I landed in Yangon at midnight after a 22 hour journey. The city looked rather dark, nothing like the millions of unmistakable lights in Los Angeles. As we moved through the air, the lights were twinkling, as if they were peaking from behind invisible trees.
I get out of customs, feeling so proud I didn't bungle my online entry Visa, and head to the toilet. Of course I chose the stall with the squat toilet. When I was done, took a peak in the other stall, to see the western toilet laughing at me. Well, when in Rome. I'm going to have to get used to peeing on my shoes sooner or later.
Anxiously, I wait for my bag, I hate checking and try to avoid it at all costs - one of the few things that causes me any real anxiety. As I wait, the only two monks there, were standing on either side of me. One humming a beautiful song, it sounded unreal, like the sound couldn't be coming from a human being, so many inflections and nuances. I stood there listening, being soothed by his voice. What a good sign - my bag must be coming and this will be a safe journey - superstitious! A few months ago I took my grandmother to see a psychic for fun and got a reading as well. The psychic told me I had two spirit guides, one was a clinical scientific looking woman in a lab coat and the other was a jovial, bald, smiling monk. They were to balance me out - representing two very real and very different sides of my personality. In any case, I've been drawn to monks since going to South East Asia in 2012. Now, I laugh in my head thinking about my guide with his big round belly chuckling at me. My bag arrives.