Wheeling my luggage into Aung Mingalar Highway Bus Station in Yangon – the biggest bus terminal in the largest city in Myanmar – 7 in the morning, the air was nowhere near fresh like it was often proclaimed to be. The first thing I noticed: I had a hard time breathing.
Bus terminals are always nightmares. The smell of barbecue and coal from street vendors mixed with household cooking and incense is smudged into a visible mess by fumes from hundreds of roaming express buses that leave masses of dust dancing from the ground up.
However, when I remotely saw my five colleagues waiting at the gathering point with the same agitation as mine, a spark of excitement overtook my frustration. The team is complete!