I almost walked to Burma today.

 

We hadn’t realized we’d actually passed the official gateway to Thailand’s left-hand neighbor until after we’d finally noted the change in script on the signs across the way.  It looked like Thai had unraveled and danced in its revelry, to be free from the tight circles and sharp angles that define most stylized Thai writing.

 

The unfortunate first impression of the country was the image of a man leaning over the rail of the footbridge above us, likely a shop owner, dumping a garbage bag into the already brown river that passed between me and the sharp rule of a controlling military junta.  I admit, it didn’t reflect well on either country, especially considering the man proceeded on to our current side of things.  Next we saw children, under the bridge across the way, tumbling over each other in sand strewn with pieces of trash that presumptively had found its way over on some unfortunate wind.  They waved enthusiastically, delighted to see people with different hair and skin than they had, and wished us happy birthday.  I doubt they knew the meaning.

 

Then I noticed the more significant thing. 

 

I glanced from Thailand to Myanmar, forward and back, when I realized the children had reached the sand by hoisting themselves over barbed wire.  Thailand is, despite the dark stain of humidity and dirt streaking down the buildings, a rich sight.  Perhaps I think such because I’m accustomed, though I don’t believe so.  There are bright advertisements, for Pepsi and Singha beer, and the ever present red and yellow signs in both Chinese and Thai.  There are handmade gifts and chintzy souvenirs hanging in every window, and at the restaurants there are carved railings of dark wood and brightly colored boxes of napkins on the edge of the tables. 

 

Turn an eye to Burma, and the sights change completely.

 

There was one advertisement in sight, somewhere above the green swathed guard eyeing us, and nothing else.  All the visible buildings were plain, painted one fading color, concrete blocks with closed curtains.  There was the spire of a temple emerging from trees over the bridge that we could see from our vantage point.  But there was no colorful bustle, no sound, barely any lights visible down the pathway we could see.  You could tell it was a path crowded with buildings, all concrete, all painted.  There weren’t any of the signs, any of the bustle, any of the life that I could discern.  I imagined people running through the streets.  I pictured the monks hiding in the temple.  I stared for a long time.

 

The world isn’t real until you’ve seen it. 

 

I want to see more of Burma.

 

That’ll probably have to wait a few years.  But I’m also learning an awful lot about time. 

 

In other news, there is one day until Christmas.  If you’re reading this, chances are I miss you.  I want you to have a wonderful holiday!  Even if this post is a bit of a downer.  Sorry!  Hahaha…don’t worry, it comes amongst a time of great fun for me—we’re on our second Rotary trip of the year, and despite my tendencies towards being car sick, I’d managed to hold out for the first (and arguably best) couple days of the trip.  As for the rest of the time (three days, I think) I plan on arming myself with an iPod, a blanket, a teddy panda I bought at the zoo, and a healthy supply of shut-eye.  

 

I only wish I had the time to tell you all about the number of amazing things I’ve been doing since I left for this trip.  But I’m at an internet café, and there is barely enough time in a week to chat on and on about what I’ve done.

 

Highlights?

 

Elephant riding.

Boat across the Mekong.

Games with Rotary kids.

 

As I type this list, I slowly recognize that the majority of the amazing time has much more to do with who it was with.  We’ve got an incredible group along for this ride.  I can’t wait for what happens next.

 

Love much, and with much Christmas cheer,

 

Holly

 

PS.  I’m wearing a beautiful Thai silk dress for Christmas.  I can’t wait.  J