Sitting Pretty

I just kept saying "Bonjour" and telling them I was French.  I was sitting in one of those
old wood and canvas sand chairs hung between to massive bamboo poles that was resting
on the shoulders of four guys, a sedan chair.  I felt a bit foolish, a bit decadent. Ten years
ago I made the climb up to Golden Rock and wished ill every step of the way on the
Englishman that shamed me into it.  No way I'd do it again.

I had reached the base camp (another two words I detest, they only bode only more trials
and tribulations) at the hottest part of the day, somewhere in the three digit zone.  In addition
to the sedan chair crew, I hired a porter to carry my cameras and gear. It was worth every
single kyat. 

It was hot and the road was steep and I couldn't have been more comfortable or happier.  I felt
I should have been in my bathing suit working on my tan.

Golden Rock, Kyaiktiyo, is a gold leafed boulder balancing on the edge of a cliff with a small
pagoda atop.  Beneath that pagoda is one of Buddha's hairs, that is what maintains the balance,
or so the story goes.

This place has changed greatly from my last visit ten years ago.  There is now a road that goes
all the way to the top, not for foreign tourists, unless you're part of a tour group.  It now has an
amusement park ambiance, kind of strange, boy monks running around with toy bamboo rifles. 
Stalls along the climb selling all kinds of knick-knacks for the locals. Weird.

Yet it is still one hell of sight.  It's filled with locals on holiday and now that the yellow haired
girl is back in Stockholm I guess I look pretty exotic.  I must be in dozens of scrapbooks. At
one point they were lining up to have their photo taken with me.

By the way, I walked down speaking English. Later. Dick