Today I woke up to nothing. I just woke up. At 4:45AM.

4:45AM

Normally, this would bother me, but Viktoria (who I’ve been exploring Yangon with) and I had decided to arise early in order to experience the sunrise in Bogyoke Park.

Quietly and carefully, I made my way out of bed and moved my backpacks out of the room, into the corridor. It’s a delicate procedure waking up early in a hostel. You don’t want to disturb the other people. I’d already packed my things, so it was just a matter of transporting. Of course, some people are not so forward thinking or empathetic of others in shared dooms; they turn on the lights, talk or worst of all, rustle carrier bags. Evil evil people…

*

“Morning” I whispered.

“Morning.” Neither of us were in particularly great moods: This was an unnatural hour. As silently as possible, we brushed our teeth and washed our faces before getting in the lift and heading to the reception of the hostel.

“You’re gonna have to wake him up” said Viktoria as we stood outside the room.

“Yeah, yeah, I know” I lifted my hand to slide the door open, but things cannot always go according to plan when one travels.

SCREEECH!

Somehow, and I still have no idea how this happened, I managed to pull the door off of its own slider.

“Ah…” At least I’d woken up the porter. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry sorry!!!” He didn’t look happy…

“We’re going for the sunrise and need to check out today. Can we leave our bags here?”

“Okay…” He said, still with sleep on his mind.

Narrow roads, grass, trees and a lake, the park had everything necessary for a beautiful sunrise. Alas, the weather did not want to provide us with such a wonderful start to the day, instead giving us cloud, cloud and more cloud. As the sun rose, groups of about five Burmese stood in circles performing a wake up stretch routine. Over large audio speakers, it sounded as if instructions were being given, but as neither of us speak Burmese, it could have been anything.

We walked around the park a little more, stopping at a crossroads, deciding whether to turn right and try to get to the Schwedagon Pagoda earlier, or straight ahead to see a little more of the park. We decided to walk straight and boy oh boy was that the right decision. In the distance, 40 women were dancing along to some modern pop song (I’m not sure what, sorry) while a young man stood at the front, energetically shouting instructions in English.

“Hands up!’

“1, 2, 3, 4”

“Cha-cha-CHA”

“Sexy!!!”

We left, feeling enthused by the energy of the dancers. It’s fascinating how different cultures deal with the mornings. In the west, we seem to be coffee coffee coffee, whereas here, a lot of people wake up early and start their day. Everyone was all smiles as we walked around the rest of the park and I can only put it down to such activity.

After another coffee (and yes, I’m drinking another one while writing this), we went to perhaps the most famous of Yangon’s sites, the Schwedagon Pagoda. We stepped out the taxi and…

“NO SHOES!” Immediately, a guard told us to take off our shoes. Well, of course we were going to. We didn’t really have much of a chance to do so before this! We ascended the steps to the pagoda with souvenir shops on both sides. Bracelets, rings, trinkets and kids’ toys. The entrance was ten thousand kyat (about five pounds) and unlike in most holy places in Asia, I, the man, had to cover my knees. This meant renting (and later purchasing) a longyi, an item of clothing commonly worn by men in Myanmar. I was very impressed by how comfortable it felt and instantly understood why Burmese men all wear them!

“Ahhhh! My phone is in my pocket.” I’d left my shorts on underneath. Lifting up the longyi, I got my phone to take a couple of pictures, before realising I could slide it between my body and my new garment so I didn’t have to carry it all the time.

As with the day before, we went to Tuesday’s shrine to pour water on the Buddha and the lion and had several photo sessions. It wasn’t as simple as I’d have liked, because, for the first time since India I heard.

“Picture?”

“Selfie?”

“What’s your country?”

Of course, being a blonde white girl, 99% of the time, these questions were directed at Viktoria, but at the end, one woman wanted a selfie with me. The smile I gave in that photo was completely genuine that finally someone wanted a picture with me!

Legend has it that the Buddha gave eight of his hairs to two brothers who were sent to build the pagoda in Myanmar. Whether this is true or not, who knows, but what is for sure is that this is one of the most incredibly pieces of architecture that I have seen in Asia. From within the confines of the pagoda area, it is difficult to get a photo without losing the context of scale. Even when there, one can’t truly appreciate just how large it is from a glance. It’s only when one sees the tiny workers repairing it, that one can understand.

*

After losing the umbrella we’d been lent so kindly from the hostel, we stopped for lunch, sheltering away in yet another noodle house. Filled with a mix of westerners and Burmese, this was an incredibly popular stop and the food was a wonderful mix of flavours. With the rain pouring down outside though and our umbrella lost forever, we hid in one more coffee shop, as we went through our photos and I wrote out more for this blog. From here, we went back to the hostel in preparation for one of the most eventful bus journeys of our lives.

Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed this post. If you have, please share it around. Thanks!