Our first few weeks in Burma were great. We headed south, saw some interesting places, met some amazing people, ate wonderful food. When we turned north, still on a high from Mr. All Night's company, we suddenly realized we'd been missing one thing. Clean air. The cities in southern Burma are still some of our favorites, but the constant traffic and dusty roads mean dirty, heavy air. The final straw came in Bago, when we had to wait on the side of the highway for about an hour for our bus to Bagan. When it finally came, we could not get out of there fast enough. Our lungs were tired and our nerves were fried. We knew we wouldn't escape it completely in Northern Burma (Mandalay is one of the worst offenders), but for the most part we were about to give our respiratory systems a break from the hard work of the past 12 days.

Bagan was our first stop. We arrived at the bus station at nearly 3am to find horse and buggies the only possible mode of transportation. We also had not pre-booked a guesthouse, which may not have been the smartest choice since we were right in the middle of high season and Bagan is Burma's number one tourist site. Luckily, our horse cart driver knew a local place that most tourists probably avoided like the plague (as would we had it not been 3am with no other option). Not surprisingly, they had rooms available. Horse cart is not the fastest way to travel, but it's pollution free and after our time in the smoggy south, we signed up for a tour the next day. With more than 2,000 temples, the city could easily feel overwhelming. But we chose not to put any sight seeing pressure on ourselves and just took it slow (which is really the only speed in a horse cart). The best thing about the horse cart tour is that we didn't have to decide anything - our driver took charge completely, gave us a good feel for the city and made sure we saw the highlights.

There is a temple for everyone in Bagan. Old and untouched. Renovated. Grand. Small and intimate. There are beautiful frescos inside some, depicting scenes from Buddhist history and everyday life in Bagan at the time of the major temple construction (9-13th century) in impressive detail. Some house dozens of Buddha statues. There are stories of haunted temples (one in particular that was built by an ill-tempered king as penance for killing his father and brother. He became so strict about the construction that if the workers laid the mortar-less bricks anymore than a pin-width apart, he would have their arms cut off). But the real beauty in Bagan is its scale and panoramic views.

Our second day in Bagan, we took charge of our own destiny and rented bikes. It was a bit more work, but a great way to go at our own pace. Which again was very slow. We saw the sun rise over dozens of temples, with hot air balloons carrying the tourists with jobs floating in the distance. And for the better part of the day, we continued to find temples with open top floors so we could just sit and take in some of the magic of Bagan.

We could have easily stayed in Bagan for longer, but it was time to move to higher ground. We headed to Pin Lwin, which was built as a hilltop retreat for the Brits during colonial times and now serves as a getaway for Burmese with means and tourists seeking cool, clean air. We spent an amazing day in their botanical gardens, which turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. It was beautiful and green and smelled like fresh cut grass. It was completely different than Bagan, but a spiritual experience none the less.

To get to the mountains from Pin Lwin, we took our first train ride in SE Asia. The trains in Burma get a bad rap, but after 67 hours on the Tazara train line in Africa, we figured we could manage. The ride was a bit rough, but overall the six-hour trip went smoothly. We also went over the Gokteik Viaduct, which would make some train geeks jealous. When it was built in 1901, it was the highest railway bridge in the world and remains an engineering marvel even today.

Arriving in Hsipaw was like coming home for Brendan. It's a small mountain town with character and a laid-back vibe (sound familiar, CB?). We liked it immediately. And then we met Aike Teng. Our trek with Aike Teng will be something we remember for years to come. The hike itself was nice - beautiful views, time with nature, good exercise. But it was our interactions with Aike Teng, the villagers we met along the way and our home stay family that made it so memorable. I don't know if Aike Teng has ever met a stranger, but he treated us like good friends from the start (although he later admitted to not being sure about Brendan right at first). The hike took us through several Shan and Mong villages and gave us a glimpse into rural life, which is still mostly untouched and unchanged by the outside world. Life revolves around community, seasonal crops and tea farming and preparation. The people were as warm and welcoming as the city folk. They smiled, greeted us in their home language (we used three different dialects on the first day alone) and the children ran out and greeted us enthusiastically with their only English phrase, "bye, bye!"

Our home stay family is one of the few in the village who have converted a room into a guesthouse of sorts for the growing number of overnight trekkers. The accommodations are basic - small mattress and blanket on the floor to sleep and the family outhouse out back for other things. You live just as the family does, because you're meant to feel a part of it. And we did immediately. The second we arrived, the younger boys grabbed Brendan and took him outside for games while I sat on the sidelines with the children and "chatted" with the women. We were treated to wonderful meals, cooked over an open fire and eaten with the mother of the household watching every bite to make sure we ate enough. She was, not surprisingly, satisfied with our efforts. Unfortunately, my stomach couldn't quite handle mama's home cooking because the next day I was officially sick with my second stomach bug in SE Asia. Aike Teng and Brendan gave me a hard time the whole way, imitating my comments at dinner the previous night, "This is so delicious. I love spicy. Can I have more?" Whoops.

Going from the mountains and cool air of Hsipaw to the chaos of Mandalay was a bit overwhelming at first, especially since I was sick and we both were exhausted. But, with the help of some bicycles, we ended up having a great few days exploring the outskirts of the city. The quieter parts of Mandalay are actually lovely, especially compared to the congested mess of downtown.

On our last day in Burma, we woke up and went for sunrise at U Bein bridge, which connects Mandalay with another village over the glass surface of Taungthaman Lake. When we arrived, the fishermen were just starting to cast their nets from small canoes below. The buffalo grazed quietly on the grassy shores. And the first few commuters began to cross the teak foot bridge for work in the city. After a while, the morning exercisers arrived, walking the length of the bridge and breathing the fresh morning air. Students began to file across for school in their matching uniforms. And as the morning progressed, the bridge became an entire community of its own. A few vendors began selling fruit and water. Groups of friends or neighbors laughed as they caught up on their gossip. Locals practiced their English with tourists on the benches. It took on a life of its own and we were so lucky to be a part of it.

Looking around, we both knew we were about to say goodbye to a special place. Burma had it's ups and downs, but that morning on the bridge reminded us of our best experiences - the beauty of the North, the diversity of the South, the quiet spirituality of Bagan and most of all the incredible warmth of the people we met all around the country. It's hard to believe we almost missed it all - Burma only happened after we extended the trip, but it ended up making one of the biggest impressions.

Of all the countries we've visited in SE Asia, Burma has been the most challenging and most rewarding.

The former is mostly due to the lack of tourism infrastructure and sparse creature comforts - intermittent power, rough roads, terrible hotels (especially among the budget options), virtually no internet, dust, dirt, grime, rat carnivals*, etc. It's nothing we can't handle, but the sum of it wears you down. Luckily, the good stuff makes it all worth it. And the best stuff in Burma is its people.

Despite a turbulent past and trying present, the Burmese people are wonderfully warm, generous, curious and personable. It's palpable, and we felt it the second we got off the plane in Yangon: smiles, cheerful greetings, conversations, invitations, games, spontaneous singing. We met people from all walks of life, with different backgrounds and different stories, but all over the country they asked us the same question: "Are you happy?". Not "Are you okay?" or "Do you need anything?", but always, without fail, "Are you happy?". And after spending time with so many of these amazing individuals, we think we know the reason. It's because, against all odds, after decades of civil war and oppression, and even in the face of struggle today, they choose to be happy.

We went trekking in Hsipaw, a small hillside town in Northern Burma, with Aike Teng, a.k.a., the happiest man on earth. He sang love songs as he hiked, cracked himself (and us) up with terrible jokes and kept us smiling the whole way. His contagious positive energy even kept me sane (and Brendan unscathed) when I got sick and had to trek four hours on an upset stomach. Aike Teng was born in a small mountain village and was working full days in the tea fields by the time he was nine. Calling it a hard life would be an understatement - out of the house before dawn to be in the treacherously steep tea fields by first light, hours of work in the hot sun and the long walk back to the village with baskets of freshly harvested tea leaves on his back. He went to school when his parents could afford to send him, but was mostly self-taught, reading and talking to any tourist who was willing. After his parents died, it fell to him to care for his two younger siblings. Two months ago, he told us through his trademark ear-to-ear smile, he got the opportunity of a lifetime to become a trekking guide for the growing number of tourists in Hsipaw. Now, he earns just enough money to care for his family and keep his younger brother and sister out of the fields and in school. And maybe one day, if he saves enough, he can marry the woman who inspires the love songs. Until then, he'll keep melting hearts from all over the world on the hills of Hsipaw, one smile at a time.

In Hpa'an, in the south of Burma, we stopped to watch a group of men playing volleyball in a small village just outside of town. Immediately, they invited us to play, leading to two hours of sweating, grunting and attempting to bring back old skills (not to mention several days of sore muscles afterwards). The men spoke about as much English as we spoke Burmese, but with the help of charades and a few elementary school kids who were learning some English in school, we spent two nights eating, drinking, "talking" and laughing with the men. They are from a military family, and are all still active in some way or another, from border patrol to senior leadership. With so much stigma attached to the Myanmar military, we bristled when we learned about their involvement in the organization that's been the cause of so much harm to the Burmese people. But, just like others we'd met, the men wanted to talk about their country, the good and the bad and the changes. They seemed aware of the failures of the past and optimistic about what the future would bring. And, they genuinely wanted to learn more about us (which led to my very Texan version of a US map). The brothers were gracious hosts and we're pretty sure we have an open invitation to stay at their home next time we're in southern Burma. We got a number, but never quite figured out how communication would work over the phone. It didn't seem to matter much at the time, and honestly, it still doesn't. If we showed up at their door in two years, even if they had no idea who we were, they'd invite us in.

Mr. Toe, an English teacher and tour guide in Yangon, stopped us on the street for a quick chat. When we told him we were from the US, he invited us to tea to talk more about Obama's visit to Burma. He, like so many others we met, were overwhelmed and grateful for the visit. Mr. Toe actually attended the President's speech at the University in Yangon and gushed about how Obama learned Burmese for the occasion (hello and thank you, from what we've been told) and how he kissed "The Lady", Aung San Suu Kyi on the cheek. He felt as though Obama was speaking directly to the people, a friend and ally in the struggle. He also attributed many of the recent changes to the city and country to the visit, or at least what it symbolized: Burma exposed and engaged with the outside world. After the politics were set aside, he proceeded to engage the outside world himself by going through our Lonely Planet page by page to give us recommendations for our next stops. No agenda, no sales pitch, just advice from one friend (er, stranger) to another.

On the train in Yangon, we rode in a car with two Burmese police officers. At first we were a bit nervous, not sure about local customs or comfort zones. But, after ten minutes, the officers had us rolling with laughter. They showed us their weapons, slingshots and pellets, and acted out an arrest with another passenger on the train. They shared food and tea and by the end of the three hour ride our stomachs hurt from laughing and eating too much.

We met a PhD outside of Mandalay who came from a family of academics. In the 80s, the government saw an enemy in intellectuals and responded. Universities were shut down, incentives were given for leaving high school to work at state funded farms and scholars were made an example of. The PhD was forced to abandon his current role as a scientist and find work as an admin. His brother was arrested and sentenced to an indefinite prison term for an undefined crime. Eight years later, the brother was released, found a way to leave the country and never looked back. The PhD, on the other hand, stayed. He said he knew his country would one day change and wanted to be a part of it. Standing with him in his museum, back in academia, the smile on his face let us know he was happy about the decision. He sees progress being made from the inside out by people like him, using their strength of character over force. And the fact that he can discuss the past, present and future openly with two Americans made him almost giddy.

On our last morning, walking the U Bien bridge in Mandalay, we met a monk who has devoted the last 18 years of his life to learning and teaching the lessons of the Buddha. He comes to the bridge every morning to exercise and practice his English with tourists. We sat with him for nearly an hour discussing his life, country and beliefs and answering questions about ours. At the end of the conversation, he invited us to his monastery for the afternoon. Brendan and I looked at each other and silently shared a wish, "Can we change our flight?" We were tired, dirty, both on the tail end of being sick and very much looking forward to the comforts of Bangkok, but with a single encounter, we were willing to put all that aside and stay just one more day. Looking back, it was a fitting farewell.

We will never forget the people we met in Burma or their stories, these and so many others. They epitomize strength, generosity, humility, innocence and perseverance and we are humbled by their kind hearts and open minds. For the last five decades, they have survived civil war, military rule, corruption, civil oppression, poverty and global isolation. And, while change is happening, it's a slow struggle rife with complication. The Burmese people have every reason to be angry and cynical, but they choose to be happy. And the effect is contagious.

Back in Kenya, in the first few weeks of our trip, we met a group of Maasai grandmothers who touched our lives deeply, giving so much of themselves when they have so little. Now, with little more than a month until we head home, we are reminded yet again to think hard about our priorities, perspectives and what makes us happy.

*Rat carnival: Dozens of acrobatic rats outside our window our first night in Burma. By far our worst hotel experience of the trip. At one point during the night, I was just crying silently into my pillow. Little did I know, Brendan was doing the same ;).