Yangon…Rangoon…Our Last Impressions of Myanmar

A few weeks back when we left Yangon for Bagan, the taxi driver who took us to the airport in his ancient vehicle had no brakes in his car. He had two pedals – gas and clutch – with a hole in the floor where a brake used to be. He stopped the car only using the clutch and never left second gear.  The squeaky, clanking, and violent shaking from the potholed streets felt as though the car would fall apart at any moment. We opted to pay $6 instead of $7 for the nicer car and regretted every single moment. He didn’t speak English, never used a main road, and almost actually killed us when he rolled and stalled in the middle of an intersection.