sweet reverie

I was walking around the teeming streets of downtown Yangon (formerly Rangoon) with a new local friend. As we conversed, he pointed out different street stalls and buildings. There was a particular building that he gestured at and said it was one of the oldest buildings in the area. I took out my camera and started taking pictures of it. He chuckled and remarked, “ohh, so you’re one of those tourists who love old buildings. I just don’t get why tourists love these old buildings so much.”

At first I was a bit taken back because surely I wasn’t one of those tourists. I couldn’t possibly be the oblivious kind who’d exoticize the country’s people and locale, its colonial history, and remnants of a bygone era. However, in my internal insistence that I was a culturally aware and sensitive traveler, I realize that I too romanticize about what Yangon is and should be.

Indeed, one of the hallmarks of the cityscape of Yangon is the crumbling British colonial era buildings. Tourists often see these buildings as a beautiful tragedy—a reminder of a glorious colonial era, yet an emblem of a decaying urban center. As certain tourists, and myself included, romanticize about the architecture and orate about its aesthetics, what do locals think about it? Are these buildings still architectural gems or do they pose a physical threat to their inhabitants? Do these buildings represent the strength, resilience, and fortitude of the Burmese people or do they simply serve as an innocuous backdrop to Yangon’s residents lives? Would folks prefer to conserve these buildings or tear them down to build newer ones? Have the dialogues around conserving and retrofitting these buildings been co-opted by outsiders?