I’d never felt anything like it.

Of all the things I imagined I’d be doing, marching with a procession of monks through a remote village in Myanmar was definitely not something I could have envisioned. I knew in that moment that it was an adventure that I’d remember for the rest of my life.

It all started with a volunteering gig at the ThaBaWa temple township in Yangon. I had arrived in the dead of night and was treated to a large meal by some Buddhist nuns. It took me some time to get used to my surroundings.

I was surrounded by abject poverty, where many were staying in what amounted to wooden cages with tarpin over the top.The following days were spent getting acquainted with the volunteers, teaching workshops, looking after elderly residents and reading in the library – the only building in the township with air conditioning.

But soon, the heat, the lack of hygiene, uncertainty of what to do and lack of organised structure for the volunteers, began to get to me. There were also no nearby attractions or places to visit to explore in my spare time. Pretty soon, my doubts began to grow, because after all, I was there to help and I felt like I couldn’t. The tension between myself and the other volunteers was also less than helpful.

So after almost a week, I’d made up my mind to leave. Until I was invited on a trip to the Burmese countryside. After hearing about my experience in journalism, Sayaday Ashin Ottamathara the spiritual leader who set up the ThaBaWa centre invited me to accompany him and a delegation of monks and devotees accompany them on their 3 day trip.

It was 9.45pm in the evening and Sayadaw was leaving in 10 minutes. So in a flash of lightning, I packed all my stuff and was stuffed into the back of a car with an annoying American doctor called John (more about him in another blog) and some monks. Off we went. It all seemed so surreal. One minute I was getting ready to pack my bags and plan a different adventure elsewhere. In another moment, my plans had changed again and I was now heading off into unknown territory in a part of Myanmar where tourists weren’t even allowed to go.

It was crazy how things can change in an instant. I’ll admit though. With Sayadaw being something of a local celebrity, I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t travelling in the same vehicle. I had so many questions about Buddhism that I wanted an answer to.

I can’t remember what time it was, but they had all these late night cafeteria stops in Myanmar where you could grab a bite to eat. To be honest, after spending hours in the car, I really just wanted to sleep – somehow. But the monks encouraged me to get out, stretch my legs and eat. My stomach was still doing somersaults from eating the donated food at the temple, and I still had this problem of needing to rush off every few hours because of crippling diarrhoea.

Even in the car, I struggled to keep from losing all dignity and had a very uncomfortable journey, that was matched only by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. So I used my involuntary rest break to take full advantage of the awful ‘toilets’ they had available near the rest stop. I was also lucky to escape the clutches of the feral street dogs that barked and snapped at all of the passers by. It seems that I was the only person taking any notice of the dogs. I guess the locals were used to them. It didn’t help that a crowd of curious locals had gathered around me and were taking snaps of their own so that they could get a picture of me. It was like having paparazzi follow your every move. I understood why of course, but it just felt so surreal.

Soon enough, we were back in the car again, heading off to our next destination.