In many parts of Southeast Asia, being Caucasian comes with great responsibility. Whether you like it or not, you become the village English teacher, sideshow and change machine – the kind where you don't necessarily have to stick in a note before expecting your change.

That last one becomes oppressive over time and I'll admit that more than a few beggars felt my wrath while I was in Burma. My already feeble patience had been worn raw with incessant solicitations for handouts in Malaysia and Thailand, so I was primed for a few meltdowns. Though, overall, begging in Burma was unexpectedly light. Almost non-existent outside of Yangon. More often, people wanted to trade. Had I been prepared, this would have been brilliant.

Clothes are probably the biggest thing (basic pants and t-shirts are fine, but jeans and shirts with western sport teams, colleges, cities or band names written on them are optimum, even if they've been more than a little lovingly used). In rural areas I was beseeched for pens/pencils, shampoo, small flashlights, small fold-up knives, wrist watches and American coins. Additionally I have been told it's a good idea to bring some lipstick, candy (the non-melting kind – Burma is hot) and considering the ban on western music, CDs would probably be a huge hit too. Don't be a putz like me, bring stuff to trade. You'll deeply regret it if you don't.

• Read the previous post in this series: Burmese currency (I don't give a FEC)
• Read the next post in this series: This ain't Kansas

Leif Pettersen, originally from Minneapolis, Minnesota, contributed three stories to the upcoming anthology "To Myanmar (Burma) With Love: A Connoisseur's Guide" published by Things Asian Press. His personal blog, Killing Batteries, and his staggeringly vast travelogue could fill a lifetime of unauthorized work breaks, if one were so inclined.