I did not need an alarm clock today. Yangon told me it was 5:55am and time to rise. I laid in bed, listening to the opening notes of the chorus.
First, the Buddhist monks were cued. Their chanting over a loud speaker for the past 48 hours provided the low, reverberating bass notes. The local monastery periodically conducts fundraisers during which the monks graciously remind all of the faithful, via bullhorn intonations of sacred texts, of their spiritual duty to care for them. NPR and PBS, take note.
Next, entered the alto of the morning bean seller “bay-bee-oooo”, her song dipping and stretching as she wondered the back lanes with a steel tub of food perched atop her head. Her wares are just simple boiled beans, eaten with a stick of fried dough for breakfast. We, being good inquisitive travelers, tried them once. They tasted …. earthy.
Then, the soprano of the sparrows came on line. As they darted and dove through massive banyan trees, their calls floated along on the smoky morning air.
To top it off, the semi-feral dogs punctured the building crescendo with their falsetto howls. These dogs have collars but appear to be treated like outdoor cats – roaming the neighborhood freely. None of them seem to be spayed/neutered so the night is filled with their anguished cries of rebuffed romantic advances and territory staking.
I’m happy to raise the curtain on another Myanmar morning