A slow Boat down the Irrawaddy River in Burma
On the Mandalay River Road towards George Orwell’s Katha - hey hey hey!
Lady Donga’s Wanderlust Diaries
Burma - Wanderlust Five
Narrator – Lady Donga - Pussycat
Dear Readers, this episode continues from Burma Wanderlust Four - where my human Seaspray D was due to embark on a boat journey down the Irrawaddy River from Bhamo – Kachin State – Burma.
Due to our boat being loaded with cargo, our early morning departure was delayed - somewhat.
Thankfully, Mr Diamond had kindly informed me this might happen as I left the Bhamo restaurant the night before, thus enabling a welcome sleep in.
Earlier that day Mr Diamond invited me to his house to see a helicopter he was building.
I could not believe it; I expected this helicopter he wanted to show me would have been on his back lawn.
But no - smack bang in the middle of his lounge room, was this almost complete helicopter!
No, not like a huge military model as such, but some portable contraption where the driver sits in a harness under the propeller using a joystick for maneuverability.
Mr Diamond said he test-drove his drone like craft a couple of years ago, but alas, the engine was not quite large enough to achieve lift off.
Mr Diamond, sixty-years-old, pestered me for work back in Australia.
But I set him straight. “It’s probably not possible, as our current government is a touch xenophobic at present, and they may lock you up and have you arrested as a terrorist, and if you did come and I was seen talking to you, they may arrest me too!”
I explained to him. “That sounds very much like our military regime,” he said. “MMM,” I thought, interesting analysis, maybe that is where our attorney general got the idea in the first place, or is it the other way round!
However, I said I would try my best for him, this cheered him up no end, and perhaps explained why he turned up at the jetty the next day offering gifts of delicious mandarins prior to my departure!
I was touched by his kindness and generosity (and not just for the mandarins); as Mr Diamond was several moral notches above his more talkative and shifty Military Intelligence English teacher friend.
I beckoned Mr Diamond to join me at a riverside café where freshly made Chinese croissants disappeared down our throats - drowned with the usual buckets of sweet Indian tea.
The dock workers were still loading the boat with apples from China at 10: 30 am, but when one is on holidays what’s the hurry, besides, the river was covered in a thick blanket of fog, impassable to sensible navigators.
However, I was able to check into my cabin which was yuk, very grotty indeed, dirty sheets, pillow cases etc, “Where’s the captain?” I exclaimed!
The cabin boy came directly, changed the linen, and soon made it more presentable than what it was on arrival.
Soon after I saw the alternative accommodation downstairs and realized, I was quite well off in comparison.
Two Brits and an Israeli had to share the lower deck with some two hundred other passengers, packed in like sardines - probably just as well due to the cold air racing downstream from China.
Brrrrrrrrr.
At 11 a.m. a loud booming horn signaled it was time to embark, and without further ado, our ferry slid away from the river bank…quietly down the ‘waddy’.
The bunk looked inviting, and the air was still quite cool, so a quick nap was in order before I arrived at Shwegu.
The guidebook informs that just north of Shwegu the boat passes through a steep gorge where gibbons can be heard calling from thick jungle.
Pods of rare Irrawaddy dolphin can sometimes be seen here when the river is low. But would you believe it, I slept right through it all and woke up at the Shwegu jetty in time to see several emaciated barefooted men load very heavy hessian bags of what could have been rice.
Time for a cuppa, and downstairs to enjoy the live documentary unfolding at every turn, you could almost describe it as a mini market of sorts. Not quite the one George Orwell described in his book Burmese days at Bhamo, but a market of sorts all the same: Betel Nut stalls, mandarins, Chinese apples, sachets of coffee and tea, instant noodles, lengths of sugar cane, cheap Chinese toys for bored kiddies on board and more.
Back on deck to where I had sat previously, it was getting cooler, so the easy solution is to drag the chair over to the other side of the boat to take in the fading sun setting behind huge mountains in the South West.
Quite a lot of traffic on the ‘waddy’, ‘whoooooooosh’ “Hey what’s that?” …Ah, we have just hit a sandbar.
The river level must be getting a touch low.
Fortunately, these Shanghai manufactured vessels have a shallow hull, so we rarely got stuck.
Earlier, another boat was not so lucky; it had been stuck for some time, before our boat came to the rescue and set it free.
A passing ferry sounds its horny greeting.
We respond with several jubilant horn toots, as we manage to avoid further beaching near a long snaky sand bar midstream.
Our boat swings around the next bend, so the sun is on the right shoulder now, time to adjust the chair for maximum warmth.
A German man with Moroccan heritage plans to sleep on the upper deck tonight, it will be cold, but perhaps comfier, and more private than the lower deck where the people are doing the sardine shuffle - where two other Brits below were doing the trip for a whole $9 US each.
However, the Brits should be used to it by now, as they have travelled on this boat all the way from Myitkyina - the upper reaches of the ‘waddy’ in Kachin state, Burma.
The Moroccan chap, a young adventurous young man, wearing a t-shirt declaring ‘different day - same shirt’ was on a long-term wanderlust journey. His highlights thus far include Mongolia and Tibet.
He sits in his claimed territory behind the captain’s wheelhouse and repairs his money belt.
Says he has no interest in Australia just now, as he wants to avoid European civilization.
Interesting comments, considering he chose to sit with us westerners out of a choice from nine other teashops back at the Bhamo jetty.
“Fark, Fark, Fark,” a flock of black crows wing their way across a crimson sky fading quickly as the day yawns before bed.
The diesel engine thuds softly far below us.
The bright white zedi’s (miniature versions of Burmese Buddhist temples) melt into the background jungle.
High above sits a waxing moon, useful for navigation no doubt.
Just heard news that in five days’ time, a full moon Buddhist festival awaits me in Bagan, so I will have to attend that for sure.
Whooshhhhhhhhhhh, the boat slides onto another sand bar, but this time, we are stuck.
It appears we are to stay here for the night. The sun has set - the temperature has dropped.
The restaurant downstairs does not look too appealing. What to do? A walk over to the other side of the boat reveals several cheap makeshift restaurants perched high on the eastern bank.
There are several small fires burning, used both for warmth and to toast fresh cobs of corn.
All it takes is a short walk the plank and your there, “I’m going out for dinner tonight, “I murmur to myself.
I sit down at the end ‘tea shop’ and am welcomed with joyful smiles accompanied by the Burmese greeting “menglaba,” (hello).
It appears they do not get too many visitors here.
The other foreigners have stayed aboard, so I have this stage all to myself.
Mmm, what to eat, “the boiled eggs look good, and what have we here,” I say pointing to the noodles, “Do you have Khao soi?” I ask, referring to a popular chicken noodle dish from Shan State.
The smiling nod indicates yes, so soon I am tucking into yummy noodles, followed by the usual king tide of condensed milk sweetened tea.
How much you ask? Just 710 kyats, and that includes mandarins, nuts, and cakes to take back on board - $1 US for a three-course meal!
“Sayzootinbarday (thank you)” I offer – as they smilingly take the small change.
Prior to boarding the boat, I joined some old folk by the fire ahead of walking the plank to rejoin our floating art gallery, a kaleidoscope of humans from all over Burma.
Lots of tea drinking means a visit to the john before retiring.
My ‘potty’ is of the squat variety and was over quickly, but I was left in the dark halfway thru my poo as the captain turned the motor off for the night without warning!
I searched around for the torch, and managed to find some newspaper to clean up with.
Sleep came quickly…but was pleasantly interrupted with the chanting of our resident boat monk, an old chap who wore the thickest coke bottle glasses I ever did see.
His hypnotic drone lulled me off to sleep, floating on the waddy…on the road to Mandalay – on a delightful sea of dreams.
“What’s that noise,” I heard in the middle of the night, “What,” I say…mumbling grumpily at being woken with a start…I’m asleep…” Why did you wake me up?” “There’s something in the cabin, where’s the torch,” someone in the cabin next to me said.
I suspected rats and told her so.
“They (the rats) …can probably smell your nuts and fruit, …anyway…if you see one…. what will you do?” I told her.
I flicked on my torch, ran it round the edge of the room, and satisfied there were no rats, the torch was turned off and I returned to slumber land, wishing that the cat that sat on the mat - would come and eat our rat!
MeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooW!
It seemed only minutes later the cabin lights flicked on and the engines started.
The captain readying himself for the day’s journey ahead. I woke again around nine am feeling like I had the flu, SARS perhaps.
I had expected to be at George Orwell’s Katha by now, but did not arrive till 10 am.
Stay tuned to find out more about George Orwell’s Katha in the next episode of this Burmese river boat journey.
MeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooW for now dear readers
Until next time
With Love
Lady Donga Wanderlust Diaries – © 2024
https://www.newleafconnect.com.au