On the Irrawaddy, days are measured by the river traffic: teak barges, canoes laden with jars, fishers hauling in their nets in the milky morning light. Then a golden hill stands out above the eastern bank, and the river ship sets course for Pyay. The Prome of British maps, about 260 kilometres northwest of Yangon, still lives to the rhythm of the water, and its landing puts travellers a few minutes from the heart of the town. A favourite stop on cruises linking Mandalay to the delta, it can be discovered in a few hours, on foot and by car.

Shwesandaw Pagoda

Everything converges on it. The golden stupa of Shwesandaw towers over the rooftops from its terrace, and tradition holds that it enshrines hairs of the Buddha, making it one of the country's great pilgrimage sites. You climb barefoot up covered stairways, between sellers of flowers and gold leaf, to the marble esplanade where bells chime in the incense-laden wind. The faithful leave their offerings at the end of the day, in a peaceful coming and going that is nothing like an organized show. Facing the shrine, a seated Buddha several storeys high, the Sehtatgyi, gazes at the hill with a placid eye: the view of the two giants facing each other makes for the most powerful image of the port call.

Sri Ksetra, city of the Pyu kings

Eight kilometres to the southeast lie the remains of Sri Ksetra, also called Thayekhittaya, capital of the Pyu people long before the rise of Bagan. The site, the first in Myanmar to be inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, scatters its massive stupas, brick gates and grass-covered walls across the fields. The cylinder of the Bawbawgyi, as tall as a building, has stood here for more than a millennium, a venerable prototype of the silhouettes that would later spread throughout the Irrawaddy basin; the squat domes of the Payagyi and Payama stand guard closer to the road. A small site museum brings together funerary urns, beads and inscriptions found during the excavations. You explore the site by car or in a cart drawn by a placid ox, among water buffalo and farmers, with the feeling of leafing through the prehistory of Burmese architecture.

The market and the streets

Back in town, the central market overflows with thanaka, the bark paste that locals dust on their faces, mangoes, freshwater fish and lacquerware. The surrounding streets blend wooden houses, faded colonial façades and tea shops where you sit down to sweet milk tea and samosas, while bicycles loaded with goods weave between the stalls. Smiles follow passersby from one end to the other: Pyay receives few visitors, and that rarity makes the exchanges all the more spontaneous.

The Irrawaddy at sunset

At the end of the day, the riverbank becomes a promenade. Families come down to watch the convoys pass, monks walk along the water in their saffron robes, and the sun slowly sinks behind the opposite bank, setting the dome of Shwesandaw ablaze. Photographers set up early on the bank to capture the scene. This is the hour when the port call takes on its full meaning: the current, the golden hill and ordinary life come together effortlessly, as they have here for fifteen centuries.

Back on the current

The ship casts off and the Irrawaddy resumes its patient work, slowly carrying travellers toward other banks and other ports of call. From Pyay will remain a brick cylinder planted in the rice paddies, a Buddha as big as a building and the chiming of bells atop a golden hill. Capitals come and go; the river remembers them all.