The skies were dark and it was going to drizzle when we touched down. July was the start of the rainy season but luckily for us, it didn’t rain the whole week we were touring the rest of Myanmar, except for Yangon. At the airport we were greeted by a fascinating sight of locals wearing the traditional longyis and bearing the perennial thanaka tree bark cream. From a mob of taxi drivers, we picked one who took us to East Hotel at a flat fee of US$10. East was affordable ($90 on Agoda), clean, modern and best of all, a stone's throw away from Sule Pagoda in the heart of the gloomy city. I read there's a lack of rooms to cater to the surge in travellers so it's crucial to book the hotels in advance.
I was itching to explore Yangon but L was exhausted from staying up last night to watch Napoli's match (they lost anyway boo) so we had a nap while it rained outside. I was starving and bugged him to wake up. We went next door to Aroma Cafe for an espresso before combing the nearby area for a spot of local noodles. But the streetside stalls didn't look very hygenic even though some of the snacks like the Indian samosas, roti prata, prawn crackers and coconut pancakes looked enticing. We didn't want to take our chances, not with the pork offal hotpot anyway (looked like our kway chup).
You can't miss the crazy-busy Maha Bandoola Road that was lined with goldsmith shops on the right side (if you're facing Sule Pagoda). Every inch of the sidewalk was dominated by a street vendor selling all kinds of useless and useful things. I was quite amused by the makeshift public phone operators and the ubiquitous betel tobacco sellers - usually crowded by male patrons. Then there were the troops of young novice nuns clad in striking pink robes and monks with alm bowls who waived through the scenes seamlessly from shop to shop. It was also a sensory overload to say the least, although I must say there was a certain level of order amidst the chaos. Everyone knew their place and where they were going - except us of course.
We crossed the overhead bridge on Maha Bandoola Rd and chanced upon the Thein Gyi Zay market where more vendors sold all kinds of fruits in season. On display and paraded like gems are neat piles of grapes, yellow ripe mangoes, pineapples, mangosteens, rambutans and apples. The wonderful kaleidoscope of faces and races reminded us that Burma is indeed a fascinating country sandwiched between Bangladesh, China, Thailand and Laos. L loved it as it reminded him of Napoli.
We politely fended off men who offered services from a taxi to a change of money and were near starving before we spotted King Tea House (at 126 Sule Pagoda Road), just a 100m away from East Hotel. It looked decent and was crowded with locals - a good sign. We propped our arses on the tiny low chairs and wolfed down 2 bowls of rice vermicelli with minced pork in fermented bean sauce (akin to Chinese zha jiang mian), a big steamed pork bao which L piled on spoonfuls of oily chilli, and drank the sweet milk tea and fresh orange juice. All for only 3,000 kyat (US$3.50).
