Sunrise over Bagan
The rooster crows well before my 5:00am alarm, as does the religious chanting that blares over a rudimental PA speaker. A gong rings to conclude a pre-morning meditation, the sound said to bring good karma to those who hear it. Myanmar rises before the sun and today, slinking towards the door of my 6-bed hostel room with a water and my camera, I do the same. The sky is its darkest when I reach the electric scooter rental, the stars on full display and the air crisp enough for a jacket if not for my excitement. The main road where the rental is situated is a scene in itself: mangy dogs with swollen nipples pattering along the gravel, local women balancing baskets of produce on their heads, hunched men sweeping their storefronts with knee-length brooms. The children scamper to and fro, their faces already adorned with fresh thanaka, a pale yellow tree bark paste that serves primarily as a sun protectant. Between the people the singular headlights of motorbikes fly through the night, leaving a trail of dust like a haze that obscures any perception of depth. It is a fascinating commotion, but I have another show to catch for which punctuality is of the utmost importance. The showtime changes daily (today it is 6:12am) and the venue is one's choice, but the headliner is always the same, and she is never late. I haggle with the groggy scooter attendant for a half day rental for 2,000 kyat (~$1.50) and make my way into the abyss. The drive is exhilarating and the silhouettes of pagodas against the starlit sky can be beautiful, but only if you're able to peel your eyes from the mayhem on the road. Street lights are an afterthought, therefore visibility is limited. At 20mph my pace is well below average. Cars and motorbikes honk to announce they intend to pass, casting my shadow shorter and darker before eclipsing me on whichever side is more harrowing. Dogs emulate deer and pause in the road before darting in either direction, their glowing irises the only visual. Locals zigzag along the roadside, some walking, others stretching and exercising before the impending heat of day. Thankfully the pagoda I've scouted is only a 5 minute drive, and after a few white knuckle moments navigating a sandy side-road I'm at the foot of my destination. Flip flops removed as is the custom, I scan the interior barefoot in search of a way up. The bricks are smooth and cool and the night sky is waning. A nondescript hole in the wall reveals a hidden stairwell barely wide enough to pass through. Feeling with my feet (and inadvertently with my forehead), I creep my way up to a small terrace just above the treeline. It is early and space is plenty, but I am not alone as a handful of fellow tourists have already taken their seats. A simple nod and a smile suffice; words will only detract from the magic that has already begun. The horizon is a deep orange now, and with some effort one can see hundreds of pagodas dotting the fog-laden landscape. The birds sing as if to coax the sun from beneath dawn's curtain. The chanting seems to fade into the scenery. Brilliant yellows and blues flush the clouds. Hot air balloons meander skyward, flicking their torches to complement her wonder. Burnt orange and red embers mark her imminent arrival; the whole of Myanmar turns its head. The stage is set. A mere human can only marvel in hushed silence as the sun breaches the horizon, tossing her light and warmth across the trees and temples and tears on a few of our faces. It's hard not to feel a sense of divinity sitting atop an ancient religious temple, feet dangling before the panorama of beauty that is Bagan's sunrise.