What ever possessed me to eat a chicken sausage/hot dog on an airplane in Burma, I'll never know...
The reason I chose this trip was that it included a visit to Kyaiktiyo, The Golden Rock. A precariously perched boulder shaped like the head of a holy hermit. The shrine atop the rock atop a mountain is said to contain 2 hairs of the Buddha. Over the years pilgrims have plastered the rock with layer upon layer of gold leaf. A site that I wanted to behold.
Back to the hot dog. If you are Brigit or if you don't want to read about vomit and/or traveller's diarrhea skip to below the line.
My stomach was feeling a little hinky after getting off the plane from Heho after leaving Lake Inle. Due to an airline change and a delayed flight we were running late by the time we reached Yangon. The plane, once again, had very good service with smiling attendants - Air Bagan this time. The hot dog looked pale and unappealing but we were not going to have time for lunch if we were to make the sunset at Golden Rock three++ hours away. I watched Lucy take a bite of hers, decided to give it a go and thus spent the three hour bus ride from Yangon curled up in the fetal position.
When we arrived at the truck depot to transfer to our vehicle to take us to our hotel for the night fortune was on my side in the form of a "special toilet" (clean and western style.) 200 kyats - about 25 cents - well spent. Feeling somewhat relieved I braced myself for the next stage of the journey.
The road up to the rock is very steep. Very, very steep. It must be done in special open air trucks with padded bench seats and these trucks must always, always be packed to bursting.The 45 minute ride was worthy of any Florida amusement park. I had my eyes closed the whole time so I can't say what the scenery looked like. It was everything I could do to not loose whatever remained in my stomach. At a lay-by as we paused for the downhill traffic I switched with Lucy who was at the outside rail...just in case. Airplane sick bags magically appeared in my hands thanks to Peter. Fifteen agonizing minutes later the truck ground to a halt and I promptly, as David used to say, frew-up, managing to miss most of my pants and shoes and Stanley.
My very kind travel mates were very helpful getting me sorted but as I stood on solid ground again I had a need of a toilet. There were only regular ones here, not particularly clean, and definitely not western. These were closely guarded by an stern looking young woman with angrily applied thanaka, who would not let me pass, so to speak, until she exacted her 200 kyat. I complied without argument. Without going into any gory detail lets just say that I got my money's worth...turned out I had used the men's toilets. Oh well.
----------------------------------------------
So why am I sharing all this? You might ask. Well, it is to set the scene for one of my most surreal travel experiences.
My ordeal was not yet over as it was another 10 minute walk up a very steep hill to the hotel. A sedan chair was arranged for me by guide Nyi Nyi - something I would not consider under any other circumstance but I was not going to argue. These sedans consist of two 4" diameter bamboo poles with a wicker chair lashed in between and a rice bag slid over the poles as a foot rest. I took a seat and four tall, lean young men picked up the contraption, set it on their shoulders and began to walk in perfect unison. So there I was, in my colonial era perch feeling wretched and covered in sick, being transported up towards one of the holiest places in all of Burma, appropriately, at the pace of a funereal procession. Tinny music faded in and out as I "bounced" slowly past souvenir shops lining the pilgrims' route. As we rounded a corner with the slow slap of the young mens' flip flops on the ground a familiar tune faded in - it was the Burmese version of Tie a Yellow Ribbon (Tony Orlando and Dawn, circa 1972) accompanied by a Wurlitzer organ like you would hear at the ice rink when I was a kid. At the height of the volume, in perfect time to the music the young men lifted the poles up over their heads and switched shoulders in a motion smooth as hyacinth silk.
When we got to the hotel I paid the surliest looking of the quartet who then demanded a tip. Another 1000 kyat each was distributed again, with no argument. Found out later that I had paid for the ride to the top which was another 35 minutes on. No matter, I had only energy for a shower and bed. No rock for me.
Next morning I found out that seven of our group had fallen ill. I had just been the lucky one to exhibit symptoms first. The general consensus was that the rock itself was impressive but the hoopla around it was off-putting. Hence the name "Rock Vegas." Also women couldn't go up to the rock to apply gold leaf they had to stay on the other side of the bridge with the dirty shoes.
Here's what I missed from the hotel room window:
Thank goodness for loperimide.
The reason I chose this trip was that it included a visit to Kyaiktiyo, The Golden Rock. A precariously perched boulder shaped like the head of a holy hermit. The shrine atop the rock atop a mountain is said to contain 2 hairs of the Buddha. Over the years pilgrims have plastered the rock with layer upon layer of gold leaf. A site that I wanted to behold.
Back to the hot dog. If you are Brigit or if you don't want to read about vomit and/or traveller's diarrhea skip to below the line.
My stomach was feeling a little hinky after getting off the plane from Heho after leaving Lake Inle. Due to an airline change and a delayed flight we were running late by the time we reached Yangon. The plane, once again, had very good service with smiling attendants - Air Bagan this time. The hot dog looked pale and unappealing but we were not going to have time for lunch if we were to make the sunset at Golden Rock three++ hours away. I watched Lucy take a bite of hers, decided to give it a go and thus spent the three hour bus ride from Yangon curled up in the fetal position.
When we arrived at the truck depot to transfer to our vehicle to take us to our hotel for the night fortune was on my side in the form of a "special toilet" (clean and western style.) 200 kyats - about 25 cents - well spent. Feeling somewhat relieved I braced myself for the next stage of the journey.
The road up to the rock is very steep. Very, very steep. It must be done in special open air trucks with padded bench seats and these trucks must always, always be packed to bursting.The 45 minute ride was worthy of any Florida amusement park. I had my eyes closed the whole time so I can't say what the scenery looked like. It was everything I could do to not loose whatever remained in my stomach. At a lay-by as we paused for the downhill traffic I switched with Lucy who was at the outside rail...just in case. Airplane sick bags magically appeared in my hands thanks to Peter. Fifteen agonizing minutes later the truck ground to a halt and I promptly, as David used to say, frew-up, managing to miss most of my pants and shoes and Stanley.
My very kind travel mates were very helpful getting me sorted but as I stood on solid ground again I had a need of a toilet. There were only regular ones here, not particularly clean, and definitely not western. These were closely guarded by an stern looking young woman with angrily applied thanaka, who would not let me pass, so to speak, until she exacted her 200 kyat. I complied without argument. Without going into any gory detail lets just say that I got my money's worth...turned out I had used the men's toilets. Oh well.
----------------------------------------------
So why am I sharing all this? You might ask. Well, it is to set the scene for one of my most surreal travel experiences.
My ordeal was not yet over as it was another 10 minute walk up a very steep hill to the hotel. A sedan chair was arranged for me by guide Nyi Nyi - something I would not consider under any other circumstance but I was not going to argue. These sedans consist of two 4" diameter bamboo poles with a wicker chair lashed in between and a rice bag slid over the poles as a foot rest. I took a seat and four tall, lean young men picked up the contraption, set it on their shoulders and began to walk in perfect unison. So there I was, in my colonial era perch feeling wretched and covered in sick, being transported up towards one of the holiest places in all of Burma, appropriately, at the pace of a funereal procession. Tinny music faded in and out as I "bounced" slowly past souvenir shops lining the pilgrims' route. As we rounded a corner with the slow slap of the young mens' flip flops on the ground a familiar tune faded in - it was the Burmese version of Tie a Yellow Ribbon (Tony Orlando and Dawn, circa 1972) accompanied by a Wurlitzer organ like you would hear at the ice rink when I was a kid. At the height of the volume, in perfect time to the music the young men lifted the poles up over their heads and switched shoulders in a motion smooth as hyacinth silk.
When we got to the hotel I paid the surliest looking of the quartet who then demanded a tip. Another 1000 kyat each was distributed again, with no argument. Found out later that I had paid for the ride to the top which was another 35 minutes on. No matter, I had only energy for a shower and bed. No rock for me.
Next morning I found out that seven of our group had fallen ill. I had just been the lucky one to exhibit symptoms first. The general consensus was that the rock itself was impressive but the hoopla around it was off-putting. Hence the name "Rock Vegas." Also women couldn't go up to the rock to apply gold leaf they had to stay on the other side of the bridge with the dirty shoes.
Here's what I missed from the hotel room window:
Thank goodness for loperimide.
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