By Peter Rosengard, January 2, 2013
Last Friday, my daughter Lily and I flew to Rangoon. We were met by our bowing, smiling driver: "My name is Bon; James Bon!" he said, laughing uproariously.
I opened my itinerary. "Tourists may be followed by plain-clothes officers for the first few days."
"Bon, this is your territory, go fast… slow down!"
"Dad! What are you doing? I'm about to be sick."