As we descend at 10:30p.m., I expect to see the lights that usually accompany a city that houses 5 million residents. There are none. Only a small smattering of flickering specs seem to emerge from the darkness. Between the limited electric power and non-existent street lights, it is not hard to understand the depth of blackness everywhere.
Thankfully my entrance into the Golden Land was uneventful. Except for the feeling of gravel in my eyes after 24 hours of travel, I am fairly awake as I wander Yangon/Ragoon airport to await my VOA (visa on arrival). Yes, after 8 years of waiting, I am permitted in.
It is winter time in Myanmar/Burma although the temperatures hovering in the mid 80’s in Yangon would make you think otherwise. Mosquitoes are minimal until the setting sun and except for the gleaming pagodas, a layer of dust covers everything in sight. Roads, trees, and buildings seem to cry longingly for the rain that will wash away the endless dirt. I truly have not seen this much dust in all of my life. I have wanted to visit for many years and now that I am here, I try to reconcile what I had conceived in my mind to what I actually see. The bright smiling faces are spot on and yet amidst the rubble it is hard to connect the two. Bewilderment is my emotion as I peer through the taxi glass at coifed, clean children meandering through the shifting sand. I will soon find out that I do not fare as well when sauntering said sidewalks. What a lesson for my pampered existence that does not always produce the pearly whites. Like a child drawing in the dirt with a long stick at play, the dust sketches a vivid picture of the years of history that have played out and left this place standing still. I expectantly await the tomorrows of my voyage that will show me what lies under a layer of dust. I will certainly unearth a savored life like I have never imagined.
Shwedagon Pagoda {Yangon, Myanmar}