Nonetheless, a Kipling cafe sits across from the old Mandalay Palace—surrounded by four two-kilometer walls and moat which form a square around the restored royal household—which also houses military buildings.
In another indication of why Burma's government might have a bit to do if the country is to realize its unfulfilled tourist potential, two banners draped on the palace walls extol the merits of the Tatmadaw, the Burmese government's army.
“Tatmadaw and the people, cooperate and crush all those harming the Union,” reads one, a line that could have been lifted from Burma's parody-proof state newspaper, The New Light of Myanmar.
Even without the banners, the palace is tainted by accusations that it was rebuilt during the 1990s using forced labor—in keeping with long-standing allegations that the Burmese military press-gangs men and boys into working as porters and sometimes front-line cannon fodder in its campaigns in ethnic minority regions.
Locals are at best ambivalent about the palace and the surrounding area. “You need to go outside Mandalay to see the real Burmese,” says Lu Maw. Asked about how the city has changed in recent years, he answers,“Mandalay is like Hong Kong,” referring to the city's influx of Chinese citizens in recent years.
Some estimates put the Chinese population at around 30 percent of Mandalay's more than one million inhabitants. Mandarin signs proliferate on downtown shopfronts, and glass-fronted Chinese-style hotels are a common sight.
No joke from Lu Maw now. “Those are just fronts for drug dealers. The government turns a blind eye, and sells Burmese ID cards to the Chinese,” he concludes.
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