“Expect the unexpected” became our
motto over the next three weeks. Along
with our friends, Dave and Wendy, we’d
been planning this trip for months,
arranging it directly with a company
in Myanmar (which we knew was
something of a risk, so it was a huge
relief to see someone waiting for us at
the airport!). With any new experience,
particularly when travelling, there is
always a gap between the imagined
and the reality, so it was going to be
interesting to see just how wide that
gap would be.
Yangon is an assault on the senses. As
with most hot countries, people live their
lives mostly out in the streets and the
pavements are choc-a-bloc with stalls
selling everything from old paperbacks
to fruit, piled like jewels on wide, flat
baskets lined with fresh banana leaves;
outdoor kitchens; craftsmen at work;
sugar-cane presses; red-robed monks
holding out alms bowls and so much
more. Weaving your way through this
kaleidoscope of colourful activity, while
trying to avoid tripping over a sleeping
dog (they’re everywhere), is bewildering.
And then there are the smells – cooking,
the fragrant perfume from flower
garlands and the rather less fragrant
pong of sewage – and the constant
background hooting of Yangon’s endless
stream of ancient, overloaded buses,
cycle trishaws and taxis. It all hits you
between the eyes and makes home seen
bland and grey by comparison.
We spent the day walking around
downtown Yangon, then in the
late afternoon went to Myanmar’s
biggest and most revered temple,
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