Manda-lame

We last left off on the train to Mandalay. I was in a second class car, but I can't imagine what could have been more luxurious. I had more foot room than I knew what to do with, a chair that spooned me so well I could have sworn it was coming on to me, and a window to myself displaying the splendor and squalor of modern Myanmar. I also was exhausted, as I may have mentioned in the last entry. So the first three hours or so of the train trip I was napping.

01 Panorama

When I woke, I was thirsty, hungry, and groggy. Luckily we were stopped, and the platform outside was swarming with vendors selling through the train windows. I signalled for one of the water vendors and asked for a bottle of water. The standard price for such a bottle is 200 kyat. Some places will charge up to 300 kyat. I only had a 1000 note and, in my stupor, handed it over without a thought and greedily tore open the bottle to sooth my parched throat. The vendor disappeared to fetch my change, and I never saw him again. Oh well. The difference was only pocket change.

02 Trainbound Sunset

While I was buying the water, the seat next to me was empty. The man who normally occupied it was elsewhere occupied. That absence left him wife, who sat in the next seat over across the aisle, a perfect view of my less-than-complete transaction. After I realized I wouldn't be seeing any change returned, I happened to meet eyes with her. She looked at me knowingly, and all I could do was shrug. She, however, was capable of much more. She came over to my window and called after a water vendor. One came to the window (a completely different guy) and she started yelling at him and pointing to the already empty bottle in my hand. The man ran off, fearful and bewildered, and returned with my original vendor, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. Before I could begin to process how awesome this woman's power was, I had 800 kyat in my other hand. I looked at her in thanks, still trying to coax my lips to utter it verbally. Before I could, she inquired in flawless English "Would you like anything to eat as well?" I nodded and managed to mumble thanks and that I could ask handle at least that by myself. She smiled sweetly, sat back down, and began unpacking her own lunch. I bought some rice, vegetables, and chicken from another vendor (paying with exact change) and the train chugged away from the station.

03 Mandalay Streets

The woman's husband sat back down, oblivious to his wifes help to me. Before they can exchange word one, she starts handing him food and telling him to pass it to me. They've brought so much food that they ended up stuffing themselves and feeding me. The woman spoke very good English, and her husband had a decent mastery. We spent the rest of the ride in small talk and musing. They're both of Indian descent but have lived their entire lives in Burma. They live in Mandalay and are returning from a visit to family in Yangon. All that kind of stuff. I got the impression, after a while, that the woman is used to defending people as she did me. And moreso that such kindness from strangers is, if anything, exceedingly common in this country. Like an inverse-New York stereotype.

04 Veggie Market

But enough of this, I haven't yet gotten us to Mandalay itself. But truth be told, not much happened in Mandalay. That sort of became its purpose. I needed a break after Yangon. It was a lot to take in. The result was a lot of book-reading, snooker-playing, and longgyi-wearing. We met up with some Israelis we'd met at the airport in Yangon. We also met an awesome local named Maola who worked at a small eatery. But the most characteristic part of Mandalay was the "brother from another mother".

This random guy came running up to Jon and me on the street one day. He said he'd seen us in a restaurant the night before, and that we sounded American. We confirmed his suspicion, which may have been the wrong move. He was elated-- his adoptive family lives in LA. They write him letters and visit every couple years. We quickly deduced that 'adoptive family' meant they were sponsoring him (like through Christian Children's Fund or something similar) since he was young. It took some decyphering, however, since his adoptive brothers had taught him English riddled with southern California slang from the 1990s. He offered to give us "da bomb 411 on tha D.L." and other such generosity. It was painful to listen to and disturbing to see because his teeth were beyond ruin from beetlenut use. But we agreed to meet him for dinner that night.

05 Not Blood

Neither Jon or I were keen to seem him again, because... well, he was realllllllly creepy. And we both detected the possibility that he might be after a handout. Maybe even a handout by force. We decided to go to a different restaurant that night, but the "brutha from anotha mutha" found us anyway. And he came with two friends in tow, one of which he introduced as Bobo. Rather than blow the whole evening, Jon and I feigned intoxication; he played bad cop and I took good. We let them down easily and escaped to snooker. Unfortunately, our ruse had somehow gotten us truely drunk.

So snooker was a bit of a wash. But we met some more locals there. I don't know if I was unjustly paranoid or not, but I could swear they were trying to force me to say something anti-government. That's get me deported, at best. Too many stories I've heard suggest far worse reprisals. Scared for my life, I played dumb and treated them to a round of beer (for a massive $4) and all went smoother. The next morning we got the hell outta Dodge.

06 More Snooker

07 Mandalay Moat

08 Me and the Moat

09 Sentiments

10 Motarded

11 Oddities