One of those reporter guys.
Lamar Marshall cannot make it over the log. It lays across a small creek somewhere in the Nantahala National Forest outside Cowee, western North Carolina, as a bridge.
At first glance, Seit Tine Kya feels like any other teahouse in Yangon, Myanmar’s largest city: boisterous with animated chatter, the sipping of milky tea, the slurping of greasy noodles, the shuffling of sandals on concrete, and the kiss-kiss of old patrons calling out to young waiters.
Paul Ferber and his deckhand Puppet stand wide-legged at the bow of their charging vessel. A lopsided half-moon brightens the night, reflected in a shimmering pyramid of light upon the bay. The pair are silhouettes until Puppet flashes on a search lamp and points it ahead. Revealed in the beam, like an apparition, a cracked and peeling fishing boat appears out of the darkness. Its smoky engine pops and bangs, a deep, desperate rattle, the sounds like quick-burst gunshots, as it begins fleeing. Puppet struggles to keep the search lamp steady as they chase after it, illuminating leaping silvery fish in its quivering beam.