Up while it was still dark, 3.30 am, to catch the 4 o’clock morning bus – happily, the bus left from just a block and a half away. Ross too was booked on the same bus, which made things convenient, tho’ I could have wished for a more cheerful travelling companion. It was a long + tedious journey, tho’ not really all that uncomfortable, for they were reserved seats, + broad enough, tho’ unpadded. Ross was, in any case, determined not to let the cunts impose on his space. I buried myself in my book, “Freedom At Midnight”, an account of the partition of India, where I was happily immersed for virtually the entire journey. We were, inevitably, late, but it was disappointing as well as expected, for I had little enough time in Pagan as it was. We were supposed to arrive at 1 pm, but didn’t do so until 3. Even then, we discovered we weren’t at Pagan, but at Naung Oo, a village some 4 miles distant. We took a pony and cart for that distance, at not too exorbitant a sum. That dropped us at the Tourist Burma office, into which we went, me to get information to the journey to Thazi tomorrow to meet the train – I couldn’t afford to miss it.
Once I had obtained that information, I walked the few yards down the street to the guest-house I had had recommended to me – I told Ross where I was going + expected him to follow (he’d followed my lead everywhere else) but oddly there was no more sign of him. As soon as I’d dropped my bag into my room, I applied to the proprietor for a short itinerary to follow, + set out to see as much of Pagan as I could. I have to confess, tho’, I was disappointed. The Blessed Tony Wheeler had described it as unique + a must, so I suppose I was expecting something entirely overwhelming. I’m afraid I was distinctly underwhelmed. I climbed 2 temples, + from both had fine views. I visited a couple of others + dutifully looked, but, after all, there was not so much to see. And I visited the museum, which was unimaginative + understocked.
The village itself showed signs of turning in to a tourist trap, with too many lacquerware shops + guest-houses to support the as yet limited tourist trade. It was the first sign I’d seen of such a thing in Burma. If the one week visa were to be extended, + the gates were to open, it would have all the makings of another Kuta or Kathmandu. Nothing like that scale yet, of course, but if one had seen them 20 years ago, could one have predicted what would happen?
I ran into the Americans Chas + Dave – they are booked on the same flight out as me, but are trying to organise a chartered bus, so as to give all concerned extra time tomorrow, rather than have to set out early by public transport. The problem is that the bus takes ten, + even with that number is a lot more expensive – with less, as would seem likely, it would go up even more.
At the guest-house I ran into Lillian, one of the people with whom I’d shared the jeep up to Maymyo. With so few places available to visit, such meetings are inevitable. She was bemoaning having too many chats + no way to spend them, +, as I still had the opposite problem, we tried to think of something I could sell her. As I had nothing she could want, she offered eventually to lend me the money – I could return her the money by post when I could. A generous offer, which I didn’t refuse, but I was placed under her debt when she invited me to accompany her to Pagan’s luxury hotel (luxury purely in Burmese terms) for a meal. After some demurring, I agreed. It was not likely to prove onerous – she was attractive, + seemed intelligent, but I really was very tired. It was quite a walk too, but the evening passed pleasantly enough, with a couple of beers followed by an indifferent but really not overly expensive meal.
The most ferocious thunderstorm exploded over us as we were sitting in the bar, but its very ferocity ensured its short life, + we were able to walk back without any problems. I finished the evening drinking coffee, + listening to an Englishman expound to his Israeli companions upon the merits of a new English rock band called Frankie Goes To Hollywood.
Running into people I had met before – hardly surprising, with such little choice of itinerary. And, though there was no sign of Val, I did tick off another attraction with my tour of Pagan, even though I found it unimpressive. Myanmar is one of the few countries to which we have returned, going there a couple of years ago to visit daughter Lucy, who was working there. And on this second occasion, we splashed out on a balloon ride over Pagan; much the better way of appreciating the place.
