Visited one of Mandalay’s 4 deserted cities today: Mingun, about 7 miles up-river on the other bank of the Irrawaddy. I took a trishaw down to the riverbank first. Burma has a curious type of trishaw, peculiar to itself: the 2 passengers ride next to the driver, but sit back to back, one facing forward, one back. But of course I was the only passenger, so didn’t have to endure what must be the disconcerting experience of being driven backwards thro’ Burma’s traffic – not heavy, but erratic. It took me a little time to find the right boat at the confusing waterfront – there is no clear bank, but many inlets + creeks running in from the river itself – + then had to wade out to get onto a plank leading up to the bow off a small boat, perhaps 20’ long, with just one central roof covering all but the bow + stern – no seats, but linoleum to sit on. Peter + Diane were aboard shortly after me, lugging their video equipment carefully up the plank. While we were waiting to get away, I was induced to try the hard-boiled egg of a small bird – the egg was speckled, + tasted, when shelled, of course, richer + creamier than a hen’s egg.
The journey itself was long + rather tedious – 2 hrs or so, + really nothing to see. I was pleased I hadn’t considered the long boat-trip to Pagan. It was the same river, so would have been similar, I’m sure, only a whole day’s worth.
At Mingun we were shown immediately into the rooms of an old man, Mr John Sein, who lives in the Buddhist infirmary there – it appears to be a geriatric hospital. Mr Sein was obviously delighted to see us, told us many times to make ourselves comfortable, + provided Chinese tea + English biscuits, many refills of both. He also gave us instructions on what there was to see at Mingun, + how we should set about seeing it. He was a bit doddery, but not doing at all bad for 80. He told us he prayed every day for the return of the British to Burma, but fears he would not live to see it. Not if he lived a thousand years. The 3 things to see were the bell, the largest undamaged one in the world, I believe; the pagoda, called , white, attractive – we climbed to the top to get a good view of the surrounding countryside; + the base of another pagoda. It was ripped apart by an earthquake in 1824, while it was still being built, but was intended to be the biggest pagoda in Burma. (Judging by the ruin of the base, it would surely have been the biggest in the world.) The earthquake was God’s way of deflating the king’s pride, I suppose, but it’s a shame it wasn’t finished, as it would have been one of the wonders of the world, I’m sure. In front of the pagoda, on the riverfront, were the crumbling remains of 2 enormous stylised stone lions. Only the haunches of the beasts are recognisable now, however. On the human level, there were a group of nuns begging – the small group that had a tiny chid seemed to be doing best. That’s child appeal.
Our tour took us about an hour, then back to Mr Sein’s for more tea + biscuits, while he organised our boat for us. The return journey, being downstream, was fortunately much quicker, + then Peter offered me a lift in his waiting hired pony-cart as far as the Nylon bar – I then took the cart myself to Tourist Burma, for on the journey I had come to the decision to visit Pagan, after all. I had come to the conclusion that perhaps my antipathy to going there was because of the travel difficulties involved rather than a positive value judgment, + that I owed it to myself to tackle it anyway if that were the case. If travelling on my own meant always taking the easy option, then I wasn’t really much of a traveller, but merely hanging on to Val’s coat-tails. And once I’d made the decision, I felt much happier – a fair indication that it was the right one.
I booked both my bus-ticket for tomorrow, + a train ticket for the day after. Doing this latter meant paying a bit extra for a section – Mandaly-Thazi – that I wouldn’t use, but Tony Wheeler recommended doing this to ensure getting on the train, + the amount was virtually negligible. And I was now in a position not to have to worry too much about money at all – I had got very short, + got myself into a bit of a nervous condition about it, but Peter had changed $5 for me at the more or less official black market rate of 25 to 1.
I walked back to the hotel from Tourist Burma, + then collapsed on my bed + fell asleep. I was awoken by the arrival of my new room-mate, an amazing Aussie called Ross, who swore just about every other fucking word, + complained constantly. He didn’t have a good word to say about Asia (or much else) so God knows what he was doing travelling. He seemed to assume, nonetheless, that we would go out to eat together, so we did, to a Chinese restaurant a block or 2 away, where Ross had a sweet + sour fish that he hated (naturally) while I had fried rice. 2 Canadians on the next table had ordered too much food, however, so invited us to join them to help eat it. A nice gesture, but they were the worst possible companions – know-all travellers. I wasn’t sorry to get away.
And so my week in Burma (yes, now Myanmar) became even more frenetic with Pagan added in to the mix. But I had no idea whether I would run into Val there, as I could not remember their itinerary. But having moved on quickly from Maymyo, I was now doing the same thing again with Mandalay.
