We got picked up from our hotel (Aye Chan Thar) by the same taxi driver who took us there 3 days earlier as he seemed nice enough before. He showed up on time and even bought out his 'special' car to pick us up which was an upgrade to an executive sedan which made me think we were definitely getting over charged for this journey.
The bus station which can only be described as a market with a lay-by where buses would just pull up randomly and people would show up from the shadows and jump aboard. It was a bit ad-hock but seemed to work. Our bus was bright pink with nice velour pink seat covers to match but surprisingly for the low fare we paid had loads of leg room, the seats reclined loads and were comfy and they even gave us water, clean up wipes and a sick bag! Very thoughtful!
The bus journey was a breeze, stopping half way for lunch and a piddle for half an hour and arriving in Yangon after 5 hours. It stopped at the companies own bus station and not the one in the centre of town that we were expecting which threw us a bit. No one spoke English so I tried to buy a ticket to Bago which was sold to me but I was concerned about the price as it was twice the fare we had just paid to arrive from Naypyitaw. As a security check you have to get your luggage vetted by some appointed representatives from the bus company who asked me my destination as we were checking in to board. I said Bago. He said Bago to me about 5 times to which I replied back to him 5 times Bago! He then enlisted a few other chaps and a heated debate broke out between them all as the word Bago was bandied around us like it was some kind of magical catchphrase that would win us a million dollars on the spot. This verbal tennis of shouting Bago at each other continued until someone said we had the wrong ticket and had bought a journey to Bagan which was 12 hours away not the 1 hour we were expecting. The security guard took me under his wing, back to the ticket counter where I was refunded and informed there were no buses to Bago! Great!!!! The problem was there is a very slight pronunciation difference between o ( aaaoooow) and an (aaawwnnnn) in Burmese so hence the confusion.
BUT as luck would have it my new friend the security guard found a waiting taxi 'friend' who would take us to the Bago local bus across town for a fee of 2000kyat (about £1) I was sceptical about this as am sure they just wanted to get rid of us as quite a crowd of onlookers had built up with all the shouting of "Bago" back and forth. Before I knew what was going on the rucksacks were in the back of the taxi, a bewildered Kathy loaded in the back seat and we were off. Cruising around a rather tatty part of town the taxi driver called out to some lads on the side of the road and exchanged short bursts of what sounded like verbal machine gun fire and next we were told to get on this bus that look like it had been recovered from the battlefield when the British invaded before WW2. Reluctantly we boarded the all ready mostly full bus and our rucksacks were chucked into the middle alley at the front and we took 2 separate seats as there was not a choice. Looking around this was not a tourist standard transport. Bags of rice and veggies occupied the walk way and the clientele were mostly farmers. Again no one spoke English but the fare was a modest 55p each but we had to pay another 55p for the luggage. The bus was sloooow as it stopped every 100 metres to pick up more and more people until the bus was at bursting point(which took about an hour) at which point someone must had put a red flag in front of the driver as he suddenly found the accelerator and drove the next 1.5 hours like he just remembered that his house was on fire and had to get back to save his children.
The journey was interesting to see all the small outlying villages and rural life unfolding before us but uncomfortable as the seats were rock hard and the bus had zero suspension so spent the whole journey bobbing up and down getting our backsides pounded into submission. There were no official stops to talk of , you just shout out when you want to get off, which we did when I saw a sign for our hotel and the bus driver pulled the bus to a stop in the middle of the main road like we were going to drive off the edge of a cliff. Glad to be off ,it was now dark so managed to cross the 8 lane highway without being splatted which took some courage as some vehicles don't like to use lights and checked into the hotel. The hotel was new and of a decent grade but a long way out of town so we had to hire a scooter which as normal had no front brake and optional lights. It's funny what you get used too.
The hotel was in the middle of nowhere, so we asked reception about a restaurant near by as in-house was expensive and of limited menu. She said 'no restaurant and no shop here'. Undeterred we headed out anyway and found a restaurant a few yards away that served draught beer and good food so not sure what the hotel was on about.
Next morning, breakfast was a disaster, crap coffee, cold soggy noodles and a cold greasy egg that looked it was made the day before. We ate the banana and made our own coffee and left the rest. Oh did I mention we also had a side serving of shredded cabbage....YUM! As we only had one day we hit the road on the excuse for a bike trying not to get killed on this crazy road and headed into town . Bago was a heaving mass of people, stray dogs, dust, pollution and general mayhem. More like a typical Indian town really. After getting lost and ending up in the local 'favela' we found our first temple. It was quiet , on the edge of town, and of no great shakes temple wise, the normal pagodas and such buildings but in one of these was the biggest snake we have ever seen. I think it was a Burmese python and it was massive. This snake is sacred as it lives in this temple and pilgrims come from vast distances to make donations to the snake in the form of money (not sure what a snake would do with money?) and pillows, blankets and even a dress! The snake also had his own snake shaped swimming pool. This was one pampered snake. Legend has it when the temple was built the snake was a resident and refused to leave so the chief monk at the time adopted it and thus the snake temple was born and to to this day even though that monk had died the snake lives on and is revered most highly by all. If you come to see the snake and pray to it then a 'translator' will give you a blessing from the snake to protect you. Of course you have to pay the snake for his trouble so all the money is piled up in stacks on its tail (which the translator chappie took great delight in counting)
Next to the snake was two statues of a couple of wise men or ex-monks, not sure exactly as again no English here, and people would mumble at them, bow, mumble some more, then light a cigarette and place it in their fingers for them to smoke. They would then get the cigarette and pass it to the lips of the statue for them to have a 'drag' then replace it in their fingers. Bizarre! Religion moves in mysterious ways. Then they would leave the cigarette burning and walk off, leaving the cigarette to burn back to the butt, become unbalanced, drop onto the statues lap and onto the alter where all flammables were situated. How that snake has not been burnt to death I will never know. It must have the protection of the Buddha after all. Of course we put the cigarette out as we did not want snakey to burn to death on our watch.
Next we went to the train station as we wanted to get a train back to Yangon for the following day but it was mayhem there, again nothing in English, the morning train was already an hour late and there was no sign of it coming so we decided that it was not worth the effort so opted for a bus back into Yangon.
Next we went to a monastery where monks were trained and you could be a voyeur and watch them at their studies, eating, chanting and all the stuff monks do. We sat around watching the goings on and listening to the chanting for quite a while as it was really relaxing then wanted some lunch. Back at the bike, the monks must have cursed it as it lost all electrics and would not start. Not to worry as soon as a couple of monks saw we were in distress they took it upon themselves to come over and 'fix' the bike for us. They were all over it like a rash, had no idea what they were doing but well meaning anyway. I did not have the heart to tell them I was a 20 year + factory trained motorcycle technician and knew what the problem was straight away. I let them get on with it until they gave up as it turned out Buddha was useless at fixing bikes (better find another religion chaps as yours has a flaw) but they got it running with the kickstart and seemed most pleased with themselves at this conclusion. We smiled, thanked them, smiled again and drove around the corner where I promptly pulled over, lifted the seat up, and tightened the battery terminal which was hanging off and all was as good as new again. Thanks for nothing Buddha.
After lunch at an over posh restaurant we spent the afternoon looking at more temples, more golden Buddhas, more stupas, more pagodas,more reclining, standing, sitting, fat, thin, black, white, sleeping, awake, disinterested Buddhas (there are more temples than we could count here) we ended up at a truly huge reclining Buddha and admitted we were totally templed out so headed back to the hotel. When we got back to our room our cold greasy breakfast was still there festering away so we went to complain. The items were removed by the boyz and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get a more western friendly breakfast ( a cop out I know, but noodles for breakfast as well as lunch and dinner, c'mon everybody deserves a noodle break). My request was met with blank expressions so I wrote it all down in my best handwriting and left it with vacant lady on reception who assured me my order would be executed. At the bottom I wrote in big letters 'NO NOODLES'
Next morning we got cold greasy rice with a cold greasy egg on top with cabbage and crap coffee but no hot eggs or toast which I had asked for. I was a bit rude to the boyz who delivered it and told them just to take it away so it did not fester in our room with its morose farty smell. Sometimes you just have to admit defeat. You can't always get what you want, just move on.
As it goes we went back to our dinner restaurant from the day before and they banged us up a couple of tomato omelette's which were great and only 25p each. Result!
We packed the rucksacks and about midday walked onto the road outside where the security guard flagged us down a bus to take us to our next destination Yangon.
The bus station which can only be described as a market with a lay-by where buses would just pull up randomly and people would show up from the shadows and jump aboard. It was a bit ad-hock but seemed to work. Our bus was bright pink with nice velour pink seat covers to match but surprisingly for the low fare we paid had loads of leg room, the seats reclined loads and were comfy and they even gave us water, clean up wipes and a sick bag! Very thoughtful!
 |
| Breakfast fit for a .....prisoner? |
The bus journey was a breeze, stopping half way for lunch and a piddle for half an hour and arriving in Yangon after 5 hours. It stopped at the companies own bus station and not the one in the centre of town that we were expecting which threw us a bit. No one spoke English so I tried to buy a ticket to Bago which was sold to me but I was concerned about the price as it was twice the fare we had just paid to arrive from Naypyitaw. As a security check you have to get your luggage vetted by some appointed representatives from the bus company who asked me my destination as we were checking in to board. I said Bago. He said Bago to me about 5 times to which I replied back to him 5 times Bago! He then enlisted a few other chaps and a heated debate broke out between them all as the word Bago was bandied around us like it was some kind of magical catchphrase that would win us a million dollars on the spot. This verbal tennis of shouting Bago at each other continued until someone said we had the wrong ticket and had bought a journey to Bagan which was 12 hours away not the 1 hour we were expecting. The security guard took me under his wing, back to the ticket counter where I was refunded and informed there were no buses to Bago! Great!!!! The problem was there is a very slight pronunciation difference between o ( aaaoooow) and an (aaawwnnnn) in Burmese so hence the confusion.
BUT as luck would have it my new friend the security guard found a waiting taxi 'friend' who would take us to the Bago local bus across town for a fee of 2000kyat (about £1) I was sceptical about this as am sure they just wanted to get rid of us as quite a crowd of onlookers had built up with all the shouting of "Bago" back and forth. Before I knew what was going on the rucksacks were in the back of the taxi, a bewildered Kathy loaded in the back seat and we were off. Cruising around a rather tatty part of town the taxi driver called out to some lads on the side of the road and exchanged short bursts of what sounded like verbal machine gun fire and next we were told to get on this bus that look like it had been recovered from the battlefield when the British invaded before WW2. Reluctantly we boarded the all ready mostly full bus and our rucksacks were chucked into the middle alley at the front and we took 2 separate seats as there was not a choice. Looking around this was not a tourist standard transport. Bags of rice and veggies occupied the walk way and the clientele were mostly farmers. Again no one spoke English but the fare was a modest 55p each but we had to pay another 55p for the luggage. The bus was sloooow as it stopped every 100 metres to pick up more and more people until the bus was at bursting point(which took about an hour) at which point someone must had put a red flag in front of the driver as he suddenly found the accelerator and drove the next 1.5 hours like he just remembered that his house was on fire and had to get back to save his children.
The journey was interesting to see all the small outlying villages and rural life unfolding before us but uncomfortable as the seats were rock hard and the bus had zero suspension so spent the whole journey bobbing up and down getting our backsides pounded into submission. There were no official stops to talk of , you just shout out when you want to get off, which we did when I saw a sign for our hotel and the bus driver pulled the bus to a stop in the middle of the main road like we were going to drive off the edge of a cliff. Glad to be off ,it was now dark so managed to cross the 8 lane highway without being splatted which took some courage as some vehicles don't like to use lights and checked into the hotel. The hotel was new and of a decent grade but a long way out of town so we had to hire a scooter which as normal had no front brake and optional lights. It's funny what you get used too.
The hotel was in the middle of nowhere, so we asked reception about a restaurant near by as in-house was expensive and of limited menu. She said 'no restaurant and no shop here'. Undeterred we headed out anyway and found a restaurant a few yards away that served draught beer and good food so not sure what the hotel was on about.
 |
| Attention to detail is paramount on religious relics. |
Next morning, breakfast was a disaster, crap coffee, cold soggy noodles and a cold greasy egg that looked it was made the day before. We ate the banana and made our own coffee and left the rest. Oh did I mention we also had a side serving of shredded cabbage....YUM! As we only had one day we hit the road on the excuse for a bike trying not to get killed on this crazy road and headed into town . Bago was a heaving mass of people, stray dogs, dust, pollution and general mayhem. More like a typical Indian town really. After getting lost and ending up in the local 'favela' we found our first temple. It was quiet , on the edge of town, and of no great shakes temple wise, the normal pagodas and such buildings but in one of these was the biggest snake we have ever seen. I think it was a Burmese python and it was massive. This snake is sacred as it lives in this temple and pilgrims come from vast distances to make donations to the snake in the form of money (not sure what a snake would do with money?) and pillows, blankets and even a dress! The snake also had his own snake shaped swimming pool. This was one pampered snake. Legend has it when the temple was built the snake was a resident and refused to leave so the chief monk at the time adopted it and thus the snake temple was born and to to this day even though that monk had died the snake lives on and is revered most highly by all. If you come to see the snake and pray to it then a 'translator' will give you a blessing from the snake to protect you. Of course you have to pay the snake for his trouble so all the money is piled up in stacks on its tail (which the translator chappie took great delight in counting)
 |
| The monastery was missing a monk, snake said he knew nothing about it....... |
Next to the snake was two statues of a couple of wise men or ex-monks, not sure exactly as again no English here, and people would mumble at them, bow, mumble some more, then light a cigarette and place it in their fingers for them to smoke. They would then get the cigarette and pass it to the lips of the statue for them to have a 'drag' then replace it in their fingers. Bizarre! Religion moves in mysterious ways. Then they would leave the cigarette burning and walk off, leaving the cigarette to burn back to the butt, become unbalanced, drop onto the statues lap and onto the alter where all flammables were situated. How that snake has not been burnt to death I will never know. It must have the protection of the Buddha after all. Of course we put the cigarette out as we did not want snakey to burn to death on our watch.
 |
| "Time for a fag break from counting my fistful of dollars." |
Next we went to the train station as we wanted to get a train back to Yangon for the following day but it was mayhem there, again nothing in English, the morning train was already an hour late and there was no sign of it coming so we decided that it was not worth the effort so opted for a bus back into Yangon.
Next we went to a monastery where monks were trained and you could be a voyeur and watch them at their studies, eating, chanting and all the stuff monks do. We sat around watching the goings on and listening to the chanting for quite a while as it was really relaxing then wanted some lunch. Back at the bike, the monks must have cursed it as it lost all electrics and would not start. Not to worry as soon as a couple of monks saw we were in distress they took it upon themselves to come over and 'fix' the bike for us. They were all over it like a rash, had no idea what they were doing but well meaning anyway. I did not have the heart to tell them I was a 20 year + factory trained motorcycle technician and knew what the problem was straight away. I let them get on with it until they gave up as it turned out Buddha was useless at fixing bikes (better find another religion chaps as yours has a flaw) but they got it running with the kickstart and seemed most pleased with themselves at this conclusion. We smiled, thanked them, smiled again and drove around the corner where I promptly pulled over, lifted the seat up, and tightened the battery terminal which was hanging off and all was as good as new again. Thanks for nothing Buddha.
 |
| The monks chat up lines were not going to cut it with a veteran like Kathy. |
After lunch at an over posh restaurant we spent the afternoon looking at more temples, more golden Buddhas, more stupas, more pagodas,more reclining, standing, sitting, fat, thin, black, white, sleeping, awake, disinterested Buddhas (there are more temples than we could count here) we ended up at a truly huge reclining Buddha and admitted we were totally templed out so headed back to the hotel. When we got back to our room our cold greasy breakfast was still there festering away so we went to complain. The items were removed by the boyz and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get a more western friendly breakfast ( a cop out I know, but noodles for breakfast as well as lunch and dinner, c'mon everybody deserves a noodle break). My request was met with blank expressions so I wrote it all down in my best handwriting and left it with vacant lady on reception who assured me my order would be executed. At the bottom I wrote in big letters 'NO NOODLES'
 |
| Buddha became perplexed with the selfie infatuated foreigners. |
Next morning we got cold greasy rice with a cold greasy egg on top with cabbage and crap coffee but no hot eggs or toast which I had asked for. I was a bit rude to the boyz who delivered it and told them just to take it away so it did not fester in our room with its morose farty smell. Sometimes you just have to admit defeat. You can't always get what you want, just move on.
As it goes we went back to our dinner restaurant from the day before and they banged us up a couple of tomato omelette's which were great and only 25p each. Result!
We packed the rucksacks and about midday walked onto the road outside where the security guard flagged us down a bus to take us to our next destination Yangon.
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