There is no need to fear. The blood red stains flooding the sidewalks and streets and walls here in Yangon are in fact not a crime scene, but the crusty DNA of millions of people chewing and spitting millions of beetlenuts. Even teenagers’ teeth blend into their gums, so permanently stained are they. And be careful on those sidewalks. Nearly a meter above the oft-flooded streets but only a single person wide, it doesn’t slow down the foot traffic in both directions, and is harrowing every time. Despite that and the fact that I can’t go a single block (or sadly, a single meal) without seeing rats commuting to and from their sewage lairs, I think I love it here.
The humidity hovers always around 100%, but it's not yet raining 24 hours a day, as this wretchedly hot Asian summer floods into an Asian monsoon. The locals are quick to smile, prompted or not, and are perpetually singing. Justin Bieber and Michael Bolton appear to be top favorites, because, America. The tourist scene so thick in other Asian countries hasn’t yet oversaturated this gentle people, and it’s refreshing, apart from the staring and being asked to be in photos, which I am 100% over: it’s been a lot of months being an anomaly, and I’m over it.
The Burmese language sounds like a baby’s curls feel, and to see it written you can understand why. The traditional cuisine is full of sour, bitter, and spicy. Guts are big here too, fried, steamed, boiled and skewered, however you fancy. And can’t forget the fried bugs: don’t taste too bad really, if you can handle flossing legs from your teeth. For the first time ever, I am on a selfie mission. The fruits are exotic in appearance, and even more so in taste. If you’re lucky, one of the locals will teach you which to eat and in what succession to accomplish your fruity yin yang balance. Lest, they say, “It’ll drill a hole in your stomach."
This is largely a Buddhist nation, and as such, it is normal to see monks and nuns, young and old, everywhere you go. Little ones collecting their alms for the day, elders leading prayers. While I wasn’t surprised by the presence of these holy ones, I was surprised by their Nikes, and iphones, and even occasionally, their ipads. I even stumbled into an arcade to find as many little monks running around as I did teenage boys clad in bunny costumes. It was adorable, and disorienting, and not a little trippy.
This morning I’m headed to a remote border town, a leap off the beaten track to meet a friend of a friend. I’m in the domestic airport, watching the locals artfully eat the traditional breakfast noodle dish, wondering for the millionth time this year if the free drinking water is potable. Off I go, to manifest clean water and if I’m super lucky this sticky Sunday morning, a western toilet. Wish me luck.
*I have great photos to share. Alas, I'm not sure there's enough wifi in the entire country to load one of them...
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