Dispatches from a Buddhist revolution. Original story at Worldhum.
The next morning I was reminded of how, for a stagnant city, Yangon is still pregnant with images that are vibrantly alive. The huge durian and jackfruits, the ruby red bananas in the markets. And the animals, the ones who truly rule Yangon, are everywhere.
In the morning, no city I’ve been to sounds as alive. The saw-throated crows scream you awake by seven. The previous night, as the sun set, the black birds made storm clouds, flying from the city’s pagodas to nest in banyan and pipal trees. They were so loud, they could have been dinosaurs.
Then, in the dark, the wild dogs came out, like a Toto song or a Jack London novel. They had no fear or respect of Yangon’s citizens, a bit like the Burmese government. Their eyes shone through the darkness of frequent power outages, and they stalked the city in lean, hungry packs.
Full story at Worldhum