Our one and only word of Burmese is "mingalaba" meaning hello. It's taken us over a week to learn even that much, but in Mandalay it was a word we used over and over again as everyone greeted us like royalty as we drove along in pickups, walked, went in to restaurants, strolling in the backstreets, this must rate as the friendliest city in the world, ever. It took Ant a little while to his greeting right, on many occasions, it came out as "mingapalaver", but it still elicited a nice smile from the recipient, but probably because he sounded like the British policeman in 'Allo, 'Allo! Even as we were negotiating our fare from the boat dock and turning down outrageous offers, and offers from tiny men on trishaws to take us and our luggage for miles, everyone was friendly and charming. We checked into the Mandalay View Hotel, not one of our better choices, but clean and very welcoming, with a sign outside, even if a little "tired" with weird bathrooms, and the location was good.
Arriving quite late, we ended up eating at the Green Elephant, a chi chi touristy sort of place with average food and expensive why why. But no matter, we are really adept at the secret water trick so ordered lime sodas all round and spiced them up ourselves....
As we had left the hotel a young guy with a really old tiny Mazda pickup type vehicle asked if we needed a taxi, which we didn't but the next morning decided it was a good plan to hire him for the day, especially as he had good English, to go to the various places we wanted to see.
It was tiny, a big squeeze to fit into, blue and 43 years old, which it sounded, but at least for that day, kept going. We had great fun whizzing down the wide streets aound the palace flinging out mingalaba's to everyone who came near, and several moped drivers approached us as we drove along to say mingalaba to us. We were like royalty waving to everyone and getting great smiles in return. We are non partisan so we also waved to passing policeman and military. They were invariably pleasant back even as they waved their machine guns....
But our first port of call was wonga admin. We needed to pay for as much as we could on credit card to hang on to our waning stack of pristine dollars, so had to visit the Hotel by the Red Canal, the very posh sister of our more soap dodger sort of hotel, the Mandalay View, where we could pay for our rooms with credit card, the only place in Mandalay to take them. We also needed to find out if they could book flights for us too and pay on credit card, which we could, but at a swingeing 27% commission, but it was either that or no beer, why why or food. No choice really! But we didn't know what flights we wanted so had to repair to a travel agent to see what was available. You can't find out any details of flights or book online, even of you can find working internet. And even if there is a published domestic flight schedule, it is pure fantasy apparently, if they go, they go, if not, well, whatever... Schedules seem to depend on bookings.... The travel agent was a revelation. Loads of agents acting like a trading floor in London in the 'eighties who were long on flights..... Phones going, people shouting, paper, yes, paper tickets with the old red carbon and hand written with the details going down in a big ledger. No computerisation here! But that was just booking, to find out first what we wanted to book we had to go next door and speak to a poor girl whose English was really bad and ask about flights, hotels, etc. After a tortuous hour or so, particularly for her, we had a plan, and booked our Lake Inle hotel and had worked out which flights we wanted to book. But even booking and paying apparently isn't always a guarantee that a flight will actually go...so, much palaver....
So finally enough of admin, we were ready to go and see the delights Mandalay has to offer. We went first to the gold pounders' district where extremely well muscled and bare chested men pounded away at gold squares to make the gold leaf to be used to adorn the local buddhas. Ant said it was like standing in a mirror.... We purchased a few gold sheets and then went off to use them at the Mahamuni Paya pagoda. A very sexist pagoda this, only men are allowed to place the gold sheets onto the huge Buddha which was becoming rather mis-shapen as people (i.e. men) lay on the gold sheets day after day, year after year.
Gill had to be content with the job of team photographer as the real men went about their religious business, and she watched them being telecast onto a rather snowy flatscreen.... David had to be redressed in a longyi and had terrible trouble with his knot.... He was almost the first person to be arrested for indecent exposure as he climbed the stairs, trod on his longyi, and nearly lost it... But once they were up on the platform, the other men were helpful in showing them the local laying on of gold technique as we womem watched adoringly.... And one nice man even gave them more sheets to put on, perhaps they had such a good technique... good karma all round.
By then we were in need of lunch and our first choice where Lonely Planet had promised us lattes was closed down.... The only other place in town where we knew a latte could be found was the City Cafe and off we went in our noisy Mazda. At this oasis in a desert of decent eating places we tucked into pizza's, beer and in the absence of why why (again....) a G & T for Gill. Suitably refreshed we carried on our religious education and visited Kyauktawgye Paya, the pagoda with a huge marble Buddha, then an ancient teak monastery, Shwenandaw Kyaung, then finally to the set piece of Mandalay, Mandalay Hill, a 750 step covered walkway up a steep hill, barefoot.... But at least it would help walk off the pizza... On the walk up we were accosted, in a nice way, by a local man who was a private English teacher who brings his students here so they can improve their English. He was interesting and told us that the English teachers here are not good, they teach only grammar and not idiomatic language and that was what he wanted his students to learn. But frankly the students, a mixed group of sixteen year old's were more interested in flirting with each other than learning any idiom from us! Our grammar of course perfect is so if they may talk like what we do she would be good.... But he was interesting, not too hopeful on the future of Burma, but said he had done his bit in the '88 revolution, and it was now the turn of the younger generation to fight on for democracy. There were various smaller temples on the long walk up, and the pagoda at the top is not one of Burma's most shining examples, rather scruffy and it felt more Indian than anything else. There was also a memorial to the Gurkha's who fought here in 1945. We stayed till just before sunset taking in the fantastic view of the city, the Irrawaddy and its flood plain in one direction and the Shan mountains in the other, before taking the 750 barefoot step walk down. And given our dollar issue, decided to stop off at the Hotel by the Red Canal again for their free cocktail hour, we are behaving like real soap dodgers now... And were very antisocial, sitting the other side of the small pool, knockin 'em back (four each....) as we watched the clean and tidy guests the other side.... By this time it was getting late as we had planned to go to Desmond's (well, actually it's called Too Too's, but we do like a nickname...), so we set off on the walk there around the palace walls. It was interesting, obviously Mandalay's answer to Lover's Lane as courting couples snuggled into each other in the chill of the evening. We did see one other restaurant on the way, Cafe Brolly, and walked in to take a look. An odd place with big swish cars outside, an odd collection of staff at the gate and giggling coming from the odd little private dining huts.... We think we had stumbled into a General's knocking shop, so made our excuse and left, the staff looked mightily relieved...
Finally, after negotiating dusty, dark lanes we found Too Too's, another of Lonely Planet's hot picks, it looked rather like a large white tiled public lavatory. Much to Gill and David's relief, as it was so late - 8pm - there were only two dishes left, cat, no sorry, chicken curry, or chicken liver curry.... So yet again we make our excuses and leave. Third try was another Lonely Planet hot pick, the local veggie restaurant. That was down an even dustier lane, and looked even more like a rather dirty white tiled public lavatory. Yet more excuses and more leaving. Finally we were left with one choice, BBB's and here the restaurant looked ok, but let's not talk about their lavatories.... But free wifi is always an attraction here as it's so hard to come by. Mediocre food, bad wine and full of Westerner's. And overstaffed, there was always someone loitering near the table, staffed by watchers and listeners we thought....
After our day in Pyin Oo Lwin, of which more later, our second day in Mandalay started the same way as the first at the Hotel by the Red Canal to book and pay for flights with credit card. And again it took ages. Lots of paper and lots of faxes, we think the transactions were faxed to Singapore for processing. Our trusty Mazda who was meeting us there waited patiently. Whilst we were waiting, we got introduced to an ancient, one red toothed trishaw driver who was the person who had taught Nwe Oo, our driver to speak English. He taught him over the years as they waited about for fares when they both drove trishaws. A really chirpy old man who berated our driver for becoming lazy, "he used to be a trishaw driver", he said, "but now he is a lazy boy and drives the 43 year old car". We nearly told him that calling the little wreck a car was pushing it a bit, but decided to be charitable and not mention that. But it says something about the spirit and literacy of this country, two guys, struggling to make a living essentially as taxi drivers, learning English as they wait for fares, we can't imagine that happening in the so called first world. And what a waste of talent.
Our plan for the day was to visit U Bein, a teak bridge just outside the city. This is the longest teak bridge in the world and crosses a beautiful lake. But we had obviously worn out our trusty Mazda a little on Day One as the engine kept cutting out every time it stopped. It didn't sound too healthy either.... But it restarted fine until we were halfway across the busiest cross roads in the city. As Nwe Oo desperately tied to get it going, the traffic was grid locking all around... But at least we cheered up the local population as two tall strong men (that's Ant and David in case you were wondering) leapt out of the back and started pushing it to the side of the road under the direction of a stern looking traffic cop, but even he ended up smiling....
It finally spluttered into life after a bit more pushing and we kangarooed all the way to U Bein. While we were visiting the bridge, Nwe Oo would go off to find the right wire to fix it, but he need an advance on his day's money to get it - even though we think we have temporary money worries as we may not have dollars, he needed an advance of a fiver, he must have had nothing at all...
The start of the U Bein bridge is a mix of motley restaurants serving what looked like huge fried prawns, well at least that's what they looked like when the flies cleared enough to see.... The bridge itself, made of teak, rickety in parts, has been there for two hundred years and is a lovely walk 1300 yards across. It spans the lake, but parts have been reclaimed so you look down from the bridge on scenes as if from history as oxen pull the ploughs making furrows for rice, and men fish in the lake and barefoot children wander around.
The children with thanaka paste made from wood bark on their faces to ward off the sun, a sight we were now used to here. But it's a bit of an old and a new scene, whilst all that is going on below, on the bridge are a few Western tourists, not many as the peak time is the 4am walk across the bridge by the local monks with their alms bowls. We decided against that, not because of the early start it would require of course, or the fact that our dollar situation meant we couldn't afford to give alms to anyone, more that we wanted to see it at its least crowded.... And local youngsters meeting up and flirting, a few of the girls having made the mistake of wearing heeled shoes.... There is the odd little stall selling drinks and a few fortune tellers.
Reaching the other side is a bit of a repeat of the start, with another temple, but I think we have all reached the "whatever" point with temples and pagoda's, think it's called temple fatigue... We decide to make the return trip by rowing boat - that is with someone else doing the rowing of course. Gill was looking for the life jackets when she realised they were probably surplus to requirements; we see the men fishing are standing in the lake and the water only just covers their knees....
Back on dry land, we get the news that Little Mazda is kaput, if the engine stops again it will not restart, so we drive back into the City and are handed on to another Little Mazda, white this time, and looking in worse nick than the one we had just left. But we had sights to see, so said a sad goodbye to our two friends, the driver and the little truck. It will forever have a place in our hearts..
We spend the afternoon in the Royal Palace. Well, not the Royal Palace exactly, that was destroyed in various fights, wars and skirmishes with the Brits and the Japanese, this was a "faithful" replica. We are not convinced however, that King Thibaw and his many wives lived in a palace with corrugated iron roofs and peeling gold paint, all covered in a betel nut spit coloured red paint which we thought they must have got in a job lot from China... The Brits kicked the Burmese Royals out in 1885 and turned it into a Governor's residence, Club etc. All the teak buildings survived until 1945 when it was burned down in skirmishes between the Japanese and the Brits. It may have been more friendly as an occupying force to take a casserole or an apple pie rather than destroy a National Treasure, but at least the junta have made the effort to recreate it, albeit with rumoured forced labour. It's set right in the middle of the six square kilometre walled and moated complex dominating the middle of the city. But it only takes up a small part, the rest of the square is occupied by the military for training. You can only enter by one gate, which is festooned with a huge pink sign saying "Tatmadaw (the military) and the people co operate and crush all those harming the nation". We take note and promise to behave.... Dire warnings are given about staying on the road leading to the Palace, and not straying an inch into the military zone and not using your camera on the way. Soldiers who look like children stand guard with their AK47's, but whilst they look scary are charming and smile broadly as we fling about yet more "mingalaba's". But even David, who has little camera control, decided against challenging the rules and taking a sneaky picture as we walked past the military groups doing their training...
The walk to the palace was even more fascinating than the palace itself, a big parade ground with stands, probably the old cricket ground when the British had their Club in here during the Imperial era, and dusty dark wooden stilt houses, probably housing the local support staff. But the road was also lined with gardens each growing a great selection of tasty looking veg. We felt very James Bond as we tried to unobtrusively peer over the fences to catch glimpse of what was really going on.
After that we take the Lonely Planet suggested, slightly off piste, walking tour and wend our way through dusty shady lanes full of old, walled Imperial era houses, now really run down and sprouting weeds from the bricks. One day these will be lovingly restored and turned into amazing boutique hotels, but for now they are monks' residences with their deep red robes drying in the evening breeze. Other streets around yet another temple are straight out of India; dark, dank houses, dirt and rubbish everywhere. We then find our way to yet another amazing pagoda, but the thought of taking our shoes off again proved a pagoda too far.
Just round the corner we find the local Tony & Guy and Ant decides on a haircut - the full monk cut. Basically a chair in a dusty road and a man with a cut throat razor. As the scalping progressed, the crowd grew larger and yet again we provide entertainment for the populace. And when Ant paid with a large tip, the whole crowd all protested and said it was too much - how nice to find such an attitude, we just hope that as their tourist trade progresses they don't lose their wonderful, genuinely friendly ways.
We then walk on towards the river hoping for a sunset bar for cocktails. Through the colourful flower market with chrysanthemums fighting for space with roses, lily's and tropical flowers we couldn't identify, to the river. It was here that we abruptly realise there is no way it will be peppered with anything approaching civilisation, let alone a cocktail place. The river side is like something from Armageddon.
Dark wooden boats being filled and emptied by armies of men like ants with sacks of rice, bamboo poles and other cargoes and tiny stilted bamboo huts precariously clinging on to the sloping river beach. Filth and rubbish everywhere, no running water, no electricity, barefoot kids, dogs and cats everywhere. It was the worst poverty we have seen, yet still people were smiling broadly back as we flung out a few, slightly more cautious "mingalaba's". It was hard to understand how they could be so nice in such circumstances, and whilst we don't flash our belongings, it's obvious we have so much more than them. We all agreed we wouldn't be so generous had the roles been reversed.
But just as we had given up on the sunset drink, a miracle occurred! All those temple visits paid off. Through the darkening sunset and pollution we spot a big white building and joy of joys, a roof terrace! All compassion forgotten we ran as fast as we could, got in the lift and straight up to the rooftop bar. We enjoyed drinks we paid for and many more we didn't pay for as yet again, we came across a free cocktail hour, we can only assume they thought we were guests and we didn't disabuse them of the idea.... We were obviously dressed more like tour group participants than soapdodgers that day.... And we got great views of an Irrawaddy sunset into the bargain. Happy days!
We seem to have such full days here that we had only time to drop off the why why we had bought in a supermarket (look, Gill was desperate....) to take to Lake Inle, then off out again to finally make it to Too Too's. It still looked like a big white tiled public toilet, but we were a bit earlier than before and there was more food on offer. We slightly misunderstood the ordering system and ended up with a table full of food, it looked great and would have been great if only it had been hot..... Quite a disappointment after all the efforts to get there. Taxi's from Too Too's were a rarity so Ant gets a motorcycle one and David and Gill take the plunge and sit back to back, arms linked, desperately hanging on to a tiny trishaw, not made for Western rears.... If we thought it was an effort just to stay on, think how the poor guy cycling felt... Good job we didn't eat too much at Too Too's.
This is such an early city and there is nowhere to go for a post dinner drink, unless we went to the posh Sedona Hotel, which is not really us, so we scoot round to A Little Bit Of Mandalay for three lime soda's, spiced as usual with secret water. They looked askance when they thought we wanted food at 8.30 pm, and relieved when all we wanted was a drink. We were extra careful with the secret water here though, as the menu said if you bring your own wine, there would be a "cockage charge" and we really didn't want one of them.... Then our last walk round the roads of Mandalay back to the hotel ready for an early start tomorrow. The cool evenings here see kids and adults wrapped up in puffa jackets, beanie hats and gloves, even Gill thought that slightly excessive!
So, we loved Mandalay, on the surface lacking charm and overly polluted, but under the surface are hidden gems, lovely people and interesting places to see. "Mingalaba without the palaver".
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
