Greetings From Myanmar: Time Traveling (Long)

Eric:
If coming to Yangon requires setting your watch back 25 years, hopping the ferry across the Yangon River for the 10 minute journey to Dala requires a reset of at least another 50.

Despite its close proximity to downtown, barely half a mile, Dala is a sleepy township that has been virtually passed over by development. Except for the town center, there is no running water, and little else in the way of infrastructure for the town residents, many of whom still live in traditional bamboo huts and commute into Yangon to work as vendors, day laborers, or in low paying civil service jobs.

Two well worn ferry boats connect Dala to downtown for about 30,000 passenger a day, crossing back and forth across the river at 20 minute intervals from around 5am until dark. It is possible to make the journey by road, but to do so involves a 35 mile journey, three bridges, tolls, a lot of bad roads, and a whole lot of traffic.

I’ve made the journey across the river a couple of times now. It’s a nice break from the chaos and traffic of downtown on a hot afternoon. Arriving at Pansodan Jetty on the Yangon side, you first pass through a busy open air market, followed by a gauntlet of small children hawking picture postcards to the relatively infrequent tourists, finally reaching the ferry terminal. Here you queue up at the “Foreigner Ticket Office” and present your passport before handing over US $4 for the roundtrip (locals pay the equivalent of 10 cents each way). When the ferry pulls in, you join a throng of people all trying to pile onto the boat at the same time as arriving passengers disembark. A challenge made even more interesting by the many passengers with boxes, baskets of fish or produce balanced on their heads, and bicycles strung with miserable looking chickens destined to market, all competing for space along the narrow pier. Despite the chaos, the boat will only remain at the pier for a few minutes before shoving off for the return crossing.

Crush of passengers preparing to exchange places as the ferry docks.

Yangon equivalent of a minivan.

Live chickens trussed to bicycles enroute to market.

The two ferries, the Anawyahta and Kyan Sit Khar are operated by the Inland Water Transport Company, now a state agency and descendant of the original Irrawaddy Flotilla Company. Founded under British rule in 1865 it was once regarded as the greatest river fleet on earth. The company operated over 600 vessels carrying in excess of 9 million passengers a year at its peak in the 1920s. The company was nationalized following Burmese independence in 1948 and renamed, though in a nod to its origins, the surviving boats still sport the black and red funnels that distinguished the Irrawaddy Flotilla fleet.

Passing the ferry from the opposite shore mid river

Fire buckets hang suspended from the ceiling.

Once aboard, there’s enough seating on the boats’ two levels for about half the passengers, the remainder either renting tiny plastic stools scattered throughout the decks or standing along the rail where you can toss puffed rice purchased for a few cents from a vendor to the seagulls that follow the boats onto the river in hopes of a snack. If you’d rather feed yourself, other vendors abound selling noodles, candy, gum, and other treats – and of course beetle nut.

Vendor selling fresh fruit to passengers aboard the ferry.

Seagulls shadow the ferry competing for handouts from the passengers.

There’s also a small cadre of tri-shaw drivers who work the vessel soliciting passengers and both trips I’ve taken I have engaged one of them to show me around. In fact, in my second visit accompanied by my friend Jan who was visiting from the US, my tri-shaw driver from my first trip remembered me and acted as a sort of a tri-shaw pimp setting up the second tri-shaw that we needed for our Tour de Dala.

Disembarking in Dala is sort of a mirror of the boarding process, except the quay on this side is even smaller than that in Yangon. I’ve yet to see anyone nudged into the water by the press of the crowd, but I suspect it happens.

Once away from the bustle of the ferry terminal, Dala quickly descends into a sleepy village atmosphere. Most of the traffic is on bicycle, with a few motorbikes (unlike Yangon, they’re legal on this side of the river), and the occasional noisy tractor.

Situated right at sea level with waterways on three sides and no real high ground, Cyclone Nargis in 2008 devastated Dala and much of the surrounding area, killing thousands. Remnants of the destruction can still be seen in downed trees and a reservoir that once was the primary fresh water source since rendered unusable. My tri-shaw driver shared that his mother was among the victims of the cyclone.

4 Passengers + the driver. Heavily loaded tri-shaw pedals away from the pier.
That's more people than I used to fit in my Mini.

The first stop on the ‘tour’ was the Shwe Sayan Pagoda. A small and otherwise unremarkable pagoda attached to a monastery, it’s noteworthy because of a mummified monk that is on display behind a glass case. According to the story, a couple years ago the mummy opened his eyes. I’m sure there’s more to this story, but that’s as much as the tri-shaw driver was able explain [hey, if he’d paid more attention in school, he’d be explaining the solution to the Schrödinger equation for the hydrogen atom in arbitrary magnetic fields – not peddling a tri-shaw more miles each day than Lance Armstrong on his way home from the pharmacy]. I can only confirm that yes, today the mummy’s eyes are open. Sort of.

I think he just winked at me.

Further along, the road passes a collection of fisherman’s huts hugging banks of the Dala River. One room, bamboo and corrugated tin construction, these huts sit suspended above the banks of the tidal river.

Fisherman sits beside his home mending fishing nets.

There’s also a fleet of river taxis beached in the mud. I guess this is the home port of a lot of these boats. In addition to carrying passengers across the Yangon river to downtown, these boats connect both Yangon and Dala to the town of Twantay, about 90 minutes by boat along the nearby Twante Canal. Twantay is widely known as a center of pottery production with over 50 traditional pottery works. I’ve not been yet, but its’ on my list and likely the topic of a future posting.

Taxi stand.

Later, we also rode past a local cemetery. Wealthier “residents” get a headstone while many burials are indicated only by a pile of overturned earth temporarily marking the grave until the next rainy season levels the ground.

Unmarked earthen graves in the foreground.

Nearby, our arrival at another collection of huts was heralded by a swarm of children who obviously don’t see a whole lot of visitors.

This kid is so excited to see us, he forgot his pants.

During my first visit, my tri-shaw driver invited me to visit his home. He lives down a lane too narrow even for his tri-shaw so we had to approach on foot. Similar to the fishermen’s huts we’d passed earlier, the home is of bamboo construction, erected on stilts less than a foot above the level of the water. He was undeniably proud that he possessed two rooms. Rooms shared with his wife, father, and two children. This is the lifestyle that being a tri-shaw driver can afford. In fact due to his modest English skills, he probably earns more than most. Within moments of our arrival, a gaggle of neighborhood boys followed us in to check out the action. Interestingly, when I showed them the photo I'd snapped of them on my iPhone, one of them quickly took it from me, knowingly scrolling through the other photos I had stored on the phone.

Gaps in bamboo floor probably make sweeping up a breeze..

Some sort of gang salute no doubt.

There’s also a monastery along the route with a pretty darn big seated Buddha that was worth a visit. I didn’t note the name, and surprisingly it’s not identified on any of the maps or Google Earth.

He must spend a fortune on manicures.

Craftsman using a tiny little paintbrush to put the finishing touches on some new stonework.

Looking out from the Buddha

Heading back to the pier, we passed the main fresh water supply for the neighborhood, a single hand pump that residents use to fill plastic buckets. These buckets in turn are carried home and emptied into the ceramic urns that sit outside most homes.

Neighborhood water source.

Ceramic urns hold water for each home.

Water urns lining the back wall of a restaurant.

There is a UN project now underway that is laying water lines into at least a part of the community. It appears in this phase at least to only be along the larger, more (relatively) affluent thoroughfares, so most residents won't see too much benefit; though maybe they won't have to walk as far to fill their water buckets.

New pipes awaiting installation will begin to provide fresh water to parts of the community.

In June of 2013, the government announced a joint project with South Korea to build a "Friendship Bridge" connecting Dala to downtown Yangon. The response was an immediate skyrocketing of Dala property values to near Tokyo levels. So much so, that within weeks the government reacted by freezing plans for the bridge indefinitely while it assesses how to cool down the property market.