How I Out-CatrionaRowntreed Catriona Rowntree in Yangon

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1. Enter on a schmick-looking Bangkok Airways flight carrying only 16 people. Look miffed given that one only has six rows to oneself.

2. Make disapproving tutt tutt noises at fellow travellers having visa issues and holding up the queue of two.

3. When accosted by touts and money changers, confound them by acting as an ambassador of goodwill, smiling and replying "yes, thank you, I've packed my white bikini".

4. In the process, fail to notice worried-looking Burmese driver holding up sign with one's name on it.

5. Walk daintily past sweating taxi drivers gesticulating in rusting Datsun taxis and step into waiting 4WD whilst one's (friend's) driver struggles with one's backpack and tripod.

6. Driven to friend's three story house where one is given a room the size of shipping container (complete with ensuite and keyboard).

7. Escorted to a soiree at another veritable mansion to spend the afternoon making close acquaintances with champers and pate.

8. Return for dinner served by house staff at six.

9. Ask friend's driver how to say key phrases in Burmese before accepting his offer to complete all negotiations on one's behalf.


OK, OK, it was a bit of a soft landing, but I did spend this afternoon absolutely drenched, sitting in a bilharzia-infested puddle playing some kind of Burmese backgammon with some highly amused locals. Highly amused because I kept getting my arse comprehensively whipped.

In my defence, I was put off by the lynch mob that had quickly assembled to watch the foreigner take a beating ( doing everything they could to intimidate me, like holding an umbrella over my head while I played, or confusing me by over-explaining the complicated ruleset - highest dice roll wins each round). Besides, they had the home ground advantage. Alright, so there wasn't any bilharzia, but I'm struggling for street cred as it is.

What's ace
- almost no other travellers around
- the vast majority of people are amazing, I've actually been quite touched by their honesty and niceness *sob*
- there's interesting stuff on every street, so interesting in fact, that I'm content to just walk around and explore, rather than taking photos as usual.

What's not

- constantly getting hit up by 'guides' at Shwedagon Paya, even after they've observed you decline four offers with the same M.O before them. "Uh, no, I'm not Chinese or Japanese. Yes, it is possible that I am Australian. No, I am. Really. Uh yes, I know we have kangaroos, thank you. I keep one in my garage that I like to torment by reading Harry Potter to out loud."

- Yesterday, in a sweetened condensed milk-induced frenzy, I dropped my main portrait lens and the rear element popped out. Yes Sigs, I know I'm giving up photography anyway.

What's funny

The "big thing" in Myanmar is a band called Iron Cross, who do a lot of cockrock covers in Burmese of bands like Firehouse, Bon Jovi, Extreme and their (and my) perennial favourite, the Scorpions. Tee hee. "Iron Cross Unplugged" stickers are plastered all over car bumpers everywhere in Yangon. Yes KT, I bought the CD. Yes Meg, it's shite.

Wet Season
When people tell you that it's going to be wet season in Yangon, believe them. A $3 umbrella the size of a small salami won't cut it, I've discovered. Damp is everywhere, even the money smells mouldy.

In which one restores long lost credibility
I'm off on an arduous bus ride north to Mandalay this evening. No one can tell me how long it will take. Hope the maid's done my laundry by the time I leave.

P.S. To everyone writing to say that CR isn't that bad and that I should just grow up - take a careful look at the premeditated head slant. Ugh...

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Photos

Shwedagon
I've never seen a photo that does this place justice.

Government Service Workers
Pavements in Yangon are in terrible shape. But that's OK because I think one of my legs is shorter than the other.