known as “The Saffron Revolution,” only for 6000 of them to find themselves behind bars. Astoundingly, none of this registered as defeat in the zeitgeist of Burma’s public, as far as my own Theroux-style probing could ascertain. Happiness and hope was prevailing. An apt example of this spirit came when, high in a mountain range in the rebel Shan state, I awoke to find the village that was offering us its hospitality had become inundated by rebel soldiers. We’re talking khaki, bullet belts, AKs, RPGs, the lot. They’d moved in overnight from their jungle hideout to get food, tea and cigars. This posed a significant risk to the village: Burma’s military would not differentiate between rebels and civilians if it came to a firefight. I was, to put it lightly, quite anxious about all of this.
I emerged tentatively from our lodgings only to see our guide skipping down the road, beaming at everyone he passed. At the next house along, a sergeant was using his pistol as a paperweight for the game of cards he was playing with some of the village elders. Up at the monastery, the maroon of monks’ robes mingled with the green of dirty uniforms. Food-sellers were haggling with rebels from behind their carts. It was a surreal, almost festival-type atmosphere. Later that night, the village chief asked to see us, and asked (told) us not to mention this while we were still in Burma. We didn’t need a guidebook here to advise us to conform.
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