This is a story about my trip to Myanmar. I always begin my travel preparation for a new destination by asking these three questions that will form the backbone of the itinerary: where to go, what to do, and how to get there. However, planning a trip to a country currently closed off from the world is a new challenge for me. How does one gather sufficient information when the information is scarce? I did find TikTok videos here and there, since it’s been my habit to doomscroll myself into oblivion about the destination I’m about to visit, so I can “feel the city” through those videos before I arrive.
I had almost reached the finish line of my ASEAN trip, and the final stop was Myanmar (this trip plan took place before Timor-Leste’s official accession to the association on 25 October 2025). As an Indonesian citizen, the immigration process is not an issue. I can get into the country visa-free, so that’s one less problem to think about. Accommodation and flight ticket are not an issue either. Many franchise hotels, flight routes, and tour operators shut down after the coup d’état, which drastically reduced my options. I came up with a solution. Hire a tour guide and fully trust them for my first time in the country. I then typed “Myanmar tour guide” on Google, and one of the websites that popped up was Min Soe’s website. Min Soe has been a local tour guide since 2011. Based on his website, he seems trustworthy enough for me to arrange the tour via WhatsApp. He became my go-to local person in Myanmar.
The immigration officer stamped my passport, and I was officially in Myanmar. “Okay,” I thought, standing there, “now, how do I get to my hotel?” To my surprise, a familiar service existed: Grab, the popular online ride-hailing app. I wouldn’t have known it existed here had I not encountered the distinct Grab banner in the airport. Connectivity is also a challenge, so I relied on free, public internet.
Once we arrived at the Pan Pacific Hotel, we checked into our room. I felt the same professional warmth and hospitality one would expect from any five-star hotel. But you cannot expect the same from the surroundings of the hotel. Outside the walls of the hotel, just a few blocks away, you can see visible signs of poverty. You can see people selling birds next to their bird cage and beggars who were mostly mothers and their babies. Staying at the five-star hotel and then taking a walk around the neighborhood is like a self-guided tour of socio-economic disparity.
The following day, I met up with my tour guide, Min Soe. And our private day tour began. Min Soe had brought his colleague, Su Su, who acted as our designated driver. Given our densely packed schedule, their teamwork made perfect sense: Min Soe could dedicate his entire attention to the historical and cultural narrative of the tour, while Su Su efficiently focused on navigating the city’s streets, ensuring we’re on schedule with minimal delay. I found out that Su Su is a corporate employee at a Japanese company in Yangon, and he took a day off just to take this side gig. It’s unheard of to find a corporate employee sacrificing their day off to become a driver. It shows that the daily rate of a driver is probably higher than being a corporate employee.
Sitting in the car, I felt an almost indescribable sense of familiarity, yet something was missing. Looking out the window, the city is like any other Southeast Asian city, but not quite. Then I figured out the missing piece: Yangon lacked the quintessential symbol of a bustling Southeast Asian metropolis—the motorbike! Where are the swarms of two-wheelers? I turned to Min Soe and asked why they were absent. He explained that a high-ranking government official had been involved in a serious accident, leading to an immediate, sweeping ban on all motorbikes. A later online search suggested a different reason, that the ban was implemented for security reasons, with the official cause and various local stories remaining unconfirmed. My observations continue, seeing that there are no motorbikes, what are the modes of transportation if most of the population is in poverty? The primary answers were: public buses, trains, taxis, and walking. Even when people are banned from using motorbikes, life still goes and we have to find another way to continue our daily life.
Our first official stop was the Reclining Buddha, the Chaukhtatgyi Buddha Temple. At this point, I’ve visited a lot of Buddha statues in Asia, and this one is one of the top five largest. In fact, based on this blog post, Myanmar houses 6 out of 7 of the biggest reclining Buddhas in the world. Unsurprisingly, the temple was not crowded with international tourists. We were, in fact, the only foreign visitors at that time. The vast majority of people were locals who came to pray, meditate, or simply socialize. I noticed something distinct and beautiful in the temples of Yangon. It’s the fact that temples have evolved into communal spaces—places for people to relax, eat, chat, and spend time with friends and family. In other countries, temples partly become tourist attractions and have strict rules and regulations. But in here, the Burmese are able to “make themselves at home” in these sacred spaces, treating them not just as sites of worship, but as genuine community hubs. I can feel the warmth just by seeing them being comfortable in this temple.
Next stop, we visited the Ngahtatgyi Buddha Temple, which houses a colossal sitting Buddha. The atmosphere was remarkably similar to the first temple. People were scattered around, surrounding the Buddha statue; some were praying, some were meditating, and others were eating together in small circles. Min Soe explained that most temples in Yangon, and indeed much of Myanmar, were not constructed by the government but were generous donations from either the royal families or wealthy local families. That’s why you can see statues of men who donated to the temples displayed and becoming some kind of holy figure at some of the temples. These well-preserved figures also become a go-to for people who want to pray for specific things, such as health, wealth, or career.
Since motorbikes were banned, buses and local trains have taken up the commuting needs of Yangon’s citizens. The tour included a trip to the Central Railway Station to experience the local train ride firsthand. While waiting for the train to depart, I was captivated by an antique scale combined with an astrology machine. The machine is locally famous, providing not only a person’s weight but also offering astrology readings. Myanmar culture places significant importance on astrology, with related practices deeply integrated into daily life and even politics. I paid for the astrology reading, and the machine gave me a piece of rolled paper with the readings in Burmese. It was one of those generic readings, similar to what you can find in magazines or online astrology readings, but the difference is, they are manual-labored, printed, rolled, and placed into the machine every several weeks.
We boarded the Yangon Circular Railway to see how locals commute, costing only 800 Kyats ($0.38) per person. Many trains in Myanmar were donated or sold second-hand by Japan–a common practice across Asia. Nonetheless, you don’t see the same Japanese train etiquette in here. There was a lack of safety precautions; people freely entered and exited the moving train. Many locals stood or sat right by the doorways, which were often missing their doors, allowing a cool, much-needed breeze to flow through the carriages. I saw workers carrying their working tools, such as shovels and hammers. I also saw locals chewing betel nut—such a contrast to Japan’s rigorous ‘no food’ policy on its commuter lines. The same train, yet a completely different ambiance.
The most memorable stop was the Shwedagon Pagoda. This breathtaking structure is a testament to Burmese artistry, spirituality, and wealth, a magnificent 40-tonne gold pagoda with the top of the Pagoda itself adorned with hundreds of diamonds and precious gemstones. The golden pagodas are not the only national treasure; many more historical valuables surround the pagoda. Despite this priceless collection scattered around the vicinity of the pagoda, people were simply lying down, sleeping, or relaxing, right next to these national treasures. I came to the Shwedagon Pagoda just several hours before the full moon. And that day, 3 November 2025, was the only time of that year when people were allowed to sleep over in the premises of the Shwedagon Pagoda. They also had a weaving competition where the clothes would be used to cover the main pagoda. It’s amazing seeing people from different parts of Myanmar, from different ethnicities, all gathered for this event.
It becomes clear to me that Myanmar’s greatest paradox is its overflowing natural wealth —gold, jade, rubies—yet also marked by poverty and political turmoil. The abundance of resources has, in many ways, contributed to its conflicts. Watching people find comfort in religion felt understandable; when the world around you feels uncertain, faith becomes an anchor.
Despite the media around the world telling everyone how dangerous Myanmar is, I felt the opposite while I was there. I felt the warmth and resilience of the Burmese. Some may say, “Oh, you just haven’t experienced the dangerous, off-limits part of Myanmar where the brutal military forces are”, but can a whole country be summarized by the bad deed only? What about the other millions of people living with the consequences of their government’s decision? Did they do to deserve this? What about the hundreds of years of history that made Myanmar, Myanmar? Aren’t they a part of Myanmar too?
I left Myanmar deeply touched by the resilience of its people, both from the people who chose to stay or flee. They have to be resilient, facing whatever the government dictates. They also have to be resilient, if they choose to flee from the country, seeking refuge, and starting a new life in a foreign region. Both also need to sacrifice. Sacrificing a better future they might have for the ones who stay, and sacrificing their families and familiarities for those who decide to get away. Min Soe had no way of knowing his country would descend into its current state; no one did. But he, like so many others, has had to keep choosing how to live amid limited options. His choice was to stay and continue his work, while many of his friends and colleagues fled the country. His decision to remain wasn’t necessarily hopeful, but it was brave.
No one can truly know what the future holds for the world. What we can do is continually choose from the options presented to us. The importation of trains from Japan, the ban on motorbikes, the freedom locals feel to socialize and even sleep at sacred temples, these are rules and external factors beyond the control of an average citizen. We are only in control of our own reactions and subsequent choices, and it’s imperative to keep making them.
The ASEAN trip ended with a reflection. Perhaps our identities are shaped by the choices we have made in the past, driven by our values, our circumstances, and the dreams we hold for a better future. Even in the face of political oppression and societal constraints by the government and, sometimes, by the very religions that are meant to bring comfort.
