Yangon Circular Train - time travelling (and priceless)

I think that for the first time in my travels, I'm more the object of attention from other people's gazes than the other way round. They notice me as if I've invaded this place, but they do so with curiosity, politeness and sympathy.

I try my best to pose for the locals, who use their mobile phones to photograph me. Once them, once me. Alternately we record moments, each with their own objective (and lens) on board the circular train from Yangon, in Myanmar.

This means of transport serves the metropolitan area of the former capital, circulating in loop for around 46 kilometres and 39 stations, linking satellite towns and suburban areas to the Burmese city. But this isn't just any passenger transport.

The circular train is more than just a cluster of carriages, it's a market, a meeting place, a transport hub for goods and people, it's even a shopping centre. Above all, this railway route in Yangon is authentic.

Beyond me, I see a couple of tourists, a couple inside the train and, outside, a Japanese man, camera in hand, standing on the disused railway lines parallel to the one I'm on.

I understand your persistence, as this is a photogenic train, just like the others in Myanmar. I too document your journey along the railway lines.

But that Japanese man is not alone. Accompanying him are dozens of people who cross the line at any given point, with 50-kilogram bags on their shoulders, bags of sweets and snacks, in transition to some market or street stall - and there are many on every corner in Yangon.

Market on the move

Although there are around 40 stops on this Yangon circular train, the truth is that the speed of the train is so low that in many areas the number is multiplied by two.

Passengers and vendors come and go frantically, and it's impossible (unless you're a local) to tell which station or bus stop you're at, apart from a few where there are signs with the name of the stop.

Women, with heavy reed baskets on their heads, sometimes walk faster than the train itself. On leaving Yangon, we were stuck on the line for more than 20 minutes.

But I'm the only one surprised by this unscheduled stop. Young people take the opportunity to hang out of the doors and windows, to take advantage of any breeze that might calm the intoxicating heat.

It's only hot outside and not even the two or three fans running at maximum speed seem to have any effect.

Sitting in one of the doors, facing the sun, in one of the few empty spaces on the train, I drink water almost every minute. I'm offered a seat, but I cordially smile and decline the invitation. Between the option of being "crushed" between other passengers and being in the sun, I opt for the second option.

I take advantage of my strategic position to take a few more photographs, forgetting the blazing sun. I focus on the incessant movement of people along the line. Under the parallel railway lines, the same ones where the Japanese photographer was standing, I see clothes drying in the sun.

Poverty is still endemic in this country and, in the cities, the distance between the poor and the more privileged is enormous. Many live in improvised shacks in the streets, near the train station or along the line, beyond the walls that line the railway tracks.

Inside the train, vendors invade the carriages to sell newspapers, vegetables and fruit. Plastic bags with treats, trays with papaya slices, baskets with dozens of tangerines. At the stations or stops, people are cooking, selling meat sticks, homemade crisps, vegetables, fruit and water.

"Would you like some water?" a young woman asks me. I look at the reserves in my rucksack and I still have plenty, but out of sympathy I go and buy a bottle, after checking that it's closed.

This certification is essential because there is an alternative water market where bottles of untreated tap water are filled and sold.

Unfortunately, the failure to reuse millions of water bottles has serious consequences for the environment.

Tabbed windows open to rubbish

I'm shocked by a common attitude in Burma. Unfortunately, it's not exclusive to this Asian nation, but to much of Asia. While it's true that there are few or no rubbish bins, this can in no way be an excuse for the carelessness and ease with which plastic bags, bottles, cans - everything that no longer fits - are thrown out of the window.

In my opinion, this is an educational or civilisational issue, especially in a country that has only recently come out of isolation from the world and lived (lives?) for decades under a violent military dictatorship. In any case, it's an issue that urgently needs to be rectified.

I remember being in New Zealand, in a landscape of incredible, pristine beauty, in the fiords region of Milford Sound. There are no trash bins there. But two facts stayed strongly in my memory: the first is that I didn’t see landscapes polluted with plastic, paper, glass, or cans.

The second fact has to do with the notices explaining why there are no rubbish bins. Due to the remote location and the high cost of rubbish collection, all visitors are asked to take all their rubbish with them until they find a place to dispose of it.

Restless plastics on our plates

Throughout the urban, semi-urban and rural landscape in which I circulate, not just in Yangon but throughout Burma, I see plastic bags spinning, bouncing, restless at the mercy of the wind.

Tens, hundreds, thousands more lie beside railway lines or in the small rice paddies where local workers, with water up to their waists, harvest one of the year's many crops. However, the lives of these plastics don't end there.

A deficient waste collection and management system - combined with the enormous quantities produced daily (more than two thousand tonnes of rubbish a day in Yangon) - results in the accumulation near the railway and homes. These improvised dumps burn slowly, often without human intervention, due to the direct action of the sun.

Continuous exposure to the strong heat causes the release of gases and fumes that cause serious respiratory problems and associated illnesses, particularly affecting those who live nearby and in poor health conditions.

It pollutes the landscape and, in part, my thoughts every time I look at that accumulation of plastic which, in many cases, will end up in the sea, in the food chain, in the stomachs of many animals and, at the end of this process, on your and my plate.

Scientists around the world warn that the amount of small plastic particles – invisible to the human eye – in marine life has substantially increased, much of it consumed by humans.

Inheritance without luxury

I notice that in a building where the paint has worn off, the window shutters are still as white as the immaculate white of a shirt I see hanging inside one of the houses, contrasting with the colourful curtain in the window next door.

On the disused lines, in the shadow of one of the stations, a metre away from where the train runs, a dozen boys play cards, while the adults next to them prefer to challenge tactics on the chessboard.

The carriages, sponsored by the flavoursome Myanmar beer, bear images of local footballers wearing the red jerseys of the national team of this former British colony.

The railway lines were the great legacy left by the British to the Burmese population. Although some of them were built more than 100 years ago, they still connect almost every part of the country.

Travelling by train in this Asian country is an adventure, but a great pleasure, where you smile all the time, socialise and share meals, buy and sell a bit of everything, listen to and tell stories, read newspapers and, above all, make new friends.

Note: I intentionally use both the names Burma and Myanmar to refer to the Asian country. Myanmar was a name unilaterally introduced by the military dictatorship, without consulting the Burmese people, and it is still rejected by a large part of the population. Visiting Yangon is essential on a trip to Myanmar.

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