A Land Frozen in Time: Myanmar

Just a four-hour flight from Taipei, and upon landing in Myanmar, I felt as if I had stepped fifty years back in time. Yes, there are two nations in this world once frozen in time, only recently thawed: one is Cuba in Latin America, the other, Myanmar in Southeast Asia.

The name “Myanmar” itself speaks of its remoteness—“Mian” means distant, while “Dian” refers to the outskirts—an ancient term Chinese people used for this far-flung southwestern land. After traveling along many of Europe’s great rivers, I now wished to follow the river of this “borderland country”—the Irrawaddy.

The Irrawaddy: River of Kings and Monasteries

The Irrawaddy River originates in Zayü, a remote Tibetan region in China, before slipping down through Yunnan and coursing through the heart of Myanmar. As early as the Han Dynasty, historical records tell of people sailing from Yunnan to the Bay of Bengal and onward to India. Every major dynasty in Myanmar rose along its banks. Thousands of ancient Buddhist temples are nestled beside it.

The Irrawaddy also serves as a vital waterway—its surface busy with rafts transporting rice, cotton, and the country’s famed teak. Known as “the land of teak,” Myanmar has long used elephants to haul felled logs to the riverbanks. During the monsoon season, massive teak rafts float downstream toward Yangon—a scene straight out of an old movie. I loved lounging lazily on the boat, watching the comings and goings on the river.

Midstream, the river becomes more difficult to navigate, scattered with sandbars. Instead of lush hills, the banks are lined with ancient stupas, women washing clothes in the fading light, and weathered fishing boats drifting in and out of view.

A Country Emerging from Isolation
“A nation long cut off from the world, once under decades of military rule, now cautiously opening to the outside world. Here, you can still find echoes of British colonial romance—those very remnants once inspired a young George Orwell to pen Burmese Days.”
— The New York Times

The Yellow Cheeks of Tradition: Thanaka as Culture

Women doing laundry. Irrawaddy dolphins. Two golden blotches on the cheeks.
Here, prosperity has remained at a distance, and the simplicity of agrarian life endures. People live in stilted bamboo houses, raise chickens, offer alms to monks each morning, and plow the fields by ancient rhythms. Charcoal irons are still in use; few homes have washing machines or bathrooms. So women come to the river to wash clothes and bathe—wrapped in long sarongs, slipping into the water after their chores. Myanmar people are intimately tied to the river.

I boarded a boat in Bagan, the “City of a Thousand Pagodas,” and sailed upstream. Word had it that Irrawaddy dolphins could be spotted here. I was skeptical—until I saw them: gray shadows gliding and playing around the boat. In the past, dolphins would help fishermen herd fish. At a signal—a knock on the boat—they would round up schools of fish, then wag their tails to cue the nets. Each fisherman had his dolphin partner, and the dolphins, too, recognized their humans. A bond of mutual trust, like the old ways between man and nature.

One lucky day, we drifted past sandbars and saw a few of these endangered dolphins rise and fall in the water. I asked eagerly, “Will they still help with fishing?” The guide shook his head. With electric fishing now widespread, such scenes are rare. The government estimates only 62 Irrawaddy dolphins remain in the wild.

Another unique aspect of Myanmar culture is the near-universal use of thanaka—yellow cosmetic paste applied to the cheeks, reminiscent of Beijing opera clowns to the unaccustomed eye. From schoolgirls to elderly betel-nut vendors, from the beautiful to the plain, everyone wears it.

This is no blush. Thanaka is made by grinding the bark of the thanaka tree on a stone slab, forming a powder that’s used as natural sun protection. This tradition dates back over a thousand years—even Myanmar royalty used it. It is, in essence, the Chanel or La Mer of Myanmar.

Over time, thanaka evolved into a cultural aesthetic. Some women apply it in leaf patterns, others in shapes of flowers or rabbits—gracefully blooming across the cheeks. These golden circles symbolize more than beauty:

In Myanmar, a mother who fails to apply thanaka on her child’s cheeks is seen as neglectful.

A good husband or father is one who personally grinds thanaka for his wife and children.

In Burmese, there’s even a flirtatious phrase: “If you love me, apply thanaka for me tomorrow.”

Artists often depict Burmese women with thanaka on their cheeks—it is an icon of national identity. After decades of isolation, Myanmar is now transforming. But I wonder—will the next time I visit, the yellow cheeks still remain? Will riverside washerwomen and stilt houses survive the tide of change, just as the fishing dolphins have become a fading memory?

Buddhism with a Local Touch

Even Buddhism here bears a unique visual language: in Yangon, a reclining Buddha statue is adorned with shimmering blue eyeshadow and bright red nails—a distinctively local interpretation of sacred aesthetics.