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TRAVEL BLOG ENTRY
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“Rocking a boat off a sandbank isn't as easy as it looks” |
George Orwell's first work of creativity, Burmese Days, was based on his time stationed in the northern town of Katha. A mandatory companion for any trip through the country, rumours on the ground say that the immigration officers are planning a Burmese Days quiz for all departing tourists to make sure that they completed their homework! Based around the English members club in the town, it takes a poke at the hypocrisy of the English stationed in the area at the times.
Out of Myitkyina
From Myitkyina I took a bus to a town in between called Bhamo. The drama started when Idan and myself went to catch the bus that we were sold two tickets for four days previous, only to discover that it didn't exist. The busman's neighbour next door was only too happy to oblige though and charge us double to take us to Bhamo. Not happy, no choice! Incredibly, the bus never seemed to break down during the journey. This didn't prevent the bus driver, however, from stopping a few times along the way to do a bit of routine maintenance. One stop consisted of loosening the nuts on one of the wheels and tightening them again. Even if there wasn't maintenance on the agenda, the driver would stop every half hour or so in the middle of nowhere just for the hell of it.
Boating from Bhamo
From Bhamo, we were hoping to take the three day boat back down to Mandalay that was due to leave the next day. Low river conditions make the sailing difficult and the boat was delayed on it's journey up the river. Plan B? A straightforward boat trip to Katha linking with a bus to take us to Mandalay.
We set off the next morning in the boat and about twenty minutes later myself and Idan were summoned out onto the side of the boat to rock it with some locals as it struggled along. The Aerawaddy was so shallow that we needed to keep the boat rocking to keep it moving along the sandbanks. Eventually we came to our first unplanned stop. No rocking was going to dislodge our boat off this sandbank. The locals jumped into the river to try and push it off, but nothing.
Eventually, about an hour later, after we were all off loaded onto a smaller boat to wait on the shore we got moving again. After getting stuck on only one more sandbank along the way, we arrived in Katha before dark.
Katha and Beyond
The only remainder of 'the club' from Orwell's days are the tennis court. Strangely, it's maintained in excellent condition. Perfect surface, newly painted lines and a straight net. One guy inside looked the part, until he tried to hit a ball that is. I broke out my longyi for a morning stroll through the market. Shouts of 'ladae' were all I heard from the women at their stalls, handsome! Soon to be retired, I figured why not get the most out of my investment in local clothes.
Two buses were leaving for Mandalay the next morning. One took eight hours along a good road. The other took fourteen hours along a terrible road. Guess which bus tourists aren't allowed take? Obviously the operator on the good road is not paying off the police enough along the way to take tourists.
Under every seat were two sacks of rice or some kind of beans, each weighing about 60kg. The seats seemed to be built higher than normal so that you could sit comfortably with the rice underfoot. The poor bus struggled up any hill it was presented with in first gear. We estimated that at this stage we had about 3,000kg extra cargo on the bus. At about 9pm the bus pulled up outside a row of houses. waiting there was about another 2,000kg of rice that filled the aisle of the bus. Getting to your seat was an exercise in crawling on hands and knees along the tops of the sacks in the aisle (see photo of inside of bus). But fair play to the bus, we rolled into Mandalay at 8am the next morning. Not even one breakdown significant enough to record. A overnight real bone shaker though. Totally wrecked.
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