The Country Formerly Known as Burma

Here I was, all geared up to be sure I called the country "Burma" and not "Myanmar." But every person, every sign, every THING I saw there that used the name called it "Myanmar." Continuing to call it Burma, when even the people who live there do not, seemed a little bit silly.

Arrived from Bangkok in the evening, checked into Traders Hotel, and decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. It was only around 8:00 but virtually everything was closed. Even so, the streets - which were very dark, I don't think there was any street lighting at all - were full of people, especially younger kids. A group of them latched on to me and asked if I wanted a place to eat good local food. I was hungry, and they were friendly and trying to practice English ("where you from?" "America." "Oh, very big country."), so I followed them for a few blocks to a large restaurant with 4 or 5 giant covered pots in front. All of them contained the same rice with chicken pieces that looked totally unappetizing. I sat at a table and as the waiter came over, he shooed a large rat away from under it.

First night: dinner at the hotel.

I tried to eat mostly Burmese (ok, Myanmar) food, particularly the "curries," which all had almost no taste of curry, and were not at all spicy. The food was good but lacked the complexity of Thai or Indian foods. I was very careful about where and what I ate, and in retrospect am glad I didn't eat that chicken and rice the first night, it probably had been sitting in those pots all day.

In many ways, being in Yangon felt like walking through a bombed out city that had been repopulated, but not rebuilt. Many buildings are partially collapsed, or have no doors or windows. The sidewalks were in pieces, with huge gaping holes in them. There seems to be a thick layer of black grime all over just about everything (except the temples). It all gave me the feeling that people were left to pretty much fend for themselves, without much help from the government. And all things considered, it's amazing to see how well they manage.

I especially loved the "telephone booths" - a woman at a table on the sidewalk with 4 or 5 circa 1985 desktop phones patched into the telephone lines. People stop and pick up a phone to make a call. You notice right away that almost no one has a cell phone, which apparently are extremely expensive. Women walk while balancing huge bundles on their heads. Men sit along the roadsides with 40 or 50-year old sewing machines: these are tailor shops, I guess. When the internet worked at the hotel (almost never), most of the sites I was interested in - Gmail, Facebook, and Blogger were all blocked. Oddly, though, The New York Times was not. Apparently in Myanmar it's okay to get news but not okay to report news.

I spent several hours in the evening at Shwedagon Paya, the largest and most important Buddhist site in the country. The temples and pagodas are extraordinary, but watching the hundreds of people come and go was way more interesting. Dusk was beautiful as everyone started lighting candles around the circumference of the giant stupa. But it wasn't the "mind blowing" experience the Lonely Planet guidebook describes. Maybe because it felt very familiar to me - a bit like Boudnath in Kathmandu....or sort of like Doi Suthep in Chiang Mai on steroids. (and here's a tip: You must remove your shoes AND socks before entering any Myanmar temple. if you're going to spend several hours at dusk walking around in bare feet, be sure you put insect repellent on your feet. Trust me...)