Good Morning, Yangon!

33 hours of travel have completely discombobulated my internal clock, so I’m awake hours before dawn. My hotel doesn’t start serving breakfast until 7:00 a.m. and I’m eager to start exploring, so at 6:00 I go for a walk with my camera to see what Yangon looks like at this hour.

Street vendors are already cooking on small fires along the side streets. This stuff smells better and better all the time, whatever it is.

Packs of wild dogs roam the streets along with the ubiquitous monks in their long red robes.

• Women walk around with baskets of produce on their heads and trucks are already full of people, stacked three deep and hanging off the backs, on their way to somewhere. This city wakes up early.

Back in the hotel, my favorite discovery of the morning is that the giant windows in my 9th story room don’t lock. I slide one open and pull up a chair to watch the city come alive.

A young monk is running from a playful pack of dogs. Trucks full of the local faithful trundle up the hill to Shwedagon. Longyi-clad men perform basic grooming tasks outside. One brushes his teeth on his front steps, another is bathing shirtless with the aid of a garden hose. I can hear chanting from the monastery next door, and frequent wake up calls from the rooster population. Hundreds of pigeons and sparrows add to the soundtrack. I could sit here all day, but I have adventuring to do.