The power is out for our block and our guesthouse doesn’t have a generator. This is the hot and humid realy real guys.
But in the darkness, speckled with lights of businesses with a generator and cars driving by, city folk are still honking and beeping away, life continually moving on despite the lack of infrastructure. Plenty of kids and city folks were already out socializing in the steets, since it’s cooler at night, and the power being out made it even more likely that folks would want escape their apartments now that there’s no air conditioning. The yelling and shouting of business and joy still wafs through the halls of my guesthouse from the street.
I’ve had a good time here in Yangon, but I’ll be glad to be back in Singapore tomorrow. I’ve enjoyed the impromptu dance festivals led by loudspeakers set on rickshaws with colorful men dressed in flowers and pink. I’ve laughed at the fact that, even in a culture where their clothing of choice is only a circular sheet of fabric (longyis), women still have four times as many options as men. I’ve appreciated the speed of service in all the restaurants I’ve eaten at here, with servers dropping off and clearing out dishes from under my nose before I even thought I’d wanted them to. And I’ve loved hearing the sounds, the multitude of sounds that percuss the air, from the clanging of coins in alms buckets to hawking vendors practically singing their monotone advertisements.