Come Friday, we will have been here in Yangon for a month. I truly find that hard to believe as I feel still transitory, in motion, yet I know we have also settled a tiny bit. We know where to find yogurt and good French croissants (day two thanks to our sponsors!), how to ride in and pay for a taxi, the three major north-south and two major east-west roads in town and the all-important wisdom of always carrying a camera, bug spray, after-bite, hand sanitizer and plenty of local currency no matter where we are headed. Oh, and to always look down while walking to avoid the holes in the sidewalks that open up to another subterranean sewer level two to four feet below.
Indeed, one of those holes claimed Maiya's right Teva flip flop. It was dark and we were walking back to the appartment from a good, Euro0-style (with prices to match) pizza place. The sidewalk was dark and the random holes only shades darker or lighter, depending on the random headlights of oncoming traffic. Maiya skipped, stumbled a bit and then cried out, standing on one foot, that her shoe was gone. She cried. I gave her a piggy-back ride back home. MeiLin plotted how we might come back with a flashlight or in the morning to rescue the shoe. Maiya wimpered again for her shoe. I stated uncategorically that the shoe was gone, not to be retrieved three feet down in raw sewage, and that a shoe was minor -- it could have been Maiya's foot or whole leg. MeiLin continued to plot retrievals for days as we passed the area in cars or taxis. Maiya gained a new pair of local, harder plastic flip flops. And, I placed the order online for a new pair of Tevas.