SIMPLY (t)RAVELLING

Mingalabar, Myanmar!

 

That’s “Hello” in Burmese. The first word that slipped out from my mouth – more of a whisper actually; as the metal bird that flew us from Kuala Lumpur touched down safely at Yangon International Airport, the country’s main hub to the outside world. While others rushed for their belongings, I streched myself (really needed that after 3 hours seating straight) and glimpsed through the oval, multi-layered plexiglass window. The modern airport stood in silence  amidst the dry and dusty air. It was almost 5.00pm local time and the sun was about to set, thus a hint of red and orange over the horizon. I grabbed my sling bag, put it around my shoulder and quickly followed DH to the exit.

 

Flight AK850 to Yangon.

 

As we were approaching the city, the green landscape changed drastically into dry and dusty land.

 

Yangon International Airport.

 

Stepping out from the jet bridge we landed into the newish and spartan interior of the airport, and tailed the others to the arrival hall. Immigration was smooth, and as we passed the gate I immediately saw a man in sarong holding signage with my name on it. The guest house that we had pre-booked provided free pickup service from the airport, and that’s great considering we were on tight budget. Every single fresh and crisp dollar was like gold to us, as non-perfect bills are worthless in Burma. Ridiculous, we thought  as money still worth the same no matter how they look but that’s not the case in Burma. Money itself being traded here in the black market, and their values depreciate likewise.

 

Men in sarongs, or Longyi. It is the country’s traditional dress worn by both man and woman alike, differentiated by the patterns. Geometrical shapes and checkered are preferred by men, and certainly flower motifs are typical to the ladies.  Similar to our own ‘kain pelikat‘ and ‘kain batik’ worn by Malaysian Malays respectively, only that we wear them at home. Being an official attire nationwide; the longyis are considered by Burmese a versatile fashion for work, at school and if you go out on a date. Since it does not come together with a pocket, wallets and cell phones are simply tucked at the side. In fact on our second night in Yangon, the aircond in our room suddenly at fault and when the electrician arrived we were not surprised to see that he’s equipped with all the tools he needed, snugged nicely around his waist. Talking about screwdrivers, pliers, hammer and what’s not.

 

Locals in longyis waiting outside the airport terminal.

 

The driver took us, together with another Canadian couple to his van parked outside. It was a poor thing, the van, tired looking with patches of dusts here and there. In fact most of the vehicles in Burma are old and shabby, but still working good. And like most vehicles in Burma, our transport was not equipped with air condition. But that was nothing really, compared to the striking fact that most cars in Burma are right hand drives, but at the wrong side of the road.  A bit confusing especially when taking the turn at junctions.

As a former British colony, cars in Burma previously drove on the left until the military government of Myanmar decided to change the rule in 1970. Unfortunately most of the vehicles in the country are right hand drives, as they are mostly second-hands imported from Japan, Thailand and Singapore.  <source : Wiki>

 

Road side eatery in Yangon, using small tables and stools similar to Vietnam.

 

Public transport in Yangon,  packed to the brim.

 

It was almost dark when we arrived at the guest house, a family owned inn outskirt Yangon. We quickly proceed to our room to refresh ourselves, and changed some US dollar to Kyats to buy some mineral waters and bread. Our first dinner in Burma was simply the cold, home-packed rice that we brought from KL.

 

Our room in Yangon. Basic, but clean.

 

Spotted Malaysian made instant noodle at the nearby grocery store along with other familiar household names such as Babas curry powder, and carbonated drinks manufactured in Shah Alam.

 

Dinner’s over, we took a walk around the hotel which coincidentally located near to a mosque and residential area. Food stalls were scattered along the street in front the mosque, mostly selling halal foods and betel leaves. The foods looked rather familiar actually; fried noodles, capati and pratha, and patrons enjoyed their meals in the dark on small plastic tables and stools. Hygiene is doubtful, though.  

 

Street stall selling fried noodles.

 

Burmese swarming the stall selling the local ‘munchies’ – the betel leaf. In fact, in Myanmar it is called ‘Kun-ya’, sounds like ‘chewing’ in Malaysia.

 

Betel leaf operator at Bohtatung road, Yangon. Chewing betel leaves with areca nuts together with the white, stone lime paste is common throughout South East Asia, but not as much as in Burma. It is a forgotten culture in Malaysia, uphold only by very few older generations  due to its cancerous after effect. In Burma it is still a popular habit, more like a snack over some tea and a cheerot.

 

There’s virtually betel stalls on every corner, usually consisting of just a tiny table with all the ingredients laid out with operator preparing the chews.

 

Nothing much to expect at night in Yangon especially if you are further away from the city center, and by 10.00pm shops are already close, the streets are desolate and with not much street lights and ghastly image of old decrepit buildings loomed in the dark,  the area looks nothing more than a ghost town. We loitered around for a while and then walked back to our room for a good night rest.