I'm searching for the old Mandalay.

The name Mandalay sounds so beautiful, so all encompassing the idea of the Orient. It melts on the tongue, creates images and visions in the mind, from wide-brimmed round braided hats over slit-eyed, smiling, eternally mysterious faces. Behind them sunsets in the sweetest colors, rickshaws, fruits, roadside stalls, delicate sounds of melodies, the smell of flowers, mangoes, papyas in the air ...

It's all there somehow, and yet it's not. The city itself is - already mentioned - loud, stinking, ugly. One of the many metropolises in Asia falling apart because of the growth, suffocating in traffic, noise and diesel fumes.

 

Children, cats, dogs

As always in poor countries, children are the only functioning social insurance, they are the safeguard that there will be someone to take care of you in your old age. So there are (there must be!) a lot of them. And honestly - there can't be too many.

They are sitting, without making a sound, for hours on the rattling train, on the windy bus, in front of or behind the driver on the scooter, wrapped in the sling on their back or on their mother's chest, and when you look at them, after a short or longer pause, a smile spreads over their face that melts every heart.

You might take a thousand photos, each different, each alike, each telling a story.

Child playing with box
A child plays with a box lost in thought

What else did I want to say? Oh yes, dogs, cats and children. Let's start with the dogs. In short - they are just everywhere. They obviously all belong to the same breed model, the ancestor must have been a medium-sized, brown, short-furred grandfather who managed to provide an entire country with the same genetic variety.

It is a pleasant surprise that they seem to be doing quite well, although in most cases they have no owner. Rarely an emaciated or sick animal, most are well fed, not exactly overweight, but in relatively good condition. When I think of India ... They are - tourists are very grateful - not very aggressive, except when it comes to fighting for a bitch in heat. Then it gets down to business, and the howling and screeching can sometimes take whole nights.

Cats? Less frequent than dogs, always very shy, of wiry, fortified appearance, always prepared for an attack, it seems, always the claws sharpened and ready to use. No cuddly kittens, no pampered animals, but real predators.

 

Cheeroots

Away from the main roads, you can find small unexpected beauties that effortlessly make up for the ugliness of the city.

In the many hidden side streets, small narrow alleys where two vehicles can hardly cross, old people are sitting on their tiny stools, and lost in thought they smoke a cigarette or a Cheeroot, as the Burmese cigars are called (nothing for Western lungs, I have already tried it), they chat and laugh and have a good time.

 

Cheeroot tuxedo
Cheeroot - for men and women

Or the little girl greeting me with a warm Hello and spontaneously inviting me to her home, the little boys using their shoes for a throwing game for lack of toys. Wonderful and ingenious at the same time.

Even where traffic roars, at crossroads, where vehicles from all corners and ends meet, the fundamental friendliness and serenity remains. The same situation in Zurich - murder and manslaughter. No problem here. You horn and horn again ... and drive past each other. No problems, no swearing, no fighting.

If there is one thing you take home from Burma (and try in vain to use a part of it in your everyday life at home), it is this stunning, touching friendliness of the people. I don't know of any other country where so much laughter and joking takes place despite unspeakable poverty.

 

Fabulous food

And the food is fabulous. Sometimes, even with the best of intentions, I do not know what I'm served, but it just tastes delicious.

 

Wonderful meal in Mandalay
A Pavlovian impulse comes in
Sweets - just wonderful
They are sweets, they taste great

 

U Bein Bridge – didn't find it

I wanted to tell something about a very long bicycle ride, with the aim to see the famous U Bein bridge one last time, and how I, almost suffocated in heavy traffic, gave up after more than an hour and escaped exhausted to the next restaurant. But we know that in the meantime, so let's leave it ...

 

U Bein Bridge
That would have been the bridge - even with sunset

 

Where's the bloody Bus?

Just before nine at the bus station in Mandalay, questions arise.

All around is an indescribable tangle of people and vehicles, from huge intercity buses with tinted windows, to the wrecked ruins of minibuses, to all the shuttles, trishaws and tricycles, pickups and lorries and bicycles and God knows what else.

The question is, what are we doing here? We've been waiting in the same place for a good three quarters of an hour, the driver's vanished, the other passengers - Burmese - sit quiet as a mouse in their assigned seats.

Actually I was promised a big bus to Kalaw, one with everything, so to speak, and a pickup service for half past seven, taking me to the bus station and then loading me on the bus.

But there is no bus, at least not one that looks the way I imagine it, and the people behind and next to me don't give the impression that they are expecting anything other than this minibus. And since once again no one speaks a single word except Burmese, my questions about this run into nirvana.

I am preparing for the fact that once again it means thinking in options.

Or to put it another way - flexibility is required. In a country where nothing, absolutely nothing, is certain, this is an indispensable skill. No tickets for tomorrow? Then the day after tomorrow. Bus fully booked? Then the train. Also fully booked? Then just the plane. 1st Class full? Then the wooden class (if not too far).

This permanent adaptation to constantly changing conditions is part of traveling of this kind. In many cases it is just what it is all about. This is nothing for organization- and security-mad mass tourists, where every trip to the toilet is determined months in advance.

And there - suddenly and unexpectedly - the driver shows up, puts a load of betel nut in his mouth and rushes off, surprisingly in a bunch of 4 vehicles, all from the same transport company ("since 2009"), well then, up to the mountains.

 

Who's the fastest Driver?

The driver takes this very literally, so literally that sometimes your breath stops.

Does the speedometer actually show 120? Can it be that you might actually be able to drive that fast in these road conditions? You can. Eventually, I realize the reason. The four drivers, all young, all good drivers, all betel nut chewers, have only one thing in mind, namely to show each other who is the fastest on the winding road to Kalaw ( avoiding deaths and injuries).

 

Mirrored me
My bus with reflection

 

First, however, we drive south along the plain, the road is quite decent ("Asian Highway"), i.e. a kind of highway, and indeed, every few kilometers a tollbooth appears, and serious ladies or gentlemen sit behind dirty windows and demand the appropriate obolus.

 

From Mandalay to Kalaw
From Mandalay to Kalaw

 

Not that anyone now imagines a highway according to our level, oh no, it is truly just a bad country road with two separate lanes. There are holes and ditches and cows and carts and cyclists here too ...

 

Piss-Stop
Again a short pause
Lady and Gent
Lady and Gent

 

Traffic Rules? What for?

After Thazi and a short stop we slowly head into the mountains. With the best will I can't remember the trip 11 years ago (it was early morning after an equally legendary train ride from Yangon). And the return journey in the middle of the night - shadowy memories of trucks blocking curves, a stop in the middle of nowhere, a lot of dust and noise ...

At least the road seems to be in better condition (otherwise the driving style of our would-be Formula 1 drivers would have been extremely suicidal). It goes up in gigantic turns, while heavily loaded trucks bring the traffic to a near standstill.

However, for a better understanding it is imperative to add that in Burma nobody, really NOBODY, obeys any traffic rules.

I'm sure there are Burmese traffic regulations in some dusty drawer, but they have never found their way into the public domain. Safety lines? Never heard of them. Overtaking before curves? Nobody cares. Lights in the dark? A laughing stock. You honk and honk and hope that the oncoming driver will know what to do.

Sometimes it is better to look at the landscape and not worry about traffic. Because the view is phenomenal. Deep down the road meanders through dense jungle, just visible as a dusty band in the green surroundings.

With a few exceptions, the jungle is still intact, so the wood mafia has not struck here yet (but it will sooner or later, I'll bet my last shirt).

Just shortly before we reach the plateau with Kalaw, I recognize one or the other detail, and as soon as the thought is there, we arrive at the main road, and I am politely complimented out. Several guys with mopeds argue about who can take me to the Railroad Hotel for 1000 Kyats ...

 

P.S. Matching Song:  Yello - The Race

And here the journey continues ...

 

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