Trains, Bikes and Buses

It is Sunday in Myanmar and like all Sundays, I always plan to do something different. Today, I was planning on visiting an orphanage run by a cousin of one of our teachers but the government still does not allow foreigners into the Irrawaddy Delta area so that put an end to that idea.I decided instead to take the train . Why? Because everyone from the Myanmar teacher to the bell boys told me it was crowded, dangerous and a horrible experience. How could I resist such a temptation?

I had the bellboy write in Myanmar that I wanted to travel on the circle line which essentially takes about two hours to circumnavigate Yangon. Great idea, I thought, but I either missed this train or it does not exist. However, there was a train going to the north west Yangon to a place called Insein (where the infamous jail is located). The jail, incidentally is in a rather nondescript area between two stalls of market stores and a little discreet sign saying ‘Yangon correctional institute.’ That is like calling the Gestapo an improvement facility.

When I went to buy my ticket I said Insein ( pronounced insane) and put my few kyats on the counter. Unlike everyone else, I was told I had to pay with American money. Who has American money in Myanmar? They do not even have banks or ATM machines. When I finally borrowed a dollar from another tourist (the only one of thousands of people in the train station), they thankfully took it and waved me to an office around the corner. When I got inside, the train officer asked to see my passport and asked me to write the purpose of my visit on an official looking piece of papter. He then proceeded to write the ticket in triplicate. You have to understand that everyone else simply got a stub and off they went. I do not even think there was a guard on the train to collect tickets!

The train live up to its’ billing by the way. It was crowded, hot and falling apart at the seams. The aisles were not only full of people but huge bags of produce, furniture people were bringing home, and various bits of equipment. Thankfully there were no animals on board. The floors were wooden, the ceilings chipping away and there with wooden slat benches on either side of the train. I had to literally twist my body to look out the window so I sat on the table in the middle of the isle. I later found out it belonged to one of the passengers who was too polite to ask me to get off of it. In fact, everyone offered me a seat and forced people to move or get up. I think it was because I was an’ honoured’ tourist (or maybe because of my age), but there sure appeared to be people much older.

At every station, sellers came on to sell drinks and other ‘stuff’ I could not recognize. Water was popular. The guy would have a round bucket filled with water with about two or three silver cups. When people ordered water, they were given the goblet to drink out of and then passed it on to the next customer. It actually reminded me of doing the same thing when I went to the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow in the l970’s. Even though we all drank out of the same cup, I did not see anyone die on the train.

When I got to Insein, I got off the train and found one of the ubiquitous bike guys who gave me a tour of his town. There were the markets and so on, but he insisted on taking me to the pagodas. Since you can’t wear shoes or socks at these places, I just kept my socks in my pocket so I just had to take off my shoes. He also took me to the banks of the river where I saw how ‘real’ people live, in open air shacks. There were no windows, air conditioners or running water but everyone spent the day in each other’s house from what I could see and seemed to be having a grand old time. I took a picture of one of the houses and a guy came yelling out after me. I thought he was going to yell at me for taking a picture of his house, but instead wanted me to come inside and take more pictures.

Since I was anxious to get back to Yangon…it seemed like it was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, I declined. The thought of the pool at the hotel held a certain allure at this time of day. I thought it would sort of be romantic to take the bus back but the romance quickly disappeared as people crowded in and inevitably found space where no space appeared to be had. Eventually I had to get off to breath for a bit, but eventually took another bigger bus and arrived downtown, sort of safe and sound. When I got home I washed my hands and the sink turned black from holding the railings of the bus and train, I suppose.

I am glad I went. When I told one of the teachers on Monday what I did, he said; “you mean, there are trains in Myanmar?”