Yangon Airport looks like an early James Bond set, one that has been gathering dust and getting gradually more dilapidated for decades. Boarding passes get hand-written and the aircon conked out when I was there, changing the terminal climate from glacial to stifling in minutes. I wasn’t convinced that I would make it out of Myanmar until the plane to Bangkok actually left the ground. The sense that something could go wrong was omnipresent throughout my stay in Myanmar. Not only is every piece of infrastructure in a state of disrepair, the many authority figures administer a set of shifting incomprehensible rules and are not particularly open to negotation. Foreigners need to pay a US$10 departure tax. My twenty dollar note had an infinitesimal tear (we’re talking a one millimetre tear here…) on one side and hence was rejected as payment, a problem as I had absolutely no more cash and no means of getting any. It took twenty reasonably tense minutes and a few extra airport officials, including one with a gun, before my note was accepted. Keeer-razy.
Anyway, one hour on the plane and boom! Bangkok! Bright lights! Hyperstimulus! Consumer Culture! Fast moving traffic. I wandered through the ritzy Siam Paragon Mall near my hotel making conversation with myself about the products like some sort of demented DeLillo character. Oooh, look, I didn’t know that Philosophy made a Margarita bodywash, aren’t they clever. M.a.c girls, all around the world, they all look like beautiful space freaks. Mental note, Apple shop. I’m not even going to look at the marked-down Cacharel shirts and Camper shoes. Gee whiz, walk-in Balenciaga! I’m far too grotty to cross that threshold. Hello Haribo! Haribo GOLD! And so it went on. Nothing like a re-immersion in global consumer culture to make you feel right at home…
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