annemoff's journal

MYANMAR | Monday, 24 November 2014 | Views [517] | View Smaller Image

Bright blue and green paintwork snakes around the tracks, cracked from use and weather. If the train is moving slow enough to disembark between stations, passengers throw bags and packages from doors and leap from carriages before fading into the distance. The best way to gauge the cause of an unexpected stoppage is to stick your head out the window.

The carriages are filled with vendors peddling their wares: bananas, newspapers, tobacco, smoked fish, chicken and quail eggs, lurid melting icy poles in clouded plastic bags. As the train approaches each station, more traders run along the platform. Before the train has stopped they mount the steps with dexterity and begin singing and shouting at anyone who will listen.

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We stop in what appears to be the middle of nowhere. Ticket inspector Htin Kyow tells me that we will depart again in “one hour”. I wander away from the platform, only to be suddenly grabbed by the arm; a man points to our train slowly rolling out of the station. Bolting across the tracks and jumping aboard, I spot Htin Kyow laughing whilst clipping tickets. He taps on his watch: “One hour!”. The dial shows exactly 1pm.

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