Keep Yanging On
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 old Burmese people. And someone who speaks English so well would not have been able to learn if he were poor and needy. [edit: this is really mean]
We go to the Hotels & Tourism Ministry where I'm told I wouldn't be allowed to cross into China at Muse, ugh, even though old man said I could and he says it again. Then we catch a bus to Chauktaga Paya and we go round some buddhist stuff. He tells me 3000 buddhists live there per year. Then we see the giant Reclining Buddha and walk around it whilst it just lies there.
Old Man asks if I'd rather donate 1000 or 2000ks to the temple and I say the former. He comes back and takes me round the side of the reclining buddha temple, where monks laze around, their robes hanging out to dry. Red is a cheaper dye than orange.
Then he takes me to the sitting buddha. He asks me for my 100RMB note, so he can make a wood carving of it, offering 3000ks in exchange. I say 'ummm... the exchange rate is different now.'
He starts getting tired, and I start wanting to be rid of him. I tell him to go and have rest, I'll walk to town myself. He says OK and I ask how much I owe him, he says whatever I deem suitable - 'no money no honey, man.' I give him 2000 and he asks for an extra 3000 'so I can eat' and I oblige but am secretly annoyed, I just want him to go away now.
In the central park I search high and low for a lighter while waiting for Olive. Two guys talk to me, one is nice one is creepy. Olive arrives and I can escape. We go to Chinatown and break into crab claws and drink Myanmars and I have my first tea leaf salad, laphet thoke. On the way back to Yangon Hub there is a big traffic jam so I get off the bus and have another, with corn this time.
The next day, I go back to the market in ___ township and try all kinds of street foods which is my life's mission. There are some young people dancing and doing air guitar to Rihanna for money. In the afternoon, I head to Aung Mingalar by bus rather than by taxi. The hostel queen said he 'thinks' it's no. 124 and after 20 mins or so I am brave enough to clarify with the bus guys if we are in fact headed to Aung Mingalar. I get weird looks of 'err...' and 'oh shit' and a nice lady tells me I can change buses later and they write something on my piece of paper.
I get busteld off somewhere and a nice young man helps me find the next bus. He speaks very good English and politely waits for me to finish shovelling a green papaya salad in my gob before asking about myself and human rights in China. He says Burmese are obsessed with their phones and even knows about Brexit. He would like to travel too.
Aung Mingalar is like a circus fairground with coaches instead of elephants or tents. I am constantly harangued and cross the coach bay like a pingball trying to find Bagan Prince Car. Why why didn't I get it written in Burmese. Some bright spark figures out what I'm hunting for and summons a bell boy to take me. We walk FAR until we get to the agency which I know is right because of all the foreigners. I talk to Belgian Miriam who hated India and broke up with her girlfriend there. I think I would hate India.
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 old Burmese people. And someone who speaks English so well would not have been able to learn if he were poor and needy. [edit: this is really mean]
We go to the Hotels & Tourism Ministry where I'm told I wouldn't be allowed to cross into China at Muse, ugh, even though old man said I could and he says it again. Then we catch a bus to Chauktaga Paya and we go round some buddhist stuff. He tells me 3000 buddhists live there per year. Then we see the giant Reclining Buddha and walk around it whilst it just lies there.
Old Man asks if I'd rather donate 1000 or 2000ks to the temple and I say the former. He comes back and takes me round the side of the reclining buddha temple, where monks laze around, their robes hanging out to dry. Red is a cheaper dye than orange.
Then he takes me to the sitting buddha. He asks me for my 100RMB note, so he can make a wood carving of it, offering 3000ks in exchange. I say 'ummm... the exchange rate is different now.'
He starts getting tired, and I start wanting to be rid of him. I tell him to go and have rest, I'll walk to town myself. He says OK and I ask how much I owe him, he says whatever I deem suitable - 'no money no honey, man.' I give him 2000 and he asks for an extra 3000 'so I can eat' and I oblige but am secretly annoyed, I just want him to go away now.
In the central park I search high and low for a lighter while waiting for Olive. Two guys talk to me, one is nice one is creepy. Olive arrives and I can escape. We go to Chinatown and break into crab claws and drink Myanmars and I have my first tea leaf salad, laphet thoke. On the way back to Yangon Hub there is a big traffic jam so I get off the bus and have another, with corn this time.
The next day, I go back to the market in ___ township and try all kinds of street foods which is my life's mission. There are some young people dancing and doing air guitar to Rihanna for money. In the afternoon, I head to Aung Mingalar by bus rather than by taxi. The hostel queen said he 'thinks' it's no. 124 and after 20 mins or so I am brave enough to clarify with the bus guys if we are in fact headed to Aung Mingalar. I get weird looks of 'err...' and 'oh shit' and a nice lady tells me I can change buses later and they write something on my piece of paper.
I get busteld off somewhere and a nice young man helps me find the next bus. He speaks very good English and politely waits for me to finish shovelling a green papaya salad in my gob before asking about myself and human rights in China. He says Burmese are obsessed with their phones and even knows about Brexit. He would like to travel too.
Aung Mingalar is like a circus fairground with coaches instead of elephants or tents. I am constantly harangued and cross the coach bay like a pingball trying to find Bagan Prince Car. Why why didn't I get it written in Burmese. Some bright spark figures out what I'm hunting for and summons a bell boy to take me. We walk FAR until we get to the agency which I know is right because of all the foreigners. I talk to Belgian Miriam who hated India and broke up with her girlfriend there. I think I would hate India.
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