CYCLING TOWARDS THE SUNSET – OLD BAGAN, MYANMAR
By the time we had finished dinner, the sun had set and darkness had encroached around us. I was in the company of a new friend who I had met days earlier in Mandalay and our paths crossed again in Bagan. Making friends whilst on the road and frequently bumping in to them at a different time and destination is a lovely thing and is indicative of how small the world of travellers really is. We had spent a lovely day together, riding around on our bicycles, maneuvering on dusty roads from one temple to another.
As we were leaving the open-air restaurant, in the centre of Old Bagan, and about to head our separate ways to our own hostels I realized that I didn’t have a headlight - nor did my bicycle. Ben took notice of this and insisted that I take his. Although we had not known each other a long time, he seemed quite worried about my safety and tried reasoning with me after I refused his kind offer. I knew that my chances of arriving safely at my hostel, in New Bagan and about a half hour ride away, would be assured with the security of a night light leading the way. I’m sure my refusal was based on the confidence or (to be more candid), the cockiness that had become quite prominent in my character after traveling alone for several months. I had become accustomed to dealing with situations and problems on my own without much aid or having to seek out help from others. So off I went, without the assistance of any kind of illumination, down the main stretch of road headed towards my hostel. Suddenly I had this very ideal and romanticized thought that the full moon would emerge among the skyline of stupas dotted in the distance and set aglow the road before me.
I realize now that if this had indeed happened, I wouldn’t recall this memory as I fondly as I do presently. Instead, the only light produced was from the cars and motorbikes that sped towards me only to swerve mere meters before realizing I was there or those that overtook me in a great hurry. When these motorists did make themselves present, I would speed up to cover as much distance possible while having the aid of their lights. But this would only last moments. As darkness once again took control of the situation, I would slow down, pedaling to the feel of the gravel below me and hoping that I wouldn’t fall victim to a pothole (which were large and numerous) or the ditch on the side of the road. Nothing about this situation was ideal. I tried desperately to distract my thoughts. I reminded myself of where I was - an ancient city, the first capital of the Burmese Empire and the site of numerous, beautiful stupas all built between the 11th and 13th century*. To see these ruins and be in their presence was a long living ambition of mine. As I looked in to the distance, I could see the vivid profile of these monuments, all of them unique in their size and structure. Even though I was overwhelmed with a heightened sense of panic, I could still depend on my brief glances of these ruins to produce moments of calm.
About half way through my journey, a motorist passed me and then immediately slowed down and waited as I caught up. He started questioning me on why I was out so late and where I was going. I panted out the answers and while trying to remain focused on the dangerous task at hand, I was becoming increasingly annoyed. I did find some amusement in the irony of the situation - the only motorist who cared enough to stop and escort me didn’t have a working headlight! I resented myself for thinking that his presence and my forced reception would have been more worthwhile if he was at least able to light the way. He did however provide a sense of security that I had not felt in a very long time and for this I was grateful. We rode along in the darkness and in silence - two strangers from two different worlds in
