Fly to Mandalay then off to Chanthagon

This is one of the local buses which is quite empty. It is also the type of car/van the sister possessed though theirs was a smaller version.















This is the boys Orphanage at Chanthagon. After the rains where the boys are standing it is a quagmire.

The flight to Mandalay was short. I was quite shocked by the terminal. It was called Mandalay International Airport and it actually looked like one. It had escalators, a proper baggage belt and even a real immigration booth. The only trouble was that there were no international flights. Five western people got off the plane. No airline beside their own would go there as the road to Mandalay was supposed to be a nightmare. Sister Geraldine and Bernadette met me there. Then Peter our driver took us to Mandalay in an even older car/van than the one in Yangon. I couldn't understand why the airlines wouldn't fly to Mandalay as the road leading out of the airport was the best I had been on in Myanmar. But after a few miles the road suddenly stopped at a bridge as our side of the road didn't have a bridge but only a huge gaping hole. We had to cross to the other side of the road to use the oncoming traffic's part of the bridge. Once we were out of the airport perimeter it was chaos. Like the side roads in Yangon the tarmac was joined together by not only potholes but also deep crevices. Peter our driver was swerving from side to side not only trying to miss the potholes but also the oncoming traffic. Every time anyone wanted to overtake a bike, scooter, car or truck the horn would be blasted.

The noise was incredible and the smell of diesel was overpowering. The buses, I use the word very lightly, were trucks, some of them old American trucks from the 50s that had been converted into buses. They were packed to the gunnels with people, bags and anything you could think of. People were on the top, some were hanging on for dear life on the back, even the Bhuddist monks were hanging in there. No car went in a staight line. The nearer we got to Mandalay city centre the more chaotic the roads got. They call Mandalay bycicle city. It was murder, there were thousands and there were no road rules, the only one being, everyone for themselves. The ladies who are being ridden around sit side saddle and look quite serene as chaos goes on all around them. On one motor bike there was a whole family of two parents and four children all clinging on to the father who was driving. After an hour and a half of this bedlam I quite understood why the international airlines would not fly into Mandalay.

Eventually we made it to St Joseph's Convent. It was so peaceful and quiet in the convent's compound. It was just another world. The sisters were there to greet me and take me to my room where I washed and got ready for lunch. After lunch Sr Geraldine said as my time was short there it would be better if that afternoon I went to Chanthagon to see the new orphanage. What I didn't realise was that it was very close to the airport so we had to do the nightmare journey again.