“I have a robe for you,’ a passing monk said to us near the mighty Shwedagon Pagoda, which gleams and beams across the city of Yangon. We had been wandering around the centre of town being dazzled by the temples, buildings, animal statues and Buddha images – cleaned to within an inch of their many karmic lives. Lift your eyes and golden spires swirl above you, lower your eyes and small, feet are padding across the tiled outdoor floors – small feet belonging to many maroon-robed monks. Anyway, one of my travelling companions was very fair and bald, and it took a microsecond for the penny to drop – it was a... keep reading