Road to Mandalay

Mandalay mostly serves as a center for commercial trade with China. I passed through a few times during the past year but never felt any desire to stay long. Then a group I like proposed going up there this past weekend for a series of bicycle races. I agreed to go along but not to compete. I said I would cheer. To me this outing was about the people. The place struck me as hot and dusty, without much of the charm found in other parts of Myanmar.

After an early start by chartered bus, we arrived in Mandalay Friday evening with just enough time to change and head to a twisty course that had been set up on the edge of the city for an after-dark relay race. “John, you’ll never believe it but our team is short by one rider,” said a guy who has tried to convince me in the past that I’m a better mountain bike rider than I really am.

Such a rascal. I wasn’t falling for it. I said I didn’t bring any bike lights. I added that even if I had any I still wouldn’t be interested in speeding over a path full of potholes and low tree limbs. “Just humor me by taking a test circuit,” he said.

It took us about 25 minutes to try out the course. When we returned to the start line we were surrounded by that infectious energy that goes with such events. Music blared, announcements crackled, jokes made the rounds. I borrowed some bike lights.

Our five-person team didn’t win but we generated plenty of excitement as our impossibly fit anchor leg passed several other riders to make it close. The adrenalin kept me awake long past midnight. Gradually I drifted off, glad that I had joined but equally glad to be done for the weekend and mostly unscratched.

After not enough rest, the die-hards got up early Saturday for the road bike event: three laps, along major streets except for the detour up the city’s only hill, totaling about 30 miles. I remained sane, lingering over breakfast, checking the Internet to find out what else was happening in town that day.

I felt I had won the lottery when not only did I learn that the annual literary festival was happening, but that a main attraction would be an author who used to be a neighbor. Ros Russell and her family had an apartment downstairs in Bangkok before they were transferred to Yangon in the wake of Cyclone Nargis. They hosted my dad and me for dinner during our first-ever trip to Myanmar. During that meal Ros had described her secret life as a journalist in the then-censored country.

From the Mandalay breakfast table I wrote her a quick email. We met up before her talk, she singled me out in front of the crowd during her remarks, and I came away with two autographed copies of Burma’s Spring, which I highly recommend as an introduction to this colorful country.

Saturday evening, my road biking friends sounded jealous. “Not only was the heat brutal, and the hills killer, but a woman drafted behind me all the way and then passed me 20 meters before the finish,” said one, who I’m sure would admit to being a guy who prefers to be beaten by guys. He then suggested I would have a good chance of beating him in the next day’s individual mountain bike race, considering the difference in how we had spent our day.

Now that he mentioned it, I had been feeling lucky. Sunday morning I wasn’t committing to anything, but I did show up at the start line ready to ride. In the clear light of day, five laps of the same course we used for the night relay didn’t seem so very far. Somehow I found myself in the pack when the gun sounded. And somehow on the third lap I found myself passing yesterday’s road bikers. Even that gravelly dip and climb at around the halfway point stopped giving me trouble. As on Friday night, I came away with no medals, but a big grin. After all, this outing was about the people.

Now the challenge will be finding an excuse when the next weekend racing event comes around.

Halt

A new education law last September led to university student protests here over the lack of independence granted to universities by the bill. Students want a decentralized curriculum, the right to form unions, and the chance to be taught in ethnic languages.

Myanmar’s government always worries about student gatherings, regardless of the topic, because campus issues in the past have led to demonstrations over larger social problems. Already in this case Buddhist nationalists have weighed in, saying they oppose the mother tongue provision. Partly they may fear an increase in the amount of respect and freedom given to Muslims and ethnic groups here.

The military says that students cause “instability” in the country. The students say that the status quo is the problem. Starting two months ago, a group of students marched from Mandalay, headed for Yangon. Their march was interrupted by police in a small town called Letpadan, about 80 miles north of the city.

By then the government had offered to discuss amendments to the law. About 200 students remained skeptical that negotiations would lead anywhere. They chose to challenge the blockade. On March 10th, just before noon, initial restraint gave way to violence. After a couple hours, more than 120 arrests had been made.

At around 3pm that day, riding my bicycle past the university in Yangon, I came across a long police lineup, about 100 strong, apparently anticipating sympathy protests. Though I knew the march had been stopped in Letpadan, I hadn’t heard yet about the specific events of that morning.

Social media was full of the story when I checked a few minutes later. Already people were asking how much the country’s political transition would be set back by this confrontation. This news and the speedy mobilization of police in the city may not bode well for future tests of reform.

Also, the Education Bill is not the only current legislative controversy. A package known as the “Protection of Race and Religion Bills” would create new rules regarding interfaith marriage, choice of faith, and other elements of family life.

Wide Screen Entertainment

A friend owns a shop here with a large open front. Now and then I stop in to practice speaking Burmese and to watch the world pass by.

In the small lane we watch a beaming little brother in a cardboard box being pulled by his sister. Young couples pretend to have eyes only for each other as they stroll hand in hand, sneaking peeks to find out who has noticed them. Sometimes the show features a contest between taxis to see who’ll back up first—the lane is too narrow for both to pass at once.

Our vantage point keeps us current with the hot hairstyles. A blonde tidal-wave look seems to be in fashion among the whistling drinking-water delivery dudes.

And I haven’t even mentioned the screwy dogs, the neighbor feuds, the blocked drains.… Who needs TV?