Meglomaniacs and Monuments

...'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'... 

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

The preening and braying of the megalomaniacal have been well documented in stone and brick, concrete and steel from times Classical and Egyptian to Modern and Bombastic. Neither the so-called barbarous past nor the equally so-called civilized present have had a monopoly on the erecting of egotistical edifices. Indeed, for as long as there has been building, men (and men are the main offenders here) have been squandering their lands' resources -- human and otherwise -- in grand structures of self-adoration.

In the year of George Washington's first State of the Union address (1790), King Bodawpaya, sixth king of the Third Burmese Empire, began his vain-glory project at Mingun. Just a short eight years before, Bodawpaya had gained the crown by disposing his nephew. Sounds like a relatively mild transition, and this is the impression that one would have if your only source for history was Wikipedia. But dig deeper one must if one wants to get closer to the truth of things. In fact, Bodawpaya had his entire family -- men, women, children, babes in arms -- and their servants burned alive. Realize that Burmese princes and kings in those days had many consorts and consequently tens if not hundreds of children. (Bodawpaya himself had 62 sons and 58 daughters by about 200 consorts.) Therefore, we are speaking of an unspeakable number of relatives executed. So much blood was shed that he abandoned his palace at Ava (south of Mandalay) fearing that it had come under an evil spell. It had of course. One generated by him. Regardless, he shortly there after began a massive stupa and pagoda building program in order to acquire enough karma to ease his way to nirvana.

Bodawpaya was a fervent Buddhist who proclaimed himself the messianic Buddha destined to conquer the world. In this self-anointed capacity he ran a-foul of and set about persecuting the Buddhist community at large. He also made drinking, smoking opium, and killing animals punishable by death. Oh, and he built many pagodas and stupas.

In addition -- as every megalomaniac with power must do -- he had other peoples and lands to conquer. To the west he quickly toppled the Arakan empire and enslaved tens of thousands of people to labor on his grand karma-building scheme. He then looked east, got greedy and invaded Siam. However, the Thai warriors (or their leadership) were of a different caliber and Bodawpaya was chased back across his borders, to eventually start his mega-stupa project at Mingun.

Located a mere 11 kilometers from the royal capitol of Mandalay, the otherwise insignificant village of Mingun became the center of the Burmese world for seven years. Tens of thousands of unfortunates slaved away trying to fashion what would have been the largest stupa in the world. (A stupa is a reliquary monument.) The planned height was to be 500 feet but in 1797 one of Bodawpaya's astrologers proclaimed: "Once the great pagoda has been wrought, the dynasty will come to naught." Likely this "revelation" was fashioned in order to prevent the empire from further descending into catastrophic debt (vast sums of silver had been expended) as well as to quell a growing, restless population, tired of toiling for one man's karma. The stupa was left unfinished, a giant, 150 foot tall crumbling pile of bricks periodically rocked and fissured by earthquakes -- including a particularly vicious one in 1839, which also toppled the heads of the two gigantic royal chinthes (lion-like creatures) into the Irrawaddy River.

In a way, the prophecy of that nameless astrologer eventually came true. Bodawpaya's annexing of Arakan put the Burmese next door to India and the then expanding British Empire. Over the next 60-plus years, increasing friction between the cultures led to two wars and finally a third Anglo-Burmese War that Burma was never foretold to win. In 1886 Burma disappeared as a country not to re-surface until both the Japanese were defeated and the British packed up and went home: 1948.

Today, with a new president taking office and the military hopefully in permanent decline from political power, Burma -- since renamed Myanmar -- is a peaceful land to tour. Its widespread and impressive monuments are there for the exploring and viewing. Its history a more or less open book. 

Megalomaniacs come and go, varying by their relative degrees of atrociousness, but united in their solipsism. We never seem to stop spawning them as power and desire are an intoxicating and bewitching brew, especially so for those with no sense of history and a every sense of self. Trust too that today's Bodawpayas will bray and preen, conquer and build, eventually to go the way of all, with perhaps a monument or two for future travelers to wander through and photograph.

... Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

Irrawaddy River Approach to Mingun

Rump-end of Earthquake-Damaged Chinthe

Entrance to the One Extant Shrine of Mingun Pahtodawgyi

Earthquake Damage of Bodawpaya's Stupa

South Facade of Bodawpaya's Stupa (Mingun Pahtodawgyi)

More Earthquake Damage

West Facade

Panorama View from Top of Ruined, Incomplete Stupa

The Irrawaddy River and the Rear Ends of Damaged Chinthes

Photo-Ops for Monks

Monks Just Wanna Have Fun, Too

Travels with Oka-san | Tokyo Deluge

 After six hours of restful sleep, I feel ready for Tokyo.

I meet mama-san for what I swear will be my last Western-style breakfast in Japan and by 8 we are out the hotel door and ready for adventure. A light drizzle greets us but we remain undeterred from our day's goals: the Imperial Palace gardens and a stroll through Ginza.

For almost 300 years, until the Meiji restoration in 1868, the Tokugawa Shoguns governed Japan from their castle in Edo, modern-day Tokyo. Once the shogunate was deposed, the Emperors ruled from the castle. Nothing lasts forever though, and World War II saw the almost complete destruction via aerial fire-bombing of the palace, and indeed, most of Tokyo itself. Following the war, the palace was rebuilt and gardens re-planted. The emperor and imperial train still reside there, though 'ruling' is no longer their role. The buildings and inner gardens are not open to the public, however the extensive outer gardens are open for strolling. With a few remnants of the original walls, ponds, extensive trees and walkways mixed with splashes of flowering color, stolid rocks, and the occasional restored traditional building, the gardens are usually teeming with tourists and natives alike, seeking quiet respite from the modern chaos that is Tokyo.

By the time we emerge from our short subway ride and the long, underground walkway tunnel from the station to the Imperial grounds, the word 'teeming' can only be applied to the rain falling. From drizzle to torrents in short order. Donning rain-jackets and opening umbrellas we are ready for what Tokyo is gives us...I just wish I had galoshes with me as well. 

It is hard to see the smoking ruin that we left Tokyo in 1945 for all the green now around us. Once again a reminder that re-growth and rejuvenation can always be possible, is, in fact, the 'natural' order of things, given time. The exquisitely built bashōs (guard houses) and tea pavilions, lovely ponds (with obligatory koi), swan-adorned moats and sculptured walkways transport one far away from the proverbial hustle and bustle outside the grounds. It is a pleasure exploring and despite the continuing, actually relentless, downpour, we are refreshed by what we see.

To a point. After a couple of hours, the completely soaked through shoes begin to chill as the squeege-squeege sounds of walking begin to annoy. The thoughts of food, hot tea and warm shelter entice. Where to go on such a beastly day? Mitsukoshi of course! The grand dame of Japanese department stores. The Harrod of the East (never mind American upstarts like Macys or Nordstroms), Mitsukoshi was founded in 1673 and began by selling kimonos. Now a huge conglomerate, the main store in the Nihonbashi area, is just a few steps from the Imperial grounds.

After beating our way through a few blocks of torrential downpours, we arrive at our destination. Petite Japanese women in matching uniforms bow and greet the soggy patrons as they enter, including us, the soggiest of the lot. We wander through ten floors, admiring the Japanese aesthetic in the various displays, and prices, not for the faint of heart. There are restaurants on the 4th, 5th, 7th, and 10th floors and when we finally choose one, the warming donburi ramen and tea are just what we need.

Fortified, we set out to wander more floors of this teeming shopping metropolis and stumble quite accidentally upon a floor with the 54th annual exhibit of Japanese handicrafts. Beautiful colorful kimonos, stunning displays of pottery, intricate baskets, and finely wrought lacquer ware greet us as we move from room to seemingly endless room. We could, as I am sure many locals did, spend the entire rest of the day wandering through the department store-cum-museum, but instead we elect to weather the weather once again.

Stepping outside, the rain has mercifully let up and we beginning walking towards the Ginza District. First we must cross the Nihonbashi. "Japan Bridge" was originally Edobashi in the 1600s, a wooden bridge that was the beginning — or ending, depending upon your direction — of the ancient Tōkaidō road between Edo and Kyoto. From this bridge, once upon a time, travelers heading south could see Mt. Fuji. Renamed and rebuilt with stone in the Meiji period and now more or less covered by an expressway, one could cross the Nihonbashi and be forgiven for not immediately grasping its historical significance.

Ginza, now known the world-over as one of the most upscale of botiqueries and shopping areas, got its start in the early 17th century as the location of the silver mint for the shogunate. Appropriate, as anything you buy on this street will cost you that said mint. We are not here to shop though, but instead to stroll and soak in the experience. We luck out as on Sunday — during the daylight hours — the main Ginza drag has been turned into a pedestrian-only zone. Walking the normally frenetic streets with casually strolling Japanese, umbrellas on shoulders, is a visual and photographic treat.

We eventually end up back at our hotel and after freshening up — and changing our thoroughly sodden shoes for dry ones — we venture back out for dinner and the nighttime version of Ginza. Dinner was superb: sushi, tempura, rice with fish and sake, all in a small, crowded restaurant where we are the only English speakers. Perfect.

After few photos of Ginza at night, the long day finally takes its toll on us: sleep, sleep and the next day...a new adventure.

Underground Walkway from Shinbashi Train Station

Imperial Palace Walls

Basho or Guardhouse

Castle Walls

Imperial Gardens

Imperial Gardens

Imperial Gardens

Imperial Gardens

Imperial Gardens

Walkway to Tea House

Tea Pavilion

Imperial Gates

Imperial Swan

Gates sans Tourists

Nihonbashi

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Ginza

Too much sake

Travels with Oka-san | Departure and Arrival

In 2007 I traveled to Japan with my mother. That year my wife — who is usually my traveling partner — and I had already journeyed to Sicily in the spring and Iceland in the fall. She was not up for another international trip but my mom was. Of course the Japanese are too polite to inquire about personal relationships, but I thought it was still important to learn this phrase: "Kore wa watashi no oka-san"..."This is my mother." 

My wife and I will finally visit Japan together later this year and in the process of planning that trip I came across my old journal from my travels with oka-san almost 6 years ago. I thought it would be interesting to serialize that trip with a number of Clayhaus Ruminations posts...tanoshimu!

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In a Yellow Cab driven by a Haitian immigrant, watching a beautiful orange and blue fall sunrise, I head to to the airport. I do wish Bonnie was sitting beside me — as she normally would be — but I am looking forward to two weeks in Japan with oka-san. Tokyo, Nikko, Takayama, Kyoto, Nara and finally Kamakura are on our agenda. And between sushi and sake, imperial castles and shogunate memorials, Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, bullet trains and ancient paths, I know we will have very memorable trip.

My flight to LAX is uneventful and after a couple of hours waiting in NWA's equivalent to Delta's Crown Room [in those days Northwest Airlines still existed and I was corporate traveler with beaucoup de Skymiles], mama-san finally shows up.

I have a most excellent seat on the plane — aisle, exit row, and no one in front of me — and mom lucks out as the Japanese guy next to me exchanges his seat for mom's. I doubt I would have done the same, but his karma bank is surely fuller than mine!

Considering the vast expanse of water we must cross, the flight seems relatively short: "only" eleven hours. It is smooth as well and I catch a few cat-naps — though no deep sleep — in between studying some Japanese and processing images from my last and very different trip: to Iceland.

Arriving in Narita in the late afternoon of the next day we are struck by how quiet the airport is...eerily so. Immigration and customs are a breeze and once the luggage is gathered up (always a stressful few minutes: Did my bag make the connection? And, if it didn't, how will it ever be delivered to me?) we troop over to the Japan Railways (JR) office where we exchange our rail vouchers for passes. [The JR pass is a convenient and usually cost-effective way to travel about the country.] The JR staff are incredibly pleasant, efficient, and helpful. I have a feeling that this is going to be a common refrain.

On our way to our train I find a watch and for a moment think about keeping it. Second thought: what would the Japanese do? Return it, which I did, to the ticketing agents. Note to self: while in Japan, score many karma points.

Later, whilst waiting to board the train to Tokyo, I see an Indian gent frantically looking for...something. A few minutes later he returns, big smile planted on face, holding his — and mine, so briefly — watch. I think of saying something to him, but why? No, let it go and perhaps be a bit of a happy mystery to him.

Oka-san

The train ride into Tokyo is mercifully brief: just about one hour. We emerge from the Shimbashi train station to night time. Despite never having been here before, despite not really having slept since who knows when, despite being confused as to whether it really should be night or day, despite not seeing any sign I can read, I feel damn sure I know which way our hotel is. Pointing yonderly we start out on foot through a maze of busy streets and then into a kind of corporate wasteland. The wasteland being the modernist Shiodome area that at this time of night has been pretty much abandoned to the wandering and potentially lost gaijin tourists seeking hotel refuge. Seek and ye shall find and more or less directly we find our lovely Park Hotel.

Park Hotel, Tokyo

Clean, simple, non-fussy elegance greets us in the lobby as we step out of the elevator on the 25th floor of the Shiodome Media building. Shortly we ride the elevators higher and though our rooms are small, they are comfortable with the famous Toto toilets and razors, slippers and PJs.

It seems past time for dinner so I ask the concierge where we might find a restaurant open. He says "Why not eat in our restaurant?" Why not indeed! The food is exotic and wonderful and satisfying and yes, very tasty. I am going to like eating in Japan! 

After dinner I feel my usual travel-related restlessness and we wander outside for a quick stroll. Neither of us lasts long and tiredness descends as quickly as our elevator rises. Sleep and a comfortable bed beckon and I yield.  

The Mystery of Castello dei Conti Ubertini

Castello dei Conti Ubertini...what were you?

Heading into the Casentino Valley via the twisty-turny Strada Provinciale 60, shortly after the hamlet of Chitignano is a narrow, dirt one-way road on the left with a rusted yellow sign next to it. “Castello dei Conti Ubertini Sec XII” it intones. A castle, 12th century...what’s not to like? Down the lane after about 100 meters is an open field and the rambling hulk of the castello, bordered by green and yellowing trees. Not the classic form of a castle, per se, but rather a pile of irregular rectangular stone boxes stacked helter-skelter. Old yes, twelfth century, perhaps, somewhere. But what I see is a contagion of styles and centuries. What it was, is clearly not what it is.

 Castello dei Conti Ubertini...what are you?

On the southern perimeter is an old wall and perhaps a ditch. Was this part of some long-lost defensive design? On the north side the narrow ribbon of a lane continues, cast in shadow by the tall, overgrown trees and the looming outer façade of the structure. Structures with a plural ‘s’ is likely more accurate as there are clearly multiple buildings that have grown together in some organic though seemingly chaotic fashion. Walking up the lane and into the shadows, heavy fortified windows peer downward whilst higher, mounted on a decoratively curving upper wall, stand six to seven Renaissance figures. The angle is so acute that I cannot guess whether the figures are male or female, filled with gaiety or glowering with menace. They are just there and probably have been for some 400 years.

Castello dei Conti Ubertini...what are you?

Passing through the stalwart portal, the light goes dim as the think walls shield from sun and arrows alike. On the inside are gun ports offering a wide range of fire on potential hostile guests. Into the main courtyard — for clearly that’s what it was — I can now see how complete the transition has been from ancient castello to working villa. There is a barn-like structure to the west, on the brow of the hill and the portal I passed through is now part of three story living quarters. What affairs — both intimo and politico — have been conducted behind those green shutters? Did troops mill about or bivouac under smoky fires in this courtyard? Did clerics argue and prattle on about holy business whilst enjoying the Tuscan sun and perhaps a glass of the local quaff? The main entrance lays before me: a heavy brown door, protected by a gun port, a door bell, and above, a belfry. No Proprietà Privata or the even more ubiquitous Attenti al Cane signs decorate the castle walls, so I feel free to loiter and linger a bit longer. Treading back down the lane whilst the blustery wind kicks brown leaves into mini whirlpools, I can only wonder...

Castello dei Conti Ubertini...what were you?

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With roots extending over a millennia, the castle is recorded to having belonged to the Count of Chiusi (an old Etruscan town) in the early 13th century. In 1262 it passed into the control of the Counts of Ubertini. Ghibelline supporters of the Holy Roman Emperor, they were defeated at the Battle of Campaldino in 1280 by the Guelph (supporters of the Pope) Florentine forces and the castle (and much of the Ubertini possessions) passed to the Bishop of Arezzo and the Guidi family of Florence. The castle was restored (modernized) in the 16th century and though it is now privately owned, with prior arrangements it may be toured.