O'Neal-Freemans in Malaysia: Golden Rock, Burma

The flooded path on the way to the Buddhist temple up in the caves, on the road from Hpa-An to the Golden Rock. If you'd like to see a drive-by view of a typical road-side Burmese village, click HERE. To see this flooded path and sulfur ponds at the base of the cave Buddhist temple, click HERE.

Buddhist monastery and colorful temple, surrounded by hot, sulfur water that locals swim in, with separate swim sections for women versus men

Spitting image

The many "nats" at the temple, or local figures who are also worshiped, in addition to Buddha

Buddha and his followers

Our reluctant monk guide up to the Buddhist temple hidden in a cave, who was really recruited as our body guard against the very aggressive monkeys. We were the only visitors there on a VERY rainy, flooded monsoon day.

Hard to see, but the elder monk is sneaking a puff off a cigar, not expecting any tourist visitors.

Ah, exhale that hidden smoke.

The Buddhas on the edge of the cave.

It is probably hard to see but this monk's lips are bright red because he is a complete betel nut addict, which monks don't seem to be immune to in Burma

Riding up the dangerous, twisting route to the mountaintop holding the precariously balanced Golden Rock - a mecca many Burmese, and Thai, travel to every year. It's also a major tourist trap. They used to let anyone drive up and use a more typical Burmese truck with a cheap Chinese engine. But, then, a few trucks were unable to navigate the turns and use their brakes on the steep hills, leading them to barrel over the side of the mountain and crash, killing many. Now, the government invested in a powerful engine and brakes for their trucks. We rode up with the "people," a rare moment of taking public transportation with locals. Usually, we rode in a relatively posh air-conditioned van with only our family, a guide, and a driver. The only way up is in this truck. And, the truck company brokers know how to squeeze tourists for money. They made the truck wait for hours, with us just sitting in it. The Burmese sat incredibly patiently compared to New Yorkers. While we waited, the Burmese truck brokers pushed our guide to buy out the remaining seats at extortionist prices. The guide bought some but refused to buy them all. Finally, the truck started moving, but not before a few wealthy Chinese tourists who'd bought out the covered seats in the cab were shuttled into the cab. Then, the truck started up the mountain, but not before a massive monsoon downpour came down on us. Abraham sobbed and huddled underneath our paltry rain ponchos. A local woman next to me used her tarp to cover our bags. I don't think we've ever felt so beaten to a pulp by rain before. Needless to say, on the way back down, we surrendered to the blackmail system and paid for most of us to sit up front in the cab. I sat in the back, more prepared for the onslaught of the rain, feeling particularly noble until I looked at the locals sitting next to me, barely covered, without, God Forbid, Patagonia waterproof protection, with calm faces covered in rain.

The truck stopped halfway up. Then we had to walk the rest of the way. Our guide smoked too much to walk and succumbed to the guerney carriers who followed him like vultures, knowing he'd give in. We let a couple of our kids get carried up like royalty too. Click HERE to see them ride like kings.

An elder Buddhist monk who asked me to sponsor him to come to the U.S.

And, he read my palm, which is seen as a cheap trick among Buddhists, little respected. I didn't care. I was fascinated and spoke with him, with great respect. It turns out he came to my hotel to see if I could feed him tea and have more conversation later that nite. Our guide intervened and told him we were already asleep, which was probably true. But, I think he was trying to protect us from a monk he saw as a charletan. I was willingly charmed. Click HERE for a video briefly capturing this memorable moment for me.