Burmese truck

The bus ride was long (6 hours), uncomfortable (no leg room), cold (they kept the door open the whole way), and bumpy, despite the fact that the road is maintained by a private company. Fern has said this company is actually drug lords, who need the road to reach their opium fields, and to get their crop to China. It was fortunate the trip was uneventful, since I was right up front and had a good view of the driver having a heated conversation with his helper, complete with dramatic hand gestures. Since it was so foggy and he was going so fast, I would have preferred him to give the road his undivided attention. But as long as you honk frequently, and have the proper Buddhist shrine onboard, what can happen? We did pass a pickup upside down on the side of the road.

Upon arrival I rented a bike to check on boat tickets to Bhamo. Not liking riding the rickety bike between cars, trishaws, pedestrians, and other bikes in the rush-hour traffic on the main street, I turned off to a side street, and ended up in the packed central market. I had to walk the bike through the crowds, and pissed off some women when the pedal brushed up against their baskets, and they shouted at me in Burmese. Then I road through dirt streets with dirty decaying buildings, still packed with trishaws and walkers. There are people everywhere in Myanmar. At the jetty they wanted $54 for a cabin, $21 for upper deck, and $9 for lower deck. Lower deck for me.

Then, since I was back in relative civilization, I went on a snacking binge. I stopped at Mandalay Donuts, a clean Dunkin' Donuts like place that was deserted, then of course the Nylon Ice Cream Bar.

It turns out Marie is staying across the hall from me, so we caught up on our latest adventures over Mandaly Beer. She didn't like Hsipaw and went straight to Namsan, which she said was OK, but no Switzerland. She complained of a chanting monk next door who started up at 4 am. Some of my snacking disagreed with me, so I had to spend some time on the toilet.