Exploring Mandalay

Wednesday, Sept. 7, Mandalay

I always thought the death march through Burma sounded bad, but now I have been here and know how horrible the heat and humidity are. To be hiking for days through the jungle with little water is now totally unimaginable to me.

I was surprised to find no breakfast on the roof (as described by my guidebook). I went downstairs and the owner (manager?) asked if I was ready for breakfast. He took me a block away to a cafe and asked me to choose from the menu. He said most tourists order banana pancakes, so I ordered that with tea. We sat together and visited as I ate. The pancake was a thin, almost flaky, batter somwhat like a bunuelo in Mexico that wasn't crisp or a little bit like a thin vienerbroed in Copenhagen. The size of an individual pizza, there were two layers of dough with a mashed banana mixture inside. Sugar was sprinkled on top. It was good, but there must have been many calories. Among the things he told me in his very limited language are: 1. Tourism is down. That's why he quit making breakfast and started taking tourists to the cafe. 2. Tourists don't like Myanmar because everything closes early. I know from experience that the young tourists travel with partying each night (and drugs if they can get them) as one of their top two goals. 3. Myanmar people are very poor. I see that daily. Often the singlet shirts the poorer men wear are rags with holes and barely holding together.

It's cloudy today. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to get caught in a heavy downpour. I may walk somewhat away with plans to start turning back at the first sign of rain. The owner wanted to arrange an all-day trip for me for 1500 kyat ($1.44), but I don't want to give up my independence.
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Before I finished writing it began to rain. Now, an hour later, huge puddles of water stand at the intersections. It's a good day to stay inside, I think.

I have finished reading The News from paraguay by Lily Tuck. It's historical fiction and probably fairly representative of the calamaties brought onto many South American countries by maniacal dictators. I gave it 2 1/2 stars out of 4 because it dragged a little in the last half of the book. It was a National Book Award winner, however. Anyone with some knowledge of South American history and culture would enjoy it, I think

With it raining outside, I will begin a new book immediately--Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. It was given to me by Judy Maroney who read it in her reading group.
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I read 40 pages of my new novel before my mind began to wander. The book itself caused this, I think. At first I found myself "into the book" and drawing parallels in my mind. At the btoom of page 25 (Chapter 7) where the author describes their weekly meetings as an escape from their repressive state to their own pocket of freedom that allowed them to flaunt their insuborination, I related it to gays in the 1950s and 60s in America creating bars where they could escape societal laws and expectations for behavior and experiment with finding their more natural selves. On page 28 in Chapter 8 where the author described the Islamic Republic as a government established to expect members of society, whatever religious beliefs they had or how they varied in norms, to conform to fulfill someone else's DREAMS of an illusionary past that was "better," I could only think of Bush and the Religious Right. I've always said that what would please them most is the restructuring of the country as the Christian Republic of America--a fantasy land in which everyone behaves as they are told to behave and those in control can imagine that life if perfect. Is that any different from the great Islamic Republic of Iran?

Soon beyond there, I found my mind wandering from generalities such as those above to specifics within my own life. What do I want? What should I do? What would make my life more fulfilling? How should I restructure my life? I had already underlined a sentence earlier in the book, "My main link with the outside world had been the university, and now that I had severed that link, there on the brink of the void, I could invent the violin or be devoured by the void." In my case, it was two links that defined my life and were now severed--the university and, even more so, Arne. Traveling alone for over half the year isn't the answer, but traveling should remain a part of the plan. I need to decide on more.
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What a disappointment. I discovered that the repairs to my shoulder bag have torn and I cannot carry it without new repairs. I need the shoulder bag to keep everything handy and organized. I don't know whether to get it repaired again or to try to find a new bag. I may try to wait until I am in India.

The rain stopped, so I went out about 2 p.m. and didn't get back to the hotel until 7:30. I walked all but about an hour of that time. The blocks here are very long. In the center of town is Fort Mandalay, a walled community that housed the Mandalay Palace when this was the royal capital. The fort is square-shaped--about 14 blocks by 14 blocks. It took me an hour to walk around two sides of it to get to the base of Mandalay Hill.

Two girls on a motorcycle stopped me just before I was past the fortress asking if they could interview me for a language class. This is now apparently a common assignment in Asia, since I have encountered it before. Americans, since English is their first language, are preferred over the Spanish and Frech who are the most commonly found tourists here. I agreed and sat with them about 45 minutes at a cafe across from the foot of Mandalay Hill. They used a mini-tape recorder and I probably asked more questions than they did. They all appeared to be from upper classes of society, and over half of them are entering medical school this coming year. They bought me an orange soda (sweet, yet tart) and one gave me a book written by her father (an M.D.) about Myanmar.

When I left, it was too alte to consider a partial climb up the hill. Instead, I wanted to see an old monastery nearby. It was so late that I didn't even have to pay the usual $5 fee. (That's only because I entered a back way that isn't manned so late in the day.) The monastery is an ornately-carved building that used to be inside Fort Mandalay. It is representative of the style of architecture of the old palace. It's a beautiful building. After seeing it and the adjacent temples, I took a back route to return to town. The road (63rd Street) was lined with monasteries as I went south. Then 30th Street, which I took westward, was lined with large patio restaurants and two major hospitals (including one with a huge TB unit).

By the time I got near by motel, it had turned dark. I went to a narby restaurant and had a piece of charcoal broiled pork (cut into small pieces and served with a spicy dipping sauce) and a skewer of new potatoes also grilled and cut into pieces. I had a draft beer along with it. I should have ordered more, since it was so cheap and so good. What I had was enough, however.

Diner 800 kyat
Water 150
Total = $0.91