Old Burmese Adventures (oh, so many!) (page 1 of 3)

Hey everyone,

Yesterday, I checked the Thailand forum to see if there were any questions to answer, but not much was happening—it was pretty quiet. Then I scrolled through the Southeast Asia section and realized that, even though Burma (Myanmar) was included, there weren’t many posts about it... I’ve only been there once, back in 1987, so it’s hard to create a photo thread about multiple trips like I sometimes do for Thailand. Still, that one trip was packed with unusual adventures, so I thought I’d share a few stories from it.

Since I didn’t take any notes at the time, this is all from memory—it’s not an exhaustive travel journal and isn’t meant to help plan a future trip to Myanmar.

Don’t expect photos; there won’t be any. I have some, but they’re slides that would need scanning and editing one by one to fix the wear and tear of time—way too much work.

The Context.

Back then (reminder: 1987), I was volunteering in Paris at the counter of a travel agency on Rue des Écoles. The agency was part of a well-known organization based in Mulhouse that mostly offered scheduled flights to Asia, charter flights to the Mediterranean, and flights to Mali with their own plane. They also had a few rare "roots"-style trips to certain destinations—trips where you didn’t bring your tennis racket but were ready to soak in everything, even if it meant tough conditions.

I’d already been to Thailand, Indonesia, and the Philippines in Asia. The director knew this, so he asked me to accompany a group to Burma. At the time, tours to Burma were already being sold by competitors, but they all had to go through the state-run agency, Touristburma (buses and hotels for tourists, and they only showed you what they wanted you to see—kind of like traveling in North Korea today). The service was only payable in dollars at the official exchange rate (which was six times worse than the black market rate, mind you...), and since it went through the state agency, all the money ended up with the junta.

My job was to do everything *without* going through Touristburma, which was completely illegal there. Nothing would be booked in advance. Back then, the Burmese visa was only valid for 8 days/7 nights, and since clients were paying for the experience, the itinerary was planned ahead. I’d have to find transport and a guide on the black market as soon as I arrived.

The clients weren’t misled—they knew from the start that the trip would be off the books, that officially we’d be a small group of friends (not an agency), unlike the truth (Touristburma wasn’t mandatory for individual travelers), and that it would be challenging. They also knew their trip would cost 3-4 times less while giving them a much better experience of Burma. As for pretending to be a group of friends, there were only six of us, so it worked out.

To cover all expenses (accommodation, transport, excursions), the agency gave me a sufficient budget. They also gave me the *same* budget a second time, which was strictly for bribing officials who might cause trouble, for backshish (tips), and, if needed, to "help" me get out of prison.

Before I left, I was thoroughly briefed by another guy who’d led the previous trip (he’d dealt with all the initial challenges). He explained everything I needed to know, what to watch out for, and advised me on what to bring as "gifts" (samples of well-known perfumes, specific cigarette and whisky brands, etc.). For the perfume samples, I rallied my family, friends, and even stores. For the rest, I’d pick things up at the duty-free shops in Don Muang (Bangkok’s only airport at the time)—I had the budget for it.

I couldn’t wait to leave...

Interesting, can't wait for the next part!

I love the style.

True, there aren’t many travel journals about Myanmar these days... If I’m not mistaken, since March 2020 and the COVID mess, my two journals about Myanmar (one from August 2020, the other from December 2024) were the only ones (sorry again if I’m wrong).

I’m curious—did you stay at The Strand or the Inya Lake Hotel during this trip? Back then, I imagine those were the two places where all foreign tourists in Yangon ended up. I worked a bit at The Strand, and in another job, I managed a business where my boss rented the space inside the Inya Lake Hotel.

I’m *really* looking forward to the next part! !

Thanks for sharing, Thierry. I didn’t think I’d be interested in such an old post, but honestly, the beginning really draws you in. Real adventure, the kind you dream of 🤩

Arrival in Rangoon.

Even though my assignment is from Bangkok to Bangkok, I left Paris on the same flight as my pilgrims. We had time to get to know each other. Among them is a Mexican woman I already know a little because I sold her the excursion at the counter. At first, she was undecided about her destination and wasn’t considering Burma, but since the agency boss had previously warned me, “Only 4 pax for your departure—it’s financially too tight; we need a 5th,” I managed to persuade her...

We flew from BKK to Rangoon on Burma Airways Corporation, one of the worst airlines on the planet, but we’re brave. Upon arrival, to take us from the plane to the terminal, we were surprised to be greeted by a RATP bus—inside, everything was still written in French.

Formalities: presenting the visa, filling out an Immigration form, declaring all the money and valuables we had (which was then checked by a search and would be again when leaving the country), mandatory exchange of a minimum of $100 at the official rate, and a mandatory stop at the reservation counter for two taxis to a state-run hotel in Rangoon. My predecessor had warned me, in the name of “the less the authorities see you, the better you’ll fare,” to do everything possible not to stay there to avoid getting caught up in the system—otherwise, it’d probably be impossible to stay out of trouble afterward.

For me, this taxi ride was a crucial part of my role as a guide because I knew that through it, I could likely find a car and driver who would take us off the grid for the entire trip. Otherwise, all expenses would have to be paid in kyats exchanged at the official rate. To make this task as smooth as possible, I “fairly” split my group—four in the other taxi and just the Mexican woman with me.

At one point, the taxi slowed down and parked. A guy got in, and we drove off. I wasn’t surprised—this was exactly what I’d been hoping for. We chatted: “Where are you from? Which cities are you planning to visit? Blah blah blah. And you—why’d you get in my taxi?” All that. Sure, I had a pretty good idea why he was there, so I got straight to the point: I was looking for a pickup truck and driver for a circuit covering Rangoon, Mandalay, Pagan, Kalaw, Taunggyi, then back from Thazi to Rangoon by train. My new childhood friend said a few words to the driver, and we changed direction. I glanced over my shoulder—the other taxi was still following; I hadn’t lost anyone.

It was nighttime, and we were driving into unlit streets in the city. It was some national holiday—I don’t remember which one—but people were setting off firecrackers everywhere. We stopped and all went into a pretty grimy, dimly lit eatery with a low ceiling, the *flap flap flap* of a huge fan, and cigarette smoke thickening the atmosphere. Tough-looking customers were sitting at tables, silently playing cards and drinking—like a scene even Indiana Jones never saw. I half-expected to spot revolvers on the tables, but no.

The place also served food, and even though we hadn’t ordered anything, they brought us food—apparently, it was the fixed dish of the day. The other customers barely glanced at us, and we ate quietly. At first, my travelers were too nervous to speak, but they relaxed when they saw I was calm. The guy who’d found us in the taxi was still there, talking to some other guys a few tables away. When we finished eating, he came over and invited me to join them. I left my group of five alone. He poured me a glass of something disgusting and asked for more details about the driver service I needed. I told him everything again, this time leaving out no details and making it clear I knew about potential issues caused by the driver during the trip—like, “In Pagan, I want him to take us all the way into the city, not just drop us 10 km away.” He was surprised I knew that kind of thing, unaware that my predecessor in Paris had briefed me thoroughly. Then we finally talked price. He asked for 450, but I knew it was 350. “Okay, 350.” He introduced me to Sonny, the guide, and his driver. The pickup was like a *songthaew*, except at the back—no step, just a horizontal tailgate.

We skipped the state hotel, and they took us to the YMCA (even though we weren’t wearing feathers). There, I learned that only married couples could share a room, but in my little group, there was one couple living in sin... A sample of Chanel No. 5 solved the problem.

Did you, during this trip, stay at the Strand or the Inya Lake Hotel (back then, I imagine both places where all foreign tourists had to go in Yangon)?

Nah, we managed to skip those, you see.

I love this story.

Was the YMCA back then the same building/location as the YMCA International that Google Maps shows now?

Hi Thierry

I’m also heading off on these extraordinary adventures (plus, I have such great memories of my trip to Myanmar… over 10 years ago already!)

Hi Thierry, I’ll read your adventure with nostalgia because in 1974 I set off with the Point de Mulhouse, a small group of 6 self-organized backpackers where Burma was included between Thailand and Laos. A 7-day visa, money to declare like you, and lots of barter items: cigarettes, Johnnie Walker whisky (no other brand), T-shirts—just not yellow (couldn’t trade them, it’s the monks’ color)... the Burmese were eager for everything, especially electric lamps to swap for rubies. Besides visiting Rangoon, we wanted to go to Pagan by train... more than 24 hours stuck on wooden benches, and 36 hours for the return trip, with the visa nearly expired. We had to return to this fascinating country for follow-up visits, round-trip from Bangkok with 7-day visas, loaded with barter goods, and that went on for several more years—many sites were closed outside of Pagan, Inle Lake, and Mandalay. My last trip was 25 years ago... longer visa, and the country had changed little, with the Burmese still as charming. Françoise

Was the YMCA from back then the same building/location as the YMCA International shown on Google Maps?

We arrived there at night after being driven straight to it, so we didn’t have to look for the place. We didn’t go back out since we’d already eaten at that sketchy little eatery I mentioned earlier. We left the next morning when Sonny picked us up, and we never went back. Plus, this was almost 40 years ago—I don’t remember what the building looked like, and I never knew exactly where it was. I just remember the name because it’s pretty common—you find YMCAs in other big cities around the world.

Hi Françoise,

in 1974 I’d gone with Le Point

I had no idea they already existed in ’74. I, on the other hand, spent 2–3 years there toward the end of their time in that form (second half of the ’80s) and stopped going when the Agence des Écoles (in Paris) closed—I figured the good times were over.

Overnight journey to Mandalay.

After that wonderful night at Y....... MCA ♫, we spent part of the morning trying to find fuel (for the tank and jerry cans—I had to front $100) with Sonny, who then took us to exchange money on the black market (six times more kyats than the official rate). Then we visited the Shwedagon and Sule Pagoda, and around 4 PM, we set off for Mandalay.

Soon after leaving Rangoon, despite the hour, traffic was smooth. The road was in relatively good condition, and the driver swerved left or right as needed to overtake cars—we were moving at a good clip. Anyway, driving on either side seemed to be a choice here; not all vehicles even had the steering wheel on the same side. About ten meters away, a parallel dirt lane was reserved for ox carts and other animal-drawn transport. We split up in the pickup: the driver up front (oh, right...) along with Sonny and one of us—who turned out to be the Mexican woman most of the time, because as lovely as she was, she was a real chatterbox, so we graciously let her have the seat. The five of us in the back had two benches running lengthwise. We also had our bags... and the fuel cans. I suggested putting them on the roof, but Sonny said their visibility would make us easy targets for cops, who’d realize we were a group being transported off the books over a long distance. That said, having the fuel with us wasn’t a problem—we had enough space, the cans were clean, didn’t leak fumes, and except for later in the trip when I had to insist, none of us smoked.

We stopped for dinner, and night fell shortly after. Aside from us, there weren’t many people on the road. It was a full moon, lighting up the surroundings, and the driver sped up even more—the whole thing was exhilarating. We didn’t talk much, just soaked in the moment and watched. The only signs of life were in the villages we passed through, barely slowing down. Yeah, at that moment, life was pretty cool... A little *too* cool, actually. I’d warned them at sign-up that it’d be tough, so they’d better stick to the plan! Fortunately, some minor troubles were on the way.

It was around 10 PM. Two of us had stretched out and fallen asleep on the benches, while the other three sat on the floor. We stopped in a village. The driver and Sonny got out and started talking. It dragged on. I got out too and asked the Mexican: " ¿Que pasa?" " No sé, se pararon sin que me digan na'a." Oh, come on—I’m stuck with a “public relations” person like this?! I approached my two Burmese friends with a questioning look. " The car’s got a problem; we need to get it fixed." " You’re gonna find a mechanic at this hour?" " Yeah, we’re in Burma." I went back to the truck and woke up the others—no way I was leaving them alone in some dark mechanic’s shop in a village I didn’t even know the name of. " Time for our second dinner!"

We got out, spotted a still-open eatery, and piled in before stuffing ourselves—we *love* Burmese food (though I’d learn nearly 40 years later it’s pretty greasy). We had time, so I explained why. While we ate, curious faces watched us from outside. After the meal, there wasn’t much to do—the car was at the mechanic’s, so no going back to sleep for those who wanted to. We left the place, exchanged smiles, chatted, and strolled around, like you do in those situations. Then I noticed a crowd in the distance. Not a small gathering like at a Kraftwerk concert—no, this was a *huge* crowd, like when The Warning plays Monterrey. What could possibly draw that many people outside at this hour? One of my group of five acting up? A quick look around: they were all there. Drawn in, we got closer. And then we saw. And we thought, *Burma’s doomed*—like it wasn’t already messed up enough. What were they doing? Go on, guess...

Sonny came to get us: we could leave. We hit the road again. Two reclaimed the benches, two lay down on the floor, and everyone fell asleep. Except me. I sat on the tailgate, legs dangling off the back. We sped along, the landscape rushing by, the moon still there—I was content.

There’d be more breakdowns, but Sonny seemed to know a mechanic in every village between Rangoon and Mandalay, where we finally arrived at 10 AM.

Oh man, the suspense is killing me, Thierry! 😂 I have to admit, I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out what could draw a crowd in the middle of the night in some small Burmese town—I give up! But while I’m loving your story, I wish the RATP bus could’ve told its own journey up to that point too! 😆

Great start to your travel journal! My only trip was back in 2018. For me, it was already an adventure for a month in less-visited regions (Kengtung, Mindat, etc.), but it’s nothing compared to your journey at that time! 😲

I’m picturing a *pwe*, a traditional Burmese show?

A little help: Lots of people, maybe even you, do this every day—but not outdoors.

For me, it was already an adventure for a month in rarely visited regions (Kengtung,

Did you enter or exit to/from Thailand or China? Were you able to arrive/depart from/to the center of the country by road, or was the plane still mandatory for foreigners?

No, not a pwe, nothing traditional. Something way more basic that you might do at home every day—but not outside, like millions of other earthlings.

The flight was direct from Doha to Yangon. However, to get to Kengtung, you *have* to fly from Yangon. Flight with 3 domestic stopovers where the staff offered us food each time 😏 We stayed for 4 days and didn’t run into a single tourist during that time. We were the only ones in the hotel. I think this is still the least touristy region we visited at that time…

How did you leave Kengtung and where did you head next? I’m looking into it because it’s an area I’ve always wanted to visit but haven’t made it happen yet.