Burma is shaped like a kite with a tail, a kite the size of Manitoba. Rangoon is at the southern end, just where the tail would start and Mandalay is about 600 km to the north of Rangoon at about the widest part of the kite, in the heart of the plains of Burma.

We arrived in Mandalay on an slow, rocky overnight bus, passing by the military junta’s new capital, Nay Pyi Taw, in the dark. Works for me. It was still dark when we arrived in Mandalay at a primitive bus station on the outside of the city. Taxi drivers in thick coats were eager to take us anywhere for a few thousand kyat. We were soon off to the hostel ‘Peacock House’ in an old battered Toyota. We are steadfastly avoiding government run hotels, guided tours and restaurants. It is not difficult to find other good options.

Our room for the first night at Peacock House is basic. It is a lean-to at the back of the laundry room; walls of rattan mat, a corrugated roof and ‘well ventilated’ but there is a mosquito net over the bed. Our host at Peacock House is a dear elderly lady. She is clearly the family matriarch, speaks impeccable English and keeps a careful watch over all things. I leave my finished novel on the bookshelf to trade and as soon as I have turned my back it is gone. I believe she is already reading it.

Footwear must always be left at the door. Like the rest of the population, we have been living in flip flops which are now indistinguishable from the brown-grey sand which is as fine as talcum powder. Imprinted with bicycle tires, footprints and pawprints, it forms the footpaths at the edges of even the busiest streets. It is mixed with the ashes of roadside campfires which burn each evening, for even people in the city may not have running water or electricity and only basic santitation.

Our first day in Mandalay we had an unexpectedly long walk through busy markets, past monastaries and stupas and down to the banks of the Irawaddy River which seems as wide and flat as the sea. We discovered the walking route we had done was actually intended to be a bicycle tour! That cold beer in the alleyway … nirvana ?

Burmese monks wear maroon red robes and it is the color I have come to associate with Burma. They are shaven, and most often barefoot. Early every morning, like a ruby necklace, the monks walk in quiet procession through the streets, each carrying a bowl. They quietly knocked at the kitchen door of Peacock House to receive alms. Today a scoop of uncooked rice rained down into the metal bowls. Over 90% of Burma is Buddhist and almost all males spend time in the monkhood. Females may enter monastic life, but this is not as highly valued. They also remain shaven but wear pink robes instead.

A few days ago, just before bed, I swatted a cockroach in the bathroom with my flip flop. That night, and for two days after, I subsisted on soda crackers, gastrolyte and eventually cipro. I hardly left the hostel room because I couldn’t risk being too far from the bathroom. Randy and I had been eating from street stalls, but he had no problems ??? By the third night I was beginning to believe I would never get better (thoughts of wanting to go home) and I encountered a second cockroach in the bathroom. I gently ushered him out. The next morning I felt a hundred percent better. A Buddhist believes in reincarnation, karma and wouldn’t harm a single living thing. Do you think there is a chance that I might return as a cockroach in my next life, or have I been forgiven?

PS. Our taxi driver proudly displays an NLD sticker on the dashboard. “She is our mother, we love her”. He expects victory in the next election in 2015. He smiles broadly and makes a huge check mark using his whole arm. Later that day, our tri-shaw also displays the NLD sticker and then also the horse-cart driver. Another taxi driver says “Yes we can talk about it now. Everyone is talking now.” Hope is in the air.

Good night,

Love Monika and Randy.