An old man came up to me. “If you were born on a Sunday, you pour water over the head of that Buddha over there and it will wash away all your delusions.”
“But I was born on a Wednesday,” I said. “Wednesday’s child is full of woe.” I’m full of woe.
“Then you must bathe the Buddha on the northeast corner of the pagoda.” I’m on it like white on rice. “I used to be an English teacher but was fired and now I haven’t worked for nine years,” said the old man. Then he told me which way my guide had gone and I hobbled off to find him, but my guide wasn’t there. “No, he went THAT way,” said the old man. I ran again – or at least I shuffled along really fast. But I still couldn’t find him. But after circumambulating the central golden stupa two more times, I finally caught up with him. Then I met a young woman with the most photogenic baby I’ve ever seen this side of my baby granddaughter Mena. “Can I take your photo?” I begged. That baby was so cute!
At the center of Yangon is an old pagoda, a mosque and a synagogue. There is also a church and a Hindu temple. “But the actual capital city of Burma has moved 150 miles to the north. It is traditional for a new government to always establish a new capital.” Apparently they moved the new capital out into the middle of the jungle. I guess that the generals who run the country want a place of their own. A fortified place?
I took lots of photos of colonial buildings in the downtown. “You will not be allowed to take photos of the British and Australian embassies, however, for security reasons. There is an American embassy in Yangon too but it was moved over to the other side of town.”
This city has lots of trees,” I observed.
“Yes, but 85% of the trees here were lost in the recent storm.”
“Why do the people of Yangon paint their faces yellow?” I asked.
“Sunblock. It’s a 1,000-year-old tradition of tamarind-based sunblock. It’s cosmetic.”
Then we went to the post office. I used to work at a post office in California when I was in college, back before everything was automated. As I watched the packages and letters get hand-stamped, I felt right at home.
Next I went off to the Strand Hotel. “This was the center of British colonial life in Burma until the Japanese took it over during World War II. Then it was closed for a while when the socialists ran Burma. Now it is open again. It usually costs $800 a night to stay here but now you can get a room discounted to $180.” It had wicker loveseats in the lobby. And ceiling fans too.
The cheapo notebook I bought at the Walgreens in Berkeley to take notes in is starting to fall apart. Rats.
I met a young girl selling post cards. “I sell post cards in the morning,” she said, “and go to school in the afternoon. I study English.” Lots of people speak English here. I’m surprised.
Then we drove past the former U.S. embassy but too quickly for me to take a photo. “Now we are off to the Scott Market, named after Sir William Scott. It is very colorful.” Colorful is good. I stuffed about twenty dollar bills in my sock just in case.
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