Afternoon Tea at Lovejoys

When I asked my San Francisco beau where the best place was for afternoon tea in the city, they took me to Lovejoy’s.

We met another friend of theirs at 3:00 pm on a Wednesday, when no reservations were needed, and were promptly seated at a small table facing the window.

Instead of offered a pre-decided afternoon tea set, Lovejoy’s lets you build your own. You get to decide how many sandwiches, scones, cakes, fruit, and salads you get. You even get to pick your sandwich flavors! I ordered one daily special sandwich, which was ham-arugula-brie, and another chutney-cheddar sandwich.  The scones were absolutely enormous, and I could only finish half of one. I also enjoyed the two different kinds of salads that came with my high tea set, but the star of the show was their Chocolate Truffle tea. With mil and sugar added, this tea tastes and smells like a hot chocolate.

Because of the Chocolate Truffle Tea, or perhaps because of the good company, we ended up staying nearly three hours.  It is worth mentioning  that I was among interesting company. All three of us were queer, my beaux is trans, and their friend is a professional dominatrix.  Not the most typical tea crowd, but then again, we were in San Francisco….

Photo Diary: Sunrise in Bagan

Sunrise as seen from the roof of a 13th century temple in Bagan, Myanmar. 

Instagram Diary San Francisco

Sunsets and Surprises: Thoughts from Bagan, Myanmar

The sunset from the top of the temple

(My trip to Bagan was not what we expected. The afternoons were intolerably hot, so I hid away inside the hotel room until dusk. Succumbing to boredom and monotony were a part of my days in Bagan, but on the very last day everything changed).

Excerpt from my diary:

Another day in Bagan. We spent the afternoon sleeping in to avoid the hot sun.  Around 3:00 pm I went outside to get a late lunch at Weather Spoons. I have eaten there every single day since we arrived in Bagan. I should feel guilty for frequenting the same restaurant and not trying others, I even ordered the same dish – hamburger and fries – two days in a row. I saw the same dog there again, sleeping lazily in his usual spot against the wall, between the fan and one of the chairs. That place is an oasis of comfort in this wild west.

I am tired of ambiguity, so I cling to what I know. There is already too much uncertainty here, it drains me. I don’t want to move because I don’t know if my next movement will be more or less uncomfortable than remaining still. The roads are getting dustier and drier with each passing day. And I grow to detest that red sand more and more.

I decided to go for another walk at 4:00 pm. I had only two options. One was the main road we had come in on from the jetty. It was a dirt path lined with cafes and shops. I didn’t want to deal with vendors and was feeling misanthropic, so I chose the path less-traveled. It’s a wide paved road, probably the most well maintained in the area, yet it seems rarely traveled by cars and it is completely devoid of pedestrians. Strange that the only well-maintained road is the least-used. I like the road because of its wide, even sidewalk, few potholes, no people, minimal traffic, and that it is lined with temples and pagodas on both sides. Here I can wander down tiny dirt roads, made only by the frequent tread of human foot traffic and mopeds to some isolated and scenic temples.

Last time I was on this road a police officer, one of the many who stand watch at various posts throughout the town, pointed down a dirt path and told us there was a good place to watch the sunset. He said we could climb the temple, a rare treat considering that scaling the temples is off limits to most tourists, given the structural instability. Today I meandered down a different path, but somehow arrived at the same temple, though I didn’t know it at the time. I walked around, took a few photos, and were getting ready to head back when I saw a woman on the roof of the large temple. This was it, I realized, this was the place the police officer told me about. 

On the ground floor, a maroon-robed monk sat quietly. I greeted the large Buddha, who remained alone in this solitary structure. Usually there are four Buddhas, one facing each direction in a single temple, but in this temple he was alone. I had to climb the steps on all fours limbs. They were very steep and narrow, and the ceilings hung low. I felt like I was climbing through a hole in a cave. At the top, the view was magnificent. There were only two other men sitting quietly, waiting for the sunset. There were no vendor selling souvenirs, no child peddlers asking for money, no large groups of tourists tainting every photo. There was just us.

I watched the sunset quietly. The only noises were the songs of birds, quieted by the distance. The sunlight changed from a dim orange to a burning gold, then to a pale blue. To east the sky was streaked with rays of white light. It was the most marvelous things I ever saw.

In the distance the sound of a man’s mournful chant was wafting through the air like incense. I love shoeing away tree branches and climbing over brambly thorn bushes, exploring the unexplored areas, unchanged for thousands of years. Seen by my eyes only today. 

 - November 8th, 2014 from our hotel in Bagan, Myanmar

Photo Diary: Sunset in Bagan

Sunset as seen from the roof of a 13th century temple in Bagan, Myanmar. 

Cruise from Mandalay to Bagan

Boarding the boat at 6:30 am

For our journey from Mandalay to Bagan, we decide to take a cruise down the Irrawaddy River. This seemed the best option when considering the alternatives of bus and train. We booked Malhika Crusies online and the company delivered our tickets to the hotel where we stayed in Mandalay.

Check in time began at 6:00 am, so that morning, before sunrise we took a taxi to the waterfront. Our cab driver did not know where to go and had to pull over and ask some strangers three times before we were dropped off at the correct pier. "There was no address for the pier, and when I got there I realized why. All along the street were docks for various cruise companies, but they were unmarked, and seemed to have been shoddily constructed to accommodate the recent surge in tourists.

We got on the boat just after 6:20, and sat on the upper deck outside while waiting to depart at 7:00 am. I took a few notes in my diary:

“Dawn on the river is haunting. Smokey clouds drape over the water like curtains hanging low in deep velvety folds. The water is the color of cloudy jade, the color of the sky – or perhaps, the sky is the color of the water. I love anything that changes, the sky, the sea, the seasons. Move me from the present, carry me forward forever. When the sky changes color so does the sea. Their color tune each other like strings in an orchestra, signaling harmony. Then the dawn pulls back its dark curtains, and releases a flash of light. Green mountains can be seen on the horizon, their tips smudged by the paintbrush of silvery clouds. Fisherman sit on rafts made of logs, with tents pitched up in the middle, only wide enough to fit one sleeping body. I wonder if this morning is unique, but I’ll never know because it is my only morning on the Irrawaddy River.

In Myanmar the rising and setting of the sun is something to behold. It’s a flashdance of color across the sky. You don’t realize it happened until it’s already over. When we walked home form the café yesterday at 5:00 pm the baby blue sky showed no signs of changing, but by 5:30 it was as dark as a sapphire. All this happened in thirty minutes. You have to grasp the moment quickly here, because it moves faster than you are used to. The sky changes color with every blink of the eyes. It’s not un untraceable movement, its obvious with each blink that you are seeing something new.”

The boat took off on schedule and slowly made its way down the river. We passed under lone bridges connecting two sides of the river with seemingly nothing on with end. We passed the golden peaks of temples in the distance, large Buddhas, fisherman, and small huts on the water. It rained on and off throughout the journey. When it did, the tourists left unshielded upper deck and came down to their seat inside the boat. Thankfully we had assigned seating, so there was no worrying about space.

I think every single person on the boat was reading a copy of Lonely Planet’s Guide to Burma in one language or another, an observation which depressed me.

The first few hours on board were magical, but soon the magic gave way to boredom. It was impossible to see outside the window in the rain. The hum of the engine started to wear on me. The boat ride was so smooth that it put me to sleep. I napped for three hours before waking again and transcribing some notes in my journal.

Though our departure had not been delayed, we arrived in Bagan one hour behind schedule, at 4:00 pm. Being Myanmar’s most coveted tourist attraction, I expected the dock at Bagan to be something other than what it was: a muddy bank.

I assumed that - what with Bagan being the country’s most reputable and popular tourist destination - we would be greeted by a grand wooden pier, perhaps a sign in English, “Welcome to Bagan,” and a fleet of taxis waiting to carry us to our hotels. Instead the ship docked on a seemingly arbitrary edge of the river. Men in longyis trudged through the red dirt and laid down a thin wooden plank between the boat and the mud puddle. Bamboo poles were erected on either side to help balance us and we put one foot in front of the other.

We were instantly approached for “transport.” I accepted the offer of the first man who approached us. I had to haggle hard to get the price down. This was surprising because up until this point, it had been easy to bargain with cab drivers in Yangon and Mandalay.   But in Bagan people seemed sincerely hurt and even offended at my attempts to haggle. I asked the price before we reached the car. 8,00 kyats? Too much. I wanted 5,000. He said he would go down to 7,000. I said 6,000 or nothing. I would ask other drivers. He agreed on 6,000. Then we followed him to what I thought would be our taxi, but instead he started loading our bags onto a horse pulling a wooden cart! This would be our “transport.” Perhaps I should have read the Lonely Planet guide…

We sat on the back of the cart, which leaned uncomfortably close to the ground. When the horse took off we had to hold onto the edges of the cart so hard my muscles ached at the end of the fifteen minute ride. We faced backwards, watching Bagan’s dirt roads unravel from the cart’s wheels below, as though the world was being created in front of our very eyes. We watched the scene on rewind. It was an study in the faces people make as they drive. We saw only two cars on the road. The vast majority of vehicles were mopeds, bicycles, and horse-drawn buggies like ours. None of the roads were paved, and they were all horribly muddy from the afternoon rain. I knew this because I could see the imprint of the horse’s hooves with each step. 

I don't know these people

Our ride into town