From Lancs to Luzon: Kiss Kiss

I’m still getting used to all of the customs around here. The weirdest one being that these crazy fools have right hand drive cars, like we do in the UK, but also drive on the right too! Which lunatic invented that rule? And, until recently, motorbikes were banned here because they were ‘unsafe’. Oh right, but not being able to see where you’re going when overtaking in a beat up old car without any seatbelts is perfectly acceptable.

Another common practice around here is that when someone wants your attention, they make an over the top, smooching, 'kiss kiss' type sound. The first time I walked past a group of taxi drivers in Yangon I thought I was being propositioned. And it turned out I was. But only for ride home.

I mentioned before that the area we’re staying in is a bit of a dump. Well, it stinks too. It’s a kind of vomity/minty/rotting food aroma and it’s constantly present. I’ve taken to breathing through my mouth when walking around the place (a practice I suggest to Joanne after I’ve had a heavy night on the ale). I thought I'd get used to it, but so far I haven’t. The whole of Yangon* isn’t like this; just mainly around here. I’ve found out that the smell is coming from the partially open sewers that run just a few feet under the road. I say partially open as it is mostly covered, but occasionally you’ll see a gaping hole in the pavement and directly beneath it runs Yangon’s filth. Apparently it’s not uncommon for unsuspecting tourists to fail to spot these obstacles and fall straight through them and into the stinking mess below. It would appear that manhole covers have yet to reach these shores. Try suing the council for that around here and see where it gets you.

I paid a visit to Yangon’s main attraction the other day – the Shwedagon Pagoda. It’s a huge, gold Buddhist temple surrounded by statues, monuments and places to meditate. I immediately felt at home there as you have to take your shoes off before entering (a la Waiting Towers). Once you’re in, it feels really peaceful and smells of incense. I was taking some photos of some monks praying around a Buddha statue when two men approached me and asked me what day I was born on. I said Friday and they told me that I had to move because I was stood at the ‘Sunday’ Buddha and that it was bad luck for me to be there. They took me to the ‘Friday’ Buddha and told me that if I poured cups of water over it then it would bring me good luck. They kindly took some photos of me too which you can see below. I’ve since found out that from my Mum that I was, in fact, born on a Saturday. Arse.