Myanmar (Burma)– What consumes most days:
Rising around 4am, to the sounds of chanting monks metallically over loudspeakers, much like the call to prayer.

Lying awake marveling at both the vastness and universality of the world (in spite of sub par internet, our guide recently deleted his Facebook page after he and his gf split and she married someone else. He couldn’t handle seeing pictures of them together, happy) wait for the sun to rise.

The sky starts to grey, and shapes begin to come into focus. The day arrives with a rising chorus of roosters and birds, presided over by a flaming pink orb. Generally we’ve found a vantage point from which to watch- whether it’s the top of an ancient temple or riverside.

“Afternoon is the evil time, the hours the Burmese call ‘the time when feet are silent’.” –George Orwell, Burmese Days

The days are ruled here by the sun, the temperature of the hour.
Breakfast comes in the form of a spicy noodle soup, Mohinga. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m getting away with something, like pancakes for dinner. The pulse of the day quickens and we abide, a lot of traveling to see things, by boat or by land, thousands of Buddhas, temples, pagodas, people and villages.

The people here are what make it so special. Open-hearted and warm. Smiles everywhere you look. People flocking to take pictures with a strange towering blonde foreigner. Afternoon, Orwell writes in Burmese Days (Harper & Brothers 1934), is the “evil time, the hours the Burmese call ‘the time when feet are silent’.” then the day mercifully begins to cool, sun sinking to a more forgiving place.

We retreat in view of it, tucked in somewhere for the night. Dinner is early, and so is sleep. It feels good to set your clock by the source.