A popular joke around here is that George Orwell, who had lived and worked in Burma for a while, had written not one, but three novels about the country: Burmese Days, Animal Farm and 1984. Of course the sad fact is that this is not a joke, but the fact. Over here, the pigs (literally) indeed are the members of the upper ruling class.
My first and lasting impression of Yangon, the biggest and richest city of Burma, is how poor and rundown it is. The city is full of dirty and dilapidated buildings; the dirty sidewalks are cramped with desperate people who set up small stands – sometimes just a piece of tarp on the ground – to sell whatever they have: raw meats, fruits, snacks, old books, pirated DVDs, clothes, wrapped betel seeds, molded microscopes that are useless; the streets are filled by old and beat-up cars and buses, and no motorcycle – because the ruling generals don't want the people to be too mobile.