There was no way we would have missed out on witnessing the daily handling of the torch from darkness to daylight. The idea was to stand somewhere atop a temple and greet the sunrise with awakened eyes. However, in rare instances where reality overtakes the expectations of imagination, what I saw was more gratifying and romantic—even without reciting a line from a Nicholas Sparks novel. Even if I had nibbled the breakfast of the most obnoxious man in the world that morning, I would still categorize the major part of what I experienced that day as something I should keep in my memory vault.

The temperature that morning must have felt like forty degrees Celsius when our group boarded two vehicles heading to Mount Popa. The plains of Bagan were unforgiving during that time of the year, when the sun seemed to be closer than any place on Earth. The thought of a side trip to a place thousands of feet above sea level seemed like finding an oasis. As I sat in the backseat of the car as it rolled over burning-like asphalt roads, flowing fire disguised as wind blew across my face. My eyes were almost tearing up because of the scorching heat. I listened to the small talk between Chef Jana, who was seated beside me, and Melo, who was in the front passenger seat, for a time before the two of them fell asleep, leaving me to watch the passing dried farmlands, trees, and twigs by the side of the road.