Midnight is over, it has become almost silent.

Except for the marrow-piercing sound of metal hitting metal. Be it wheels hitting rails, shock absorbers hitting whatever they're hitting, car walls hitting car walls, everything somehow holding together seems to be torn apart.

The Buddhist monk is still staring stoically at his mobile, I take a look and see that he has a pretty brutal action movie going on. Sometimes even the souls turned towards the hereafter seem to have a need for worldly things. I don't begrudge him.

What else can you do in this limbo ...

 

Physical Limits

Sometimes the moment comes when you think that's it, now the train derails.

It simply cannot be that the car remains on the rails. A few days later, someone has a plausible explanation for the fact that it just doesn't happen: since one car always swings in the opposite direction of the one behind or in front, they physically neutralize each other, so to speak. They keep each other in balance.

It sounds weird and any physics student would probably get a screaming fit, but somehow it works. It only becomes dangerous when all cars swing in the same direction at the same time.


Human cluster on the floor

The clattering remains the constant accompaniment in the background, while we, tired and exhausted, are hanging in our seats. The next carriage is a so-called Ordinary Class, with wooden seats, hardly any space, crammed with women, men, children, babies, rice bags, pieces of luggage, bundles of cloth ...

No one seems to mind. After midnight, the luggage is stowed onto the seats while people make themselves comfortable on the floor. Well, not exactly comfortable. You just have to imagine a human tangle intertwined all along the aisle, extending to the intermediate aisle, blocking the door to the restroom and the exits.

So if you eventually get the really bad idea that you need to go to the restroom, you need to climb over arms and legs and sleeping children and try with a lot of force to open the door to the restroom. Which elicits a snarling growl from the sleeper lying in front of it ...

 

Night on train to north
A human tangle on the floor

But eventually it gets brighter, a ghostly world rises, the wind pushes clouds of fog like white sheep along. We arrive in Naba a short time later, but without the help of an English-speaking boy I would hardly have recognized when to get off. It is seven o'clock, the sun is rising.

 

Making a pass the Burmese way

Like all other travelers, I am loaded onto a so-called tricycle and driven to Katha.

A very well groomed older lady is sitting opposite me, wearing a silvery knitted cap on her head. After a thorough examination of me, she starts talking to me, and as I have no idea what she wants or what she's talking about, the other people are laughing their heads off. In any case, I eventually understand her sign language. She holds up six fingers, then five, and points to herself. Does that mean that she is sixty-five?

Is the lady hitting on me?

 

Ayaurveddy Guesthouse

In any case, I have arrived in Katha, the hotel Ayaurveddy Guesthouse is reserved, but turns out not to be an acceptable accommodation.

Why the majority of young travelers chooses this establishment of all places is beyond me. I booked a room with a bathroom, but it turns out already taken. And the corresponding shower is a dirty hole with a bucket of water on the ground. It seems that the hotel owner is quite happy to have the disgruntled guest off his back.

Well, the alternative hotel is also not the ultimate solution, but for one night, why not. The room is incredibly small, it feels like being in a wardrobe, but as I said, what the heck, this is Myanmar.

But first my stomach demands supplies after the exhausting hours on the train, so I visit the first restaurant outside the hotel and order coffee and breakfast.

 

Breakfast
These are exactly the restaurants I love; a little dizzy, noisy, so much to see and to listen to
breakfast 2
Finally breakfast - coffee with milk powder (looks worse than it tastes)

The big river

Katha is a small village in the north, located on the Irrawaddy. Boats bring all sorts of trinkets and people from one bank to the other, there is a quiet hustle and bustle, so to speak.

 

Boats on the Irrawaddy
Transport boats on the Irrawaddy
A lot going on on the river
A busy hustle and bustle ...

Burmese Days.

The streets are mostly unpaved, lined with tea shops and small shops. There is a peaceful atmosphere, this is not the center of the world, the clocks tick differently.

The village became famous by George Orwell. Here he spent 1926 his service in the army and used his stay in hospital (dengue fever) to sketch his famous novel "Burmese Days" based on his personal experiences. I read it decades ago, not much has remained with me, only the infinitely sad ending, where the protagonist, disgusted by the stupidity and arrogance of his fellow countrymen, kills himself. Before that he shoots his beloved dog Flo.

Be sure to read it!

 

Carnival?

I don't know what the afternoon parade is all about. Is it some kind of carnival parade? Or a political manifestation? In any case, it is very loud and noisy, the loudspeakers sound tinny, drowning out the loud shouts of the people sitting on the cars. Very strange …

 

A celebration?
A celebration?
something political?
Politics?
A wedding?
A wedding?

Time and curiosity

As usual the city is a wonderful experience. All it takes is time and curiosity. These are the two indispensable qualities in the luggage of every traveller. Because then a wonderful world of smells, sounds and impressions opens up. It reminds me of an excerpt from [A Snake in the Darkness:

The smell of roasted meat and fresh fish mixed with the strange aroma of peppers spread on cloths, of nutmeg and other spices, yellow, red, brown, black. It smelled of stuffed birds and of those still alive and screeching and whimpering in their much too small cages and making a hell of a noise, of toasted bread and sweets, fresh cakes and nuts, of candied fruit, marzipan, confectionery and chocolates, and bars of roasted sugar.

 

Selling things
The saleswoman offers very appetizing things
Bicycle rickshaw
An invitation to ride?
Main Street
Main road
Strange buildings
Strange building 1
Strange building
Strange building 2
Kitchen
Kitchen at the roadside
Old bycicle
It has done its job, the future looks rather doubtful

Rei or Rice?

A little later in the evening I eat Sweet and Sour Chicken on a terrace above the river. I want rice to go with it, but the boy serving me steadfastly claims that there is no such thing. No rice in Myanmar? So we proceed together to the kitchen, and I show him what rice, or Rei as it is pronounced here, is. Oh, his face tells me, THAT is rice?

 

Irrawaddy
View on the huge river
Dinner
Chicken with rei or rice?

 

P.S. Matching Song:  Talking Heads - Cities (Live)

And here the journey continues ...

 

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