I blame the Bilim monks for the lack of photos though ...

I lost track of the days when it was happening, so I'll just number them one/two/three and still probably be out by a day or two...

Day One:
If you were paying attention gentle reader to the last bits in my previous entry, I left you while uploading photos onto the journal. While uploading those photos I had a meal, a fishy meal (double entendre intended). In doing so, I violated one of the Cardinal Rules of Asian Travel: West of Thailand, do not eat the pork or the fish. Even the locals won't do this, so why did I? I paid in full for the momentary lapse in judgement.

I spent that night in the loo, head affixed to a rubbish bin and arse to the loo. It happens. Especially if you break one of the Cardinal Rules.

Day Two:
I can't rightly remember because things are a bit hazy and I stopped taking notes at this point, but I think I stayed over in HpaAn for another night. I took a dose of antibiotics, which at that point did help matters. So next morning I felt ok and thought I'd do the 50 km to Thaton. I didn't eat much that day as I wasn't feeling 100% and cycling in the tropical heat does take away my appetite. I can remember eating a light lunch and a light meal that night.

Day Three:
Next morning I thought I'd cycle to Bilim which is only about another 40 km towards Yangon on the AH1. More importantly, at Bilim there are roads heading north and I desperately wanted to get off of this Hell Bitch Highway (AH1). But unfortunately, at Bilim things started to unravel. I had two options on a way north. By mistake I end up on the more easterly route that would have been interesting, but was also more remote and challenging and at this point I was realising I didn't want to be too remote... My stomach was starting to play up. So I turned around and rode back towards Bilim, found the intended more westerly way north and started up that road. I added about 20 km to my day finding the right route.

By then I knew I was heading for another full bout of food poisoning... or was it just a return of the first one? I don't rightly know. I stopped and sat under a shady tree to consider my options. I read up on my travel antibiotics and decided to start a full course of Norfloxacin, even though by this time it was probably too late to do any good.

A kindly couple on a motorbike stopped and asked if I was ok. Clearly, they could see I wasn't and I told them I would head back to Bilim and find somewhere to stay. Looking at me, they agreed that maybe this might be the prudent thing to do. By the time I got to Bilim, I was barely standing. I mean that literally, not as a standard commonly overused phrase. Looking down, I was thinking, "I should really have my helmet on right now, those rocks look hard and will hurt me when I pass out." Someone said "hello." I asked if he spoke English (no) and then mimed if there was anywhere to spend the night. He shook his head (no), no hotel/guesthouse, but motioned to the Buddhist Monastery opposite.

I can't remember things very well after that. Or maybe I just don't want to... I remember being given a pallet on the ground floor of a filthy derelict dormitory building, where I slept alongside a newly three legged temple dog that was in the process of losing that fourth leg to gangrene. We made great bunk mates. I remember a kind monk giving me a massage and looking at me with some concern. I remember spending the whole night in my dirty cycling clothes, all night, throwing up blood (about half a litre's worth) into a plastic bag. The mozzies took their share of the free meal on offer, too. I remember the stench of the newly three legged dog and wondered if I smelt as bad to him.

Day Four:
Sometime after arriving at the Monastery, someone went through my handlebar bag and stole my mobile phone. I couldn't say when, but do remember realising it was gone at some point in the middle of the night. I complained about it in the morning but they all just looked at me like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. They were all monks on the path to enlightenment and above such things. As I was packing up, one of the monks, puffing on a cigarette, asked me for a donation in US Dollars, pointing to a crisp new US one dollar bill he held in his hand. I pointed to my missing mobile phone and then to his nice shiny new phone and said to him politely, I'd rather not thanks.

The state I was in, they could have easily stripped me naked and taken everything; so in hindsight, just losing the phone wasn't all that bad.

Things get blurry again at this point. I do remember cycling slowly to the main road a few km away and stopping in front of an offloading bus, miming if they would take me down the road and getting pointed at the ticket seller. I just wanted to get to Yangon or as close as possible to it. I paid 5000 kyat for me and the bike and to what I thought was a ride to Bago.

Sitting in the bus I spent my time throwing up more blood into another plastic bag and dozing. I got woken up and kicked off the bus around midday at some intersection somewhere on the road to Yangon. I'm missing my phone now because I don't have the foggiest where I am ....

It's hot, really hot, probably pushing 42+ degrees. No water is getting into me as every time I try to drink, I just instantly bring up blood. The exchange ratio of blood/water is not good: more of both are going out than going in. I think it must be at least day three, maybe four since I had a full meal. I'm thinking something inside of me is broken and leaking after all of the continual retching and that's now making it impossible for me to get any water down. I self diagnose a torn oesophagus (later confirmed).

I sat in the shade of a shop for three hours waiting for the midday heat to burn off and trying to get some water into me, without much success. Around 1500 I decide to make for the nearest hotel which I'm told is only 5 km up the highway towards Yangon. I don't know what happened to Bago, if we had passed it or if it was ahead. When I asked I got some vague philosophical response that everything was Bago and nothing was Bago. Oh well... off to the hotel. Luckily, it wasn't too far and I got the directions confirmed at the local police station. "Can I stay there?" "Yes, no problem you can stay there," they say.

When I arrived I was told that sorry, they only take locals, no foreigners. And that the resort for tourists (uh, sounds expensive...) was only 15 minutes on my fancy bike - in the other direction. I turned around and cycled back. I ran over a pedestrian at one point, I remember that. People listen for the blast of a horn and a group of girls were just blindly walking across four of the most dangerous lanes of traffic in Asia without looking.... ding, ding, ding of the bike bell just didn't do it. I should have screamed out and hit the brakes, under normal circumstances there was ample time for both. But what the eyes saw, the brain could not compute and translate into action. I was going so slow anyway that it was a minor impact that took neither of us off of our feet. But she's probably still nursing a couple of bruises.

By the time I get to the Shwe Phi Resort and Restaurant, it's getting late and I'm done - there will be no more pedalling today. They want $180 usd in cash per night. I don't have usd and tell them not everyone in the world carries thousands of usd in their wallets (Burmese Generals not included). We negotiate a better deal. It's amazing what throwing up blood on their lawn does to drop the price. I should maybe adopt this tactic more often? After a couple more bloody negotiation rounds, in the end I get two nights for $125 each night, on the credit card. All things considered, it's a bargain.

The comparison between last night's lodging and tonight's is so wide and deep I still can't bridge that gap when I think about it. Mostly sitting upright, I finally manage to stop throwing up blood during the night and get a good 4 hours desperately needed sleep.

Day Five:
I spend most of the morning sleeping. The blood/water exchange ratio is improving. I'm no longer losing blood, and a bit of water is going down in small sips and staying down. In the afternoon one of the resort employees takes me to Bago (yes there is a Bago) on his motorbike to buy another mobile phone and get me connected to the internet. I spent the rest of the day sleeping.

Day Six:
I negotiate a ride to Yangon with the hotel. They provide the mini-truck and driver and it only costs me $50 aud. I can't complain, wouldn't think of it as they took very good care of me when I needed it desperately. And no one stole any of my gear...

So tonight I'm in Yangon, staying at the Bike World Myanmar Bed, Breakfast & Bike Inn for a few days. I'll see if I can get a doctor to confirm my diagnosis and see what course of action she/he recommends.

I know my tour is over, even if I don't want to admit it.