Colonial Rangoon

Taking our first steps into the Yangon International airport had us ripe with excitement. Only a few weeks earlier we had quickly told our friend Cit-ta's mom we were considering going to Burma. Not really knowing anything about Burma we had no clue what would lay ahead. To be honest we probably wouldn't even have come out here if she didn't get the ball rolling. Before we knew it she was on the phone calling the embassy to see their hours and what paperwork we needed to apply. Two hours later we had our letter of intent written and printed ready to be dropped off.

So here we are, a month later in downtown Yangon, a city of over 4 milion with one of the greatest concentration of British colonial buildings in the region. What catches your attention at first is the wide boulevards, then the lack of the usual Asian traffic: where are the motorbikes? The story goes; A top govermental official collided with a motorbiker then banned all motorbikes from Yangon. I guess that's what happens when you have a corrupt military running your goverment.

The few days we spent in the city had us wondering the random avenues looking at the beautiful but dilapidated archicture, shopping from street front book vendors, visiting inner city temples and soaking up all the lovely smiles and inquisitive looks from locals. Within a few hours of arriving we knew this country was going to be special. Although, we still had no real clue what lied ahead.