Experience 23: Grind your own sunscreen in Myanmar
by Christa Larwood

From its clusters of shining, gold-tipped temples to the broad patchworks of rice paddies reflecting the skies, Myanmar is a seemingly endless parade of striking sights. Yet one of its most arresting features appears not in the landscape but painted on the faces of the people.
In the marketplaces, fields and streets, a fine yellow powder decorates the cheeks and foreheads of women and children, thickly smeared or carefully brushed into decorative patterns. This is thanaka, created from the bark of a local tree and worn with a fervent cultural pride.
In a tradition that stretches back to the 14th century, thanaka is applied daily in an attempt to soften the skin and protect from the ravages of the scorching Burmese sun. It is also more than a health measure – a pretty layer of thanaka is as vital to the fashionable Burmese lady as a layer of mascara might be in the West.
Just after dawn at the busy market in Nyaung Shwe, just a mile or two from the glassy expanse of Inle Lake, dozens of women perched on tables laden with mangoes or fluorescent plastic children’s toys and peered into grubby hand mirrors, smearing yellow on their cheekbones.
Nearby, stallholder Ma Nyein ground up a fresh batch by scouring a short log of thanaka on a circular slab of stone known as a kyauk pyin, adding drops of water into the mix in stages to create a thin yellow paste, ready for daubing.
In order to take part in this local custom, I put my chemical SPF 50+ suncream aside and asked Nyein to decorate me in the manner of a stylish Burmese lady. She started gently, rubbing the solution on to my brow and cheeks, creating stripes with the soft-fingered application of a coarse hair brush. The scent was light, fresh and citrus/floral, like a delicate lemongrass, and left a slight tingling sensation on the skin.
Just as I went to thank her for the elegant application, Nyein dipped her fingers again into the thanaka and smeared it down my neck, across my collarbones and – making me squeak in a most undignified manner – into my ears. By the time she stopped her ministrations and nodded with final satisfaction, all visible flesh on my head, neck and chest was covered. This, it seems, is the traditional application – not just the aesthetically pleasing cheekbone highlights most seen around the marketplace – and Nyein assured me I could pass for a local.
I couldn’t help the distinct feeling she was being kind. Conspicuously absent was the delicate contrast of the yellow with beautiful brown Burmese skin – the substance seemed to marry unnaturally with my pallid flesh to create the appearance of a recently deceased Big Bird. Still, it did have the effect of providing a vastly entertaining sight for the ladies of Nyaung Shwe market, who clustered around to grasp my arms and hoot with laughter or twinkle with lip-bitten smiles.









