City of shady wheelers and whiplash dealers, full of narrow alleys and sweaty cash and jewelers tucked away in dusty corners: two thousand glances from two thousand strangers’ faces. It’s a stained parking garage and it’s a cage of muscle-rippling, thunder-rumbling guard-dogs the owner himself is afraid to enter. It’s a city with rubies squirreled away in tiny closets locked with secret keys upstairs into musty rooms above the seedy kitchen.
This is Mandalay of a million motorbikes and screaming traffic migraines.
It’s a palace gargantuan stretching its green square for miles in the city’s heart. The past grandeur looms, imposes, and dies: a monument of prosperity and excess, a shell of its former self—too enormous to keep clean, too far ravished to stock with treasures, too little money and too few tourists to restore all its former circumstance. But too historic to forget entirely.
Gold and teak make a great palace
So she sits and broods on former glories, and makes a screeching donut of the city.
More.. http://piledlife.wordpress.com/2014/12/26/a-day-in-mandalay/
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