Unexpected Turns

I’ve been in Yangon for around six months now, and I have moved through the negative trough of cultural transition–everything is too slow, too confusing, no one understands me, why are these systems in place–to a fairly positive and adaptive state of being: I can handle this, I’m learning the language, I can jive with this pace. There are always things that I will have trouble with and always things that I will want to change or improve, but I have found a very comfortable routine.

I have found people that I connect with; I have found restaurants that I love, and ones that I will never try again; I am doing comfortable things and things that I find exciting and new. Since coming back from the United States (where I was during the holidays) I am experiencing myself in a beautiful state of readiness: I know what I like, and I still go exploring.

One of my favorite ways to explore Yangon, and the most common, is the taxi drive. When you get into a cab in Myanmar, you never quite know what you’re going to get. The driving can be erratic or steady, as can the personalities. You might look at the outside of the car and get the heebie-jeebies and then sit inside and be surprised with soothing air-con, clean seats, and fresh scents. You might find ants moving their colony into the shifting column next to the driver’s seat. You never know.

It’s also kind of a crapshoot as to whether or not a cab driver will, A) know where you’re going, B) reply honestly about their knowledge of your end destination, or C) take your advice on directions. Some taxi drivers here are extremely knowledgeable and are willing to take you anywhere, whichever route you have in mind. Others, not so much. The other day, I took a cab and had a very polite, talkative driver. I explained my destination and told him exactly which route I wanted him to take, using all the correct right’s and left’s and road names. I even knew landmarks! He listened politely, said “ok ok,” then proceeded to yell out the window at other cabbies and take his own way. I got to my destination, although my route would have avoided the huge lines of traffic on University Avenue Road. As I got out, he shook my hand. All was well.

This afternoon, as I have been suffering from a recurring bout of sinusitis, I made the trek all the way across town to my regular care physician’s clinic. This trip take a minimum of 25 minutes, and, if timed incorrectly, can have you tired, hungry, and having to pee in 90 minutes of traffic. Fortunately, it is a Sunday and low on the rush hour grind. I made it there, had my consultation, and received the (hopefully) extremely effective medication I desired to bring me back to 100%. As I walked out, I negotiated a cab to my boyfriend’s apartment complex, not too far from the hospital. We started on the route I knew well, but only made it about 50 yards before he whipped a U-turn and went in the exact opposite direction I expected.

Thus began my beautiful sunset adventure.

I am known by my friends to consistently ask what adventures they’ve been having. I consider the word “adventure” to have an incredibly broad definition: a trip to the grocery store can be an adventure, subject to your attitude and your ability to see the unexpected. Similarly, a trip to Angkor Wat in Cambodia can have the air of military hunger torture, provided you have a sufficiently sour disposition and an equally cantankerous travel buddy. In my particular post-hospital adventure, we began by driving through an area I was barely familiar with. The evening sun sank, golden into the treetops as we turned onto a road I remembered having gorgeous nurseries. We drove past with the windows down, the fresh cool air on my face as I eagerly turned to look through one car window, then the other. We passed the Yangon Convention Center. We took a bend in the road near an ornate and mysterious building that I supposed to be part of a monastery. I made a mental note to go back and try and explore all its four floors and filigreed balconies.

Then, we took an turn for the completely unexpected. Instead of returning to Pyay Road when I saw it in front of us, my taxi driver suddenly veered right into completely unknown territory. I had literally never seen this part of town before. It didn’t seem to be part of Yangon, in fact. It was rural and quiet. It had a warm light upon it thanks to the sunset, and that made it magical. I heard chirping insects and saw silently winging birds swooping over small roadside tents selling curries and betel nut. I leaned my head out the window like a dog to smell the cookfire and feel the breeze on my cheeks and in my hair and eyelashes, then cautiously inched my elbow inside when we passed a car going in the opposite direction on the narrow road. We were surrounded by lush green and warm sun and cool wind and I was in heaven. This totally unexpected turn had led to something momentous. This wasn’t just a commute. This was an adventure.

Slowly, we entered a more populated neighborhood and I began to recognize some of the buildings around me. Then, all of the sudden, here was Pyay Road, noisy and bustling with cars in both directions. I felt like I had just surfaced at a pool party. I had spent this infinitesimal amount of time soothed by the quiet of my solitude under the water, and now I had to reaccustom myself to the chatter of my friends and neighbors. A world I thought was mine and mine alone turns out to be populated by 7 billion companions, most of the honking their horns.

Still, even with the noise and hustle of this crowded road, I smiled and opened my eyes wide to the life around me. Rides like this remind me of the beauty of our limited knowledge. They remind me of how much wonder I hold inside me and how unabashed and brazen I should be to release that energy into the world. I look at the taxis in transit next to me and the lovers canoodling at Inya Lake Park and I feel alive.

My taxi driver seemed unaffected by our magical mystery ride. Still, I thought as I paid and left the car, all is well.