Exploring a mote of dust : People of Dawei

Upon our arrival, we went for a stroll down the main road in search of a place to exchange our dollars into kyats, the Burmese currency. We immediately noticed the beautiful untouched colonial architecture, that often appeared unlived-in, as well as many schools and business academies, and large roads with somewhat organised traffic. We hit the market and had one of first interactions with the people of Myanmar. Through such interactions and conversations with the people of Dawei, it became clear how uncorrupted they were by tourism. Even when given the chance to potentially make a profit from Westerners, in many cases, it either didn`t occur to them or didn't come natural. This was a huge contrast to what we had experienced in Thailand.

Markets are always a great place to see the locals and get a feel for the people. We saw a stall with delicious fruit and stopped to enquire. A young girl, who had probably just finished school, was managing the stall. Her mother sat in the background on a mini bamboo chair, fanning herself from the heat. "How much?", I asked, pointing at the tangerines. As the young girl began to answer, her mother sprung from the chair and slapped her on the hand, muttering something in Burmese. The mother paused in thought, then said, "1000 kyat" while holding 3 fingers up. Forty pence for 3 tangerines. I pointed at a strange tropical plum like fruit, which we later found out were called mangosteens, and gestured for her to show me how to eat it. The young girl looked at her mum for approval, who then gestured for her daughter to use the smallest one. She opened the fruit squishing it in her hand and allowed us to taste it. It was delicious, sweet, slightly sticky and reminiscent of lychee. We asked for a bunch, followed by another pause and a random sum of money. It was clear we were getting unconsidered tourist prices. A bag of fruit for less than 1 pound couldn't have been much more than local prices.

We soon realised during our stay in Dawei that even though people will ask what you want, they will end up giving you what they think is best for you. At breakfast, the young gentleman waiting on us asked whether we wanted fried rice or toast. Even though we responded toast, a large plate of fried rice appeared on the table. At dinner, in a restaurant in town, we pointed at plain rice on the menu and were given a bowl of rice mixed with vegetables, omelette bits, chicken skin and what appeared to be bits of raw fish. There was no selling involved, no increase in the price of the bill, and no expectation of a tip. It was a recommendation, as though they were saying `While you are here in Dawei, why not do as we do?`

As we walked through the city, it felt like a red carpet gala, just a little less glamorous. People often waved and greeted us from a distance, smiling at our presence. `Mingalabala!`, they would say. And we would say it back. It means hello. Others wanted to practice their English with us, and many were just so genuinely friendly and hospitable, offering us chairs when we had to wait out the rain or bringing us extra portions of tea and food without asking us to pay for it. Fathers would bring out their children to meet us, some would giggle and attempt to say 'Hello!', others would be shy and surprised to see such tall, pale people. We high-fived them and showed them pictures on our camera.

The morning after we had arrived, Matt and I walked to the Shwe Taung Zar Pagoda. Our plan was to wander around there then head to the seaside in the afternoon. However, we soon found out what `monsoon` really means and witnessed the heavy rains for the first time. A couple of minutes after being at the Pagoda, a young man came running to us. He wore his longyi, traditional attire in Myanmar, and a small crossbag under his faded shirt, "Please, where you from?". "England. And she's from Portugal," Matt said. He stared blankly at Sofia. "Cristiano Ronaldo.", Matt added. He smiled, "Ah, Ronaldo. And please, what your age?". These were two well rehearsed questions to get to know foreigners. He signalled for us to move forwards to the pagoda, he straightened his shirt and turned facing us. "Please, souvenir photo. For you." We were puzzled and not sure whether we would have to pay him a small fee after taking the photo. But, as it turns out, it was purely for our memories of Dawei.

Later a 29 year-old tourist policeman approached us to see if we were alright. He took us to the museum and explained some of the artefacts, showed us the Buddha is the pagoda and kept us company while we waited out the rain. He then excused himself as it was lunch time and wished us a happy trip.

However, our favourite moment of learning about the people of Dawei was certainly this final man. He had sat watching us during the entire thunderstorm while we chatted to the tourist policeman. As we were leaving, he chased us and asked if he could get a picture. So Matt and I stood in front of the Pagoda and he snapped away with his phone camera. Matt then took a picture of me and him. He wanted to take a picture of us with Matt's camera but couldn't fathom how to press the button all the way down. We made sounds and gestures to teach him. He then took subtle steps backwards towards the exit, holding our camera crookedly, walking further and further away from us. "Do you think he's going to make a run for it?" Matt asked. It turned out he was just trying to zoom out. What started as one photo together turned into an impromptu photoshoot with him marching around the grounds in the pouring rain and snapping photos of us and other people. And when he was satisfied, he brought the camera back and toddled off, barefoot, almost slipping in the rain.