In early August, our first weekend in Rangoon struck the perfect balance of downtime at the pool, making new friends, and exploring a few sights outside the embassy grounds. Thanks to the embassy’s hard-working Community Liaison Office (CLO), V and I were able to enjoy a guided shopping trip before we’d even figured out how to order a taxi on our own.
One lesson I’ve learned over four overseas assignments is that the settling-in process goes more smoothly when you say yes early on to as many opportunities as possible to get to know your new surroundings.
For example, during my Tashkent tour, we served as social sponsors for an arriving family who, on their very first day in Uzbekistan, asked me to help them organize a day trip to a town several hours away. Fine, but then I realized the trip was for the very next morning!
That required me to make an impromptu drive with them across the city to the train station, where I then had to elbow my way through the crowd (there was no real queue) and pay upfront for their four round-trip tickets because they hadn’t yet had a chance to exchange money. I was surprised they didn’t want to unpack, rest, or even shower first before dealing with more complex matters.
As they stood slightly dazed and unable to speak Russian in the train station, my unheeded caution that a spontaneous trip wouldn’t be as simple in Tashkent as it would be in the States slowly dawned on them. Even they later admitted it had probably been a bit much for day one.
Their level of extroversion—and their willingness to spring requests on others—definitely exceeded my comfort zone. Still, I’ve come to appreciate their instinct to break the ice with a new tour right away. Not everyone wants to spend their first 24 hours in a new country sleeping off the flight, and that’s okay.
The first Saturday we were in Rangoon was five days after we arrived in-country — the perfect time to find out where to grocery shop. Our amazing social sponsors had put some food in our fridge and pantry to get us started, and brought cat food and litter to our temporary apartment. But now it was our turn to pick up staples and see what was available in the local markets.
The CLO organized a shopping familiarization trip for three of us who had arrived the previous week—V and me, along with one other officer. A fourth person was supposed to join as well, but he was so new that he didn’t know how to let anyone know he was too jet-lagged to get to the shuttle.
At this point, neither V nor myself had working local phones yet, thus we couldn’t call our own taxis. Needing to grocery shop made me really miss my car, left behind in the States. Further complicating our ability to get out and about on our own was the matter of Burma being primarily a cash economy.
The Burmese kyat (pronounced like “jhaht”) official exchange rate is currently around 2,100 kyat to $1.00 USD. At currency exchange desks in the mall the rate is closer to 4,250 kyat to $1.00 USD. The embassy advises U.S. citizens who travel to Burma to rely on cash to cover expenses through the duration of their trips.
So we had to figure out how to turn our crisp, unlined hundred-dollar bills into kyat to cover basic necessities instead of just rolling to the store with a wallet full of cards. And the biggest denomination of currency I’ve seen is 10,000 kyat, or the equivalent of about $2.35 USD! (Apparently there are also 20,000 kyat notes, but they must not circulate much because I haven’t yet seen one.)
Back in 2015 when I’d arrived in Tashkent, the largest denomination of Uzbek som was 5,000 — then worth roughly a mere $1.95. Therefore, here in Rangoon—just like in Uzbekistan—we are back to banking exclusively with Bank of Ziploc.
One million kyats sounds like a lot, but it’s about $235 USD if you get a good rate, and if you don’t, or if the rate fluctuates too much, you might pay $300 or even $400 USD for it. One way or another, though, you’ll need an expandable wallet.
We started with a visit to a butcher shop and a few local restaurants, just to get a sense of where they were, before stopping at a large plant nursery run like a cooperative. We also saw a beautiful bakery filled with treats that only defied the sweltering heat and humidity due to the assistance of air conditioning and a generator.
From there, we headed to a shopping mall, where we discovered what we understood was an authentic, Mexican-owned, tiny Mexican restaurant with only two tables—right next door to a Korean grocery where V happily stocked up on kimchi.
We visited Rangoon’s closest equivalent to a “big box” store, along with a small pet shop. Neither felt familiar or “looked” like home—unfamiliar brands and products were everywhere. And yet, the effect of globalization was unmistakable: shops all over the city sold cheaply made appliances, plastic goods, and homewares.
Finally we made it through the grocery store, where V was elated to spot a store employee confront a queue-jumper and point him to the back of the line. I really like it here so far, he observed to me as we waited our turn to ring up.
We returned to our temporary apartment happy but worn out. I had not climbed in and out of a van that many times in one day… well, ever, and my back was still sore from the flights. The evening wine-tasting event I’d signed us up for turned out to be one activity too many after a full day of riding around in the heat and traffic. Without yet having the ability to use the local Uber-style service, getting to the event felt like a barrier I couldn’t overcome.
I hated to flake on something fun that we no doubt would have enjoyed. Fortunately, the ice had already started to break, and more fun times were right around the corner.
Collecting Postcards 