Vor-Magazin
"You don’t worry. No problem."
Asian greeting, in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Yangon Airport and Yangon City, 10 PM, 30 degrees Celsius, humid, the private taxi powerless by the roadside. So no problem, the contact person and travel agent, as he describes himself on his business card, shortens your waiting time by explaining the exchange rate of the dollar to kyat, the local currency. Officially in banks, 1 dollar equals 6 kyat, but on the black market, it’s currently 900 kyat, down from 1,200 six months ago, and yes, during Thingyan, the four-day water festival and the peak of the hot season, the rate will fall.
With the 3 dollars you paid the contact person, the owner of the private car goes to the next gas station, no, to the one after that, because he can get 20% more there on the black market (1 US dollar for 1 gallon) – for dollars he officially shouldn't have.
"Are you happy? Welcome to Myanmar Water Festival!"
Thingyan is the long-awaited glorious highlight of the hot season and the beginning of the Burmese New Year. Oblivious, you arrived the day before, only to find yourself today – quite literally – drenched in water. Also by people: everyone who can walk or drive comes to Yangon, the capital of Myanmar, a 4-million-inhabitant city in a country of 50 million, Burma.
Visitors set up camp right in the busiest places, on the median strip between the lanes, on the sidewalks, nestled between two trees. In the evening, as you stroll by, you hear small children swimming mixed with engine sounds, separated only by thin hanging tarps and blankets.
Water festival, everyone wants to join in. Schools close for weeks, offices for several days. Nothing moves, only the water flows. Local companies have set up countless stands across the city, installed tubing systems, set up pumps, and now for four days, at 35 degrees Celsius, they are spraying water with whatever resources they have. Small children stand with plastic dishes or empty cans beside discarded, water-filled oil barrels, drenched down to the smallest fold, beaming from face to heart; they spray passing cars with astonishing accuracy.
"Hello! How are you?" As a Western individual tourist, you're eyed like a colorful cow in Myanmar, making you a prime target for their blessings. The water is meant to cleanse you of all the bad karma inadvertently and unknowingly accumulated over the past year. Hence also Thingyan, the Burmese New Year. In temples, Buddha statues are poured over with water, so that the meditating Enlightened One doesn’t get too hot – during a time when temperatures in central Burma can reach up to 40 degrees.
"Come with us!" The greatest thrill, especially for the young people, is riding on an open truck through the water parades. Entire communities gather on trucks, soccer teams cluster on pickups and jeeps, and when you are repeatedly urged to climb aboard, you take a seat in a 4x4 to drive through the rainbow. A tourist! At our festival! And all the hoses turn toward you, the unexpected white-skinned participant. From then on – traffic jam or not – every 30 meters, you are dissolved and disappeared in the spray.
"They really like you!" shouts the jeep driver through the water noise. In the morning, there was an English woman who just wrinkled her nose, and therefore, she was barely splashed. Not this time: younger and older women smile slyly at you, the male youth cheers a "Hello!" from thousands of throats, and at the front truck, a fire hose with high pressure lifts a woman’s blouse just on the back for 20 cm. Enough to add to the general ecstasy.
"Move on!" Self-declared, increasingly drunk traffic deputies regulate the flow before the spray stands, mangoes with chili, skewers, hard-boiled chicken and uncooked quail eggs, lobster chips, are offered in the water-free zones (at a bargain price considering Western incomes), often by children who look so impoverished that you’d still want to buy, even when you can't eat anymore.
Children are the great hope for Myanmar. The soul of this beautiful country is wounded; a shadow lies over the natural grace of the people. The traveler is eyed on the street, and only the eyes speak of curiosity and interest – the rest of the face remains in suspicion and skepticism. As if one were entering a reform school in Europe – I think. And then it is up to the traveler to dispel those shadows, to take the first step. You bow your head in greeting, raise your hand, open your face and heart with a smile – and little suns beam back at you. It's easiest to connect with the children, who can still laugh freely and show their curiosity.
On the return trip in the water jeep, you can suddenly imagine what it feels like for the Pope: truckloads of people try to catch your attention, and you can only focus on two or three faces to greet them with concentration. You spread your blessings, and the general joy and exuberance have been enriched by a brief moment of the other.
Happy New Year, Yangon, Happy New Year, Myanmar. I wish you the carefree smile of your children. May all beings be happy.