Day 1 in Myanmar

Sep 12, 2016
8 min read

Arriving at 8am into Yangon International Airport, I brushed the gunk from my eyes and waved my EVisa form at the ever-cheerful immigration attendant. ‘Morning’ I murmured, but she didn’t care to look me in the eye, as I was just another ant like creature she stamped and tallied, who was marching across the yellow line into Myanmar. The airport was remarkably clean and orderly, after living in South East Asia for nearly 10 years I had seen many an airport that could have done with a refurbishment, but this was refreshingly easy to digest and navigate.

Yanking my backpack from the belt and throwing it over my shoulder I saw an ATM glowing in the corner. That’s right, will need some cash if I want to start this little trip right! I waltzed over to the machine, entered my card and punched in my pin, preying as I always did that the ATM would not swallow it whole. I withdrew a few hundred and scrunched the receipt. Sweet! I smiled to myself as I walked out through customs and found the taxi rank. After initially ignoring the taxi hagglers I eventually realised they spoke better English then the supposed legit ones, so I negotiated the fare as rain began to fall and I slumped into the back seat of the taxi.

We battled the morning traffic and made our way into Yangon city center. I didn’t care to make small talk with the driver who probably wanted to practice his English with a foreigner. “Where have you come from?” He asked. “Indonesia” I replied, which wasn’t a lie. “Jakarta” he queried. “Yeah Jakarta” I answered not meaning to lie but too disinterested to be honest. I had booked a moderate hotel not far from The Strand, thinking if things were dyer I could flee to safer, but more expensive digs. Arriving at my hotel way too early I asked to leave my bags behind the desk, so I could wander the streets for a while, the two young attendants looked confused. “Don’t worry I don’t want to check in yet, can I just leave my bag?” I reassured them with an awkward smile and they replied “Its okay you can check in at 12”. “Great” I said as I grabbed my jacket and a small bag. Although it had started to rain I soon realised how muggy it was and I probably was better off leaving the jacket behind, oh well suck it up I thought.

I stumbled out onto the street and felt the vibe of a cross between Sri Lanka, Vietnam and Laos with the obvious influence of the English from years of colonisation. I fumbled to get my camera out of my backpack, swearing to myself to use it more on this trip. Of late I had gotten used to whipping out my iPhone to take photos, the easiness of grabbing it and snapping a shot then instantly uploading it had become a guilty habit, plus fussing around with my SLR often meant I missed the shot I had wanted to snag.

Keeping an eye on street vendors and passers by I tried to weave my way through the crowds, snapping pictures here and there trying not to be obvious and intrusive. I avoided eye contact as much as possible, not as a means to be rude or exert a western ego but more as a defense mechanism. Avoid trouble and don’t be vulnerable was my motto for travel. Well not really a motto, more common sense, which should be adopted for any traveler, let alone a solo female one.

It’s not that I haven’t come across trouble in my travels and there have been several instances where I have indeed felt vulnerable, but with age comes wisdom, so they say, and keeping eyes down, my valuables safe and my wits about me, always seemed to be the best precautionary measure to use. As I walked along the narrow smelly busy streets I noted street vendor after street vendor selling the same produce or fry up. Same, same, but different! I thought with a slight smirk. How can they sit there for hours on end, with the same monotonous routines, swishing away flies from their fruit piles and squabbling for a good deal? How simplistic life can be!

Then my conscious did a reality check, who am I to judge? These people probably experience more happiness in the simple gesture of feeding others or striking up conversation with their community folk than I have ever succumbed to in years of trying to educate wealthy expatriate brats! As I wandered though, I still couldn’t help but question the sanitary and hygiene of street life. How can that meat or diary stay fresh in this staunching heat? That bacteria and those microbes festering gloriously in their moist environments must surely make a small handful of customers sick by days end, those whose guts had yet to become accustomed.

As I continued to walk along the crumbled pavement taking shots on my camera as discretely as I could, I soon ignored the stench and filth, the smells and sights and decided to take a left here, a right there. I came across an array of French, Dutch and English colonial architecture covered in black mold and ivy vines with sanctuaries of moss. Traveling through Asia I have noticed these buildings seem to continue to draw me in, I can’t help but focus my camera lens and annotate what I see. A window shot here, with an elderly lady hanging her laundry, to youthful boy dragging on a cigarette in the electronics store, there. All these structures and inhabitants add character to a shot, and I have come to realise I get a little kick out of capturing these on film, or should I say a digital devices.

After an hour or so or walking I headed towards The Strand. This looks like it, I thought as I rounded the corner and saw a majestic Victorian style building, yet it was covered with scaffolding. What the fuck? Ohhhh… of course it’s getting renovated right when I’m visiting, my typical luck! I kept walking forward, grabbing my iPhone and clicking the googlemaps app. It being 10.30am in Yangon I would be lucky to find something open at that time that could give me a sanctuary away from the heat and local vibe, yes I wasn’t feeling Asia that morning after an overnight haul of flights. Eventually I found the Union Bar and Grill and was grateful to see the open sign flipped forward to welcome me somewhat tired and weary. Heading towards the back I decided I could hide away with a book and a cup of tea while I waited a few hours to check in back at my modest accommodation.

A cup of tea then turned into a carb overload of beer and pizza. The day was now destined to be a cheat day I thought as I saw the amount of cheese oozing off the Margherita I had ordered. As I pulled out a novel to read I noticed a few westerners entering in dribs and drabs. Two English or Australian women were conducting interviews for potential HR staff and I entertained myself in watching them struggle with local Burmese who had minimal English skills. After a few hours of reading, writing and indulging I finished off my pint and paid the bill. A pretty cheap meal for what you would get for the same back home.

Trudging back to the hotel I decided it would be time for a kip, as I hadn't slept much on the overhaul night flight, and realising of late, I was becoming more of a night owl, I thought it made a sweet plan. Thankfully I checked into my room with ease and observed its basic but clean amenities. Changing out of my smelly travel clothes I switched on the TV to find Kung Fu Panda 2 and Celebrity Master Chef, both didn’t tickle my fancy so I aptly switched it back off and grabbed my book.

It wasn’t long before a few hours passed with the clattering of rain on the roof and the sounds of moaning cats and ranting old men seeping through the window above my head. Although this was not ideal, I new this was normal in so many populated parts of a festering developing Asian city such as Yangon. However when the sounds of a loud rock band rehearsing the same song over and over again became hauntingly anal I thought it was best to venture out again.

I fixed myself up as best I could with minimal light and mirror access, and then thought of my plan of action. Feeling lethargic and slightly down I thought it best to just check out the Rangoon Tea House. I had googled it earlier and felt it had my kind of vibe, being a tea enthusiast! Another plus was I was planning to meet people there tomorrow, so it wouldn’t hurt to check it out for myself first. Walking up the stairs to the teahouse I noted a funky gift shop next door that had local artisan handmade crafts from recycled materials. I came across a cool necklace made of magazines and a recycled wallet with a cool design.

After making these purchases I entered the teahouse entrance across the landing. I instantly fell in love with the relaxed vintage feel and a recurring thought once again entered my brain… I’m sure I could do a teahouse like this in Melbourne… I made an instant decision to stay and give it a chance to woo me on its first impression. As the place became busier I decided to sample some of the cuisine and liquids. I was impressed with the flavour and presentation. The unique fusion of local dishes with western influences was intriguing. I also made a mental note to come back tomorrow during the day and question them about their tea varieties and their tea recipes. Learning new techniques in tea service and the development of recipes is something I should really try to take advantage of while I am here.

Whilst meandering away time at the RTH I people watched and noted the mix of customers coming and going. A few westerners were spotted here and there throughout the restaurant. At first I was seated next to your 'A typical' American diplomats, whining about not having their creature comforts and modern day luxuries from back home. Why the heck are you here? I thought to myself, but of course I knew the answer the money. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to endure their nasal voices for long, I moved down towards a cozy corner of the teahouse and buried my head in the menu.

Not long after ordering a young western lady sat in the seat next to me and was then joined by an English chap. Inadvertently eavesdropping I came to discover they were NGOs nearly arrived to Yangon meeting up as recommended by mutual friends. Listening to their naïve but endearing chitchat about life as an expat in SE Asia, it took me back to my first adventure to Ho Chi Minh City in 2007 where I took up my first international teaching position. Wide-eyed and eager for new adventures, I too had been excited with the prospects of a new life in an exotic city. Gazing around the room I also observed the likes of middle class Burmese. This was quite a contrast to those I had come across on the streets of Yangon. Not one person was wearing a Longyi and flip flops as I had noticed was the norm on the streets. Obviously this is the more affluent of Myanmar, those who are used to western comforts and customs.

After filling myself to the brill with Burmese tea, samosas and roti I headed back to my hotel. Navigating back the way I came, I thought to myself, it probably isn’t that safe to be walking along in the dark by myself. So I clutched my bag tightly to my side and avoided eye contact with men walking along towards me. A few would try to say something in English as they sauntered by, a foreigner a novelty to them still. But I continued to keep my eyes down, so much so I wandered past the hotel entrance, which was easy to do being in such a dark alcove behind street stalls. I saw the same man sitting on the stairs I had seen when I had left earlier that day. He was still engrossed in his mobile phone. I found my key in the bottom of my bag pocket as I passed the reception area and smiled at the shy attendant. Ending the day flicking through the 2 English channels and then switching the shite off for a good night’s sleep, thinking okay day one done.