Rangoon

Day one and I enjoyed “the world’s best breakfast as seen on Discovery Channel” at my hotel before I step out into the chaotic streets.

I wandered around town doing a circuit down to the river and then back up to the markets. People stop and smile all the time – big genuine smiles. I stopped at one point to take a photo of a small boy, it was okay with his parents, but not with the boy apparently. He crawled off in protest. But I stayed and chatted for a while as they explained to me how they make the betel leaves with chewing tobacco. And also explained where the paste comes from that the women and some men smear across their faces, apparently for sun protection but some are made up as though in war paint.

At the market I did a black market currency trade which equipped me with some Kyet (pron. chut) to buy some lunch – thankfully.

The Shwedagon Pagoda is something really special. I found myself there for two hours, mostly just staring at it and daydreaming. It felt like about five minutes. While there I met an old history professor. He travels by bus for three hours to get to the Shwedagon each day, and three hours home, hoping to act as a guide for tourists for some cash. See the government cancelled the pension the year before he was due for one so this is the only way he can make a living. Next year he will become a monk so that he can be looked after in the monastery. My professor friend took me to the Sunday buddha (as I was born on a Sunday) and, following his instruction, I tipped several cups of water on it as he made special blessings for me and my family.

Afterwards I got a cab down to the lake to see what action was taking place there. More like a theme park than authentic Yangon nightlife, you pay a few kyet to get in and then there are (mostly empty) restaurants lining the lakes edge, some with a gorgeous view over to the Shwedagon. I got a beer and watched some young guys rock it out on the guitar for a while before heading back to the “bar” I was at last night.

At the “bar” I met Annie, a fellow Aussie travelling around. I planned to catch a boat to the other side of the river in the morning to see what was there and Annie decided to join.

It was a little confusing at first getting tickets as we were shown into the office, then another office where a cat kept jumping on the desk, only to be unceremoniously pushed off, as our man was trying to write out our “foreigners” tickets. It was only a short trip straight across the river but quite another world compared to Rangoon. At Dalla port it was all chaos and congestion but around the streets it is a quiet and rural life. This area was badly affected a few years ago by cyclone Nargis as many of the houses are made of bamboo and pretty much sit on stilts above swamps.

Most of the time we were there we had trishaw drivers following us around trying to get a gig. They gave up once we were followed by a gaggle of children who would have been happy for us to spend an entire day taking their photo.

Later in the afternoon I headed to the bus station for my first night bus in Burma, up to Bagan. Things went incredibly smoothly and we departed right on time at 5pm. The trip to Bagan was scheduled to take twelve hours, arriving at 5am. This is predominantly the factor determining my route as the Mandalay bus gets in even earlier in the morning.