The journey from Mandalay to Pyin U Lwin by collective taxi, officially estimated at one and a half hours, takes a little longer, more precisely more than twice as long.
Drive to Pyin U Lwin
There is a reason for that. First, the chauffeur has to gather the rest of the passengers throughout the city.
Then, when we're finally on track (more than an hour has passed in the meantime), there's a) a pee stop, where the chauffeur (what a prick!) in fact forgets a passenger (thanks to my vociferous efforts, the poor guy didn't have to walk), then b) a water refill stop, c) a gas refill stop, and finally d) a stop for everyone, where, amazingly, I'm served a really good coffee.
Life is strange and surprising.
Elections
On the whole way we encounter wildly gesticulating people on all kinds of vehicles, equipped with loudspeakers, who trumpet political slogans into the world. Sure, there are elections on the weekend.
Democratic elections? That's a joke, man! I'll come back to that.
Trucks
Well, in any case, it's going uphill, curves like on the Gotthard pass in Switzerland, occasionally blocked by huge Chinese trucks. They are loaded up to the roof with Burma's treasures, especially teak wood, plundered or legally bought. Mostly the first, in any case on their way to China, from where they return with cheap Chinese plastic junk, merchandise that can only be sold in poor countries like Burma.
What a strange name
I just can't remember the damn name of this place. Yet I have now arrived here, in Pyin U Lwyn, a small town with 80000 inhabitants in the middle of the mountains at 1100 meters altitude. It is late afternoon, and a pleasant breeze enters through the window. Not surprisingly, the British withdrew to this place during the hot summer months in order to avoid exposing their pale faces to the attacks of the sun.
Hotel Bravo
The Hotel Bravo, recommended by a friend and apparently a first-class address for travelers, has definitely not 5-star quality, to say the least. But since I will stay just this one night, I will survive it. Exactly one bulb is burning and I try to find the right letters on the keyboard of the iPad in its barely 40 watts. But it works out quite well. In the background Eric Clapton just sets off to one of his sky-rocketing solos, so everything is in perfect order.
An afternoon to forget
It starts with a not entirely unexpected collision between a (innocent) scooter and an arrogant (guilty) jerk at the wheel of his expensive car. Insurance? Missing. Admission of guilt? Ridiculous. So, to my frustration, the snob simply makes off, while the scooter driver tries in vain to restart his vehicle. At least he was lucky and remained unharmed.
A bit later, I observe a carriage driver beating his skinny little horse. These pitiful creatures wait all day long in the scorching sun for tourists, while their master is sitting somewhere in the shade. At first I remain silent with a suppressed cursing, but at the second time I lose my composure within seconds. I can't imagine that the poor man, not knowing what's happening to him, has ever been cursed so badly in Swiss German before. Fuck you, bastard!
The real low point happens shortly after.
Is it possible that animals commit suicide? Hardly. They lack the corresponding consciousness. The following little tragedy, however, proves the opposite. From a side street, with its head straight ahead, with purposeful small steps, a young raven-black bird stumbles in the direction of the street on which the dense evening rush hour traffic is roaring.
At first I find it kind of funny, I'm convinced that it will immediately recognize the danger and fly away. But it doesn't. While I try to chase it away, it stubbornly keeps the direction, steps out onto the road. The scooter drivers are able to get out of the way when they hear my shouting, but the heavy car ... I can barely turn away, but the sound of the crashing bones haunts me until I fall asleep. Dear me ...
According to the guidebook, there is supposed to be an orphanage in this place, and since I bought all kinds of toys and such before departure, this might be an opportunity to get rid of it. But it fits this strange day: as hard as I try, inquiring at the people on the street - I don't find the orphanage in question. So I will have to wait for another opportunity to do a good deed.
On the Market
The town offers a beautiful market, hidden between houses and alleys. Here I want to stock up with provisions for the morning trip to Hsipaw. The only problem is that I can't find the exit anymore and actually have to rely on the help of the locals. Of course, they find it incredibly funny. Again one of those Westerners having no idea of anything at all.
P.S. Matching Song: Rose Tattoo - Suicide City
And here the journey continues ...
