Up And Away With Air Mandalay

Pardon the idiom, but the ATR aircraft of Air Mandalay really do “haul ass” as they travel the tourist milk run up from Yangon to Heho, Mandalay and Bagan.

The aircraft are comfortable, the flight crew hard working, friendly and attentive, serving snacks and drinks on their short flights. After a very enjoyable stay at Inle Lake, we resumed our journey north from Heho to Bagan – this time via Mandalay.

The same flight crew we had met on the Yangon/Heho leg earlier in the week remembered us and by the time we descended into Bagan, we were on first name terms.

On the ground at these hole in the wall airports there is strict passport control as Myanmar's officials keep a close eye on the whereabouts of its visitors. When we arrived at Heho Airport our guide dealt with the Air Mandalay ground agent, returning with passports, boarding passes and baggage tags.

A virtual army of baggage handlers organized the luggage in the cramped terminal for its various destinations, putting each piece through antiquated x-ray equipment. No need to reveal liquids and creams here – everything goes through the big black box and comes out the other side.

Passenger “examination” awaits behind colourful curtains but in spite of the anticipation, we were quickly waved on through more curtains to the other side and a crowded departure lounge. There were two flights ahead of us.

As an arriving Yangon-bound Air Bagan aircraft taxied to the small terminal building the noise from the propellers blasted us. We realized that some of the terminal’s window panes were missing and a funnel of dust forced the tarmac exit door open. As it banged against the wall, an airport official who appeared unfazed by the interruption continued his task of completing passenger details in a well-worn ledger.

And then our flight was called by a young lady who held a handwritten sign with our flight number high above her head.

Observing the departure etiquette for previous flights and the initiative shown by the European contingent in the departure lounge, as soon as we caught sight of the incoming Air Mandalay flight we formed the front of the line at the exit door –while a boarding pass was provided there was no seat assignment and storage space on the aircraft is limited.

On the 20 minute layover in Mandalay the captain came back into the cabin to eat a boxed lunch and the plane filled up again for the final leg from Mandalay to Bagan. The luggage compartment was open ahead of us and it was comforting somehow to see our bags stowed three feet ahead of us.

Ayeyarwady Sunset

The temples of Bagan have long been on my “must see” list.

Occupying a 26 square mile area and flanked by the meandering Ayeyarwady River, it’s hard to take in the thousands of time-old stupas (traditional Buddhist religious monuments) that sprinkle the plain.

Perhaps the best way to appreciate the scale of the site is by hot air balloon and while we didn’t have the opportunity to do that, we were amused by the “Balloons over Bagan” official bus – a pre-World War 2 vehicle, apparently still going strong.

We had just arrived in Bagan from Inle Lake en route to the “Road to Mandalay” riverboat and took the opportunity on the way to our hotel to enjoy sunset from Shwesandaw Paya, one of Bagan’s most popular “sunset pagodas”.


The terraces of the pagoda were already crowded, but off with our shoes, we climbed energetically up the stone steps past five terraces which became steeper as we ascended.

We were rewarded with a 360 degree view over the plain from the highest terrace on this pyramid-style pagoda. Stupas dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see in all directions. The scene was bathed in the light from the setting sun and the dust kicked up by ox carts that trundled bumpily along a network of rugged pathways.

Having circled the pagoda to take in the landscape, the view that all had come to see was to the west over the Ayeyarwady River. The airborne dust added to the golden haze that was appearing in the western sky, intensifying in colour as the yellow globe sank into the horizon.

We were sitting with our feet dangling over the highest terrace wall in amongst a group of French tourists. We excitedly shared stories about our Myanmar experiences so far but conversation petered out as the sky turned flame orange. The sun’s eventual disappearance seemed to empty the sky of life.

We enjoyed it so much we returned the following evening and exchanged stories with a group of Myanmar teenagers who chattered excitedly and practiced their impressive English.

All activity halted when the time came to focus on the horizon. Stillness came over the crowded pagoda and once again, the setting sun put on its nightly performance and took our breath away.

Walking With Elephants

On arrival at the Maetaman Elephant Camp north of Chaing Mai, a large sign warns

“Our elephant camp is not allowed the child below 1 year, unability person and pregnant woman to do any program. But if they are really want to do, we will not response in any cases for all damages.” [sic]

Despite what was going to be a day of pure tourism, riding elephants through the jungle and rafting on the river, one couldn’t help but be struck by the gentleness, intelligence and sure-footedness of these gorgeous mammals as we walked amongst them in the early morning sun, receiving an immediate response to the stroking of a trunk or the patting of an ear.

Smaller than its African cousin, the Asian Elephant has a dual dome bone structure on its head and is grey-brown in colour, sometimes with pink skin blotches around the face. Its hair is thin and wiry to the touch.

Watching the elephants and their babies cavort in the river, lying on their sides as the mahouts scrubbed and tickled, or gushing water through dexterous trunks in our general direction – this was just the beginning as we ventured off in an ox cart to the meeting point with our mahout.

On the way we chatted with a farmer working in his field. He worked feverously in the hot sun, pulling weeds away from new green shoots that poked through the milky chocolate-coloured soil. Elephant dung was being spread on an adjoining field to dry in the sun.

The mahout spoke no English but wore a permanent smile that betrayed a raft of missing teeth and a face full of deep crevices carved by his positive demeanour. Helping us aboard, the four of us ambled forward along a jungle trail, crossing the river in several places.

Such marvellous dexterity as he gently climbed down muddy banks or up steep, stony inclines.

He knew the drill well and that we were laden down with snacks of sugar cane and bananas.

Periodically a trunk would appear over his head, finding its way to our laps indicating that now would seem an appropriate time for a “yum yum” moment.

Mantras And Mosquitos

I’ve always avoided the yoga crowd. For one they seem to travel in packs, rolled up yoga mats protruding from chic bags containing all the necessary accoutrements.

But if you ever have the opportunity to stand on the yoga platform overlooking the rice paddy at the Four Seasons in Chaing Mai, you might just be convinced to pick up a mat, assume the position and consider your mantra.

Early in the morning and still relatively cool, the emerald tips of the new rice crop seem to catch the slight breeze and sway for a moment or two. Above, the doves call loudly and another day begins.

Hold that thought: when the dentist hovers over you to start prodding away, the landscape over the rice paddy is the picture to burn in the mind as that happy place you need to temporarily transfer to.

And bless Elizabeth Gilbert’s heart for her writings in Eat, Pray, Love (that day I was with her at the Ashram in India) the ambiance here is breathtaking and ripe for meditation, even if the mosquitoes find me tasty.

Up the hill at the main hotel complex, the outlook is just as idyllic.

An infinity pool surrounded by comfortable seating and a cabana decorated in brilliant blues, taupes and grey is an incredibly inviting place to sit and reflect on the day’s activities, be it temple hopping or elephant trekking.

The Italian restaurant overlooks and shares the rice paddy view with the Thai restaurant – my favourite place with its solid teak furniture and vibrant orange parasols.

Charcoal fires burn in subtly placed clay pots to ward off the chill of early morning at breakfast or dusk when Ginger Sky and Lemongrass infused vodka is served before dinner – food prepared with organic fruits, vegetables and grains from the nearby farms.

The staff were ever smiling and attentive, the ultimate service - a young man offering to clean smeared sunglasses as you glowed by the pool - that is until the next iced towel or frozen lychee snack is served.

Not quite what Liz experienced at the Ashram, but I’ll take it while I ponder on her mantra and the perfection of the surrounding tranquility.

One Day In Bangkok

Our day on tour with Sammy introduced us to more of Bangkok and its surrounds than we had seen on previous visits.

Good conversations with him and the people we met on every day life in the sprawling city, visits with workers harvesting sea salt, processing coconuts and carving teak furniture.

We also visited the old city of Nakon Pathom, the site of one of the world’s tallest Stupas, and the place where Buddhism was reportedly introduced to the Kingdom of Thailand.

As we climbed its steps, the 2,000 year old pagoda of Phra Pathom was the scene of an impromptu festival.

Monks sprayed worshippers with water as prayers and donations were offered. Messages were being carefully written and attached to brass bells of varying sizes, the size dependent upon the amount of the donation.

The bells and their messages were carried by each donor to a platform where a temple official worked a pulley to transport each bell high up into the crest of the Stupa. At the other end, the bell was removed from the pulley and carefully lodged high in the Stupa. In another area, messages were being written on a long swath of saffron-coloured material, the final resting place of which would eventually be wrapped around the summit of the Stupa.

Such an interesting day, but the highlight was the crazy confusion of the floating market at Damnoen Saduak. Sammy had hired a coxswain who manoeuvred his banana-shaped metal boat at breakneck speed through a myriad of khlongs - canal roadways - creating an impressive wake as we hurtled forward.

Instructed to keep all body parts well inside the boat as we careened past other vessels or came in close proximity to their exposed throbbing engines, we held our breath as liberal amounts of blue smoke belched from the rusty concoction of metal pipes ably serving as boat propulsion.

Nothing like local colour, despite the tourist haven it undoubtedly was, the food market was dwarfed by souvenir selling vendors crammed into small spaces along the water’s edge or in low-slung canoes.

Despite the intensity, there was no impatience as boats vied for position, just an acceptance that it would get sorted out eventually.

Changing to a small wooden canoe we ventured deeper into the back cracks of the market. Food sellers hawked their produce or prepared hot food for sale.

Sammy introduced us to “eating street” as we sampled the most delicious coconut pancakes – hot, crisp and feather light - and fresh from the small grill of a smiling lady crouched in a well-worn wooden canoe. Another lady prepared what could only be described as exotic seafood burritos, her clientele waiting patiently in line.

Meanwhile a wooden canoe stacked with bean sprouts met headlong with an oncoming canoe filled with bananas and papaya, avoiding calamity at the last moment.

Speaking of bananas, a spry elderly lady prepared deep fried bananas, serving them scaldingly hot to her customers on the shore in a plastic basket suspended from a bamboo fishing rod.

The deep brown, steaming bananas emerged from a bubbling cauldron of palm oil wedged precariously in the centre of her canoe.

Business and banter was brisk all around us, and despite our fascination with the scene, commerce went on uninterrupted in the pandemonium of the floating market.

Enter the Rabbit

Lunar New Year is a time for household preparation, prayer and celebration with friends and family. It’s also somewhat tenuous if you are passing through Hong Kong at the peak of the holiday. People are on the move and flights are full.

Buckled in and ready to leave Vancouver, we shrugged at the prospect of a thirteen hour flight. Five movies and three meals later we descended into Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok Airport and transferred to the next gate for our final destination of Bangkok, a few more hours away. Exhaustion had set in but we decided to ignore the fact it was already 9 a.m. back home and here we were late at night the next day – what were we thinking. And then it was over. We had arrived in Suvarnabhumi Airport – welcome back to the “Golden Land”.

By our own admission, a happy traveler is a flexible traveler and even when the second immigration officer in our crowded line promptly closed his wicket at midnight, all that we could muster was a half-hearted sigh. No matter, the horses could smell the stables – and what glorious stables they would prove to be. Just once in your life, hang the expense and stay in an upscale Asian hotel. The experience is second to none.

We arrived at the palatial Mandarin Oriental to a gracious welcome. Sinking into a wonderfully comfortable bed we commanded our bodies to “forget about it”. It was time to drift off into oblivion.

The historic Mandarin Oriental hotel located on the Chao Phraya River is elegantly furnished and numerous, smiling staff greet you by name. To the winter weary of the Northern hemisphere we were struck by the service and the colour.

Orchids of every shade graced the lobby and hallways – from simple table arrangements in soft peach, vibrant purple and ivory to long, thick garlands cascading from the lobby ceiling. The dramatic colour hues complimented the gorgeous silk cushions scattered generously around the lobby’s sofas and chairs.

Outside, bowls of floating lotus blossom led the way to the pool deck and waterfront veranda. What a spot to enjoy breakfast, entertained by a chorus of birds and the boisterous activity on the river. Watching this for a while, we likened the waterfront to toy boats cavorting at full throttle in tin bath tub, as vessels of all descriptions ferried people and cargo, bobbing violently in the heavy swell and insidious water hyacinth.

Much of that first disorienting day was enjoyed on comfortable shaded sun loungers by the pool. Obliging pool attendants brought fluffy towels, replenished iced water, periodically presented samplers of chilled smoothies and lemon infused iced towels to ward off the aches and pains from long hours in the cramped quarters of 60A and 60C.

Lunch was served on smart teak-footed trays that straddled the sun lounger, complete with colorful linens and scattered hibiscus petals.

An invitation awaited to a special cocktail party in the Author’s Lounge the next evening. In its heyday the original hotel, inspired by Jim Thompson design, was a favourite haunt with the likes of Noel Coward, Somerset Maugham and Graham Green.

Decorated in white bamboo with green and ivory furnishings, the area contains a reading room and winding annexes bedecked with antiques and the atmosphere of a bygone age. This evening the white furnishings had given way to a splash of red and gold hangings erected in celebration of the Lunar New Year and the Year of the Rabbit.

Welcomed by hotel staff we awaited a very loud dragon as the sophisticated ambiance of the Author’s Lounge gave way to banging drums and crashing cymbals.

The lively theatrical ensemble snaked its way around the room, the stairwell and eventually out to the riverfront verandah.

What a welcome to Bangkok, Mr. Rabbit!