“In my day I used to be fancy. Honest.”

The only thing that makes most of them stand out from the ordinary buses is that they have padding on the seats, rather than just wooden boards. Oh and the tvs, which, when they’re not playing terrible Burmese cover versions of the Black Eyed Peas’ Where Is The Love?, show soap operas which are just as bad. I can only assume that the Eastenders script writers moonlight for the Burmese soaps too as plot lines I saw during my trip included a long-lost brother and sister falling in love; women coming to blows over a man they both fancy and many, many, tearful girls being kept apart from their one true love by their parents.

Anyway, I digress.  The point is, the bus I was on suddenly stopped – again, not actually that unusual in Burma, a country where the majority of roads are covered in pot holes. Everybody jumped out and the driver and his assistant appeared to tighten – although not actually change – a tyre. We then, worryingly, all piled back into the bus and appeared to coast to the nearest town. Once there we immediately went to a garage where we were told the bus was broken and would take “at least” two hours to fix (although we weren’t holding our breath). However the conductor told us not to worry as another “bus” was on the way.

The “bus” turned out to be a pick-up truck they flagged down at the side of the road, already packed to bursting. But using the Burmese motto of “there’s always room for one more”, my fellow travellers were told to sit up on the roof and, as I was the smallest, a tiny wooden stood was found for me which was places between the knees of the women sitting on the benches on either side of the truck.