These streets weren’t made for walking

By Emma Hogan

Planning an evening walk through Yangon, the largest city in Myanmar, the problems started even before I left my hotel. When I typed the address of a nearby restaurant into my phone, my map app would show me only the routes by car. The idea that I would walk there did not seem to register electronically. Yet still I set off.

At first it seemed relatively easy: my hotel, one of the larger ones in town, was encircled by a well-made pavement. But this came to an abrupt end at the hotel boundary. I then faced a choice: step gingerly into the mad rush of the evening traffic or take an overpass, which turned out to be liberally sprinkled with urine. I chose the overpass, which deposited me at a crossroads. After weaving my way through the honking taxis and buses, I went down a sidewalk of loose paving stones, most of which was taken up by street vendors selling fruit, fried food and pirated films. I side-stepped a woman cleaning dishes in a plastic tub, then headed down a stretch of unlit road, where I nearly tripped over a stray dog before stumbling into a hole in the ground.