Kelly and Quang's Global Roam

In Nyaungshwe, a small town on the northern shores of Myanmar´s Inle Lake, a young man walked down the main street while reading a book.

A mother cow and her calf passed by 15 minutes later. Nobody followed close behind tending the pair. The animals were simply out for an evening stroll. They minded no one and no one minded them.

Groups of monks, two or three in number, walked about. Small, horse drawn wagons of an Oliver Twist era clopped along every so often. This collection of wooden carts were Nyaungshwe´s version of a taxi fleet. The high pitched drone of a moped punctuated the small town air once in a while. Bicycles, however, were much more common. Most of the bikes looked as if they had seen decades of use. Any colorful paint was gone, replaced by dusty, gray rust.

Quang and I sipped freshly squeezed and deliciously tart lime juice at a patio table belonging to a tiny local restuarant and watched the night come to Nyaungshwe. It was calm here, and quiet, something we desperately needed after our 14 hour car ride from hell. We were happy to be still and enjoying cold drinks on solid ground. We ate, eventually, ordering plates of noodles from the same waiter that had served us the limeaide, and with dinner done and the sun finally set, we took our own evening stroll through Nyaungshwe.

Electricity was out in most of the town. One grocery store flickered dimly with power from a humming generator in the street. Otherwise, the streets were dark. We walked passed street vendors cooking their food by candlelight, and then, as we approached our hotel, we heard singing.

A foursome of young men sat on a crumbling half wall at the turn to our guesthouse. One of them strummed a guitar. All of them sang. Their voices blended seamlessly. A few steps beyond them, Quang whispered near my ear, Doesn´t it sound like Spanish or something?

And although it wasn´t, I knew what he meant. The words of their song rolled and dipped so smoothly into and out of each other. It was pretty - their song - whatever it said, and whatever language it was in. We continued on to our hotel and got ready for bed. Under the sheet with the lights out, we could hear them singing still.