Chinese tourists at Maha Gandayone Monastery

The Irrawaddy posted a story about Chinese tourists behaving poorly in Myanmar, especially in monastic settings. The article starts with this description:

Mahagandhayon monastery in Mandalay Region is one of Myanmar’s most prominent monastic colleges. Well known for its adherence to the Buddhist monastic codes, every year it attracts thousands of tourists eager to glimpse the peaceful monastic life of the more than 1,500 monks who reside and study Buddhist teachings there.

For visiting tourists, the monastery’s main attraction is the sight of hundreds of barefoot, downcast monks silently lining up to accept late morning meals offered by donors. Witnessing the ritual imparts a sense of tranquility and is a deeply moving experience for many onlookers. Mahagandhayon is also famous for its strict religious discipline. 

But the monastery’s tranquility was shattered one morning in early January this year when a group of visiting Chinese tourists quarreled loudly as they competed for the best place to take pictures of the monks. The argument sparked an uproar at the monastery, and tourist guides had to lead the tourists out of the compound. 

The Chinese tourists’ behavior forced the monastery to post instructions in Chinese on its walls, telling visitors not to enter prohibited places like dining halls, not to drink alcohol and not to engage in arguments inside the monastery compound. 

Most [foreign] tourists follow the rules on how they should behave while they are observing the peaceful monastery life here. But the Chinese do not,” U Nyein Kyaw Kyaw Win, a member of the Mandalay Tourist Guide Association’s executive committee, told The Irrawaddy. 

The tour guide, who caters to Chinese travelers, complained that most of his clients rarely follow the rules, such as taking off their shoes at pagodas. “We warn women not to wear shorts when visiting religious sites, but they ignore us,” he said. 

Myanmar society still mostly adheres to well-established dress codes, particularly regarding skirt length for women. In religious buildings, the knees and shoulders should be covered, and it is customary to remove one’s shoes. 

“It’s so annoying,” U Nyein Kyaw Kyaw Win added, referring to the offensive behavior he’s observed by many Chinese travelers.

While the level of carelessness on the part of Chinese tourists may exceed the typical Westerner, it's important to remind the reader that the "discovery" of Maha Gandayone did come with the Western visitor. Following is what the Meditator's Guide draft writes about the site:

It was noted that foreigners also came to study in the early days at Mahāgandhayon, and initially at least, it was a beneficial exchange. The sayadaw remembered how “[m]any foreigners came and talked with me. They looked around and said that they were quite pleased with everything they found here.” One Korean monk during this time was so moved that he commented, “This place is an ideal for monks and we hate to leave it. It is sad that we were not born here. We hope to gain mettā and hope to become this Venerable Monk’s disciple and pray that we reach Nirvāṇa together.”

Unfortunately, the monastery has today ended up on the backpacker trail, with large tour buses showing up and treating the grounds like a cross between a museum and an amusement park, freely snapping photos without regard for its monastic residents. Given the thousands of monasteries across Myanmar, it is uncertain how this one in particular got its unwanted reputation among foreign visitors. Ironically, Daw Onmar suggests it may have partly been brought on by Burmese themselves, who were so proud of the monastery’s Vinaya discipline that they touted it to “show off” to visiting foreigners…which ultimately led to the unintended consequences seen today, since so few tourists understand or appreciate Vinaya. Daw Onmar feels that if Webu Sayadaw and U Janakabhivaṃsa were alive today experiencing this, the former would “run away” to a more secluded spot, while the latter would stand up and address the issue head-on. Nearly one-hundred foreign visitors may come in a single day. Few tourists understand basic monastic discipline; many do not dress appropriately and wander freely about, leading to a 2015 CNN article comparing the monastery to a human zoo titled, “Hey Tourists, Leave Them Monks Alone!”

The biggest crush usually hits around 10:00 a.m., when tourists flock in to watch the monks take their meals. Sadly, while the monks are trying to eat mindfully as a part of their practice, visitors jostle for position and strain to record the “exotic scene.” There are even several package tour groups that organize visits here just for aspiring photographers hoping to catch iconic scenes at Buddhist monasteries. This is especially ironic for a monastery that once had signs posted throughout their eating halls reminding their novices, “Only if you can donate your life above the age of fifteen to Lord Buddha may you stay here.” That was the commitment that U Janakabhivaṃsa expected of anyone who sought entry.
Across Southeast Asia, treating monasticism as an exotic custom to encounter and photograph is almost de rigueur on the tourist circuit. And even when some tourists do try to involve themselves in traditional monastic customs, the results are not always beneficial for either side. For example, some Thai and Laotian abbots have complained about vendors selling poor-quality, packaged foods to tourists, ready-made to “donate” to monks on alms rounds. Moreover, tour guides are known to bring their groups to areas where monks seek alms, often creating a carnival-like atmosphere that sidesteps (and perhaps even undermines) the tradition of cooking and offering fresh food.

The hope, of course, is that, as tourism to Myanmar grows, at least some tourists will give food donations in a less tacky and intrusive manner, and that some food venders will provide less expensive but more wholesome food.

The schiziophrenia of the modern Western world’s relationship to traditional Buddhist sites and practices can be seen playing out at Mahāgandhayon in real time. For example, the 2009 edition of Lonely Planet recommended that backpackers visit the monastery specifically during lunch to watch the monks eat; then, in 2010, they stood by their recommendation but advised against wanton picture taking; and finally, in the 2011 version, they called picture-taking at the monastery “worth avoiding.” In even more descriptive language, LP writers added, “Busloads of tourists arrive to gawk while the whole monastery sits down to eat, their silence pierced by the endless rattle of camera shutters.” In other words, while the “Backpackers’ Bible” is to be commended for its growing awareness, it is now frowning on the very behavior it helped hype only a few short years ago.

But how do the Mahāgandhayon monks regard this increasingly frenetic circus? One response has been to plaster English signs throughout the grounds advising visitors on basic monastic discipline. Tourist access is also restricted within the monastery, with “No Entry!” signs in English hung throughout. Burmese tour guides are often implored to ensure that their foreign visitors are properly attired, but money almost always talks, and often shouts.
But the underlying question is why this is tolerated at all. When asked, some senior monks admitted that they are not so fond of the noise, disruption, and occasional inappropriate behavior; however, as one noted, a commentary on the Mingala Sutta advises that even one who only glimpses the sight of a monk becomes ever so slightly closer to developing a faith in the Dhamma. The resident monk went on to say, “Buddhism is to share, and not to own. Foreigners may come for tourism but still find some happiness while here. The Buddha would also allow this, because the Sāsana is open to all, it is like the moon that everyone sees.” He believed that some foreign visitors may become curious about the Buddha’s teachings as a result of their visit, and in asking may learn something valuable. Such a sentiment is found on the large English sign advising visitors on basic monastic etiquette, where Point No. 9 reads: “We all the monks from this monastery thank for your visit and pray for your happiness and goodwill.”

Maha Gandyon Monastery in Amarapura

The Maha Gandyon Monastery grounds in Amarapura were initially offered to the first Maha Gandayon Sayadaw in the early 20th century. At this time they were far from “civilization,” and only those monks intent on seclusion would venture out here. The first Maha Gandayone Sayadaw was one of the great, respected forest monks of the day, and a close friend of Ledi Sayadaw. Being an ardent partipatti master, the First Maha Gandayone Sayadaw spent most of his life in serious practice in secluded regions of the Sagaing Hills, and so did not take the time to visit this Amarapura site or look after its development. Over time, however, and through his successor Sayadaw U Janaka, it would come to grow in both size and renown, ultimately playing a major role in Burmese Buddhism and gaining the lasting respect and admiration of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, and becoming the home of a rigorous and unique monastic study culture.

Photographing Novices: A Contrast of Values

The Huffington Post recently published a collection of photos of novices in Myanmar by Stephen Wallace, and which can be found here. Just as a previous post discussed the dynamic between Western and Burmese attitudes in regards to the imprisonment of Mr. Philip Blackwell, this photo collection raises similar concerns. To most Western travelers, the site of young, playful monks is something that brings a smile to one's eye and the camera immediately to one's face, as these young novices seem to represent an irresistible mix of the noble and the playful, the mature and the innocent, the wise and the young. However, many photographers ultimately end up taking pictures that would be considered highly inappropriate to Burmese, and what is more, then sharing and even selling these prints to other like-minded Westerners. This is certainly true of those photos in Mr. Wallace's collection, where novices are seen half-clothed and playing in some of the country's sacred temples. 

Again we see cultural attitudes come to play. The Western attitude here may be, "I am just taking photographs of what's really happening before me. What am I supposed to do, not take the photos? If novices are not supposed to be behaving this way, then their teachers should teach them how to behave, not blame me for taking the photos."

The Burmese attitude, however, may be one of anar, an essentially untranslatable word that means to not behave in a way that would disturb or disrupt other people. One may feel anar...

· when being offered the last piece of mango slice.
· when one has been helped by a friend who had to exert some effort on one’s behalf.
· by having one’s meal suddenly paid for by a friend.
· by being invited somewhere and not being able to come.

Similar to ignoring the demands of “face” in other cultures, it is said in Myanmar that one who behaves without this fear of anar is not acting in the “proper” way, since it shows a disregard for others in favor of one’s own wants or needs. As one local man explains, “When you ask us if we would like to join you for lunch or dinner, make sure you ask us twice or more because we will say no the first time, even though we’d love to because of our culture.”

In this way, simply because these scenes may be happening do not automatically give the foreigner license to photograph anything he wishes, let alone to then share or make a profit from his photographs. A similar observation was made by Australian journalist Peter Olszewski in Land of a Thousand Eyes, when he notes that the Burmese concept of modesty means that when a woman must breast-feed in public because she has no other place to do it, people automatically avert their eyes; and when neighbors talk about personal matters through thin walls, one simply decides not to listen. In this case, following the principles of anar, the culturally appropriate thing for people such as Mr. Wallace to do is simply to choose not to take photographs of such scenes. However, as one can see, Western cultural attitudes contrast with this.

Perhaps nowhere has this contrast between modern tourism and a search for exoticism, and the traditional Buddhist faith come more into contact than at Maha Gandayone Monastery in Amarapura. This was overseen by many years by one of Myanmar's great 20th century monks, Sayadaw U Janaka.

In addition to his many Burmese lay supporters, U Janaka also welcomed foreign visitors in the post World War II era. Initially this was a beneficial exchange. The Sayadaw remembered how “many foreigners came and talked with me. They looked around and said that they were quite pleased with everything they found here.” One Korean monk during this time was so moved that he commented: “This place is an ideal for monks and we hate to leave it. It is sad that we were not born here. We hope to mettā gain and hope to become this Venerable Monk’s disciple and pray that we reach nirvana together.”

Unfortunately, the monastery today has ended up on the tourist trail, with large tour buses showing up and treating it like a cross between a museum or a zoo, freely taking photos, walking around, with many of the foreign tourists unconcerned with dress or basic protocol. Monks report that nearly as many as one hundred visitors may come in a single day, and they usually do so just after 10 am in order to watch the monks take their meals. For many of the monks this ritual is part of their mindfulness training, but tourists strain to observe the exotic scene and record it with photography and video. There is even at least one package tour group that organizes visits here strictly for aspiring photographers.

Other monasteries may be threatened by similar issues in the future, and it’s worrisome to consider how this will affect their training, signs of which can already be seen in neighboring countries Thailand and Laos, where seeing an alms rounds is on the “to-do” list of most tourists. In some ways, the schizophrenia of the modern Western world’s relationship to traditional Burmese Buddhist sites and practices can be seen playing out at Maha Gandayon in real time. For example, in one past edition, Lonely Planet recommended that backpackers try to visit Maha Gandayone specifically during lunch to watch the monks eat; then, in a subsequent edition, they stood by their recommendation but advised against wanton picture taking; and in the present edition, they now call picture-taking at the monastery “worth avoiding.” In other words, while they may be commended for their growing awareness, they are now frowning on the very behavior they were hyping only a few short years ago!

One may wonder how the Maha Gandayone monks themselves regard such an increase in this frenetic activity. One response has been to plaster English signs throughout the grounds advising tourists on basic monastic discipline. They also have tried to restrict tourist access to just certain parts of the monastery, so the disruption can be contained. Towards this end, “No Entry!” signs hang throughout. Burmese tour guides are often implored to make certain that their foreign visitors are properly attired, but money talks loudly, and so this is not always adhered to.

The obvious question may be, why do the monks tolerate this? When asked, some senior monks admitted that they are not so fond of the noise, disruption, or occasional inappropriate behavior; however, as one monk commented, the Mingala Sutta teaches how even glimpsing the sight of a monk may give one faith in the Dhamma. He went on to say that “Buddhism is to share, and not to own. Foreigners may come for tourism but still find some happiness while here. The Buddha would also allow this, because the Sasana is open to all, it is like the moon that everyone sees.” He added that a foreign visitor may become more curious about the Buddha’s teachings, and in asking may learn something valuable. Such a sentiment is even found on the large English sign advising visitors on basic monastic etiquette, where Point #9 reads: We all the monks from this monastery thank for your visit and pray for your happiness and goodwill.

Paying Respects to Maha Gandayone Sayadaw

Two nuns from Sagaing pay respects to the statue of Maha Gandayone Sayadaw

Maha Gandayone Sayadaw was one of the great Burmese monks of the Golden Age of Burmese Buddhism of the post-war era, joining such other illuminaries as Webu Sayadaw, Sun Lun Sayadaw, Mahasi Sayadaw, Mogok Sayadaw, and others. He had great visions of transforming the faith, and was known for his outspokenness on issues of the day. He wished to see monastic education stripped to its core function of learning the suttas, without the emphasis on extreme examination preparation, and felt that many traditional Burmese Buddhist practices had little to do with the essence of the Buddha's teachings. While he died nearly 40 years ago, Maha Gandayone's voice still resounds powerfully today when concerning matters of the Dhamma in Burma. Several of his monasteries are still functioning today, including his main site in Amarapura, near U Bein's Bridge.

Dhamma Found in a Burmese Teashop

A young child awaits a fresh cup of tea

Sam Hanft, an American yogi, spent several months in Burma in the winter of 2013/2014. He relates some of his more special experiences that he had in the Sagaing Hills:

"I arrived in Sagaing in the evening, having taken the bus from Mandalay, and decided I would get a hotel and start my search for a monastery the next morning. I was approached by a motorcyle taxi as I got off the bus, and within minutes was at a newly built hotel several dusty lanes away. After settling in, I asked the owner where I could get a bite to eat, and he suggested a place just down the road.

In retrospect, I'm sure he was talking about one of several beer stations on the corner. But I was new to Sagaing, and I walked into the first place I saw: a teahouse.

My arrival caused some commotion. The owners, a couple in their 50s, greeted me with smiles and ushered me to a plastic chair in the center of the shop. There were shouts behind the counter. Soon after, their youngest daughter emerged with a bashful smile. 'Myanmar food?' she asked. 'Yes, please.' All around, wide eyes diverted their gaze from the Myanmar movie blaring on the TV and settled on me.

Within minutes, I had a soup, two bowls of curry, and a plate of steaming rice in front of me. I didn't know at the time, but this was from the family's dinner; normally, they only serve noodle dishes to customers. The rest of the teashop's patrons looked on with envy as I dug in. When the owner saw that I had finished my soup, she generously gave me her own as she was sitting down to eat. Another bowl of curry arrived soon after. As I ate, I took in the scene. Customers laughed along with the film, chatted among themselves, or quietly sipped a cup of tea. The owner's three children bustled about taking orders, while two grandchildren ran under and between tables, tossing a ball back and forth. Satisfied, I asked to pay and was charged only for the tea. I was stunned.

Sam with the family that offered him breakfast each morning

I spent the next day hunting for a monastery with no success. I was looking for a place with an English-speaking Sayadaw where I could go on solitary retreat. At lunchtime, I headed back to the teahouse, where I was met with more smiles and food. Despite my best efforts, the family once again refused payment.

U Pinnisami, the Sayadaw at the monastery where Sam stayed

That evening, as I was preparing to go back to the hotel empty-handed, a taxi driver shouted at me from across the street--'Hey! Would you like to stay at a monastery?' It seemed like a dream come true. He took me to the hotel to collect my bags, and I settled into the monastery that evening. Now in a different part of town, I couldn't head back to the tea shop to eat or say goodbye. Little did I know, they had prepared a special curry and were awaiting my arrival.

The next day I heard from a friend who invited me to join him for the tail end of a pilgrimage. He was leading a group of foreign meditators around Myanmar to visit sites of interest to the lineage of U Goenka. Six days and many monasteries later, I was back in Mandalay planning the next leg of my trip. After my experience on the pilgrimage, I felt like sitting a Goenka meditation course. I also had an urge to head east and see the Shan plateau. But the tea shop family had been so generous to me, I felt I couldn't continue on without thanking them. So I bought some toys for the grandchildren and headed back to the monastery in Sagaing, thinking I'd stay a night or two.

I went to the shop the next day for lunch. Still new to the norms of giving in Burma, I was nervous about how my gifts would go over. My entry met with familiar smiles. I offered my gifts, which were received as if my gesture was the most natural in the world. Soon I was sitting next to the mother, sipping tea and snacking on boiled radishes. I spent all day at the shop. Before leaving, War War, the youngest daughter (and only English I speaking member of the family), offered to take me to Mingun the next morning. I hadn't planned on staying in the area long, but I couldn't say no.

War War and her mother prepare the tea

I spent the next day with War War and her friend Soe Min Htet, touring Mingun and Kaung Hmu Daw pagoda and getting lunch at their favorite restaurant in town. Again and again, I was caught off guard by their generosity. War War saw that my bag was torn and bought me a new one without saying a word. They paid for all the gas and food--I was never quick enough to beat them to the bill. Having little prior experience with Burmese hospitality, I felt anxious and wondered how I would repay them.

I spent the evening at the teashop, and at the end of the night War War offered to take me somewhere else if I came back the next day. Of course, I agreed.

The tea making area at the cafe

I ended up spending six weeks in Sagaing. I slept at the monastery, where I maintained my daily meditation and practiced English with the friendly Sayadaw. Every morning, I was offered breakfast by a family down the street who sold me water. With not a word of English spoken in the household, it promised an interesting start to each day. After that, I headed to the tea shop. War War and I would go to the market to buy the day's supply of food and drink, then sit together while she made tea and served customers. We practiced English and Burmese. Slowly, I learned how to make tea and was eventually allowed to take orders for the shop's regulars, who got a kick out of my serving them. I ate lunch and dinner with the family. I tried to help out wherever I could--washing dishes, cracking peanuts, sweeping--but the family did their best to ensure I didn't do any work. Mostly, I sat around and drank tea.

I met friends and friends of friends and made contacts through the monastery. I was invited to visit local sites, like Inwa, Amarapura, and the pagodas of the Sagaing Hills, as well as nearby villages, which my hosts told me had never before seen foreign visitors. I witnessed several novitiation ceremonies, whose glittering ox-carts and fanciful costumes were unlike anything I'd ever seen. More than once I was invited to stay overnight. The more time I spent in the area, the more I let go of my inhibitions and opened to the local way of living. Soon, I was eating with my hands, sporting jade jewelry and fuzzy flip flops, and smiling more than I ever had before. Everywhere I went, the hospitality was overflowing--food, lodging, smiles--and no one would ever accept a single kyat.

The novitation ceremony that Sam witnessed

One such occasion left a particular impression on me. Five young men my age, English students of my monastery's head monk, took me to their village. After a day of eating, swimming in the river, and singing and playing guitar, I was ready to go back to the monastery. I was offered an overnight stay but declined. Feeling a little guilty, I wondered who would take me back. It was dark, the drive was thirty minutes each way, and the windy dirt road was littered with bumps and holes. There was a festival in the village that night to boot. To my surprise, without exchanging a single word, all five of my hosts jumped on two motorbikes and accompanied me back to the monastery, singing and joking the whole way. All I could think of was all the times my friends back home and I had argued over who would give who a ride home. When we got to the monastery, we parted with earnest handshakes and warm goodbyes.

Sam with his new Burmese friends

I did my best to give back by teaching English and computer skills to anyone who was interested, which was almost everyone. I bought year-long memberships to the British Council in Mandalay for several friends who were sincere in their effort to study. I also had many long talks with War War, who secretly desired to leave the tea shop to seek professional work but, as the youngest daughter, was too scared to tell her parents (or anyone, for that matter) about her ambitions. Before leaving, I signed her up for an accounting course and facilitated a conversation with her mother, who happily agreed to hire a new worker to allow War War to pursue her dreams. Today, I got an email for War War telling me that she has an interview in Monywa for a hotel reception job.

I finally left Sagaing with plans to attend a Goenka meditation course in Mandalay, spend a couple days in Bagan, and then take a flight from Yangon to Bangkok, and from there back to the States. To my surprise, on the morning of the last day of the course, War War and Soe Min Htet showed up to drive me to the bus station to catch my ride to Bagan. As soon as I arrived in Bagan, I felt like I'd made a mistake. So I made a quick tour of the temples and booked a ticket back to Sagaing, where I spent my last three days before heading to Yangon and leaving the country.

My stay in Sagaing has left me with a lot to think about. I witnessed and received kindness, generosity, and consideration such as I had never known. Just as impressive, I saw people act with a straightforwardness and sincerity I assumed were relics of a bygone era. I also glimpsed some of the darker sides of such traditional life, particularly with respect to the treatment of women. Above all, my experience constantly challenged my ideas about how and why life should be lived, which is the greatest gift I could ask for."

Thazin Khin, the sister of War War, with her child