After witnessing a thousand sunsets in my life, I had gotten used to them. Even the one that set directly across our office window, I had often taken for granted. They warranted only a momentary pause—"oh, look at that fiery round sun"—before I was back at my computer desk. Not long after, any remaining flicker of daylight was replaced by striking strobe lights from bumper-to-bumper cars and nearby buildings. The neon sign of "In God We Trust" attached to the roof of a condominium created a dragging longing for daylight. Still, I rested at the thought of the sun rising and setting again the next day. I was definitely sure of that. I tended to overlook that the sun's clockwork cycle was what made it possible for life to exist on this planet. Upon closer inspection, it was the most beautiful natural phenomenon that happened every day. That moment between day and night, the short minutes which dusk spans, if I were prodded with a choice, I would say was my favorite time of the day.
First Sundown in Bagan | Myanmar
A New Platform for the Setting Sun
Maybe I was used to watching the sun drift down into the horizon from my office or even from the rooftop of our house. Whenever I traveled, though, the sight of any sundown provided an added spectacle, watching it from an entirely new platform. Whether standing on a beach, a mountain, or in this case, atop Shwesandaw Pagoda in Bagan, Myanmar.
I remembered climbing the steep stairs of Phnom Bakheng in Siem Reap to witness something I had witnessed a thousand times. The experience, though, was different; the stunning foreground and background, plus the fact you were standing on a structure built over many hundreds of years, made it unique. It took you back in time almost literally.
Ascending Shwesandaw Pagoda
On our first day in Bagan, we went biking around nearby temples. We were excited about the sunset, as it was one of the highlights for first-timers in the place. At around 5:30 PM, we started rolling our wheels over the sandy dunes and desert-like terrain toward Shwesandaw Pagoda. After a brief rest and sipping fresh coconut juice to its last drop, we climbed the stairs, and at the uppermost level, we settled into individual spots for the sunset viewing.
The surroundings of Shwesandaw Pagoda offered a kick-ass view of the many other temples and pagodas of all sizes and shapes. The contrasting colors of the gray sky, golden sand, green trees, and the shimmery brick exteriors of the temples created an image plucked out of a postcard. One could shoot a movie there with the characters reciting aloud "Pugad Baboy" comic strips and would still have a huge shot at winning a Best Cinematography award at the Oscars.
People from all over the globe started piling up the stairs and the walkways of each level of the pagoda. I found myself positioned near the top of the stairs, sitting in an Indian-style position atop a small flat square. With my tripod planted steadily and my line of sight pointing toward the round mound of the sun.
The Illusion of the Moving Sun
It wasn't the perfect backdrop to shoot sunsets, as the sky was like a human mind high on hallucinogens. Unclear, hazy, and delusional. Pretending to be a picturesque sky when it clearly was not. Nevertheless, the round red sun was still at its imposing presence. A cunning master of deceit, it always fooled you into thinking it was the one that moved away from one part of the Earth, when in fact it was our planet escaping away from it. As illusions went, I saw it glide down from the horizon toward the steeples of the pagodas in the foreground.
Each movement was complemented by slow adjustments of daylight fading and turning into hints of darkness. Never before had I gazed at the landscape of the earth witnessing the passing of day into night with such a concentrated stare. Standing on a structure built long before there ever was any of us completed the experience.
Sunset number 10,950. That one was for the books—or should I say, one for the blog. In a place like Bagan, time stood still so much that even for our generation, who often did not find time to stop and wonder like an eight-year-old kid would, it was a good feeling to learn that I still got fascinated just watching the wheels—of the sun, moon, and Earth—go round and round.
