After a rough morning with my stomach I decide to take precautionary motion sickness counter measures in pill form (thanks Toby!) which induces a nice sleepy euphoria for the bus to Mandalay. I oscillate in and out of sleep while trying to read Infinite Jest, but finally I just give up and stuff my headphones in to drown out the sappy, puerile pop ballads playing at top volume out of the hot bus's overhead speakers. I'd almost say I can't complain, but the volume is often ear splitting when playing music or telenovellas, the latter of which either feature bizarre scenes of people enjoying the shit outta their noodles (tolerable volume and puzzling enough to be intriguing) to dramatic altercations involving screaming couples (deafening and generally not interesting if you can't understand). They also play an obnoxious backtrack a là pipe whistle Stooge-esque aesthetic. Then again, I enjoy some shows with canned laughter (IT Crowd) and at a certain point I become oblivious to it. But still, hard to ignore or even be neutral when it's being shoved into your earholes.
We don't spend any more time in Mandalay than we have to, immediately boarding a pickup truck to take us into the mountains. The truck has a canopy over the bed sporting a cargo rack to accommodate large packages or sacks of grain or other produce, which means we are forced into spine-bending hunched positions for a few hours. We cram in with about 7 other people (followed by a weed whacker) and try to find the least uncomfortable ass-to-bench ratio for the journey. Within the first few minutes a young girl vomits all over her mom's foot. Toby and I exchange a glance but we're all pretty used to this by now.
We emerge from the pickup 2.5 hours later and stretch our wings in the bustling mountain town of Pyin u Lwin. We check into a hotel and begin the long search for oh look there are restaurants everywhere. South Indian food? Score! Six-dollar massage from cute Burmese boys? Ummm... yes please!
Commence self indulgence to the max.
Pyin u Lwin seems to be somewhat more affluent than any other city we've been to thus far. I'm largely basing this off of the fact that there's a golf course here, and many expensive lakeside cafes and restaurants featuring an ample wine selection and hundreds of food items. The houses are still somewhat modest in town, but they become more exorbitant around the lake. We imagine this might be where the well-off Burmese come for vacation and to escape the heat. Which is exactly what we're doing right now.
And then there's the botanical garden. We rent bicycles and head down to the lake, spending hours getting lost in this neat little place.
One evening we sit around the portable speaker and write out the lyrics to On n On by Justice, which we should now all be able to sing by memory. Most of the words are discernible but it comes down to one stubborn stanza that, no matter how correct it sounds on paper, we decide the lyrics don't quite fit the theme and hold out on the belief that the gibberish in our heads was somehow better. I suppose hearing something in another language for instance can have a pleasing sonic quality without any understanding of the words, but learning the meaning will alter the effect. Nonetheless we rock out all night and enjoy some cheap Burmese whiskey.
After three nights of this we're both ready and reluctant to move on to Hsipaw. I think that's a healthy level of ambivalence.
We board our commuter train in the morning and Toby points out that the plant debris covering our seats is likely from scraping past the ample foliage. We quickly see what he means when branches are nearly whipping us in the face and we have to take a defensive position any time we hear the loud thwacks ringing ahead of us. But the scenery is astounding and I find myself daring more and more to stick my head out of the window, even if it results in a reprimanding sting. Worth it.
The train moves to the motion of the ocean, as in rocking up and down and side to side and even front to back when the speed changes and the train-cars slam into each other. However, having a bit more space to move around on the train leaves us feeling less drained than the similarly tumultuous bus rides, and we arrive in Hsipaw with plenty of time to check out the town after finding a guesthouse.
Situated along the Dokhtawaddy River, Hsipaw makes for a scenic little place, offering markets at any which hour of the day (including a 3am gathering lit by candles stuck in mangoes) and some excellent food options.
We hike up Sunset Hill in the evenings, one night getting caught in a beautiful thunderstorm complete with sideways downpour and retina-smashing bolts of lightning. We find respite from the rain under a rudimentary shelter and decide to continue to the top even when the rain is soaking through our shoes. The monks offer us some tea as we dry off and wait for a break in the rain. I took some time to enjoy the mental silence of the loud rain, missing my friends but also feeling somewhat steeled for perhaps moving away if and when Peace Corps pans out. The idea still scares and excites me, but at this point I just want to lean into it and see what happens to me. It might chew me up and spit me out, but I could use that every now and then.
Once most of the storm passes overhead we tentatively follow its drizzling wake down the hill. We missed the sunset but seeing Hsipaw in the post-storm twilight made my day, despite getting drenched (don't you dare, Varun!). I'm reminded of adventures through the botanical gardens with Nicole in Gothenburg, where getting soaked was half the fun. The abhorrent and lingering odor eminating from my socks in the following days made for the other half of the memory.
One afternoon Toby, Nicole, and I begin our search for the renowned Mr. Shake's restaurant, which we are told we can't miss. We miss it of course, so we stop to ask a competing juice stand owner for directions. Thu Zar Min Min introduces herself and tells us a little bit about her life in Singapore as she walks us over to Mr. Shake, leaving us to our impending gorging, telling us to swing by her stand another time.
I visit Min Min the following day and she stuffs me silly with delicious fried mini doughballs filled with any combination of tomato or peppers or chickpeas. She keeps bringing me limeade and other treats until I'm bursting at the seams. I ask her how much for the refreshing treats and she refuses to take any of my money. On top of that, I bring Nicole back later just to say hello and Min Min then invites us to have brunch with her the following day.
Min Min and her friend show up at our guesthouse via scooters and we ride pillion to their home just down the road. We get to meet her family and, as we have come to suspect, they stuff us silly with a tasty spread of Myanmar cuisine. Shan style noodles, chickpea noodle soup, onion/cabbage/cilantro-ish salad, seasoned boiled eggs, mushrooms and sweet potato leaves, and then some. We awkwardly shovel food as they watch and chat with us. Min Min translates a bit and we get to talk with her family, but mostly we just sort of look at each other and bask in the friendly environment. It's a novelty for all of us, but it certainly is remarkable how kind most people are in this country. It must be a special place if you can just open up your home to foreigners so readily.
Min Min lived in Singapore for eight years working as a maid, only recently coming home to Hsipaw to be with her parents as they enter their golden years. She explains that this is the custom and she's happy to come home, but hearing how much she misses Singapore and her two dogs Clifford and Butch makes us feel for her. It's hard enough to leave the country once, and she says she doesn't think she'll do it again anytime soon.
It's hard to imagine someday putting my life on hold like that, even changing trajectories entirely, although my parents certainly did for me and my siblings when we came into this world. Maybe they don't see it that way in retrospect. And the way they cared for their parents in those final years was a heartening reminder to pay back all of the privilege they've bestowed on me. They've saved me so much trouble in my life, but also helped me understand the stuff I couldn't avoid. I don't think I'll have feelings of remorse or regret of time lost (not any more than I already do as life keeps expanding with friends and places that feel like home), but rather an opportunity to glimpse into that nebulous, far-off, inevitable phase of life. As fresh adults we crave a life of independence and novelty. We don't want to be anchored. And it's difficult to imagine the pull back as we reach the apex, but it'll come one way or another. Although the orbital metaphor seems sort of bleak, to be compelled by some force to return to your origins, I find it quite exciting to think about. Those golden years for my parents will be a significant calm of recollection and hopefully a distillation of happy memories. They will have toiled most of their lives to support themselves and these little asshole satellites that keep their distance (but not so far that they can't receive the occasional SATCOM) to finally experience what I imagine will be an immensely gratifying change of pace, perhaps with a swing in their steps. And in some way I want to be there for that. I'll experience it first hand later, but I also want to see what it looks like from this perspective. Maybe it'll temper my expectations. Maybe I'll discover new things about my parents. Maybe they'll discover new things about themselves and that gives me hope of doing the same throughout my life. That it doesn't just end abruptly, novelty depleted, floating listlessly into space. There is certainly more meaningful life to experience. But it's just hard to imagine!
Brunch is short but sweet, and we get dropped off at our hotel after a nice photo shoot so we can all go to our friends with photographic proof as if to say, "You'll be so jealous!"
Toby returns from his two-day trek and we all hop on the same bus back to Mandalay, exchanging stories on the way.
Toby is a great reminder of how much dumb luck is involved in making friends, especially when the days you'll share are numbered. But the fact that we managed to spend over a week together while still moving just shows that sometimes you're not ready to say goodbye! It was rewarding to have that flexibility in our plans so we could enrich each other's travels by that much more. Like when Toby brought a bouquet of flowers and jasmine back to our hotel room. I mean, who does that? What a guy. Come to think of it, what did *he* get out of the whole thing? Other than endless snarky bullshit, of course.
We have one last day together in the city, sharing a few bottles of white wine one afternoon and having some incredible chapati street food and fresh lychee and mango and ice cream. Also Toby takes me longyi shopping but I don't think I'll ever have the courage to rock one in public like he does. We part ways with happy embraces, one of us heading home for a glorious reunion with Game of Thrones and nachos while the others make their way to Cambodia. Or Laos. Or who knows.
We don't spend any more time in Mandalay than we have to, immediately boarding a pickup truck to take us into the mountains. The truck has a canopy over the bed sporting a cargo rack to accommodate large packages or sacks of grain or other produce, which means we are forced into spine-bending hunched positions for a few hours. We cram in with about 7 other people (followed by a weed whacker) and try to find the least uncomfortable ass-to-bench ratio for the journey. Within the first few minutes a young girl vomits all over her mom's foot. Toby and I exchange a glance but we're all pretty used to this by now.
 |
| "You've gotta be kidding." |
Commence self indulgence to the max.
Pyin u Lwin seems to be somewhat more affluent than any other city we've been to thus far. I'm largely basing this off of the fact that there's a golf course here, and many expensive lakeside cafes and restaurants featuring an ample wine selection and hundreds of food items. The houses are still somewhat modest in town, but they become more exorbitant around the lake. We imagine this might be where the well-off Burmese come for vacation and to escape the heat. Which is exactly what we're doing right now.
And then there's the botanical garden. We rent bicycles and head down to the lake, spending hours getting lost in this neat little place.
 |
| Linking up the friendship chain. A common sight here (as it was in India, too). |
One evening we sit around the portable speaker and write out the lyrics to On n On by Justice, which we should now all be able to sing by memory. Most of the words are discernible but it comes down to one stubborn stanza that, no matter how correct it sounds on paper, we decide the lyrics don't quite fit the theme and hold out on the belief that the gibberish in our heads was somehow better. I suppose hearing something in another language for instance can have a pleasing sonic quality without any understanding of the words, but learning the meaning will alter the effect. Nonetheless we rock out all night and enjoy some cheap Burmese whiskey.
After three nights of this we're both ready and reluctant to move on to Hsipaw. I think that's a healthy level of ambivalence.
We board our commuter train in the morning and Toby points out that the plant debris covering our seats is likely from scraping past the ample foliage. We quickly see what he means when branches are nearly whipping us in the face and we have to take a defensive position any time we hear the loud thwacks ringing ahead of us. But the scenery is astounding and I find myself daring more and more to stick my head out of the window, even if it results in a reprimanding sting. Worth it.
 |
| A little too close for comfort. |
 |
| Wow, Burma sure is ugly. |
Situated along the Dokhtawaddy River, Hsipaw makes for a scenic little place, offering markets at any which hour of the day (including a 3am gathering lit by candles stuck in mangoes) and some excellent food options.
We hike up Sunset Hill in the evenings, one night getting caught in a beautiful thunderstorm complete with sideways downpour and retina-smashing bolts of lightning. We find respite from the rain under a rudimentary shelter and decide to continue to the top even when the rain is soaking through our shoes. The monks offer us some tea as we dry off and wait for a break in the rain. I took some time to enjoy the mental silence of the loud rain, missing my friends but also feeling somewhat steeled for perhaps moving away if and when Peace Corps pans out. The idea still scares and excites me, but at this point I just want to lean into it and see what happens to me. It might chew me up and spit me out, but I could use that every now and then.
Once most of the storm passes overhead we tentatively follow its drizzling wake down the hill. We missed the sunset but seeing Hsipaw in the post-storm twilight made my day, despite getting drenched (don't you dare, Varun!). I'm reminded of adventures through the botanical gardens with Nicole in Gothenburg, where getting soaked was half the fun. The abhorrent and lingering odor eminating from my socks in the following days made for the other half of the memory.
One afternoon Toby, Nicole, and I begin our search for the renowned Mr. Shake's restaurant, which we are told we can't miss. We miss it of course, so we stop to ask a competing juice stand owner for directions. Thu Zar Min Min introduces herself and tells us a little bit about her life in Singapore as she walks us over to Mr. Shake, leaving us to our impending gorging, telling us to swing by her stand another time.
I visit Min Min the following day and she stuffs me silly with delicious fried mini doughballs filled with any combination of tomato or peppers or chickpeas. She keeps bringing me limeade and other treats until I'm bursting at the seams. I ask her how much for the refreshing treats and she refuses to take any of my money. On top of that, I bring Nicole back later just to say hello and Min Min then invites us to have brunch with her the following day.
Min Min and her friend show up at our guesthouse via scooters and we ride pillion to their home just down the road. We get to meet her family and, as we have come to suspect, they stuff us silly with a tasty spread of Myanmar cuisine. Shan style noodles, chickpea noodle soup, onion/cabbage/cilantro-ish salad, seasoned boiled eggs, mushrooms and sweet potato leaves, and then some. We awkwardly shovel food as they watch and chat with us. Min Min translates a bit and we get to talk with her family, but mostly we just sort of look at each other and bask in the friendly environment. It's a novelty for all of us, but it certainly is remarkable how kind most people are in this country. It must be a special place if you can just open up your home to foreigners so readily.
Min Min lived in Singapore for eight years working as a maid, only recently coming home to Hsipaw to be with her parents as they enter their golden years. She explains that this is the custom and she's happy to come home, but hearing how much she misses Singapore and her two dogs Clifford and Butch makes us feel for her. It's hard enough to leave the country once, and she says she doesn't think she'll do it again anytime soon.
It's hard to imagine someday putting my life on hold like that, even changing trajectories entirely, although my parents certainly did for me and my siblings when we came into this world. Maybe they don't see it that way in retrospect. And the way they cared for their parents in those final years was a heartening reminder to pay back all of the privilege they've bestowed on me. They've saved me so much trouble in my life, but also helped me understand the stuff I couldn't avoid. I don't think I'll have feelings of remorse or regret of time lost (not any more than I already do as life keeps expanding with friends and places that feel like home), but rather an opportunity to glimpse into that nebulous, far-off, inevitable phase of life. As fresh adults we crave a life of independence and novelty. We don't want to be anchored. And it's difficult to imagine the pull back as we reach the apex, but it'll come one way or another. Although the orbital metaphor seems sort of bleak, to be compelled by some force to return to your origins, I find it quite exciting to think about. Those golden years for my parents will be a significant calm of recollection and hopefully a distillation of happy memories. They will have toiled most of their lives to support themselves and these little asshole satellites that keep their distance (but not so far that they can't receive the occasional SATCOM) to finally experience what I imagine will be an immensely gratifying change of pace, perhaps with a swing in their steps. And in some way I want to be there for that. I'll experience it first hand later, but I also want to see what it looks like from this perspective. Maybe it'll temper my expectations. Maybe I'll discover new things about my parents. Maybe they'll discover new things about themselves and that gives me hope of doing the same throughout my life. That it doesn't just end abruptly, novelty depleted, floating listlessly into space. There is certainly more meaningful life to experience. But it's just hard to imagine!
Brunch is short but sweet, and we get dropped off at our hotel after a nice photo shoot so we can all go to our friends with photographic proof as if to say, "You'll be so jealous!"
 |
| The cutest kid in existence. Let's take one home. |
 |
| Thu Zar Min Min and Nicole |
 |
| Min Min's father looking like a badass. |
Toby returns from his two-day trek and we all hop on the same bus back to Mandalay, exchanging stories on the way.
Toby is a great reminder of how much dumb luck is involved in making friends, especially when the days you'll share are numbered. But the fact that we managed to spend over a week together while still moving just shows that sometimes you're not ready to say goodbye! It was rewarding to have that flexibility in our plans so we could enrich each other's travels by that much more. Like when Toby brought a bouquet of flowers and jasmine back to our hotel room. I mean, who does that? What a guy. Come to think of it, what did *he* get out of the whole thing? Other than endless snarky bullshit, of course.
We have one last day together in the city, sharing a few bottles of white wine one afternoon and having some incredible chapati street food and fresh lychee and mango and ice cream. Also Toby takes me longyi shopping but I don't think I'll ever have the courage to rock one in public like he does. We part ways with happy embraces, one of us heading home for a glorious reunion with Game of Thrones and nachos while the others make their way to Cambodia. Or Laos. Or who knows.
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