There’s something unexpectedly magical about running in Yangon. It’s not just a physical activity, I feel and see a lot. A bit of hidden corners and allies, and daily life. For me, Yangon is, quite simply, runnable. Sure, now and then, a heavy vehicle exhausts, but for the most part, the air feels fresh. The abundance of green is appealing. Parks, lakes, and open spaces call out to me in the early mornings. I’ve grown strangely fond of the humidity here. The sweat keeps me cold, and it forces me to run a little harder and further. The only caution is that it is not always possible to be on the footpaths. Slippery algae can turn a casual run into a skating attempt. And it is normal to walk/run on the tarmac road, ignoring the speeding car. But honestly, sleeping in late feels far more dangerous to me than algae or a car. Running through Yangon is lively. I pass crowded marketplaces just waking up, keeping myself away from stray dogs, and observing vegetable markets and tea shops, v...
Monologue .......