I slept very well, woken by a Morning Call from the Hotel at 5.30 a.m. (a few minutes before my back-up travel alarm went off). A nicely-presented light breakfast, exactly as ordered, appeared about 15 minutes later, so I was in reception ready to go at 6.30 a.m. A smiling Mr. Win was already there, so we were soon on our way to Yangon's Domestic terminal (next to the International Terminal) in good time to arrive just before 7.00 a.m. Check-in was painless, so I was soon in the already-hot departure hall (no nonsense about air conditioning here). After about 40 minutes, the flight was called. No nonsense about public address, either. A guy walks round shouting, carrying a board displaying the flight number. A transfer bus soon shuttled us across the apron to the waiting Air Bagan Fokker 100. This is a fairly elderly twin jet with a high T-tail and the two engines near the rear, but it was immaculate internally, in the rather handsome Air Bagan colours of pale blue and green with gold highlights. I was quite impressed that we were airborne a few minutes before our booked departure time of 8.00 a.m. The flight was less than an hour, but the friendly flight crew served a simple but good snack of a croissant, tea or coffee (with a second cup offered) and water or soft drink. Internal seating layout in economy is 2+3. I had a port side window seat with the adjacent seat empty, so I was feeling quite happy when we landed at Mandalay International.
Although dubbed ‘International’, there’s no regular service to other countries but, in the tourist season, charter flights arrive from Europe. There was a few minutes wait for the bags to arrive, but I’d spotted my guide (another Mr. Win) waiting in the public area through the window, so we’d already exchanged hand signals. Reunited with my bag, I joined the guide, met his driver and we were off. The new airport is about a hour's drive from Mandalay itself, the first part a rather sub-standard dual carriageway through flat and rather barren territory. Although there were a few cars, most of the traffic seemed to be charcoal burners taking their product to sell in the towns, using various ramshackle bicycles and tricycles. Mr. Win said that most people still use charcoal – the gas which Myanmar produces is far too expensive. Myanmar, once an oil producer, now has to import crude oil which is refined near Yangon.
Part of our route was a privately-owned toll road. There were noticeably fewer potholes on this section than on the Government roads. Two Myanmar flags displayed in the front window of our car indicated that an annual fee had been paid, so we didn’t have to stop to pay the toll.
We passed through a number of small towns which made a fascinating sight. Walking through Yangon yesterday reminded me how different the lifestyle is from what we’re accustomed to in Europe. But looking at these small towns, they could almost be on a different planet. Imagine a series of petrol stations, in competition, along a dusty road where the traffic is a mixture of pedal bicycles, mopeds, jeeps, trucks and the odd-looking home-brewed lorry. These lorries have something like a Briggs & Stratton engine mounted in the open air up front, belt driving a dubious-looking transmission with the appearance of being assembled from components found in the scrap bin (which, indeed, was probably the case in some instances). The smaller filling stations comprise a welded frame supporting a 5-gallon round steel tank for fuel about six feet above the ground. A flexible discharge pipe allows the fuel to be delivered to the customer and a second round tank is sometimes provided at ground level, presumably to reduce waste at the end of the filling operation. Nearby, you’ll find a decrepit bamboo easy chair where the proprietor seems to spend most of his time. The more prosperous establishments may have a second rack displaying a series of 5-gallon plastic containers, presumably to impress you with their turnover. Yet other businesses will display oil and there may be simple repairs in progress, like replacing the tyre on a moped. A rustic bamboo shelter may be a hardware store, with an enticing variety of products laid out in front. Everywhere there are people, standing, squatting, lying, sitting. Work is taking place, but there is little sense of urgency apparent.
Eventually we get to New Mandalay, an industrial development area with larger factories like steel fabricators or manfacturers of pre-assembled building components. Soon, we’re entering central Mandalay and running East along 26th Street which flanks the moat and walls of the Mandalay Palace site. The Palace site is a perfect square, over one mile per side. The Sedona hotel is situated opposite the South-Eastern corner of the moat.
Sedona is the hotel arm of Keppel-Land from Singapore. The Sedona Mandalay is modern and large with 247 rooms – not exactly likely to appeal to me, but I’m disarmed by the warmth of the welcome and the number of staff fussing round. After arranging the time of the return to the airport at the end of my 2-day stay, Mr. Win departs and the staff show me to my suite on the fourth floor. I’m impressed, particularly by the message on the large bed spelt out in petals ‘WELCOME TO SEDONA’. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb it until the evening. My room is at the front and the two large windows command splendid views along the Eastern moat with Mandalay Hill and its many gilded temples rising up at the far end. (Hotel Pictures).
I’m assured my Notebook computer should work on the hotel’s high-speed network in my room but I can’t get it to auto-configure. But the hotel’s IT manager soon sorts out the settings and proudly shows me the Google home page. Unfortunately, that and Googlemail is about all I can get. Most other things I try to get are filtered out. Oddly, I can update my photo site but not look at it. The ‘FTP’ methods of adding photos are barred, as well. I can neither read my blog, nor write to it. Oh well. By the evening, even the restricted service has stopped and it’s the next day before it’s restored!
Last time I was in Mandalay, I was impressed by the work of the marble carvers, so I decided to hire the hotel Land Cruiser with Tony, one of the hotel’s uniformed porters, as driver and guide and revisit the area, then going on to Mandalay Hill. I spent some time looking around the marble shops (Pictures). The second shop was one I’d been to on my first trip and I found a statue I rather liked (first quality, of course). We then followed the sales lady on her moped to their warehouse to look at some other similar statues, second quality and hence cheaper. Then we returned to the shop and I decided I preferred my original choice. A shipping agent was summoned to work out costs for packing and freight to our nearest (inland) port, Birmingham. There’s then duty, VAT and shipment the rest of the way. The costs mount up! I told them I’d think about it overnight so we left the shop and Tony drove me to Mandalay Hill.
Mandalay Hill is cone-shaped, rising out of the plain, heavily wooded and requiring a series of hairpins to get the road up to the car park near the temple on the summit. Tony said there’s an escalator to get up to the temple and an elevator to get down but, when he enquired, neither was running for another hour. The break time apparently varies according to the electricity supply. In any case, it seemed strange to me having such devices in a Buddhist temple – surely there’s no Merit in ascending without effort. So, shoe-less, I set off up the winding steps the rest of the way, amazed at how many stalls lined the steps selling religious and secular items of a general ‘tacky’ nature. The businesses appear to be aimed at indigenous pilgrims. Whilst some people greeted me with “Hello” or a smile, there was no attempt to sell. Despite the occasional radio, there was a peacefulness to the place – certainly a ‘sacred space’. The views from the top were stunning. A number of workman were engaged in repairs to the various structures. It must be a continuous battle to keep such exposed locations in good order. I found two other sets of covered steps which appeared to descend most of the way to the plain, presumably for serious pilgrims. There are some pictures of Mandalay Hill here. I return to Tony and the waiting Land Cruiser elated but exhausted (temperatures were around 35 degrees).
After a shower and a nap I decide to take an early dinner. The ‘Set Menu’ is included so I decide to try it. I forget exactly how the menu described it, but it was basically an egg and french onion soup, fish in a cream sauce with potato and, to finish, ice cream with miniature eclairs. In practice, it was superb – fresh ingredients, subtle flavours and imaginative presentation. The electricity went off three times during the meal and once later, but each time it was restored within a few seconds. I watched the marionette show laid on in the lobby for a few minutes but there were not many guests watching. My bed had been ‘turned down’, leaving a ‘Good Night’ card, a flower, small biscuits in a box folded from paper and a tiny bird, again folded from paper. When I returned later, the traditional dance display was in progress but appeared to have no audience – so disappointing for the performers. However, I was determined to take a walk although it was dark outside. I headed West on 26th Street. Street lighting appears very intermittent – a few sodium lights relieve the gloom, then there will be a patch with no lights, lit only by the headlights of cars and mopeds. Despite the British involvement, traffic drives on the right. Speeds are moderate and driving is not aggressive. Whilst the horn is frequently employed, it’s the soft ‘beep’ which says “Hey, I’m here”. The lane nearest the kerb is reserved for pedal cycles, which are never lit and only sometimes have bells. Pedestrians seem to walk in the gutter, not quite as dangerous as it sounds because bicycles will try to avoid you if they see you.
Walking on the narrow pavements is a no-no. At least half the width is a concrete duct or trough, presumably for drainage. The trough should be closed by a series of pre-cast concrete lids, but these are frequently misplaced, broken or just missing, threatening broken limbs. The other half of the pavement often has a series of trees or posts for frequent road signs, so that’s unsuitable for walking, too. Eventually, I crossed over the dual carriageway to the moat side (crossing was a bit scary), where there is a broad promenade which is much easier to negotiate. It seems to be a favoured hangout for young people. Couples given anonymity by the darkness were ‘necking’ in a very European way. Some people were just chatting. Others were hunched over an unearthly blue glow – the joys of texting have arrived in Myanmar, I presume. A few major traffic light controlled junctions have high lighting posts and are much better lit. I also spotted a number of CCTV traffic cameras. All the benefits of Western so-called Civilisation are making an appearance in Myanmar, I’m afraid.
I managed to cross the dual carriageway again safely and enter 76th Street. Although a major thoroughfare, the pavements were in poor condition, widening in front of shops, but that space was greedily taken over by the shopkeeper, often to house an electric generator. Some of these were fairly modern ‘package’ types, some were portables in a tubular frame. In Yangon I saw an apparently home-made ‘Lister’ type engine mounted on a bedplate with a separate generator. The two were linked by an unguarded belt drive and the whole contraption roared away in the middle of the narrow pavement emitting black smoke. Incidentally, the pavement ducts in Yangon, with their pre-cast covers, are invariably worse than in Mandalay, looking for all the world as if an earthquake has just occurred. There are also frequent holes where excavations have been made, perhaps for a new water pipe, but then matters have been abandoned. “Elf’n’Safety” has not yet quite arrived (for which relief, much thanks, I’m inclined to add).
So after all this walking through Mandalay, strange to relate, my footsteps had led me to Mandalay’s modern railway station, just before the 9.0 p.m. overnight train to Yangon (which I think takes a leisurely 15 hours over the 420 mile journey) was due to depart. The station was thronged with waiting passengers. Those on Platform 2 and the higher numbers seemed to be bedding-down (literally) for a long wait. There seemed more anticipation on platform 1, so I correctly inferred this was where the train would arrive. I could hear activity at the North end, so I walked to the platform ramp in time to see the coaches for the service propelled in. The gangway of the end coach was open and railway staff (I assume) were looking out. A warning bell was ringing American-style. I lost count of the coaches, but it was a long train of ‘ORDINARY’ and ‘UPPER CLASS’ vehicles which, at least in the dark, looked quite smart. I didn’t spot any evidence of air conditioning anywhere. There was at least one shunter on the platform, calling the train on with a white LED torch. My (very indifferent) pictures have been added to my 'Railways in Myanmar' collection.
RAILSPEAK ON
I’m told the coaches are Chinese-built. I can’t confirm that, but it seems likely. They’ve chopper couplers but, in the dark, I couldn’t determine the braking system. I expect 1-pipe air. Fairly modern bogie design. Very obvious was the drive to the dynamo/alternator. A large pulley is fitted to the end of the axle, driving a small pulley on the generator through a belt. I assume this is to get the generator spinning fast enough at the moderate train speeds. A sheet metal cover is supposed to be fitted over the exposed belting but, in a number of cases, it was missing.
The last vehicle on the train was a bogie guard's Van, but next I was surprised to see a bogie flat car, clearly being used as a shunters’ truck and, finally, the locomotive. The shunting locomotive was, I suppose, a diesel electric, certainly carried on two bogies. The shunters quickly uncoupled the flat car from the Brake Van and, beckoned by a position light ground signal, the driver sounded a peremptory blast on the horn and disappeared back into the darkness.
RAILSPEAK OFF
I didn’t stop to see the train depart, but walked back to my hotel, footsore but happy on arrival. I was less happy, later, when the Night Club attached to the hotel started playing loud rock music which went on until a quarter to one in the morning – and the internet was down! But, eventually , I got to sleep after a pretty good day.
