by Di Morrissey
Then one of the soldiers picked up the silver vase and pushed it into his pocket, then both retreated down the road.
A car swung around the corner, they got into it and the vehicle sped away. As it did so, one of the soldiers leaned out of the car window and snapped Natalie’s photo.
She burst into tears. ‘The photos for Mi Mi . . . Oh no,’ she sobbed. ‘We’ll have to go back. I can’t go home without pictures for Mi Mi.’
Natalie began picking up her things from the side of the road and putting them in her handbag. Mr P and Soe Soe went to the rear of the car and began collecting the scattered clothes.
‘Mr P, where’s the kammavaca?’ Natalie began frantically looking about on the floor of the car, but it wasn’t there.
Mr P and Soe Soe put the bags back into the boot, Mr P returned to the back seat and Natalie sat next to Soe Soe again. Before he started the engine, the driver gave Natalie a small smile and from the pocket of his shirt, where he kept his cigarettes, he handed her a small object. It took a moment for Natalie to register what it was.
‘Mr P! Look! It’s the memory card out of my camera! Soe Soe, you saved my photos! Thank you, thank you so much,’ she gasped.
Mr P began to smile. ‘Clever. And quick thinking.’
Then Soe Soe reached under the dashboard of the car where there was normally a radio and pulled out the kammavaca, still safely rolled up in Natalie’s silk scarf.
Natalie was speechless, but then she managed to ask Mr P, ‘How did he know to hide this?’
Mr P asked the driver the same question. Soe Soe answered in Burmese. ‘He says he heard us talking about the gift you had for the old princess,’ Mr P told Natalie.
‘I don’t remember saying anything about the kammavaca while we were in the car. In fact I’m sure that I didn’t. Maybe I did say something before I knew that he understood English. Oh, I don’t know. Honestly, I’m becoming paranoid. Forget what I just said. Thank you very much, Soe Soe, for saving my pictures and the princess’s kammavaca. I am going to be very pleased when I meet the princess and I can finally give her the manuscript.’
‘It is also just as well that I have the rest of your money tucked away in a very safe place,’ added Mr P. He opened his shirt a little to reveal an old-fashioned money belt.
‘You two have been my wonderful guardian angels,’ said Natalie, her voice full of gratitude.
‘Please try to forget this bad episode,’ said Mr P. ‘Those men were not real soldiers, just a couple of – what do you call them? – cowboys. Bad men trying to make a quick profit. It sometimes happens, so we know to be prepared. If you like, Natalie, you can use my camera for the remainder of your holiday.’
Natalie leaned back and closed her eyes. The last half an hour seemed like a very bad dream. One moment she had been feeling totally at peace and relaxed in Sagaing, happy at finding Mi Mi’s parents and serene after her night at the nunnery, and then she was in the middle of a nightmare scenario. But at least no-one had been hurt and she really hadn’t lost anything that could not be replaced. And she certainly had another exciting story to relate when she got back home.
At a roadside truck stop, where large lorries laden with Chinese goods were pulled over, they stopped for refreshments and a sweet fried doughnut. Mr P patted Natalie’s shoulder as she sipped her coffee.
‘Please, do not let this make you feel badly towards my country. Theft happens everywhere.’
Natalie gave a small smile. ‘Of course. It could have been worse. You know, most of the people I have met in Burma have been lovely, so that thought will outweigh what just happened.’
They got back into the car and drove on. The scenery changed and, seemingly on cue, a misty shower of rain swept in, completing what Natalie imagined a British hill station would look like. Sweeping dark fir trees and solid oaks shaded flowering bulbs that burst through patches of thick green grass. They passed a roadside stall selling strawberries. Another advertised local coffee.
Then came the houses. Here, in the middle of Burma, stood stately, sprawling British brick houses, complete with chimneypots, turrets and mock Tudor trim set behind elaborate gates and sweeping driveways. It wasn’t till Soe Soe slowed the car to give Natalie a better look that she saw that the gardens were overgrown, the entrance gates rusty and the grand houses dilapidated. When a horse-drawn carriage clipped smartly past them with its red and white trim and leather seats, Natalie was convinced that the next sight would be dandies in dress coats and ladies in crinolines. It was certainly cool enough and she was glad that the thieves had overlooked her lotus shawl.
‘Can we go in and look at one of these places?’ she asked.
‘I know one that might interest you,’ said Mr P.
The car slowed and turned where a buffalo wallowed in an overgrown drain on the roadside and grass thrust through the fancy loops of an iron fence. A sign picked out in peeling paint on a gate-post pillar read: Candacraig 1904.
The car wheels crunched on the untidy gravel drive and Natalie could see that while some effort had been made to tidy the formal front garden with its silent stained fountain and overgrown arbour, the once-grand hotel screamed neglect. Natalie got out of the car and gazed at the building. It seemed so English, and she felt an overwhelming sadness at its decline.
‘This must have been a marvellous hotel in its heyday. How romantic. And it could still be wonderful. I would love to fix this place up!’
She walked to the front entrance and into the hotel. The dining area and entertaining space, possibly a bar or a library, were devoid of furniture. A little girl sat playing with a kitten on the floor. A grand teak staircase swept up to the next floor.
Natalie’s footsteps echoed as she wandered around admiring the beautiful carving while noticing that the walls were seeping a mildew acne in festering patches. Paler marks on them showed where paintings had once hung. All that remained was the head of a forlorn stag that had seen better days, which stared bleakly at its empty surrounds.
The doors of the rooms were open, showing that they were all empty of furniture, and from the balcony she could see the remains of a tennis court, a swimming pool and a cracked cricket pitch. What looked to have once been a conservatory now had broken panes of glass and small birds nested inside it.
But, despite the dilapidation, there hovered remnants of gay times gone by. In Natalie’s imagination laughter drifted from the swimming pool, as well as the sound of the firm thunk of tennis balls, and the clink of teacups amid the drifting scent of roses and hyacinths.
‘I can just imagine what this must have been like,’ she said to Mr P with a sigh.
‘This place is famous because of Paul Theroux, the travel writer. He stayed here and mentioned it in his book The Great Railway Bazaar. He came back again not long ago to see the family who had run the hotel for many, many years. It is now owned by the government. Maybe it will open again one day.’
‘I hope Paul Theroux doesn’t come back any time soon. I’m sure he would be sad,’ said Natalie.
They drove into the township, complete with an old-fashioned clock tower and a neat row of shops and eateries. Mr P pointed out a huge area of beautiful gardens, with beds full of glorious flowers.
‘This is such a surprise!’ exclaimed Natalie. ‘This place doesn’t look like Burma. It seems quite foreign!’
Mr P chuckled. ‘Yes, not a monk or a pagoda in sight.’
In the centre of Pyin Oo Lwin the streets were jammed with loaded trucks, tankers and wagons.
‘They are all using the new road into China,’ explained Mr P.
They drove away from the town’s centre to where the dark wave of hills rolled towards the west in shrouded mist. Through dripping pines Natalie glimpsed a group of buildings that she could not quite make out.
‘What is that, Mr P? It looks like a posh housing estate or maybe a rich corporate enclave. Do you have places like that in Burma?’
Mr P asked Soe Soe to turn into a road leading towa
rds the complex of buildings Natalie had spotted. A sentry’s gatehouse stood at the entrance, but the whole place look deserted.
‘What are these building? It doesn’t look finished. How extraordinary. This place must have cost millions and millions to construct,’ said Natalie, peering at the glass-fronted contemporary buildings. ‘How can it just be left here?’
‘I’ve heard about this,’ said Mr P, craning his neck forward, trying to get a better look at the buildings. ‘It’s called Yatanarpon Cyber City and I believe it covers four thousand hectares. Two Chinese companies started building it a couple of years ago, to train information technology and communications students, but they seem to have come to a stop.’
‘There’s no-one around. Why don’t we drive in and have a look?’ said Natalie.
‘I think we’ve had enough trouble for one day. Let’s go and check in to our hotel and freshen up and see if we can call Princess Aye Aye to let her know that you’ve arrived.’
Their hotel, like many they’d passed in Pyin Oo Lwin, was eccentrically quaint. It was called The Welcome and Natalie was delighted when she saw that the clipped grass gardens were studded with massive old eucalyptus trees. ‘Well, that makes me feel welcome.’
The main building had wisteria climbing over the portico and the lavender petals from a jacaranda tree melted into the lawn. A smiling man came out to help them.
Natalie stepped into the lobby, which looked as though it had not been redecorated for years, though it was spotlessly clean. In it was a circle of heavy wooden armchairs with antimacassars, some small tables topped with lace doilies, old-fashioned ashtray stands and, above the open fireplace, a banner with ‘Welcome’ painted on it. At the small reception desk two smiling women waited. Beyond the lobby, Natalie could see a glassed-in dining room where the tables were set with small glass vinegar jugs, sauce bottles in crocheted dresses, silver-topped salt and pepper shakers and cut-glass sugar bowls. It was all very proper but modest.
Natalie followed the hotel attendant up the gleaming polished wooden staircase to the first floor. The hallway featured dark wooden panelling and a worn carpet. Her bedroom was very old-fashioned, probably decorated circa 1930. She smiled and thanked the attendant as he put her bag at the foot of the bed.
When Natalie pulled the elderly net curtain to one side, she looked down into the back garden and the remnants of a tennis court with its tattered netting, cracked surface and sagging mesh fence.
The small bathroom was also old but the water gurgling from the large brass tap was hot. Natalie washed her face, changed her top, took off her creased slacks and put on a long skirt, knotting her shirt at her waist. She smoothed her hair, put on some fresh lipstick and, on an impulse, took a fresh rose from the vase on the dressing table and tucked it in her hair before she went downstairs carrying her shoulder bag.
Mr P smiled when he saw her. ‘I have found the phone number for the princess. We can call from the desk here. I think she would prefer some notice rather than our simply arriving on her doorstep.’
‘I’m feeling nervous. I can’t believe I’m finally here.’
The girl at the desk made the call then handed Natalie the Bakelite telephone receiver.
‘Hello, hello, Princess Aye Aye? This is Natalie Cutler.’ Natalie turned to Mr P, her eyes shining as she listened to the voice at the other end of the line. She had reached her destination.
THEY DROVE THROUGH AN area dotted with large bungalows that were once the holiday homes of the wealthy British when they ruled Burma. Princess Aye Aye had invited Natalie and Mr P to share Devonshire tea with her. Her directions to her lodgings had been precise. The Empire Hotel was well away from the main road, as though not wanting to promote its presence. Indeed if they hadn’t been looking out for it, they could have easily passed its entrance, which was tucked between tall trees. The driveway wound up to a side entrance. The front of the hotel looked across a valley with views to the distant hills. The windows were shuttered and the place had the air of being closed for the season.
As they walked into the lobby, Natalie noticed that one of the main rooms was filled with furniture sleeping beneath dust covers. But there was a vase of fresh flowers on the reception desk and when they rang the brass bell a man appeared. Perhaps, thought Natalie, he is the Burmese equivalent of the trusty old retainer. He was courteous and asked them to take a seat while he rang through to inform Princess Aye Aye that her guests had arrived. He then led them along a corridor and through double glass doors beautifully etched with art deco birds and flowers and the words ‘Private Dining Room’.
It was a small room. In the centre was a round table, immaculately set with a generous damask table cloth, silver and china. When they were seated, the attendant spread starched napkins on their laps with a flourish. Natalie’s cup had the words ‘The Empire Hotel, Burma’ embossed on the rim.
‘Very old-style British,’ commented Mr P.
‘Nevertheless, we do try to keep abreast of current events. And you must be Mrs Cutler.’ A woman who could only be Aye Aye sailed towards them, smiling, her hand outstretched to greet them.
She was dressed in a pale green longyi of fine wool and an embroidered silk blouse. A fine shawl, draped as a scarf, hung around her neck. Her hair was coiled high on her head and secured by a delicate pin. Her skin was a creamy olive, surprisingly unlined. Her dark brown eyes seemed to take them both in and pass immediate judgment, which seemed to be favourable.
‘I am so pleased you could come. This is a wonderful occasion.’ Her voice was warm and musical.
Both Natalie and Mr P rose from the table and Natalie said, ‘Please, call me Natalie. This is U Phyu Myint, my friend.’
Mr P gestured mingalabar and murmured that it was an honour and pleasure to meet the princess Aye Aye.
‘I am simply Aye Aye. You will take tea with me? The traditional Devonshire tea is a specialty here. Tell me, Natalie, how do you like the local food?’
‘I enjoy it very much, although some dishes are very spicy. But they’re all delicious.’
A silver teapot, cream jug and sugar bowl were placed on the table as well as perfect, mouth-watering warm scones and what was obviously homemade strawberry jam. They ate the scones and Aye Aye asked Natalie about her friend Mi Mi. ‘I first met her years ago when she was working in a refugee camp in Thailand,’ she told Natalie.
‘She’s very well and hoping so much that one day she will be able to visit Myanmar,’ Natalie replied.
‘Yes,’ replied Aye Aye. ‘Perhaps one day. Now where have you been in my country?’
Natalie told her and was particularly enthusiastic about her visit to Bagan.
‘And what about you, Aye Aye? Do you live all the time in Myanmar or do you travel?’ asked Natalie.
‘Oh, I spent a lot of time in Thailand. I was always entranced by the stories of my royal predecessors’ interest in white elephants. My grandfather and great grandfather both had white elephants when they lived in Mandalay and I have become interested in them, too.’
‘You mean they’re real?’ exclaimed Natalie.
Aye Aye leaned back and smiled. ‘They certainly are. Have you ever seen one?’ she asked Mr P, who shook his head.
‘I thought they were mythical,’ said Natalie.
‘No, they exist. Actually, they aren’t pure white, more pale pink. They’re a strain of albino. Because they are so rare, they are revered and people believe they are powerful and magical and are related to auspicious predictions.’
‘Natalie, Aye Aye is famous for her love of elephants and she has worked to protect them for years,’ said Mr P.
Aye Aye smiled. ‘I lived for many years in Thailand actually where I started a sanctuary to protect elephants. It became quite large, and included several white elephants. Now I work to protect the elephants in Myanmar. They are being threatened by so many dangers. Poachers hunt them and their habitat is being destroyed. I know my grandfather dressed his white elephants with sprays of dia
monds on their heads and jewel-encrusted ornaments, and even let them drink from a golden trough, yet they were kept chained in the palace compound. Once you see elephants in their own environment, free to go to the river and bathe, you can’t bear to see them mistreated in captivity. You become very attached to them. I was working with my elephants in Thailand when I met my husband.’
‘Was he working with elephants, too?’ asked Natalie. She could see that Aye Aye was enjoying relating her story, and Natalie wanted to hear more about her life.
‘He was an English botanist who realised that we were losing plants and animals from tropical rainforests very rapidly. Rare plants often disappear even before they are documented. I try to carry on his work here in Myanmar, to have wildlife sanctuaries established to conserve the natural resources. But it is difficult to continue this work as the policies of the military government are unpredictable and they do not see the value of rare plants and animals compared with the money other natural resources like oil, gas, minerals and timber bring.’
‘You still work? Do you look for new plants?’ asked Natalie.
‘Yes. I have a small team from the university and some visiting international institutions like the Smithsonian who work with us. My ultimate dream is to have a proper botanical conservatory like Kew Gardens, where all of Myanmar’s specimens can be housed. One of the reasons I enjoy it here in Pyin Oo Lwin is the climate. There are wonderful gardens established here by the British and which the local government have turned into a showcase for Burmese plant biodiversity and a place for Burmese people to come and appreciate their national plant heritage.’
‘So when you are in Myanmar, you live here?’ asked Natalie.
‘That’s right. I always enjoy the change of climate.’
Natalie studied the elegant woman, who seemed to be in her late seventies, but who still exuded enthusiasm for what she was doing. ‘It’s wonderful work Aye Aye.’
