Myanmar - On Board The Circular Train
This post is dedicated to the beautiful people we met on this train journey. Especially to the twins. May you all be safe and healthy. May peace return to your incredible country. May the future be kind to you.
I will confess that the thought of taking a local train unnerved me somewhat. The reasons being, my non-existent ability to speak any Myanmar and the state of the actual train. Anxiety quite justified. Looking at the people running across the tracks, I realised that safety certainly was not top on the priority list. However, it was a journey of tranquillity and magic. One through which we gained deep insight into the lives of the people of Myanmar. Equipped with our humour and deep respect for other cultures, Debbie and I made our way to the Yangon train station downtown. The sheer thrill of moving out of our comfort zone to embark on a journey into the unknown, was exhilarating.
Stepping out of the taxi, we were met by yet another architectural wonder of Yangon. The Yangon Central Railway Station. The British Victorian-style station was first built in 1877 by the British. It was later demolished and a new railway station was built in 1911. Extensive damage was caused to that station during World War 11. The third station was completed in 1954. This Burmese-style masterpiece exudes a sense of grandeur. One is captured by the magnificence of this building. Standing in its presence, I was taken by not only its beautiful design, but by the reality it housed. People were selling fresh produce from huge baskets. Kids were running around. Local souvenirs were on sale to the odd tourist. Commuters made their way through the bustle. The scene was brimming with life. With colour.
The Irrawaddy Valley State Railway Company operated Myanmar’s first railway which began service in 1877. The 263 kilometre line operated between Yangon and Pyay. Both places for which I have developed a deep love. The actual Yangon Circular Train line was built in 1954 by the British.
Waiting for our train provided me with one of my favourite pastimes. People-watching. I find it fascinating. The various beautiful longyis worn by most, projected their bright colours into the morning sunshine. Conversations between people filled every possible space. Debbie turned to find two precious little girls staring at us in wonder. The twins. Smiles were exchanged and immediately they joined us on our steel bench. Chatting away in Myanmar. Their proud grandmother translated for us. Dressed in their dresses for special occasions, they were on an outing with grandma. From that moment forward, we enjoyed the company of this lovely family. They disembarked at one of the quaint little villages further along the line.
Wanting to know more of the city and surrounding areas, we boarded the Yangon Circular Train. The local commuter service. Quite daunting was the fact that there are thirty-nine stations along the almost fifty-kilometre line. Having lived in China for eighteen years, I was well aware of what public toilets could be like. Treacherous at times. Mercifully our breakfast had included zero liquids. Seated on extremely hard benches, we settled down beside one of the windows to begin the three-and-a-half-hour journey. The window spaces were huge, allowing great views. However, none had any glass. And more obviously, there were no air-cons in that intense heat.
Pulling out of the station ever so slowly, the train meandered through the concrete city. Making its way to the outskirts of Yangon. Where space was large. And the skies seemed bigger. We passed simple shacks. Their bright blue plastic chairs adding a touch of fun to the simple structure. One which no doubt offered sanctuary from the intense heat. Offering local foods and clear tea, this was someone’s daily bread. A young girl sat deep in thought as we passed her. A gentle smile for us as we waved. Her blankets folded, ready to sell. Hopefully bringing her what she needed for the day.
As the Circular Train connects small towns and the outlying areas, the train became a market as people jumped on and off with their produce. Selling their goods. Providing meals to hungry travellers. They too took time to nap. What touched me deeply, was how seemingly content everyone was. They were peaceful in whatever they did. In the way they smiled at strangers. And communicated with each other.
Leaving behind the city, the passengers settled alongside the windows. To sleep or to simply stare out at their world. Some meditated. Others shyly stared at the foreigners seated opposite. Their smiles friendly and warm. Debbie was in her element as was I. Learning more of Life with each kilometre travelled on this unique train ride. Being calm and simply observing what came our way. Welcoming each gift, for travelling provides the best education one could ever wish for.
The train lumbered through rice fields and small villages. A group of people sat under an umbrella. Claiming every bit of shade possible. Their meagre washing displayed on a make-shift washing line and strewn along the tracks. Was this where they spent their days? Was this the only home they knew? My heart went out to them.
The lady opposite us moved to the doorway and sat on the step of the moving train. Waiting to disembark. Her colossal bag beside her. Towering over her body. We will never know what the contents were but she showed the utmost determination when carrying it on her back. We passed a mother perhaps taking her son to school. Her pink and green clothing adding spurts of colour to what was a dull environment. Their flip-flops a reminder to me. We were without a doubt in the land of the practical shoes. Perfect for monsoons, heat and hellish humidity.
The Circular Train line loops around the outer Yangon city. It stops at every station along the way. Providing us a few minutes to look beyond the tracks. Into fields of rice and narrow streets. To witness people waiting at the crossing. To welcome on board women balancing heavy loads upon their heads. We stopped beside local markets. Their umbrellas lined up. Hosting the exchange of goods and cash.
On a lighter note, the twins kept us knee deep in fits of giggles. They would not leave our sides. The sweetest little girls they were. At one stage I could move across the aisle to see Life from the other side. Debbie was going nowhere. The girls had her tightly in their grip and she was loving it.
I have mentioned this before in other posts. Myanmar so reminded me of the Lowveld area of northern South Africa. The trees. The vegetation and the dusty roads. Happy childhood memories flooded back. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I so love Myanmar. I always felt as though I belonged. The emerald green of those endless rice paddies however, was foreign to me. Its sheer brilliance, a gem amidst the dusty areas.
Arriving at the far side of the Circular Train’s loop, people shuffled onto other parts of the hard benches as their fellow passengers disembarked. Outside our window a young mother sat alone with her little one. His face covered in Thanaka. My concern grew due to the fact that she was sitting with her feet on the actual tracks. They looked so forlorn. So alone. A few metres from her, others sat waiting for their train to arrive. A selection of brightly coloured containers filled a large basin. The colours were also to be found in their clothing, the tables and the umbrellas. This thrilled me about Myanmar. There was always colour present everywhere. A beautiful message of hope being spread across the city.
The train continued on its journey back to Yangon. More incredible sights greeted us. Welcomed us into their midst. It seemed to me that most people sat cross-legged on the benches, staring out. Not a chance was I able to do that. How supple they all were. No matter their age. In Beijing our Chinese medicine doctor would get me to sit on my haunches for at least twenty minutes a day. I could do that. Way back then …
Passing a monk with his dog produced another reminder of their fitness levels. Sitting on his haunches with ease, probably for long periods on end, is something most Asians can do. Seemingly without any stress attached. The man and his beast observing the world go by. Construction workers stood in extreme levels of heat and humidity, doing their part in restoring the train line. I reminded myself not to ever complain about working conditions again. How these workers dealt with the extreme heat, I will never understand. Have been told that one develops an immunity to the heat and humidity if one was born into that ruthless climate.
An intriguing man sat beside me. The most beautiful smile he had and spoke in perfect English. Counting wads of cash, he looked up and said, “Another good day teacher.” He then proceeded to grab both his large baskets and performed a balancing act on the stairs, whilst waiting to jump off at the next stop. Vendors continued to jump on and off the train. Selling a variety of goods such as live roosters, dogs, hot tea and Mohinga.
Our journey that day brought us the gift of connection. If one is receptive to the people, to their warmth and their friendliness, one gains riches far beyond what money can buy. We captured the real moments. Life as it is for many. No pretences. No smokescreens. For some, the level of poverty was painful to witness. However, despite their situations, those folk still smiled at us. Treated us as friends. Behaved with dignity and serenity. They added colour, love and richness to our lives. I thank them.
To be continued …
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