Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, people... Yes, time is an inexorable force, and now we must go. Must we? Yes, Traveler, you must. The long haul was upon us: Mandalay to Yangon, an overnight in Yangon, then a late evening flight to Bangkok. There would be no reprieve in the Big Mango, no precious extra few days to hang out in the food stalls of Chinatown. Get Thee hence; back to the cold, grey stone of Northern Europe.
And for the first leg of Paying the Piper, so it went. The only hitch was my bad choice of Tuk-tuk pilots, an addled young guy who really didn't know where he was going. We got to the bus station, but not without a bit of tension. The Mandalay-Yangon VIP bus really was a deluxe coach, complete with treats and drinks. Nine hours of sun-drenched countryside later, we were crawling through the rush-hour clogged streets on the north side of Yangon.
A jitney cab got us to our hotel, another slog through more snarled traffic. The center of Old Yangon may not have huge traffic, but the outskirts make up for that in a big way. We arrived at our hotel, a posh and modern little tower in a quiet and unlit neighborhood. Compared to our last Yangon digs, we were out in the sticks. Finding a curry place proved to be a bit of a walk and frustration, added to by the fatigue of a long bus ride. We finally found a local joint, and were waited on by a couple of twelve-year-olds trying to act like adults. I am reasonably sure no Farrang had set foot in this joint in a very, very long time.
The day dawned hot and bright; our last in Yangon, our last in Myanmar. Our flight time was around seven PM, so we had the whole day to kill. There was a lovely walkabout, a pagoda (of course) and a quiet lake with shady tea-shops. The morning rolled to afternoon, and the demands of travel reared their heads.
An evening departure is great for the outgoing flight, but a bit more challenging for a return. Imagine you are a good traveler in a hot SE Asian city. The flight leaves at eight PM. Even with the latest check-out possible, there are hours to kill, and those encumbered with baggage. One arrives at the airport a sweaty mess, then climbs into the silver tubes for twenty hours or so. Such are the travails of an evening departure. Faced with a very late fights, it is often easier to just book the guesthouse for another night, take a last-minute shower, and arrive for the ordeal fresh as a lotus.
And then the limbo beings, the long stretches of waiting, queuing, boarding, waiting, flying, deplaning, and repeat. It starts at Yangon International with the comically stern immigration folks, then the interminable baggage line. We wish to be out of the lines, which only gives us more time to wander the weirdness of the airport waiting area, amongst the wasteland of duty-free shops and strange snack-bars.
A savvy traveler can pick up some bargains at the duty-free. I found MacArthur's whisky, the very same as peddled by our cute plaid girl at the BBQ joint, and only nine bucks the bottle. While I am sure that this is a mighty-fine libation that would impress the hell out of my Cigar-and-Scotch friends, I had to let this bargain pass. (Scott, My Brother, if you are reading this, I can feel your shudder of disgust!)
The plane lands at Bangkok and I can feel the pull of the Big Mango. This is torture, to stop in Bangkok for a few hours, never to leave the airport. My One and I mope about the cavernous concourses, talking wistfully of the food orgy that we are missing out on. Just two days, a day, is that too much to ask?
We have a few hour layover at Suvarnabhumi Airport, plenty of time to contemplate the Myanmar adventure. Far better we should talk of that, of what memories we carry away with us. After all, no one really wants to read about the tortures of twenty hours in the aluminum tube.
The Traveler's Wrap:
Burma is Myanmar, and Myanmar is not Thailand. I did not have any clear expectations of Myanmar, which is always a good starting point. If you have never been to Southeast Asia, everything will come as a surprise, and lucky you are. If you are familiar with Thailand, Myanmar may actually be a bigger surprise. I believe that Myanmar draws as much cultural influence from the Subcontinent as it does from its neighbors to the East. During our time here, I often found myself feeling I was in Sri Lanka, wait, no, Kerala, or... perhaps Mae Hong Song. And yet Myanmar remains its own land, unique and yet somehow familiar.Burma is Myanmar, and Myanmar is not homogeneous. This country that was once Burma, a country overlaid with many, many ancient peoples and kingdoms, is still a land of many cultures. The Bamar, or Burmese-speaking people, are the majority, but they make up only about 68% of the overall population. There are Shan, Kayin, Rakhine, Mon, Karen, and many more ethnic and tribal peoples, many with their own dialects or separate languages. This diversity is a source of both strength and weakness in Myanmar society. The diverse mix of peoples and customs make Myanmar society richer, but have also led to problems and violence, both in the past and present. The plight of the Rohingya people, in particular, continues to be a significant human rights issue, and a black eye for the current government of Myanmar.
Burma is Myanmar, and Myanmar is a land of that offers a wide variety of cuisine. From a bowl of mohinga, the standard fish curry soup breakfast, to an evening curry cooked "until-the-oil-comes," there are many culinary surprises to be sampled. Regional specialties such as Shan Noodles have become standard fare here. A first-time traveler to Myanmar will experience dishes for which he or she has no prior reference. The bean-paste concoctions of Mandalay are a good example of this. I have never had anything quite like them, neither in the rest of Southeast Asia, nor in the Subcontinent.
Myanmar offers many surprises for the traveler willing to veer from the Tourist Trail. While Myanmar's travel industry is relatively young, the guidebooks have succeeded in laying out established routes. The well known destinations of Inle Lake, Bagan, Bago, or Shwedagon Pagoda, are all worthwhile sights. We enjoyed each of them. Yet veer only a little from the established routes, and Myanmar will surprise and delight. Our accidental side trip to Meiktila, for example, provided a fine view into local culture. Any country is more than the sum of its most famous attractions, and Myanmar is no different in that regard. Mixing with the local folks, sampling the local dishes, watching the progress of daily life from a shady perch in a tea-shop, these are all part and parcel of learning a new country.
The airport hours passed, along with the waiting and queuing. The silver tube lifted off from Bangkok, and we settled in for the long flight. The Piper must be paid, and pay we did. Read, sleep, talk, eat, watch movies on the tiny screen; the time passes. The cabin goes quiet and dark, and the silver tube flies through the night.
The cabin stirs slowly to life, the flight attendants move about, and the breakfast carts begin to bash the elbows of those still sleeping. We stretch and yawn. The window shades are raised and passengers blink against the invasion of light like so many moles. Another airport, another wait for baggage, and the sigh of relief as both bags appear. Passports are stamped and we are back in Vienna, back in the efficient gleam and glare of the First World.
The train that takes us home is clean and comfortable. The windows are sealed against the outside world. There will be no slow clattering, no clouds of insects invading the coach. I already miss the clouds of bugs. The train takes us to Meidling, and the escalator to the U-Bahn. Then we are walking, wincing at the cold.
Another trip has run its course, and another land added to the wondrous memories I carry with me until the next journey. Thank you for joining me on this adventure. I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time: Travel well, travel often, be well, and be kind.
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