I’d intended also indulging in breakfast, but it was expensive, + a quick check upon my dwindling finances was sufficient to deter me. Without Val around, I am a profligate soul, but even I can recognise the effects of a completely empty purse. I had arranged yesterday to hire a bike, + that was waiting for me outside the front gate of the hotel when I strolled out. I rode direct to the market, for I had heard it was interesting there early in the morning when the Shan tribesmen brought in their produce for sale, but in fact if I had not been told they were Shan I would not have known, for they looked just the same as the ethnic Burmese to me. But while there I had a murtebak breakfast, then cycled out to the Botanical Gardens, 2 or 3 miles out of town (tho’ it seemed further than that – I kept asking the way.)
Remarkably, they were still in splendid condition, the lawns well cut, the paths swept, the flower beds healthy, + with a profusion of plants. It probably sounds condescending, but I would think they are in as good a condition now as when the British were here. Throughout Burma, so much else has been allowed to deteriorate. In Rangoon especially, the paving stones of the pavements in riotous disarray, the paint peeling from the outsides of the public buildings are both examples of the neglect which has been lavished so freely.
I had foolishly left myself with no time to look around them however, having arranged to visit the Ganis, the Indian family, so got myself into a petty wrangle over whether I could take my bicycle in or not. There was no reason why I shouldn’t – there were paved roads within the park – a man at the administrative office had told me I could, + by riding round I would save myself some time. It was, after all, the broad sweep of the effect of the place I wanted, the fine details didn’t interest me. But it was only when I threatened to ride off again without going in that they submitted + allowed me thro’ the gates for a quick whizz round.
Then I returned to town, a far quicker return journey, surrendered the bike, + visited the Ganis. They were pleased +, I think, rather surprised to see me – obviously the word of an Englishman is no longer taken as law. I was escorted to 3 of the houses belonging to the extended Indian family. By Burmese standards, they are reasonably well-off, I would guess – the houses are plain + undecorated, remarkably bare of the things we consider necessary to make a home, but that does not tend to be the Asian way. Once again, I was treated well, given hot milk, tea, + at one house a plate of some savoury spicy dish. The conversation tho’ was stilted in the extreme – there was little for us to say to one another – but the photo album once again provided sterling service. (It’s been used so many times now I could recite the description + caption for each photo by heart.) I also took a couple of photos which I promised to send them.
When I bid them farewell, I returned to the hotel to pack my bags. I had thought to stay a couple of days, but my usual wanderlust has afflicted me, + I am suddenly anxious to be gone, back to Mandalay, to spend some time there. Then, bag packed (+ considerably heavier than when I’d arrived) back to town to pick up a jeep. Eric, who had sold me the puppet, spotted me, + took me to a different jeep rank, where I’d be sure to get a front seat, he promised. I didn’t, as it turned out, but I did alright nonetheless. There were 4 girls travelling together, so I joined with them in hiring a jeep between us. More expensive, of course, but that much more comfortable. My companions were Megan + Sarah-Jane, both of a type: public school, Home Counties, both at the University of Bath, doing a Business Studies degree. But nice tho’, + good fun in small doses. The other 2 were Jill, an English girl teaching English in Milan, + Lydia, her Italian friend. Jill was more sensible, but perhaps a little too cool + capable; Lydia was ill, a bad stomach, so didn’t contribute too much. We had a relaxed + fun ride down, chatting + joking – stopped off at the same tea-shop we’d visited on the way up, but this time we caught a glimpse of the transvestite who presumably lives there. The condition seems to be a common one in Burma – there was another one I spotted in the market at Maymyo, entirely unmistakable – big, deep-voiced (but glamorously dressed, with a flock of female acolytes.)
We had a distressing little scene with the driver when we arrived in Mandalay – we reckoned that as we’d hired the whole jeep, he should drop us where we wanted, but he just took us to the stn + that was that. So M, S, J + I went off to the Nylon ice-cream bar (an amazingly inappropriate name, chosen I imagine for the sake of modernity), while Jill + Lydia, having to sort out their tickets back to Rangoon, went off to Tourist Burma. I was unimpressed with the “Nylon”. It has the top reputation, but that can only be because of a total absence of any competition, as what it offers is icy + artificial. I stayed for a while, being sociable, before walking the 7 or 8 blocks to my chosen guest-house.
Remarkable scenery along the way. A fire had ravaged this part of the city 3 months ago, leaving house after house as nothing more than a stone shell, or like a macabre film-set, all façade with nothing behind. Once checked in, I immediately caught the bus out to Mandalay Hill. It was virtually empty when I got on, so I got a seat, but soon afterwards it was fuller than you’d have thought possible, full like a bottle of water, + then some, with people clinging to the outside. We just stopped for a long time in the market, making it a long journey to the Hill. The sun was moving down the sky fast, + I’d have to go at quite a pace to make it to the top by sunset. Even so, I stopped at the first temple up the stairway, where there was a bizarre dance in progress, with, you’ve guessed it, a transvestite taking the main part. I knew nothing about it, whether it were secular or religious in purpose, + I didn’t stay long.
I didn’t make it to the very top for sunset, not quite, but that was because of a silly mistake. There was a sort of false top, at which the path seemed to stop, + it took me a little while before I discovered it was possible to go on after all. But then, absolutely gasping, I stopped for a cold drink, + it was while racing 2 steps at a time up the last stretch that I saw the sun sink into the Irrawaddy. So I did see it, tho’ not in the relaxed conditions I would have liked. Even so, the view over the vast sprawl of the Irrawaddy was good to see. Peter the Aussie was up there, with his wife (anglicised name Diane, I can’t recall her Thai name) recording the scene on his video, so I stopped to chat with them for a while, before heading back down – a steeper + shorter stairway. It brought me out onto some wasteland, however, so I had to pick my way across that in the dark in order to get to the road – I surprised a few monks, coming upon them out of the gloom.
Even back at the road + relative civilisation I had a lot to do. I couldn’t really get lost – most of Mandalay is laid out on a simple grid system – but I was a long way off, + there were none of the usual forms of traffic, trishaws or trike taxis about, so I started to walk. And with my characteristic perverseness, I carried on walking even when I reached a trishaw rank after a few blocks. When I saw what I took to be a small bus stopped at the side of the road however, I asked them if they were going in my direction. They weren’t, it seemed, so I walked on, only for them to draw alongside me after another 100 yards. I was told to climb in the back – it was a small pick-up with 2 bench seats – + we drove for quite a way. It would have taken me ages to walk. I was wrong too, it wasn’t a public bus. At least, they wouldn’t take any money, it was a plain lift, + a more than welcome one, for I was tired, hungry, + above all thirsty, + I’d been dropped just a couple of blocks from the restaurant I’d decided to visit, opposite the Nylon. First I took the edge off my thirst with a couple of large limes + soda, then ate my meal. It was alright, but too much for one, + expensive.
I crawled into the squalid little shower at the hotel to clear the sweat, then into bed. I was exhausted, but had a miserable night, near eaten alive by mosquitoes.
It just goes to show that our regular wanderlust, always wanting to move on to somewhere new, is at least as much my fault as Val’s; having been desperate to get to Candacraig, I was out and away after just the one night. But I did only have a week, and there was more to see and do in Mandalay.
