melange of Indian, Chinese and Thai cooking, Burmese cuisine adds liberal doses of ngapi, a pungent paste made from dried fish or shrimp, and hot chiles, the latter especially favored by the Rakhines. If Thai food just doesn’t get hot enough for your taste, you’ll love the local curries (the hottest in Burma), and just about everything else.

For Italian food, the best on the beach is the Sandoway. One evening, under yet another stunning Bay of Bengal sunset, we took a 30-minute stroll down the beach to the upscale resort. Outside dining is on the wood deck over the sand, with coconut palms thrusting up artistically among the hand-carved tables. Although it was already 7, there were no diners yet, but we noticed that all the tables were reserved. While a waiter set up a spare table for us, we had a look around. Entry to the open-air lobby is over a fishpond on a wooden walkway that branches off to the two-story bungalows. The bungalows, with their 12-foot exposed-beam ceilings, like the rest of the hotel, are constructed largely of dark ironwood. The furniture is neat rattan, the walkway railings are thick bamboo, and Burmese carved artwork is everywhere. Like the more family-oriented Bayview, the Sandoway is a small resort, and the manager takes a personal interest in his guests. Alberto Peyre, from Milan, Italy, is not only the general manager but also the hotel architect. He oversaw the production, hired the local labor and chose the local material.

“You have to be a bit crazy to work here,” he said. “Myanmar is crazy. But Myanmar is one of the last countries in Southeast Asia where you see the people with the natural smile.” From the menu, printed on handmade paper, we ordered a classic antipasto, then a grouper ravioli, eggplant, and tomato fondue dish for starters, and main courses of grilled prawn and tender beef filet.

As we opened a bottle of Italian wine, candles were being lit around the beach chairs in the sand, and we realized that all the tables had quietly filled. Maria and I shared a hot chocolate cake with English cream for dessert and then, as the full moon silvered the palm trees, we walked back up the beach to our own little bungalow.

on our last morning in ngapali, we joined a dozen Bayview guests for a predawn drive up to the top of Nadaw (Buddha Bone Relic) Pagoda Hill to watch the sunrise over Thandwe. The half-hour jaunt in the hotel’s rugged diesel truck took us up a rutted road in the dark to the pagoda and small monastery.

Till, the Bayview’s beverage manager and our driver, had brought thermoses of coffee and tea, as well as pound cake and apples. We enjoyed our breakfast as the sun rose over the hills, revealing an unbroken carpet of jungle steam and shaggy palms. Down there somewhere was Thandwe, with its morning market and its teahouses. But the town was invisible to us, suggesting some truth in the fable of how Thandwe got its name.

Long ago, the town was called Dwayarwady, which meant “The City That Can Fly to the Sky.” It was said to do this whenever danger approached. It happened that a king from Bangladesh came searching for the town, and, when he finally found it, he erected pagodas on each of the three surrounding hills and placed a holy relic of the Lord Buddha in each one. The little town, unwilling to fly off and abandon the pagodas, stayed fixed to the ground as if held down by chains.

Thus the clever king captured Dwayarwady and changed its name to Thandwe, meaning “iron chain.”

Bumping back down the hill toward town, I thought about those iron chains, and other chains, and how glad I felt, just then, to be a tourist on this beach.

GUIDEBOOK: Going to the Beach in Myanmar

Telephone numbers and prices: The country code for Myanmar is 95; the city code for Yangon is 1. All prices are approximate and are computed at a rate of 630 kyat to the dollar. You must purchase $200 in Foreign Exchange Certificates upon entry at the airport, usable at government-run businesses. Take cash; ATMs generally are not available, and credit cards are accepted only in a few places. Room rates are for a double for one night. Meal prices are for two, food only.

Getting there: From Los Angeles International Airport, Thai Airways flies direct to Bangkok and then to Yangon. Air Mandalay, Yangon Airways and Myanmar Airways fly to Thandwe; flight schedules can be seasonal. Flight time from Yangon is 50 minutes, and the advertised fare is $108, with off-season discounts.

Most beach hotels send complimentary buses to meet the planes. You can hop on any one to get to the beach if you choose to arrive without reservations and look around (as we did). Where to stay: With only six hotels, Ngapali offers a surprisingly wide spectrum of accommodations.

All hotels have reservations offices in Yangon, with the Bayview and Ngapali Beach Hotel having direct international lines at the beach. (Guests at both places can send and receive e-mails, a rarity.)

Sandoway Resort, telephone, 29-4612, fax 20-1115, www.sandowayresort.com. (All messages--telephones, faxes, e-mail--currently sent by overnight courier to Ngapali.) Impressive hardwood architecture and 27 spacious two-story cabanas with sleeping loft. Interiors are identical, although some are connected hotel-style. Individual cabanas along the beach are pricier. No TV or air conditioning (overhead fans only). Open Oct. 15 to May 15. Rates: From $130 to $230 (10% added to credit card charges.)

Bayview Beach Resort, tel. and fax, 25-6177, Yangon reservation office, tel. 51-4471, fax 52-6292, www.bayview-myanmar.com, e-mail crewbayview@mptmail.net.mm. The resort has 33 air-conditioned cabanas, satellite TV, pool, three restaurants, catamaran rentals, cultural and culinary activities. Rates: $80 to $140, American breakfast included. Open year round (up to 50% discount during the off season, with discounts starting end of April).

Ngapali Beach Hotel, tel. 24-0244, Yangon reservation office, tel. 54-1742, fax 54-4559, www.myanmars.net/ngapalibeach, e-mail, ngapalibeach@mptmail.net.mm. The old government hotel, the first hotel on Ngapali Beach (from the ‘60s), has been under private management for two years. Rate: From $48, including breakfast. Many of the older bungalows looked dilapidated and empty. Only the six new suite rooms are really tourist standard, with air conditioning and a design similar to those of the Bayview cabanas. Rate: $120.

Silver Beach Hotel, tel. 29-4587, fax in Yangon 25-2585. Probably the best value on the beach, despite a somewhat uninspiring landscaping. Ten air-conditioned bungalows. Rate: $48, including breakfast (cash only, kyat or U.S. dollar). Open Oct. 1 to May 30.

Linthar Oo Lodge, tel. 22-9928. This lodge is a small community in itself with live-in domestic help, friendly and efficient staff and casual beach dining. Rates: From $8 shared-shower rooms to $40 beach-side bungalows (this can double during holiday times). Three units have air conditioning. The less expensive bungalows (our $15 unit for instance) have cold water only.

Where to eat: Bayview has three restaurants with some of the best pasta, pizza, barbecued fish, Thai and Burmese specialties around, mainly based on local seafood. Prices are surprisingly low. Large wine cellar; $20.

Sandoway is tops for Italian fare, has a good high-end wine selection and is wonderful for breakfast. (Be advised its dinner restaurant has a $100 minimum for credit card use for non-guests); $60.

The Ngapali Beach Hotel has a very good restaurant with good Rakhine and Burmese seafood and curries, and the best Western food of the locally run restaurants. Order ahead and give them time to let them do their best; $10.

There are about half a dozen small alfresco restaurants near the hotels along the beach road offering local cuisine (prices from $2 and $3 an entree).

Sun Shine Restaurant. The best for local seafood and Rakhine food (where the staff from the Bayview often eats). The chef formerly worked at the Ngapali Beach Hotel and buys his food fresh daily at the Thandwe Market. Specials include oyster curry, Rakhine squid curry, hot and fresh cashew nut salad, Ngapali jelly fish salad and curry; $10.

Coconut Beach Restaurant. The last in the row but the cleanest, with cloth napkins, too. Nicely done. Specials are tea leaf salad, Rakhine ginger salad, local curries; $10. For more information: Embassy of Myanmar, Information Officer, 2300 S St. N.W., Washington, D.C., 20008; tel. (202) 332-9044 or (202) 332-9045, fax (202) 332-9046, www.myanmar.com. Also try www.asiatours.net/burma/tours/5days_myanma.html.