Although my first bus journey through Myanmar was quite comfortable and the food stop was the best I've ever seen, I noticed that I didn't really have any expectations going into yesterday's second of such trips. It's a good thing too, because had I come to expect the type of comfort and service that I had on the first trip, yesterday would have been a living hell on earth.
When the bus pulled up to my hotel in Nyaung U, which is the small town near the ancient monuments of Bagan that many visitors end up staying in, I thought there was some sort of mistake. "Here we go," I thought, this was the nightmare that I had heard about so many times. I got on what looked more like an overcrowded city bus than a long distance runner. I followed the attendant who was carrying my bag. Hmm, funny he he's not putting it under the bus, I thought. Instead, he was hoisting it over his head, and squeezing past the line of people that were seated on little plastic stools in the aisle. The first thing I noticed was just how many people were on this bus. The second thing I noticed was that I was indeed the only foreigner. Not sure if I had the seat I had been promised, which was fittingly seat #13, I followed the attendant and managed to squeeze past the "aislers" as I'll call them, waiting if the supposed seat would reveal itself.
The thing about aislers is that they tend not to move much as you approach to slide past. They sort of just sit there on their stool, and maybe lean to one side or another ever so slightly. With my smaller bag in hand, and another slung around my shoulder, I had the opportunity to get up close and personal with my new companions right from the get-go. At least, the aislers don't seem to mind when you just sort of stumble your way down the line, crawling over them and oftentimes falling into them. It's hard to tell if they are hating life or not, but I tend to doubt it, because they too, weren't carrying expectations for the trip. In fact, they probably knew all to well what they had signed up for.
So at 3:45, the would-be 8-hour trip had begun. Yes, the bus had air-con, if you could call it that, but it wasn't located directly above my head as you'd normally find, and couldn't hope to fight the blazing hot sun that came blasting through the light-colored-curtain-covered windows. About halfway down the aisle, an overweight middle-aged gentlemen had turned his knees to face the middle and was gesturing with his hand that the tiny crevice between him and the window was my seat. This is another common gesture, which on this bus with essentially no leg-room, meant that I had to crawl over one more body before I could try to plant my butt in the seat. Even my frame couldn't hope to fit in the confines of one of these seats, so the fat guy next to me didn't have a chance either. He didn't seem to mind though, and just sort of slumped his body into the middle of the seat and spilled over into both the aisle and onto me.
He had a friendly demeanor, unlike the little skinny kid that was taking up my space on the first bus ride, and although I had much less space on this bus, I was actually sort of comfortable, almost like I was being hugged by this guys rather soft frame and the edge of the bus. I checked in with my attitude, curious to see the level of my aversion to the newfound situation. Although I wasn't pleased, my mind was soft and cradling the situation just like the man and the window were cradling me. I guess this practice is working, as this could have easily been a low point of my trip. But the thing about any practice is that you must keep practicing, so this, for me, was a wonderful opportunity to do exactly that.
I don't have to be loving every situation in life, that just doesn't make sense; the practice isn't to love everything all the time, it's more about honesty and recognition. It's okay to feel any emotion, any judgment or criticism. Buddhism just tells us that if we let these emotions go unnoticed, they tend to brew in our minds and create suffering. If they can be acknowledged, they are instantly weakened, as we are reminded, "Now I am experiencing unpleasantness, I'm sure it will pass soon." So with this understanding, we can be present with whatever aversion we face, knowing that everything is temporary. Also, if we can break down the experience further, we might not be so overwhelmed by what the mind thinks of the whole thing. So for me in that moment, I was noticing sweat, heat, pressure (from the lack of space), judgment, and anxiety. Without resisting these aspects of my experience, they didn't have the power to ruin my day.
On the single TV at the front of the bus played some Burmese comedy that looked like it was shot in the 70's, though I'm fairly certain it was recent, and was formatted like a never-ending sitcom. I'm not sure how long it was but, as I didn't take to watching it much, but it must have been at least 2 or 3 hours. Either way, it kept the passengers in a good mood and I enjoyed the frequent outbursts of laughter from the elder monk in the row across the aisle from me and my heavy-set friend. My friend was laughing too, but rarely out loud. Instead, he just sort of jiggled, which was given his soft frame, was almost like a mini-massage for me and I came to appreciate it.
2 hours in, we stopped at a small village to pick up some passengers, and I followed the elder monk's lead as he headed for the bathroom and squeezed past the aislers. As we were at an actual bus "station," the bathroom was pretty unsanitary but nothing new, and I was relieved that I had the chance to relieve myself. 4 hours in, we stopped again, and this time for food, so everyone filed off and I didn't have to crawl over anyone. If the food stop on the first bus trip was the Las Vegas of food stops, this was, well I don't even know, this was by far the worst place I've ever seen. It was a straw hut, in which I decided not to eat at for fear of getting sick, and instead once again headed for the bathroom. Luckily, it was just for #1, and when I walked into the dimly-lit outdoor line of home-made urinals swarmed by insects, I just started laughing. Basically, they were just plastic funnels strapped to a wall, or something like that, I tried to keep my distance and could barely see them anyway. If anything, these people are pretty handy with stuff like that.
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| Now that's a urinal! |
We didn't make it, either. Well, I did, and so did the rest of the passengers, but the bus never did, at least as far as I know. That spot in the middle of nowhere wasn't its final resting place though, as after about 30 or 40 minutes, we were fired up again and bouncing down the road a cool 60 km/h. I knew we must be getting close, as I could see a beautiful golden pagoda lit up in the distance, that could only be associated with some sort of living mecca of Buddhism, which is exactly what Mandalay is.
After about 30 more minutes, we either broke down again or maybe the driver just pulled over to fix the bus. This time, one of the attendants was quick to grab a couple tools and throw himself under the bus. As I filed off, I noticed that we were stopped right in front of a little food stand and a friendly looking lady rocking out on the wok, which was full of fried rice and veggies. Pretty hungry, I walked up and pointed to it, and was happy to have a real meal after so long. After I ate, I got back on the bus, deciding I was just going to try to get some sleep and wait it out, but without the engine on, the place had become somewhat of a sweatbox and required everyone to open their windows. What this means, after dusk, is that the bus was now a feeding frenzy zone for hungry mosquitoes, in which I can't kill due to my vow of non-violence.
Already having been bitten several times before I realized this, I regretted keeping my bug spray in my main backpack which was all the way down the aisle, stuffed above the heads of some drowsy back-seat passengers. At least I could zip the bottom half of my sherpa pants on and try to hug my knees into my chest so I could keep an eye on my feet and ankles, which seem to be a favorite spot for mosquitoes. When they land on me, I wave my hand around, hoping to swirl the air enough to get them to fly away. Either that or I gently brush them off and ask them kindly not to return. It works pretty well too, but the come back, they always come back. The guy sitting next to me, which was actually a new heavy set and friendly gentlemen (the other guy had gotten off mid-way and was quickly replaced), stayed off the bus at the food stand, and so I was able to use the vacant seat next to me to prop up my legs.
After another hour or so, we started moving. Not the bus, but the people. Everyone was grabbing their things and getting off in a hurry. Not sure what was going on, I followed suit. Not only was I the only foreigner on the bus, but there didn't appear to be anyone who could speak English, either. Usually, the driver or attendant can speak pretty well, or if one of the passengers can, they are quick to offer help not only as a friendly gesture but also as a way of showing off. I looked around, trying to make eye contact with some of the passengers, as if to say, "Alright, which one of you can speak English here?" No takers, no surprise. It's going to take a lot more than that to surprise me at this point.
I was the last one off, and saw that everyone had crammed themselves into a people-hauling truck, with two rows of benches facing each other in the bed and a rack on top in which was also full of people and gear. My situation didn't look good, as even the "tailgate," aka a wooden deck that shot off the rear of the truck, was quite full. Also, I wasn't even sure what the plan was, and was basically just standing there with all my stuff until my friendly neighbor from the second half of the journey motioned for me to hop on. The guys standing up on the tailgate, holding onto the bars of the overhead frame, moved over a bit to make room for me, and moments later, we were back on the road to Mandalay.
Without enough space to put my bag down, I was forced to stand for the remainder of the journey with it on my back. I was very grateful that the 35lb bag wasn't a 50 or 60lb bag that some travelers have, because as it was, my knees were already starting to buckle every time we hit a bump. Needless to say, my hands were gripping the bars in front my face so intensely, for fear that I would otherwise fall off, that when we arrived in the city, I practically had to pry them off.
When we came to a stop, a half dozen guys swarmed the truck, as they would in Thailand, eager to get me to agree to take the rest of the way on the back of a motorbike "taxi." Unlike Thailand that equips it's motorbike taxi drivers with colored vests, these guys are basically just a dude and a bike. You have no idea if they are actually taxi drivers by profession or stumbled out of the bar and decided to try to make a few extra bucks on the way home. Or, even worse, if they are looking to take you into some dark alley and rob you.
But the kid was super nice, and when we arrived at my hotel, which I had the lady from my hotel in Yangon book for me 2 months ago when I was still in Thailand, only to find out that the place was full, he drove me all over the city looking for a room. I had originally made the reservation for 6th, 7th, and 8th, but after realizing there was no overnight bus from Nyaung U to Mandalay, I had the lady from Yangon book it for the night of the 5th as well. But she didn't. Actually, it was even her idea, and I reminded her a couple times. But nevertheless, I didn't have a room. At that moment, I was reminded of a thought I had when the bus broke down the first time, that went something like, "Wouldn't be surprised if I got there and they gave the room to someone else, thinking I was a no-show."
So, after about only 12 or 13 full hotels, we finally found one, at what was now probably 1:30 in the morning. The place looked pretty nice, so when the guy said the only room he had was $60/night, I once again wasn't surprised and shelled it out. I was grateful to have a TV with an Indian cable network that was playing Mortal Combat: Annihilation, air-con that actually worked, and a hot shower that was actually hot. Living it up for a night, I guess that's okay, hopefully I don't run out my quickly dwindling stash of cash before the trips over, as there isn't an ATM machine in this entire country!
All in all, in spite of the obstacles I faced, I kept a pretty good attitude and was able to enjoy the adventure of traveling, by bus, on the road to Mandalay.
If I can keep up this practice, of neither expecting, nor not-expecting, the unexpected, I have faith that the rest of my journey will bring adventures, and mis-adventures, that I can also enjoy.
If this sort of sounds like having low expectation, in a way, you are right, but the problem with low expectations is that they prevent you from enjoying life when it is actually good. If you are pessimistic about everything, you can't enjoy when things are favorable, you sort of miss being able to see it. So this attitude that I'm attempting to cultivate is having no-expectations.
What I've noticed is that this is somewhat impossible, as we can't stifle the mind and therefore can't prevent expectations from arising. It's just a matter of being able to recognize when they are at work and acknowledging them. We can do this by simply saying to ourselves, "expectations arising." This can be done at the first stage, before the expected event, and then during the event, which is usually either a "Yep, I was sooo right," or "Wow, this is a surprise!" So for me, on that day, I was able to notice that earlier in the day, I sort of had the idea that it was unwise to expect anything. That came from the the acknowledgement of what in fact was a low-expectation arising. So first I had a low-expectation, and then I acknowledged it, and turned it into a non-expectation.
It's a process, it's a practice, it's something to shoot for, and might even be called a mental flotation device for sticky situations. Whatever it is, it seems to be helping me on this trip, and I'll keep using it.
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