A fortnight in Myanmar
Despite the emotional goodbyes in Nakhon
Sawan I was fortunate enough to have a month of exploration ahead of me, and
have some time alone to process the past eighteen months and what the plan
might be for the next. I spent the first
fortnight of March in marvelous Myanmar.
I arrived at my hostel with 4 hours to spare
before check in time, so I found a nearby cafe for a coffee and my first taste of
delicious Myanmar
food, and my first taste of an unusual custom, kissing sounds to get a waiter’s
attention. You can imagine my surprise
when I walked in and heard a sound that, in my part of the world, is considered
sexual harassment and worthy of a slap.
When I saw the waiter bustling towards the offending noise I realised I
was not being taunted, but some dude just wanted a coffee. A couple of hours in
I was already bored of cyber space and itching to sleep, I returned to hostel to
fall asleep in the reception area and hoped the staff would feel pity, it worked
and I was asleep by noon. I woke, refreshed and ready to check out Yangon. I settled in at a table on a street side restaurant,
enticed by the foamy beers being distributed to the tables around me. The staff
avoided me, and it didn't take long to understand why. It seemed nobody spoke English,
which is fair enough; I don't speak Myanmar so I had to expect some language
barriers. All I wanted was something from their grill and some beer; I could have
pointed if they'd given me half a chance. While they argued with each other about
who would serve me I removed myself from the situation and found a small place across
the road, where I could bring my own beer and enjoy a plate of Shan Noodles which
was recommended to me by the waitress. 
Next day I met an old colleague, who now lives
in Yangon, for a trip on the circle train which travels in a loop around the city
and for a couple of hundred kyat you can board a train that gives an up close insight
into Yangon daily life, with market traders carrying trays on their heads, boarding
to sell some refreshing watermelon to passengers. On board it dawned on me that
I had not booked a room for that evening so, in a Tasmanian Devil style whirl, I
doubled back to sort accommodation. My brain fell asleep you see, it was all the
end of term, end of contract, got to get my life packed up, move out, and go backpacking
moving and shaking that did it. As soon as I reached Yangon
my brain considered itself to be on holiday. Once a bed was secured for the night
we picked up where we left off with our lazy, people-watching train ride. We stopped
for a lunch break and had an amazing buffet at Feel Myanmar, before a bit more exploring
and a bbq dinner on 19th Street,
which is famed for the BBQ restaurants that line each side of the road. To top off
the evening, we took a taxi ride through heavy traffic commuting Yangon style (cars
zigzagging around a roundabout in a 'first one to barge through gets right of way'
system) to the Vista rooftop bar for cocktails with a view of Shwe Dagon Pagoda.
You know how I feel about cocktails and panoramic views, put them together and you
have a perfect evening.
After a good night's sleep and a hot shower
I was on my way to Inle
Lake. Meeting my friend and
having a good old catch up was the highlight of my visit to Yangon,
but I didn't find it the kind of place I would consider a vacation spot, too busy
with transport issues. Although the circle train was enjoyable, as a means of commuting
it would grow old very quickly, and taking taxis consistently involves a haggle
over the fare. With this point in mind I found Yangon
to be a bit overbearing, but I guess I'm more of a rural holidaymaker, as I was
to learn on my next stop.
My overnight bus to Inle Lake
was packed and my seat was faulty, so some very tangled sleeping positions aided
only 4 hours of slumber. I was so grateful that my guesthouse could check me in
on arrival at 6am. I slept hard til noon.
I woke famished so I went next door to a little
roadside cafe and ordered avocado salad, and was so excited at the sight of an entire
plate of guacamole, which I devoured with crispy deep fried tofu slices. Feeling
energised, I hired a bike and cycled to Red Mountain
winery, stopping along the way for photographs, and to take in the gorgeous landscape.
After a wander amongst the vines, I enjoyed a tasting selection of four wines, plus
two additional glasses of Inle Rose, which was my favourite. I met an interesting
lady and we chatted about life, the Universe, and everything. I think the wine loosened
our tongues so the conversation went in a personal direction, where she discussed
her desire to settle down and have a family. She told me she was worried about leaving
security behind in favour of more long term travel as, if she were to meet someone
and settle down, she'd need savings to fund her future family. I understood her
insecurities, and when she asked me about my motivation to leave it all behind,
my answer was, "whatever is meant for me is not back home right now, and I'll
waste my life if I sit around and wait for that part of my life to progress".
The only things you can't control the timing of are love and death. I don't see
the point in waiting around for either. Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do, and they'll
find you eventually.
We supped up and cycled back after sunset, racing
against the darkness. I bid farewell, and good luck, to my new friend and arrived
in the village just as wisps of red light sunk into the horizon. Dinner of mutton
curry was accompanied by many tiny dishes, most of which I could live my life without
knowing of their existence (e.g. teeny tiny fried fish that tasted like an entire
bottle of fish sauce downed for a dare), but the pickled mango was a welcome addition,
so I tucked in and washed it all down with a bottle of Mandalay Strong Beer, 'strong'
is an understatement. All I was fit for was bed, so I pedalled back to my digs and
slept soundly.
Next morning I had no agenda so I took my trusty
steed and cycled in the direction of the lake. After about an hour of trundling
along a tiny dirt track that hugged the edges of the paddy fields, where farmers
worked under the hot sun, I noticed I was completely lost. When I found myself again
I realised I was on the wrong side of my map pedalling in the opposite direction.
Time for a coffee break. Three hours later I emerged and set off again for a bicycle
bimble, only to find (again) that I am the world champion of shite navigation. I
consoled myself with an hour long massage, in a village bamboo house, where I was
given delicious fried tofu and green tea. That evening I ventured out to see a marionette
show, comprising of eight dances by each of the stringed artists who were controlled
by just one man, a happy gentleman who, to my untrained eye, seemed very talented
at his skill. 
The following morning I was collected by my boatman for a day trip
on Inle Lake. We chugged our way through many
watery villages where people live and run businesses in wooden buildings on stilts,
it was a fascinating sight, talk about 'how the other half live'! My day was long
and involved lots of interaction with market sellers, I bought a few gifts but by
the end of the trip I was weary of the market stall hard sell. However, a highlight
was my visit to In Shein Pagodas. At first I struggled to find them so my boat driver,
who was hoping for a snooze break, walked me all the way there, an uphill journey
in the midday heat. The road unfolded to reveal several pagodas, ancient and new,
as far as my eyes could see. It was worth the mini trek there, and I was grateful
to my boat dude for his perseverance. The return trip was lifted by a beautiful
view of the fishermen on the lake. Unfortunately this was the precise moment that
my camera battery decided it had had enough, so I packed it away and decided to
sit back and just watch, I was mesmerised by their technique. One fisherman stopped
in his tracks as I watched him, staring at me with a rather confused expression.
I guess not many tourists just watch them, without shoving a camera in their
faces. He stared at me as I stared at him, so I waved hello, which he reciprocated
slowly, still wearing his perplexed expression. I got neither a photograph nor an
insight into his fishing technique, but all one has to do is punch 'Inle Lake'
into any image search engine and countless iconic images pop up in seconds. I may
not have my own but I believe I shared an odd moment with my fisherman, and that's
priceless, huh? I later found out that
the fishermen ask for money from tourists who take their picture, so this may
explain his confusion.
The following day I decided to catch the day
bus to Bagan as my experiences of night buses have not been favourable. As I watched
a TV show I had loaded onto my tablet, I noticed several more passengers boarding
than what the bus could seat. Then a stack of plastic stools were distributed and
the extra passengers sat precariously on these for the nine hour journey. They were
local people who paid a fraction of the price that tourists paid for actual seats,
but it seemed like an arduous and dangerous journey for them.
I arrived in Bagan in time to check in and book
myself on a boat trip for the next day.
Hired bicycle seems to be my transport of choice so why change a
tradition? I hired a bike and took off
down the dusty road in the direction of Shwezigon Pagoda, just in time to watch
the sun set over the golden dome. A lady
stopped me and told me I could park my bike at no charge, she basically took
the bike off me and suggested I leave my shoes there too (shoes are forbidden
in Buddhist places of worship). I kind
of didn’t have a choice in the matter so I thought I’d do as she said as I
wanted to catch the sunset, but I may have to prepare for whatever she was
plotting. Of course, there was a catch,
and when I returned to collect my bike and shoes, I found my flip flops neatly
placed right in front of this woman’s stall where she was selling all kinds of
tourist crap. I politely and assertively
declined, picked up my shoes and bike, and cycled off. She didn’t like it, nor did I like being
played. She wasn’t the first wily market
seller I encountered and she certainly wasn’t going to be the last, sadly.
On the next day I had a boat trip planned
that was to take me to a temple in a cave, a beach, a local village and back to
the river for sunset. The ‘beach’ was pretty comical, the boat pulled up at a
sandy area on the river with a beautiful view of passing ferries emitting thick
black smoke. Plastic chairs were set in
a line along the sand for sunbathing, and we had the opportunity to have a
swim, or in actual fact, to get dragged by the strong current. On the plus side I made acquaintances of some
other passengers on the boat who milled about for my stay in Bagan, so it was nice
to see a familiar face at beer o clock.
The highlight of the boat trip was the stop off at the local
village. Before docking the boat, the
boys handed out some photos and information about the village. They had devised a game where visitors and
villagers could interact. Visitors get a
photo of a villager and the task is to find that person and present them with
their picture. The interactivity of the
game ensured a welcome arrival and some introductions to the local people, even
invites into people’s homes where those who could speak some English conversed
with us. I made some friends of cheeky
little kids and their grandmother who offered me some palm sugar sweets, so I
sat with the kids and we eroded our teeth as the littlest of the siblings entertained
us with her cute dance moves, aka jumping like a loon. The evening was topped off with a sunset view
from a corn field overlooking the river.
Before arriving in Bagan I had read and
heard about the hot air balloon rides, but factored them out thinking they would
be heavily booked and expensive. I had
since spoken to some people who had only booked last minute, so I decided to make
an enquiry and they had a space for me. I
withdrew the one week travel budget that it cost, closed my eyes and handed over
my fat bundle of notes. On the morning of my flight I braced myself for petrification,
but felt no sign of it, not whilst watching the balloons inflate, not whilst climbing
into the wicker basket, and not whilst soaring through the sky in what can only
be described as a giant picnic basket. It seems I'm all grown up, the Sinead Nua
who scaled the wall at Bristol's Undercover Rock climbing centre wouldn't recognise
me today.
I grinned maniacally during a glorious flight
offering breathtaking views of just some of the 4,000 pagodas below, the only words
I could utter were, "I'm in a basket in the sky!" My fellow passengers
could be forgiven for thinking I was a little bit special. It was an incredible
experience and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
During a chat with my Pilot, Bill, my appetite for more balloon flights
grew as he shared the top five places to fly, Bagan being one of these, and his
own personal top choice, the Alps. What a picture that would be!
Feeling elated and slightly more confident that
the pagodas were easy to find I set out that afternoon on an electronic bike, kind
of like a bicycle with a motor, but way less cool looking, and it was pink,
ugh, here we go again… I got lost a record
number of times but, in doing so, I managed to make more sense of the map, and by
sundown I thought I had it in the bag. I watched the sunset from the top of a pagoda
with steps so steep that I had to scramble up, clawing at each ancient brick for
dear life. I don’t know the name of this
Pagoda as, contrary to previous belief, I did not have it in the bag. It was nowhere near the bag.
The next morning I woke with insatiable itching
all over my legs. It seemed the local mosquito community had been alerted that I
was in town. You know when a new restaurant opens, and you go and you have a nice
meal, and you tell all your friends so they go, and the restaurant gets busier and
busier? Well, I'm that restaurant and my thighs have five stars on the mosquito
version of Tripadvisor.
Once I'd stopped scratching I roused myself
for the sunrise view, having heard so much about it's beauty I had to see it for
myself. I hired another e-bike, this one less resembling Barbie's pushbike, and
went to a tall pagoda with deep steep steps. Like most of them, the name escapes
me. I would drive around consulting my map, find a pagoda I had marked as recommended
for viewing from, only to discover over a breakfast debrief with my new friends
that I was way off. Anyway, I clambered my way up whateveritscalled and perched
on the edge, just in time to see the glowing red sun rise over the pagodas that
were dwarfed by this one. A special treat followed, a group of hot air balloons
drifted past adding some magic to the already spectacular skyline.
I drove, bathed in the morning light, back to
my guesthouse for breakfast, before heading out again for another stab at finding
some good views. This time I had a clear idea of three pagodas that I wanted to
see, and today there was to be no messing. I had my map, I had my internal navigation
set, I was a woman with a mission.
I got lost. I got so lost I could no longer
even tell where I was on the map. Sod the map, I followed my nose, and it brought
me to a pagoda so tall and steep that it incited my fear of heights. I scaled to
the top like King Kong on steroids, and braced myself for my first view from the
top. It was terrifying. I pasted myself to the conical wall behind me standing at
an obtuse angle to the ground. I tread delicately around, stopping to snap some
pictures, probably mostly of the sky due to the bizarre angle in which I was standing.
A painter who was selling his artwork, sand paintings, from the top approached me
cautiously, sensing I was about to petrify and become a rather odd addition to this
ancient structure. We shared a nice conversation and I felt a little more at ease,
enough to notice his t-shirt which had the slogan, "Keep Ireland
Green" and a picture of two frogs getting jiggy. It gave me a giggle, I relaxed
a little, and I treated myself to a painting before preparing myself for the descent.
A wave of fear whisked through me and grabbed my body. Once again I stiffened with
terror. My body retreated back so I could feel the solid brick steps hugging my
back. I imagined I look something like a Warner Brothers cartoon character, with
my body taking on the shape of the steep steps beneath me. I froze solid and attempted
an internal pep talk, when my painter friend came to my rescue. He escorted my down
the steps, grabbing my arm tightly and raised slightly, sort of how a bouncer would
chuck a bad drunk out of a bar. Anyone looking on from the ground would have thought
I had been drunkenly slurring rebel songs at the top. I wonder if the truth is actually
more embarrassing. I swiftly jumped on my
e-bike and made my way along the sandy path, leaving a trail of dust and mortification
behind me. Sticking to paved roads in Bagan gives you an option of about four routes,
but going off track onto the dust roads gives you an adventure, albeit a hot, dusty,
and confused one, if you're anything like me. I arrived at five sided Dhammayazika
Pagoda, probably the most southerly pagoda (although you’d be a fool if you
believed anything I said), and stopped for some lunch.
Having been awake since 5am, it was time for
a snooze so I took to my bed for 40 winks, and returned to the pagodas to find the
one recommended for sunset. Yes that's right map, you have one more chance! Luck
was smiling on me on my final day, luck, and a man selling paintings. Another painting
angel, ready to help a lady in need. The pagoda I was seeking is a very popular
one amongst tourists who want to avoid tourists, so it was obvious to him where
I intended to go when he found me looking at my map in confusion. It is not as picturesque
as the others, but with it's flat rooftop, it boasts one of the prettiest views
in Bagan. My favourite remains Budeli, the steep monster that can almost reduce
a grown woman to tears, but for obvious reasons that experience was a one off.
After a light dinner and a massage I was bound
for snoozeville. I woke at 4am to an unwelcome urge to reject my dinner, 9 hours
after eating it. I slept on and tentatively ate a breakfast at 8am before boarding
a bus to Mandalay.
So far so good, I even managed lunch. I had a feeling things weren't so good towards
the end of the journey, but still felt no nausea. I arrived at my guesthouse, feeling
like death's little sister, and promptly excreted the contents of my stomach, from
whatever orifice that it chose. I was not the picture of beauty that day, so I stayed
indoors and made use of the fast wifi connection, plotting my next trip that was
coming up in just a few days, two weeks in Sri Lanka. At least there was some reason
to be happy amidst the carnage that was happening to my poor body.
The following day I woke feeling human again.
I ate a big breakfast, I ate like there was no tomorrow. If the waitress had stood
still long enough I'd have eaten her. One of my new travel buddies was on the other
side of town, so we organised to meet up and take on Mandalay on foot. We completely underestimated
the vastness of the city, and the inaccuracy of our maps. We ended up walking the
backroads where the locals lived. As we meandered through the dusty streets
where people washed, ate, bought, and sold we were greeted by children shouting
hello and shaking our hands. We stopped for a break from the midday heat and ordered
Shan Noodles from a street side restaurant filled with men. Generally women don’t
eat out, although Western women are welcome as it’s understood we have
different customs. There was a widescreen TV on the wall showing some macho blockbuster
movie, so all eyes were glued to that. As one of the only two female customers in
the place I was grateful of that TV. I didn't fancy being stared at while slurping
noodles and fumbling with chopsticks! After a rest and a bite to eat we set off
again to find a sunset point on the river that was marked on our maps. It looked
fairly straightforward, literally straight down 26th street. It wasn't. But, in getting lost
we saw so much more of Mandalay
than we would have if we’d stuck to taxis. We finally found the river, and a beacon
of angelic light shone from the sky, hello glorious sun! A beautiful red glow spilled
over the river and doused the boats that bobbed on the water. The sunset point turned
out to be a bar with a deck overlooking the river. I ordered a well deserved beer
and watched the sun sink down to through the cloudy sky. After sunset we jumped
in a taxi and headed over to The Moustache Brothers, a once controversial comedy
act comprising of three brothers (one has since passed away), two of whom were imprisoned
in the late 90s for the political content in their comedy. They're not backward
about coming forward when it comes to the subject of politics of their country.
The act, which was performed by the youngest of the three in the ground floor of
their home, contained some political jokes, stories of their heyday and the unfortunate
fate of the eldest two siblings, and traditional dance performances, which to me
seemed out of context but, in saying that, I still enjoyed them. For me, the stories
of the trio's past escapades were the winning part of the show. Political comedy
is lost on me, and I'd heard reviews claiming the show has been tamed and altered
for their tourist audiences, which I can't comment on here, not without an educated
view of Myanmar politics, but simply just to meet a zany interesting character I'd
recommend paying them a visit.
The following day, over breakfast at my guesthouse,
I had a squizz at my map and
realised how close I was to a popular breakfast spot,
as recommended by travelfish.org. This travel website is so detailed in it's descriptions
of South East Asia that I can follow their recommended itineraries word for word
and end up in places I’d have picked out for myself. Their restaurant taste is identical
to mine, so if they recommend an eatery, I go, simples. I suggest this site to anyone
travelling in SEA, but don't take room rates as gospel, accommodation prices can
go up in a heartbeat. So the restaurant of the day was Min Mahar, a bustling eating
house on 26th Street,
famed for it's local breakfasts. It opens at 6am and it's advised to arrive before
9am or most of the dishes sell out by then. I got there at around 9.30 and had about
three dishes on the large menu to choose from. I sat and read from my Kindle, taking
breaks to just watch the world go by, while groups of men (here we are again) read
the paper or conversed. As the only foreigner in the place, I got a lot of attention
from the curious staff who took to standing behind me to see what I was reading.
The service is quick, possibly because there's no time wasted on walking to the
kitchen to place the orders, they're just shouted from your table. I loved the frenetic
energy of this place, what a great way to wake up to a new day.
I took
a wander down 26th street
and happened upon a smiley, yet persistent, trishaw driver who gave me a pretty
good deal on seeing the city's main sights. Everywhere you turn here you're faced
with a motorcycle or trishaw driver, or even a school teacher (true story), trying
to flog you a spin somewhere. When I told them I was just walking their faces dropped,
nobody just walks. Yet another reason to believe that foreigners are mental. For
5000 kyats ($5), my smiley man, who introduced himself as Mawmaw, pedalled me through
the city taking in temples, the stone masons area where statues are made, a teak
carving workshop where I watched puppets come into being, a gold leaf workshop where
three hardworking young fellas pelted the gold leaf flat with mallets, the process
takes hours. It was hypnotic to watch the repetitive motion and listen to the rhythmic
pounding. I found myself in a trance until a bus load of tourists showed up,
shoving their DSLRs into every available space of the room, that's when I made my
exit. My final stop was a Myanmar
restaurant recommended by Mawmaw. Despite not being hungry after my double breakfast,
I ordered beef curry and fried maize. Of course, in usual Myanmar fashion,
my lunch was accompanied by soup and chopped vegetables with dips. My table for
one was abundant with food, and my half full belly couldn't give it all a home.
After a rest, my trishaw chauffeur returned
for a second trip to Mandalay Hill, where I could get an elevated view of the sun
setting over the entire city. On my map Mandalay Hill deceptively looks like a hop,
skip, and a jump away but, in fact, it's an hour long cycle, oh poor Mawmaw! I did
warn him that foreigners are heavier than the people of Myanmar. On arrival
he took a well deserved break while I had some exercise. I was told there are
1200 steps to the summit, and I felt every one of them. My tactic was to put my
head down, switch off my thoughts, and climb. With statues and market sellers along
the way there's a lot of visual stimulation, and each level is different in style.
I was fooled several times in thinking I had made it to the top, only to walk around
a Buddha statue to find even more steps. It seemed endless and as the tips of my
hair brushed the back of my neck with tears of sweat I became increasingly aware
of how unfit I am. Despite my original tactic, my thoughts swam to "how much
farther?!" My reward at the top, known as Sutaungpyei (literally
wish-fulfilling) Pagoda, was a panoramic view of Mandalay that stretched as far as the horizon.
I watched the sunset as birds flitted across, silhouetted in the red glow. Mandalay
Hill is one of the two places recommended in guide books for sunset, the other being
U Bein Bridge, so the pagoda was mobbed with tourists and a few monks who dutifully
posed for some snapshots. I predicted a mass exodus as soon as the sun disappeared
behind the distant hills, so I exited quickly to avoid the mob. I met a man claiming
to be a school teacher; he invited me to meet his students so they could practise
learning English. I declined as I had planned to take a motorcycle taxi out of the
city to explore the sights there. The conversation moved onto tourism, in which
the teacher quizzed me on hotel and transport prices I've paid so far in this country
and how they compare to Thailand.
He informed me that he wanted to be a tour guide and expand across South East Asia. It took some on the spot mathematics to engage
in his conversation. Then, naturally, he asked if I had transport back to my guesthouse
(I knew it, I KNEW he was looking to do some sort of business!!) I told him I had
someone waiting for me at the bottom and within the blink of an eye he took off,
wishing me "goodbyehaveanicetrip", before disappearing down the stairs.
I was left bewildered, my head still spinning from all the currency conversions
he demanded. What was THAT all about?! Was he a teacher, a tour guide, or a taxi
driver? Whatever his deal is, his distraction took my mind off the long descent
and I was on the road before I knew it. Mawmaw pedalled me back to my guesthouse,
where I thanked my lucky stars to have survived the day. There are a handful of
traffic lights in the entire city so, at junctions, the etiquette is to keep driving
and beeping to indicate you have no intention of stopping. That's all well and good
if you're in a truck, but on my trishaw there was no horn, just a brave cyclist
and a resigned foreigner. Whilst crossing busy junctions I'd look to my side to
see a truck speeding along towards me and think, "This is it, this is how I
die, goodbye world". But I didn't die, isn't that marvellous?! A bloody miracle
is what it is. 
In the early hours of the next morning I woke
with throat and ear pain, as well as sinus congestion. I visited a pharmacy before
breakfast and sorted myself out for a remedy for what I thought may be sinus infection,
quite possibly owing to the thick polluted air in the city, or perhaps just good
old fashioned bad timing. I decided to cancel my plan for the day, instead stocking
up on water and snacks, firing up my kindle to watch a movie, and pop some pills.
I wanted to be fit as a fiddle for my next adventure. My hermit status lasted til
4 o clock, when I just about went bananas in my little single room, so I caught
a motorcycle taxi to a Western restaurant, called V Cafe, where I might get some
comfort food and check out their rooftop bar for one last Myanmar sunset.
I ordered the Jumbo Burger' which was your run of the mill cheap and tasteless 'pub'
burger, and the 'serving' of chips turned out to be more of a garnish. I popped
upstairs to the rooftop, which they open at 6pm, to a view of the roads below and
the deafening noise of traffic. A little disappointed that the view was only eastwards
so I couldn’t watch the sun set, I paid up and made my way back to my hotel to repack
and have an early night. Not the most climactic end to such an incredible trip to
Myanmar,
but one who has travelled by hot air balloon cannot complain!
My taxi to the airport was shared by a chatty
Canadian man, who talked AT me for an hour about the politics in Myanmar, religion,
and terrorism, all without question super topics to discuss with a stranger. I zoned
out and started playing a movie in my head, the one where the lady in a taxi rips
off her own arm and beats a know-it-all tourist with it, have you seen it? My bubble
was burst when he posed a question to me. Crap. I used a trick I learned in Thailand and smiled
without speaking, hoping his question was rhetorical. It wasn't. Crap. I wiggled
my way out by giving a generic and diplomatic answer, to which he continued gabbing
on, vomiting his opinions and assumptions all over me. I thought conversation was
a two way street! I sank back in my seat and returned to my in-head entertainment.
I arrived in Bangkok
in the late afternoon and, as soon as I checked into my bed for the night, I dropped
my bag in search of something Irish, it was Paddy's Day! The first I’ve ever had
without a silly hat on my head and a pint of the black stuff in my hand. The closest
I could find was an Italian restaurant (at least it's the same continent!), called
Wine Connection, and ordered a delicious pizza with artichoke and two glasses of
yummy French Syrah Grenache, followed by a decadent chocolate mousse, all items
on St Patrick's approved list of celebratory foods I'm sure. This St. Paddy's celebration
was going to have to be a short one, as I had a 4am wake up call the following morning.
I was bound for Sri Lanka,
definitely worth missing out on a Shamrock Shake!
Photos: Sinead Millea.
