A week in Yangon

The beauty of this city continues to fascinate me. Every day feels like a quiet discovery. It has been a week since I arrived, and I’ve been exploring mostly on foot. It often rains—sometimes heavily—but the streets don’t show it. There are no muddy roads or puddles to wade through. The city seems to know how to handle the rain with grace.

Food has been one of the highlights of my time here. Every afternoon, my colleague takes me to a different restaurant, often quite extravagant. The meals are rich in flavour—soups, spices, textures. Myanmar food feels like a beautiful mix of South and East Asia. I sense Indian influences, and then there’s a clear Chinese and Thai touch too. But everyone here insists that Burmese food has its own unique soul. I agree.

And it’s so affordable! A full meal usually costs just 10,000 to 12,000 Kyat—about 2 to 3 US dollars. Sometimes we treat ourselves to a fancier spot, but even then, it’s reasonable. Good food and warm company make every meal memorable.

The city has a breathing space. It has wide open spaces and is full of greenery. I sometimes joke about the green algae on the footpaths—it feels like Yangon has more green than it knows what to do with! There are footpaths, and although not perfect, some crossings are tricky for pedestrians—I'm still amazed. After all, I come from Kathmandu, a city where footpaths are a rare luxury.

I've kept up my running routine, jogging around every other day. The parks and lakes are the heart of the city’s mornings. Runners, walkers, people stretching and breathing—it’s a living rhythm. In the afternoon, the same parks become shady escapes from the sun. In the evening, they turn into playgrounds filled with kids playing. I’ve even seen young couples under the trees. There’s a certain poetry in that. 

Downtown is a whole different energy—busy, packed, and full of life. Old houses stand shoulder to shoulder, some slowly being reclaimed by nature as trees grow through their cracked walls. 

Amid this chaos, we’ve found a favourite café. Its interiors are old-fashioned, and the staff are gentle and warm. And the coffee? Strong enough to shake off the sleepiness of a heavy lunch.

Without getting into politics, I’ll just say—I admire this city. There’s a quiet resilience in its streets, its food, its people. I feel lucky to walk through it, one day at a time. I keep thinking—I should really read more about the history of Burma.  Next up: George Orwell’s Burmese Days.