Bus journeys and beyond

Early morning, smoke,Sunday's are the same everywhere. Nyuang U on a Sunday morning. We are waiting for our not so bad coffee, fruit plate and eggs. I bought a can of Happy Cow Sweetened Condensed Milk for my coffee yesterday. We are butressed against the chill in our warm clothes, including the dusty fleeces that have served us well these last two weeks, but later we will shed them as the temperature soars and the dust billows up around us leaving a fine coating on everything, our hair, our feet from the constant on and off of shoes at the temples, and even seeping onto the keyboard of my little Ipad. Along with the clip clop clip clop of the horse carts, traffic picks up along the main Nyuang U road and guesthouse row. Myanmar has especially loud, piercing horns on their buses, although everyone seems to have taken a cue from India and honks at every opportunity while pressing their feet on the accelerator. In the case of the horse carts, which roll and ramble down the streets right out there with huge trucks and buses, they signal they are coming by dragging the driver's stick on the spokes of the big wooden wheels. It isn't a bad way to travel, horse cart, especially out by the temples where the fine dust erupts into choking clouds every time a motor vehicle races down the paths to deposit high end tourists who are disgorged from their aiir-conditioned cocoons into the gloomy interiors of 11th century pagodas. Even they have to remove their shoes at the entrance and dance along the pebbled corridors of the temples, listening to guides in a plethora of languages explain the history of Buddha as painted on the walls. Restoration projects abound and ordinary Burmese bypass the camera toting crowds in order to kneel for a moment, place some lotus flowers, sticks of incense and a candle in front of towering images that have been there for centuries. The contrast between Burma of 2006 and 2013 is startling. Police presence is much more discreet. Private cars abound. New gas stations are popping up along the roads sans the barbed wire and rationing lines we saw in '06. Food stalls, souvenir stands, coffee shops and tea houses dot the highways of places like Nyuangshwe and Nyuang U. Backpacker and Flashpackers abound. The Lonely Planet Burma's blue covered guidebook can be seen in the hands of dozens of travelers. The road to the temple fields around Bagan have guesthouses and vegetarian restaurants in various stages of building. People talk about Aung San Su Kyi openly, and give a hearty thumbs up when we say we are from America..."Obama, we like!" And they remind us that he came to Burma. What an impact he made. I wonder what part of Burma he saw?
The bus trip from Nyuangshwe to Bagan, 7+ hours that seemed like 14. We actually had seats, and the buses aren't that old here. They look deluxe from the outside and unlike the treadless tires on most of the city buses in Yangon, they look roadworthy, from the outside. The road from Nyuangshwe, Inle, goes up and up into the mountains that surround the lake and then down, rather rapidly, to the high plateau of Bagan on the banks of the Irrawaddy. Coming down was an adventure that included a stop about halfway so the driver could get out and hose off the brakes until steam stopped rising from the wheels! He was a good driver...slow, very slow, even on the straightaways, and we started the journey, the bus about half filled with farangs including a young man from Belllingham, with a nice long Buddhist sermon, very soothing and reassuring. At least we had a devout driver. As we continued across the arid countryside. We stopped in the crossroads town of Thazi where the rail lines intersect for Mandalay and for the narrow gauge rail that goes back up to Inle, to take on more Burmese and let off one lone Aussie. We shed clothing as the temperature climbed. Stopping at the entrance to the Bagan Archaeological Zone to pay our entrance fee of $10 per person, we arrived at the Nyuang U bus station. Our ears bled from the constant, non-stop videos played at full volume...unrequited love, silly girl and serious boy, silly boy and serious girl, long concerts of the same popular songs over and over and over until we could actually sing along. The only time the farang perked up was when the marathon Gagnam-style video came on. It went on and on and on and included a segment of young men in Burmese longyi dancing along with our little Korean friend. We found a horse cart for our luggage, my head was reeling and my ears ringing, and we finally checked in with Auntie Cho at the Mya Kha Lar. Water so hot its written on the wall above the spigot in red paint, "HOT!", two twin beds, a large cross shaped key that fits in a slot to activate electricity, free wifi if you sit close enough to the signal, a big veranda and free breakfast...coffee, toast, eggs, fruit plate, and crepe like pancake. What more could we possible want. Oh, yes, I wish you all were here...