In days of old, to escape the heat of Mandalay, the British Raj (then Burma was considered by the Brit's to be part of the Imperial Indian Empire) headed for the hills to the cool of the hill station of Pyin Oo Lwin. We did likewise, albeit for a day trip. Being strapped for cash we opted for a shared taxi. This sounds more exotic than it sounds. It involved going to the corner of 25th and 83rd street, finding a battered white estate car, held together with string and the back storage area loaded with stuff (think these act as the local delivery service too...) and paying 6000 kyats each (about £5.50) to a man in a dark dusty shack. We sit three across in the back, no mean feat, but as there are no seat belts, we felt this cramming in was more of a safety measure, we couldn't move! The front seat was more expensive so had to wait for this fourth passenger to show up. None did, so we eventually went to a gentrified area to collect a maid from a General's type house, she could afford to sit up front! An interesting area - a sub-General suburbia if you like, a collection of detatched villas on smallish plots, all protected by tall wrought iron fences and security. One even had a small swimming pool, all so different from the other houses we had seen.
It was a bum numbing, eyes shut tight, whacky races kind of trip. 90 minutes, 42 miles, 1000m climb, white knuckle, big truck avoiding, hair pin bend, blind side overtaking, adrenaline pumping, Muttley laughing, car falling to bits nightmare.
Pyin Oo Lwin, is run down in Indian kind of way, a small replica Big Ben clock tower marks downtown, then parades of run down shops, surrounded by the Anglican church, mock Tudor houses and cooler climate fruit and veg gardens. By this time, tummies were rumbling (in a good way considering our location...) and we'd heard of a British era bungalow on Club Road, that had good food and a terrace, and unsurprisingly, if not imaginatively called The Club Terrace Food Lounge. It had our name on it and indeed the curries were great. We ignored the handful of other tourists there. What is it about Burma, all the tourists apart from us are ancient. The restaurant was actually a genuine relic from the 1800's (bit like the other diners....) and the garden, now slightly neglected, would not have looked out of place in Surrey. The tables were set out on the wooden verandah where the Sahib would have taken a peg or two after being out all day taking taxes from the local population.... Gill did a bit of a Hindi thing and went back to a previous life as a Memsahib; she almost found herself saying "jaldi, jaldi" very sharply when the waitress was a bit slow with the stee rye....
David motivated us to visit the national botanic gardens on the outskirts of town, a good 30 minutes walk away, but as time was passing quickly, we asked for a taxi. Gill was mortified when two motorbikes showed up. It was to be her first three on a bike experience! Anthony on one and Gill and David perched on the other. Gill was the lucky one who was offered a crash helmet, her head still itches thinking about it.... But the two glasses of local wine at lunch helped our balance and increased the giggle count... The gardens were magnificent, the first well maintained thing we'd seen for weeks. Happy families, groups of teenagers, all incredibly friendly and inquisitive, we progressed to a chorus of mingalaba's, and even had a group "mingalaba" chorus from a huge group of kids at the gate. The whole place was reminiscent of a huge British Park the way they used to be, which is, we suppose, exactly what it was, but with the odd tropical bit added... The lake, municipal flowers beds and aviary were great, we wished we'd had more time, as too soon we needed to head back to town to get a shared taxi.
First challenge to get back to town, the local tourists were using tiny Cinderella coaches pulled by frisky ponies. In we squeezed, like the three ugly sisters squeezing into a skin tight carriage! Poor pony. My big fat gypsy wedding had nothing on us....
Before hailing a shared taxi back in town, we casually headed back for coffee and cake at the Golden Triangle cafe, where David enjoyed a creme caramel, whilst Gill hovered with Gill gell! However, the shared taxis had finished for the day, now what? We were advised to go to a roundabout outside of town in the increasing darkness and try and find a pick up truck that was heading back to Mandalay. Oh the glamour! Our predicament didn't stop us spotting an old junk shop en route. We went in for a rummage, bought a Buddha, and a few old battered lacquer betel nut boxes and a brass tiger. This turned out to be an investment as on hearing of our predicament, the owner called a friend of a friend and produced a shared taxi! Perhaps there is something in this karma business after all. He was our hero. We were still three stuffed into the cheap seats in the back, and we toured town looking for a fourth, richer person who could afford the front one! We ended up at the hospital and collected a lady who wanted to do the same trip. She spoke no English which was bad luck for us, but she did buy us the most disgusting prawn crackers at a mid way truck stop. They stunk. We sat in the back giggling and pretending to eat them. It was a nice and very generous gesture, even with our dollar issue we probably had much more than she did but to be honest I think we were hysterical with fear to be driving on these roads with only sidelights! Yes, for the return trip, we were driving blind at night...... Never has the road to Mandalay been so hair raising, and never has anyone been so pleased to see the end of the road to Mandalay.
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