Day One: Chips and Chopsticks

Rangoon is a long way from Reading. Or Wandsworth, Fulham or Birmingham for that matter. And day one was all about getting here.
Our rendezvous at Heathrow terminal 2 passed off without a hitch despite word of the inevitable m4 traffic.
Half term at Heathrow is not a place for anyone in a hurry. And anyone hoping that the 'print your own bag tag' system was a process improvement were to be proved wrong. But if like me you are output focused everyone's bags made it to RAH via BKK.

We were scattered around the lurid pink seating of Thai Air's economy class without knowing for sure who was one of our 20.... But a cycle helmet strapped to cabin baggage was a good clue!

12 hours, 5 movies, 2 snacks and a few complimentary drinks later we arrived in a hot Bangkok. But from the shiny air-conditioned marble shopping emporium that is Bangkok airport the condensation on the windows is the only thing that gives away the heat and humidity outside.

A one hour hop to Rangoon (or Yangon) on even pinker seats and the plinkiest background music ever. As we landed amidst a construction site that immediately gave away the rapid development and ambition of this country we agreed that we'd had enough plane travel for a week.

Immigration was smooth although I'm not sure I'll ever have the chance to stand in the line apparently reserved for disabled seamen again. We were greeted by a very special welcome committee.... The radiant smiling faces of some of the children that this week is all about. 

Pristine notes exchanged for kyat at the rate of $1 to 1000k and we were our bus, greeted by our guides for the week: Coffee and Wallace.  I wonder if there's a Nick Park animation in there somewhere....

Despite the jet lag sleep deprived woozy-ness a few folk joined Crispin at the church connected to the children's home. A joyous, noisy and hot affair by all accounts.

The others headed straight to the Hotel Clover, apparently the pinnacle of the standard for our accommodation for the week ahead.  I sense a welcome return to its relative comforts at the end of the week!

20 tired Westerners was a bit more than the restaurant we went to for lunch could cope with, and the menu of Thai/Chinese/Burmese/Western food along with salads and chips was a bit more than we could cope with in our semi comatose state.  But the food came, eventually. The chips served with chopsticks - eat your heart out, East West fusion.

At 5pm after snatched rest or an exploration of the sadly dilapidated botanic gardens across the street from the hotel we set off for the most holy of places in Burma. The enormous gold Shwedagon pagoda that dominates the Yangon skyline. No building is permitted to be taller.  As the sun set we joined the melee of barefooted tourists and locals to witness this extraordinary complex, shimmering in the failing sunlight and piercing floodlights buzzed by thick swarms of bats and flies - happily well above the reach of the deet-embalmed skin below!

Despite, or perhaps because of, the many people here there was a wonderful sense of serenity and real life all coming together beneath the gold pillars, hundreds of Buddhas,  peanut oil fuelled torches and smoking scented sticks.  People kneeling in devout prayer,  tourists snapping pictures,  whole families sharing dinner from silver tiffin boxes.  An extraordinary place.

No one faceplanted into their food at the dinner that followed,  but after more than 24 hours on the go, no one complained when we headed back to the hotel at 8.30pm. After all we're up and off at 5.30am tomorrow morning.