The Burmese are a friendly people with little of the British desire for privacy. At present, however, by decree of the Revolutionary Government, Burma is working out its own path to Socialism, free from contaminating western influences. Tourists are not wanted, despite the valuable foreign exchange they could provide and it is very difficult to obtain a visa for anything longer than a 24-hour transit stop.
At the Strand Hotel, Rangoon, a "boy" showed me up to my room while two more took my suitcase and briefcase. All four of us entered and then the Room-boy arrived, and to show who really belonged there, started adjusting curtains, fiddling with the air-conditioner and re-making the bed. Meanwhile, attracted by the crowd, two barefoot Burmans in khaki shorts and shirts -the lowest echelon of servant - who had been pretending to sweep the corridor, wandered in and stood gazing around with obvious interest. I wondered if I could slip out unobserved, but apart from the khaki-clad boys with rush whisks, who were there from friendly curiosity only, the other four unless tipped would have remained there indefinitely. Because of the absence of tourists there are too many servants chasing too few tips.
The other hotel for foreigners is the large Inya Lake Hotel, a few miles out of the city. It was completed several years ago and was by way of being a gift from the U.S.S.R., following a visit of Khrushchev and Bulganin. As I heard the story, all the Burmese had to provide was the site, the materials and the labour. Probably fewer than a dozen guests were in residence and that evening I dined alone in a splendid banquet room with elaborate chandeliers brilliantly illuminating the scene. I felt:
"Like one who treads alone,
Some banquet-hall deserted;
'Whose guests are fled,
whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed."
But by the time I had reached the cheese course, two more diners had arrived and with my coffee, a third. I left then; I hate crowds.
Inya Lake itself is beautiful, even in the rainy season. Its highly irregular shape, with inlets, creeks, bays and islands - gives it the appearance of greater size - it is not quite three miles long. Its English name is Victoria Lake but this is dropping out of use. A map in the Rangoon Sailing Club shows features of the lake with such evocative names as "Isle of Wight", "The Needles" and "North West Passage". Sailing on Lake Inya is as pleasant a way of spending an afternoon as may be imagined.
The Pagodas look like giant, gilded handbells. The largest, Shwedagon, is a few miles out; Sule Pagoda is right in the centre of Rangoon, completely encircled by roads as though on a large traffic-island and with many small shops clustered round its base. Wandering across the roads, at the hazard of their lives, go little old ladies, carrying umbrellas and smoking Burma cheroots. The streets are littered with cigar stubs just as with cigarette ends, in England.
There are few private businesses left; the mammoth People's Stores Corporation is responsible for the distribution of almost every commodity in Burma. After the fashion of large organisations, it is somewhat cumbersome and in general there is little evidence of administrative efficiency or of a rising standard of living. Walking in Rangoon can be risky unless you keep your eyes on the ground, as the pavements are undermined by legions of busy rats, and in the rainy season, the paving stones give way, tilt, or splash a gallon of muddy water over your feet. If you walk, you must accept an escort of taxis and cycle-rickshaws who cannot believe that you seriously intend to walk - clearly it is a low, British trick, to beat down their price. Even if you are crazy enough to walk in the Turkish bath atmosphere, you must want to change dollars illegally, and up to three times the official rate is offered. However, on entering Burma, all forms of money must be declared and all currency-exchanges recorded on a form to be returned to Customs when departing. This does not stop illegal deals but it makes them harder.
At the "Strand" were a few tourists passing through on 24-hour transit-visas. One who did not sleep at the hotel was a young student - let us call him Paul - who had solved the problem of how to travel without money. On the ride from the Airport, when I assumed he would be staying at the hotel, he said, "No, I sleep at the Sikh Temple!" Charity, he explained in his excellent English, is a religious duty of the Sikhs and he frequently obliged them by providing a worthy object.
Buddhists too, could be relied on for a night's free lodging, but he found them too eager for a religious argument. He wanted to sleep. Failing either, he would often sleep at Airline offices, or when in funds at a Salvation Army or Y.M.C.A. hostel. He was now heading back home ready for the new University term. When compelled to buy tickets he obtained them at students' concessionary rates; on occasion he had "thumbed" lifts from private or military aircraft. He had enough money to get as far as Kuwait, he considered, and there he would sell some of his blood for about twenty dollars. There was an apologetic note in his voice at this point; he was not proud of anything as honest as this — if he could have sold someone else's blood, or fooled the blood—bank with diluted ketchup, he would have felt happier. In India, Pakistan and Ceylon he had transacted illegal currency deals; he had driven by car from Europe into South India and illegally sold the car, adding bribery and corruption of officials to his crimes.
In Ceylon he had solved the problem of how to turn illegally obtained rupees back into dollars by locating someone who would forge entries on his currency form; he had bought a number of Swiss watches into India and sold them at three times their cost; he had —as the tale of his iniquities grew, there seemed only one omission:
"Haven't you overlooked dope smuggling?" I enquired.
He laughed. "It would be easy, but I do not do it. These other things, if I am caught, I am just a stupid young student and they kick my backside and send me home — but drugs, no!"
Business in Burma seemed to involve mysterious meetings after dark with go-betweens, undercover workers, contact-men and others, all with the same proud belief that there is no situation, however unpromising, that will not produce a profit to skilful operators.
There is a patriotic emphasis on "Burmanisation" which perhaps accounted for the notice in the morning paper that "Blossom Ho will henceforth be known as Ma Aye Aye Myint.” Attractive though the latter name undoubtedly is, if I had the good fortune to be named Blossom Ho, nothing would induce me to change it.