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Woman in a market in Inle Lake, Myanmar. She does NOT accept credit cards, although maybe Venmo.
I thought I would write a quick post about the current money situation in Myanmar as of June 2015 as before I left I found information on the Internet and in my guidebook to be confusing and often out-of-date.
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Temples in Bagan, Myanmar (Burma)
Yes, there's been a bit of a delay since my last post as my second week in Myanmar was a real blur and I'm already back in Thailand. Myanmar, first of all, was totally incredible, and I found myself really regretting I didn't allow at least three or the entire 28 days of my visa to see the country as there were places I didn't get to in my mere two weeks time. But, I guess that's what happens when you travel; inevitably you're going to get things wrong.
Getting to Bagan was an easy trip; my minivan left on time and made the five hour journey quickly from Mandalay to Bagan, all of it on the main roads which were no more than a thin black ribbon undulating up and down across the gentle hills we followed to get there. It turned out the other three foreigners were all heading to the same hostel, so it made life easy for the truck driver at the end (Myanmar, like Thailand, also loves its songtheauws, although maybe they go by another name there).
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Women watch a soccer game in a restaurant in Yangon, Myanmar
I have been really excited about the portion of Myanmar on this trip, perhaps more excited about it than any other country on the trip (with the exception of Sri Lanka, which I'll be going to in July). I only blocked off two weeks here, and of course am wishing I blocked off three, as there is plenty to see and do. But, live and learn, I guess; that is the trouble with planning things requiring air plane tickets as you get kind of locked in to a certain itinerary (which is why I was so long in Vietnam, for example).
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Oh, Thailand. Just when I was about to go off and write a mean post about you, you've gone and redeemed yourself with laidback, gorgeous Krabi.
You see, I was going to write a long diatribe where I would tell a tale about going to Pizzeria Uno on Lombard Street when I was 7 or 8 with my dad, in which I was served sour milk and our food took forever to arrive and was, by my dad's standards, completely unpar, and he made us leave the meal early and had calm-but-stern words for the management and explained to me in the car ride home what a "tourist trap" was and how bad businesses might prey on innocent visitors who don't know any better and serve them subpar deep dish and sour milk, but good businesses can't get away with that because no one -- and definitely not anyone in our family -- will ever go back.
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