The next morning we departed on our little plane to head back to Yangon for just one night. Yangon is extremely depressing -- the streets are so smelly and packed and packed with people. Everyone chews on beetlenuts. I was never able to actually identify exactly what beetlenuts are, but I know this much: they're horrible for your teeth, they stain them orange, and they also stain the ground orange where everyone spits. So everywhere we turned we saw either orange ground or orange smiles. The level of poverty is unreal.
After we arrived, Burma Boy sent me to the market while he…what else?
Haggled. We had decided to leave
Yangon first thing the next morning. We saw no reason to spend any extra time in such a depressing city.
The problem was that my ticket was refundable and incurred no penalty for a flight change. Burma Boy’s was not and would require a $50 payment, which, as we all know by now, he was not going to pay.
When he found me in the market an hour later, he had a victorious smile on his face. The haggler had won. I found myself wondering if the $50 was worth an hour of his time.
We decided to go our separate ways for the afternoon. I chose to go see the Shwedigon paya- the largest and most beautiful stupa in all of Burma. He decided to adventure to see Ang San Suu Kyi, the Nobel peace prize winner who was under house arrest. Originally we were going to see her together. However, I made my decision not to join him after we asked the people at the front desk for directions to get to her home. Everyone went silent and looked around to see who was listening. Then, one of the women at the front desk brought her face uncomfortably close to ours, and as her eyes darted back and forth to make sure she was not being heard, in hushed whispers, she explained that no taxi would or could take us there and once we did arrive at University Avenue, we would have to sneak by the guards. She let us know that no one was allowed to even speak her name in this country. That was all I needed to hear. As far as I was concerned, I’d been adventurous enough for the year. Burma Boy could get arrested by himself. Besides, he would need someone to go to the US Embassy if something did happen.
I made my way to the Shwedigon Paya which is huge and bizarrely sort of looks like Fairytale Land that I used to go to up in Lake Winnipesauke, NH when I was a little kid. It certainly was elaborate, but not that different from most of the other temples we’d seen. And while the Burmese seemed to feel that if you made something gold it was beautiful, I was starting to feel like if you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all…
We had decided to meet back at the Strand hotel that night for a cocktail. I went home and took a shower and put on a skirt and even a little lipstick. The Strand is this gorgeous, posh hotel that's completely out of place in the middle of this run-down city. The hotel is just grand, like a palace. I arrived and felt like Eloise must have felt when she arrived at the Plaza. I also felt a huge wave of relief. They had food I would eat, they had air conditioning, they had big, plush chairs I could sink into and enjoy a delicious glass of red wine. Now THIS was vacation.
As we sat in the bar and ordered cocktails, I finally felt like my flirty self again. I melted into the lavish, red velvet chair, slipped off my sandals and brought my legs together in what I guess one could call sort of mermaid style (legs together, knees bent and to one side with feet to the other). I'm describing this to you because, in my opinion, this is a very lady-like way to sit. I wasn't sitting cross-legged or with my feet up on the table. I just got a little more comfortable. I was ENJOYING myself. And you'll never guess what happened next...
Burma Boy had a problem with the fact that I had my feet on the chair. This time I spoke up. I asked him if he seriously thought I was offending someone by being comfortable. I wasn't flashing anyone, I wasn't spread eagle. I had quietly and cozily tucked my feet into the back corner of this lavish seat.
"Would you put your feet on a chair like that at a nice bar in
New York?"
And I told him yes.
"Yes I would.
I would do it in New York at most bars. I would have sat this way at the freaking Plaza if we'd gone there...I don’t go places where I can’t be comfortable and make myself at home…"
I was just fine…and if he didn’t like it, well then TOUGH.
After several days of barely a sip of alcohol and almost as little food, I could feel the red wine coating my stomach. My head felt a little lighter and my voice, which I had been pushing down this entire time, found itself.
"You're not in charge of me, you know. This is
our trip, and you've been treating me like a child."
And with that, we started talking. But we also kept drinking.
I
think we both said a lot - but I can’t remember much of it.
I do know that some of his points were valid and I listened. I also know that my points were valid. It felt good to get it out - to argue. Eventually, we stumbled home to our little hotel with a little less baggage to take back with us to Thailand the next morning.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle
at
3:29 PM
Labels:
10 Days in Burma,
past,
writing exercise,
yeah...i'm a little bit crazy
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