Burmese Days: Yangon
A brief history lesson.
In 1989 the military government decided to change the country's name from Burma to Myanmar as a means of expunging remnants of colonial rule. While the U.N. recognizes the name change, many international governments, including the U.S. do not, with the belief that acknowledging the changes legitimizes the government and their authority. To add to the confusion, names of cities and streets have also been renamed resulting in interchangeable namesakes. Political reasons aside, I call the country Burma 'cuz that's what my folks call it. So with our Burmese visas in hand, Edo and I flew into the capitol Yangon, the city formerly known as Rangoon and the place of my parent's birth.
This is the a shot of the taxi we took from the airport. Notice that the driver is situated on the right side of the vehicle like cars found in the U.K. and Japan, which is well and good, but the roads are designed like those in the States for left-side drivers. Baffling. Needless to say, I learned to admire the passing scenery rather than focus on our driver's maneuvers. (A little research has revealed that Russia and Afghanistan have similar driving arrangements; go figure.)
We stayed at a guest house called the Three Seasons, run by a warmly assertive 'auntie' who on our arrival welcomed us with breakfast. For 20 bucks, our room included air conditioning, a private bathroom, breakfast, and hubba-hubba-bordello-hued curtains.
Yangon was blistering.
After breakfast we made the mistake of walking downtown, melting the entire way. We experienced heat in Bangkok, but the heat here was punishing. We were the proverbial ants, frying in the intensified heat as our clothes clung, sodden with sweat. The stagnant air made the heat inescapable yet the locals were resilient; brows dry. Electricity is spotty at best and nonexistent during the day. Windows are kept shuttered, darkening interiors to a psychological cool as folks wait for the mercy of the setting sun. Others use hand fans, waiting out the heat drinking small cups of hot tea at low-lying tables. By evening electricity may return with enough time to fix dinner and possibly stay on through the night, powering fans and air conditioners; only to promptly shut off by morning.
Back to the sweltering post-lunch heat of Yangon's streets, we found my Poppa's house.
My Momma's was simply too far of a trek in the armpitty heat and by that point we got the feel for the old 'hood. We retreated to our hotel room for air conditioned relief and ventured our later to take in Shwedegon Paya, the Momma-of-All-Pagodas.
The holiest of Buddhist pagodas in Burma, Shwedagon is situated on a hill where it can be seen from anywhere in Yangon. There are four approaches, one for each of the cardinal directions, we came up from the south up a long covered stairwell and emerged to this:
We had dinner at Kandawgyi Lake where I took the ubiquitous tourist sunset shot, Shwedagon is on the left.
A brief history lesson.
In 1989 the military government decided to change the country's name from Burma to Myanmar as a means of expunging remnants of colonial rule. While the U.N. recognizes the name change, many international governments, including the U.S. do not, with the belief that acknowledging the changes legitimizes the government and their authority. To add to the confusion, names of cities and streets have also been renamed resulting in interchangeable namesakes. Political reasons aside, I call the country Burma 'cuz that's what my folks call it. So with our Burmese visas in hand, Edo and I flew into the capitol Yangon, the city formerly known as Rangoon and the place of my parent's birth.
This is the a shot of the taxi we took from the airport. Notice that the driver is situated on the right side of the vehicle like cars found in the U.K. and Japan, which is well and good, but the roads are designed like those in the States for left-side drivers. Baffling. Needless to say, I learned to admire the passing scenery rather than focus on our driver's maneuvers. (A little research has revealed that Russia and Afghanistan have similar driving arrangements; go figure.)
We stayed at a guest house called the Three Seasons, run by a warmly assertive 'auntie' who on our arrival welcomed us with breakfast. For 20 bucks, our room included air conditioning, a private bathroom, breakfast, and hubba-hubba-bordello-hued curtains.
Yangon was blistering.
After breakfast we made the mistake of walking downtown, melting the entire way. We experienced heat in Bangkok, but the heat here was punishing. We were the proverbial ants, frying in the intensified heat as our clothes clung, sodden with sweat. The stagnant air made the heat inescapable yet the locals were resilient; brows dry. Electricity is spotty at best and nonexistent during the day. Windows are kept shuttered, darkening interiors to a psychological cool as folks wait for the mercy of the setting sun. Others use hand fans, waiting out the heat drinking small cups of hot tea at low-lying tables. By evening electricity may return with enough time to fix dinner and possibly stay on through the night, powering fans and air conditioners; only to promptly shut off by morning.
Back to the sweltering post-lunch heat of Yangon's streets, we found my Poppa's house.
My Momma's was simply too far of a trek in the armpitty heat and by that point we got the feel for the old 'hood. We retreated to our hotel room for air conditioned relief and ventured our later to take in Shwedegon Paya, the Momma-of-All-Pagodas.
The holiest of Buddhist pagodas in Burma, Shwedagon is situated on a hill where it can be seen from anywhere in Yangon. There are four approaches, one for each of the cardinal directions, we came up from the south up a long covered stairwell and emerged to this:
We had dinner at Kandawgyi Lake where I took the ubiquitous tourist sunset shot, Shwedagon is on the left.
I left Yangon ambivalent; glad to witness my parent's humble beginnings yet eager to move on; appreciative of a simpler way of life while missing the conveniences of my privilege.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteawesome tee.
ReplyDeleteI imagined a young poppa standing on the steps in your spot. You really do look like dad.
i can't wait to see more.
Ah gee...Wee so sweet.
ReplyDelete