Mandalay Part One – The Goon Squad Cometh – Mandalay, Myanmar

Mandalay Part One - The Goon Squad Cometh
Mandalay, Myanmar

Despite having paid extra for what the notorious Mr. China described as the “nicer bus,” there was a conspicuous lack of improvement on the Inle to Mandalay bus over the bus that had delivered me from Yangon. There were in fact five buses leaving from Shwenyaung Junction for Mandalay that evening, mine being the last one. Each of the four buses that came and went before mine looked to be of the same substandard quality, but, encouragingly, they were all half empty. I briefly entertained an inane fantasy where I would have two whole seats to myself, giving me space to relax, put my feet up and having the freedom to maneuver into a variety of less harsh sitting positions, thus increasing the possibility of slumber, but then my bus arrived stuffed like my ex-wife’s bra. I had been duped into paying 800 additional kyat to sit in yet another rattling back-breaker on wheels. The interior was just as cramped, the seats were equally unforgiving and instead of a bony kid invading my personal space, I had a raging drunk who commandeered my shoulder as a his pillow as soon as I sat down. I sat there pathetically wishing I’d had the brains to get on the bus in a drunken stupor too. The only improvement was that through the wonders of higher, cooler altitudes, I didn’t spend the entire night sweating.

Shwenandaw Kyaung The topmost stupa, though only being fractionally more elaborate than all the others leading up to it had a photo fee which I passed up and later quietly defied at sunset. The height and vantage point of Mandalay Hill provided many nice photo opportunities which ended up looking like absolute shit as my camera tended to read way too much of the smog in the air and less of the landscape detail beyond and I couldn’t figure out the correct combination of settings to dampen the effect. As I was struggling with this conundrum, I was approached by a young man who either didn’t read social signals very well or was supremely bold (I was still seething with palpable fury). He started with the usual “where are you from?” and “how long you in Myanmar?” jazz which was the standard perfunctory lead to “I am an official tour guide [cue flashing of cheap laminated ID] and you need me or else you will not see good things.” Needless to say I was not in the mood for this and replied to his questions with one word, curt answers or flat out ignored him. But he persisted and after a very long time, without him mentioning anything about products or services that he was offering, I realized that he truly was just a kid out to practice some English. Unfortunately, these kids use the same opening line as the touts which can be a huge liability when approaching a fresh-faced, Ugly Tourist like myself. I also noticed that the kid had a friend that was obediently trailing us, who didn’t speak a word of English and was just along for, I don’t know, yucks or something. I drew this guy out with my now well practiced Myanmar phrases as we made our way back down the hill to the city where we cordially parted ways.

After a furious, death defying ride through rush hour traffic, I returned my bike five minutes before the shop closed. I dined at a traditional Shan restaurant just four blocks from the Royal Guesthouse, ignoring the lurking trishaw drivers out front who were adamant that the nearest decent Shan restaurant was 30 minutes away and would I like a ride? Through yet more miscommunication, I unintentionally ordered a lavish feast which my newly gumball sized appetite would have never been able to accommodate if it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything substantial since breakfast. The total bill for two plates of meat/vegetable combos, potatoes, rice, an orange soda and a giant bottle of water was US$3. While gorging on my spread, which was embarrassingly larger than some of the meals at tables with four people, I monitored the Myanmar evening news, which was muted on a TV directly above my head. Teleprompting technology hasn’t reached the Myanmar news industry yet, so the newscasters have to read stories off paper in their hands, never looking directly into the camera. The stories and footage were almost exclusively comprised of regal looking military guys sitting around in comfortable chairs, being briefed on ambitious public works projects and then touring the related sights and factories. Perhaps I misinterpreted this because the volume was off, and I don’t speak Myanmar anyway, but one telling shot appeared to show someone explaining the workings of a complex machine to a high ranking military guy who then turned to the camera and appeared to explain the exact same thing again, like he was some kind of authority on the subject. I bet that particular video editor is now cooling his heels in a palace dungeon somewhere. This footage seemed to confirm that not only were the military guys running Myanmar over-confident, power-drunk, pompous twits, but they were also not too bright. That’s a bad combination in any social circle.