Well that’s a different beginning. The taxi arrived early and the sun is shining! Good start! The roof may still be leaking, the underfloor heating may still be running 24/7 and one of the gas fires may still not be working – but it’s a lovely morning. We will leave all the house problems firmly in the house…
At the railway station we discovered that somebody had re-arranged the order of the train carriages. The seats were not all in numerical sequence. Not only that, but the oppo who had been given the responsibility of marking out reserved seats hadn’t got the briefing note about the reorganised geography. He had just smacked out the seat tickets with gay abandon. I’m guessing the bit about “gay”, but you get my drift. One of our seats (L48) was located at L41. We never did find the second seat (L51) but, to be sure, it wasn’t within three rows of L41/48. So we appropriated L40 and that worked out fine.
The first class carriages on this train are packed while the adjoining standard class coaches are virtually empty. The reverse of the normal situation. The reason is that today is Saturday and people can buy cheap weekend upgrades to the “free coffee and biscuits” zone. Cheapskates! We bought our super-advance low cost tickets three months ago! Now, it must be time for another free coffee!
Today we re-learned the value of asking directions from three people and taking the average. Why do people make up stories? We were told with great confidence that our train for Heathrow would leave from platform 12 when in fact it was sitting at platform 7. We were subsequently mis-directed to terminal 3 for the hotel bus, when terminal 2 would have been better. I recall saying last time that we should plan to arrive at the bus stop 5 minutes ahead of time because we always just miss a bus and have to wait half an hour for the next one. Well, we must have followed our own suggestion this time because the H4 Hoppa bus arrived within a couple of minutes of us getting there.
By the way, why would anyone make up stuff? You’d think they were writing a blog!
OK, after a night at the Hyatt Place hotel (slightly bijou-sized room but with an extremely comfortable bed) we hit LHR. Found our little plane…
… and made row 56 our home for twelve and a half uncomfortable days (or was that weeks?) with our 613 fellow passengers! Sadly, there was a young Australian girl in row 55 just across the aisle from us who didn’t stop coughing ALL the way to Singapore. Now we have to wait and see if we managed to avoid her germs and survive without dengue-foot-and-mouth-fever and similar afflictions. Isn’t travelling so much fun?
Seven hours in Changi airport is about five hours too long. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fabulous airport but after 13 hours on a plane, we don’t need such a long layover. We really don’t. And the T2 Ambassador lounge wasn’t the best stocked lounge we’ve ever visited. Still the floral displays in the public areas are stunning…
… and there’s even a rooftop sunflower garden
Anyway, WE decided to do this – and as I am always saying to others “if you can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined!”. So we boarded a Silk-Air jet and flew nearly three hours back the way we came, to Yangon, which we had flown almost exactly over some 13 hours earlier. We had asked, but apparently Singapore Airlines don’t carry parachutes – and anyway all their windows are glued shut. (A bit like our eyes when we eventually got to the Shangri-la Sule hotel in Yangon.)
There is just sooo much traffic in this city! Way too much for the roads. During rush hour every junction becomes gridlocked with honking and hooting motorists. It’s just like Ho Chi Minh City except for motor bikes, read cars. In fact, I’m not sure if we have seen a single motorbike in the city. Just cars, trucks buses, rickshaws and bicycles. Maybe motorbikes are banned??? I’ll find out.
We didn’t have a clue where out taxi driver was taking us although the buildings seemed, on average, to be getting taller.
We saw this sign in a large lake – which I think says “No swimming – dangerous alligators” It is just possible that the last word might say “pollution”. I’m not sure, my Myanmarese is a bit shaky! But it does remind me of a politically very incorrect story…
Alligator Shoes
A young blonde was on vacation in the depths of Louisiana. She really wanted a pair of genuine alligator shoes but was very reluctant to pay the high prices the local vendors were asking.
After becoming very frustrated with the “no haggle” attitude of one of the shopkeepers, the blonde shouted, “Maybe I’ll just go out and catch my own alligator so I can get a pair of shoes at a reasonable price!”
The shopkeeper said, “By all means, be my guest. Maybe you’ll get lucky and catch yourself a big one!” Determined, the blonde turned and headed for the swamps, set on catching herself an alligator.
Later in the day, the shopkeeper was driving home, when he spotted the young woman standing waist deep in the water, shotgun in hand. Just then, he saw a huge 9-foot alligator swimming quickly toward her. She took aim, killed the creature, and with a great deal of effort hauled it on to the swamp bank. Lying nearby were several more of the dead creatures. The shopkeeper watched in amazement. Just then the blonde flipped the alligator on its back, and frustrated, shouts out, “Damn it, this one isn’t wearing any shoes either!”
Now it’s time for sleep – after almost 30 hours on the go…
There’s one advantage of living in Australia- only a 3-4 hour stopover in Singapore before going on to Yangon. Seven hours is way too long, even in a lovely airport.