It didn't take us long to realize that religion plays a huge role in Burma. It is a country of pilgrims and pagodas, and most of the sights worth seeing are sacred. Looking back on our first week, it seems like we were on our own pilgrimage in South Burma and we have the sore legs to prove it.

Flying into Yangon the first thing you notice is the famous gilded stupa of Schwedagon Pagoda. It rises up out of the flat skyline, providing a stark contrast to the gray city around it. It's beautiful at every time of day. At sunrise and sunset, the tower turns red in the changing light. During the day, the sun catches it's smooth surface and reflects like a beacon for tourists and worshipers. And at night, even when the rest of the city is without power, spotlights shine on the 330 foot tower, making it glow.

We visited Schwedagon in the late afternoon, climbing the first of our many steps in Burma to the top to walk clockwise, in the Buddhist tradition, around the main pagoda. Along the way we stopped at alters marked for our birth "days", Friday for Brendan and Wednesday for me, to light a candle given to us by a palm reader we had visited earlier that week. Astrology and fortune telling are a big part of people's lives in Burma and work hand-in-hand with Burmese Buddhist practices. So, one day while we were wondering the city, we sat down under a tree and had our palms read. Not surprisingly, Brendan's social/communication line was long and strong, my learning/leadership line was looking good and our prosperity/fortune lines were both extremely weak. Luckily, lighting the candles he provided (at extra cost, of course) on our birthday alters should correct course, so even though our bank accounts are still dwindling, we're feeling good about the future.

We settled into a good spot to watch to sunset, hoping to catch a glimpse of the 76 carat diamond refracting the fading light and were blown away by Schwedagon's beauty and spirituality.

But the real religious experience in Yangon for us was the incredible mix of cultures represented in the city - Burmese, Indian, Bangladeshi, Chinese, Muslim, Hindu, Christian, Buddhist. Walking down the street, it was easy to imagine ourselves in half a dozen different countries. We were surrounded by different features, languages, dress, and, most importantly, food. We ate mohinga, a traditional Burmese breakfast dish of noodles, fish sauce and banana stems that sounds weird but tastes delicious. We slurped Chinese chicken soup with homemade wontons. We snacked on Indian samosa salad, lassi and dosa. And we discovered the best tea in the world - a mixture of tea, spices, cream and condensed milk that we are determined to replicate. Tea houses are everywhere in Burma, from actual storefronts to pop up cafes on the street and I think we went to every single one for tea and chipati.

From Yangon, our pilgrimage took us to one of the most sacred sites in Burma: Golden Rock. To see it as an outsider is a contradictory experience. It is the most pilgrimaged site in the country. In fact, in almost every home we visited in Burma, there were photos of the family at Golden Rock. And we were told by many others that is the first place they would visit if "they could go anywhere in the world." In reality, it's a rock that somewhat seems to be balancing on the edge of a mountain covered in gold leaf, sacred because of its precarious position and the legend that strands of Buddha's hair are enclosed inside. It sounded strange enough for us to see for ourselves.

Getting to Golden Rock was a bit of a process (even more since we took the night train from Yangon which put us into town before sunrise). At 6am, we piled into the back of a pick up truck with about 45 pilgrims and one other tourist, and drove up a steep mountain pass completely at the mercy of the truck driver, and finally let out at the bottom of a smaller road. From here, it was a 45-minute walk up to the Golden Rock, unless you paid $10 for four Burmese to schlep you up the path like Cleopatra. Brendan was very tempted, but in the end we forged ahead on our own two feet. At the top, we saw the rock, which to us outsiders was pretty much just that. Plus, the government has built hotels, shops and restaurants around the Golden Rock site, so it has a very Disney-land like feel. But we have to admit that the view was incredible. It was the first strange religious site we'd seen, but certainly not the last.

The very next day in Mawlamein, we had our second encounter. The small sea-side town in Southern Burma is known for two things: a quiet, coastal getaway from Yangon and the largest reclining Buddha figure in the world. Yes, please. After seeing the reclining Buddha in Bangkok, covered in gold and ornately designed, we were prepared to be awed. Instead, we were a bit shocked when we pulled up and saw a four-story tall crumbling-concrete reclining Buddha that would look at home in cold-war era Russia. Or, as a villain's lair from Austin Powers. The truth is that it was just built hastily with poor quality materials in 2007. It's actually hollow so you can walk inside, but you have to share the space with a wax museum of graphic, violent scenes from we don't know where. A little creeped out, we left to catch our breath and sunset at a beautiful viewpoint above the town.

Ready to leave the giant Buddha behind us, we headed to Hpa'an by way of a scenic river ferry ride the next morning, unaware that the path to enlightenment was about to get real. There are a number of sites in Hpa'an worth visiting, mostly sacred caves scattered around town. Since we'd seen our fair share of caves in Laos, we opted for the "hike" up to Mt. Zwegabin monastery instead. This was one of those instances in our trip where a little research outside of the Lonely Planet could have gone a long way. The "hike" consisted of nearly 4,000 stone stairs, up the exposed face of the mountain. Since we came unprepared, we started climbing around 10am, late enough to put us in the heat of the day on the way up and down. To make matters worse, Brendan was just starting to feel a stomach bug and didn't have much in his stomach for sustenance. I swear, if the pilgrims we passed on the way up had not been so friendly and supportive, we might have turned back.

But everyone smiled and offered kind words, even though most of them were in worse shape than us. There were women who looked 50 to 60 years old walking in bare feet and carrying baskets of offerings all the way up. There were men dressed in their "Sunday best" under the heat of the sun. But you could tell just from looking at them that the journey was very much a part of the destination. That the struggle made the reward more complete somehow. It was the first time in Burma we truly understood the spirit of the pilgrims. And we felt blessed to be with them.

Finally at the top, we didn't have much time to reflect or recover before we were surrounded by locals asking to take photos of or with us. It had happened a few times since we'd arrived, but after that day, there must be sweaty pictures of us all over Burma. The monastery offered free lunch to visitors, so we sat with a Belgium couple and refueled before the even more grueling hike back down the 4,000 steps. For the next two days, we could barely walk.

Luckily, we had some entertainment in the form of Mr. All Night and his friends. We had met Mr. All Night (whose name is not actually "All Night" but sounds so much like it we laughed out loud the first time he said it and it stuck) a few days before when we played volleyball with a group of local men. They had invited us back for more games and beers, but since our bodies were so destroyed, we cheered from the sidelines and tried to drink double to make up for it. Mr. All Night, his brothers and his friends turned out to be some of our favorite people in Burma. They kept us laughing (painfully, I might add) for the whole night before we wobbled back to our guesthouse.

We took a few days off from the pilgrimage to recover and get our minds, bodies and spirits ready for the next sacred stop, the land of 2,000 temples: Bagan.

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 ;).