Burma's Band of Brothers

Burma... er Mee-an-mar.. ah My-an-mar? I really don't know. In the weeks leading up to October holiday this was my response to anyone who asked where I was going. Truthfully I had no idea. I had been so consumed with work, was a bit jaded from many recent trips to SE Asia, and knew it was going to be very much a "lads" trip. As a result I was abjectly uninterested and had done absolutely zero research or planning. Clearly setting myself up for a winning vacation. Interest began to peak when my research came to me. CNN and Facebook became plastered with stories of ethnic cleansing in Myanmar, with half a million people seeking refuge in Bangladesh. Now fleeing a country is never a desirable situation - Fleeing a country to Bangladesh? That was on an entirely different level. My knack for being in the right place at the wrong time clearly was not going to let me down now. I immediately told my mother I was staying home for the holiday and began to look forward to the trip with anxious anticipation.

That's what we kept asking each other as we showed up to the airport in Yangon trying to find our flight to Mandalay. Apparently no one else decided to look in to where we were going for October holiday either. After a night in Yangon that somehow managed to escalate to levels hardly acceptable for a fraternity initiation, we ran from terminal to terminal in search of a seemingly nonexistent flight to Mandalay. Difficult in a country where the planes operate like buses and you hop and and hop off in various cities. Also difficult when you don't know the airline, booking number, or language. Shortly after one of us in a fit of frustration tried to run through the security checkpoint (I would advise against this in both first world countries as well as military states,) our comrade who had already left on the earlier flight and had all of our information contacted us with our flight info. Crisis narrowly avoided. Correction, one crisis was narrowly avoided. I had forgotten to tell my US bank I was going to Myanmar. When I tried to use my bank card it got declined and a phone call was instantly made to my parent's home in Minnesota. Mother knows.

We made our way through Mandalay like a hurricane, going from restaurant to restaurant devouring plate after plate of delicious Burmese delights. The restaurant owners smiled and cheered as we met their monthly business quotas in the span of a few hours. From the ancient capitol we then hopped on the 10 hour boat down the river to Bagan. The 10 hour boat is the fast one by the way. The boys downed 3 bottles of Burmese dollar store rum by 9am, piratesque chaos ensued. Meanwhile I fell asleep on the roof of the boat regaining my title of "Lobster Lauren" that was bestowed upon me senior spring break when I passed out on top of the cruise ship. People don't forget, people don't forget.

Bagan was absolutely lovely. So lovely in fact we managed to stay out of trouble. Since you're not here to read about my pleasant and uneventful vacations let's venture forth on to Ngapoli. No, Ngapoli is not a pizza type named after a seaside Italian town as you might assume (I know I did.) Ngapoli is on the ocean, however, it is on the ocean in the Rakhine State of Myanmar, home to the Rohinga people I had been reading so much about in the news. I remained on high alert for any potential social media tags that might put me in the region. Mother knew I was in Myanmar, she didn't need to know where.

The resort was beautiful, the staff terrific and the weather perfect. Amongst the splendor there were, however, a few moments that stood as reminders we "weren't in Kansas anymore." I went for a jog one morning to watch the fishermen bring in the catch. I ended up looking like Natgeo Barbie with my camera and ipod in a poverty stricken village run rampant with rabid dogs that had to be thwarted away with sticks. I did my best Oregon trail and tried to cock the wagon and float across high tide but found it to be too deep to cross. Stuck in a village that clearly did not want me there, I had to trek through the woods and down the road an hour or so barefoot to make it back to the mirage that was our hotel. Later that day I booked a fishing trip with hope of catching some fresh lunch. The 200 kilos of my boyfriend and I seemed to be too much for our little vessel as it teetered further and further away from the shoreline. Fishing rods we're in fact empty water bottles and any sort of safety measure typically seen at resorts was nonexistent.

The trip was now winding down, massages were had, food was consumed, pina coladas were plentiful. So plentiful in fact that by the time I made my way back round to the resort from dinner the lads were running at 100mph acting out "band of brothers" on the resort patio (for those not in the know, Band of Brothers is a terrific series on the world wars, check it out.) Doing my best to remain Switzerland and stay out of it, I soberly made my way back to the villa to settle in for a long restful sleep. Little did I know, sleep would not be had that night. My boyfriend had stayed back to have a few beers with the boys, but within minutes came bursting in to the villa. Panic in his eyes he exclaimed "there's been an accident. Lewis, his arm, it's really bad." I grabbed a towel and an umbrella preparing to turnakit whatever was lying out there on the beach.

The raucess hotel patio was now enveloped in a panicked silence. Pale faces looked away in horror as a few hotel staff and the boys with relatively strong stomaches tried to sort out what was happening. Turnakit already applied, I walked over to scope out the scene, which was ridden in blood and glass. Face down in the sand our companion lay with arm outstretched at his side. The outer layer of bicep flapping like a fish out of water in this low tide. I'll spare you pictures so as to preserve your desire to ever eat a thick slice of steak ever again. He needed to get to a hospital- immediately. The hotel exclaimed that really wasn't a good idea, it would probably be cleaner and safer if he stayed here. The closest hospital was closed for rainy season and the other hospital in the region, region being Rakhine State, was not a place we wanted to be. Determined to get him help we decided hospital had to happen. "Was I a good soldier?" Lewis asked as we loaded him in to the car? Yes, yes you were. Off he went with his drunken brothers in arms to see if they could save his arm.

Passport and medical insurance card in hand, we decided to call in da choppa. The choppa, more commonly known as E-vac said emergency evacuation would not be in option because.... we were in Myanmar... in Rakhine State. Read the fine print people, those pricey plans do NOT cover you everywhere. With our Schwarzenegger escape off the table it was time for plan B. "We need to get our friend on the next flight to Yanggon" we told the hotel manager. "Okay, sometime around 10am probably." Good, clear detailed departure times. Now what would we do with him for the next 8 hours? Back from the hospital our embattled brethren returned bandage, but not stitched, but that was neither here nor there to him as he seemed to be pumped full of Myanmar's finest poppy. Wreaking of antiseptic and in a zombie like state, we laid him to (temporary) rest in the villa and waited for our 10amish departure with anxious anticipation.

Fast forward through surgery, many stitches, and a few long explanations later, everyone made it out alive. Our final day in Myanmar serendipitously coincided with the Buddhist Festival of Lights known as Thadingyut. Back in Yanggon before our red eye flight the city came alive with the glow of thousands of candles as monks emerged from 3 months of hiding to celebrate the end of lent. This holiday is one where children ask their parents for forgiveness for the wrong doings they have done and parents forgive their children for just that. In the spirit of Thadingyut Festival I hope all of our parents can forgive us for going to Myanmar. We are just large mischievous children, we do not know what we do, but we do know, we have a darn good time doing it.