Bicycling around Burma's Archaeological Wonders

May in Pagan is low season for good reason. The relentless sun bakes its temple-strewn plain into a shimmering illusion of a chess game—if chess had 2,217 pieces, rather than 34. At midday even mad dogs take refuge, though not straw-hatted tourists on five-day whirlwind tours of Burma shuttling through their checklists of temples in air-conditioned comfort. The heat has its benefits, however. Summer is the time of flowers: thick bougainvillaea blooms in shockingly bright pink, jacarandas litter the paths with purple petals, and flame trees force starbursts of red against whitewashed temple walls. The air is thick with the scents of jasmine and the tiny yellow flowers of the ubiquitous neem trees. Seeing the 900-year-old temples from behind the sealed glass windows of a private car would be a lamentable disregard of nature’s pre-monsoon celebration. Despite the heat,the best way around Pagan, also known as Bagan, is by bicycle. All it takes is a subtle alteration of the typical itinerary—rising with the roosters, napping in the afternoon, and starting again in the evening.

Tucked into a crook of the Irrawaddy River, the Pagan Plain covers some 4,000 hectares and is laced with a complex network of sandy trails, which makes reaching the multitude of ancient temples, stupas and monasteries something of a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure journey. Getting lost is not a worry. The main road is never far away and even the smaller temples, though identified only by numbers, are gems waiting to be discovered. Some are empty, others merely contain the shattered bases of iconic images long departed for Western living rooms. But occasionally a placid stone Buddha waits to be stumbled upon in the forgotten recesses of a stupa still in shambles. Or a newly renovated temple houses a well-worshipped modern Buddha that is furred with multiple layers of gold leaf applied by fervent devotees.

The only way to visit these unheralded jewels is on foot or by bike—in many cases the tracks are mere goat trails, impassable by car. Most hotels will rent out heavy, iron one-speeds for less than a dollar a day. They might not be high-performance—in fact, most seem to date back to the days of the British Raj—but there is no risk of losing one to theft. The best time to see the temples is during the hours just after dawn—by 10 a.m. the temperature reaches a blistering 42°C, the tour buses congregate, and the voracious hawkers, desperate for a sale in the slow season, are on the prowl. It’s the perfect opportunity for a retreat, preferably to the shady enclave of a roadside restaurant for a fresh lime soda and a Burmese cucumber salad.

By 5 p.m. it’s cool enough to take a gentle ride to the river’s edge for a sunset cruise up the Irrawaddy. Villagers, back from the fields and trinket stands, tend to their evening ablutions while herdsmen drive weary water buffalo home after a good soak. Boats can be chartered from most riverside hotels, and nothing tastes better on board than a cold bottle of beer chased with tamarind candies.

Once the sun sets, Pagan is transformed. The heat dissipates, replaced by a cool, invigorating breeze that calls out for an evening stroll. The reward is a brilliant display of stars undiminished by city lights. And should disorientation set in, the ever- present hawkers, many of whom live at the temples, are happy to set misguided travelers back on the right path home.

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