I was glad I booked the earlier shuttle this morning.
Arriving at the airport 2 hours before my flight, I went to check-in to discover that my visa strictly required a proof of onward travel. Thai Smile insisted that they wouldn’t let me onto the plane without it.

In a frustrated panic I purchased a $40 flight from Yangon to Bangkok, which seemed to appease them when I returned to check in.
Funniest thing was, I wasn’t asked for this at any point in Myanmar. If plans fall through I may use it.

It seems you can’t get the train from the airport to the city centre in Yangon. So I jumped into a cab and asked him to take me to the nearest train station on the mainline.
I was surprised at how difficult it was to communicate “train station”. Seems there are plenty of people around who can’t read a map.

Eventually I got on my train, and sweated out the 30 minute trawl through heaving rain to Central Yangon. I think I was chatted up by a Burmese man. But his English wasn’t quite good enough for me to be sure. Plus he wasn’t my type.

My hostel was a tricky find from Yangon Central, up on the 9th floor of some nondescript block, but I made it!

It’s been chucking it down all evening. Must be rainy season here – who’d a thunk. the humidity and sporadic storms and downpours here make Western Scotland look positively Saharan. I can’t tell if I’m drenched through with sweat or with the thick drizzle that seems to ooze from the air itself.

Part of me doesn’t really like this. It’s sticky and it’s noisy, and takes forever to get places and to be understood. I don’t know anyone here and even the food is intimidating, at least to order.

Fortunately there’s a bigger part of me that’s relishing in the sheer difference of this culture. It feels so real, so practical, totally alien. This egg fried rice and chicken tasted like it came straight out of a Burmese family kitchen, which it basically did. Every so often someone looks at me like I’m the first foreigner they’ve seen. This is what I signed up for. It’s terrifying, and I love it.

I spent the last hour wandering around Yangon’s 3rd pagoda, the Sule Pagoda:

A friendly local called Tiang Tang suggested that he was an English student and wanted to show me a little of the Pagoda and Buddhism. Naturally I figured I’d likely have to pay for this somehow.

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Anyway, in Burmese Buddhism, there are 8 days to the week (same as ours, but with Wednesday morning and evening counting as a day each). The day you’re born on dictates your “lucky day”, which comes associated with a “lucky animal” and a “lucky trait”. And a “lucky number” too. Thrown in for good luck, probably. My lucky day is Saturday, which is represented by the Dragon and the number 10. So, I approached the lucky water fountain, took some lucky water (of which there is luckily plenty) and poured it over the lucky Buddha 5 times (for my father, for my mother, for my career, for my fortune and for my future), then the dragon once (for my health). Finally, you ring some bells or strike a gong 3 times to invoke the fortune of the Buddhas. I’m sure it actually works – I felt luckier right then and there.

Whilst I sure learned a lot, I’m still doubtful he was actually an English student. I gave him what I thought the tour was worth (which is definitely more than he’d earn in a shop here) and wandered home, stopping to take one more shot of the pagoda on the way.