The Captain
We had to travel up the Irrawaddy River from Mandalay to visit ancient temples. The river was wide and muddy. The sky seemed to glitter in the hammering sun. Puffy white clouds lent a Sunday picnic feel to our outing as we chugged past jungle villages where women and children bathed in the murky waters. On the banks, bamboo was roped into rafts large enough for the bamboo workers to build a small house to live in as they floated their harvest to the sea. Gleaming gold pagodas crowned the mountain tops. The other passengers wearing pith helmets made of palm leaves stood by their cargo laden bicycles.
We were in the heart of Asia.