BY BIANCA-OLIVIA NITA

It’s 11 in the night, end of May and I’m in Yangon, sweating through every single pore on my body. I’m in the very center, walking through the web of streets, just around the corner from the Shwedagon pagoda, the high golden temple dominating the city’s skyline and believed to contain relics of the Buddha.

It’s the end of the hot season. The city didn’t see any rain in more than 7 months and the streets are dusty and hot, waiting for the relief the monsoon will soon bring. It is my last night in Myanmar after a three week trip across the country, exploring what until recently was called ‘the last Asian frontier’.

As I walk around, I try to imagine what life used to feel like in the long years when the country was closed to the outside world. Five years ago I could not have been here, and that makes being here right now feel like everything around me has a layer of depth I should grasp, but that is way beyond the reach of an outsider.

Life is slowly changing now, but for the time being, Yangon, once one of the most cosmopolitan cities in Asia, seems trapped in time. Every time I reach a crossing point, I have to decide whether to turn right or left. I have no reason to pick one over the other; I have no goal, no final destination. I just want to have one last walk. With my return trip ahead, part of me is worried in anticipation of the end of my freedom to explore, getting back to my dull office job that keeps me between walls all day long.

I find my way through the hive of people and dogs. And as I move forward, wrestling the sweat all over my body, I feel foreign yet part of the puzzle of micro stories happening all around me. In Yangon, life doesn’t stop at sunset but quite the opposite. It’s during the day that the pace of life feels slow and laid back, with few people walking under umbrellas, the asphalt melting under their feet. But at night the streets come to life, and after a torrid day everyone comes out to shop, to chat, or to share a meal with family or friends.

Food halls and merchandise booths, intermittent sidewalks and busy driveways, people and cars—at night all these combine into a mesmerizing chaos. Many of the food halls and small improvised booths with groceries are placed right on the driveway, next to garbage piles with cars passing by them dangerously close. Car drivers seem used to avoiding sudden unexpected obstacles. In the light of their headlights you can spot people crossing the street with heavy bags, or dogs running after each other.

The main sources of streetlight are improvised lightbulbs hanging from fences around small terraces or from the top of the food halls. As I walk, headlights flash by as the cars pass by me and disappear into the night. People seem to find places to sit everywhere in these streets, yet I cannot see one for myself. This whole maze of sporadic lights and constant movement seems there for me to observe but offers me no moment of respite.

My eyes catch glimpses of life everywhere around and for a moment I feel sorry to leave behind this world that is so much different from mine. Technology and many of the comforts I normally take for granted are new here. Yet this place is so full of things that are unknown. With every step I take, a new unrecognizable smell surrounds me—strong mixes of spices, fermented fruits, and sharp awful smells I cannot identify. Food is being cooked everywhere on these streets. Small halls and street restaurants serve food on tiny plastic tables laid right on the pavement.

Most men wear longyies, the traditional sheets of cloth wrapped around their waist, while women wear beautiful bright colored skirts with traditional patterns. The women’s elegance contrasts with the rawness of the street and the exhausting heat. Their hair looks neat, and their faces are decorated with thanaka, a yellowish-white cosmetic paste made from ground bark. There are also monks; according to local customs one should not stare at monks or walk in their shadows, but at night they seem to lose their sacred aura as they sit eating quietly, dressed in their rusty-colored robes.

And then there are also the children. Yangon is the city where children have no bed time. They play in the street, run with cats winding between their legs, jump over tiles and piles of garbage, skillfully avoiding cars.

Perhaps because it is the end of the season, I hardly encountered any other tourists. I enter a small street shop and I feel eyes turning towards me. My wide eyes and my skin are a strange kind of ‘business card’. I feel that no matter where I go, no one would stop me from entering, but instead they would observe me from a distance, smiling with kindness if I looked their way. I only encountered kindness during my entire trip—only open, curious and welcoming people.

As I pay for my water, the young shop girl smiles and I smile back at her. The local culture does not allow men to stare too much at a woman, but the women look at me openly, sometimes studying me from afar. I fear that it is not me that catches their eye, but my whiteness, a highly desired feature and a local standard of beauty. Every single beauty product you can buy here promises to make you white, quite the opposite of our ideal of beauty in Europe. I thank the girl for the water and walk out into the street again.

I step across a pit, carefully avoiding the bright red splashes scattered everywhere on the pavement. They are betel nut spits, the unavoidable discharge that comes with chewing pouches of betel nut. This popular stimulant is much similar to drinking a cup of coffee, but the sight of people chewing betel nut can be shocking, because it makes their mouths look bloody, over time damaging the enamel of their teeth irreversibly. Every now and then, they spit this red liquid from their mouths, leaving blood-like spots on the asphalt.

All around, there are cafes packed with people watching the UEFA Europa League final between Sevilla and Liverpool. Watching football is a popular pastime in Myanmar, everyone gathering together in street cafes, sitting on small plastic chairs around a TV. Korean soap operas are also popular, and so are the 90’s western movies I watched in my teenage years. I get closer to see the screen, and I attract all the eyes around me. Sevilla just won the game, but no one seems to really care. It is like they are witnessing a distant event that means nothing personal to them. When a team wins a match, it only means that the game is over. And what they love is the game.

A rat runs across the street, but only I seem to notice it. Next to a stall with fresh fruit, a bunch of dogs are laying down, flat on their belly. And as I look around idly, I notice a narrow inlet between two stands selling rope and plastic buckets. I get closer to see where the inlet leads to, and the man at the rope stall signals me to go in.

I see shoes right in front of the entrance, so I take my slippers off and step inside on the narrow pavement, which feels like entering a parallel world in the middle of the city. As I walk forward, an island of light and fresh air opens up, walls dressed in gold, small fences guarding small basins of water surrounding a temple.

Behind a glass wall, a giant golden Buddha is peacefully looking at me, and as I move slowly searching for a place to sit, his eyes seem to follow me. Other people pass by me, kneeling on the carpet in front of the statue. In this highly devout Buddhist country, temples are islands of quietness where people come even at night. A woman is reading sutras in low voice, while a man holding a naked toddler walks in and lays the child on the floor. A tiny bat flies above our heads, and all of a sudden I feel part of this golden island. The burden of the heat, the overwhelming streets, and the perspective of going back to my life—all of them are somewhere far, far away. And right now, there’s no other place to be but here.

五月底,晚上11點,身處仰光的我身上每一個毛孔都在冒汗。穿行在市中心交織的街道中,仰光大金塔就在不遠處,高聳的金色寶塔占據了城市的天際線,據說那裏藏著佛陀的舍利子。

已經是暑季的末尾了。這座城市已經超過七個月沒見到下一滴雨,街道上塵土飛揚,酷熱難耐,等待著一場酣暢甘霖帶來解脫。這是我歷時三周的全國探索之旅後在緬甸的最後一晚,這個國家最近被稱為“亞洲最後的處女地”。

四處遊覽時,我嘗試想象在這個國度過去漫長、與世隔絕的日子裏,生活會是什麽樣的。五年前我還無法來到這裏,這讓我感覺此時此地周遭的一切都有需要我領會的深層意義,但這對於一個局外人而言是不可及的了。

生活在慢慢發生變化,但是眼下,仰光這座舊時最具國際性的亞洲都市,好像困在了時間裏。每一個交叉路口,我總要選擇向左還是向右。我沒有擇其一的理由,沒有目標,沒有目的地。我只想再最後走一走。一想到不久我就要踏上回程,結束探索的自由,回到無聊的辦公室工作裏,整日困於墻壁之間,一部分的我就已感到煩擾。

穿過湧動著人和狗的繁忙地段,我邊向前走邊揮去滿身大汗,感到自己既格格不入又似乎身處周圍發生的一個個小故事中。在仰光,生活並不是日落而息,而是恰恰相反。白天的生活節奏遲緩,只有零星幾個人撐著傘走在融化的瀝青路面上。到了晚上街市才鮮活起來,火辣辣的一天過去後,大家全都跑出來購物、閑聊或者和親朋聚餐。

餐館、雜貨攤、斷斷續續的人行道與繁忙的馬路、人和車,所有這些在夜裏融匯成一個令人著迷的混亂場景。許多小吃鋪和臨時雜貨攤幹脆搭在了馬路上,挨著垃圾堆,來往車輛危險地緊挨著它們駛過。汽車司機們似乎也習慣了避開突如其來的障礙物。車頭燈光下,你能看見人們攜著沈甸甸的袋子穿過馬路,或者是狗兒在互相追逐。

街道上的主要光源是臨時掛起的燈泡,它們或搭在環繞小陽臺的柵欄上,或是在餐館屋頂上。我走著,車輛從我身邊駛過,前燈投射的光亮一閃而過,消失在夜裏。大家好像可以在街道上任何一處找到位置坐下,而我卻沒能為自己找到一個。這時有時無的燈光和持續不斷的動靜如迷宮一般,供我觀察又不留一點喘息的機會。

目光掃視著四周的生命,有一刻我為即將離開這個與我的世界截然不同的地方感到一陣失落。科技和許多我習以為常的享樂對這裏來說是全新的,而這裏也充滿了未知。每邁出一步,我就被新的無法辨認的氣味籠罩——濃烈的混合香料味,發酵的水果味還有我聞不出的刺鼻氣味。街道上到處都在烹煮食物,小館子和餐廳也把小塑料桌直接放在人行道上提供餐飲服務。

大多數男人穿的是羅衣,一種裹在腰上的傳統服飾,女人們則身著帶有傳統紋樣又色彩鮮艷的美麗裙子。同女士們的優雅形成鮮明對比的,是毫無裝點的街道和令人精疲力盡的酷熱。她們的帽子精致玲瓏,她們的面部塗抹著特納卡——一種碾碎的樹皮制成的黃白色化妝品。這兒也有僧侶出沒;根據當地的習俗,盯著和尚看或者走在他們的影子裏是不被允許的,不過到了晚上他們好像也就丟掉了神聖的光環,穿著鐵銹色的長袍安靜地坐在一旁進食。

然後還有孩子們。在仰光的小孩好像不用睡覺。他們在街上玩耍,追逐在他們腿間繞來繞去的貓咪,在瓦堆和垃圾堆上跳來跳去,巧妙地避開車輛。或許因為到了旅遊季的末尾,我幾乎沒遇到什麽遊客。走進一個街邊小鋪,便立馬感覺到有目光向我投來。我的大眼睛和與眾不同的膚色像是張怪異的名片,感覺不管去哪都不會有人攔著我,相反他們會遠遠地觀察著我,並在我看向他們時報以友善的微笑。整段旅途我遇到的都是友善;都是坦率、好奇、好客的人們。

當我為一瓶水買單時,商店的女孩子露出微笑,我也朝她微笑。當地的文化不允許男人盯著女人看太久,但是女士們卻都毫不掩飾地看著我,有時候還遠遠地研究著我。恐怕並不是我本身吸引她們的目光,而是我的白色皮膚,在這裏白皙的肌膚是美的標準,是大家都十分渴望擁有的特征。每一件你能買到的美容產品都標榜美白的功效,這和在歐洲的我們對於美的理念正好相反。我向商店的女孩表示了感謝後便再次走上街頭。

我跨過一個坑,又小心地避開四處濺落在人行道上的紅色汁液。那是嚼檳榔的人不得已的唾棄物。這個受歡迎的的興奮劑和咖啡沒什麽大區別,但是人們嚼檳榔的景象很令人震驚,他們的嘴巴看上去血乎乎的,長時間這樣會不可逆地損壞他們的牙釉質。時不時地,他們從嘴裏吐出這紅色的汁水,在馬路上留下一塊塊血跡般的汙漬。

周圍的小餐館裏擠滿了人,都在看塞維利亞和利物浦對陣的歐洲足球聯賽決賽。看足球賽是流行的消遣方式,大家聚集在街頭的餐館,圍著電視機坐在塑料凳子上。韓國的肥皂劇也廣受歡迎,還有我年少時看過的西方電影。我湊上前去看屏幕,卻把目光都吸引到我身上來了。塞維利亞剛贏了比賽,不過似乎沒人真的在乎。就好像是他們在見證一件遙遠的事件發生,而這對他們個人來說沒有任何意義。

一只老鼠穿過馬路,但似乎只有我註意到了。一群狗挨著水果攤趴著。漫無目的地打量著四周,我註意到一個入口,位於兩個賣繩子和塑料桶的攤子之間。我走上前去看它通向哪裏,買繩子的攤販示意我走進去瞧瞧。

我看到入口前面放了很多鞋子,所以我先脫下了我的拖鞋再踏上裏面窄窄的路面, 感覺像是進入了市中心的一個平行世界。我向前走著,一個空間混合著光亮與清新空氣向我敞開。繪著金色的墻壁、環繞寺廟的小水槽被小藩籬護衛著。

一塊玻璃後面,一尊金色的大佛平靜地看著我,當我四處找地方坐下時,他的眼睛好像也跟隨著我。其他的人從我身旁經過,到佛像前的墊子上跪拜。在這個極為虔誠的佛教國家,寺廟是個靜謐的小島,人們在夜裏都可以來。一個女人小聲地念著經文,同時一個男人抱著一名赤裸的嬰兒走進廟裏,把小孩兒放在地板上。 有只小蝙蝠在我們頭頂飛過,忽然之間,我感到與這金色的島嶼融為一體。酷熱的煩擾、擁擠的街道和關於回到我的無聊生活的憂慮,都變得非常、非常遙遠。此刻,此地之外別無他處。


Bianca-Olivia Nita fell in love with the North Sea, so she left her native Romania for The Netherlands 10 years ago. Her articles, essays and reviews are mainly focused on documentaries, photography, people and places. She is a regular contributor to Feature Shoot and ModernTimes.review, and her writing has appeared in numerous other journals and magazines, such as Guernica, Coldnoon and The Holland Times.

Bianca Olivia 愛上了北海,於是十年前離開故鄉羅馬尼亞,來到荷蘭。她的文章、隨筆和評論主要是關於紀錄片、攝影、人與場所。Bianca 供稿於《Feature Shoot》和《ModernTimes.review》雜誌,她的文章也在很多其他期刊雜誌上出現,比如《Guernica》、《Coldnoon》和《The Holland Times》。