A ride to Bagan and Texler. Part 2

I pay the taxi driver and come back to the bus. As I finish this lines we start the ride. What a country. Ah and the driver explains me bikes are allowed. It is motorbikes that are not in Yangon πŸ™‚

There is no toilet in the bus. Suddenly I see that the bus stops and many men are going out. I go to and see they are peeing in the jungle. 

I do not hesitate I go to I put my pants down and squat and pee non stop. I stand up to return and I realised that most men have left. As I am walking back to the bus I see a woman coming. She was in a dress.

I had an internal laugh for remembering Bolivia. “That is why women travel in skirts” I thought then. Now, I truly did not care about squatting, having my ass out. I simply felt delightful I had never asked to pee. 

Everybody from here had asked before. I was just a common citizen. And now I am back in my ride without wondering how many hours it would take for the bus to stop. I really don’t need it anymore.

I am back to looking at the beautiful green surrounding me πŸ™‚ and suddenly I realise the monk who is in front of me is using his Huawei cell phone.

Modernity and old traditions enchant me. My grandma is 91 and sent me today a Whatsapp message to tell me about my posts and to say she misses me and AndrΓ© . She called me from her IPhone on face talk. And the monk, who is dressed in Monk clothes is in his Chinese Huawei cell, he had internet in his phone and he is on Facebook. 

Oh. It has been 15 minutes and we stop to eat. Now I am glad I peed before. It is a huge place. We have 30 minutes, says the driver. I luckily take a picture of the plate of the bus. 

There are hundreds of people here. There are many options so I buy a mango and when I asked a knife a boy takes my mango away from me. I wait 7 minutes and I give up. I go back to the mango vend since I am afraid to miss the bus. 

As I am buying the second one the boy comes after me. The mango is in a box. It is cut. There is fork and a spoon. I am amazed. I apologised. We can’t really speak but he returns the second mango to the counter and the money. They are so nice.

I am also given by the bus driver a kit that contains a tooth paste and some sort of brush. I decide for the fast method. I buy fruits and chips.

I walk back under a blatant sun. I go to the wrong bus. Luckily I have the picture. I walk looking for about 10 till I found mine. It is closed. I decide to stay there under the sun. In not even 5 minutes he arrives and though I am the first to come in. In maybe two minutes we are in the road. So if you come here ” Never be late”. It seems that they are very friendly and punctual.

A couple hours later and he stops again for the toilet. And this time it looks like an Indian bathroom and I am so thankful.  I had cramps last night and thought and put pads, and pain pills in my bag. 

Dear lord never I so needed so much a bathroom like that time . My pants were wet and I put my hands and see I have my period. While I am in a bus I put the toilet paper inside of my trousers I simply use discretion and no alarm. 

So you can look at this picture and think ” yak” why do they have this kind of toilet?. I was amazed they stopped, simply for a toilet. I again never said anything. I went in and remembered India. I Was able to clean myself. Put pads. Wash my hands and feel very happy. 

Another great tip for women is to always have paper and pads in their bag πŸ™‚ and of course, to not be alarmed by the natural process of your body.

I am back in the bus and then there are hills, and it is more dry, old houses, colourful houses. Lots of children walking in the street.
And suddenly we are in Bagan. In order to have Internet I come to this colonial hotel. The Internet is poor so I swim. I am mesmerised there 73 workers for so few tourists. It is beautiful. 

I sit to eat and I meat 3 engineers. They are German, American and Bulgarian. We debate Texler and economics for hours. I guess the Amercan is write I am privileged to be able to be here. He works here. He is right when he says that the power to have choice is power.  But he is wrong about the value of our actions. He sees our life as having no meaning. I see the brief encounters I have had all over as what makes life have meaning. I do not attribute economic value to everything.

Today I will join them to go to the stupas at 5 am to see the son rise. Fellipe Barbosa who is filming in Kilimanjaro will bring a photo of Leila to the mountain and I will bring her a Letter and my prayers.

In my lack of religion I meet every single one of them inside of me. In our deep humanity with its flaws we connect ourselves in the “limited” or non definable amount of energy there is. I will aspire for the inpermanent permanence of the value of single encounters I have had. I am defined by the priviledge I have for receiving and giving an non accountable amount of love, gratitude and joy. What he sees as simple power I see as a gift. Not in the anthropological definition as a contract but simply not definable by language.

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