Rural areas favor these grainy, sugar-based sweets because they are made locally and thus are often flavored with other nearby fruits and flavors. And though our fresh sugarcane candies were delicious, Ana and I both fell in love with the sour plum candies in the Bagan region of Burma—the tart plum is a needed counter to the jaw-clenching sweetness of pure sugar and toddy palm juice!
As we nibbled the last of our sugar candy, it was about time to leave the family to their work, but I felt guilty that I had no real way to communicate our sincere thanks for such open hospitality.
Just as I slurped my last sip of Chinese tea, a young teenager came barreling into the yard. He cheerfully yelled out an English “hello” and announced he was a cousin to the family who was called to the candy compound from across town so he could answer our questions.
I was both baffled and overwhelmed. Tea and sweets were not enough, seeing us English speakers so curious about their work, the family sent for a relative who could communicate with us.
the cousin started his line of questioning, so familiar to me at this point, every single person in the workshop gathered around for the translation.
“Where are you from?”
Grins broke out on their faces when they learned our group was from France, England, and America.
“How long in Myanmar?”
Just three weeks, but it’s been beautiful.
Then it was our turn to ask questions and the cousin explained the family structure. Mother and father to the two children nodded as the cousin pointed. That’s the uncle. A brother. Another cousin.
It was a family affair in the candy workshop and as the cousin’s English petered out, and the men drifted back to stoking the fire and stirring the vats, we gave profuse and generous thanks for the more than an hour we had spent in their hospitality.
The children watched with curious owl-eyes as we hopped back onto our bicycles and sang out one last cheery thank you, “chezu tinbade!”
Then we disappeared down the dirt road, the thudding motor fading quickly as we pedaled into the late afternoon. I rode back to town in wonder of the warm and open hospitality that functioned as a rule throughout Burma, rather than the exception.
What started as the simplest of bike rides ended up showing me a spirit of kindness and inherent friendliness that is not put on for the sake of tourism, or a mask for show. The government’s forced isolation means that tourists are still a novelty, an occasional accent to a local’s life when a foreigner rides a bit off the path.
In Burma, the reward for journeying down the harder road (and let me assure you an hour or so down a questionably paved road is tough!) was always met with smiles and stories.
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