T A B L E_T A L K Discuss the charming aspects of travel in China in Table Talk's Wanderlust area   Find a world of travel books -- new, rare and out-of-print -- at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Escape from Tashkent By Jeffrey Tayler A Peace Corps worker unwittingly falls into a romantic adventure with a Russian waitress stranded in Uzbekistan (02/25/99) Ground zero By Ellen Meloy Excerpt: The Last Cheater's Waltz (01/24/99) Death in Ghana By Tanya Shaffer A simple succession of events in an African village leads to a tragedy -- and a traveler's haunting sense of hopelessness (02/23/99) Walking on silk By Thomas Golembeski A massage teacher in Thailand changes a Westerner's life (02/22/99) This week in travel Wanderlust's select guide to the top travel-related news stories from around the globe (02/19/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		---A traveler discovers the real Burma on a train to Mandalay. BY MORRIE ERICKSON The railway station's platform was teeming with people, choking with cargo. Burmese scrambled in every direction, hands clutching tickets and parcels, like the onslaught of spectators entering a sporting event. Suitcases and tiny children were handed through windows, hands were shaken, families embraced. Porters manhandled bulging rice bags up cramped staircases and through narrow corridors, returning to fetch oversized boxes labeled Sony. Bamboo poles were loaded. So were pottery and woven baskets, crates of oranges, avocados and tomatoes, piles of coiled rope, cages of squawking chickens, bamboo trays of eggs, straw-cushioned cases of Chinese beer, layers of stinking fish. It looked more like an exodus than a journey. My friend Tammy and I were taking our own journey from Myitkyina, in northern Burma, to Mandalay, a city only about 250 miles south, but that would take us about 24 hours to reach. We got on the train in the afternoon in a compartment labeled "upper class" -- a first for both of us -- only to find out that we were sharing it with two Burmese men, one pint-sized and in his 30s, the other heavy-set and in his 60s. The train's whistle blew, its cars squeaked and jerked into motion, and those staying behind shouted good-byes and walked alongside, waving, until we were gone. Beyond the station, we stared out the window into the faces of hundreds of Myitkyinans turning to look, most on foot, others pedaling bicycles, riding oxcarts, straddling water buffalo, their faces showing wonder, yearning, a desire to be on that train. We rolled slowly but inevitably out of town, then Tammy sliced the top off an avocado, which we passed back and forth, spooning out its soft, buttery flesh with crackers. The Burmese declined a dip, politely waving us no. Tammy knotted the rind and seed in a plastic bag, shoving it into the cavity below. The Burmese watched quizzically, then signaled to chuck it out the window. We shrugged them off with a smile, then settled back to watch Upper Burma pass by. Rails clack-clacked rhythmically; the tiny, skinny Burmese dozed quietly at one end of his bench while his husky companion snored noisily like a buzz-saw at the other. I checked my watch. Twenty-three hours to go. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The train ground to a halt in a tiny village. It was a lazy place, with dogs sleeping in the shade beneath trees, pigs wallowing in mud pits, chickens slowly pecking dirt. Across the platform stood a dinky shop. I crossed to the store. On display were the usual products, ranging from toothpaste to sunglasses to bolt cutters. Being upper class and feeling extravagant, I selected a bottle of Chinese beer the size of a bowling pin, a flask of Mandalay Rum, a chocolate brick to satisfy Tammy's craving and a box of cheese-flavored crackers. I handed the purchases through to Tammy, who was gnawing on the chocolate before I could hoist myself through the window. It was early evening when boxed dinners were handed out. Tammy and I weren't hungry. Stupidly, we hadn't bothered to ask if food would be served, simply assuming it wouldn't. Tiny and Buzz-Saw attacked theirs with a vengeance, while Tammy and I nibbled on some barbecued fowl on a spindly bone. It might have been chicken or pigeon. Maybe duck. I don't know. Tasty, though, whatever it was, its fiery sauce begging to be chased with Chinese beer. So, we chased it. Next was a plastic bag of sticky rice laced with spices and peppers, followed by another packed with soybeans softened in oil and vinegar. We stashed our leftovers beneath the bench, then watched Tiny and Buzz-Saw fling theirs out the window, Frisbee-style. Slamming onto the ground, the boxes burst open. From other parts of the train, more boxes went flying. So did newspapers, plastic bags, orange rinds, banana skins. Like other Southeast Asian countries, Burma litters. The casual tossing of trash menaces the landscape. At the outskirts of villages, the obscenity of the plastic bags dotted the landscape within blowing distance of the tracks, bags impaled on thorny bushes, tangled in root clusters, knotted around wagon wheels and fence posts, wedged into building slats. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It was dark now and we were feeling the evening chill. Earlier, Tammy had climbed into the upper bunk, wrapped herself in a soft blanket she had purchased in Myitkyina and settled in with a book. "So-o-o-o glad I bought this blanket," she said cockily, knowing I had left mine behind. "Bet so," was all I could muster. Wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, with goose-bumps rising on my arms like pimples on a teenager's face, I was coveting that blanket. I would have to drag out trousers and a sweater from my backpack and make do. Lowering the window stopped the breeze but not the chill. The Burmese were turning in. Tiny scampered into his upper bunk, stripped down to a T-shirt and slacks, then stretched out beneath his bedding. It looked warm up there. Buzz-Saw pulled out a couple of blankets and what looked like a rolled-up sleeping bag. I stared hard at the sleeping bag, then watched as he made up his bed with the blankets. He wouldn't be cold under all that. I shivered, then tugged on a sweater and was ready to dig for long trousers when Buzz-Saw came to the rescue. He fumbled with the sleeping bag, not sure how to unravel it, then handed it across. "I no need," he said. "Me never use." Slapping him on the shoulder with thanks, I grabbed the bag greedily, undid a couple strips of Velcro, rolled it out across my bench and crawled in. Tammy peered down from her upper bunk. "You lucky SOB," she said. N E X T+P A G E | A porcelain adventure   _________________________________ For more information: _________________________________