Chinese Whispers

We used to play Chinese Whispers when I was a young child. It was a game where you sat in a circle and one person whispered something to the person next to them and they in turn whispered the message to the next person. This would continue until the whispered message went full circle back to the originator of the message. It was always funny to compare the final message with the original because we hear what we want to hear and not what is being said.

Unfortunately, that lesson can go horribly wrong sometimes, even for the most innocent of reasons. Like the hotel’s chef this morning at the egg station of the breakfast dining room.

“Yes sir, what would you like?” He asked me.

“An omelette please, with cheese, onion and tomato. Thanks Chef.” I replied.

However, what he heard was “Omelette please, chilli, onion and tomato.” Now, that doesn’t sound too bad does it? However, when you are in an Asian country, in this case Myanmar, then the attitude towards chilli’s is in a whole other league than what I am used to.

I was not paying much attention to the chef making my omelette so I did not see the handfuls, yes handfuls, of the little green slices of death being thrown into the omelette like confetti at a wedding.

I thought it tasted a bit funny but I guessed it might have been the little bit of HP Sauce I had added afterwards, perhaps the bottle was out of date. It wasn’t!

I had already eaten most of it, I was in a hurry, before the heat ambushed my taste buds. My whole head was suddenly engulfed in sweat and tears were forming in my eyes. Gulping the only drink I had to hand, boiling hot tea, was cooler than the volcanic devastation growing in my mouth. Struggling to breath I left the breakfast dining room.

It is amazing how much saliva your mouth produces when it is going into meltdown. The Chinese couple I shared the lift with up to my floor, kept staring at me in confusion as I tried to smile at them whilst making wild sucking noises through my teeth.

The other down side of chilli’s, is that entering your body is only half the story. Asian chilli’s, it must be said, like a drama. There is nothing subtle about them at all. Only a few hours later, I was walking  back to the hotel for some lunch when my brain received a message from my bowels. Well, it was not so much a message as a threat, a very violent death threat. Apart from the third degree burns to my mouth, the rest of my body had made no complaints about the omelette, or so I thought. It turns out that the rest of my body’s internal organs had had a secret ballet and voted unanimously to refuse citizenship to the chilli omelette. Deportation proceedings had begun immediately. My brain was only informed of this decision as the omelette, now raging with anger, was being put on the first available transport out of my body. My initial response was to raise both eyebrows, a far as they would go, and begin shaking. I was about a hundred metres from my hotel when I became acutely aware of the need to run. It is hot in Myanmar, very hot, and I think we can all agree that fat men running is sweaty business even in ideal conditions. Bear in mind that I am running only from the knees down, on account of the fact my arse cheeks are clenching so tight I could use them to crack walnuts. This is not the most efficient way to run but I was still able to go so fast that everything was a blur. Of course, this could have been me entering a state of deliriousness. The sweat was pouring off me and every time I breathed out I was also mumbling the words “oh no”.

My hotel has security personnel and an x-ray scanner for checking bags as people enter the hotel. The security guard looked at me with a puzzled expression as I approached the hotel. I can not blame him for the quizzical look, after all, my shins and feet were a complete blur of motion and the rest of my body completely still. I was running out of time, deportation was imminent, the security guard politely opened the hotel door as I approached and indicated towards the x-ray machine. It was then I remembered the small rucksack on my back. I don’t remember how I took off the rucksack so fast. What I do remember is the guard’s face of horror as I thrust the bag into his arms and screamed, “YOU KEEP IT!” and kept running into the hotel. I only just made it to the toilet and the screams could be heard, not just throughout my hotel but probably across half of Yangon. When I finally stopped sobbing I returned to the lobby to collect my bag. The guard had not moved, he was still stood rigid with my bag held closely to his chest. Not only was he visibly relieved that I came back for the bag but his laughter, probably a mixture of fear and nervous relief, became quite hysterical when I tried to explain what had just happened……..using sign language.

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