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Burma is a dangerous place. You could say this is partly because its rulers are despots who throttle the press and keep the citizens quiet out of fear, and because the roads are paved with potholes large enough to dent a bike. Or perhaps because the moneychangers have a reputation for slipping unusable bills to the careless traveler, and the souvenir sellers have the appetite of mosquitoes and the tenacity of bulldogs.

But Burma’s chief danger lies in her beauty. The allure of gilded temples that sparkle in the sunlight and the charming smiles of shy street children lure unwary tourists, feeding them to hawkers by day and bloodthirsty insects by night. Yet the entranced traveler will still be there come morning, sitting on the top terrace of a mist-shrouded temple, relishing the sunrise and the cool morning air.

Burma, in short, will steal your heart. And like the $4 spent on a fake jade elephant, you may never get it back.

The first stop for many travelers is Yangon, the deposed capital that the ruling junta deemed “too close to the sea.” Despite the erratic electricity and a clamp on freedom of any sort, Yangon still exudes an aura of sweet repose, where cars last seen in the eighties trawl the streets and everything runs on Burma Standard Time, or “half past later!”, as the Burmese say.

The magnificent Shwedagon Paya, the Buddhist temple with a diamond-tipped stupa, dominates the city skyline. The crowds meandering around the main bell-shaped stupa give a fascinating glimpse into Burmese society. There are monks in saffron robes, elderly men and women bowing in prayer, nuns in pink robes, Burmese businessman in smart suit jackets and longyi (sarong-like garments), mothers towing excitable children, and, of course, the dazzled tourists. Over their heads the stupa’s brilliant gold leaf shimmers in the dying light as the sun sets over Yangon.

If sunset at Shwedagon is a study in humanity, sunrise at Bagan is a meditation on solitude. Located a turbulent hour’s flight from Yangon, Bagan’s official titles include Arimaddanapura (the City of the Enemy Crusher), Tambadipa (the Land of Copper) and Tassadessa (the Parched Land), though travel agencies tend to prefer the less threatening City of Four Thousand Temples. A dawn visit to the temples can ensure a perfectly solitary, if chilly, vantage point to watch the light slowly filter into the sky as it brings the temples’ misty silhouettes into sharper focus. In the distance, hot air tour balloons hover over the valley like floating lanterns.

In two short minutes the sunrise is over and it is possible to see what the darkness had shrouded: the ornate, sometimes crumbling brickwork of the temple, its cramped stairs, its vaulted arches. One might notice now, too, the discarded cigarette butts, the layer of bat excrement, and the touts hawking souvenirs.

Eastward from parched Bagan, in the cool hills of Shan State, lies Burma’s second largest lake, Inle. Tourists can take a trip around the lake on long, wobbly wooden boats with an outboard motor and deck chairs. The buildings along the river gradually thin out and the dull roar of other boat motors become muted as concrete banks give way to mounds of tall green grass, dotted here and there with bright violets. Then the river widens and becomes a vast, glittering lake. The brilliant sapphire water reflects the surrounding hills and cloudless sky. Stilt villages spread around the shallower swathe of Inle, and giggling children wave at passing visitors. The boat chugs around the lake, carrying visitors to the highlights of the trip: the Phaundau Oo Pagoda, Nyaungshwe Monastery (known as the Monastery of the Jumping Cats, where monks have taught felines to jump hoops), a silk weaving workshop, and traditional goldsmith and blacksmith shops.

Three hours have elapsed since the boat trip began. The rhythmic murmur of the boat motor slows down to a fragile sputter then dies out entirely. The boatman takes out his oar and the boat glides slowly through the water until the hull bumps the dock and helping hands draw it in. For a moment the thin wooden pier looks as though it might give way, but then the pilings hold, and everything is all right again.

Burma is indeed an enchanting place. She’ll beckon, and you’ll follow. She’ll burn her sunsets into the backs of your eyelids and embed temple dust into the soles of your feet. You’ll want to return once again if only to witness one more glorious dawn over her majestic temples.