Marshmallow beds at the Motherland Inn

Sometimes it's easy to forgot how comfortable something used to be when it's no longer around. This is how I felt when I flopped onto my bed at the Motherland Inn (2) in Myanmar this past weekend. I didn't bruise my tail bone or receive a jolt on impact, I sunk... well, sort of. The beds at the Motherland Inn would be considered "firm" if I were mattress shopping in Canada. The beds at our condo in Bangkok would be considered appropriate for a kitchen table. The last intern had warned me to bring or buy a mat as cushioning. In my usual fashion I paid no attention. For the first few nights I woke up sore and stiff, and then, somewhere between arriving and going on our first visa run, I adapted. I had almost forgotten that the beds here were so stiff until I landed on my guesthouse bed Friday afternoon. Marian aptly defined the feeling as a "firm marshmallow". Pure comfort! 


Marshmallow beds aside our first introduction to the Motherland Inn wasn't as reassuring. After a delayed departure and an incredibly slow moving customs line-up we arrived in Myanmar to find out our ride to the guesthouse had already left for the morning and wouldn't be back until 5:30pm (it was 10am then). We arrived at the Inn by taxi to find out that they had no reservation under our name, despite having sent us 3 emails confirming our booking. While they sorted out the mishap we were shuttled into the breakfast room for a free breakfast and to wait. We were welcomed by a tall, unshaven, young German who was laughing at our confused state and the rate at which we were being rushed into the dining area. I swear he was planted there to appease new guests because he immediately turned our mood around (..... the food may have also helped). 


Here I had my first of three "wow, it's a small world" moments in Myanmar. Usually when talking to foreigners (and this often includes Americans) I have to explain where a place is in Canada by its proximity to Vancouver, Toronto, or Montreal. My favorite reactions are when I have to explain where I grew up. "Have you heard of Toronto? Yeah? I'm about a 24hr drive east of that city" [yes BC readers, there is more of Canada east of Toronto, and it's not just Quebec] or "Oh Vancouver, well if you cross a piece of land roughly the length of Russia you'll arrive in my hometown" -  jaw dropping reactions.   After half an hour of conversation the German asked where we studied in Canada. Assuming, as always, that people have no idea where Victoria is I've started defining it as "a few hours from Vancouver." Well, explanation unnecessary. We discovered that this guy had not only lived in Canada, but that he had studied for 9 months in Duncan, BC. For those of your not from/familiar with BC (I suppose that would be most of my readers), Duncan is a very, very small town up island from Victoria.  


Unfortunately, this friendly, unnamed man was leaving Myanmar the afternoon that we arrived.