That night back at my hotel, relaxing with a good Burmese cheroot on my hotel balcony, government security came to the hotel to question its proprietor about me at length: where I had been, what I had done, what I had said. They called twice more afterwards on the phone to confirm more information. I retreated to the hotel toilet to burn all the paper evidence I still had in my possession. The next day a local, smaller-fry police inspector also paid a visit. That night and the next day it became abundantly clear I was being followed.