After another long, sleepless overnight bus ride from Yangon, arriving in Bagan was like a dream. We stumbled into the hotel before just before dawn and crashed into sleep.
We spent our first morning in Bagan day sleeping in the air conditioning of our hotel room. We woke in the afternoon, rented some bikes and headed out to explore. It seemed like our dreams continued as we wandered around the ancient, sacred city.
We rode along sandy roads in the dusty heat of the late afternoon. We wandered through groups of mostly local people waiting outside the base of the ancient temples. We climbed the stone steps worn smooth from centuries of footsteps to capture a wider view. Stretching into the distance in all directions, thousands of Buddhist temples are scattered among the trees.
People from all over Myanmar were on holiday for the new year water festival, and many were visiting Bagan on their way home. Slowly we realized that more people were taking photos of us than the temples they came to see. They were so excited to see foreigners with such white skin. Young men were lining up to pose proudly beside Michelle, husbands were taking pictures of their wives holding my arm. One father even handed Adam his baby as his family crowded into the photo. We became instant celebrities! When the novelty wore off, it became exhausting and we retreated to the safety of our hotel.
The following morning we woke up before dawn and took our bicycles back down the maze of dirt roads. We climbed up the steep staircase of a temple to sit with a handful of other visitors around the stupa. As the sun climbed up over the horizon we watched the light change from gray to red, orange to yellow. It shown through the dusty air and tired trees, and illuminated the temples through gradients of day. It was truly magnificent. We stood in awe smiling at each other, feeling so grateful to be there.
Before the sun reached full strength we escaped again, back to the hotel to hide under the covers, the air conditioning down so low we could almost see our breath. We watched movies and surfed the Internet. The absurd contrast between the technology and the timelessness of the landscape around us was not lost.
In the heat of the afternoon we set out again on bicycles down towards the river. We sat in a small cafe, drinking cold beers while the locals stared and laughed and took pictures of us. When the time was right we wandered back out among the temples, climbed the steps and waited. We watched the sun slip down into the river, and the temples glow and change color as dusk blanketed everything.
Watching the setting sun felt just as much a blessing as watching it rise. Witnessing Bagan was a akin to being awake during a dream.