Back to Yangon, we thought!

We left our happy hotel and walked a few blocks back to the train station in Kyaikto. The tickets to Yangon were only $1.20, for the five hour ride. They only had 'ordinary class' seats available, but we didn't mind as we thought it would be a very local, interesting way to save a few bucks and get a good story.... boy were we right!
The man who sold us the tickets told us in broken English to get the train at 1250pm. Since it was about an hour before then we got lunch at the train station and sat around waiting, watching some old northern exposure episodes inside the hot train station, trying to stay out of the hot sun. Looking up at the train station arrivals board, the train to Yangon was stated to arrive at 1235, and we were told it would be at the station for 15 minutes. At 1235, sure enough the train came.
The train cars were very, very poorly marked..... as in no markings. We searched for a ticket taker, conductor, attendant, but could find no one in any sort of official capacity. Some very friendly train patrons helped us find our train car. There were no chickens, livestock, or roof riders, but every other 3rd world cliché was surely being abided by. Just the sight of the hard, wooden bench seats caused my ass to turn purple. We shuffled down the aisle of the train, avoiding people with fruit baskets on their heads, giant bags of who knows what everywhere, old ladies sitting on the floor, all that good stuff. Jin had been practicing her Burmese numbers and was showing off her newfound abilities by trying to read the almost entirely faded numbers painted on the seats. Finally we made it to our seat, which was taken by some rather old ladies who were not the least bit interested in accommodating us.
There was nowhere at all to sit. Straddling the aisle sitters, we stood in utter confusion, trying to figure out what to do. A young man came over to us, looked at our ticket, along with a few other curious onlookers and ordered the ladies out of our seat. We both felt a little guilty, but their obvious lack of care in any way for us diluted our benevolence.
Sitting down, we noticed a circle of people around us, excited to stare at these curious newcomers to their train car. What joy.
Sitting, sweating, the object of countless stares and confusion we smiled awkwardly as I did my best to breath deep and end the fountain of sweat pouring from every inch of my body, all the while sitting in a wooden sauna that the Burmese call "trains."
In case you didn't know, Myanmar has some of the worst maintained trains in the world. The car literally bounces up and down to and fro, they even have a special word for derailments, though I cant recall it at the moment. Anyways, it was quite the uncomfortable adventure. Bouncing around for hours on a wooden bench with a group of teenagers staring at you from 24 inches away, sweating profusely and trying not to worry too much about a derailment is always interesting.
Jin noted that the sun seemed to be on the wrong side of the train, but perhaps we were just heading south before turning west on to Yangon. We watched the pagodas go by, the farmers working their fields, I read a few hours of Burmese Days, and I occasionally nodded at my smile challenged audience. Rivers, vistas, cows, dogs, payas, and even the sun came and went, and finally we reached a giant river which must be the long awaited Yangon port. I hung out the door of the car, going over the giant bridge, watching the water underneath go past, happily dreaming of our air conditioned room, with wifi, and showers.... oh the joys of travel.
Then we arrived.

In Mawlamyine. Yeah, the place we left the day before. First came a little whimper from Jin as she watched the train station sign greet us. Then some questions, then the stark realization that we had just sat for hours on the train going the exact opposite direction. Not one ticket taker or staff member had come through our train the entire journey. At least ten local travelers had inspected our ticket, none of which had remarked anything other than, "here's your seats."
We sulked, and exited the train, pissed as all hell. For once, Jin was more angry than me. I was simply mystified, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Sensing Jin's motivation to destroy, I simply followed, playing my calm husband routine(perhaps the first time I've gotten to enjoy this role!) Jin stormed in to the train station office, explained our situation, how there was no staff to help us, we hadn't seen a soul in uniform in hours, and how the message board had stated the 1235 train was going to Yangon. The staff was polite and courteously offered us a free overnight train ticket back to Yangon, on the hard bench. We both flat out refused. Sleeping in one seat on a wooden bench, in a hot train car, with locals bewildered and confusedly staring at you is not my idea of a good night's sleep. And while I'm all for saving money and having an adventure, this was not the time nor the place that I wanted such an experience.
I contemplated taking a taxi back to our beloved Aurora Guest House on Mawmalyine's main street.
Jin stood strong.
Eventually we got them to give us a free first class ticket back to Yangon.
We had an hour and a half to kill in Mawmalyine so we walked out of the train station, and found a restaurant where we got some local curry at a side of the road restaurant. I ogled at the guest houses lining the street, thinking perhaps I could offer them a dollar or two to use their shared bathroom to take a shower and wash the sweat off before my 9 hour train ride back towards the way we came.
We sat and ate the rather boring standard curry we've been living on for the past few weeks while our restaurant stand owner sat down and semi intruded on our frustration with small talk about his love for Obama after his recent visit to Myanmar. I sat, politely engaging in small talk, most of which he didn't understand, trying to be friendly. He mentioned that he owned the guest house right next door and I seized the opportunity, asking him if I could pay him to use a shower in the very dingy truck stop hotel. He instantly agreed and I was happier than could be.
The hotel was straight from a horror movie, and despite the local charm, I had one of the most enjoyable showers of my life. A new man, I thanked the owner profusely, trying in vain to pay for my services used, and unabashedly grinning at my newfound nonstickyness.
We hopped on the train, basically an Amtrak train car with about a billion hours of use and no maintenance and happily ate our ambiens and passed out, awaking during the turbulence(or a new definition of "train hopping") just long enough to roll over and try to get comfortable again. Totally confused about what to do at 4am in Yangon, we walked the few blocks back to our previous haunt, the Tadar Guest House and found all the staff 110% passed out on both couches and a cot on the floor of the lobby. Feeling guilty about bothering anyone at such an early hour, and not wanting to pay for that night(8 hours until noon) of the hotel, I let Jin sleep on the three square benches while I laid on the tile floor between our hosts sleeping on their cot and couch. A bit nervous about our precarious bed, I laid motionless on the floor, just happy to not be on a train and hoping to get a bit of rest for free.
After a while, the cot sleeping manager rolled over and curiously looked at this pathetic foreigner sheepishly grinning back at him. With a touch of pity, he quietly awoke, and gave us a room(for the next night thankfully.) Me and Jin thanked him again and again, locked our bags in our new, clean abode and swiftly exited the hotel, catching a taxi for sunrise at Shwedagon Paya, the "most sacred Buddhist pagoda in Myanmar."