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| "Party Animals" on the Yangon river. You should have seen the looks we got on our way to the boat! |
I wasn't even going to make an attempt here in Lashio. I find it hard enough to find food I recognize, much less all the ingredients I'd need for a Thanksgiving feast. I'd even struggle to find butter or normal milk for the mashed potatoes. Corn is out of season, otherwise I'd be able to do corn on the cob. Pumpkin is in season, but I don't know how to make a pumpkin pie out of actual pumpkin, plus I haven't seen a western style oven since I arrived here. So it was safe to say I had given up on Thanksgiving long before I even entertained the thought of trying to celebrate it.
Then I found out that I had that Thursday and Friday off work. Sweet! I started making plans to leave Lashio. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, but I was going to have two consecutive days off work, so I was going to make the most of it. Then it turned out everyone at school was talking about a festival on that Thursday. Coincidentally, Thanksgiving this year happened to fall on the full moon of the Buddhist Tan Zaung Thaing holiday. Everyone at my school was making big plans to celebrate and they wanted me to be here for it, so I decided to stay.
I knew what everyone back home would be doing. They'd spend the day with family, roasting a turkey, baking some pies, making cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and all the other trimmings. They'd be drinking delicious wine or craft beer, maybe watching an American football game, and catching up with family. Sounds like a beautiful way to spend Thanksgiving.
I decided I was going to make the best of the situation. I was going to have a great Thanksgiving, too, except it would be the Tan Zaung Thaing full moon day instead. I was going to sleep in, get a good workout, go for a relaxing shampoo and massage, wear my new traditional Burmese outfit to the festival, eat lots of food, and enjoy the lighting of candles and fireworks that evening. And that's what I did. Sort of. Except not really.
I had my eye mask next to me on my bed so when the early morning sun started shining over the hills, I'd easily be able to put it on and go back to sleep. Turns out it wasn't the sun, or even the local roosters that woke me. It was a mic check. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. They had set up a stage for the festival, complete with a sound system. HELLO. HELLO. The volume was never adjusted. As far as I could tell, nothing was adjusted. HELLO. HELLO. I think the man testing the microphone was having fun. HELLO. HELLO. There was no change in pitch or tone, just 20 minutes of HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. I wanted to swing open my window and scream, "The microphone fuck!ng works, okay!? Shut the f*ck up!!" But I didn't. Not because I didn't want to be rude, but because I knew he wouldn't understand me.
He finally quit, switched to some really loud and pretty terrible music, and I was just about to finally fall back to sleep when my alarm went off. Time to work out.
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| Cleaning my sink, baby on back |
Next on my agenda for my nice relaxing Thanksgiving was to go get my hair washed. Getting your hair washed here usually takes nearly an hour because it includes a head, neck, and shoulder massage, and is followed by a blow dry. A few days before, a friend of mine had pointed out a "beauty saloon" [sic] that her friend owns, so I went to check it out. I laid down on the table, and they wet my hair with very cold water. That was fine, it was a warm day, and I've learned not to take hot running water for granted the way I used to back home. Then she started "massaging" my scalp. It hurt. Bad. She was using her fingernails, and not gently. I'm talking brutal. I don't know how to say "gently" or "take it easy" or anything like that in Burmese. In hindsight, I've thought of a million things I could have done to act out how I was feeling, kinda like charades at the hair saloon. But for some reason I laid there and did nothing as she tortured me. At one point, when I was almost done, she took all my hair and pulled it. Hard. First straight back, then to one side, then the other. I still don't understand what the purpose was. Do Burmese people think that feels good? No; I've been for other shampoos at other saloons, and while they're often a little bit weird, they're never that painful. Maybe she decided to do an extra good job to impress the foreigner with the mutual friend. Whatever the reason, I was glad when she finally rinsed the conditioner out with the cold water (it helped relieve the burning sensation) and led me to the chair to dry my hair. She used the hair dryer until it was only about half dry, and then stopped. Then I was presented with some kind of greasy Indian food that I was supposed to sprinkle a bunch of sugar on. In general, I eat far more than I want to here because I'm afraid of being rude, so I ate it, thinking, "there goes my workout." I assumed she would resume drying my hair when I finished eating, but once again I was wrong. I tried to act out the motion of plugging the hair dryer back in and drying my hair again, which she responded to by smiling and nodding her head, and then just standing there. When I put my helmet back on my scalp was burning and my hair was still wet. At least the whole ordeal cost me less than $2.
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| That's me, the giant on the right. |
I went home to my apartment, ran a brush through my hair, and changed my part to try to alleviate the helmet hair. Then, for the first time since I arrived, I put on a bit of makeup before I donned my new set of traditional Burmese clothing. My matching longyi and top had been tailor made. Not exactly my style--I'm not sure if I'll ever wear it after I leave here--but I thought it would be nice to have one outfit that helped me to "fit in" a little, other than my school uniforms.
They loved it! Pretty much everyone I saw that day exclaimed, "Oh! Very beautiful!" when they saw me. It was lovely, if maybe a little bit awkward.
The students had spent the week before selling tickets for the various types of foods that would be sold that day. I had bought a few tickets from the students who had been brave enough to approach me and attempt to speak English, so I set off to figure out exactly what it was I had bought tickets for. Turns out it didn't matter. Every booth I stopped by wanted to give me food. The people here are so generous. They gave me so much food I tried to use "my hands are full!" as an excuse not to take any more, but they just helped me carry it.
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| Not sure what any of this is, but it was delicious! |
As I sat and ate my array of mysterious and delicious food, I was entertained by some karaoke. Some of it was decent. Some of it was absolutely horrendous. I found myself, once again, wishing the microphones didn't work.
Then there was the November birthdays celebration. There was a big cake, and I was asked to sing the birthday song into one of the microphones, because apparently blonde hair trumps a lack of talent (and actually, after the karaoke I'd been subjected to, I realized I wasn't so bad!) Then all of the students who had a birthday in November were given a gift. They had me stand on stage and present the gifts. I was the first to present, so it was only after I had finished that I noticed that the other presenters posed for photos with the recipients. Whoops. Maybe the foreigner shouldn't have gone first.
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| Cutting the November birthdays cake |
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| World's worst presenter |
Next came the fireworks. Presumably, at some point, someone said, "let's get enough tubes of little fireworks for the older kids, and enough sparklers for all the younger students," and no one voiced any objection. In fact, everyone seemed to think it was a great idea. And to be fair, no one got hurt, so I guess it was. I also got a stick of firecrackers, so that was fun. I think the whole spectacle would have been really beautiful if it had been dark out, but the parents wanted to get home, so we did it with the sun still blazing.
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| The elementary age students with their sparklers in the afternoon sun |
In between all of these fun happenings, I must have had my photo taken about a thousand times. People were often nervous to ask, but when they saw me smile and say yes for someone else, they became a little more bold. There were a couple times that a queue began to develop. Again, I don't mean to complain; I'm flattered, and it was lovely, but it was also a little awkward.
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| Check me out! It's like I'm famous! |
When the mid-afternoon pyrotechnic display was finished, people began to disperse. Some of the other teachers and students began picking up all the rubbish that had been strewn everywhere. For some reason, in Myanmar it's perfectly acceptable to just throw your trash on the ground whenever you're finished with it. Fortunately, the staff at my school has made it clear to the students that that is forbidden on school grounds, so our campus is normally quite clean. However, their parents aren't as well trained, so the ground was covered with disposable bowls, styrofoam containers, chopsticks, ice cream wrappers, and other litter. I began to help pick up the trash. Of course, they told me I didn't need to help. The thing is, I never need to help, and I like to help, so when they told me to stop I just kept saying, "it's ok" and kept picking up the rubbish. I still don't know if I made them feel awkward or embarrassed, but I wanted to do a little something to help after all the generosity and love I had been shown throughout the day.
When most of the trash had been picked up, one of the principals told me I should go rest, so I went back to my apartment. It wasn't long until it was dark outside. I could hear fireworks being lit off fairly frequently, nearby, and in the distance. I also knew that there would be thousands of candles and other lights lit around the pagodas throughout town. I was curious as to what was happening in town. I would have really liked to have jumped on my motorbike and cruised around town checking out the festivities, but the 'powers that be' at my school had made it clear that they didn't want me out on my own after 6:30, for my own safety. I had tried to protest, telling them I never would have agreed to a curfew. They insisted it wasn't a curfew, that I could do whatever I wanted, I just needed to have someone with me after 6:30. I suppose I should have just asked to have someone give me a tour of the town and take me to the pagodas and monasteries that were hosting celebrations. The thing is, after hours of being doted on, smiling for cameras, and attempting to speak in broken English, I didn't really want any more of all that. I decided to stay home instead.
I'm glad I did, because I ended up speaking to my mom for over three hours. My being away for the holiday was a bit tough on both of us, so it was nice to spend a few hours talking even though we couldn't be together. I promised to be home next year for Thanksgiving. Her response was, "Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before. I'll believe it when I see it." But I think I really mean it this time. I love the idea of roasting a turkey and baking a pie with my mom, then eating some cranberry sauce and drinking a Michigan microbrew.
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| Throw a ring on the plastic bottle |
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| stacking cans... ...just to knock them down again |
This Tan Zaung Thaing full moon holiday was certainly a cultural experience. Some of it was fun. All of it was interesting. When I look at the details, I notice so many differences between the American holiday I grew up with, and the Burmese one I experienced this year: we wear different clothes, eat different foods, play different games, sing different songs, and celebrate different things. But when I focus on the bigger picture, I'm struck by the similarities. We all aim to impress our guests and make them feel as welcome and happy as possible. We all prepare and eat our favorite foods. We entertain ourselves and each other. We spend time with the people we love.
Ultimately, I'm most grateful for the people who have, and continue to, make me feel loved and welcome all over the world.
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| The thing I'm most thankful for |
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