Madventures/Blog

Situation normal, all fucked up…

Our entry to Myanmar had gone almost immaculately. Before entering we had broken the smaller camera into even more miniscule particles and hid the pieces inside the seams of our clothes, hidden pockets of our backpacks and various body cavities better left unnamed. The border patrol gave us the stink-eye, the sort of unwelcoming stare usually reserved for the uninvited hobos hovering about one’s property. But in the end, it went smoothly. Well, nearly.

We had made an amateur mistake by not preparing ourselves to the only question this customs bacon was eager to find the answer to – where would we be staying? As always, we had no fixed plans and had definitely wanted to rent a room from a small guesthouse. This way the money we’d spend would go to common people instead of military regime. But in a moment of nervousness and not to raise suspicions, we blabbed the only address that came to mind – one of the fancy and of course government-biased hotels in Yangon.

Next thing we knew, we were on a taxi and on our way to the said hotel. We didn’t want to stay in wherever we were taken, but we had to do it to ensure our entrance into the country and were too jittery to change horses midstream. The cabbie seemed like a decent Chuck, but then again he could have been an informer, for all we know.

Having infiltrated Myanmar successfully we felt confident, hairy-chested and just about ready to punish ourselves with couple of bacas and beers. Then we arrived to our lodgings and we got the fear. Hard.

Something about the room just seemed to scream that we were under surveillance. Tunna started to look for hidden microphones and was quite certain the radio, the phone and the telly-vision set had some parts in them that did definitely not belong to the original design.

So we tried to keep our conversation topics light. Laugh it up, but you don’t know paranoia until you’ve spent a night as an illegal journo in a hotel ran by military junta. We weren’t about to hit the pit because of the slip of the lip.

But inna di lights, we checked out and started searching for new diggs.

We found the most excellent habitation on the 52nd street. This place was called The Three Seasons Hotel. The location was good and the prices are low, so you don’t have to be a coin intended or Mr. Richmond to stay there. Mrs. Ma Hla Hla and her family were very nice people and had more than adequate linguistic skills. They arranged tickets when we wanted to use transportation, rooms were clean and the breakfast was scrumptious.

Always remember: in Myanmar, the money paid to the government supports criminal and oppressive administration.

Don’t be an easy touch – whatever the business, always choose private, whenever possible!

R & T