Yan & Zanyar: It's hard to sum up the nights emotions from this point forward. Most of it was very nice, and I consider myself lucky to have met those two local characters, but some of it definitely left me confused. I guess it all started with me trying to find the right bus from the city center to Yangon university, which is just down the street from the hostel I was staying at. A toothless street vendor called me over and asked where I was going after seeing me pace up and down the bus terminal in front of him, trying to read the Burmese numbers which all looked like variations of a '0' to me. "61 or 65 number bus you look for. Sit here, please wait," was his response when I told him where I was going. We chatted for a bit, and he would look up from time to time and tell me the number of the bus that had just pulled in. After 15 minutes of waiting on a small stool by the man - more than 45 minutes after I began searching for my bus - the man grabbed a single smoke from an open pack on the vendor ladies table beside me. I asked him how much a single was, he said: "50 jaks (kyats), very cheap!" Indeed, ¢5 is dangerously cheap for a single, so I grabbed one. Just as I pulled out a 200 from my pocket and handed it to him, he excitedly pointed to a bus and said: "61! Is your bus, hurry!" He insisted I take the 200 kyat bill back, and later on the bus I regretted not having insisted he keep it; after all, it's the least I could have done to repay his favors.

I decided to get off the bus 2 stops past my stop in order to walk along Inye lake on my last night in Yangon. Because the bus was so crowded, and the bus director / money collector had us all sitting 3 to a 2-man bench, I ended up 3 stops past due to a failure to communicate my stop had arrived to the two girls sitting next to me. Off the bus, I realize with disgruntlement that the man sitting behind me had undone my rear-tied Thai-style baggy pants, just as I had suspected. I wish I had shot him with more than just a dirty look (an elastic band perhaps?). I took out my single, and grabbed a light from some construction crew who were waiting for their bus. I arrived at the park bordering the west side of the lake and began walking down the brightly lit and busy boardwalk. "Hey, friend, can I use yo light?" A man indicates to my smoke, so I hand it to him to light his. And this is how I met the two local guys Yan and Zayar - one a sailor, who travels the world with his work, the other an engineer with a doctorate.

At the time, all I wanted to do was go home, as I was tired from a long and hot day exploring. When they convinced me to go have a few drinks with them, I told them I only had an hour to spare as I had a bus to catch in the morning. They insisted this wasn't enough, and got a taxi to my place. At my hotel they told me I should leave everything of value there, as Myanmar was not always safe at nighttime, and plus they would cover the costs for the night. A few warning signs went off in my head, but they seemed like nice enough people, and their concerns seemed sincere. 

The sailor was better with his English of the two of them - probably because he had more opportunity to use it in his travels - and was definitely the more fashionable and hip. It was his house we went to first, to meet his year and a half, and 7 year old daughters who were being taken care of by his mother. It was a small little apartment condo - dirty with the occasional cockroach on the walk up the stairs to the door, but homey and warm on the inside, with pictures of his family decorating the walls, and a large map of the world with the locations he has been to pinned off. He explained to me how he only got to see his children for 3-4 month out of the year, and that the rest of the time he spent on the sea. This too was why he was no longer with their mother. I could see the conflict in his eyes. I could also smell the whiskey on his breath. We left there and went to a small restaurant down the street to have 'pre-drinks' because he wanted to take me to the club, even though his friend did not. The more he talked about the bar, and how I had to watch out for violence, the more I didn't want to go either. 

After downing a Mickey in two shots between the 3 of us, Yan was throwing up, so it was just me and the other man Zayar. This was a small blessing in disguise, as now we could drop the plans to go to the bar, and go check out some sights of the city. He called a friend of his - a taxi driver who also brought a friend, and they drove us around, first to different convenience stores buying snacks, beer and whiskey, then to different places with good views at night. Finally, he stopped the taxi on the top of a bridge crossing the mouth of the large Pazundaung Creek, which was far more river-like than creek-like. We got out and the taxi driver set out mats on the bridge walkway - his car still parked in one of the right lanes - and we began chatting and drinking. The original guy could speak decent enough English, but he was also pretty dizzy (drunk), and the others spoke very little. It was entertaining nonetheless. The emotions took a turn when Zayar talked about his people, and the state of poverty many live in. He wants change and doesn't know how to create it. He says he is under a huge amount of stress because his people look up to him as a leader because of his education, but sometimes he doesn't feel the strength to be one. He started crying while talking; sobbing between words until his slightly chubby cheeks shown with silver streaks of his emotion. Not knowing what else to do, I gave the man a hug, and told him it is okay to feel sad and overwhelmed, but that in fact he is strong and smart, and will make a good example to his people. We were at the bridge for a little more than an hour or so, and eventually, they drove me back home. Getting off the bus 4 hours before, I never would have guessed my night would end like this, or that I would have the energy for all the emotions good and bad, yet I am grateful for the friendship and insight I was gifted that night.