The last 48 hours, I just had get used to running on fumes. Especially when the nice day out to Mandalay meant leaving the lovely Trader’s Hotel at 0530 and on a plane at 0645… why break the habits of a lifetime ???

And so we did. And it was good. But I was so knackered I hardly knew where I was. Ki Ki, my sweet and giggly minder, did everything. “Mr Tim, you wait here, I will come back”. And she did, every time. We flew on a new carrier for me, Yangon Air. As there are a whole slew of local flights leaving in the dawn, not only did we have boarding cards but colored stickers on our lapels so that we would not be carried off to the wrong place. Boardings were accomplished by a man with a flight numbered sign board wandering around yelling. Seemed to work. Everyone was boarded through one doorway, in the dimly lit dark and just to make it become more fun, the ‘bags’ went out that door too, so it was a rugger scrum plus many oddly shaped boxes and packages. Wonder of BA would like to try this in LHR ??

Plane was an ATR, which is v much the workhorse of the east. Two cute girls in silk outfits warmly welcomed us and off we went. We were given snack boxes containing two sweet buns for the 75 minute flight to Bagan (where I shall be off to with our punters later on) and I in turn presented the girls with some miniature wings from good old World Airways, which they thought better than rubies, esp as they did not sport wings themselves – they donned them immediately. The two flight deck guys were there too, so I gave them tie pins, which quite overwhelmed them so much that I was invited to sit on the flight desk for the 20 minute hop to Mandalay. Only one small technicality there was the fold down jumpseat had such a short seat belt that the ends would not meet across my thighs let along around my middle, which I thought, in my artless Japanese way, would mean that I couldn’t stay, but the guys just shrugged their shoulders and off we jolly well went, with me hanging on for dear life !!! I made sure I was braced for the landing as I am sure questions would have been asked had we arrived with a bump and I had been ejected through the flight deck window. Ah me, so nice to be back in this sort of place….

Mandalay Airport is all brand new .. just quite WHY they decided that they needed a vast establishment complete with double jetways, when all the local planes that arrive are small, is slightly beyond my ken .. they are def. thinking big, though I should think that when something does turn up which could use the said jetway, they will have lost the key at least. Acres of polished marble inside too. I suspect the Chinese are involved as this looks just like a new Chinese airport. Anyway, we flash the passport at immigration (yes Vera, I know we are still in Myanmar, but they are so paranoid that everyone goes through immigration all the time everywhere – fortunately no forms to be completed though) and there is a man and a car and driver and I discover that we are a whole HOUR away from Mandalay, rather than practically at the end of the main street where the old airport used to be – such is progress. And it is only 0830 and I feel shattered and would like nothing better than a cool dark room and a BED.

But instead we are off to do all Mandalay in one day and for good measure a couple of hotel inspections too, so nice cool rooms and beds are dangled in front of me on a so near yet so far basis. We examined all that Mandalay had to offer and were nicely lunched in an open air restau, sitting under vines which reminded me much of Uzbekistan and had some delish food with vast fresh-river prawns and other goodies. Myanmar cuisine is not something to get too excited about, with curries being much in evidence, but the trouble is that they seem to only waft a bit of the spices over the top, so could be fed to children and infants with no problem. Unlike Bangkok last night, where I had a wonderful chicken green curry that nearly removed my teeth fillings, as my mouth was smouldering…. Anyway we ran around in the heat and looked and were suitably impressed, but sadly there is not a lot of ‘there’, there. Mandalay is one of those places where its name is the best thing and the reality is a bit of a let down. Then back out to the airport and back on the same plane and route and having left in the cool of the dawn at 0530, I was home at 2130, feeling like I had been somewhat abused and there ortta be Geneva conventions about trying to impress people too much.

NOW days and days later as not a chance to put finger to keyboard while in Myanmar once the group showed up. We have the most wonderful agents there whom I wish could be everywhere, as their efficiency is staggering and they are all just so sweetly willing and would carry me and anyone else around on their backs if we gave the slightest hint of that being needed. They THINK. It is def. run by a guy with big connections (Ki Ki let slip that his father was a BIG General, which may account for his powers) but he is only in his early 30’s and is the entrepreneurial type, so has fingers everywhere. I had Ki Ki and a car and driver at all times and the nice thing was that they really knew what they were doing so it was almost a vacation for me.

I just love Yangon (or Rangoon as it was) even though it is one of the world’s most dilapidated cities. It has huge tacky charm no less and the old buildings are painted pretty pastels, in blue and yellow mainly. Everything is basically falling apart. ALL human life is there but not to a squalid degree or anything off-putting, but just a very reduced lifestyle compared to the west but the locals don’t look like they are suffering unduly. Though commuting to work on the back of a truck, with inward facing wooden plank seats, which would seat say 10 of each side but actually have 20 of them and then about another 25 crushed in standing and another 10 or so hanging on the back for dear life, now That’s a busload !

Best place to visit (and this is absolutely at the top of my list of “I don’t mind how many times I go there” is the Shwedagon Pagoda. An enormous (and I mean ENORMOUS) Buddhist shrine, it looks like the world’s largest golden handbell. You can see it from anywhere in town. It is set high on a solid platform, so having removed shoes and socks if worn (you can only visit barefoot), you can take an elevator or better, walk up one of the four broad staircases, which have masses of stalls either side to make sure you will both have offerings for above and also much to take home to show everyone. These will also be considered ‘auspicious’. We are greatly in to that, so astrological signs etc are factored in to daily life in a big way. Having arrived on the main floor, which runs all the way around the base of the stupa, there are hundreds of small Buddhist shrines in all directions. This is the WHQ of an eastern condition known as being ‘Buddhared out’. It would be impossible to count how many there are, but will certainly go in to the thousands. Everything from a few inches to the size of a house. The color is overwhelming. Between that and the heat, it is all coming at your. In the hot weather, there are mats to walk on as the marble becomes just burning hot. And you only walk around the whole site clockwise…. that’s auspicious. Families come to spend the day there and park themselves in the shade, bringing vegetarian food and water. And there are seven special shrines for the day of the week you were born on. I found Sunday and joined other Sunday-persons pouring water over a small Buddha. I am thinking that if it will help, then why not?

Over the years, I have spent a lot of time there, just sitting on the base of a Buddha statue and watching the world go by. Although I am not religious in any way, there is definitely a spiritual feeling that comes over me there, which is a wonderful sensation. If you can be there at full moon.. yes, you guessed it, this is the MOST AUSPICIOUS time and it is a lot more crowded, but never enough to become uncomfortable. And at night, the vast stupa is well lit and stretches up in to the black sky and the ‘flag’ on the top glitters with all the semi-precious stones fitted to it. I have to admit, it is borderline Disney, but that is insulting. This is for real.

And so the plane arrived on time next day and there they were again, all saying ‘HOW did you get here?” as if their plane was the only mode of travel – sometimes, when I want to impress them with how easy we make it for them, then I do tell how I made it from a to b to c etc etc and their little eyes open in great wonder. Anyway they all went off to see the great Roman site/sight of Dougga and I went to the hotel with the bags (sometimes life does get as thrilling as this..) – gave me the rest of the day off as they were not back until after 6pm. So I went to the Bardo Museum. Somewhere I have visited many times, just to see the Roman mosaics. They are really staggering. And the great thing is rather than leaving them on the floor, they are mounted on the walls. That way you can just stand back and marvel at them. All Roman life comes to life in front of you, as they often really just show their daily life. People at wells, cooking, gardening – it is all there. Coupled with Libya, Tunisia has the best Roman mosaics in the world.

Then we lectured them and fed and watered them and told them to go to bed, not that they really needed to be told this, as we run them generally ragged. Up with the lark in the morning so I could repossess their bags as they were off to Carthage and the wonderful Bardo Museum to see the mosaics, and I told them they are in for a treat.

This meant I was free to sit in the hotel and have a wonderfully good time being teary eyed at the Queen Mother’s funeral, which of course was a great telly spectacular and if only the people who planned it could now get to work on the railways, then the UK would be a much better place.

Having mopped myself up from that, off I goes to the airport with the bags and find a very efficient handling agent who has actually produced destination bag tags for their next stop. (Catania in Sicily, if you are interested ) – yes Vera you should be able to find that. The two bag truck drivers are still there to make sure all is well and have obviously opened their tip envelopes, so I am suddenly the big hero and receive bristly double cheek kisses from both and expressions of undying gratitude and vire [‘entente cordiale USA/Tunisienne.

And then I jumps on Lufthansa – 2 rather grim hours, as I did not realize I had been given an aisle seat on the very back row of a 737 (merci bien Mademoiselle Tunisair check in agent) and there was a woman with an infant who had the window and I thought she was alone, so yes I would sit there and that way she could have the aisle and we could share the infant, when lo and behold, just as I am about to move, here comes huge husband who gets wedged between us and was, shall we say, somewhat less than fresh… and there was no window either, so I am claustrophobically jammed up against the wall with a large smelly man and a lusty infant ……..oy oy oy… there ortta be a law.. Anyway I survive and whiz through everything in FRA and run across to the Sheraton Hotel and a nice lady gives me a key in exchange for a credit card imprint and I am upstairs and have a quick room senvice hamburger, served by a sweet girl from Lithuania. I always ask when I hear a different accent – I thought she was Polish and she said they all do and I said well next time I think someone is Polish, I shall ask if they are from Lithuania and she thought that was a great idea and went off happy).

And next morning, having survived the elevator full of German Businessmen, all of whom have used a lot of expensive colognes and I feel I am now impregnated with them all). I run back across the bridge in to the terminal and on to the nice big Lufthansa A340 to Addis Ababa with a stop in Cairo (or Kairo as they write and make it sound much more forbidding). I’m using some of my half a million United Airlines miles to move to Business Class and manage to engineer a two seater to myself on the back row, which is my favorite position as it is usually quieter and I can watch them all at work.

More from there…….

When I last left you, I had arrived in Tunisia – very much he coming home feel pour moi, as some of u may not know that It was my home in 1967 and 68 (and some of you were not even born then, which makes me feel slightly fossilized…). I came down on the v full and quite efficient Air France from Paris, with the usual selection of robust infants, but this is only a couple of hours, so I can survive. A man was sent to collect me, of similar vintage and quite amazed to hear that I had been there before and could identify landmarks, but not however the brand new huge French Carrefour hypemiarche, that apparently is putting all the small morn and pop traders out of business – we agreed it was sad but that is what the world is coming to etc etc. Sucking on teeth is such an international reaction.

Meanwhile, some 3 miles from the center of the city of Tunis, there are still flocks of goats and sheep and men plowing behind an ox, and others trotting along on the haunches of donkeys. Remember the innocent pleasures of donkey rides on the beach ?? – well we sat all wrong, as the middle of the back is just bouncy, whereas if you sit as far back as you can without actually sliding down its backside, then you will get a better ride. Just one of those useful/useless tips from foreign travels. But the biggest change is in the women, who are no longer all wearing the all-embracing white safsari and now you almost have to search for a woman, evidently an older one, draped in what looks like several yards of grubby white cotton muslin, the ends of which are grasped in her mouth.  

At the hotel there are messages to call our new agent so I dutifully do and he sounds v cheerful and speaks fluent English, which practically everyone in the hotel or tourism biz down here, plus German, who for years have been their biggest market. We agree to meet in the morning and start the process, so I falls in to bed and that is it.  

Morgen (sorry I’m writing this on LH and it is required to speak some German here…), he arrives and we hit it off very well. Tall for a Tunisian at over 6 ft, he had lived 9 years in Japan and consequently has now cornered the whole Japanese market here, as of course they like the idea they can phone from TYO and find someone to talk to – only prob is that they forget the time difference and call him in the middle of the night. He said he had never met a new client from a far-off land who greeted him and said a bit more in real Tunisian Arabic and out of range of any other ears, I practised my one remaining REALLY bad word and he nearly hit the floor laughing. I was established as one of us.

We get on so well that I am invited home to the equivalent of Sunday lunch and to meet the in-laws and various others, so after working on our program, we jump into the old Mercedes and a few minutes later I am shaking hands with various males and smiling at various females and trying out my now not quite so rusty Tunisian Arabic and it is a great ice breaker and I am obviously regarded as a semi, all around good bloke and installed at the oil cloth covered table for a real home made couscous and salade tunisienne and tagine (eat yr heart out Liz…but just to cheer you up, NO Gateau Nationale, which is what we used to call any Tunisian fancy desert, a cake covered in an icing of a garishness that would only probably be equaled in Vietnam or India) and in we tuck.  Nothing better than sitting at home with friendly locals and enjoying their every day food.  I see enough of fancy hotel buffets etc, so the oilcloth covered table is wonderfully  better.

The matriarch serves me and I think would probably have fed me had I asked. She looked v sweet and had the most huge soulful deep dark brown eyes and if she ever cried then I should think more than buckets would be needed. Various small children were paraded and encouraged to practice their English, but of course were struck dumb in terror at having a forang within the walls of the house, despite my efforts to look non-threatening and asking after their well being in Arabic (thus I spose the mindset being if he speaks bad Arabic, why do I have to make a fool of myself in English ?).

Only thing that gave me a hard time was the sort of milk/whey drink that was much used – kinda thin blue milk with blobs of almost butter on the top – didn’t taste nasty but just looked something like the cow had brought up – shut yr eyes and drink was the motto. It came in endless jugs and was obviously as much part of the meal as the food itself, so drink up and do have more…. Never realized that at home the Tunisians eat with spoon and fork (like the Thai) and you pulled the meat apart with them.  It is impossible to work out who the family members were, as there was no attempt at formal introductions. The women were v much on their own and afterwards, having had a mint tea and bikkie with the boys, we continued on our way, without even yelling goodbyes to the women in another room. They must think our social habits are v peculiar.

As there are now some newer and better hotels in Tunis that we should replace our current one with, we went on the obligatory tours of a couple, one of which I liked v much and which will probably be receiving us in November. Good to see that the Tunisian routine of the locals going out and sitting in hotels on Sundays is still practiced. When I lived in Hammamet, you just knew when it was Sunday as suddenly the hotels filled up with the posh (and often not-so) from Tunis who drove down for the day, just as a Londoner would go to Brighton or a New Yorker to Coney Island. 

Big difference was that the Brits went walkies on the shingle and had a nice cuppa, and looked forward to going back home again, whereas the Tunisians had had enough of sand and sun and instead lolled around in the hotel lobbies drinking endless cups of coffee and mint tea and stayed much later, small kids asleep on the floor.

More to come …

Next day we drive north and take a look at a couple of potential places for visits next year and then I am back at the quietly swish chateau hotel near Sarlat that we shall use for three nights. This is a wonderful establishment, as it is an oasis of calm and friendly service combined. The staff seem genuinely pleased to see me again (well I was only here 6 months ago, so they didn’t have much time to forget and most of that time they were closed anyway). Anyway I am bien installe in the small room that I had last time (don’t these people realise that I am to be greatly sucked up to?).

GREAT BLANK SPACE HERE IN FRANCE – it went well – except I had too much totally delish white wine the first night (which I rarely drink, the white that is) and it had a tres debilitating effect on ma systeme, which was the Gulf War being re-fought in my stomach and was up from 0200 as unable to lie down (never knew the human frame could burp at such Olympic levels and even several A Zeltzer did not do the trick) so copped out of going out next day (which meant I missed one of the best lunches we offer .. boo hoo…). And it bloody rained most of the time too. But did manage to force un peu de foie gras down my throat next day and it is just luvly – I don’t think about the poor geese who are put on a high calorie diet to achieve this – I just enjoy the end result, which if it’s any consolation to them, is equally high calorie.

Now up on Air France Paris – Tunis – what another cozy flight, along with some nice Tunisian infants to add ethnic wails (and to tell the truth, they all sound the same – it’s the level of parental involvement that varies — here I am beginning to think that they are encouraging them…) Anyway, the purser lady is a wonderful specimen of the old school – comes down and uses full sentences, rather than the French equivalent of “chicken or fish?”   She practically goes into a full description for each person and thanks them profusely and smiles a lot and she is of course a dying breed. She also has a wonderfully French nose to go with it and it looks like it can be used most productively at the cheese counter wherever she lives, to sniff out the ripest and best Camembert. Just a pity the hot food they give us, in the huddled masses cabin, has been reduced to the much mass produced and then frozen variety. A few years of South African Airways catering taught me what that looks like and boy, this ain’t fresh. One giveaway (for those of you who may be remotely interested (and Vera you can skip this ) is that the foil is hermatically sealed (cos its going to be VERY deep frozen and we don’t want the contents drying out) and also it will have a mass of numbers and other symbols on the top, which are known only to a maker (and possibly God, but the latter is unlikely). Anyway, we shall survive and I asked for a second small bottle of nice Bordeaux and even indulged in a mini of Poire Williams, which is kinda close to nectar and v expensive to buy and AF still gives it to the masses, which is more than kind.

Had a fun ride to Bordeaux airport earlier with the agent guy, Bertrand and his assistant, who although as mentioned earlier, is a plain jane, she has great spirit and sense of humor, so now that it was all over, the plane has gone and they belong to one of my con-freres, so we can relax. He was off to a wedding reception tonight – old friends who had lived together for years and produced a family and  had suddenly decided on her 50th birthday that they would get married, so it was going to be a nice middle-aged bash. Funniest thing was that the conversation became tres risque, as he admitted that several of his old girlfriends from his wayward younger years would be there and when pressed, by his assistant and NOT me, as we are en france and they talk about such shocking matters so openly, it was she who delved deeper into his murky past.  He cheerfully admitted that he had probably over his formative years, slept with about twenty of the now middle aged women who would be there.  I just could not imagine having that conversation outside France and the nice thing is that it is all water under the bridge now, but we had a good time rigging him about it. He is anyway now a happily married 40 year old with 2 small kids that he dotes upon, as I had many conversations on the mobile phone and I even managed to do the ordeal of talking to a small slightly dumbstruck French 6 years old child, talking to a stranger in French and she pronounced me afterwards as being tout OK, so seems I have a 6 year old fan in Aix en Provence.

Driving to Bordeaux, we were in the middle of all the vineyards – just miles and miles of neatly pruned gnarled vines, each with one regulation shoot being allowed to aim along the wires towards its neighbor. Hard to imagine how wonderful they will look in 3 months’ time. In the small villages and towns en route, they had been hard at work pruning, which is almost too gentle a word, the plane trees in each market square. Seems they leave it until the spring weather is coming in and then go to work and really butcher these poor trees – they all look terribly unhappy and much abused and must be in a total state of shock -no fun being a tree in the main square en france. Just a tall mass of stumps. However that’s the way things are done around here and who am I to complain? The result will be nice round trees to give shade to the boules players later on.

And now I am in Tunisia. Back in my old stamping ground from 1967 and 68.  I am HOME !

Hello,

My name is Max and I am a skinny cat in Mali.  I managed to find Mr Tim, as I know him and asked if it would be okay for me to send some messages to the world from somewhere you barely know and he said it was alright, as long as I don’t get political.   We don’t have politics where I live.  We are more concerned with staying alive.

I have been living in the courtyard of the deluxe Hotel Faguibine, Oulessebougou, Mali, for about three years, your time.  My mind is a little hazy on that, as I don’t have a calendar and for me, every day is the same.  I understand this is something you don’t do, as apparently you have names for when the sun comes up each day.  It does seem complicated and unnecessary to me.  A day is a day.  It starts, it ends.  I think that is enough.

And I understand you have fairly regular feeding times?  This does seem a little too difficult.  It makes time so constricted.  For me, I wake up and wander around and sit in the sun (if it is not the rainy season, like now) and if I find something to eat, then I eat it.   Some days there is not much and other days (like when I catch a mouse) then it is a gourmet day.  Easy come, easy go. I like it when the funny looking people come to stay as they tend to give me something to eat.  I have worked out how to sit still and look starved.  They are such suckers.

It seems I have developed the perfect life.  I have heard Mr Tim and others talking and it quite distressed me.  You have so many problems.  Things I don’t know about, but even so, I think I can give lessons to the two- legged people on living an easier life.  I shall have a think about it.  Right now, it is time for a doze in the sun.

Talk to you soon,

Love,

Max.