I Have Been Kicked Out

Yup, I have. Meaning that they really wanted me out of Yangon (Rangoon) – one should always write both names, just in case somebody is not confused enough.

When I checked in at the guesthouse in Yangon (Rangoon), I was indeed very happy to have found such an affordable bed in a dormitory, although I was definitely not prepared to deal with the dormitory type of people: loud and disrespectful. And also young. Very young. Yes, I’ve reached a point in life when people around me start looking way too young. Either that or I look ridiculously old compared to them…

Anyway, I had a great time in Yangon (Rangoon): I visited pagodas where the entrance would cost a local person an arm, a leg and his firstborn, the only thing being that they don’t have to pay at all; I walked around the streets during an incredible heat, the type that makes you wish you were born without sweat glands so that you don’t make a fool of yourself when you stop and, all of a sudden, a small lake appears right at your feet and you try not to look as embarrassed as you feel; I talked to Burmese people, who, if they can or cannot speak English, they’ll try communicating with you no matter what (first question: ‘Which country you from?’ – see, they’re a higher class compared to the Thai ‘Whe you flom?’ Second question: ‘What is your religion?’ – just so you know they care about your spiritual growth). To draw the line: two days well spent. But as soon as I got back to the guesthouse, I would inevitably be greeted with the same questions: ‘You don’t go?’ or ‘When you leave?’ or ‘You stay one more day? Yeah? Really? Oh, shucks…’

What does this mean? I thought to myself several times. Why do they want me gone? Do I dislike them so much? Damned if I know. So when I finally told them I was leaving, they were actually happy, although I think they were happier for them as they were for me.

And the lady with the tickets? Ah, well, she’s on the same page. I tell her I want a bus ticket on the 10^th or even 11^th and she says no. Impossible. Last available ticket: ‘day number 9.’ Crap!

Let’s get one thing straight: the people from the guesthouse were the only, err, how should I put this… irritating people around. (Them and the ticket lady, who was really nice. Only she also wanted me out of the city.) The others were (and are still) exceptionally nice and I dread the moment when I’ll be too tired to smile or talk to them. Hell, I actually spent 45 minutes talking to this guy (he shall have a whole post… or maybe just a paragraph) while standing close to some Buddha statue’s feet… standing! We didn’t sit down, we just chatted away in the temple, me hopelessly waiting to take a picture of the Buddha’s feet while there was still some light outside (didn’t happen), he seriously explaining his life story and inviting me to see his monastery… definitely a paragraph if not two!

Definitely didn't happen!

And the other guy, who accosted me while I was writing emails on the cell phone in the greatest pagoda in Myanmar (Wi-Fi generously donated by I-Cannot-Remember-The-GSM-Company-Name) and, when I answered his how-old-are-you question, he said ‘Oh, you small. Very small.’ How can you compete with that? Huh, how can you, Okinawa 2 Guesthouse people? Yeah, I’m not gonna miss you either.