Myanmar transit: A bumpy ride to rebuilding

An upper class cabin of a train in the Yangon Railway Station

An ordinary class cabin of a train in the Yangon Railway Station

Ive been on some tough journeys before. The kinds of trips that made you thankful to whatever being you pray to that they’re over, but somehow blessed that you were strong enough to survive it.

On the road to Angkor Wat from Bangkok, my hired taxi came to an abrupt halt just an hour outside of Siem Reap. We had drove into a ditch. The axel bent like limp strand of spaghetti. It would be a two hour wait in the darkness of the Cambodian flatlands before anyone would pick us up, dragging our injured vehicle to the final destination.

In China, the daily commute is a constant reminder of the sheer weight humanity places on this planet. But during the Chinese New Year, its of an entirely different, near-sufocating scale. Lining up for a ticket in Guangzhou around this festival season many years ago, I was lucky to have gotten a seat so quickly. I was not so lucky to be stuck next to many men that seemed to stain the air around them with a foul body odour. Some seated. Many not. All this for nearly a day-long along through central China.

Myanmar has its own perilous, yet equally awakening journeys. Of them, not one is perhaps more testing — or feared — as the train system. Without a single investment since the British left the country after World War II, the then military taking charge, the rail system has been locked in time next to other relics of the former colonial ruler. Offset tracks make the ride kidney splintering; upper class seats are nothing more than wood planks with sweat-stained pleather; the only garbage receptacles in use are the toilet bowls that exit onto the tracks below, and, of course, the open breeze outside the window.

When I took the 33-hour ride up from Yangon to Shan State, conditions prevented me from sleeping a wink. I sweated more than I thought a human being could. But I survived. And I was more amazed than any other previous time in my life when I was finally able to step off that train.

Today, however, Myanmar is changing. And the first major change to become conspicuous is construction; scaffolding creeps up around and across corners across the city, more and more by the day. Luckily, heritage protection groups have been quick to confront plans to disturb the British architecture in Yangon, the Southeast Asian city with the most colonial buildings still standing. Some have already begun to benefit, superficially at least, receiving bright new coats of paint.

The train system, with its battered looking central train station in downtown Yangon, has gotten attention from investors, but the process will be unlike that other industries. Compared to other transit projects in the nation, the railway system has not been placed on the fast track. This means, most directly, that trip I ensured from Yangon to Taunggyi will remain in its current authenticity for some time to come, likely until past 2020.

I recently detailed this observation in an article for The Diplomat. 

Below ar some photos that I took on this memorable journey. Enjoy.

A monk waiting in an ordinary class cabin

A monk waiting in an ordinary class cabin

Inside of an upper class cabin on the Myanmar train to Taunggyi

Inside of an upper class cabin on the Myanmar train to Taunggyi

A girl sells slices of melon to passengers on the train

A girl sells slices of melon to passengers on the train

An old woman, waits, watches on the train tracks

An old woman, waits, watches on the train tracks

A Muslim man on the Yangon train tracks

A Muslim man on the Yangon train tracks

Glimpse of Innocence (Myanmar photos)

Myanmar is an old country with an old way of doing things.

Only immaculate US dollars are accepted for exchange, a policy extended from the management of battered local currency. Movie stars are treated as royalty, for the words are synonymous in Burmese. Thousand-year-old temples are close enough to touch.

My first visit to Bagan and Mandaly confirmed this old world notion. With this, I realized, there is an almost virgin innocence of the people and places I saw, the kind bred out of prolonged isolation from the rest of humanity’s successes and problems. Often, it is this quality that travelers find most alluring.

Below are a few of my favorite images from this quick five-day tour, where guesthouses in both cities went for $25 during high season. The inflated prices that have been reported concern largely 4-star hotels, which can begin around $150/per night.

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A monk reads the sports section of a newspaper at the Mandalay bus stop

Traditional Myanmar puppets are displayed for sale in Bagan

Traditional Myanmar puppets are displayed for sale in Bagan

 

A girl glances aware demurely, Bagan

A girl glances away demurely, Bagan

Monks at Mandalay Palace

Monks at Mandalay Palace

Farmer at U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

Farmer at U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

Waiting at Mandalay bus stop

Waiting at Mandalay bus stop

A Buddhist flag waves atop Mandalay Hill

A Buddhist flag waves atop Mandalay Hill

Hand-drawn postcards for sale, Bagan

Hand-drawn postcards for sale, Bagan

11th Century Buddha image, Bagan

11th Century Buddha image, Bagan

View of farms from Mandalay Hill

View of farms from Mandalay Hill

A woman smokes, Bagan

An elderly woman smokes, Bagan

View from U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

View from U Bein Bridge, Mandalay

Pagodas in the last hour of sunlight, Bagan

Pagodas in the last hour of sunlight, Bagan

 

The PA from Pyay

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Win Khine was already 15 minutes late and his draft of Myanmar beer had begun to quickly warm in the steamy Yangon evening air. He had skipped out of work that day, apparently because his love for whiskey had once again taken hold. Despite best efforts to impress his boss, who Win Khine liked to affectionately broadcast as “the best boss I ever had,” the drinking spells would ultimately erode his best intents. As a response, Win Khine’s boss employed an almost maniacal approach to dealing with his personal assistant, part of a double role that included personal driver. “Win Khine will get a beer when he comes,” John said. “He has already been drinking, so another won’t hurt.”

When Win Khine finally arrived he sat down next to John and, almost instinctively, unfurled a toothy grin, displaying two rows of teeth heavily stained by years of betel nut chewing. His slim frame slide to adjust on the feeble plastic chair, like a sailor trying to find balance amidst a rocky sea. Although an undeniably short man, Win Khine’s broad shoulders suggested he was anything other than weak, a product of his early life growing up on a farm in Pyay, where his mother and father still cultivate onions and bananas. Moving to Yangon wasn’t a decision his staunchly traditional parents agreed upon, either; they much preferred that their son stay close to home and mind his more filial responsibilities. Nor was the unexpected announcement of his wife’s pregnancy thought to be an event worth celebrating.

While Win Khine’s actions had demonstrated that he was not quick to be obsequious to conventional life of the village, he was more wont to do so when it came to John.

“What did you have to drink Win Khine?” John prodded. “High Class, again? You like that High Class whiskey.”

Win Khine paused. He somehow looked crestfallen even though the winkles below his eyes made it appear as is the top half of his face was smiling. “I did not drink, my boss,” he said in a choppy voice.

“Win Khine — I know you have been drinking. You are my PA and today was busy as hell. How am I supposed to run a company if one of my PA’s is going on a drinking binge?” John spurted out rhetorically.

“I’m sorry my boss,”  Win Khine said sheepishly.

“Never mind that. You have the best boss in the word, remember?  Now drink the beer,” John said. After taking some hardy gulps, Win Khine mustered the courage and, perhaps more crucially, energy to continue speaking. “You are the best boss I ever had. I kill you,” he said in butchered English. Though Win Khine would always mispronounce the word “care” by saying kill, John seemed to have given in to this endearing if hapless phrase, which Win Khine liked to characteristically overuse.

“I kill you, my boss,” Win Khine muttered on.

Win Khine’s drinking problem was well known throughout the office. He’d grown into the liberty of periodic disappearance acts over the past four years since joining the company, now with increasing frequency. About twice a month it could be expected that Win Khine would go into temporary radio silence, reappearing during working hours some 24 to 48 hours later. These disappearances only increased as his battle with the bottle continued. Even his respect for John would soon begin to wane, and his actions no longer reflect the “best boss” mantra he had so often practiced.

The sheepish replies to questioning of his uncontrolled habits was by no means the norm. One night, like so many before, Win Khine had joined John and the others — about six Myanmar in total — to a dinner that quickly culminated in several rounds of drinks. Win Khine’s inability to express himself in a linear manner brought the conversation into heated territory.

“You no understand Myanmar,” was the chorus on repeat that night, for Win Khine’s arguments invariably included succinct sentences that looped through long-winded speeches. It was a quality that made him more of a music box than one half of a dialogue. It was also the first cue to a forthcoming flee from confrontation, which he inherently abhorred, despite his routine of finding himself in them. John knew it was too hard to let him go, yet he could feel the time drawing nearer when Win Khine would run away with all his sulking sorrows and never return.

Myanmar 2 years on: Overseas banking and the telecom horizon

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Myanmar is in a constant state of change. Even some of the long-neglected colonial architecture has become a part of the alterations associated with the rising tide of reforms. (click to see what this building looked like 2 years ago)

When I first visited Myanmar in 2011, power cuts were frequent, ATMs were exasperatingly inaccessible for customers of non-domestic banks (forcing visitors to budget their entire trip ahead of time!) and SIM cards were, quite insanely, around the 500-dollar mark. At the time, Hillary Clinton was scheduled to arrive in the next two weeks, tasked on a touch and feel mission ahead of President Obama’s historic visit, and with that, heightened anticipation of Myanmar’s global reintegration.

Today the expectations of 2011 have emerged in their rawest force. The country’s parliament, it is now said, have every law open to revision. While Myanmar’s political, energy, banking and telecommunications problems are still not without frustrations, they have become attenuated by the rush of reforms, which are occurring at such a pace that attempting to gauge change in this frontier land is like aiming at a moving target.

Myanmar’s first pre-paid debit card

Still, after passing the first 10 days in Yangon, I feel compelled to at least begin taking some pop shots. Now that the capricious winds of chance have swept me back to Myanmar, and after making a final decision to make this my new home base, I cannot help but feel that these gusts have coincided with a stroke of serendipity. Within my first two weeks back to Myanmar, I have become one of the first 100 domestic banking customers to sign up for the country’s first overseas pre-paid debit card. The issuance of the MasterCard-linked CB Bank card is a monumental moment for Myanmar, allowing customers to access domestic banks for foreign purchases, a greatly overlooked ability that could only be imagined during the days of heavily saddled economic sanctions.

The Central Bank of Myanmar has allowed CB Bank to issue up to 5,000 cards, which will be made widely available starting in November. At the moment, customers will be given a limit of $3,000 to load the cards with, but can apply for additional cards if further personal information is provided. These cards will allow those residing  in Myanmar — who still cannot make foreign remittances from domestic banks or even Wester Union — to begin making non-business payments for overseas services, such as air tickets, hotels, restaurants, etc. CB Bank has said that they have deployed people in select countries around the world to test the cards, coming back with positive results.

The property price scare: Not a dead end for entrants 

Among the greatest deterrences to foreigners looking to set up camp on this edge-of-the-map area of Asia are skyrocketing property prices and the cost of SIM cards, both made outrageously unaffordable for locals as a result of inadequate supply. However, while prime property has indeed been soaring, partially due to the few units available and the repatriation of overseas money help by cronies, many apartments in Yangon can be found for reasonable prices. Unfurnished or partially furnished two-floor, two- to three-bedroom units in downtown Yangon are available for monthly rentals of between $400 to $700 per room to start.

But there is a caveat. Most of these properties have been shamefully neglected, have no installed air-con and come without an internet connection, which costs about $800 to set up. (At the moment, I am living in my office until I find a place — which will likely be a shared unit, as this is the most cost-effective solution.) Vacancies in shared units are in short supply in Yangon, but if time is on your side, spacious and livable rooms can be found starting at $400.

SIM cards: Getting connected

Many foreigners are also reluctant to join the Myanmar vanguard because of the country’s lack of telecommunications. Myanmar is in a pre-IT era, where a complete lack of infrastructure set SIM card market prices at over $3,000 some 10 years ago. English teachers working in the country today often still revert to pre-scheduled meet ups, a routine many did away with in the late 90′s when mobile phones become widely available to most developed nations. Likewise, businesses that hope to set up dependable lines of communication with their employees must pay the price to equip them, which, at $150 today, costs 150 percent of the average Yangon worker’s salary. (In my company, local salaries range from $80 to $300/month, with the mean being $100.)

Still, $150 for a SIM from Myanmar Post and Telecommunications (MPT), the country’s largest and only telecom provider, is the result of greater infrastructural stability. Just last year, SIM cards were going for around $220, and next year, when Qatar’s Ooredoo and Sweden’s Telenor, the two winners of the country’s first round of telecom licenses, begin their operations, SIM cards could become widely available for $2.

In reality, MPT SIM cards were already purchasable for just less than $2, but only by lottery. Ending in June, the Myanmar government used to set up public raffles for SIM cards. But it is reported that many of these winners would sell off their prize for around $100 on the ubiquitous grey market, which would then be retailed for between $120 and $150. (SIM cards can be found outside of Yangon for much cheaper prices, but this requires some local know-how and tireless scouting.)

As of recent, a consortium lead by Taiwan’s Chunghua Telecom has entered talks to get the next license to build what has been called the world’s last great greenfield telecom market. Moreover, the Myanmar government also announced in the past week that there will be more than the originally designated four licenses issued to develop telecoms.

There is a sense that what may come will be more surprising than expected. In the past year, the lifting of a ban on automobile imports has led to a two-fold increase of cars on the road of Yangon, chocking the city like never before. If Ooredoo, now working alongside its former bidding competitor Telenor, reaches its goalpost of 80-percent mobile penetration by 2016, local disposable income will be drained into new high-tech devices, likely to come from South Korea or Taiwan. A total leapfrog in broad-based access to global media and communications is not known in Myanmar today, but certainly visible somewhere along the horizon.

Mini Myanmar: Time-lapse video

This video brings the minute details of Myanmar to life, as seen through the lens of a scratchy ant farm tank. The photographers, Little Big World, have shot in an assortment of other great countries and cities as well, such as Toy Thailand and Forbidden Little City. And you thought the world couldn’t get any smaller.

Colombia’s Santos sparks ire and protest memes

Colombian President Juan Manuel Santos has found a convenient way to deal with the broad-based protests cropping up across the country — pretend they don’t exist. But with thousands of Colombian farmers and public service workers marching through Bogota, the capital, on August 29, to air grievances against everything from fuel prices to free-trade policies they say gives them the short end of the stick, its clear his ruse hasn’t been so convincing.

In a speech earlier this week, President Santos made a botched attempt to downplay the protests, which began on August 19, saying that the “supposed national farmers’ strike does not exist,” all this despite strong coverage by international media.

In spirited reaction to the president’s failure to acknowledge the rising tide of discontent in his country, Colombian social media users have been twisting the president’s gaffe into various memes. Former President Uribe’s attempt to side with the strikes have incensed protesters further, who mark him down as part of the problem. Another picture that has been making rounds online depicts two women with a large sign in front of the Eiffel Tower, calling out to “Senor Santos” to inform him that they know of the protest’s existence, even in France.

Colombia is now braced for nationwide protests that are increasingly violent, with at least one protester and one policeman already reported dead. On Thursday in Bogota, class was cancelled for all public schools, while protesters marched into Plaza Bolivar, the center square of Bogota, only to be dispersed by tear gas.  The marches, which also took place in Medellin, Cali and other mid-sized cities, have sobered up the government’s hopes that social peace could be achieved throughout the country once an accord is reached with FARC at the negotiating tables in Havana. Cleaning up post-conflict Colombia will only reveal complex issues that have been previously eclipsed.

In the face of such chaos, the Santos administration has made efforts to address the the different claims of miners, truckers, students, farmers and other protesters, now that its clear they exist.

Below are some of the more popular images being passed around online.

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America’s imprint on the Philippines — the good and the ugly

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A Filipino security guard with his usual armament: a single-barrelled shotgun

The Philippines spent “300 years in the convent, 50 years in Hollywood,” Stanley Karnow observed in his book In Our Image: America’s Empire in the Philippines, a turn of phrase now often recited across the archipelago, proof of its resonance in reflecting the Southeast Asian nation’s unique colonial history. It is a past that has made the country a regional outlier, simultaneously putting up developmental roadblocks.

Today, while the devoutly Catholic nation retains threads to Spain through religion, language, street signs and surnames, it is the US’s historical presence, though much shorter in comparison, that is usually the most immediately evident. Indeed, this history is so engrained that it has manifested itself on the currency, where a US flag is prominently displayed on the 100-peso note, one of the few times I have ever seen a foreign flag on another country’s currency. Above all, high English language proficiency has transformed the group of islands into the world’s call center hub, gracing past India only a few years ago thanks to more pleasant spoken accents that even Indians are quick to recognize (as evidenced by the flight of Indian outsourcing companies to the Philippines in recent years).

However, the singe of the stars and stripes on the Philippines has left with it a few unsavory traits as well. As a result, the Philippines seems at times much closer to the US culturally than its Asian neighbors.

The Philippines has been handed down fast food, mall and gun-loving culture from its former liberator, which removed the Japanese from the archipelago in World War II. No need to look further than one of the country’s largest beacons of commercialism to find all three neatly nestled together. The Mall of Asia, the world’s fourth largest mall with a land area of 42 hectares, equivalent to 84 standard soccer fields, is not only a mega-hive of retail with food courts that blend typical Americana with Filipino fried food flare (Jollibee, Inasal, etc.), but is also dependably secured by metal detectors and guards armed with shotguns and surprisingly out-of-context smiles. Besides the acceptance of guns, which are crutch in a society build upon feudal fiefdoms, FIlipinos today find entertainment with their personal gun licenses, frequenting shooting ranges, where both sexes are just as likely to enjoy unloading their toys.

The Philippines has long maintained an inglorious Wild, Wild East image, taking the proliferation of guns to wartime heights. Not only have gun ownership laws been traditionally relaxed, but the Philippines has also become a factory for handmade guns, craftily made using simple mechanics and metal piping across the islands. Today it is estimated that there are nearly 1 million of such guns illegally owned and traded in the Philippines.

The country’s rough and raucous history could be to blame for its reliance on guns as well. Like the US, towns that cropped up far from urban hubs became wont to depend on themselves for protection instead of a stunted and aloof central government. Matters were best resolved in one’s own hands.

Scenes familiar to American Western films remain a part of life in the Philippines to this day. Across every part of islands, security guards brandish shotguns and large pistols in front of banks, fast food outlets, mall entrances — just about anyplace where hard cash is being actively traded. This omnipresence of guns instills fear in foreign visitors, seemingly misguided in a country that is quickly cleaning up its backwaters reputation. While homicide rates are among the highest in Southeast Asia (Quezon City in Metro Manila being the highest), this military-style solution to enforcing the law is looking increasingly anachronistic, at least in urban centers. (Revolutionary bandits still actively operate throughout the majority of rural regions.) With a monumental peace agreement on the horizon between the central government and the largest Islamist rebel group, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, serious terrorist threats against the country’s commercial capitals in the north that target civilians may be silenced.

In front of a shiny new mall in Manila’s upscale Fort Bonifacio district, visitors walk through metal detectors, incessantly sounding the alarm that appears to have no operational instructions. The security guards robotically check bags and pat down the shoppers, overlooked by another with a shotgun. Indeed, the guns are just as much for show; today, many of them are unloaded. The armed guard smiles at me, and I can’t help to return one myself.

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