Cruising down the Irrawaddy with westerners is boring, we’re all boring, plugged into our ipods, pointing our big camera lenses at the wildlife, reading our guidebooks on the deck. Tourists get tired of waving pretty quickly, 2 hours after the excitement of leaving port (in Mandalay) is overcome by sleepiness. We stop at a village to take on extra passengers. The women wade up to the cruiser to sell bunches of bananas, hoiking them at the boat, presumably at the people who float Khat notes back to them. Kids scream at the passengers to throw them chocolate or pens – it’s a game… for everybody, It’s so disconnected, so distant , safe, cold.
Thursday, 29 December, cloudy.
Dining for 1, solo eating, has it’s downsides. No exchange of ideas, no awkward silences shared, no flirting, laughing, maybe some sobbing, sniffling, a candlelight to keep one company. When inspiration does take hold, the floodgates open, unleashing torrents of pure potential crashing into the tranquil scene below, but not tonight.
Weatherspoons — they didn’t charge me or the tea leaf salad, because I didn’t eat all of it!!!
Rejected & being rejected.
Abandonment is a fact of life and in the case of travel, a necessity.