My flight here was with Malaysia Airlines, who are perhaps not top of the aviation safety leagues right now. I did not feel greatly reassured by the Koranic prayer beamed across all the entertainment screens as we took off, nor by the in-flight map compass pointing to Mecca all through the journey. Religious piety, or propitiation of religious humans? I suspect the latter. But even when flying in the name of Islam, the male air stewards are still flagrant homosexuals. Some things never change.
Anyway, after three months of comfort and self-indulgence, finally I feel like I'm actually travelling. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the opulence of plush Japanese hotels and my friends' lovely house in Melbourne. But at the same time, it feels kind of nice to be back in a cycle rickshaw with the dust in my eyes. Burma does not contain a single Starbucks, Subway or 7-11. It doesn't even have a McDonalds. I'm staying in the Millenium Hotel, which is presumably named after the last time it got a proper clean. Sh*t just got real.
Rangoon is like most capital cities in this part of the world: huge, dirty, overcrowded, and perfectly safe. What makes it unique is the total absence of all motorcycles and scooters (the government banned them a few years ago). That and the strange, casual, almost other-worldly perfection of the women. You see Vogue cover girls standing behind every street stall. There must be something in the water.
Other first impressions: whenever you see two male friends walking down the street, one of them will always have his arm across his friend's shoulder. And saffron-robed monks of all ages can be seen everywhere, mingling peacefully with white-robed madrassa students. And the rackety old buses don't have signs on the front: they have young men hanging off the side of the bus, yelling out destinations.
Finally, I'm sorry that the photos below are a bit people-free. I don't like snapping away at people, even in crowds, without their permission. I had intended to get some more human-based photos on my last day here, but those plans had to be abandoned. Just as every rose has its thorn, and every night has its dawn...and every cowboy sings a sad, sad song...every trip to the developing world has a full day spent locked in one's hotel room while one's digestive system temporarily turns itself from a processing plant into a mass-transit system. Sh*t just got even more real.
 |
| Botahtaung Pagoda at dusk, from my hotel roof. |
 |
| Don't try this at home... The Circular Train goes all the way around the city. It's a three-hour ride. And there are no doors in the doorways, so you can lean out and take pictures like this. Ticket price: 200 kyat (about 10p). |
 |
| Snogging. Normally I'm the first to shout 'get a room!'... ...but it seems a shame to actually ban it. |
 |
| Schindler's Lift. Ha ha. |
 |
| Puppies for sale on the street. As a result you also see lots of stray bitches with badly swollen teats. I can handle human poverty and suffering, but I hate cruelty to dogs. |
 |
| West entrance to Shwedagon Pagoda, the biggest and holiest Buddhist site in Burma. |
 |
| Inside Schwedagon (1) |
 |
| Inside Schwedagon (2) |
 |
| Fountain in People's Park |
 |
| Fountain and Shwedagon together, seen facing east. |
