Over six months ago, I embarked on this incredible journey. Overall, while I miss loved ones and sometimes crave certain foods or stable internet, I have generally adapted to distance relationships and limited amenities. The thrill of adventure sweeps me away, time flies by, and slowly the rhythm of it all begins to feel normal. But no matter how well I know my way around or how much of a life I build, nothing completely compensates for constant difficulties in communication. It’s been over six months since I was in a country where I spoke the local language, and this has led to all kinds of surprises.
At work or out in the field, I am insulated from my helplessness thanks to the patient translation from local team members. But when I am on my own or with other expats, communication is a guessing game. Instead of knowing what is happening or having any say in the matter, you have to let go and go with the flow. Sometimes this yields confusing yet hilarious situations. But sometimes, the feeling of being maneuvered without your input can be hugely frustrating.
In Yangon, I get by. I can order the few things I like from teashops and I can buy certain fresh goods from street vendors. But when I’m traveling, things are much harder. I recently took a trip down to the south of Myanmar with Natasha. It was incredible to explore the beautiful seaside, fishermen towns, and remote beaches, but the frequent confusing experiences became a bit tiring. On my first day, I landed and met up with Natasha as we took a ferry to a nearby island. We barely set foot ashore when immigration swept us up. The Myanmar government has dozens of strange, nonsensical, hyper-controlling rules about foreigners, motivated by the fear that foreigners might leak information that the government wants to keep quiet. One such rule is that everyone needs a copy of your passport. The bus company, the hotel, the port authority, etc., no one is left out. So when the island immigration assembled motorbikes to take us to the copy shop, I wasn’t surprised. But this turned into two hours of being shuttled around to different government buildings. Who knows what they accomplished, because it felt like a bunch of people waving around our passport copies, intensely discussing the situation, writing things down, and sending us off to more officials. We tried to convey that we could stay in town, hoping it would make the process simpler and faster, but it did neither. Ultimately, they agreed on a permitted zone and we set off to a village to conduct the last few interviews for Natasha’s research. During this seemingly pointless exercise in executing bureaucratic protocol, we were the focus yet we were basically irrelevant. No harm done, so we laughed off the ridiculousness of the procedure and tried not to be hassled.
That evening, we went to a local seafood restaurant and feasted. But not without some communication struggles here too. To start, two of the waiters laughed hysterically when we called them over to order. I accepted it, people seem to openly laugh at foreigners often, but I would love to know what makes them burst out uncontrollably. When the restaurant owner came over to assist, Natasha requested to pick a fresh lobster from their tank. He agreed and they disappeared into the kitchen. However, instead of showing her a tank, he grabbed his motorbike keys and gestured for her to get on his bike. She hesitated, but climbed on. Often enough there is a reasonable explanation for the unexpected things people tell you to do, you just won’t find out until you take a leap of faith and go along with it. Sure enough, a few blocks later, she found herself at a lobster farm. They pointed into the sea of lobsters and told her to choose. The situation suddenly made sense to her, but I was left staring towards the kitchen, waiting and unable to express my growing concern to anyone. In the end, we had a solid laugh when she tapped me on the shoulder from behind, with a lobster in hand, but it might have spared some anxious moments to know what the restaurant owner was thinking from the start. Fortunately, this incident ended with us having some of the best seafood I’ve ever tasted (all for a shocking low price), a plate of freshly roasted cashews (the region’s specialty), and fresh fruit juice.
The strange encounters didn’t stop there. While at a restaurant the next evening, our hotel called to tell us our transport to the bus was ready. We explained that we would go to the bus station independently. Cyclically, they would say they understood, then they would ask when we would reach the hotel, and we would start the explanation over again. They kept calling, until we gave the phone to a waiter in desperation. Five minutes after we thought the issue had been resolved, a minibus rolled up to the restaurant. Two men rushed towards us and demanded we get in. It felt like we were fugitives being captured. Turns out, the “hotel transport to the bus” was the bus itself and the bus wasn’t leaving from the station. Instead of trying to tell us this, they decided to persistently track us down and exert control over the situation. Not only was the situation startling, but we were also irritated because they ruined our great plans to acquire some local delicacies on the way to the station. Without knowledge of the language, we couldn’t ask what was happening or negotiate an alternative plan. We were at the mercy of their agenda, with no power to express our feelings or desires.
All these events and plenty more have expanded my understanding of what it means to communicate. Not being constantly surrounded by people who share my native language, I’ve had to think about how to convey the simplest essence of my thought. I’ve spoken with an Indian accent and changed my speech patterns, both in India and in Myanmar, because it helps me be understood. I’ve pointed, gestured, and done charades when words fail. Sometimes I have to accept that I can’t express myself properly, and I rely on context and facial expressions. Sometimes these methods are surprisingly effective and I am proud to have overcome the language barriers. But other times, communication is still a lost cause. Given these hurdles, I began to assume that forming meaningful relationships with someone who doesn’t share the same native language would be near impossible. Thankfully, I was pushed to expand my views on the role language plays in forming connections. Instead of necessarily requiring one common fluency, I recently experienced the strength of a multi-lingual exchange with varying fluencies, and the result was incredible.
This past weekend, I took a trip with a group of friends, of whom I was the only native English speaker. While we mostly spoke in English, there were also conversations or interactions in Myanmar, Czech, French, German, and Hindi. I’ve always had great admiration for people who are multi-lingual, and I found myself loving the ways in which our collective languages wove their way into conversation. As we cracked ourselves up and generally made a ruckus everywhere we went, I realized how many of our jokes drew upon our international breadth of experiences and often included non-English words or phrases. Whenever we said small phrases like “thank you” or “let’s go” or “okay,” we openly chimed in using any language, or sometimes a creative melding of multiple. A few of us found particular joy in adding Myanmar suffixes to French words, and after a weekend of such silliness, I am struggling not to use these words in public. We discussed how different idioms or words translate across different languages, and we learned phrases from other languages when they came out bizarrely in English and gave everyone a good laugh. We teased each other and found ourselves absolutely hilarious, inspiring one of the guesthouse staff to call us the “happy people.” And it’s true, we were like playful children. Given that there was no language that everyone felt absolutely natural in, there was a sense of freedom to play with and explore language, and we all let down our guards. From jokes to meaningful conversations, we interacted freely. Instead of being confined to the boundaries of one language, there was something magical about the way our connection was enhanced through bringing many languages together.
I have gained so much appreciation for the comfort of being surrounded by your language and so much respect for people who are constantly required to communicate in a language that isn’t their own. Growing up in an environment dominated by people with native English fluency, I felt reluctant to practice other languages because there was always an easier option. But being away from such an environment and learning from people who are willing to speak in languages they aren’t perfect in, I have begun to view language differently. Learning a language is about finding connections to others and a voice of your own. Whether it’s through speaking in one, bits and pieces of multiple, or none at all, language can be a barrier or it can be a bridge, and while running into the barriers is frustrating, building new kinds of bridges is so uplifting.
I’ve been traveling a lot recently! The first trip was to Bagan, with Blanka and her friend, Long. Bagan is an ancient city with over 2000 pagodas.
The first two rows are of various pagodas we explored. Blanka and I are sporting great headgear because of the electric motorbikes we were driving!
The next two rows are from the top of a couple pagodas for sunrise and sunset. Very soon it will be outlawed to climb up, so I was glad to have this experience. In the mornings, fleets of hot air balloons set off into the sky as the sun rises, which was a magical view.
The next weekend I traveled down to Myeik and Dawei with Natasha.
The first row of photos are from the back of a motorbike as we explored the island of Kyunsu. The next two rows are from the ferry and ferry terminal.
The golden pagoda sits on the highest point in Myeik town. There is never enough gold (or “shwe”) in this country. The photo next to it and the cover photo of this post are from the view at this pagoda, looking out over the town.
The row below that is from the evening we spent walking along the sea, where the harbor was filled with fishing boats.
The next row shows two women cooking street food that Natasha and I spent hours walking around trying to find. One was making something similar to a coconut crepe and the other was making a coconut treat called “upha moe” which was to die for (this was to be our treat before the bus!) and was a bit similar to a Kerala food called appam.
The last row of three is from the day we spent in Dawei at a beautiful beach. On our way back, Natasha enjoyed a banana from the bundle of bananas that our passenger-lorry (basically a truck with seats and a roof installed) driver randomly bought for us. We’re really not sure why he did this, but we had a good laugh.
Last week on a day off, I went for a bicycle ride with Blanka and Zach in Dala. These pictures are from the sunrise ferry that we took across the river. We then biked for 4 hours through farmland and small villages/towns. It was exhausting but invigorating to be so active.
Most recently, I was in Kalaw, a place known for its trekking and cool, mountain temperatures.
The first row is from the day trek. Our guide, whom we found randomly that morning in town, brought us fresh avocados and told us about random plants along the way, through Zach’s wonderful translation.
The next two photos are from a random monastery that we found as we looked for a place to catch the sunset. Zach and Blanka are in the photo on the left and Theo and Martin are on the right.
The next photos are from our mini-trek to find a place for sunset. The main trek itself was quite dry and dusty, but the view from our sunset spot showed off some green hills.
The photo of sunset is actually a photo of Blanka, Zach, and Martin taking photos of the sunset. I liked it better than my actual sunset photos.
The next day we traveled a bit north of Kalaw to Pindaya, with Zach’s parents.
The row of three shows the path up to the massive caves embedded high up in the mountains.
The next row tries to capture the insane number of Buddhas inside the cave. The actual total is >8,000 Buddhas.
The next two rows are from a monastery that we saw as we drove through the countryside. Buddhists have an incredible monopoly over all peaks and view points in this country. Theo graciously took a photo of our group and then we proceeded to climb up to the top. The 5th Buddha and many stupas were still under construction, which was interesting to see.
The last photo is from a legendary blue lake tucked away in the countryside. The myths around this lake were rather entertaining.
