Slow Burma

Welcome to the new Burma!' says Myo, forgetting for a moment that the generals renamed it Myanmar. Myo is a cheerful man, wrapped in the traditional longyi. He leads us to a beautifully polished Chevrolet bus left behind after the Second World War. Now, at last, we get the chance to see a country whose regime has been so roundly criticised in the West.

From what I can glimpse through the small windows, Yangon (British Rangoon) looks run-down but full of cars. Myo tells us there are no motorbikes (the generals banned them) and no university students either. 'The generals close the old universities and build new ones in the rice fields. I don't think the government trust students. I think they are scared.' He talks freely about how poor people are and how bad healthcare is. One of our party asks if he would have spoken this openly a year ago, before Aung San Suu Kyi was released and began negotiatons with the government. 'Oh, no!' he answers.

We pass Inya Lake, a pleasant stretch of water that edges the smarter downtown houses. 'You remember that American who swam across the lake to visit Aung San Suu Kyi?' says Myo. 'It was here.' It is more built up than I expected, and the houses are sumptuous. I'd imagined a vast stretch of water patrolled by boats with searchlights. History is always less dramatic when you get there.

Our hotel, The Governor's Residence, is in the diplomatic district. It's an air-conditioned haven sealed off from the broken pavements and overgrown gardens outside. A lodge manned by diminutive security staff and over-eager porters
gives way to a covered bridge across fish ponds and a swimming pool. In the lobby, fans sweep overhead. The place is owned by Orient-Express and the look is tropical-chic. I catch echoes of empire, Somerset Maugham and George Orwell - although they actually stayed at The Strand further into town.

After lunch we tour the city in bicycle rickshaws, squeezed into basic sidecars designed for slim Burmese hips. Old Rangoon is dominated by huge red-brick buildings that the British left behind in 1947. In 2005, the government moved the capital hundreds of miles away at a cost of $250 million; money this impoverished country could ill afford. Ever since, the British administrative buildings have stood empty. In the sultry climate they are rapidly growing moss; saplings cling to the gaping window ledges. We are shown the Secretariat, a vast building, where General Aung San (father of Aung San Suu Kyi) and his cabinet were assassinated soon after independence. That was when Burma started to go wrong - people tell you this quite openly. It hasn't gone right yet, despite some very positive moves by the new president, Thein Sein.

Two of our group manage to arrange a visit to Aung San Suu Kyi at her party headquarters. She greets us solemnly. Softly spoken, she insists that democracy is coming, but that now is 'only the beginning of the beginning'. Known respectfully as Daw (Aunt), Suu is keen that Westerners visit Burma. Her country can only benefit from the contact. 'Tell people to come to Burma,' she insists as we shake hands.

Goldene, my guide to Scott's Market, a 1920s structure containing more than 1,600 tiny stalls, admits she is amazed at the recent changes. When we see photos of Aunt Suu and her father for sale, she says that even a few months ago this would not have happened. I compliment her on her English and she tells me that for her it was easy to learn but for her parents it was impossible because in 1965 the daughter of General Ne Win (who seized control of Burma in 1962) was refused a visa to study in the UK; in retaliation the general banned the teaching of English in his country. The regime has loosened its grip since then, thank goodness.

Throughout my visit I was struck by the enthusiasm and efficiency of the hotel staff and later by the boat crew when our party took a cruise up the Ayeyarwady (now Irrawaddy) river to Mandalay. All but two of the 75 crew were Burmese and seemed to relish the opportunity to work. In a country where a farm labourer earns $4 a day, tourism pays well.

In Bagan we took a balloon trip over the ruins of some 2,000 temples built in the 11th and 12th centuries. Bagan was the first visit that Aung San Suu Kyi took outside Yangon after the conditions of her house arrest were eased last summer. Our balloonist was Lee from Bristol, a jolly man who relished the chance to drink European wine and talked openly about the recent changes in Burma and the hard work done by his 60-strong ground crew. 'Everyone wants democracy,' he laughed. 'But no one is sure what it means.' Lee was welcomed in by the Burmese government nine years ago and is now the single biggest employer in Bagan. There was no doubting the commitment of his workers as they chased our balloon through peanut fields to make sure we landed safely and didn't disrupt the ox-cart traffic for too long.

A balloon trip at dawn over Bagan's temples is stunning, like seeing an aerial view of a landscape conjured up for Queen Amidala in Star Wars. As the number of tourists to Burma increases, it's going to be on many lists of things to see before you die. But each flight brings huge benefits to those on the ground too. Without Balloons Over Bagan, those 60 men would be back working on farms for $4 a day.