Announcements!

Hi there!

I have 2 announcements to make:

1. I have decided to switch from Blogger to Wordpress (for a multitude of reasons). Because I don't pay for either, I have no way of redirecting this website to the other. So my solution is to just post it here and hope that you'll forget about this blog and bookmark the other one. Same name, different host:

jujuaire.wordpress.com

I also transferred all of the old blog entries over, so you don't have to worry about anything! To be clear, I will be posting on the wordpress blog from now on. Eventually, I will delete this blog.


2. I've always wanted to be a writer for something beyond my personal blogs and now I finally have my foot in the door at a small website called Pink Pangea. It's a travel website for female travelers and I'll have articles posted there twice a month! So if you don't see anything on our personal blog, check out http://www.pinkpangea.com/

Here is my first post: http://www.pinkpangea.com/2016/03/tips-enjoying-japan-on-a-budget/

Yay! See you over at Wordpress!

Introversion in Japan: A Series of Bizarre Comforts

Well, after collecting banal thoughts and scribbles over the last couple months ago and leaving the content-heavy posts to Ariel (i.e. the drudgery), I finally have the motivation to piece together a blog post on what are possibly my two favorite topics: cultural psychology and introversion.

...Although still, of course, not nearly as thoroughly or as organized or as succinctly as I would like - although those who know me are laughing, as they know that’s not possible. Well, this is a post on introversion after all...

As we close up our first month in the fourth country we’ve lived in together, I’d like to think that Ariel and I are getting better at culture shock. However, to be honest this probably has more to do with the fact that we have hopped from country to country in order of increasing structure and ease of living. I don’t think we’ve really been stressed or uncomfortable so far (barring typical work complaints and the difficulties of setting up home that are found everywhere), part of which I would attribute to the elevated quality of life available for introverts in Japan.

While Japan has been stereotypically labelled a land ruled by introverts, I’d have to balk at that assessment. For the most part, there are very high expectations for the Japanese to perform and excel in social situations, much like for those in any similarly developed country. I think we draw this conclusion more because we are accustomed to America, which is such a clear example of an unilaterally pro-extrovert culture, so Japan’s more equal treatment seems so striking.

As I mentioned before, I think the implications of this mindset manifest in ways that make daily life subtly yet considerably more pleasant for the average introvert. I think the simplest way to show this is to relay how it plays into a single weekday for me.

Each workday at our company (and as far as I am aware, for almost every other corporation in Japan) begins with a reading of the company principles. As we work for both a parent company and its subsidiary, this ritual takes the form of two morning meetings for us. In the first, the reading is closed off with a celebratory “Oh!” and a pumped fist; in the second, an overhead clap and fist bumps with neighbors. Initially I found this practice quaintly cultish and charmingly corporate, but over time I have come to appreciate the sense of community and oneness it brings. It seems, to me, an interesting compromise between the desires of introverts (I want to stay at my desk and get settled in before talking to anyone) and extroverts (I want to get up and talk with people to start my day). It’s an overall win for the company, as goals are clarified, announcements are made, and company culture is reinforced. And for me: I don’t have to chat with strangers, there is physical contact that feels bonding but not overly intimate, and I’m free 15 minutes later to settle in with limited interruptions.

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My first several bathroom breaks while working here were spent contemplating the complex etiquette regarding “flushing sound”. Much as it sounds, each toilet comes equipped with this feature to create a sort of white noise in an otherwise quiet bathroom. I myself have been quite shy about pressing “flushing sound” - was this not a tell-tale indicator that one was making sounds that needed to be covered? It would seem not. “Flushing sound” seems, for the most part, to be an introvert’s public bathroom dream. A chance to wash out the world during one’s extended restroom respite, an option to eradicate awkward silence in the inevitability of shared intimate space. Most people press “flushing sound” as soon as they get into the stall, and one can often hear a round of babbling fake toilets as you walk by the restrooms, drowning out the silence. Once shy of the hidden implications, I now happily join the chorus.   

Stepping out of the (always) floor length, reassuringly isolated stall, I approach a set of single sinks and mirrors. After quizzing Ariel on the subtleties of bathroom architecture (she loves me) I think I can safely say that an extrovert would never notice or care that mirrors in every Japanese restroom are divided, yet not having to share a large mirror and accidentally make eye contact with someone else who is admiring themselves or marveling at newfound crows-feet is a bizarre comfort in a series of bizarre comforts that ever so slightly increases introvert happiness without ever marginally infringing on the desires of extroverts. In comparison, the idea of any company in the US ever designing something with introversion in mind is laughable.

After, uh, bathroom trips, we occasionally venture out into the outside world (the building we work in is completely self sustaining, containing a full grocery store, convenience store, and several basement floors of quality restaurants, which is very nice in the rain!) to buy food. Here is where Japan veers into the stereotypical, especially in Shinjuku: the home of the original salaryman. Most lunchtimes eateries in this area are single seating only, complete with my favorite Japanese dining tool: the ticket vending machine. While the single seating can be a little inconvenient when you find yourself halfway across the room from your dining partner just because you really wanted ramen, I’m struggling to come up with negatives to the vending machine system. As these are often located outside of the restaurant, this gives an indecisive introvert basically unlimited time to painstakingly translate all the Japanese with their 3rd grade reading skills, decide on the perfect dish, and proceed into the restaurant with tiny receipt in hand as if the whole process took 5 seconds. Said introvert (who probably only managed to drag themselves outside and face the world knowing that they could carry out this process human interaction-free) may then snuggle up into their single seat with their carefully selected ramen, possibly companion free. I can see how this could be interpreted as introvert-centric, but really these are only some of innumerable restaurants in the area, and thus only a small selection of the possible experiences. As such, the eating options in Japan allow for a respite for introverts, but do not promote one personality style over another. Especially considering that the aforementioned introvert is likely to go on to spend their evening hours at a loud bar drinking with colleagues late into the night, this option is considerably valuable in efforts to maintain sanity.

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While out with one of my Japanese coworkers, she remarked that I, like the CEO of the company, was clearly intuitive. I was struck by this, not simply because so few people in the US would have actually pointed this out, not only because so far in Japan this has been noted several times, but because it was so clearly seen as a normal, positive trait that can lead to success. In the US, I have never been noted for my intuition in a professional setting, and that is part of what drew me to Japan (where I was specifically recruited for my interest in one-on-one interaction and the subtleties of psychology, by a CEO who consistently explained his reasoning as “just feeling”). I’m not sure which is more dumbfounding: the fact that this is indisputably valued in Japan or the absurdity that this will never be valued in the US. And yet, again, Japan has not discriminated, as Ariel’s extroversion is equally valued. Of course, after encountering a country wherein people with talents on both sides of the spectrum are seen as valuable, such an outlook seems obvious. When contrasted with the realities of the US, however, where many of my extroverted friends find themselves rising in the ranks while introverted coworkers often find themselves continually questioning their worth and suitability to the workplace, an appreciation for both extremes seems curiously dichotomous.

So for now, I enjoy the comfort of being a foreigner in Japan (being Japanese, of course, comes with a host of stresses to which I am ever so thankfully not beholden), in a culture that I find by no means avoids or abstains from social interaction and contact, but rather has erected natural ways of meaningful interaction that aren’t quite so imposing. A culture so deeply connected and focused on community yet so respectful of solitude; a place so interdependent yet so understanding of independence. From a socially liberal point of view, Japan could certainly be said to be behind in a lot of ways, and indeed is reminiscent of 1960s America in more ways than one. A positive, though, is the harkening back to the cult of character vs. the cult of personality, which is certainly easy for introverts to romanticize.

Of course there are qualifiers and exceptions and a dark side to all this, but I thought now it’d be nice to wax naively appreciate - perhaps another post for another time!

Our First Getaway

This weekend was our first 3-day weekend here and the timing couldn’t be better. It’s been about a month since the big move and I like to say that’s about how long it takes to settle into a place. Up until now, most of our weekends have been spent running errands to set up our apartment and our life here, including but not limited to: groceries (which is more difficult than it sounds, since this means not only searching for our favorite foreign staples [*ahem* peanut butter], but also looking for the biggest and cheapest places, which we’re learning is quite a feat in Tokyo), getting appliances, attending work functions, building furniture, and attempting to get internet and phones. We’ve been able to explore a little around our area, but this was our first real “let’s get out of the city and jump into a giant pile of nature” trip.

Originally, we were told we would have to attend a conference that Saturday, which meant 8 long hours of sitting in a chair attempting to decipher the plethora of Charlie Brown’s “wahwah wahwah wahwah” teacher surrounding us, but ultimately zoning out thinking about the many paths I could have taken in life and wondering how I ended up with a sore tailbone and a confused brain (or how I ended up with an awesome opportunity in a country so different from my own; it depends on my mood). To our surprise, our colleague who first informed us of this event, hinted, or rather outright told us, that there’s no point in us going and we should enjoy our 3-day weekend instead. Now, normally we are hard-working individuals who understand the importance of presence and body language, which you would gather from our attendance at daily morning meetings. But considering we’ve already sat through a number of endless conferences (exhausting my supply of questions about my greater purpose in life), we couldn’t argue with his logic and immediately looked online for quick Tokyo getaways. One of the great things about Tokyo is how many must-see destinations are 1-2 hours in the surrounding area. Combine this with the ease of high-speed (albeit expensive) transportation and 48 hours after learning of our newfound freedom, we were on a bus to Fujikawaguchiko (“Fuji”, like Mt. Fuji, “kawa” like river, “guchi” like mouth, “ko” like lake; a breakdown that might help you with that mouthful of Japanese syllables).

              This area is popular largely because of its breathtaking view of Mt. Fuji. After hopping off the bus, it was right there in your face, and it was gorgeous. We only got to see it the first day we were there because after that it was mostly enshrouded in fog, but that made it even more ephemeral and majestical and all words magical that one usually associates with nature and unicorns. Another wonderful thing about living in a city with actual seasons (looking at you, L.A.) is that as nature changes and scenery transforms, there are reasons to visit places again and again. This might be old hat to some of you, but for me, multi-colored leaves will never stop being foreign. So with Autumn, of course comes an endless array of oranges and reds and other indescribable colors of fire mixed in with the traditional greens and browns we know and love. We went to a place called Maple Corridor on the northeastern part of the lake, which had a small canal flanked with trees with leaves of every color of the rainbow. It’s apparently a thing in Japan to surround the trees with spotlights at night, which they call illuminations. It makes for a fun new dimension to the view, and we visited this part of the lake more than once during our stay.

One thing I forgot about mountain towns was how early everything closes down at night and starts up again in the morning. Once the sun sets, there’s not much reason to be outside in the freezing weather, so when the warmth was officially gone by 5 pm, there was little for us to do by way of killing time before we could go back to our hotel. I should mention as a side note, the hotel double-booked and we found that out while we were literally on the bus halfway to the town. Their fix was to transport us by van to and from another hotel they owned about 30 minutes away. It was terrible and we were reliant on their transportation to do anything and add to that the driver was an exceptionally talkative man whose English was simply not on par with the crazy ideas he wanted to convey to us. At one point he literally described a pyramid scheme (that he clearly did not know was a pyramid scheme, which reminded me of this "The Office" clip) and after 20 minutes of it, asked us if we understood his business plan. When we politely nodded (considering the fact that we were trapped in the car with him), he said, “Wow, I’m impressed with my English that you can understand me!” The hotel was not owned by Japanese people, which means it lacked the typical Japanese style of high-quality service regardless of price.

But despite this, we had a lot of fun filling our day with many of the activities in the area, including a tour of a sake factory, a visit to a museum of a professional kimono artist, exploring a cutesy European town, and visiting an onsen in the evening.

Julia and I have a lot of fun visiting breweries (after all, what else are you supposed to do in Portland? I'm joking, Portland's awesome), so when Julia parsed through the internet and saw that you could tour a Sake Factory, we jumped on it like white people to sushi. It’s recommended that if you don’t speak Japanese, you bring along someone who can translate the tour for you, so imagine their disappointment when they asked me if I spoke Japanese (no doubt assuming I was Julia’s tour guide) and I sadly shook my head (I always think it’s interesting when people ask me in English if I speak Japanese, versus the times when they ask me in Japanese. It’s like an accidental litmus test to see what they already assume the answer will be). The funny part of course is that he is more fluent in English than I could ever hope to be in Japanese, knowing words like “glucose” and “fermentation”. He constantly checked in with us to see if we understood what he was saying, and always breathed a sigh of relief when we said yes. Halfway through the tour he leaned in to me and said (half joking but mostly serious), “Please. Next time, learn Japanese.” After touring the factory itself, we went out back to a traditional Japanese house and garden that had been in the family for 22 generations. 22! They don’t actually use the house as a house anymore, only for wedding ceremonies and celebrations, which makes sense considering there were paintings and swords (katanas) that were hundreds of years old just hanging out like it was nothing. The tour was wrapped up with some sake tasting and since we are in our mid-twenties now, we felt it was time we be adults and start actually buying things to support the local business (something I’ve always wanted to do, but couldn’t make an excuse to do until I was a little more financially comfortable). So we bought our favorite plum sake and had it that evening in our cozy ryokan, with heater and 5 layers of marshmallowy puffy blankets (insert sigh of content; warmth always wins).

The museum visit was a very unique one and would have made the entire weekend worth it even if we only visited the one room filled with beautifully painted giant kimonos. The artist, Itchiku Kubota, was an apprentice kimono maker before becoming a Russian POW in Siberia during WWII. When he came back from the war, he decided he wanted to recreate an ancient dying technique from the 14^th and 15^th centuries. Considering he had no living teachers to learn from about this technique, his journey was long and arduous and he eventually adapted the technique with modern-day tools and came up with the kimonos you see today. If you’re curious, this is actually the exact video that’s played in the museum (My favorite are the old school Washington D.C. blue bloods). Not only did the technique take years to learn and master, but also a single kimono can take as long as a year to make. His main collections are entitled Mount Fuji, Universe, and Symphony of Light. Essentially, the collection involves paintings that span a series of kimonos (The final count is intended to be 80 kimonos). You can see what I mean here. Even better, like a true artist, he wanted people to really interact with his art, so none of them are in glass cases. You can walk right up and put your nose super close to them and really look at the details of the painting (which is incredible especially if you learn about his process first). He passed away before completing his mission, but of course there are apprentices who are continuing to carry out his vision. Highly recommend visiting this museum if you ever find yourself in Japan.

On par with the west’s obsession with Japan (mostly the U.S.) is Japan’s obsession with the west (mostly Europe; which when you think about it, makes for an unfulfilling love triangle in which the U.S. loses). I say this because it’s apparently common to create a life size replica of a quaint European town smack dab in the middle of some of the most Japanese places in Japan. When we first read about the Music Forest Museum, we weren’t quite sure what it was. After entering through the garden of music, we realized it was supposed to be a little getaway of flowers and bridges and whimsical architecture, complete with a Fairyland and a House of Fragrance. There was a sand art show about Pinnochio, automatic/self-playing organs and pianos, and even a Japanese opera singer.

Lastly, another highlight of the trip was our visit to an onsen (Japanese hot spring/bath house). I’m unsure of my reader audience, so while some of you may know exactly what this is, I want to describe it for those who don’t. It’s basically a public bath house (separated into male and female), where everyone showers in a giant room, after which you get to hang out in hot springs, steam rooms, etc. Think bath combined with spa. Some onsens only have a hot spring, but the one we went to was really big and had a lot of spa-like places you could go, including an aroma room, an outdoor hot spring, a cave hot spring, a carbonated hot spring, and a sauna. I had been to an onsen before, during my high school trip to Japan, but it was a different experience going as an adult. Also, while in general people don’t look at other people (especially as this is a very old and historic Japanese tradition), Julia and I tended to get a few furtive glances most likely due to us being foreigners. As Julia pointed out, you can’t really blame them. It makes sense that a largely homogenous society would be interested in what the bodies of people of other races look like; I know I would if I didn’t grow up in such a salad bowl of cultures.

So that concludes our first weekend trip! Phew, this one took me quite a bit to write. The weekend I was referring to was November 21^st – 23^rd. Still, it was a lot of fun to write about. I hope you have as much fun reading it!

Living Abroad Round 3: Japan

The reason I named this blog JujuAire and not a name related specifically to Thailand was because part of me always knew we’d find ourselves in another country one day, living different adventures with different stories. One of my favorite things about blogging while we were in Thailand was combining the other worldliness of a completely different culture, language, and country with the sameness that comes with every day life. Yes, we got to go outside in 100+ (30+) degree weather, wearing skirts down to our ankles, hop on our motorbike to scoot to our Christian school comprised of 99% Buddhist students and teachers, passing by the occasional monk or Thai street food stall, but when that becomes your every day, it’s not as exotic—and it’s not supposed to be. That’s one thing I’ve learned coming up on my 4th country I will live in for at least 6 months (I’m counting the U.S. here) is that exoticism fades and routine sets in and the beauty of being in a country, language, and culture other than your own doesn’t come from the ooh’s and aah’s of adventure, but rather the comfort (and discomfort) of every day life, no matter where you are in the world; it’s just that those problems change (which leads me to want to talk about why the “First World problems” meme is not only highly inaccurate, but also “others” Third World countries even moreso, but that would need another entry. I promise you that even for children living in the slums of New Delhi, they are also upset about things beyond where their water comes from; we’re all humans.). In the U.S. it’s really easy to buy any food you’d like from a supermarket; foreign or local, but weirdly difficult to buy an iPhone that isn’t attached to a network. In Thailand it’s easy to buy cheap, delicious food on the street, but difficult to find an apartment with a kitchen (or any affordable appliance to go in that kitchen). In Japan it’s easy to buy anything you’d ever need, but wow is it difficult to get home wifi in this country. And in India…nothing is easy in India…unless you have money; in which case everything is easy because you can just hire someone else to do it.

So let’s talk about Japan.

I wake up and there’s a blue fuzzy attached to my eyelashes. After a couple blinks, I can see that they cover every inch of the sheetless bed. It’s the first day I get to sleep in since arriving in Japan and I’m too exhausted to care that the cheap blue blankets we bought to keep us warm have exploded into a frenzy of little blue fuzzballs; this is a minuscule problem compared to the fact that we don’t have sheets or curtains or really anything to make this place a house, let alone a home.

Problem 1: Japanese apartments come completely unfurnished. As in COMPLETELY. We were lucky enough to be provided with 4 things: a bed, a toilet, a stove, and A/C. I’m not complaining, I’m just surprised (Well, Julia wasn’t surprised. She already knew this thanks to her natural inclination to research everything ahead of time and be prepared as one possibly can be. But it’s different reading about it than living it). A little internet search shows that this is a well-known problem all expats have to deal with as they come and go in Japan.

The Plus Side: This means Craigslist is a jackpot for any newcomers, as people try to make their fridge, washer, vacuum, iron, TV, etc. look the most appealing with cheap prices and FREE delivery (but, you guessed it, this also means we already have an idea of what it will look like when WE’RE the ones trying to get rid of our stuff in a year or two).

How we solved it: Well first of all, IKEA. How do I even begin to convey how much of a savior this little Swedish shop is. It was a trek to get there (an hour on public transportation) and though we did our best to research ahead of time (read: Julia did her best to research) about delivery and the like, we weren’t sure if we’d be trying to carry way more than we could handle on our way home at the end of the day. We spent a LONG time in IKEA (9 hours), but it actually felt like a day at Disneyland; a lot of imagining of what the future could be like, a lot of waiting in lines, a lot of exhaustion, a lot of running trying to grab a hot dog before the next ride (er, before the restaurant closed at the end of the day), and of course at the end of the day it felt like our feet had been replaced by a bunch of little stabby needle stumps that we somehow had to walk on until we got home. I guess the only difference between IKEA and Disneyland was that there was no car to pile into at the end of the day where someone else could drive as you slumbered to the thoughts of all the magical things you did that day. I digress. It turned out we could have EVERYthing delivered. Not just the 3-seater couch and the beautiful rug and the dining set, but also the sets of hangers, the 24-pack of bowls and plates, even the tiny rice scooper didn’t have to be lugged home. Besides the fact that this was wildly convenient, I’ve been trying to take note of companies that have clearly been successful internationally and find out what it is they do differently, since that’s basically what our new job entails. And IKEA knows their audience. I learned from Julia that IKEA actually failed when it first launched in Japan, not catering to the fact that Japan likes much smaller furniture, and not being able to compete with Nitori (basically Japanese IKEA). But it came back with an overhaul in furniture (think, everything it normally has but smaller) and affordable delivery of all of your items (their selling point was that you could walk out with nothing in your hands and no worries). And it totally worked.

After that, we needed to find appliances, namely a fridge. This is difficult partly because of expense, partly because we needed to find the time and the free wifi to be able to research the best way to do this, and partly because we live on the 3rd floor of a Japanese apartment with no elevator and very skinny hallways (70cm across). On a day off, after about two and a half weeks of having to buy every single meal every day (not only expensive, but also tiresome, and near impossible to eat healthily), we got lucky and found a craigslist ad with free delivery that very day. 5 hours and some huffs and puffs later and we soon had a sizable fridge and washer, completing the search for furniture and appliances in our apartment. Yay!

Problem 2: I don’t know if I made it sound easy to get wifi in Japan, but this is definitely not a problem I expected to have in a country known for its forward moving hi-tech society. Without a doubt, it’s measurably a thousand times easier to get wifi in Thailand than in Japan, both at home and on a phone.

The Plus Side: There’s actually very little plus to this disadvantage, unless you’re looking at it from the perspective of wanting to “disconnect” and “live wirelessly” and all that crap.

How we solved it: Unfortunately, this issue remains unsolved as of yet. Getting a SIM wasn’t too bad, but it did take some time and some running around. To give the details, I’ll go back a little, to when we first landed in Japan. Since we were coming in on 5-year business visas, we were given a residency card upon landing. It’s like a combination of a passport and a driver’s license as far as importance. We can use this card to prove to anyone that we are legal expats, which makes it so we can get a bank account, a SIM card, health insurance, etc. etc. (unfortunately, this also means we don’t get to buy any of the tax free stuff for tourists). There’s a catch though. Within 14 days of finding a place to live, you have to go to your local government office and report your address, which then gets written on the back of your card and makes it official official. Add to that the office is only open weekdays 9-5 (of course we work every day 9-6) and that it’s hard to find. And, just as a little funny additional difficulty thrown in by life, we live about a 5 minute walk from our station in Shinjuku, but our actual address is in Shibuya, which means we have to travel 40 minutes by train to get to our “local” ward office, whereas we could have walked 20 minutes to go to the Shinjuku ward office. Somehow we ended up right on the outside of the dividing line between the two wards. So weeks in and we finally find a spare hour in the morning to rush to the office, then we go in the evening to get our SIM cards (which takes almost TWO hours of paperwork, waiting, and discussion).

There’s a couple things I want to point out in this misadventure though, the main one being that all of the difficulty so far that has come with moving to a new country is only due to lack of knowledge or ability to speak the language. Unlike in Thailand (or again, God forbid, India), once you know how to do something, it’s pretty easy to get it done. Every single Japanese person whom we have communicated with, be it asking for directions, getting a SIM, reporting our address, has, without fail, been the nicest, most patient, most incredible human to talk to. There is literally no other culture I’d rather be interacting with right now. Yes I still feel the guilt of being a foreigner that can’t speak the local language and is inherently rude because how could I possibly know all the subtle rules I’m supposed to follow, but it feels a thousand times more welcoming than it ever has in other countries, including ones I’ve had the opportunity to travel around. And while there are still a lot of paradoxical things in Japan that are ingrained in history and tradition, there are a lot more things that make sense and have an order to them that have clearly been thought out and developed over time.

Now if you’re still following me on the wifi story, I’m going to introduce you to the saga of home wifi. Let’s start with the good news: unlike the weirdly political, antiquated wifi of the U.S., Japan’s wifi can reach speeds up to 1,000mbps. ONE THOUSAND. You might be thinking, “That can’t be true because my premium Comcast service only gives me speeds up to 54mbps, and the average wifi in the U.S. still only goes to about 24mbps.” And once you think about those contrasting numbers and you realize there is not an extra zero on that statistic, it hits you. “Oh…OH.” WAKE UP AMERICA.

It’s easy to sign up too; just a few phone calls in fluent Japanese, about 3-4 weeks, and a few thousand dollars and you’re there! Okay it’s not THAT expensive, but with installation fees, a minimum 2 year contract, and the whole language barrier catch, we were starting to think it would be better to get pocket wifi. Don’t be fooled by the name, pocket wifi is not a cute little unlimited wifi that you can carry with you everywhere. That’s certainly what they want you to think, but read the fine print and you’ll find that “unlimited” means up to 10gbs, after which it gives you very slow (think 128kbps) internet until it resets again the next month. I had resigned to buying some pocket wifis and changing our internet habits until Julia pulled through once again with her super human abilities to research the crap out of everything. Are you ready for revelation part 2? It turns out that the AVERAGE internet user in the U.S.--someone who streams Netflix, watches Youtube, occasionally Skypes--uses about 300gb of internet a month. THREE. HUNDRED. Now once again I am baffled. Here I am thinking, it’s okay, we’ll just stream one movie a month and limit Skyping and only watch the funniest cat videos recommended by at least 3 people, but even THAT would deplete our “unlimited” 10 gigs within days. So now we’re at a loss, shell out the time, difficulty, and money for our precious truly unlimited high-speed internet? Or get what everyone else in Tokyo seems to be perfectly content with.

Days turn into weeks and we still haven’t made a decision. Luckily we finally have internet at work, and combined with the internet on our phones, our ambition to get home wifi is quickly fading.

One day, in one of the better corners of the internet, Julia found a site run by a man who is happily willing to research all of the wifi possibilities for your address, including things that might already be installed and available providers. Not only that, if you choose to go ahead with one of his recommendations, he helps to set it up for you, being the intermediary and making it so our only hassle is making sure we’re home on the day of the appointment. We went out on a limb and sent our info and a few days later, we were met with a neat little package of an email, detailing all wifi possibilities, prices, and recommendations. Crazy! We found out we already HAD a connection installed in our building, so all we had to do was find a provider and we could perhaps have wifi within weeks, for much cheaper, and in English!

Now it has been almost 2 weeks since I first began writing this entry and I'm posting this at 9:00pm Tokyo time becaaaause... *drumroll please* WE FINALLY HAVE HOME WIFI!

The website Julia found pulled through immensely. We made an appointment, got a modem delivered, and--though all the instructions for setup were in Japanese--we were able to figure out both modem AND router for some official high-speed Internet. Welcome to the 21st century my cyber companion.

Now it's time to put on some Netflix, catch up on all the latest Facebook news, and of course, download Adele's latest album (isn't it so perfect her albums are always released when I'm [almost] the age of the album title? Hello 25).

Myanmar (No Juju, just Aire)

Myanmar is not only a land less traveled compared to other countries in Southeast Asia, it was my first solo vacation and it was during the Christmas/New Year’s holidays. So you can imagine how I was feeling after dropping Julia off at the airport on Saturday for her destination family reunion in Japan. Sunday was spent cleaning (worrying about whether or not this food or that food will rot or expire while we're away, worrying about unplugging all electric appliances, worrying about making the place presentable for a landlord visit that will happen the day after we both get back from our vacations), packing (worrying about bringing things that normally Julia brings like medicine or a hairbrush, worrying about forgetting the necessary documents to apply for my visa or get my room reservation), and reminding myself that I can absolutely do this and there’s nothing to worry about (yeah right). As perhaps an ode to my mother, or maybe a subtle reminder that this is actually who I am and not something I can blame on my parents anymore, I arrived at the bus station over an hour early. That hour was spent mentally preparing myself for the day to come. Here’s the plan: After the overnight bus to Bangkok gets in at 7 am, I go straight to the Myanmar Embassy, where I apply for a same day tourist visa (do I have my two 1x1” passport photos? Do I have my application? Do I have proof that I’m leaving within 24 hours?), then I wait until 3:30 pm when I can pick it up and immediately get a taxi to the airport for my 7:35 pm flight to Myanmar, where I get a taxi to my hostel and call it a night. Of course while trying to avoid being overcharged on any taxi rides, exchanging US dollars for Myanmar kyat at some point, and trying not to get lost on the way to any of these places. But first, a subzero temperature bus ride due to the unnecessary pumping of AC and maybe some dinner if I can stomach it.

Anxiety is a funny thing. It’s also something that, despite the multiple PSAs and psychiatrists and friends telling you you're not alone with the voices in your head and the panic in your heart, the majority of people I meet in life actually don't get it. They don’t get it as in they don’t feel that way and they don't understand someone who feels that way. So for those who maybe haven’t experienced the feeling of constant anxiety (which is often coupled with other psychological factors like developing a fear of going outside or interacting with others, the most common pairing being depression), I’ll do my best to open up and describe just how crippling it can be and the power it can have over a person’s life. And for those who do in fact know a bit about the constant struggle to overcome the childlike desire to run and hide and give up because you’re not good enough, or the voice in your head that reminds you of all the mistakes you've already made today, then I hope I do the feeling justice and I hope you'll be able to relate.

For me, it’s something that I forgot about until my solo trip. I didn't realize that traveling (or just existing) with Julia quiets my anxiety. For obvious reasons, like knowing I can rely on another person when things are stressful or scary. But it’s also because there’s an even more powerful outside force reminding me of the good I can do and the things I can accomplish to counteract the small but seemingly overwhelming inside force that insists that I'm no better than a speck of dust.

Luckily for day one, I had an exact schedule to follow, so it was only a matter of go go go. It was a huge success in the end and I sailed right into Day 2, which was Christmas Eve in Yangon. A couple travelers and I set off to explore the city, which started with the morning market. In addition to the produce, meats, fish, and typical Asian market foods, the central market also sold the most random collection of crap you've ever seen. It would be like if I took all the leftovers at all the garage sales in the world and threw them in one bin with barely any order. There was also the typical questionable food items, but at least this time with the seafood, there are actually rivers and lakes nearby (unlike in India where I wasn't sure where they were getting their fish from and also why they felt it wasn't necessary to put them on ice). After trying some Burmese milk tea for the first time, which tastes like a combination of Thai tea and chai tea, we headed towards the train station to take the Circle Line, which costs $1 and takes you around the outskirts of the city for about 3 hours. It’s a train that locals use, so this would be like going to California and using Amtrak, except of course it’s much more old school, people can get on and off while the train is in motion, and the locals are much more likely to stare at you.

It was waiting for this train where we met Samuel. Let me tell you about Samuel. Samuel’s an elderly Burmese man with fairly advanced English skills who is clearly a former government employee. He somehow has a knowledgeable yet severely biased and malformed view of the world; someone who has perhaps studied the world, but not seen it. He knows a lot about American politics (beyond “Obama,” which is the most common response I receive when I tell people I'm from America. “Where you come from?” “America” “Ah, Obama!” *smiles and winks, has nothing else to say, walks away*), clearly aware of current global issues, and obviously intelligent enough to have solid opinions about controversial subjects. Yet he told me I must not be “pure American” because I didn't have blue eyes (and, I'm assuming, blonde hair). And throughout the ride he continued to ask each of us whether or not we liked “negroes” before scrunching up his face in disgust (I gotta tell you, it’s weird having to seriously answer that kind of question. I mean what do you say, yes I have no problem with negroes? When the real answer is, well I can't really say as to whether I “like” or “dislike” an entire complex and widely varying part of the human race. The things I “like” are Ruffles cheddar cheese potato chips and waking up in the morning before my alarm goes off, so I'm not sure I can adequately express my feelings on “negroes” with a yes or no answer.) Anyway, that’s Samuel, and with the help of Samuel we were able to find the World Peace Pagoda, which happened to be filled with monks reciting their oral examination when we came upon it. Each station had one monk murmuring passages from the sacred Buddhist texts, another writing something down (assessing the first monk in some way), and a third reading along to ensure accuracy. The giant meeting room is inside of a man-made cave and is supposedly where monks from all over Southeast Asia gather every once in a while to conference about monk stuff (with rough translations from Samuel of what the Burmese monk was saying, I wasn't able to catch everything, so give me a break here).

The actual stupa is across the way and was in a peaceful and remote area, which meant casual staring from locals. But the staring in Myanmar is different. It’s a comfortable sort of staring. It’s difficult to describe what it’s like, but I can tell you what it’s NOT like. It’s not the kind of staring that objectifies women or makes you feel like you're there just to be their entertainment. It’s not inquisitive, it’s not intrusive, it’s not vacant, but it’s not constant. It doesn't make you feel like a celebrity, but it doesn't let you feel completely at home either. It’s a novel kind of staring. And sometimes when I can tell they want to speak to me, but are holding back for whatever reason, they'll buy a snack from a passing vendor and then they'll share it with me, which happened multiple times throughout my trip. It’s how I got to try these little marzipan balls, some sort of delicious tamarind flavored treat, and even the rare Myanmar bean (turns out it’s a peanut, but isn't “Myanmar bean” just so much more fun and mysterious).

The next day was Christmas and I think this exchange with my parents during the Skype call that morning pretty much summed up the day:

Dad: Are people doing Christmasy things there?

Me: What do you mean? Like we're saying “Merry Christmas” to each other, but that’s about it.

I decided to spend the day doing the main sightseeing in Yangon, which started with a bus ride to Aung San Suu Kyi’s house (a prominent leader in Myanmar’s Democracy movement, considered a female heroine to the people in her fight to overthrow the current dictatorship, and has been under house arrest as someone "likely to undermine the community peace and stability" on and off since 1990). Pulling the ignorant tourist card (something you only get one of in each country but is widely abused by all backpackers), I had no idea that the recommended visit to her house was her actual house in which she is still being detained and all you are allowed to see is the iron gate in front. Perhaps from afar you can even catch the barbed wire above the concrete wall. I decided to wander into the thicket of grass that surrounded the house where I came upon two young girls who told me to follow them. I wasn't sure 100% where we were going but after wandering through some mud and bushes, we came across an abandoned two-story house. It was a curious place with a beautiful view and some cutesy graffiti reminiscent of the paintings found in pagodas. After hanging out there for a bit, I eventually met the rest of the family, shared a few snacks and was on my way to the Reclining Buddha. It was one of those experiences that felt uniquely Myanmar and reminded me of why, through all of my research, visitors repeatedly said that it’s the people that make Myanmar what it is. This sounds like a “duh” statement, but I personally wouldn’t say it was the people that made Vietnam one of the most amazing trips I ever took, and it isn't only the people that make Thailand such a peaceful getaway of a country. For Myanmar, with an oppressive government, only recently opened borders, and miles and miles and miles (and miles) of pagodas, it’s the random family that offers you their water and snacks, it’s the motorcycle taxi driver that tells you about his goal to earn and save money so he can go to college, it’s the local who talks about what it’s like to be a monk, it’s the kids who decide to hop on your bike and take you around the city just because they want to hang out with you, and it’s the vendor that explains what it’s like to sell something that everybody else sells in a part of the city that doesn't get many visitors; that’s what makes Myanmar.

Saving money on this trip meant a lot of walking and taking public buses, which is often my favorite part of traveling, because it’s when you get to see the heart of a city; things you'd miss on the inside of a taxi. Motorbiking is actually my favorite way to get around, but motorbikes are banned for tourists in all of Myanmar and banned for everybody in Yangon (there are numerous rumors about why this may be, ranging from the mayor of Yangon’s car getting hit by a motorbike, to a drive-by shooting on a motorbike, to just plain and simple trying to make Yangon a less congested city). Because I promised my mother I would eat, and because I hadn't yet had anything since the free breakfast, I stopped by a random roadside food stand. I love these things. They're everywhere in Asia and they should absolutely be a thing in America. They're the essence of the idea that food brings people and the combination is what makes a place come alive, because they're only made up of a compact stand on wheels and plastic stools and tables. They're more temporary than a restaurant, but more inviting than a single stand. And in Myanmar, it’s a given that you're allowed to sit there and only order tea and you can stay there for hours just talking. The only downside of course is that places like this cater less to tourists, so they can’t speak any English and they don't have any pictures for me to point at. After the waiter rattled off the menu, I heard one of the food items was “khao soi” which is a delicious noodle dish in Thailand so I went for it (of course, it didn't end up being this dish at all, but it was still delicious). The portions are HUGE in Myanmar. Almost every meal comes with 3 to 6 sides, includes soup, tea, and heaping piles of rice, and all of these are bottomless. For one meal, I had all of this AND they set down a full rice pot that—not exaggerating—could easily feed a family of 6, in case the head-sized mound of rice in front of me wasn't enough. The only thing you're paying for in the meal is the meat or vegetable you choose to go along with all of this. Another small reminder of how caring and giving the Burmese are, I asked if they had any water and after the kid waiter said no, he ran to a nearby store, bought water, and sold it to me for the same price, smiling the whole time.

After having the privilege of traveling to multiple countries in Southeast Asia, something like this astounds me. That never happened and probably would not happen in, say, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, or Vietnam. So at first it seems like the kindest act in the world. But when you really think about it, you realize it’s the kind of hospitality that comes about when people are just being decent people. Whenever someone would go out of their way to show me how to get somewhere, I knew that I would most likely do the same for anyone visiting my city as well. The novelty comes from meeting people who are being kind just because that’s a decent thing to do as a human being. Is that depressing, humorous, or inspiring, I don't know. But there’s something about being on the receiving end of unwarranted hospitality that reminds me of how much of it is lost in the world. To play devil’s advocate with myself, why should other well-traveled countries cater to the mass tourism that comes into their country? I’m not blaming anyone for NOT dropping everything to help yet another lost tourist on their way to a site where they'll objectify the culture under the guise of appreciating it. All I’m saying is that my visit to Myanmar was a reminder of what it’s like to give and to care for others just because one can. It’s something I live by and hope I always remember to have as a first priority.

The Reclining Buddha is about 72 yards in length (to compare, an American football field is 100 yards) and a height of 100 feet (I did that weird length measurement because of the football field comparison). My favorite part is that I happened to visit it while they were cleaning it. I’m not sure if this information is entirely correct since I got it from eavesdropping on a nearby tour guide’s conversation with a worker, but it supposedly takes 3 days to clean and they only clean it once a year. In any case, it was an awesome sight to see a bunch of tiny monks cleaning a giant Buddha. I had a lot of fun capturing them standing on each of the Buddha’s fingers, or cleaning out the nose, or wiping down the eyeball.

Finally, I went to the famous Shwedagon Pagoda (not world famous, Myanmar famous) for sunset, where I learned about a branch of Buddhism derived from Hindu Brahmanism that I'd never heard of. It’s centered around your day of birth. When a tour guide first asked me what my zodiac animal was, I told him it was a horse. He laughed and shook his head with an added, “Americans” comment before explaining that there are 7 animals for each day of the week plus Rahu. If you're curious about your animal:

• Sunday planet rides on a Galon, the Myanmar name for the Pali Garuda, a mythical bird (the symbol of Indonesia Airline), who is the eternal enemy of the Naga (Dragon).
• Monday planet rides on Tiger.
• Tuesday planet rides on Lion (that’s me!)
• Wednesday planet rides of an elephant with tusks.
• Rahu's planet rides on a tusk-less elephant (tusk less elephants are believed to be more powerful than elephant with tusk).
• Thursday planet rides on rat.
• Saturday planet rides on a Naga (Dragon).
• Kate planet rides on an "Animal of five beauties, a mythical animal with the antlers of a deer, the tusk and trunk of an elephant, the mane of a lion, the body of a Naga, and the tail of a fish.

Sometimes there’s a Friday and sometimes there isn't. I got the day and the animals down but after that it got a bit confusing. As per custom, I went to the Tuesday corner where I poured water over the Buddha image. The Shwedagon Pagoda clearly encourages people to hang out there with an ATM, water, a bathroom, large open spaces, shade and sun, and most importantly, free wifi. In the day time it’s more of a family picnicking area than a temple. And since it was one of the few times I was actually able to seamlessly connect to the internet, I was there for quite some time.

After sunset, a group of us decided to have a big hearty dinner in honor of Christmas, which ended up being my most expensive meal on my trip ($10). It was also the last and only time I drank beer on the trip since it’s relatively expensive compared to other drinks, including avocado smoothies, which only cost a dollar and taste like fatty avocado-y heaven. One of the unique things about traveling in Myanmar is the backpackers you come across, which most agree are of a higher caliber amongst the fratty beer tanktop neon short beer-toting boys of Asia. Since the country has only recently opened its borders, tourists are much more international as well. I often found myself being the one person representing America in a group of 10-15 people, who each were the solo travel from their country in turn. At one point in the night, I was at a table sharing a round of beers with one person each from Canada, Australia, Denmark, Italy, Switzerland, Israel, Ireland, and Holland. No two people were from the same country. I joked that we could have our own UN meeting then and there, to which someone responded that it truly is “like the UN because everybody’s white.” He was kind of right in that observation at least; there were only two of us who weren't 100% white and well I mean we're both still pretty white.

The next morning I had to depart for the bus terminal, which to me was yet another hilarious adventure that is best told in person. I set off at 7am, paper in hand that has the Burmese numbers for bus number 43 (Another moment when I had a glimpse into what a country is like before its boom in tourism, since those numbers will definitely be Arabic numbers soon, if not next year). The first bus I see seems to have the same symbols so I ask the conductor if he’s going to the bus station and he half-nods and quickly ushers me on. Any confidence I had from thinking I got on the wrong bus flew away when 1. I looked at the bus numbers of passing buses (read: interpreted unfamiliar squiggles to try to gain meaningful information) to find that almost every bus had the same two symbols that I thought meant 43 and 2. After about 15 minutes of riding along, the conductor came up to me with a casual, “Soo…where are you trying to go again?” (obviously it was more disjointed and confusing than this, but it was enough to dismiss any hopes I had of ending up where I wanted to go). He eventually drops me off in a place I can only describe as a little to the left of the middle of nowhere. Really just dirt road and two guys staring at me wondering why I’m there. I turn to one of them and ask how to get to the bus station and they send me to a motorcycle taxi who drives straight for 5 minutes and drops me off. Still not sure that I’m even remotely close to the right place, I walk in the general direction that he grunts towards and as I go, people keep asking, “Where are you going?” and then smiling and pointing in the same direction. So as my confidence grows, there are more and more “Where are you going?” followed by basically a “Yep just keep doing what you’re doing!” *walk two steps* “Where are you going?” “Yeah still the same place” “Cool yeah so just keep going straight!” Despite this I inevitably get lost and it takes me another 20 minutes to find a random terminal where a guy decides to lead me to the correct bus. This place is HUGE and there seems to be zero order to the chaos. But as he’s leading me, more and more guys start walking with us until there’s a group of 5 guys surrounding me taking me to the same place. I almost wanted to tell the paparazzi not to take pictures, it was hilarious. If you ever want to be a celebrity, travel to remote parts of Southeast Asia.

Anxiety was a very huge part of this entire experience, which is probably partly why I found it so humorous. It’s not just about having a fear that you won’t make it to the bus station. It’s about trying to remind yourself that missing the bus is the worst thing that could happen, because that fear is actually the least of your worries. Anxiety has a way of taking something quite small and easy to cope with and rolling it down a hill until it has compounded into something way too large and way too heavy for you to carry on your own. When I'm with another person (i.e. Julia), this is fine. Because the other person can remind you that the immovable and insurmountable boulder that you see is actually just a squishy ball or an empty balloon and all you need to do is stuff it in your pocket or pop it to make it go away. On my own however, it’s much more difficult to see it as a squishy ball or empty balloon.

And the grass is always ALWAYS greener. When things aren't in my control, such as being on a bus or other form of public transportation, it feels like, “If I could only just get control over the situation. If I could only just walk.” And if things ARE in my control, it’s a feeling of, “What kind of dumb move was that, this is within your control and you just made a terrible decision. Way to go, if only you could just be in a situation where you don’t have to make the decisions.” We all have different coping mechanisms;  mine boiled down to two strategies: 1. Repeat to myself the realistic worst thing that could happen, because it’s never as bad as my brain is making it out to be and 2. Give the voice in my head a timeout and make it stand in the corner. After binge-watching the TV series Dexter, who calls his need to kill his “Dark Passenger,” I decided to follow suit and give the voice in my head a name, which is “The Talk.” Because it’s all talk, no action. It’s just a bully, and it won’t stop me from doing what the logical part of me thinks is right. I learned from this trip that that voice is never louder than when I am in a completely new environment and I am entirely alone.

Like all train and bus stations in Southeast Asia, there were tons of vendors coming up to people and selling their snacks, drinks, or homemade products. There were also a few nuns asking for money. What I found interesting was that none of them would go up to foreigners, which is the complete opposite of other countries, which only harass foreigners, especially if their children. I’m pretty sure soon enough, they’ll see the benefit in tapping into the hearts of visitors. But for now, it seems they are simply too shy.

I had already heard that it would be difficult to find a guesthouse in Bagan if you didn't already have a booking, but I also heard that if you tell one of the taxi drivers at the bus station that you don’t have a place to stay, they’ll take you around and help you find one for a set price. So when I got off the bus, that’s exactly what I did. How awesome is Myanmar for letting a tourist say, “Yeah can you just take me around for possibly hours and ask all of these places if they have an available room because I didn't have the foresight to book ahead?” and not only welcoming that, but also charging the same price that they would if I gave them an exact destination. AND on top of all of that, they directed me to the person who would be cheapest, which is a cycle rickshaw. They always did that. 3 times I arrived in the city, told them I didn't have a place to stay, and they directed me to the cheapest form of transportation, who then charged me the same price in every place ($2). I got really lucky in Bagan because the boom in tourism has completely overshadowed the availability of hotels, except of course government-run properties, which are incredibly expensive compared to independently owned guesthouses. We finally found a hotel that asked if I would be willing to share a double room with someone and we could split the price. Actually what they specifically asked was, “Can you stay with a roommate? Does she have to be Japanese?” I had to stifle a laugh when I said no they can be anyone. They have so many Japanese tourists that are actually from Japan, so many people working in the tourism industry either know or are learning Japanese, more so than English, Chinese, or German (which I've found is necessary in Vietnam). Combine that with the fact that they cannot understand how I can be part Japanese but not from Japan and you've got me in close quarters with an actual Japanese woman who only speaks Japanese, but hey, it was $10 and I had a place to stay for the night.

The next morning I rented an electric bike and set out towards Old Bagan to see the many, many, MANY temples in the city. I had a general idea of where I wanted to go since there are really only 3 main roads and 3 main places you can be in Bagan. Even someone like me would have trouble getting too lost. There are so many temples in Bagan though that the maps use dots to represent a temple and they are just covered in dots. It’s stressful at the bigger or more popular temples because there are bound to be hawkers, beggars, and other things to get your money. But with so many temples to choose from, the chances of you coming across a temple where no one is around for miles are pretty high. Even during high season, most of my day was spent exploring temples alone. I learned from the first temple I went to that was a bit further out that you can almost always go onto the roof if you find the narrow stairs inside. They’re always steep, they’re always dark, and they’re always only big enough for one person to walk up or down. When I got to the top and looked out, it was astounding. I guess I didn't realize just how many temples there are in Bagan. It looks like something out of a fairytale (I’m seriously waiting for Disney’s next movie to take place somewhere in Bagan, after Moana of course).

After driving around for a bit, I stopped at a temple to watch some men play chinlone, which is similar to hacky-sack but with a small wicker ball (in Thailand, it’s called sepak takraw). I asked if I could play for a bit and while we were kicking the ball around, some kids came up to watch. When I decided to leave, the kids just hopped up and followed me, asking “Where you go?” To which I responded, “…Where are YOU going?” And they said, “Where you go!” After a moment’s hesitation, I shrugged and said why not, so one of them hopped on the back of my e-bike and the other two rode their regular bicycle and we spent the rest of the day going wherever. I felt like Snow White with 3 dwarves eager to show me random temples and walk through various uncharted territories. After a bit, they thought it would be easier for one of the kids to sit in the front of my bike as well as one on the back. If you've been anywhere in Asia, you see this all the time. But here’s a picture to give you a better idea of how I might have looked:

I knew it was a funny sight since I clearly looked foreign with my clothing and my sunglasses (not to mention the bike was obviously a rental with its huge sign on the front), with a kid in front, a kid in back, and a kid close by on his bicycle. I got plenty of laughs and smiles from locals and foreigners alike. I also thought that it was adorable that the kids would switch after every temple. Someone else would sit in front, someone else in the back, and someone else would take the bicycle. At one point we stopped to grab food at a random place by the river with tables set up in the sand. They served two things: fried something or other and sugarcane juice. It was nice having the boys around to finish my meal, making that meal the only one I ever finished during my entire trip. After a few more temples, we went to the boys’ neighborhood, which as it turns out is right behind the temple where they found me. I met the family and their adorable puppies and soon found out that the whole community is a lacquerware community. It seems like each neighborhood has a specialty where every person has a part in the process. When it was time to go catch a sunset, one of the boys, Kungk (pronounced something like “Gongo”, although I never could pronounce it correctly), asked where he could meet me tomorrow and I laughed and asked him how we could possibly do that. Bagan may look like it has many landmarks for the kids, but there’s no way I could go to the same temple twice unless it was one of the main 5 or 6. I was surprised to find that he looked a little disheartened, since I figured he could just meet another tourist the next day. But then I remembered that earlier they told me they were on a 10-day school break and when I asked them what they like to do during break they looked at me and said, “this.” I caught yet another beautiful sunset and head back home before it got cold (it was probably only like 60 degrees, but being used to 80 degree nights, that’s cold).

The next day was more of the same, although there are hidden discoveries inside each pagoda. About halfway through the day, I accidentally came upon the same spot that I had met the boys the day before and as I drove by, they recognized me. I felt like I was in a movie scene as I screech to a halt and they run across, we all high five, and they immediately jump into their positions on the bike. It was hilarious. It only took two pagodas after that for me to feel like I’d had enough so I told them we could go wherever and they decided to go to the river behind their neighborhood. As you walk towards the river, the ground gets muddier and muddier and your feet sink lower and lower with each step. But it wasn't until I took a step and sunk all the way down to mid-shin that I decided I should probably put my camera away. It occurred to me that the mud sort of felt like the kind of expensive mud that one would find in high class spas in the middle of nowhere. Yet another example of the weird dichotomy of finding what the first world deemed as expensive and worth hundreds or thousands of dollars in abundance behind a random neighborhood in another country. You can wade all the way across the river without the water getting past mid-thigh, so I rolled up my leggings and slowly waded across as the boys did random races and splashed about in the water (in their jeans). After a few hours, we went back to their homes, where I learned more about their schools and the things they sell.

I feel like every city has a thing in tourism that they've decided helps them to sell more stuff. In Siem Reap, after asking where you’re from, they would rattle off the current leader, capital, and national language. Sometimes the children would repeat a phrase in 5 different languages, like “hello lady would you like to buy my stuff, see how many postcards I have” in Spanish, French, English, Japanese, and Khmer. India, being the king of harassing tourists, has multiple strategies, the main one for kids being following you around for miles at a time. Well, the children of Bagan would always take out a set of 5 hand-drawn postcards on flimsy white paper. They were adorable in that they were very clearly drawn as a child would draw them, as if someone encouraged them to stick with simple shapes and coloring outside the lines. I thought it was hilarious and adorable, but I found out from Kongk that their local community has them create these postcards (modeled after real postcards, not from their imagination as I had hoped) to help raise money for their school.

The adults have another way of getting you to come to their shop. The strange thing about being a victim of their schemes to sell their items is that I’m not as prepared to say no. India being the first time I've really traveled abroad, I learned from the best how to shut someone down and not get sucked into their selling game. But in Myanmar, everybody is so genuine and the country is still so young to tourism that it doesn't seem like they’re tricking you the minute they talk to you. As a result, when they DO trick you, it takes you that much more by surprise. After helping you park your bike, they’ll usually follow you around the temple, giving you an unwanted tour. When they sense that you’re uncomfortable (like one time when a lady was giving me a tour and then suddenly stopped and said, “Don’t be agony. I can tell you agony,” which as an English teacher I thought was an interesting vocabulary word to know when the grammar was still elementary), they’ll tell you to stop by their shop on the way out and then leave you to tour the rest of the site on your own. If you thought maybe you could slip out a back way, grab your shoes and your bike and leave without them noticing, well they thought you might do that too, and they've taken the liberty of moving your shoes from where you left them and safekeeping them at their shop. If they do manage to convince you to buy something from their shop, they’ll give it to their friend at a nearby shop to wrap up your items. While that friend is putting your items in a newspaper or bag, they’ll try to get you to buy THEIR stuff also. Of course your shoes get passed around as well until you finally have to actually yell no for them to let you go with all of your belongings.

But they’re still so very honest and genuine that I actually learned a lot about their process and superstitions. For example, after a certain amount of time, it doesn't really matter if they sell an item for a profit. If they haven’t sold anything all day, or worse, for several days, it becomes more about breaking the ill luck than making money. On multiple occasions, the vendor would tell me they really need to sell something because they haven’t had customers in a few days and they’ll get so desperate that after pitching an item for 20,000 kyat ($20), they’ll finally say, “Okay 4,000 kyat, I get no profit. Please.” Through this practice, I was able to learn the true price of almost all the standard items sold in Bagan, which are lacquerware products, sand paintings, and longyees. After selling the item, they’ll fan out the money and proceed to hit every item with their money fan, explaining to me that it’s good luck to do this with their first sale of the day. All of this may sound like yet another elaborate scheme to make money, and in India I have no doubt it would be, but it’s clear that it’s genuine, at least for now. So genuine in fact that I was actually able to understand where the trite phrases of, “I give you good price” and “Come just looking, no buy, just looking” come from. In other countries when someone says that to you, there’s 100% an ulterior motive and they are probably 90% lying to you. In Bagan, it was obviously true. The girl I bought my longyee from used the “I give you good price” on me and actually explained to me “In the evening I sell for 20,000 or 30,000 but in the morning I sell for only 10,000 or 15,000. So I will give to you for 8,000. I give you good price” and when I asked her if the color would immediately wash out she said, “No this is good silk. I would not lie to you.” Keep in mind these are all lines I’ve heard on multiple occasions from plenty of people who are definitely not giving me a good price and absolutely lying to me. But she was right. I never saw it anywhere for cheaper and it’s actually really good solid silk, better than many things I’ve bought in Thailand. It’s a different world in Myanmar at this very moment and it’s surreal and wonderful to have been a part of it.

So as you’ve probably guessed by now, I bought way too many souvenirs in Bagan. I usually never buy souvenirs while traveling, but I realize it’s because I always had someone else to share my experiences with. When traveling alone, all I have are my pictures and my words. Having a souvenir makes it more real and memorable when I’m alone because I have something tangible to show someone. Luckily the cheap transportation and all day bus rides allowed me to stay exactly on my budget of $40 a day, but it also meant I no longer had any wiggle room (which of course led to more anxiety, but breathe in, breathe out, it will be okay).

After Bagan was Mandalay. Not many people stop in Mandalay during a short trip because it’s just another dirty city that isn’t defined by any particular charm or site. Much of the sightseeing in Mandalay happens outside of the city and can be done in a day. Due to the fewer tourists, I was treated even more like a celebrity in Mandalay than anywhere else in Myanmar. As per my attempt at spending less money, when I first arrived I decided to walk everywhere, since everything within the city was only about 3 km away max. As I started heading towards Mandalay Hill to catch the sunset, a share taxi asked me where I was going. When I told them I was going to walk, he just pointed me in the right direction and continued to get other people on board. A few minutes later, the same taxi pulls up and he started yelling, “Taxi free! Get in!” My first response was disbelief and a “Why?” and he responded, “Because I want to help you.” After the sunset on the 2 km walk back, a motorcycle taxi offered me a free ride as well. This time, in the most non-creeper way possible, the “why” was “because you are very beautiful” (except he asked and answered the question himself). He even added a tour. “Here is palace,” which takes up about a third of the city and is equivalent to pointing out the ocean while at the beach; “Here is Café City” which was just a random shop where he could happen to read the giant neon sign; and my favorite being, “Here is foreigner” and “Here is foreigner.” He offered to give me a free tour around Mandalay the next day, but funny how that is much less appealing than someone making me pay for a tour.

Mandalay could easily be the next Bangkok and arguably would be already if it weren't for Myanmar being closed off until recently. The streets are laid out in a grid pattern, which makes it even easier to get around than in New York. In addition to the usual building and street number, a hotel or restaurant’s address can be “between 82^nd and 83^rd street,” which are the two streets that are on either side of the block.

To be completely honest, the sights of Mandalay were more of the same, but because it’s closer to an untouched city in Myanmar (as compared to a tourist city), I had more experiences that gave me a tiny insight into what a place is like before a tourist boom; that is, before anybody or anything there has to cater to an economy that thrives off of tourism. Throughout Myanmar, but especially in Mandalay, I got the feeling that it would be weird taking pictures. After traveling to places where pictures are encouraged and welcomed, it was strange going to a place where it felt like taking a picture would be like going to my home town and taking pictures of strangers going about their business. While in Thailand, capturing a monk in meditation or a farmer out in the fields is quite common, it’s obvious the people here aren’t used to their daily lives being a spectacle to strangers. It’s a short jump from looking at tourism in this light to comparing it to the paparazzi; something that you know is somewhat invasive, but you don’t realize just how much until you see the beginnings or ends of it (but let’s face it, the paparazzi is never going away).

I had even more of an experience related to the strangeness behind tourism at the end of the day when I was catching the sunset at U BeinBridge, the longest teak bridge in the world.

This is what I looked like:

And this is where I was:

 And I guess that looked like a very picturesque scene with a Burmese woman in front of a signature Burmese bridge during a beautiful time of day because not one, but two people took a picture of me from a distance and I just didn't have the heart to tell them that I was American. As you the reader may already know, I’m always mistaken for looking like a local in southeast Asian countries, but I've never actually had someone take a picture of me because of it. But more in Myanmar than anywhere else, probably partly because I didn't have my token white person with me, people constantly asked me where I was really from because I don't look American at all. I've come to categorize those people into three groups. So in order from least to most common (which happens to be least to most annoying): 1. People who are just genuinely curious about where I might be from since I look like I can be from anywhere. I tell them I’m American and, satisfied with the answer, they go on their way. 2. Someone will ask me where I’m from, I say America, and they tell me that I look mixed. I smile as a response and this is followed by a pause as they expectantly wait for me to explain why I’m mixed if I’m from America, or maybe what my background is, or anything that will satisfy their question as to why I look Asian if I’m not from Asia. Depending on my mood or how many times I was already harassed about it that day, I’ll tell them I’m half Japanese or I’ll just say, “yes” and continue to smile. Usually that’s enough and they’re finally on their way. 3. The person who refuses to believe that I’m American. “Where are you from?” “America” “Mama, papa? Where are they from?” “America” “No but where are you really from?” “Yup. Still American.” “You look Asian.” “Yes well I’m half Japanese.” “Ah okay see” *proceeds to speak to me in Japanese, “Sorry I don’t speak Japanese.” *confused look* conversation ends. My favorite of course was when the guy then asked me where I lived and when I said Thailand he sat back and said, “Ah yes, you look Thai.” The worst and most annoying part is that once someone has an answer that’s good enough for them, they don’t bother to hear anything more. Any kind of clarifying details as to why I look Asian but am actually from America. Or why I live in Thailand but that has zero to do with my race. Once they’ve got their answer, they’re set. Some days it’s funny, some days it’s tiresome, but it’ll always be kind of fun to confuse people. Because it’s not like I don’t get it. There are many homogenous countries in the world where a person of mixed race would stick out, Asian and European alike. Plus even if we’re just looking at America’s representation in international entertainment and media, most of it is a white person. If we’re going to play a “who’s your celebrity doppleganger” game, I really only have a handful of Asian celebrities to choose from, more now than as a kid but I was always inevitably Lucy Liu. So I’m not saying I don’t get it or that I wish it would stop, I’m just hoping to bring the perspective of a mixed race person to the table, to show how travel looks like from someone who is still white but not quite white enough.

The food in Myanmar was interesting. In some ways it was like India, where they often didn’t have what was on the menu, or you’ll be surprised by what you ordered. My favorite experience with that was when I ordered Avocado Salad while in Inle Lake and what came out was a heaping pile of guacamole. Nothing else. No chips, no bread, not even rice, which I thought about ordering as a side because if you’ve ever tried to eat just straight guacamole, trust me when I say it’s not nearly as delicious as you might imagine. It’s just an endless paste where the bites towards the end was just me telling myself, “Okay one more you can do this.” Part of me wanted to tell them that if they added chips and sold it as Guacamole rather than Avocado Salad, they’d sell out in a heartbeat. And the portions are HUGE. And this isn’t just me who’s used to Thailand’s tiny portions where many people have to order two meals to satiate themselves. This is like American portions X2. In Shan state, the only thing you’re really paying for is the meat. The rice and the various sides, which are endless and plentiful, come with every meal. When breaking down the food overall to a friend, I came up with the ratio that about 1 in every 4 or 5 times, the food was out of this world delicious and unique. 2 in every 4 times, the food was ordinary and plain. And 1 in every 4 or 5 times, the food was of “what did I just order” status.

Something uniquely Myanmar was that every single hotel I stayed or looked at, no matter the quality, served a free breakfast. It was clearly a standard of hospitality throughout the country. Even the cheapest places set you up with some toast, eggs, coffee or tea, and some fruit. It was not only a wonderful way to save money, it made me fall in love with the place that much more. Not because it’s free food, but because I feel like it sums up the way the country is at this moment in time; “Of course we’re going to provide you with something to start your day. Of course we’re going to provide you with this small token of our appreciation for your using our service. Of course.”

After a few days biking around Inle Lake, catching the last sunset of 2013 drinking wine overlooking a vineyard in Burma, taking a touristy boat tour, and spending the last of my dollars to get one more delicious meal, it was time to say goodbye. I took a bus ride from freezing Inle Lake to bustling Yangon, which every time we pulled into a rest stop, the bus driver would play a recording that I swear would say “We are now stopping the bus so you can rest your sex” every time. Reflecting back on my time while waiting in the airport, I realized two things that I had anticipated about Myanmar that weren't true: the power never went out where I was staying, and there were banks and ATMs EVERYWHERE (all research about Myanmar emphasizes that it’s near impossible to find ATMs and all the money you’ll use, you need to carry into the country with you). And while listening to an ad in Burmese that was selling shampoo by parodying Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” the power went out.