Bagan, Pagan

It was a sweltering afternoon, and the Burmese summer had barely even begun. My friend - let's call him P - and I had made the amateur mistake of misjudging one's capabilities in a foreign country and decided to explore Bagan (formerly Pagan) on bicycles. We'd only later realize that this part of Myanmar is called "The Dry Zone". Too late for my skin, which is now passable for reptilian, and my butt, which is in secret discussions with North Korea on how to rebel against its oppressor (pun intended, haha).

After having grossly misunderestimated the distances on the map and having pedaled halfway to the Nagaland, we doubled back and began our exploration of the Old Bagan area at Htilominlo, with the effervescent and ever-so-cute Thida: souvenir seller, tour guide and class-A sweetheart. But that is a whole different story.

We'd bicycled for hours and after lunch we hit upon an old temple. It was a goodly hike up stairs open on either side, and on top was a sanctum sanctorum with the requisite Buddha statues. In the patio in front were two men: one had a spread of paintings on the floor which he was trying to sell us, and the other, with ominously red eyes, was trying to sell us rubies and other gems. P could not resist the impulse to examine this and also to source other contraband. 

There was a wide expanse, a terrace of sorts, that ran on all three sides and I saw on the right a gaggle of tiny little rag-tag princesses, sheltering in the shade at the base of a small zedi (stupa or as the Thais call it, chedi). I was walking around and as I walked past, they all chortled delightedly, giving me sidelong shy glances. Here they were in multi-colored hand-me-downs (one assumes) darkened by the blazing sun, probably from the village nearby. No one seemed to be supervising them, which only poignantly reminded how innocent this country was still. They were just sorta chatting and keeping themselves occupied in the manner of little girls without Barbies, or god forbid, Wii and text messaging. They looked at me with eyes that weren't jaded, like their counterparts in most "developed" countries; rather they had the simple, unabashed curious gaze that you occasionally find among the peoples of an India or a China or a Mexico if you venture far enough from the big cities into places which still can be called innocent, where humanity is not about dog-eat-dog or rat-races, where people have not built veneer upon veneer of faux social graces and pseudio-intellectual faces.

I said hi and probably pinched the cheek of one. Suddenly, they were all very curious, and lost their natural reserve. They became excited, perhaps fascinated by this potential plaything in the form of a stranger in a comical sun-hat. Hands were shaken; tag was played, with me being "it"; and every time grabbed for one of these little ones, peals of high pitched laughter erupted. I grabbed one of them and lifted her high, and immediately all of them, even the shyest one, wanted the royal treatment as well, and they were clambering all over me. Literally clambering - two hung by my arms, one tried to cling to my leg I think. We took some pictures. They crowded around the camera - they were sophisticated enough to know digital cameras show instant replays - and giggled and chortled as they saw themselves on the tiny LCD screen, straining against a incandescently bright sun reflecting off a bare white terrace.

Then P and I started descending toward our parked bicycles. He was still interested in contraband so I went on first, with the fearless foursome following me. Frankly, my butt was resisting getting back on the bicycle, but unfortunately it had no choice but to go with me. 

At ground level, the kids watched as I splashed cold water onto my face from a tap with flies decorating its mouth. Then they came up to my bicycle, grabbing hold of my keychain and passing it around in utter fascination and curiosity - it was pink and looked like Hello Kitty or something. I should have just removed it and given it away, but it was a rented bicycle belonging to our hotel. When P came down, the same exercise was repeated on his keychain, a green version of mine. They only had those innocent eyes and faces that stared down at the keychain and up at us with no hint of the desire or courage to actually ask for it. P remarked we should bring a box of candy to pass around to kids, because they were everywhere, and unlike in some other parts of the world, absolutely innocent, non-pushy and full of curiosity. Only one of the four put out her hands and I think wanted money, but overall, they were just happy being kids and not interested in taking advantage of their cutesy.

We mounted our bicycles after some more scrutiny - and the saddest, longing looks one ever could have seen in a child's eyes - as they saw the keys slip into the locks and us mount. But as was the case from my own once-innocent childhood in a place so far away it doesn't exist except in my memory, the four of them peeled off giggling and chattering toward a wide, low building on the other side - perhaps a school - with us and our Hello Kitties probably immediately banished to a fleeting memory and no doubt in search of the next simple thing to twitter about.

We began pedaling away. The sun still shone relentlessly.