cycling mandalay, myanmar
APril 2010
Cycling Mandalay, Myanmar, April 2010
This should have been titled ‘Cycling from Mandalay to Bagan’ but it just didn’t go like that for a variety of reasons, but mainly just two. The first of them was that it was still before the dry season had ended and daytime temperatures were 45c, which makes for tough cycling. The second was that there were continuous and unremitting power cuts, meaning that shops, offices and restaurants relied on their own diesel powered generators stood outside on the pavements, but public street lighting was zilch.
So, the plan was to fly to Mandalay then cycle to Bagan, a couple of hundred kilometres down south, taking two or three days for the journey. Having checked in, there was time to do some exploring before setting out on the bike trip: Mandalay Palace, Mandalay Hill and the earthquake-ruined pagoda up-river at Mingun. My arrival happened to coincide with Thingyan, the water-throwing festival spread over four of five days leading up to the New Year (this is the equivalent of Songkran in Thailand). If I wasn’t on my bike looking around, I was able to get a rickshaw, both of which proved to be defenceless against the frequent buckets and bowls of water heading my way. Clearly, a foreigner-sitting-duck was just too good an opportunity to pass up. The rickshaw was slightly worse than the bicycle because it was slower and I ended up sitting in a substantial puddle on my plastic seat. With a bike, I could dart here and there and generally anticipate splash-points along the road. On the main day, folks were able to rent a hose and splatter the revellers all day long from the palace ramparts. The VIP ticket into the enclosure also included lunch and soft drinks for refuelling those who were flagging. Fun times no doubt, joining in with the festivities, even if only as an inviting target!
Come the day of departure, I had a cunning plan to beat the heat: I would set out at 05.00am and be well down the road before the sun came up. One thing that I didn’t anticipate before deciding on upcountry Myanmar was that English would not be widely understood unless the person being spoken to was in their fifties. Even university students manning the water-fight stands could not even respond to, ‘What time does it start?’ with me pointing at an imaginary wristwatch. Pretty basic stuff. Street names and road signs were also only in Burmese script. Colonial times had been well and truly scrubbed! Yes, and I also didn’t foresee the impact of the power cuts…
Setting out, I was instantly on the back foot as it was pitch black and not particularly cool (about 30c, probably higher). I had no idea where I was going, not being able to see even to the end of the street. and there was nobody to ask at that hour. I did eventually manage to cross the Irrawaddy but the road promptly turned into a track before I decided to head back the way I had just come, losing about an hour. It was hopeless, as daytime temperatures rose and the sun started to beat down. With zero road signs of any description in view, I still had no idea where I was, beyond ‘just outside Mandalay.’ What to do, what to do?’
Eventually I saw a temporary-looking wooden sign at a crossroads where the landscape was being levelled in every direction by huge earth-movers. Although it looked like a homemade 'Keep Off' sign on somebody's allotment, it had an aeroplane motif on it! Could it indicate that the non-road that I was about to enter actually led to the airport, rather than any sort of highway? If so, I can’t be that far out of town, I thought to myself with an accompanying sag. The grim realization that my pre-planning just hadn’t been thorough enough was now as clear as the sun was high. It was time to put my hand up and call time on the bike part of the enterprise, especially given that I had no chance of getting anywhere near the day’s destination that I had pencilled in.
At the airport I got a return ticket to Bagan and asked the check-in staff if I could leave my bike with them as the car park outside didn’t look very secure (with people walking in and out of the big hole in the fence). They said okay, but they couldn’t promise that it would still be there when I got back, as they promptly lifted it over the counter. Thus, did I get to Bagan eventually in the most sensible way on offer.
Was the trip classed as a failure? Not really, I got to see the places that I wanted to see, and it was all something of a caper. Let’s face it, the planning was a trifle hare-brained to begin with, but this time fortune declined to bail me out. It is much better to acknowledge your situation and assess your prospects dispassionately than to embark on a face-saving and probably pointless escapade - 'roll with it', in the current argot. Thinking back to the non-tour I was put in mind of the quote attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson: 'It's not the destination, it's the journey', implying that the process of planning and the learning lessons gained along the way are more important than reaching the actual goal. I generally don't like the quote, feeling that it diminishes the impact of the end-point, which is often far more spectacular and enriching than any aspect of the journey. But on this occasion it seemed to work quite well, even if only to offer some consolation.
This may have been a cold comfort variation of consolation, but I am ever willing to take the positives. The bike was still behind the now-empty counter all on its own, patiently waiting for me when I got back, and fifteen years later I've still got that bike. So, a kind of redemptive arc after all!
MANDALAY
https://www.photoriente.com/mandalay.html
BAGAN
https://www.photoriente.com/bagan.htm
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