The next stop in our journey was Myanmar, formerly Burma. This country is not a popular tourist destination. Many parts aren’t considered safe (sorry Mom). When I went to Vietnam for the first time in 2015, it was quite the culture shock. Everything was different: the smells, the traffic, the buildings, the street vendors, the humidity. It was like nothing I had ever seen. All this considered, Vietnam is considered to be a second world country (growing more prosperous every year). Myanmar is a third world country. As of 2018, it was the 10th poorest country in Asia. They also hate Muslims. In 2017, the military started forcibly deporting them. That same military controls most of the government. There are a lot of issues with the country, and we unfortunately didn’t go there to fix the country or really help in any way. Except for spending money, if you count that as helping.

Our flight to Yangon from Chang Mai was at noon, the airport was 15 minutes away, we somehow almost miss our flight. In my travel journal I wrote “Life is stress”. But we did get to fly in a propeller plane, which was cool. The arrival in Yangon, Myanmar was like most other places. We de-boarded the plane and found our way to the currency exchange center. The airport was almost eerily empty, but nice enough. We struggled to calculate the new exchange rate then went to find a cab. We tried to negotiate on price, expecting to be ripped off, but the language barrier and lack of knowledge about the price of anything in Myanmar meant we caved quickly.

The drive in was interesting. Up until 1948, Burma was a British colony and the second wealthiest country in South-East Asia. So originally, the country was built to have vehicles on the left-hand side. In 1970, they decided to switch to the right side. Literally, overnight. However the cars they import still have the steering wheels on the right side, 50 years later. That was disorienting, but there was plenty else to look at. Everything just looked run down: the stores, the cars, the houses. There was a nice garden that spelled out ‘Welcome to Yangon’ in colorful hedges on a grassy hillside to our left. But it felt like the equivalent of spraying Febreeze in a messy room to clean up the mess. I feel mean talking about Myanmar like this, because there were parts of the country I truly loved. And other parts, I didn’t…

Many of the buildings were the same buildings from the 1940s. The country has had military regime changes and civil wars for decades stifling its growth. This was apparent as we reached downtown Yangon. The streets were dirty, people were cooking food in the gutters, stay dogs were eating the scraps of food everyone threw in the streets. Every street had overhanging wires and buildings that could use a power wash. Myanmar was similar to Thailand and Vietnam, but a couple years behind. Our hostel was in Chinatown (I guess every city has a Chinatown?) and it was quite nice. The staff were friendly and everything was relatively clean. We were in a room with 8 bunk beds and not much else. We didn’t mind too much, we were anxious to walk around anyway.

We took to the streets, the three tallest musketeers. We attracted more stares than I have ever seen. Like we were either celebrities or had really bad hair cuts. We caught more than a few people taking pictures of us. The city was interesting. Not even in a bad way. All my senses were on high alert, I was soaking in everything I saw, heard, smelt, touched, and tasted. You know, like the five senses. Maybe the high alert was just a fear of being pick-pocketed. Another note from my journal: “Overwhelming”. We maneuvered in and out of pedestrian traffic on the cracked, grimy sidewalks on our way to a restaurant. We didn’t know much about this restaurant. Burma isn’t big on Yelp reviews. Or bars. Or nightlife.

Walking with our hands in our pockets, we found the restaurant. It was an Indian restaurant, and was pretty nice comparatively. I ordered a mojito. It was awful. Food was alright. They had a lounge upstairs that we thought would be a cool bar, but it was actually just dark, empty, and weird. Because of this, we didn’t stay for long. The sun had set, and with no bars to go to, we just wandered the city. Normally, this is one of my favorite parts about being in a new city. But this time I just felt on edge. We walked through a crowded night market, hitting our heads on the umbrellas. We walked by some temples and pagodas. We didn’t really know what we were doing or where we were going so we called it a night.

Throughout the city, there were little stands set up with a single person behind it and several ingredients in front of them. Turns out, the locals makes their own pouches that would be the equivalent of tobacco dip. They take these little red seeds and roll them in a leaf and put it in their lip. The people selling these were not model sale-people, because none of them had any teeth. Not an exaggeration, they were down to gums and a few yellow shards of what used to be teeth. It was obvious why they took that particular job. Being the geniuses we are, we decided to give it a try on our way back to the hostel. Really just an awful decision no matter how you spin it. I felt nothing from it, and my gums ached for days afterward. Not all local traditions should be tried.

The following day, I was very well rested. I had a good breakfast at the hostel. We weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere, so we took our time getting out the door. We approached the city with a new-found taste for adventure. We were ready to give the city a second chance because every culture has something to offer. We walked the streets with enthusiasm, stopping at street vendors, trying food, enjoying the sunshine. When it came time for a meal, we threw our inflated and self-righteous respect for new cultures into the gutter as we walked into a KFC. This was the nicest KFC I had ever been in. They were over-staffed, exceptionally clean, and probably friendly (I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying). The third aspect proved to be a problem as I tried to order a number 3 combo by holding up three fingers. Instead, they gave me three meals. Jackson and Kyle laughed as I tried to suffer through six spicy chicken legs, three fries, and three drinks. I was sweating, my nose was running, and all the napkins were three atoms thick so I used about 600. I wasn’t able to finish all three meals but I certainly tried, which was a mistake. The rest of the day I walked around in the sun with five chicken legs in my belly.

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I waddled out of the KFC and we set course for Yangon’s main market. The market was a lot of fun. There were lots of shops selling lots of things at low prices. Well, they still up-charged the two skinny and one bloated American at least triple, but still cheap to us. What made the market fun was the four foot tall cutthroat sales-person we encountered. She was twelve (I think) and spoke three or four languages. She knew how to identify three rich idiots. She immediately reeled Jackson in and asked him what he wanted. He said shoes, so she tore his off and made him try on ten different pairs. She would say, “Oh you look so handsome in those” or “Look if you’re happy, I’m happy.” Every time we would try to politely step away, she would pivot and bring us to a new shop or have us try something else on. I think she talked Jackson into buying some shoes that had red velvet on the soles. Completely impractical for traveling. The shop keepers would just smile as they watched her hustle us. I’m not even sure how much money we spent but I know it was more than we were planning on.

Later that day we went to the main attraction on Yangon: Shwedagon Pagoda. This is a HUGE golden Pagoda where many locals go to pray and tourists go to visit. It takes at least five to ten minutes to walk around the whole thing. As we were walking around, an older man approached us and wanted to talk with us. Most people to this point just took pictures of us from afar, so this was a new thing. He was very friendly. He walked us around the Pagoda several times explaining the significance of different parts. You can only walk around clockwise. The day of the week your were born dictates which little temple you pray at. He also explained a lot of the history and traditions of Buddhists in Burma. He had us pray in different parts for good luck. Extremely welcoming and made the experience better.

After a while, he took us aside and said he was trying to put his kids through school and asked if we could help. We said yes, and Jackson gave him a few bills from his pocket. We still weren’t super confident on the exchange rate at that point. Turns out we gave him the equivalent of 30 cents. He stared at the money in his hand for a moment and then said, “Come on, that’s all you can spare? You’re American I know you have more than that.” Caught off guard, we scrambled to give him some more money, then awkwardly said goodbye. We later theorize that may have been a costly mistake, but I’ll get to that.

To cool off after a long day we began to search for a place to grab dinner and a beer. We couldn’t read any of the signs or understand anyone, so it was hard to know what type of food they had. We walked down a street/alley nearby our hostel that was lined with restaurants on either side. These restaurants, as was the case with most restaurants in SE Asia, were open-air with plastic tables and chairs outside of them. People shoved menus in our face frantically selling us on their restaurant as we walked by. Most of the restaurants looked the same, making our decision more difficult. We stopped in front of one, mostly because we were tired of walking, and were immediately approached by the employees. We didn’t know one word of Burmese, but in English we asked, “Beer?” Their faces perked up and they parroted, “Beer? Beer!” Then we were all smiling and nodding saying “Beer”, happy to have breached the language barrier.

We enjoyed our beers outside in our tiny plastic chairs at our tiny plastic table. They had a grill with a wide variety of meat skewers. We had no idea what the meats were. We hoped chicken and beef, but we ate them anyway. The employees stood guard and scared off beggars, dogs, and anyone else that approached us. It was kind of refreshing to not feel guilty about saying “No” to people. After dinner we wandered the alley a bit more, stopping for a beer here and there. I lost a bet and had to eat a cricket. It was disgusting. Our wandering brought us back to our hostel headquarters to prepare for another day.

The following day we woke up in the hostel, same as before. A little note on hostel life, while cheap, it’s not very glamorous. It’s possible to ignore how many people have been in that bed before you. It’s more difficult to ignore in the bathroom where you’re afraid of your bare feet touching the floor. That morning I washed my clothes in the shower with soap. I didn’t shave or even wash my face the whole trip. That wasn’t the hostel’s fault that was just my own negligence.

Today’s itinerary featured the Yangon Zoo: The Saddest Zoo in the World. The entrance fee was two dollars, and we kinda wished it was more. Most of the spaces for the animals were dirty and poorly maintained. We didn’t see any employees anywhere. There were bundles of grass by the hippo so I fed him one. No one cared. I have a video of it. It was hard to even enjoy but we walked around the whole thing. We didn’t have much else planned for the day.

We then walked through a park near a lake that was quite scenic. We walked all over for a long time, just enjoying our surroundings. We stumbled upon a restaurant on the side of the lake that looked very nice. This was my one taste of knowing what being wealthy was like. I didn’t even consider the price. We just walked in. With our dirty clothes and greasy hair. It felt like a country club type restaurant were the entree alone would be over $40. That was the cost of our total bill, $40. Including drinks and appetizers. We all had seafood or fancy pasta. That was our most expensive meal so far. We even had big, fancy bottles of water.

That night we took an overnight bus trip to Bagan, north of Yangon. There were several events leading up to it, including finding a cab to take us to the bus station, finding the bus, and boarding it, but everything pales in comparison to what happened next. I couldn’t even jot down notes of it for days afterward because it was too fresh in my memory. I’m not even looking forward to describing it now. That’s why, in procrastinator’s fashion, I will wait. Thanks for reading, stay classy.