In the arid dryness of the central Burma plain, lies Pagan. Between the 11th and the 13th centuries, as the site of Burma's capital, it was the location of magnificent architecture.  Today 2,217 pagodas remain, along with more than 2,000 ruined temples in the country now known as Myanmar. 

We had been out since dawn that morning to watch the colors of the sunrise spread across the plain from atop one of the ancient temples.  Later, we had travelled for miles among the ruins but had scarcely met another tourist.  Stopping at one of the huge ancient temples, we had passed through massive teak doors into the still coolness inside. As our eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness of rooms made of thick stone impenetrable by sunlight, we began to see before us the giant, gold Buddha, sitting silently in the dark, as it had for centuries.

By noon, we were tired, hot and dusty. It was the dry season and the temperature was easily 115 degrees fahrenheit. There was not a cloud in the sky. It was time for a mid-day break, some lunch and a rest.  We headed back to our hotel near the banks of the Irrawaddy River and upon our arrival went straight to the dining room.  There was no one there so we inquired at the front desk.  The desk clerk's lethargic shrug indicated that he didn't know, or care, the whereabouts of the dining room staff. Would he summon someone we asked.  Soon a rather heavy-set, though light-footed, man appeared.  Breathlessly, he inquired if he could help us.  We told him that we were hungry and would like to order lunch. He studied us a moment, then asked if we had ordered our lunch. Confused, we answered 'no' we had not, but 'yes,' that was our intention now.

'Ah then, I am so sorry,' was his reply. Slowly, from his broken English, we understood that it was impossible to have lunch served without prior notice to the hotel. The procedure was to order lunch in the morning, thus allowing the staff time to shop for food. In a country where few had refrigeration, everything was purchased fresh daily at a local market.

His apologies were profuse.  But it was clear that lunch was an impossibility. 'No order, no food,' he said with a big smile, shaking his head up and down in the affirmative.

We had, in fact, inquired at the front desk that morning, whether or not the dining room was

open for lunch.  Yes, we had been told, it was open. Obviously, we had neglected to ask the next question. 

 But we were too hot and tired to argue or care. We picked up two warm 7-Ups apiece from the lobby bar and carried them up to our room. We turned the room's air conditioner on high. It made a horrible noise.  We peeled off our sweat-soaked clothes, drank our soft  drinks and were both soon asleep on top of the bed.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My husband made himself presentable and opened the door. There stood the short but ample man from the dining room.  Breathlessly, he began to explain the reason for this 'unkind intrusion.' 

'Please, please, 15 minutes, come.'  He was holding out 10 fingers.  'You will eat. Please.  Please. Fifteen minutes,' he said still gesturing with 10 fingers.

My husband understood. 'Yes.  Thank you.  Fifteen minutes,' he repeated.  'But,' and now my husband had begun gesturing back, 'I don't eat meat' he said loudly as if volume might make what he needed to communicate easier to understand.  'NO MEAT.'

The animated little man stopped completely and made steady eye contact.  His smile was gone. 

'No meat?' he asked. 

'No meat.' my husband answered. 

'No meat?' was the incredulous response.

My husband elaborated. 'Vegetables OK.  Fish O.K. Meat, no.'

'No meat.  No meat.' We couldn't decide if he didn't understand the words or simply could not comprehend someone who did not eat meat.

'But, fish O.K.' my husband tried again.

'Fish O.K.?'

'Yes, fish O.K.'

'OK fish.  No meat.' He repeated the words again. He turned to leave.  'Come, come. Fifteen minutes.'  He rushed off.  We could hear the rapid slap, slap, slap, slap of his sandals down the long hallway.

We might eat after all.  My husband closed the door, removed his clothes and had just stretched out under the grinding air conditioner which was beginning to sound seriously like it might not last the 15 minutes to lunch.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My husband groaned, redressed and opened the door. There stood our Burmese friend.   

'Fish OK.  Fifteen minutes you come,' he announced with a broad smile and scurried off.

We rested a few more minutes to the sound of the dying air conditioner, then took showers as best we could given the slow, thin trickle of water from our shower.  The hotel had provided us with Cussons Imperial Leather soap from Indonesia, which promised 'a little luxury every day' and left us smelling spicy with a slightly medicinal afterscent.  Reasonably clean and refreshed, we put on dry clothes and went downstairs to the large dining room.

There was no one there.  But one table was set, complete with a white linen tablecloth and large, freshly-pressed napkins. The room was not air conditioned. All the windows were shut tight to the oppressive heat outside.  The ceiling fan over the table was on, circling at an alarming speed.  Even so, it was sweltering.

We sat down. No one came. Finally, our friend scurried in -- slap, slap, slap, slap.  'Hello, hello.  Please sit to dine,' he welcomed us, seeming not to notice that we were already seated.  'Soon you will eat. Just a moment, please.' He scurried off.

We waited. I picked up a menu at another table. Reading the 'European Louncheon' page, one entree caught my eye -- Roasted Beaf with Mushed Potatoes and Baked Bears.  I was glad that we had ordered fish.

Within minutes our waiter was back, now laden with bowls of freshly prepared food. We were elated to see that we were being served true Burmese food, which is very uncommon there.  Traditional food is eaten everyday at home, so the Burmese consider it a treat to eat something else when they dine out.  For that reason, there is a prevalence of Chinese restaurants across the country and we had been eating a monotonous diet of clear soup, rice and stirfry twice a day since our arrival.

Before us our new friend was placing a large dish of freshly cooked white rice, a plate of hot salad, lentil soup with vermicelli, and spicy cracker bread. Then, with a great flourish, he proudly placed a bowl of freshly prepared fish curry in front of us.  'Fish,' he beamed.  'This fish!' he reiterated. 'Very good this fish,' he went on.  He hovered over us. 'You like Burma food?' he asked but he didn't wait for our answer. 'This fish, very good. Very good.'  He disappeared in the direction we supposed the kitchen to be.

We barely had time to taste everything before he was back with a pot of hot tea and two cups.  Beads of perspiration were dripping down his face from his continuous exertion. He looked at us intently.

'Fish OK?' he asked. But without waiting for our answers he said, 'This fish very good. Very, very good,' he said definitively.  We continued to eat and nod our heads. He seemed not to need our answers. Besides he had scooted off again.

What he did or where he went on his frenzied trips was a mystery to us.  There was no one else in the dining room.  And the kitchen was either outside or in another part of the hotel because there were no kitchen sounds.  No sounds whatsoever as a matter of fact. Except for the fan overhead whirling at full speed.

We had not realized how hungry we were.  Even in the extreme heat of the dining room, we were beginning to feel renewed.

Our little man was back. His backless sandals slapping his feet with each quick step as he made his way across the large room toward us. 'You like fish?' he asked as he picked up the now empty serving dish.  'This fish, not bad fish.  Bad fish like this,' he gestured, 'this good fish.  This gudgeon. From Irrawaddy. Gudgeon. Spelled G - U - D - G - E - O - N. Gudgeon!'

It was delicious.

By the next time he had come back across the room -- slap, slap, slap, slap -- we had eaten everything.  This pleased him a great deal.  He started clearing our table. 

'You drink tea?  Tea very good.  This Chinese tea. Most Chinese very thin.  Drink lots of tea. Me?  I am very fat.' He patted his hefty girth. 'I drink a lot of tea but I am fat.'  He laughed heartily seeming to enjoy his own joke. 

He poured us both a cup of tea.  'Tea very good for your health. Good for digestion. Better than water. I make you a bottle of tea to take with you. Weather hot. Tea very good.'

He made yet another trip across the dining room, carrying out our plates.  Returning -- slap, slap, slap, slap -- across the large room, he brought two small plates toward us.  On each plate rested an unpeeled, green banana. This was dessert, or 'fruit in season' as it was ubiquitously referred to. It seemed like the whole country had only one 'fruit in season.'  We would add these to the growing collection of seasonal fruit we were carrying in our day packs.

Now that we were done eating and because he had delivered our bill, our waiter/adviser/friend had apparently finished all that was officially required of him. He seemed to be positioning himself comfortably for a prolonged conversation. 

But just then, another couple walked into the dining room.

Slap, slap, slap, slap -- he officially walked across the large room to greet them.  They were French but he spoke to them in the same broken English. 'You order lunch?' he asked them.  When they replied yes, he seemed confused.  'No order lunch,' he replied as if making a statement.  'Yes, order lunch.'  They were firm, 'this morning, order lunch.'  'One minute,' he said and scurried across the dining room. Soon he was back.  Slap, slap, slap, slap. 'No order lunch,' he said firmly. 

The French couple seemed not to be making much progress. 'Order fish,' one of them said loudly.

I doubt that our friend saw us leave.  He was -- slap, slap, slap, slap -- making his way hurriedly across the dining room speaking to himself loudly in Burmese. What he was saying, we could only guess.

Upstairs, our air conditioner was noisily holding its own. After the stifling heat of the dining room, even at 95 degrees our room felt wonderfully cool. We rested, read, played endless hands of solitaire, and waited for the hot, intense sun to pass into the afternoon sky. 

It was after 3:00 pm when, refreshed, we went back out onto the Pagan plain to spend the rest of the day visiting some of the most beautiful, ancient temples in the world.  Before we left the hotel, we stopped at the front desk. And there, waiting for us, as promised, was a bottle of Chinese tea. Not just any tea.   This tea was very, very good tea, I assure you!

 © Linda Rice Lorenzetti