Today is my 13th post of this trip. Today is Wednesday, November 9th in Myanmar. Today is Tuesday evening, November 8th at home. Today is the day we should be able to get some election results as the polls close. Today most of us are silent and anxious.
As we board the coach for our two-hour trip over the mountain range from Inle Lake to the airport at Heho, several people turn on their phones’ data (very costly) mode to receive early election results. We hope to know the results before we embark on our riverboat (with doubtful WIFI access) later this morning. As some on the bus receive first results, whispers spread the news, raising general concern.
Arriving at the small airport, it is chaotic. Cars and buses dispatch their passengers onto muddy lots and walkways, while several porters scratch our luggage out of the bus and load them onto carts. Some luggage is passed through open windows. A few of us stay back to make sure it’s all there. Inside, security is token at best, as we walk through the detection arches, triggering a chime of faults, yet get waved through. The single waiting hall is packed. There are no bill boards or signs to indicate flight status. Once a flight is ready to board, an announcer walks into the crowds yelling readiness to board, hoisting a plaque listing the flight number.
Small, twin-engine, dated airplanes land on the single runway without a taxi way, to quickly dispatch a few passengers, load new ones, and take off to make way for a next flight waiting to land and repeat the dance. The noise and odor of the crowds cannot mask the ‘foul odor’ of the election news trickling in. It is a somber moment for many of us, high on emotion – mostly disbelief, shock, anger, sadness, and fear. Some welcome the results with a grin!
Our plane has arrived. It’s obviously an old plane with open seating, as we scramble to secure a seat for the twenty-minute ride to Mandalay. In Mandalay, Thiha collected our checked luggage while we boarded another bus for the one and a half hour ride through Mandalay on our way to our riverboat, the Anawrahta. The day continues its downward spiral as we learn that my candidate lost the election. As I look out the window, the ride and sites offer no distraction, no relief from the pain and depression.
We traveled part of the way on a divided, four lane highway built just a few years ago by the army to connect Yangong to Mandalay and up to the new capital at Naypyidaw. The edict was to complete it within two years, which they accomplished, but at the cost of quality and durability. Our driver had to limit the top speed to 40 km per hour, frequently slowing down to a crawl so as to navigate through sections of broken concrete, deep cracks, chuck holes, and pools of rain water. The ride is consistent with the way the day is going. Today is not a good day.
Both sides of the road and the center strip are covered with shacks and lean-tos that provide shelter and homes for thousands of people. An occasional ox or cow tied to a stick or tree, stray dogs running everywhere and small children and toddlers playing next to the pavement as scooters, cars, and trucks navigate around them to avoid hitting them. Everything is covered with an unimaginable layer of trash and garbage, exasperated by the introduction of plastic bottles and packaging. Traditionally all packaging was biodegradable – such as banana leaves. It was normal to dispose of garbage by tossing it on the ground. Cleanup, if you want to call it that, would depend on the annual ‘flush’ as the monsoon runoff washed the trash away. Garbage cans or baskets don’t exist. There is no such thing as garbage collection or recycling. Just as we learned in Cambodia last year, the remedy rests in a major education effort to teach people how to dispose of garbage, and an infrastructure to gather garbage for disposal at a central dump or processing center. It is hard to look at – it is nauseating. There is no escaping by closing my eyes, only to have my minds-eye ‘see’ the nauseating news from home. Text messages are coming in from our children and grandchildren – the women in tears, the men in rage. I am helpless. Today is not a good day.
As we reach our ship, it is a welcome sight, but first we must navigate an area covered with garbage. Don’t look down. The crew laid down several 8” planks to step on, and help us keep our balance as we walk this tightrope and reach the ship’s gangway. We board, eagerly swimming towards the raft of kindness and warmth offered by the Myanmar people and crew. I spent a couple of minutes thanking Thiha, our guide, for his kindness and care during the last six days. I asked him whether the impoverishment we saw along the way was specific to the road we took or was it everywhere. He said that sadly, it is pervasive in Mandalay. I asked whether he had heard the news about our election – yes, he was sad about that also. As a strong Buddhist follower, he philosophically commented that both are what they are, that we can’t change the outcome, only the way we see it. Since I’m not nearly as enlightened as he is, I cannot accept it. I need to replace it with action. What action? I will sit with my thoughts for several days, hoping that a path will emerge. For now, there is no beauty, no color, no photos – just sadness. Today is not a good day.
Comments