Monday, the day to move on, our weekend of inactivity over + back to the road. Or the skies. I was reduced to a condition of serious nervous tension once again, + we were rather ratty with each other, but as always, there were chores to perform – Pete’s tape to be sent, some UD dollars to be obtained (for Burma) from the bank, +, of course, the packing to be done. It’s always a major chore, whenever we move on, just as the first unclipping of our packs in a new room makes it immediately untidy. All our belongings seem somehow to burst out + scatter themselves.
At lunchtime, Val went to collect our passports – there were still some financial transactions to be made, ones that couldn’t be performed without a passport, so as she was the one with the most money in cheques, the burden fell on her. I took advantage of the spare time to write this – as usual, days + days behind. Val was back in good time, the Burmese having given the passports back early, so time for a quick shower + off. Mr Paiboon has been just as kind + helpful this time as last – he’s a remarkable man – + this time was no exception. Once more we were escorted to the bus-stop, but this time, as it was rush hour, to the opposite side of the road. He explained that, in order to get a seat, we should take the bus going the other direction to the end of the route, not far away, where we could transfer to another bus, or, if none were there, stay where we were. We did as he suggested, + very grateful we were too for the advice.
In the rush hour, it was an even longer journey, yet we were two of the privileged few aboard, able to enjoy the luxury of slight, very slight, pangs of guilt about all the others standing + crushed. Halfway thro’ the journey the skies did what they had been threatening to do all day, + opened with a vengeance – torrents + torrents. Almost immediately the roads were flooded, yet the rain continued to fall. From the bus-stop to the shelter of the airport was a distance of about 300 yards, but it was completely unsheltered, + at one point involved splashing thro’ water six inches deep, so by the time we reached dry land, we were thoroughly + entirely soaked. Luckily I was still wearing my old clothes – I had envisaged being wet by the end of the bus journey, but not to this extent, + because of too much heat – so had cleaner, drier, smarter clothes to change into.
The flight was delayed an hour, hardly surprising in the conditions, but it was rather a blessing than otherwise, giving us time to relax + collect our wits. Eventually, we went thro’ into the departure lounge, + bought our duty-free whiskey + cigs. On the recommendation of Tom + Jan, we bought one extra of each – customs at Rangoon would take no notice at all, we were told, + it would be that much more income when we sold them. I was, nonetheless, nervous about the whole enterprise – what happened to the daring international smuggler?
The flight itself was so-so – one international flight is so much like any other as to be virtually indistinguishable, + completely void of excitement. The major disappointment was that, for the first time ever, we were served no food – it was only a slight consolation that I was able to get out of them 2 drinks instead of the regulation one. Chatted for a while with a jet-age travelling salesman from Amsterdam, a regular Flying Dutchman.
Rangoon airport was as far removed as possible from the plastic internationalese at Bangkok – the place was dusty + tatty, similar to Nepal’s airport. Immigration was the merest formality, + baggage collection was antiquated – each of us was hounded for his baggage ticket, + tho’ I hung on to mine for a while, wary of being ripped off by a tout, I surrendered myself + it in the end. It was probably as well, for there was no other way to retrieve one’s bags – no gleaming revolving conveyor belt here. It was as we were filling in our customs declaration forms that our porter made his first bid for payment – he wanted to buy our duty-free. No prize for subtlety, but the official + the unofficial worlds blithely ignored each other. It was only we, caught in the middle by the 2 conflicting claims upon our attention, who were fazed by it at all.
Once thro’ the gates, we changed $10 each for form’s sake (+ the form’s sake – our currency declaration form) + continue to ignore all blandishments to part with the booze, even from the young man at the Govt Tourist Burma desk – I knew there were better prices offered in town. To my surprise, tho’, quite a few of our fellow-travellers were offloading theirs – easier than carrying it, I suppose – once again, out in the open.
We were among the first out the door, but the taxi drivers proved an intransigent bunch, unwilling to drop their prices to what was fair. And there were so few of us out there haggling that it proved almost impossible to get together 4 people who all agreed on the same policy to adopt – one guy was for giving in immediately + paying up, a girl was for holding out for longer, Val + I were somewhere in the middle, happy enough to accommodate ourselves to whatever was the general consensus (tho’ rather keener on leaving than otherwise.) But then there was a throng of people coming out thro’ the doors together, + with the greater numbers things happened almost immediately. One American did call out for group solidarity to force prices down, but his really was a voice calling in the wilderness – people were already falling into taxis, us amongst them – we had obtained a slight reduction, sufficient to satisfy us. And really, the amount of money that was being argued about was so small as to be ridiculous. Especially since, as we were soon to discover, time was of the essence.
We arrived at the YMCA in town to get hold of the last available room for couples. Half of it, anyway – another couple, Canadians, also claimed it, but I was able to suggest a sensible compromise to avoid wrangling: Val + the girl, Dominique, took the room, while Mark + I were able to get a bed each in an all-male room. Others who came behind us had to make do with a piece of floor. I chatted with Mark for a time – he has also been on the road for quite a time, but seemed to me naïve + inexperienced, jaded old traveller that I am. Travelled old jade too.
And into another country and a whole new adventure. I should explain that the whisky and cigarettes are so much a part of regular travel there to be absolutely the norm. And entirely ignored by the authorities. Though it was made absolutely clear that only two brands were acceptable: 555 cigarettes, and Johnnie Walker Black Label whiskey.
