We arrived in Yangon close to noon from Bangkok, Thailand. The Yangon airport is relatively a new structure. The moment we passed through immigrations and customs, I noticed that majority of men wore skirts which I learn is called a longyi – a traditional burmese cloth worn by men.
It wasn’t hard finding a taxi. Actually, there were so many people trying to get our business the moment we got outside that it was quite confusing. We finally found ourselves a driving to get us to the first guesthouse on our list. We drove what seemed to be 30 minutes into Yangon but found out that the first guesthouse we picked no longer existed.
We look up another guesthouse called Three Seasons and it was a definite perfect choice when it came to guesthouses.
I stepped out of the taxi, hand the driver a few US dollars and looked up at the architecture. I turn to Alba and I said to her, “Why does this place remind me of something?” She goes, “Havana.” I’ve never been to Havana, Cuba but I’d imagine it’d be something similar to Yangon, Myanmar. A country once a colony that closed its borders to the outside world. The cars were older models, no one had cell phones, people circled radios to listen to stories. It was literally traveling back in time – roughly 50 years into the past.