In which I say farewell to Inle Lake and return to the Strand Hotel.
Up at 5.30 a.m. It’s dry and fairly warm but still rather overcast. I take breakfast on the open decking off the dining room, looking West to the distant hills across which the sun is starting to spread its glow. As we both enjoy our meal,I talk to my new friend Beatrice, another independent traveller from England who has family associations with Myanmar. As I finish, my boat arrives with the regular boat driver, Mr. Win and the two leg rowers. We exchange greetings. Then it’s final checkout and my luggage is taken to the ferry dock. Soon we’re on our way. I’m sorry to leave the tranquility of this place but other experiences lie ahead. Back at Nyaung Shwe, we transfer to the car and drive back to Shwe Nyaung, over a road which has now become familiar. This morning we turn left at the junction with the main road to head towards Heho airport.
Part of the route is quite mountainous and twisty. We park near a hairpin bend giving a good view of the railway line as it traverses a bridge built by the British in 1927, so that I can take a photograph. Amazingly, at that moment the morning service from Taung Gyi to Hsi Seng in Shan State passes, the big diesel locomotive working hard to get its train of four coaches and the guard’s van up the grade.
A little further on, there are road works being carried out. The rock face adjacent to the road is being quarried, apparently to provide materials for the road’s foundation. A number of workers are perched on the steep rock face, hacking at the rock with hand tools. It’s all rather primitive.
As we get towards Heho, we pass another gang of men unloading a large drum of telephone cable. I’m told there’s a project to improve the telecommunications in the area – some of the telephones are apparently still magneto ringing types and I’ve seen for myself open wire routes in places.
We park outside the airport at Heho and I say goodbye to Mr. Win and the driver, as they can’t go into the airport. So I get a courier and two porters (one per bag) to get me through the usual formalities and into the departure hall. An Air Mandalay turboprop is the first to arrive and depart but, on time, the Air Bagan Fokker 100 arrives and we’re soon airborne for the 50 minute flight to Yangon.
At Yangon, we park on the apron very near the domestic terminal, but all the passengers still have to squeeze into a ‘bus for a journey of around 75 yards to the arrivals hall. The bags arrive at about the same time and are placed in the middle of the room. Each bag is grabbed by a waiting porter. I virtually have to run to keep my porter in sight but there’s Mr. Win in the public area and everything is fine.
We’re soon in the car and starting the ten mile journey to the Strand Hotel. On the way we pass two neighbourhoods called 'Eight Mile' and 'Five Mile'. I presume this piece of logic is due to the British, because they are situated at the suggested distances from the old city. Once again, I marvel at the variety of traffic. There are many jeeps left behind after the war and fairly carefully restored. Some of the rougher-looking buses are converted Chrysler lorries, again left behind after the war. I notice that a wheel on one of these buses has only four of the intended eight wheel nuts fitted! This is a bit extreme, but many vehicles have one or two wheel nuts missing. The converted pickup is a very common bus, with some passengers on bench seats, the remainder standing or squashed together on a tailboard, clinging on to the welded tubular tilt cover.
The warmth of the welcome at the Strand is always overwhelming. This time, I'm on the second floor. Room layout is the same, but the extra height means I can actually see the river. I'm tired and it's raining so I decide to have a quiet afternoon. I do make one foray to Traders Hotel by taxi (a clean, brown, ancient Mercedes 180, with little in the way of suspension left and a rather problematic gearbox with column shift). Here, I meet Nicolas again and Esther, who was Hotel Manager on the ship but is about to look after a land-based hotel whilst the ship's refit is completed. I also retrieve my Palmtop Computer which I left behind accidentally on my last trip and which the hotel have kept safe for me.
I decide to have dinner in the impressive, colonnaded dining room. For the first hour, I'm the only diner, so four waiting staff and the acoustic guitarist are just for me. An excellent meal - their 'Monsoon Special' featuring a Barramundi main course - nicely presented. Eventually, a few more diners arrive but I'm afraid the hotels in Myanmar are having a hard time of it, especially since Cyclone Nargis.
