Neon Buddhas

Thankfully, today's seven-hour bus ride will be my last in Myanmar. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the guy's ass pressed against my shoulders, and the baby pressed against my legs. When I got to Yangon's Bamboo Bus Station, I was annoyed with the other tourists and the agressive taxi drivers, so I followed the Burmese people to the local busses, and asked which one went to Sule Paya. I had to stand most of the way, and the bus was incredibly crowded. I also had to put up with the rudeness of Asian people, and a total lack of personal space. If somebody is going to vacate a seat behind you, instead of letting you know, somebody will just push past you so they can have the seat. But instead of paying $4 for a taxi, it cost me two cents.

After a guy told me to get off too early at the worst possible place, the packed sidewalk market, I was in a pissy mood. Nobody appologizes in Asia, so nothing slowed me down as I fought through the crowds wearing my backpack, bumping into people, and knocking baskets off women's heads. The Golden Smile was full, so I ended up at the White House Hotel, which is neither white, nor a house. I was so tired I fell asleep for three hours.