The dry is evident as you fly into Mandalay.
The wet season is somewhere around the corner.
It’s been late before to this part of the world.
Dry heat greets us off the plane.
Bus to the terminal.
Immigration arrival cards.
The higher the denomination,
the crisper the note,
the better the rate.
Shared taxi into town
Bougainvillea and flame orange colours
line the concrete highway.
The smell of gasoline.
Local passengers alight.
Driver puts windows up, air-con on.
Impolite to say no.
An unsealed road to our hotel.
Welcome to Mandalay.