Remembering Myanmar, a Journey Suspended Between Reality and Dream.

Only when we set foot on those grounds, we realised we were really there, the place we wanted to be for a long time. And despite four years have passed, the memory of this country is so vivid that it feels as if we had never left.

The bells on the stupa's pinnacles jingle. The sky is clear: a sharp light blue occasionally dyed by the candid white of the cirrus clouds.

The tourists and the worshippers fill the area, and yet everything around us is prayer and respectful silence for this sacred place. And we are overwhelmed by inner peace. Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon: with a sense of infinity and illusion, one has the impression that - here - time stops, immutable, every single day. The gold of the majestic pagoda shines. It becomes tinted with orange, at sunset. The light breeze is inebriating, and it takes us into a dreamlike dimension. Shwedagon is a microcosm on its own. Despite having visited countless Buddhist temples, this one has a special aura, which can only be felt while there.

After a day and a half in Yangon, we move to Bagan, the 'Valley of the Temples'. Along the sacred corridors, we hear stories of a flourishing and rich Middle Age. A proud, dry land surrounds us, and we wait in religious silence for the spectacular sunset. A gift that can be fully unwrapped only on the terraces of the pagodas ... And the dream continues.

A passage to Mandalay connects us with the monks and novices’ simple lives. There are one thousand and six hundred of them in line for the main daily meal.

The crowd of onlookers is invited to be silent. We try to take some pictures while mesmerised by the procession of red robes slithering like a snake along the main street.

On our way to the Mahamuni Temple, we witness a scene that is reminiscent of past times. There is a horse carriage carrying a boy and his family. He’s dressed like a prince and wears make-up. The carriage is followed by a procession of people. We see them again at the temple, where the boy takes part in the Shimbyu, a novitiate ceremony that marks the samānera, the monastic ordination of a boy under the age of twenty. After an elaborate ritual, the boy, together with his father and other men, sticks leaves of gold onto the Buddha statue, which - overloaded by the many gold offerings - has lost its shape and features. Only the Buddha’s face is untouched and maintains a watchful and peaceful glance.

U-Bein bridge, the longest teak wood bridge in the world, is suspended over the Ayerwaddy River. As we walk on the wooden planks, we wonder where all the local people treading this ancient bridge at a steady pace, go. And where they come from.

The boatman takes us on a tour under the mighty pillars. The water hyacinths gather in patches of green and follow the rhythm of the waves, orchestrated by the oar.

A tall and proud woman draws water from a pump to wash herself, and do the laundry. Every day, all sorts of chores take shape and are fulfilled inside and outside the river. Even if only for a brief moment, we feel part of this carousel of life.

Inle Lake is the last stop of our first experience in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. The lake’s quiet presence and its amplitude inspire, once more, calm and reflections. We watch the fishermen hold their nets and use their feet to control the oars of the longboats.

"Floating gardens" sit on the water proudly, in all their abundance of vegetables, fruits and flowers. Stilt houses hide homes, schools, shops, restaurants ... The lake is an irreplaceable source of life and work. Everything happens here, and here only.

Before our departure, we return to Yangon, a city that is still ancient in its heart, even if in unavoidable and continuous evolution. Around us, as during our entire journey, we witnessed the most beautiful and sincere smiles: snapshots of pure happiness.

Link to the article in Italian, published in ‘Ciao Magazine’ here