The 'slow'down on eating in Bagan

Mum and I travel for food. Our (holi)days are punctuated by meals, and the hours between are often spent talking about what we just ate or will eat.

So we're in Bagan in Myanmar, where the main attraction exists far from the strip of homogenised restaurants that serve Chinese, Italian, Western, Burmese and you-name-it-they've-got-it-but-the-getting-is-probably-not-that-good- and-is-definitely-more-expensive-even-though-they're-all-competing-with-each-other-for-tourists'-patronage. This ancient city is known for its wealth of temples and pagodas that thorn the horizon with their spires. Watching the sun set from atop one of these structures is the Bagan experience par excellence for many who visit here.

This night mum and I choose an early dinner over the sunset. We find a humble restaurant, Yar Pyi, outside the old city and far from that aforementioned main drag. The owner welcomes us with the curious phrase, 'Slowly, slowly.' We order his specialty: an unusual fusion of guacamole with pappadums. He hovers over us.

'Slowly, slowly.'

But no. I'm hungry. Let me eat. I don't want a mantra while there's avocado getting, well, okay, staying at room-temp. Good service is good but this is overeager. So what if we're the only ones here to pay attention to because no one else is here because it's too early to eat and they're enjoying the sunset like good tourists?

Screw the sunset. The guacamole and pappadums are actually tingling on my tongue. And it's all gone in like five minutes.

So we return the next night for more. It's early again because mum and I got bored and we want to speed up the day's end (we have trouble not doing anything. Give us a slow morning and the noonday demon inevitably pops its head up in the early afternoon.)

'Slowly, slowly.'

Sure, sure.

I got it; he wanted me to chill, to enjoy my meal, the company, the place, the totality of the experience. At the time I could appreciate without really appreciating the sentiment of this guy's mantra. Put it this way, it was advice I wasn't ready or willing to take.

In retrospect, I think I now actually do get it. Three years on and I've finally, through serious effort, learned the lesson of going 'Slowly, slowly.' I thought I was being preached at, but the owner was trying to tell me something important about not just my digestive system but the consequences of moving fast, of 'just trying to get through' something that should be savoured.