I learned about a circular train, went to the station, bought a ticket and boarded the
next available train. Unfortunately, the ride wasn’t as interesting as anticipated. I thus
disembarked and hopped on a pickup taxi for the return trip. A pickup taxi is precisely
that and consists of a small pickup with a canopy and benches. Sometimes, one must
share your ride with live chickens transported to the market. The traffic was hectic and
it was better to walk the last kilometre or two.
I passed mothers searching for nits on kids’ heads and liked this intimate scene
between mother and child. Even though it sounds gross, head lice are non-disease-
carrying lice that spend their entire lives on the human scalp. They can’t jump or fly,
and humans are the sole known host of this particular parasite. Onwards, I walk past
monks doing laundry, countless mobile food carts, and street vendors.
What a fascinating world we live in.
Yangon
Understandably keen to collect the passport, I learned the office only opened at 3 p.m.
This left me enough time to visit the supermarket situated in a surprisingly modern
complex.
The area was entirely different from downtown, and one could barely believe you were
in the same country. I bought the necessary and then collected the passport. The
collections queue was long and fascinating. Of course, there were Burmese amongst
them, but the foreigners were highly interesting, both in looks and reason.
Eric was a French-Peruvian chap, who, like me, had no plan and went wherever the
wind blew him. Then there was a French youngster of the hippie-type meandering
around the globe. He planned to meet his mom, who sounded like a free-thinking gal
living in India.