Burmese Phase

Today was as unpredictable as Yangon's meandering mean streets. After a breakfast of a banana and a sweet youtiao type thing I bypass advice and information on how to go to town by treading concrete. Walking is better because you see things you otherwise wouldn't, slash stop in supermarkets to ogle the curious items for half an hour only to end up buying a coke zero. I walked Insane Road to Pyay. At Shwedagon they didn't let me in because my skirt was above my ankles. I walked to town, leaving a trail of sweat, starving like a perspirant hungry snail. There was a lady selling tofu pockets stuffed with cabbage and crunchy pieces which is next-level exquisite. I stop at another stall that seems to be selling some kind of samosa ceviche. I took photos left right and centre but my camera is shit and stressing me out. When I reached Sule Paya I got some watermelon. An old brown man with funny eyes starts talking, asking where I'm from. I'm a bit wary but I trust...

I make friends with a beardy guy who says his name is Luviu. He is from Canada, is covered in henna, beads and is wearing Elmer patchwork harem pants. He has just spent 30 days in India. We go to the phone network stall which is called Ooredoo. He buys the SIM card with the biggest data package, and is dismayed to hear that Bagan is the only place in Burma there is no signal coverage. Luviu leaves his e-visa, which has been stamped by immigration, at Ooredoo. I walk and walk because taking a taxi is for the weak and narrow-minded. Also because none of the drivers can read the address on my hostel booking confirmation. It's OK, I just need to get to Pyay Road. My skin is moist and my clothes are sticky. On Pyay Rd I see a market and I'm swept away - fuck the bus for a moment. A woman is selling indiscernable deep-fried shapes which a man in a longyi is buying. The rubbernecked touristy urge to take a photo overwhelms, but oh god I forgot to turn off the flash. They both lo...