An Enormous Dong and a Familiar Song

Our time in Mandalay had ended as quickly as it had begun.  Though the vast majority of tourists opted for private taxis to the town of Pyin Oo Lwin, no more than a three hour drive, we knew immediately we’d rather utilize local transportation if only for the unique experience.  A small pickup truck with the bed converted into bench seating and a cover with a roof low enough to prevent me from sitting up straight throughout the entirety of our voyage provided the least expensive and most authentic option.  Within minutes of leaving the heart of the city we were reminded of why we continued to choose the simpler, local methods of travel.  As we pulled into a small gas station on the outskirts of town, a pair of young girls working the pumps froze with awe at the sight of us sitting in the rear of the truck.  Their eyes locked on Jessie involuntarily, only breaking their line of sight to gaze at me for a moment before returning to her.  I don’t believe I stared so intently the first time I’d ever set eyes a vagina!

With the usual language barrier preventing any sort of proper communication, we concluded smiles and waves would have to suffice.  The girls however, couldn’t return to their daily routine until fully satisfied they had imprinted such a rare image in their permanent memory, all of us exchanging bouts of laughter in response to their insatiable curiosity.  Their shy innocence couldn’t possibly provoke any amount of irritation.  There was no invasion of personal space or inappropriate behavior, only the sight of two teenage girls infatuated with the sight of my beautiful blonde haired blue eyed woman.  Their hands continued to attempt hiding their mouths while allowing their laughter continue, forcing us to do the same until eventually pulling back onto the main road.

The open air in the back of the truck allowed for a barrage of dust and pollution to continuously suppress our usual breathing, often compelling us to cover our faces with the sleeves of our shirts.  The small, underpowered truck screamed uphill throughout most of our journey, each of us grasping the metal bars beneath the canvass cover above our heads to prevent us from being thrown to the opposite side of the truck while zipping around hairpin turns in the mountains.  A twenty minute break half-way to our next destination proved to be timely, gifting us the opportunity to stand on solid ground without shifting from side to side as the driver used one of the many hoses stretching from behind a few simple restaurants to cool the battered engine.  If not for Jessie’s trusty Sea-bands (small bracelets with beads pushing on strategic pressure points in her wrists to prevent motion sickness), I’m positive I would have been wearing the morning’s breakfast well before arriving.

Although Pyin Oo Lwin had attractions out of town, there was one main reason we had chosen to stop before continuing on.  A well-known train ride was rumored to provide an experience like no other, complete with a slow crawl over a vast gorge high in the mountains.  Little did we know, the cute, quaint town held a small surprise that evening.  Our ears perked up to the sound of live music, initially confused about its origin.  We continued to walk along the main road through town, the music growing louder with each step.  Just ahead a wonderfully unusual sight came into view.  Parked on the side of the busy street was an old farm truck normally used to carry large amounts of crops, but instead of piles of freshly picked produce, we would find a local music band surrounded by proper speakers and electronic equipment powered by a generated hooked up to the rear of the truck.

We stood still as our jaws dropped slightly, amazed at the sound of an electric guitar, full drum set, acoustic guitar and gifted singers.  A slight break in the music was quickly replaced with a familiar song we hadn’t heard in quite some time.  There, on the street in the middle of a small town in Myanmar, a girl took hold of the microphone and belted out Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” in Burmese as the other members in the band accompanied with perfect tone and harmony.  Our faces lit up with excitement, our feet tapping the ground while our heads bobbed to the rhythm.  Jessie carried out the words in English, her movements capturing the singer’s attention and inspiring a wide smile of appreciation for her involvement.  Cars crept slowly past the event as teenagers lined the section of the street holding plastic bags and asking for donations to raise money for fire safety awareness.  I reached into my pocket without hesitation, seizing the opportunity to donate to a great cause.

The next morning I awoke with a painful growl, becoming fully aware of the tenderness on my hips and tailbone following a night’s sleep in a mattress comprised of a half an inch of foam at best and resting on a hard wooden frame.  It had been a long time since we had each tossed and turned throughout the night while switching from one painful position to the next, but we remembered the uncomfortable mornings all too well.  With walls seemingly thin as paper, I could only imagine the thoughts racing through the minds of the guests able to hear our moans of discontent.  No doubt our persistent gasps and creaking bed as we flopped from side to side were mistaken for passionate outbursts due to a night filled with incredible sex.  How we wished that were the case!

Needless to say, we hadn’t had the luxury of a proper night’s rest before our upcoming six hour train ride to Kyaukme.  If rumors were true, we were in for an epic ride, and it wouldn’t take long to understand what other travelers had tried to relay from their own experiences.  With cars not fitted properly to the tracks, we consistently rocked from side to side as if surviving a ferry ride in an angry ocean.  Our passenger car hopped off the track repeatedly as I struggled to keep my head still enough to maintain a proper view of the opening leading to the car ahead of us, my eyes protruding with a slight grin on my face while noticing the drastic amount each car swayed during longer stretches of our trip.

My gaze fell slowly to my lap, staring at a monstrous bulge in my crotch.  As I looked over at Jessie I could tell she immediately knew it wasn’t because I had found a medical breakthrough to drastically increase the size of my penis by inches overnight.  Rather, my money belt charged with hiding our stash of local currency along with our USD and my passport had grown thicker than ever before.  Of course I could have adjusted myself properly, but I was far to consumed with squeezing every ounce of entertainment from the situation.  I couldn’t help bragging in my short-lived fantasy about how I could easily outshine even the most well-endowed of horses.  Truth be told, we enjoyed the laughs over the fictional size of my dick more than the time we spent crossing the Gokteik Viaduct.  For those who find greater appreciation with the construction of bridges it may have been more appealing, but we couldn’t help thinking how exaggerated it had become in the good old Lonely Planet nearly every traveler seems to use.

Eventually the train slowed to a gentle halt in the town of Kyaukme where only we and a small handful of tourists stepped off the train and into the station, greeted cheerfully by the guide who would be accompanying us for a three day, two night trek.  Jessie had spent hours upon hours researching various treks and determining the best option for us only to find the perfect opportunity.  With a mix of motorbiking and trekking, we were hooked immediately.  Yet I have to admit, as excited as we were for our newest upcoming adventure, we could have spent days simply walking through the local market and around the streets of the charming town visited far less by tourists than others.

Locals smiled and offered greetings nearly every five steps we took.  More times than I could remember we were stopped by someone hoping for a small conversation, whether curious as to our opinion of their country and where we were from or only looking for the chance to practice their English.  If Kyaukme was any inkling as to what lied ahead of us the following morning when setting off for three days, we were in for a truly rewarding journey.