Said goodbye to Val at some early hour of the morning. Most of the Western travellers on the train got off at the same stn – I was pleased she wouldn’t be alone. 2 hrs later, we pulled into Mandalay stn, + it was my turn. All the tourists were herded into the Tourist Burma office, in order to be assigned to their hotels, + to ask their questions. It looked as tho’ it were going to take a long time to process them all (not to mention dealing with their generally inane questions), + I wanted to be moving on to Maymyo, so I manoeuvred myself to the front of the press, scribbled out the answers on my form, , + thrust it at the man. I was out straight away.
I’d anticipated a walk to the place where the jeeps left from, but it seemed there were some going from the station itself, so I was soon installed. The 2 front seats had already been taken, prime positions, especially when 6 more of us were packed into the tiny back, 2 of my fellow-travellers were Western, an English girl + her Belgian companion. The journey was uneventful, + not nearly as uncomfortable as might have been imagined – we stopped halfway for refreshments. It was difficult to peer out, but luckily, being on the outside, I was able to hang outside for as long stretches as my aching arm muscles would allow.
Maymyo itself seemed a busy + bustling little town, its most fascinating feature being the large no. of stage-coaches still in ordinary + regular use as an integral part of the local transport scene. But this time around we only saw the town in passing, for the jeep was carrying us thro’ to Candacraig, the most famous guest-house in the town. It used to be the “chummery”, or bachelor boarding-house for the Bombay Burmah Timber Trading Corp when the British were here, has now been re-christened the Maymyo Govt Rest House (tho’ nobody in the town knows it by that name), + is still run along much the same lines as it was then. So, at any rate, had I read, + it was a major reason I had headed so eagerly to the place. I was not to be disappointed.
Our first view of the place was a beautifully English red-bricked mansion, a curved gravel drive bordered by neatly-clipped privet hedges, swinging up to the impressively important-looking front door. Inside, there was all polished wood-flooring + panelled walls, the entrance lobby dominated by a large + wonderful central staircase. I indulged in a single room – small + simple, but neat, clean, with a comfortable soft bed – real sheets + blankets – + with its own balcony, right in the middle of the building, overlooking the green front lawn.
I sorted out my belongings, then set off to explore the town. I’d barely stepped out the front gate when I found a companion to chat with me on the 20 min walk in, a young Moslem boy called Ricky (or, his Moslem name, Muhammed Ali!) I naively assumed he was walking along with me merely for the conversation or company, + allowed myself to be led, when we reached town, to his brother’s antiques stall in the market. I should have known better, but I allowed myself to be tempted by things he had to offer, + bought 2 items – a pair of silver(perhaps) ear-rings for Val, + a set of opium weights, brass ornaments in ascending weights + sizes, in one particular shape. Mine were of a mythical lion-like figure. Business transacted, I continued my stroll around town, feeling comfortable + at ease.
Maymyo is large enough to be interesting, small enough to be able to get to grips with. I took a few pictures, stopped in a tea-shop for a cup of tea – strong, milky, + dreadfully sweet. Then, strolling down one of the town’s back-streets, I met a couple of old Indian gentlemen. We paused briefly to chat, I begged permission to take their photo + received it, + then one of them took me back to his house. It was a simple dwelling, but I was made more than welcome, + was soon sipping a cup of sickly sweet tea while I chatted with the man + his brother. I am nearly always at a loss in such situations, + never seem to be able to raise the conversation above the mundane. I’m afraid this time was no exception. But it was pleasing to be made so welcome, + I promised to return tomorrow morning with our small photo album.
Then I ran into Eric, yet another of the Maymyo wide boys, to sell his antiques + crafts, yet concealing that commercialism behind a veneer of friendly companionship. His veneer was friendly, I think – he was friendly. Yet ultimately, the talk led to business. I was invited back to his house, tho’ it turned out to be his place of business, + was shown various objects. I was taken by a collection of puppets he had, but I had already violently over-spent. The prices for everything were cheap, but I was trying to exist in Burma on the tightest shoe-string budget, + my earlier purchases had already severely depleted my resources. But eventually, I decided to sacrifice my flash gun for the camera, in exchange for which I would receive a puppet + another set of opium weights. The transaction in fact entailed a couple of trips between town + Candacraig – the exact details are too tedious to go into – before the whole business was concluded. Quite obviously, I had already forgotten my time as a salesman in Sydney, for Eric was using upon me all of the techniques I had used on others – a false sense of urgency, offering 2 positive choices (this puppet or that one, the half page or the full), no time for thought or reflection. It was, in fact, a fine display, but for someone who hadn’t been too bad at the game himself, should have been more wary.
I had little time left to me before dinner, so I paid a visit to a nearby Chinese temple, a thoroughly splendid place, but then back to shower, change, + have a beer before dinner. I had not found myself missing Val at all as yet – in fact, I was somewhat revelling in my unwonted solitude + freedom.
Dinner came 30 mins later, + very splendid indeed it was, served in the small dining room: brown panelling, white tablecloths, silver cutlery. There were 7 of us there altogether: 2 American men, Chas + Dave(!), + 2 German girls at one table, myself, an Australian prison officer + his Thai wife at the other, both tables at one end of the room, next to the French windows, opened onto the drive. Peter, the Australian, + his wife, made a spectacular entrance, pulling up in the dark outside in one of Maymyo’s stage-coaches. The rest of us virtually had to pinch ourselves to make sure we were still in the right century.
The dinner itself? Vegetable soup with bread + butter; roast beef, roast potatoes, green beans; pineapple; coffee. The service was superb, the conversation splendid, + I indulged in another beer. We talked mainly of the cinema, only a little about travel. After dinner, I spotted a chess game in progress between 2 of the hotel employees in the other room, so I went across to watch. And, as I had rather hoped, I was invited to play a game. Or, as it turned out, 2. I played well in the first game, + won, poorly in the second + lost. For once, life was fair + just.
Val wanted to visit the temple city of Pagan, as well as the floating gardens on Inle lake, while I was very keen indeed on Maymyo (and even more on Candacraig); I was even assigned Orwell’s room in the place, so could not possibly have been happier. I felt pretty much like one of the chummery’s bachelors myself, enjoying a fabulous British-style meal, and indulging in a couple of games of chess.
