Waiting and Moving: A Train Adventure near Pyin Oo Lwin

This blog post is actually a recycled assignment from my online Master's program. We focused on literacy last month and part of one assignment was to draft, edit, revise and publish a personal narrative. The style of this post varies from how I normally approach this blog. I hope you like it!

The cool air of the early morning contrasts with the growing warmth from the sun on my skin as we wait outside of the Pyin Oo Lwin train station. My three colleagues and I are in Shan State, in northern Myanmar. Our rental van and driver have picked us up earlier than we would have liked during our long weekend of exploration a few hours from Mandalay.

Our driver, Mr. Brown, enters the office first making our request for train tickets in Burmese and helping with the sign-in sheet and exchange of money. Then, he bids us goodbye, with a tip of his hat, a smile that shows on his lips and in his eyes despite his mirrored-sunglasses and walks to the van without looking back. We are on our own in rural Burma, tickets in hand, with a plan to meet Mr. Brown four hours later after having experienced a ride through the countryside and over the famous Gokteik Viaduct. As we wait for our tardy train, we don’t realize that patience will be the lesson of the day.

Buying tickets in the train station office.    

Our driver, Mr. Brown.

Morning sunshine at the station.

Tickets in hand!

Finally our train arrives and our legs stretch to make the giant step up into an open-air car. Although we are here to take in the scenery and observe people and the rolling hills of Myanmar, I feel like a unicorn on parade; we are as much something to be observed as we are observers. All eyes within sight are on us. This strange sensation has become familiar during my time in the Golden Land.

We settle into four seats, two on either side of the aisle, with the idea that we will exchange spots, musical-chairs style, several times to get different views and photo opportunities. The car is full of locals; it looks like some are making a day trip, others venturing farther and some on their way to market. After the initial excitement of finding our seats, leaning out the low and large open windows to feel the breeze on our faces and snapping shots, the train ride and the early hour lull us into silence as we gaze out the windows.

Workers in the field.                           

Smiles for the passing train.

Everything we pass mesmerizes me. The countryside moves by and I see lots of small farms, fields, soft hills and people, too! Small children run out to smile and wave at the train and men and women work with crops or the land. The air is still cool and it provides a welcome difference to the heat and humidity that my current home, Yangon, offers. As the sunshine soaks into my cheeks I take in the bumping train and entire scene around me. The swaying of the train vacillates between a soft rocking and a violent shaking, which causes even the locals lose their balance and giggle.

Stops prove to be exciting; passengers scramble off and then more pile on. We see goats exit a car behind us, seemingly indifferent to being tossed out through the air and then placed onto solid ground to nibble grass by the tracks. Vendors step into the car to sell snacks and drinks. I sample a local treat made of peanuts and sugar, similar to peanut brittle, enjoying the salt and sweet on my tongue and the crunch of a bite to eat. We buy fresh strawberries also; a fruit that this region is known for.

The hustle and bustle of a stop.

 A smiling vendor shows off her wares.    

I’m not too picky when it comes to bathroom facilities; after all, I’m a world traveler! But I must say, I have never seen a restroom like this one. A squatter built into the floor isn’t what surprises me, but the fact that I can see down the hole to the tracks below! One of my friends explains that that is why no one goes to the bathroom at stops… because everything simply drops and is left on the tracks. This courtesy makes sense to all of us.

Carefully moving between cars.                      

The bathroom facilities.

Although the ride gives us plenty to look at and comment on, time does start to wear on and we wonder how much longer our journey will be. My friends and I chat amongst ourselves; we are enjoying the experience, but we are also thinking about lunch and the long drive back to Mandalay: Are we there yet?

Inside the train car.

About this time, the old train begins to descend through the hills towards a gorge. We know that the Gokteik Viaduct crossing is the climax of this route and the reason why a friendly Belgian couple that we have met are also here. The excitement builds among everyone in the car as we make the slow approach to the bridge. We give the couple tips for their time in Yangon as we zigzag down down down to the edge of a huge precipice. The crossing itself lasts longer than the distance from above had led me to believe. Everyone on the train leans out the windows, taking pictures of the valley below and chasing the perfect out-the-window selfie. What would surely be a gross safety violation in the United States is simply not considered here. My friends and I revel in the fun and slight danger of standing by the open doors.

The gorge below

Is this my stop? ;)

Crossing the viaduct.

Wheeeee!

After a little more time, the train comes to our stop. We bid goodbye to our new friends, gather our belongings and carefully take the big step down. It is afternoon now and the sun’s rays are not as welcome as they were in the crisp morning. I look around. There is not much to see, a basic covered platform, a sign in Burmese indicating the name of the stop which I can’t read, a few benches, a shack nearby and lots of muted browns making up the dusty ground. The sad and familiar sight of skinny street dogs and the passengers moving on are the movement in this scene. The two parallel lines of the train tracks shooting off in both directions form the most striking visual as far as my eyes can see.

We are hungry and a little bit tired. Good thing our driver is here to pick us up and whisk us off! But, wait, where is Mr. Brown? He’s not here yet, so we settle in to wait. After a few minutes, we take turns calling his cell phone number, but we can’t get through. Reception is spotty in Myanmar in general and we are far away from any towers that provide reception in the cities.

So we wait, and wait… and wait some more. One of my friendly and outgoing travel companions starts to ask around, and even borrows a stranger’s cell phone to call Mr. Brown, but no one has seen our driver. As you can imagine, there is a lot of discussion among us about what we should do. However, at the same time, there is not a lot that we can do. We are basically stuck at a train stop in a very out of the way village. We have no choice but to have faith that our ride is on its way. I’ve noticed that this element of trust is a reoccurring theme in travel.

I buy water at a shack that serves as the station’s mini-mart. One of my friends buys cashews, another sits in the shade and the last continues her chatting with the remaining locals. Most passengers have already been picked up or driven away. How long will we be here? Is Mr. Brown okay? His speedy driving the day before makes me worry.

After some more time passes, my social friend comes and presents us with a plan. We will hitch a ride in the pick-up truck of her new local friends to a nearby restaurant. We can eat there and wait for Mr. Brown. Although there is some trepidation about the plan, we all agree that enough time has passed and we should get some food. It’s a small village and one of the women claims to know Mr. Brown, so it seems promising that we will eventually be reunited. We make our way to the truck, trying to take care as we clamber in and give smiles of relief to our new travel companions. We all speak the most important words to know in any language: “je zu tin ba deh” (thank you). The Burmese women smile back at us as the truck moves into gear. We attempt to explain in a simple way what has happened and one woman understands and says: “Mr. Brown punished!,” which cracks up the entire cab.

And then my friend’s phone rings! It’s Mr. Brown and he is on his way. He is terribly late, but we are happy to hear from him, both that he is okay and about to reach the town. After another awkward communication and many more thank you’s, we climb down from the small truck, about as inelegantly as we entered.

Soon Mr. Brown arrives and we sink gladly into the air conditioning and soft seats of his van. We discuss the entire journey, with its exciting ending over crispy homemade potato chips, green tea and vegetarian Shan Noodles at a lunch spot nearby. The subsequent ride to Mandalay goes smoothly and we even see the historic Moustache Brothers perform that night, but I will never forget my journey on the train of Pyin Oo Lwin.

Enjoying Shan Cuisine post-adventure.