Once my gut told me to stop and my brain told me to go. My heart said nothing, it was beating too fast to give impressions. A few moments later I was sliding on the asphalt. Close but no cigar. Cycling always gave me a rough ride. 

Yangon's Circular Train

The circular train roughly pulled its way on the old beaten railways of Yangon.  By times the wagon rocked from side to side and with my eyes closed I felt as in a rocking chair.

Till now the stops had been calm.  A few people getting on and others hopping off, as the locomotive kept powering not to lose momentum.  Sellers for the most part, yelling in a high pitch tone incomprehensible phrases in Burmese.  But this stop was different.  Everyone was getting off.  Even more were getting on.  This stop was Danyiangon.  This stop had something special. 

The ones getting off were empty handed and had a slight look of excitement although taking their time.  The opposites were hurried, screaming at each other whilst loaded more than an old donkey could carry. Bags of fresh goods were coming in through the windows as people were getting off through the doors.  No time to lose.  Time is not waiting, nor will the train. 

I had a few seconds to decide if I was in an adventurous mood or not.  As if moods could be chosen.

Across the railway I could see a local market.  Parts of it were covered by a roof and others by colorful umbrellas.  Only the kids were playing under the sunlight.

I swung my backpack over my shoulders and stepped off the for once immobile train.  I turned around and gave it a good look, offering myself a chance to get back on, as if I was making a mistake.  I then walked straight over the tracks and through a meter high gate.  I was already in the market.

The stench hit me so hard I felt as if I had plowed into it.  The ground was made of what ever the nearest seller was offering.  The smell followed the same rule, although it only covered the overall scent of rotten wastes building up in the sewer channels.  The step way went from fluffy corn peels to muddy and slippery as I walked from one side to the other.

Some people smiled at me as I strolled through the messy alleys, others laughed and pointed at me as they spoke out load to their friends.  Most had a puzzled look, as if I had really gotten lost in the wrong place.  Those were the ones who understood.  They read my face like you read a child's book and saw right through me.

It was time for me to leave.

I walked out wondering if I'd be hungry for lunch and where I'd eat if my stomach groaned as I lost the little trust I had put into local restaurants.

Burmese Thrills

In Singapore