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A brief description of a train journey to Mandalay
published in 1921
"In The Land Of Pagodas"
by
Robert B. Thurber
published in 1921
"In The Land Of Pagodas"
by
Robert B. Thurber
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 1/6
The long Up-Mail stands ready in the Rangoon station for the three-hundred and eight mile trip to Mandalay. Under the low, smoke blackened roof of the train shed the light is poor and we peer into the difference compartments until we find our names written on cards placed at the head of our berths. These places have been reserved for us by request. Amid much confusion and shouting of coolies we pile in our luggage (not baggage) and with a feeling of preparedness for the worst, stroll up and down the platform to view the train incidentally, and our fellow travelers especially. Lest we seem to digress, we shall eschew comment on the latter for the present.
Some aspect of this line of cars strike a new comer as strange indeed. To Americans the European type of engine appears peculiar. It sits low on the tracks with square front and boxed in sides. The tracks in Burma are narrow gauge, the rails being about three feet apart. The cars are the usual width and so they look top-heavy. They are of different lengths, the longest being a little shorter than the American Pullman. The longer ones have double trucks, but the shorter ones have single pairs of wheels, with spokes. Various types of car construction prevail. The first and second class carriages are divided into three or four compartments and the third-class is all in one generally. The cars are hooded for protection from the heat; that is, they have double tops, the upper part leaving a six inch space between it and the lower and reaching down the side to below the window tops. The first class compartments are painted white on the outside, the second-class green and the third-class light brown. Red too must be included in the colour scheme and so the luggage and mail compartments are adorned with crimson. Each division has its respective class number indicated by large raised letters on the side. The government officials usually have the white places to themselves, the natives crowd the brown ones and the green is a meeting ground for the commonwealth of all peoples.
We start for our places, when a porter clangs a hand-bell that is altogether too big for him, as a sign that in five minutes we shall be on our way. There is an extra rush as belated passengers clamber on board, a loud slamming of doors along the line and at the expiration of the time limit the whistle toots - not a strong, healthy whistle but an effeminate shriek - and we are off. You may walk and run along with us for a time, since there are no jerks nor fast
The long Up-Mail stands ready in the Rangoon station for the three-hundred and eight mile trip to Mandalay. Under the low, smoke blackened roof of the train shed the light is poor and we peer into the difference compartments until we find our names written on cards placed at the head of our berths. These places have been reserved for us by request. Amid much confusion and shouting of coolies we pile in our luggage (not baggage) and with a feeling of preparedness for the worst, stroll up and down the platform to view the train incidentally, and our fellow travelers especially. Lest we seem to digress, we shall eschew comment on the latter for the present.
Some aspect of this line of cars strike a new comer as strange indeed. To Americans the European type of engine appears peculiar. It sits low on the tracks with square front and boxed in sides. The tracks in Burma are narrow gauge, the rails being about three feet apart. The cars are the usual width and so they look top-heavy. They are of different lengths, the longest being a little shorter than the American Pullman. The longer ones have double trucks, but the shorter ones have single pairs of wheels, with spokes. Various types of car construction prevail. The first and second class carriages are divided into three or four compartments and the third-class is all in one generally. The cars are hooded for protection from the heat; that is, they have double tops, the upper part leaving a six inch space between it and the lower and reaching down the side to below the window tops. The first class compartments are painted white on the outside, the second-class green and the third-class light brown. Red too must be included in the colour scheme and so the luggage and mail compartments are adorned with crimson. Each division has its respective class number indicated by large raised letters on the side. The government officials usually have the white places to themselves, the natives crowd the brown ones and the green is a meeting ground for the commonwealth of all peoples.
We start for our places, when a porter clangs a hand-bell that is altogether too big for him, as a sign that in five minutes we shall be on our way. There is an extra rush as belated passengers clamber on board, a loud slamming of doors along the line and at the expiration of the time limit the whistle toots - not a strong, healthy whistle but an effeminate shriek - and we are off. You may walk and run along with us for a time, since there are no jerks nor fast
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 2/6
getaways in the land where time is not precious. We are starting at sixteen fifty o'clock, since there are not two twelves in a day, but really twenty-four for the Burmese Railways. As the city fades away, we turn to inspect our compartment. It measures about eight feet wide by ten long and eight high. Along the sides, except at the doors, are cane-seated benches with springs. Passengers thus sit with their backs to the windows, unless there is plenty of room and they dare manifest enough ill manners to stretch their legs along the seat, In an endeavor to combine a bed and a seat in one, the company has made this very necessary part of comfortable travelling too narrow to sleep on and too wide to sit on. The first-class seat is convertible, so that one can face the front; but the third-class has just foot-wide boards, an extra seat in the middle of the car and overhead "upper berths," which are in reality third-quality pantry-shelves. In our carriage, the cushioned upper berth is folded against the wall when it is not in use. Opening off the compartment is a diminutive wash and closet room.
Several fellow travelers share our stuffy cell. One, a Chinaman, gazes stolidly out of the window, an Indian lolls in a corner and a cigarette, with a young Burman pulling poison from one end of it, occupies another. And there is luggage, luggage, luggage - least in importance, but greatest in bulk. Only a small amount of impediments may be booked (checked) free on a ticket and carried in the break-van (baggage car) and any extra is charged for at a high rate. Consequently stern necessity tells the Oriental to take it with him into his compartment and within a certain limit, no one says him nay. Add to this the fact that we in the East must carry our comforts with us if we would have any.
It is the custom to provide very few comforts on the trains, in the rest houses which are used as hotels and at the houses of friends. Rooms are furnished with no more than was Ehisha's little room "on the wall" at Shunem - a bed, table, stool and candlestick being the sum. Bedding, toilet articles etc. must be taken on a journey. So every traveler seems to be "shifting" with all his effects. There is no sight of the stalwart European striding down the station platform between two suit cases, instead, he saunters along and about ten coolies follow with his movables on their heads.
getaways in the land where time is not precious. We are starting at sixteen fifty o'clock, since there are not two twelves in a day, but really twenty-four for the Burmese Railways. As the city fades away, we turn to inspect our compartment. It measures about eight feet wide by ten long and eight high. Along the sides, except at the doors, are cane-seated benches with springs. Passengers thus sit with their backs to the windows, unless there is plenty of room and they dare manifest enough ill manners to stretch their legs along the seat, In an endeavor to combine a bed and a seat in one, the company has made this very necessary part of comfortable travelling too narrow to sleep on and too wide to sit on. The first-class seat is convertible, so that one can face the front; but the third-class has just foot-wide boards, an extra seat in the middle of the car and overhead "upper berths," which are in reality third-quality pantry-shelves. In our carriage, the cushioned upper berth is folded against the wall when it is not in use. Opening off the compartment is a diminutive wash and closet room.
Several fellow travelers share our stuffy cell. One, a Chinaman, gazes stolidly out of the window, an Indian lolls in a corner and a cigarette, with a young Burman pulling poison from one end of it, occupies another. And there is luggage, luggage, luggage - least in importance, but greatest in bulk. Only a small amount of impediments may be booked (checked) free on a ticket and carried in the break-van (baggage car) and any extra is charged for at a high rate. Consequently stern necessity tells the Oriental to take it with him into his compartment and within a certain limit, no one says him nay. Add to this the fact that we in the East must carry our comforts with us if we would have any.
It is the custom to provide very few comforts on the trains, in the rest houses which are used as hotels and at the houses of friends. Rooms are furnished with no more than was Ehisha's little room "on the wall" at Shunem - a bed, table, stool and candlestick being the sum. Bedding, toilet articles etc. must be taken on a journey. So every traveler seems to be "shifting" with all his effects. There is no sight of the stalwart European striding down the station platform between two suit cases, instead, he saunters along and about ten coolies follow with his movables on their heads.
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 3/6
Let us take an inventory of the various articles that clutter our feet - rolls of bedding, tin trunks, boxes, a sun hat, basket of fruit, rugs, canes, umbrellas, gun, birds in cage, food basket, bath-tub, wash-bowl and pitcher, folding table, bags of nuts, typewriter, water-jar - but I weary you.
Shall we look from the window? Broken only here and there by a tree-crowned eminence marking a village, vast stretches of waving rice-fields extend to the bounds of the horizon. It seems incomprehensible that in this greatest of rice-growing countries every plant is stuck into the ground by hand. And what appears to be one illimitable field is in reality a countless number of little irregular patch-work puddles, many of then no larger than the space beneath a house.
The view out soon becomes monotonous and we welcome the station stops. The train slows down with a joltless, dignified ease and the decreasing roar is interspersed with the babel of the station furies - coolie women crying their extreme willingness to carry luggage and fighting one another for the privilege. The train is to stop for twenty minutes for no apparent reason and we alight to look around. Native men come swinging by with two baskets on a pole, one containing a pot of hot rice and the other various kinds of curry. A banana leaf serves as a plate and fingers for forks and a good hearty lunch is sold to the passengers through the low train windows - price eight cents. Here is a Burmese woman serving various tasty edibles, which she carries in a wide flat basket on her head, languidly waving a stick over them to keep the crows away. Her plaintive cry is "Poo deh, cho deh" (it's hot, it's sweet.) A flock of crows is perched on the tops of the cars, watching an opportunity to swoop for the leavings, while a horde of skinny dogs run in and out among the wheels ready to snap for chicken bones.
A little engine is shunting wagons (switching freight cars) on a side-track. Here is a native break-man using a unique break to stop his shunted wagon at the right place - a brake on which these railways seem to have an exclusive patent right. But I shall not risk divulging a trade secret when I tell you that the brake consists in the man's running along
ahead of the moving wagon and putting little stones on the track to retard its progress.
Let us take an inventory of the various articles that clutter our feet - rolls of bedding, tin trunks, boxes, a sun hat, basket of fruit, rugs, canes, umbrellas, gun, birds in cage, food basket, bath-tub, wash-bowl and pitcher, folding table, bags of nuts, typewriter, water-jar - but I weary you.
Shall we look from the window? Broken only here and there by a tree-crowned eminence marking a village, vast stretches of waving rice-fields extend to the bounds of the horizon. It seems incomprehensible that in this greatest of rice-growing countries every plant is stuck into the ground by hand. And what appears to be one illimitable field is in reality a countless number of little irregular patch-work puddles, many of then no larger than the space beneath a house.
The view out soon becomes monotonous and we welcome the station stops. The train slows down with a joltless, dignified ease and the decreasing roar is interspersed with the babel of the station furies - coolie women crying their extreme willingness to carry luggage and fighting one another for the privilege. The train is to stop for twenty minutes for no apparent reason and we alight to look around. Native men come swinging by with two baskets on a pole, one containing a pot of hot rice and the other various kinds of curry. A banana leaf serves as a plate and fingers for forks and a good hearty lunch is sold to the passengers through the low train windows - price eight cents. Here is a Burmese woman serving various tasty edibles, which she carries in a wide flat basket on her head, languidly waving a stick over them to keep the crows away. Her plaintive cry is "Poo deh, cho deh" (it's hot, it's sweet.) A flock of crows is perched on the tops of the cars, watching an opportunity to swoop for the leavings, while a horde of skinny dogs run in and out among the wheels ready to snap for chicken bones.
A little engine is shunting wagons (switching freight cars) on a side-track. Here is a native break-man using a unique break to stop his shunted wagon at the right place - a brake on which these railways seem to have an exclusive patent right. But I shall not risk divulging a trade secret when I tell you that the brake consists in the man's running along
ahead of the moving wagon and putting little stones on the track to retard its progress.
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 4/6
At length we get started again slowly and the tiresome journey continues. The speed limit of twenty-five miles an hour and we make about twenty. With uncomfortable seats, close compartments, slow rate of travel and long journeys, travel is not pleasant in Burma. But the speed is so much greater than the slow moving bullock cart that there is little complaint on the part of those who formerly knew only a snail-pace. Why be in a hurry! There is another day coming.
The greater speed the more jolting and slowness insures safety. And while these trains are classed, by foreigners, among the things that creep, they have their advantages. They are safe, frequent and commodious and since they have all the time, they are rarely behind it.
The road bed is in excellent condition, the ties being of the old reliable wooden sort. The white ants would soon consume these for lunch if it were not that the frequent trains keep them trembling and his antship does not relish shaky food. But the same preservatives is not in operation with the telegraph poles and fence posts, hence they are of steel, set in cement. The former are worn out rails and are well adapted for the purpose. Painted on each pole in plain sight of the moving cars is the number of miles from the terminus of the road and also the number of the pole in that mile. Thus the traveler at any moment may ascertain just how many feet he is from his destination.
In places where cuts and fills are made along the track the earth is removed with hoe-like tools and carried in baskets on the heads of coolie women. The work is done by the piece and they are paid according to the number of cubic yards removed. In order to show how high the top of the ground was before the excavation was made, columns of earth are left standing at intervals. These are usually crowned with a tuft of grass or weeds to prove that that was really the top.; and , being about a foot in diameter they have the appearance of human beings and are called "dead men." So it is often said that the railway is strewn on either side with dead men.
At length we get started again slowly and the tiresome journey continues. The speed limit of twenty-five miles an hour and we make about twenty. With uncomfortable seats, close compartments, slow rate of travel and long journeys, travel is not pleasant in Burma. But the speed is so much greater than the slow moving bullock cart that there is little complaint on the part of those who formerly knew only a snail-pace. Why be in a hurry! There is another day coming.
The greater speed the more jolting and slowness insures safety. And while these trains are classed, by foreigners, among the things that creep, they have their advantages. They are safe, frequent and commodious and since they have all the time, they are rarely behind it.
The road bed is in excellent condition, the ties being of the old reliable wooden sort. The white ants would soon consume these for lunch if it were not that the frequent trains keep them trembling and his antship does not relish shaky food. But the same preservatives is not in operation with the telegraph poles and fence posts, hence they are of steel, set in cement. The former are worn out rails and are well adapted for the purpose. Painted on each pole in plain sight of the moving cars is the number of miles from the terminus of the road and also the number of the pole in that mile. Thus the traveler at any moment may ascertain just how many feet he is from his destination.
In places where cuts and fills are made along the track the earth is removed with hoe-like tools and carried in baskets on the heads of coolie women. The work is done by the piece and they are paid according to the number of cubic yards removed. In order to show how high the top of the ground was before the excavation was made, columns of earth are left standing at intervals. These are usually crowned with a tuft of grass or weeds to prove that that was really the top.; and , being about a foot in diameter they have the appearance of human beings and are called "dead men." So it is often said that the railway is strewn on either side with dead men.
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 5/6
We engage in conversation, after asserting our rights to the air by insisting that the Burman shall cease to "drink his cigarette." The talk drifts to fares on the railway. "What are the rate of fares?" I asked my companion.
"One pice (half cent) a mile third-class, three pice second-class, five pice first-class," was the answer; and he continued by way of further explanation: "You will notice that each ticket has the colour of the compartment in which it grants a ride and the amount it costs is printed on it. Usually none of the train authorities trouble you about your ticket until you pass out of the station at your destination and many times you are not requested to show it at all."
"I should think such a method would give ample opportunity for dishonest persons to steal rides." "It does seen so and yet it is surprising how few persons get free rides on these trains, considering the carelessness and grafting propensities of some of the employees."
"Are your missionaries granted special rates?" "Yes, they get half fares by written request to the traffic manager for each trip; or certificates lasting a month are granted. We missionaries usually travel second-class. The third-class fare is only a little less than half second-class fare and for the difference in cost it doesn't pay to endanger our health and the reputation of our work." "A person's standing is everything over here and he is judged by the way he lives and travels. Certain standards are expected of Europeans and Americans and if one does not live up to them (and they are reasonable) the natives lose respect for him. Also at times, these third-class compartments are veritable pens of filth and disease. By the way, did you ever hear of "pipe stem traveling?"
I confessed my ignorance of the meaning of the expression and my friend expained. "Well, I heard the expression in Japan. You see, a Japanese pipe has a valuable bowl and mouth piece but these two are
connected by a cheap and changeable stem. It is said that when the gentleman with the slim purse desires to make a good impression upon his friends, he buys a first-class ticket when his journey begins, but only to the
We engage in conversation, after asserting our rights to the air by insisting that the Burman shall cease to "drink his cigarette." The talk drifts to fares on the railway. "What are the rate of fares?" I asked my companion.
"One pice (half cent) a mile third-class, three pice second-class, five pice first-class," was the answer; and he continued by way of further explanation: "You will notice that each ticket has the colour of the compartment in which it grants a ride and the amount it costs is printed on it. Usually none of the train authorities trouble you about your ticket until you pass out of the station at your destination and many times you are not requested to show it at all."
"I should think such a method would give ample opportunity for dishonest persons to steal rides." "It does seen so and yet it is surprising how few persons get free rides on these trains, considering the carelessness and grafting propensities of some of the employees."
"Are your missionaries granted special rates?" "Yes, they get half fares by written request to the traffic manager for each trip; or certificates lasting a month are granted. We missionaries usually travel second-class. The third-class fare is only a little less than half second-class fare and for the difference in cost it doesn't pay to endanger our health and the reputation of our work." "A person's standing is everything over here and he is judged by the way he lives and travels. Certain standards are expected of Europeans and Americans and if one does not live up to them (and they are reasonable) the natives lose respect for him. Also at times, these third-class compartments are veritable pens of filth and disease. By the way, did you ever hear of "pipe stem traveling?"
I confessed my ignorance of the meaning of the expression and my friend expained. "Well, I heard the expression in Japan. You see, a Japanese pipe has a valuable bowl and mouth piece but these two are
connected by a cheap and changeable stem. It is said that when the gentleman with the slim purse desires to make a good impression upon his friends, he buys a first-class ticket when his journey begins, but only to the
Train Journey Rangoon to Mandalay 6/6
next station. At the first stop, he alights and buys a third class ticket and takes a lower seat until within one station of his destination, when he changes again and is able smilingly and without "loss of face" to greet his friends from a first class carriage. The reason for this being called pipe-stem travel is obvious."
Meal-time suggests that there are two alternatives for the refreshment of the appetite. There are no dining cars on the trains and so we partake of the viands supplied at the station restaurants, or resort to the tiffin basket. The latter we have brought with us and it consists of a large (for a basket) trunk like affair, usually crated, or in some way reinforced to withstand the wear. Now "tiffin" as a word is the sole property of Anglo-Indian circles and comes from "tiffing," which signifies eating between meals. So tifffin is luncheon in the East, but always the luncheon between breakfast and dinner, that is, about noon or early afternoon. But a tiffin basket carries meals of whatever name. And its fitting-up ranges all the way from the very simple to the very elaborate, according to the taste and pocket-book of the owner.
It is very handy to have an alcohol or an air-pressure oil-stove in it so that water or food may be heated. Lacking this we could resort to the escape valve on the engine fro hot water, if the driver (engineer) is friendly.
The food hawked along the station platforms does not appeal to the eye nor taste of those whose ideas of cleanliness and attractiveness of victuals have been cultured along the lines of Western propriety. So at the stations where we arrive about meal-times are restaurants, arranged first - second and third-class and ample time - at the rate of the East - is given for the satisfaction of the appetite.
In the old days the river Irrawaddy was the only highway to the up-country and it was, and is yet, a broad and handy way indeed, however winding. The prows of palatial steamers and swift launches cut its yellow waters today and a delightful round trip is made by tourists in going to Mandalay by train and back by sliding down the devious course of the father of Burmese waters.
We leave the train to meet with transportation more primitive. A not to be despised mode of travel in Burma, even in this day of electric, steam and motor vehicles, is the lowly bullock cart....
next station. At the first stop, he alights and buys a third class ticket and takes a lower seat until within one station of his destination, when he changes again and is able smilingly and without "loss of face" to greet his friends from a first class carriage. The reason for this being called pipe-stem travel is obvious."
Meal-time suggests that there are two alternatives for the refreshment of the appetite. There are no dining cars on the trains and so we partake of the viands supplied at the station restaurants, or resort to the tiffin basket. The latter we have brought with us and it consists of a large (for a basket) trunk like affair, usually crated, or in some way reinforced to withstand the wear. Now "tiffin" as a word is the sole property of Anglo-Indian circles and comes from "tiffing," which signifies eating between meals. So tifffin is luncheon in the East, but always the luncheon between breakfast and dinner, that is, about noon or early afternoon. But a tiffin basket carries meals of whatever name. And its fitting-up ranges all the way from the very simple to the very elaborate, according to the taste and pocket-book of the owner.
It is very handy to have an alcohol or an air-pressure oil-stove in it so that water or food may be heated. Lacking this we could resort to the escape valve on the engine fro hot water, if the driver (engineer) is friendly.
The food hawked along the station platforms does not appeal to the eye nor taste of those whose ideas of cleanliness and attractiveness of victuals have been cultured along the lines of Western propriety. So at the stations where we arrive about meal-times are restaurants, arranged first - second and third-class and ample time - at the rate of the East - is given for the satisfaction of the appetite.
In the old days the river Irrawaddy was the only highway to the up-country and it was, and is yet, a broad and handy way indeed, however winding. The prows of palatial steamers and swift launches cut its yellow waters today and a delightful round trip is made by tourists in going to Mandalay by train and back by sliding down the devious course of the father of Burmese waters.
We leave the train to meet with transportation more primitive. A not to be despised mode of travel in Burma, even in this day of electric, steam and motor vehicles, is the lowly bullock cart....