Tale of Two Cities

Other than the massive 15-lane thoroughfare that could double as an airstrip, another spectacular attraction in the new capital of Myanmar, is the parliamentary building.

It is a massive imperial compound that can only be gawked from a distance. Far enough to see what really happens inside - but then again, the long distance may be intentional, because not a lot happens inside the building. The country's lower house only has five sessions per year and we can safely assume that lawmakers, and majority of public officials, don't want to be in Naypyitaw in the first place.

Naypyitaw is the place where no one wants to be. As one travel writer succinctly puts it, this is the place where "no one bothered settling over the past 2,000 years". Had it not been for a sudden decision by the military junta, only farmers and cattle herds would live in this arid, mountain-framed spot in Central Myanmar, 400km south of the old capital, Yangon.

Had it not been for the construction boom ahead of the SEA Games 2013 and the influx of foreigners and investors, who are now jockeying for getting the first contracts from the local government, Naypyitaw could easily win the title as the dullest capital city in the world.

This is the place where most of government buildings are painted grey as if to match the overhanging cloud that graces its September afternoon sky.

Even travellers will only walk to a modern but deserted, concrete-and-glass airport with no duty-free shops or even a refreshment stand. And the 45-minute travel from the terminal to downtown Naypyitaw is a trip back in time.

Along a six-lane tree-lined highway, there's nothing to see but a long stretch of paddy fields with buffaloes grazing on them and the city limit is hard to find. This is probably what much of Southeast Asia looked like in the late 1950s or 1960s.

People know that they are in Naypyitaw when they begin to see signs of hotel, government buildings and a handful of shopping malls. Then there's the inexplicably large presence of Thai restaurants. With so many Japanese, Chinese, American businessmen and UN workers coming into the city following the lifting of the sanction by Western governments, these Thai establishments appear to be the only place where the foreigners can gather after a long hot stay in a place where nothing ever happens.

Even on the busiest working day, the biggest traffic that this capital city has is the convoy of military truck followed by a handful of locals speeding on their motorbikes.

Inside Yangon, Coca-Cola and Samsung billboards have to vie for space with ones promoting thanakha (traditional makeup) with pictures of plus-size Myanmar beauties smiling proudly.

The juxtaposition of old and new, West and traditional, is now what gives new colour to Yangon.

Travelling next to each other, in the narrow streets of Yangon, are the latest edition of Japanese SUVs and rickety old trucks and taxis that Asia left behind in the late 1960s.

While the affluent and the powerful get cellular services and free WiFi at the lobby of some of the city's plush hotels, tourist spots and at the ground of the world-renown Shwedagon pagoda, longyi-wearing, betel-chewing Yangon locals can easily be spotted using landline connections from makeshift payphones at almost all bus stops throughout the city.

Behind some of the city's modest shopping malls are traditional markets bustling with buyers and vendors haggling over a slice of watermelon, 1kg of rice or the traditional betel mix. Anti-smoking campaigns will probably be of little use in this city, as none of males in the city seem to smoke.

The relative absence of smoke - be it from car exhaust, factories or smokers - gives Yangon the feel of an imperial town from the time when kings and regents still ruled their subjects. If you can ignore the SUVs and ubiquitous roadside Samsung ads, you can easily think that this is still the same city that George Orwell came to in 1924, before he embarked on a journey to shoot that famous elephant.

Of course there are the people, men in longyi and petite demure women in traditional dress, who exude a quiet confidence. Their demeanour supports the impression of their ability to endure decades of isolation.

It takes a great deal of patience - and almost an hour - just to get a ride on a packed public transportation truck. Drivers wait patiently for the traffic to pass, on some of the city's congested narrow roads - and they only honk when they are trying to overtake other motorists.

This patience has enabled life in Yangon to move at a slow, glacial pace. After all, what should you do when generals call all the shots - there are even instructions to go vegan on national TV!

And probably 20 years from now when capitalism is already in full swing, when high-rises dominates Yangon skyline, when women are already dressed in Zara and most of the men suited-up en route to some glass and steel office, when congestion is worse, people of Yangon will rue the day when life drifted by slowly like the clouds that roll by in the city's monsoon sky.