Before I contradict it, let me at least endorse a premise: There is by far more that unites the various human cultures than cleaves them apart. Nonetheless, we ignore this obvious fact on a daily basis. Human nature dictates that we stare at the things we find foreign. Even the term "outlandish" (the opposite of "homelandish"?) has entered the language to simultaneously indicate different and unacceptable. But because differences also spice up experience, noticing eccentricities without malice helps us get to know one another. With that in mind, here are a few of the quirks of Yangon life that raised an eyebrow or two. Driving: Just like in North America, Myanmar automobiles drive on the right. Unlike North America, Myanmar steering wheels are also on the right. When they switched from driving in the British way, they forgot to abandon British car design. No one seems to be making a fuss, however. Cash: I don't mean to bore you, but consider for a moment how modern society depends upon a reliable banking system. How would you manage without it? Myanmar 's solution is to rely almost entirely on cash. This is more complicated than it sounds. Americans and Europeans have multiple denominations of bills and coins, based on dollars or euros. Myanmar's currency, the khat (pronounced "chaht"), has an exchange value is so low that a 1000 khat bill is worth essentially $1.00. So you would imagine a 20,000 khat bill would be worth $20.00. That would be true, if you could find such a bill. Instead, almost all day-to-day commerce involves 1000 khat bills. Stacks and stacks and stacks of 1000 khat bills. My first morning here I exchanged 4 one-hundred-dollar bills for 400 thousand-khat bills. The stacks, banded together, measured about 4 inches high. Kindly she put it in a black plastic bag for me to carry. This is part of normal life in Myanmar. Zoë's 8th graders are going on a school trip. One teacher is responsible for carrying the large shopping bag full of cash they will use to pay the hotel, meals, etc. for 90 students. There are no coins, either. Smaller bills (500, 200, 100, etc.) are available and frequently used, but they are still far rarer than the 1000 khat bills whose heft prevents my wallet from closing. Public Telephones: Can't afford the abnormally high cell phone prices? Simply rely on coin-operated public telephones. That, of course, presumes that coins and public phones exist. In Myanmar, existence for both of those is a missing feature. But that leaves a gap for the private enterprise system to fill. People with land-line phones who live in market areas have stretched wires from their homes or offices onto the street, and set up a table with phones you can use ... for a fee, of course. No more searching for a dime for a phone call. Betel: America has tobacco. Myanmar has betel. Like its John-Paul-George-Ringo homonym, betel is exceedingly popular. It is prepared and sold by (usually young) men in street stalls that are found on almost every block in downtown Yangon. And I am confident that its users consider it a source of comfort and pleasure. But it is, for the rest of us, neither of those. The betel nut wad consists of pulverized betel and other additives wrapped in a green leaf. (Forgive me this lack of detail. Remember my Google problem.) The final product resembles a 1.5-inch-long cylinder. Users stuff them into their mouths, where the ingredients mix with saliva and turn the mouth, tongue, drool, gums, and what teeth remain after its regular use, a shocking, near-bloody red. This dental anomaly makes it easy to spot any and all regular users. All of that soggy material has to go somewhere, and it is too vile to swallow, so spitting is common. There seems to be no place where betel is off limits, so this ruby spew stains the sidewalks and streets all over Yangon. If only modern users would take a cue from Myanmar's past royalty. On display in the National Museum, I saw many betel bowls, essentially spittoons that formerly contained the residue of the royal chew. Buses: Public transport in Yangon consists of a commuter rail and buses. The rattle-trap buses are incredibly cheap (about 10 cents), so even poor wage earners can usually afford it. Each one has a driver, plus one or two conductors. These fellows stand in the aisle or precariously in the doorway, bellowing to the oncoming passengers, shoving them aboard, and taking their cash fares. One conductor offered me a wad of betel, which I graciously declined. Shaking hands: For Myanmar people, this time-honored ritual is a two-handed affair. But not by gripping both hands together. No, instead, while shaking right hands, Myanmar people use their left hand to touch the crook of their right arm. It is almost universal. This same stance is taken when handing someone cash. It seems to serve as a way of keeping your filthy left paw out of honorable social niceties. Longhi: Who needs trousers when you can easily step into a textile tube, tie it about your waist, and be on your way? Longhi are worn by about most of the men and almost all of the women here. (See photos.) More to come! Delays are inevitable here, so be patient. Blog to you later!