Why, Katha?

I left Hsipaw on a lonely bus towards Mandalay. I wasn’t feeling all that bad in the morning but, as soon as Mandalay’s hot and parching air hit me, I started feeling a little queasy. I would later learn that the fishy soup refused to be digested and was still slurring around in my stomach.

Mandalay is a big city. I haven’t seen it yet but even its map with its tidy network of streets looks intimidating. And, although I asked where in Mandalay the bus would stop, my question was eluded with ‘to main bus station 2000 kyat’. And, true enough, as I got off the bus, a gang of motorcycle taxi drivers charged at me. I fled and asked at a ticket counter where I could find a bus to take me to Katha. I was explained that I would have to go to one of the three main bus stations in the city and that I would be given a ride by a motorcycle taxi. The lady pointed to one and he rapidly led the way.

‘Wait’, I said. ‘How much?’

‘Bus station very far away, 11 km… 5000 kyat’, said the driver with the lopsided smile and hat respectively.

I only laughed and sat down to consult my 3-year old information from the guidebook while he quickly came to a 2000 kyat standard price. The guidebook said something about shared taxis that drive between the major bus stations and, although really crowded, are a better deal than anything else. I considered my options. I remembered that, worst case scenario, there was a train to Katha around 4 PM. So I looked for the shared taxis. Everywhere I went, private taxi drivers, whether on motorcycles or cars, tried to shove their services down my throat as I constantly said ‘shared taxi’. Their response: yes, taxi!

‘No, no! Shared taxi’, I retorted.

But every time they seemed to not understand what I said. After a while I suspected foul play and concluded that they didn’t want me to get a shared taxi. So I asked around some more. Finally, someone told me to wait for about 15 minutes and he’ll show me. I obediently sat down and waited but those 15 minutes! Sheesh! I forgot that minutes may differ in length and number in Asia, so it was no surprise that after a good half hour nothing showed up. I told the guy I was willing to go with a motorcycle taxi, he laughed and showed me a driver who could take me to the train station. That’s right, in the meantime, I decided I was going to take the safest bet and ride the train. The motorcycle taxi only cost me 2000 kyats.

I finally got to the train station all sweaty and lethargic and got a ticket for the 2:10 PM train. The afternoon one was already full. I would understand why some 13 hours later when I arrived in Naba, the place where I had to get off for another bus ride to Katha. The bus ride into town only took about an hour, which meant that by 4 PM I was sitting on a bench on the riverfront in Katha waiting for one of the assortment of available guesthouses to open so I can take a nap. I soon changed my mind and decided I would sleep on the bench, and so I did… for about 5 minutes until a guesthouse unlocked its doors.

Temptation was too strong: I asked for a room, got a 2x2 and instantly went to sleep. I woke up prepared to take it as it comes and, looking at the watch, I realized I still had 10 minutes to catch the boat further north. I went into Supertourist mode, packed fanatically, brushed my teeth and went out. But, as luck would have it, my passport was still at the guesthouse people awaiting a photocopy for their collection. Although I tried to explain that I really-really-really wanted to catch the boat, they told me to wait, made some phone calls and, smiling, went about their business. And, sure enough, as soon as I saw the boat leave the little port, the guy bearing my passport showed up on his motorbike beaming at me with a photocopy in hand.

So I ask you this: why, George Orwell? Why did you pick this godforsaken place as the stage of your book? Why is it that I can’t find even one of the buildings you described in your book? Why, George Orwell, why?