Lu Zaw goose-steps on stage in a gleaming white policeman's uniform, blowing a whistle and angrily pointing to imaginary traffic violators.

"To live well in Burma, you must be a policeman," he tells the audience in rapid-fire English. "Teachers and scientists earn peanuts. But a policeman - he has the best job. What does he do all day? Point to a car, blow his whistle and hold out his hat.

"Very quickly, it's filled with kyats (local currency), money from drivers who don't want to go to jail. This makes policemen the happiest people in Myanmar."

As political satire goes, this is pretty timid stuff. But in a country run by iron-fisted generals, even an innocuous comedy skit can land you in jail. Lu Zaw should know.

In 1996, he and comedy partner Par-Par Ley were sentenced to seven years of hard labour for mocking the generals. But the army released them in 2001, after they became poster boys for a human-rights campaign led by Hollywood celebrities like Rob Reiner.

These days, Zaw, Ley and his brother, Lu Maw, who make up the Moustache Brothers comedy trio, are back on stage, stirring the political pot again. But now, their "subversive" comedy routines are limited to English - and only for tourists. Their show - a hilarious mix of stand-up and vaudeville - is performed nightly on the ground floor of their house in south-end Mandalay.

Why do the authorities tolerate them?

"They are greedy, all they see is dollars when they see tourists," says Zaw. "So they leave us alone - as long as we play by the rules. I know Aung San Suu Kyi (Burma's deposed democratic leader) says tourists should boycott Myanmar.

"But I say, come and bring your friends. If it wasn't for you, we would all be in jail."

That, in a nutshell, is the dilemma of anyone wanting to visit one of southeast Asia's most charming and exotic corners. Do tourists help prop up a brutal regime shunned by most of the world? Or, do the long-suffering Burmese people need daily reminders that the outside world hasn't forgotten them? The answer isn't obvious.

The evidence is that Western tourists are, indeed, boycotting Myanmar, the name the ruling military gave Burma. My flight from Bangkok to Yangon (formerly Rangoon) is half empty, as is the rundown airport where we land. The numbers tell the story: Burma claims it gets 700,000 tourists annually, nowhere near the 12 million Thailand, the country's thriving neighbour, gets.

It's hard to describe Burma as a tourist-friendly destination. Since the collapse of its private banks in 2003, foreigners cannot access ATMs, cash travellers' cheques or use credit cards. There are daily horror stories of cashless tourists scrambling back to Bangkok to get to their bank accounts; hard cash - U.S. dollars or euros - is king and the black market rules.

Walk along Mahabandoola Street in Rangoon, and you can spend hours without seeing a single tourist. But on the crowded sidewalks with stalls selling everything from tamarinds to towels, you will notice the rich cultural mix - Bengali, Chinese, Indian plus the tribal minorities - that makes up modern Burma.

Amid the city's crumbling, colonial-era buildings are living symbols of the past. The legendary Strand Hotel (suites up to $900 U.S. a night) still stands as a gleaming landmark on Strand Road, a reminder of British rule. The ghosts of George Orwell, Somerset Maugham and Noel Coward still haunt the Strand's opulent - but empty - tearoom.

A few blocks away, another ghost of the past: Moseah Yeshua Synagogue, a once-thriving centre for the thousands of Iraqi Jews who settled here in the 19th century but who left with the British. Now, it serves the 25 or so Jews who remain.

Its caretaker, Moses Samuels, is happy to show tourists around the century-old building, proudly pointing to the ornate woodwork on the ceiling. As I leave, he asks if I could come on the Sabbath to form a minyan (quorum); regretting I cannot be there, I contribute to the donations box.

Then, it's a long trek to the city's north end, to the heartland of Buddhist Burma - the sacred Shwedagon temple complex whose tall, glittering dome dominates the skyline. Described by Rudyard Kipling as "a golden mystery, a beautiful waking, winking wonder," Shwedagon is a 51/2-hectare compound covered with temples of every size and shape. Its centrepiece is its 100-metre-high, solid-gold dome with 5,000 diamonds adorning the top, which is crowned with a single 76-carat diamond.

You can spend hours wandering through the temples, watching initiation ceremonies, people praying or just lounging in the cool shade. Everywhere, people smile and ask where you're from, happy to see a tourist.

Strolling through Mahabandoola Garden Park, an older man with a shaved head, walks alongside me. He's a retired engineer and speaks fluent English in a hushed tone: "I must be careful. The secret police is everywhere, if they see a Burmese talking to a foreigner, they report him."

Pointing to the maple leaf on my knapsack, he acknowledges that "many Canadians do not visit Myanmar because of politics, which is not our fault. The army is strong and beats us down when we stand up. But they cannot make us slaves. Our minds stay free, whatever they do."

Does tourism help? "The army only wants your money. They stay in the driver's seat no matter who comes. But we are Buddhists and very patient. This is a time of bad luck. Good luck will follow, one day." He walks away with this bit of advice: "While you are here, do not spend money that makes the military rich."

That mantra is later repeated by tour guides, travel agency employees and hotel workers. You realize there are two boycotts of Burma - one to discourage foreigners from coming, another to influence their spending when they do come.

This means choosing a private airline over government-owned Myanmar Airways, shunning official resorts, spending on local businesses and not national outfits whose revenues go directly to the military. It's hard to recall another country where the government is so shunned by its own people.

To be fair, there is a positive side to the army's rule. While in Rangoon, you cannot help but notice how quiet this city of 5 million is. Then you see why. There are no motorcycles on the streets, and you never hear cars honking their horns. Later, someone tells me to thank the military, which bans motorcycles from city streets and enforces strict no-honking rules.

Then, it's off to Mandalay. Perhaps the best reason to go there is to send postcards from a city made famous by the Bob Hope classic, Road to Mandalay (shot, of course, in Hollywood).

This former royal capital - a dusty, sprawling city of less than a million - would lack all charm without Mandalay Hill and the walled imperial city.

The barefoot climb (shoes are verboten in temple areas) up the interminable stairs of the 230-metre-high Mandalay Hill is good for sweating off pounds (or the previous night's alcohol). En route, there are mini-temples where you can linger to catch your breath and pop stands to quench your thirst in the searing heat.

The prize at the top: a 360-degree view of pancake-flat Mandalay and, off in the horizon, the shimmering waters of the majestic Irrawaddy River.

At $10 a day, renting a trishaw (a large tricycle for two passengers and a driver) is the most efficient way to get around - if you can handle the barrage of dust and exhaust.

Arriving at the walled city, it's my trishaw driver's grimace that makes me think twice about forking over the $10-entrance fee to the machine gun-totting soldiers at the entrance.

Sin-Sin breaks into an approving smile when I pocket my money and walk away. We set off on a tour of temples and Mandalay's famous workshops for silver, lacquerware and giant puppets.

Soon it's time to leave. Another reason to visit Mandalay: to take a boat down the Irrawaddy to legendary Bagan, home to thousands of surreal temples that dot the parched plains of central Burma.

It's called an "express" ferry that's supposed to take nine hours - at $16 U.S. a person - to get to Bagan; but, in fact, the trip takes 11 hours. Every minute, however, is magic, from departure at sunrise to arrival at sunset.

Everyone gets a numbered seat on the passenger deck but the best deal is the $2 that buys you a chair on the shaded observation deck, front-row centre for an amazing journey through the Burmese heartland.

The riverside is dotted with temples and villages shrouded in early-morning mist. Every so often, the ferry comes close to shore to allow hawkers to wade waist-deep into the murky-brown water to entice passengers with everything from spicy samosas to colourful sarongs.

Arriving in Bagan, most tourists head for Nyaung U, a jumping off point to the 3,000-plus temples spread over the eastern flatlands; it's a wondrous sight, rivalling Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

After paying $10 U.S. for a site pass, I bounce around the back of a horse-drawn carriage for two days, hopping from temple to temple. The moment of awe: watching the sun set on the Irrawaddy from the top of the giant Shwesinadar temple in the company of hundreds of other besotted tourists.

On the third day, a visit to Mount Popa, east of Bagan. Called the "Mount Olympus of Myanmar," it's a jagged peak that soars above the flat plains with an elaborate pagoda on top, a shrine to the nats (spirits) of Buddhism.

The half-hour trek up Popa's covered stairway (ducking wild monkeys that roam freely) allows for magnificent vistas of the surrounding hills, dotted with monasteries and shrines. Popa is rife with superstition: visitors shouldn't wear black or red, nor say anything negative about others; above all, don't bring meat (especially pork). Any misstep will cause angry nats to unleash a flood of misfortune on you.

I tear off my red T-shirt when I read this; then, I try to purge all negative thoughts from my mind. At least I'm not carrying meat.

There are three choices when leaving Bagan for Inle Lake (population: 130,000), the next stop on the tourist triangle: you can take a local bus (12 hours), hire a car and driver (nine hours) or fly (75 minutes). It's a no-brainer: a short, smooth flight vs. a torturous, bumpy ride on cratered "highways."

Twenty-two kilometres long, Inle Lake is home to the Intha people, who live on the water in villages built on stilts. They are famous for their flat-bottomed boats and unusual leg-rowing technique (standing at the stern with one leg while propelling the vessel by pushing an oar with the other leg).

The lake is anchored by the town of Nyaungshwe, with hotels and restaurants within walking distance of the lake (to the south) or the mountains (to the north). On the waterfront, you can rent a motorized longboat to take you shopping at the silk and silver factories standing on stilts in the middle of Inle Lake.

Also worthwhile is a visit to the popular floating market and the Jumping Cat Monastery, where well-trained felines hop through hoops for tourist cameras - for a fee. To get away from it all, you can rent a bicycle and pedal out to nearby hot springs to lounge around in bubbly hot water with views on the lake and mountains.

Or, you can hire a guide ($7) and go on an all-day trek through the mountain rice paddies and ethnic Pa-O villages overlooking Nyaungshwe.

If you're lucky, you'll visit a cave where a monk says he's lived for 48 years - without ever leaving.

After all this trekking, boating and bicycling, it's time for a well-deserved beach break. So, it's back in the air and on to Ngapali Beach on the Bay of Bengal.

Here, quiet reigns on three glorious kilometres of white-sand beach, and large waterfront bungalows go for as little as $25 a night. You can laze around the beach all day or snorkel off nearby Pearl Island.

Though Ngapali Beach is almost deserted, developers appear to have big plans for this once-sleepy corner of Burma. At least five major resort developments are in various stages of construction. One wonders how much longer this beach will stay quiet.

Now, it's time to leave. But at least my Burma dilemma is resolved, as I think fondly of all the people I leave behind in this sad but exotic corner of Asia. Maybe, I conclude, tourism is about people meeting other people for the first time - regardless of politics.

Lu Zaw of the Moustache Brothers, was right: "Tourism is like oxygen, it keeps us alive."

IF YOU GO:

In Burma, email addicts must go cold turkey - or develop the patience of Buddha. Internet cafes are plentiful, but what they can access isn't. Censors block most foreign websites. If you try to log on to your email service, you will likely encounter a "banned URL" banner - which means you cannot get in.

So get ready to play beat-the-censors. Ask a local computer geek for a "bypass" to the official server. Most will direct you to Hopster, or my favourite: www.bypass.ds4.com

Then, it's a race against time - you may only have minutes to get to your account, read and send out emails.

Cash is another annoyance. Many counters carry this sign: "We will not accept soiled or damaged bills." That means they may reject any bill with a tiny tear or pen mark on it. A $100 U.S. note was returned to me because "we want the one with the big picture." What she meant was the newer bill with the larger portrait of Benjamin Franklin. She was insistent and there was no point arguing. Check bills carefully when you get them at your bank.

And finally, some websites on the tourism-to-Burma debate: www.burmacampaign.org.uk (pro-boycott), www.burmaproject.org (both sides), www.freeburmacoalition.org (anti-boycott).

It's your trip, and your call. Only you can decide what you can live with.