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EditorsMyo Lwin, Wade Guyitt

Sub editorMya Kay Khine Soe

WritersBridget Di Certo, Sandar Lwin,

Mya Kay Khine Soe, Phyo Wai Kyaw, Rosie, Su Phyo Win, Douglas Long, Myo Lwin

Cover designKo Htway, Ko Khin Zaw

Cover PhotoBruno Leunen

PhotographersKaung Htet, Aung Htay Hlaing, Boothee, Ko Take,

Zarni, Thiri Lu, Bruno Leunen, Wade Guyitt

A Myanmar Times Special Report – February 2014

Wheels

For enquiries and feedback: myolwin@myanmartimes.com.mm

Photos: Supplied/Bruno Leunen

Bridget di Certo

WHAT do the 96-year-old mother of Formula 1 celebrity Alastair Caldwell, a

James Bond-model Aston Martin and an ox-cart have in common?

Along with vintage Bentleys and Rolls-Royces, they all featured in the last October’s Myanmar-Burma Road Classic, the country’s first-ever vintage car rally.

Twenty-seven cars toured Myanmar for 23 days, hitting major destinations like Bagan and Inle Lake, and even capital Nay Pyi Taw, where the city’s wide streets were perfect for showing off the cars.

But the route also wound through less frequently visited areas of the country, said Bruno Leunen, managing director of Belgium-based Destination Unlimited, which teamed with Inspiration Myanmar to coordinate the drive.

“We go to areas that are remote where there is no tourism, and this allows the interactions to be more natural and authentic and bring

some returns to the community,” Mr Leunen said.

“A rally gives the freedom to the people to go at the time they want, and to do the routing according to the book but at the pace they want,” he added. “So if they want to stop, meet the locals, take photos, eat lunch in a local restaurant, they are free to do it.

“The people coming now are quite wealthy people,” he added,“to be able to bring their cars here. They want [this freedom] or they wouldn’t come. If it is a convoy, it is not interesting for them.”

The next edition of the rally, scheduled for February 2015, is set to drop by even more isolated areas, including the only-recently liberalised roads to the Mogok ruby mines, he said.

Mr Leunen credited the Myanmar government with being extremely cooperative and supportive, both in hosting the rally initially and in allowing it to return next year.

“Even though the government was a bit hesitant at the beginning we showed them exactly what it was

to [rally] and follow the road book,” he said.

Mr Leunen said that the quality of roads in Myanmar had improved greatly over the past two years during the lead-up to the SEA Games, making the rally an easier ride for the vintage cars.

He also pointed out that cars in both the pre-war and pre-1970 categories were actually designed to travel along bumpier and even unsealed roads. The bigger wheels of the pre-war Bentleys, for example, made travelling on the scenic red dirt roads of rural Myanmar much less of a challenge than you might expect.

And two months before the event, dozens of gas stations opened across the country, hitting all the necessary points on the rally routes. That made their previous refuelling plan – to have a petrol tanker travel alongside the group – unnecessary.

Still, Myanmar’s roads do offer certain challenges to vehicles of any age, said Daw Khaing Zani, managing director of Inspiration Myanmar, a travel company that works with Destination

Nearly 30 classic cars criss-crossed Myanmar last October in a three-week drive unlike any other

Vintage hits the roadUnlimited to provide premium à la carte travel services to wealthy European travellers.

“It is not an easy country to drive through because there is a lot of traffic from everywhere, not only the locals but the trucks, pigs, cows, bicycles. You have to really watch out all the time,” she said.

Daily briefing sessions were held with the European visitors to teach them some of the more unfamiliar practices of driving in Asia – such as the benefits of the ubiquitous honking of car horns.

“We have to tell them, ‘Even if you think you can’t see another vehicle, you must always honk your horn to let others know you are there,’” Daw Khaing Zani said.

Mr Leunan added that some of the old cars don’t have a proper horn system, making rather an unfamiliar sound compared to the more commonplace vehicles they encountered on the journey.

Each classic automobiles was shipped to Yangon one-and-a-half months prior to the rally from their countries of origin, and all

necessary mechanical equipment and mechanics were brought along too from Europe.

But while these antique models have long since disappeared from Myanmar’s roadways, Daw Khaing Zani said many of the mechanical problems encountered along the way were easily fixed by the local mechanics, with nothing more than creative thinking and elbow grease.

“They don’t require spare parts. We had a car that had a suspension weakness and it was able to be fixed by the local mechanic in Kalaw.” Ingenious use of a makeshift apparatus made from local piping got the car rolling smoothly once more.

Putting these cars on the road again, the duo said, was a great cultural exchange opportunity for visitors and locals alike.

“Local old people [seeing the vintage cars] are probably nostalgic because they have seen these cars a long time ago,” Mr Leunen said. When the cars go by, “They come and see, because there are not many of those cars left in the country.”

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Phyo Wai KyaW

NEW cars used to be rarer than gold in the golden land. After General Ne Win’s government

nationalised industries in Burma in 1972 with the aim of creating a self-sufficient state, the only way to get a new car imported was through government connections or via exemptions issued to sailors travelling abroad. But neither was there a local auto industry either, so old cars were patched together and kept on the road in whatever ways possible. Some dated to the Second World War or earlier.

The situation changed somewhat in the late 1990s. Suzuki partnered with the government to produce Wagon R sedans and Viva 110 motorcycles in Myanmar. Then, in 2000, the Mandalay and Taunggyi industrial zones were given authorisation to produce 50 jeeps themselves per year, and the Monywa and Pakokku industrial zones were authorised to produce 30 each.

Local manufacturers say it was the jump-start they’d been waiting for. With a huge vacuum in the car market, they’d seen the possibilities for sales, especially to those who were rich enough to afford cars but not rich enough – or well-connected enough – to bring in foreign models. They’d been yearning for permission to build more cars at home, and at last they had it.

It also helped that, in 2001, the government tightened the car import ban – except for those able to snag special licences – thus removing all competition for local producers.

Producing an entire vehicle from scratch was beyond the capabilities of Myanmar’s factories, however, so except for the body shell – which give the vehicles a unique visual appearance and set them apart from those made elsewhere – most of the inside parts for the so-called new local cars were purchased internationally and imported.

Gear boxes, engines, front and rear axles, steering wheels – 35% of

the “local” cars consisted of parts shipped in from outside. And news reports at the time said seized shipments of illegally imported car parts would be sold to local manufacturers at low prices.

Since the body was handmade in Myanmar, though, mass production was impossible. Vehicles were sold in advance: You placed an order and, three to four months later – possibly longer, depending on what factory you bought from – your car was finished. And in the meantime, during the waiting period, you could proudly say, “I ordered a jeep to be produced at the zone.”

Because jeeps they were, not sedans or vans. But once a steady flow of production was in place, in 2003 the industrial zone started producing made-to-order light trucks as well, which were suited for industrial use.

In retrospect, comparing the cost of a whole vehicle imported from outside the country and the cost of the spare parts needed to build a locally made vehicle,

the zone prices were still too expensive. Depending on shape, size and which zone it came from, in the early days of production a Myanmar-made automobile could cost anywhere from K3.5 million to K8-10 million. That’s roughly $3500 to $10,000 at today’s exchange rate – well beyond the average worker’s salary.

For producers, though, it was a lucrative industry.

In the early years at the Mandalay industrial zone, three or four companies were producing only three to five vehicles a year. But within five years, 30 companies were producing thousands of cars annually, with companies like Dagon and Shan Star becoming icons of the road.

According to a “sensitive” report issued in March 2008 by the American Embassy and currently hosted online by Wikileaks, in 2007 “more than 400 small and medium-sized companies in Burma produce[d] ‘new’ unbranded jeeps and light trucks with used parts

imported from Japan, China, Taiwan, and Malaysia”. The same report states that 150,000 vehicles were made that year, with the military alone buying up to 40 percent of them. The real purpose of at-home manufacturing, the author of the unsigned report suggests, may have been to provide the armed forces with less expensive vehicles than those imported from overseas.

But the jeeps weren’t as reliable as those from abroad. And nor were everyone who sold them. Taking parts from non-licensed cars and putting them in a local car; stamping a foreign brand on the body of a Japanese-made Liteace – these were just two of many tricks used by some companies to increase revenue.

Still, analysts said at the time that the local car market was proving steady. and advised that imports of spare parts should be done in advance until parts of better quality could be made here. But they also warned that when

the time came that foreign-made cars could again be imported, the local car production industry might quickly find itself out of business.

That’s exactly what happened. In October 2011 the ban on imports was lifted: New cars could again be imported by private citizens with a licence. And licences were no longer rare: A trade-in program was set up, in which 20-to-40-year-old vehicles could be surrendered for scrap in exchange for the right to buy a newer foreign-made vehicle.

The policy swept many old and unsafe cars off the road. But it also swept away the hopes of those in the local manufacturing industry. Without a protectionist import ban in place, their businesses were sunk.

“The business has stopped,” says U Myint Swe, from Man Star car factory in Mandalay’s industrial zone. The chance to import more prestigious foreign brands has wiped out the public’s interest in locally assembled cars, he says, and pushed many out of the industry. “Some factory owners changed to opening showrooms of foreign imported cars.”

U Ko Ko Oo, who formerly met success with the Okay car brand, is among those would won’t be producing jeeps anymore. They don’t really qualify as new cars anyway, he says.

“Jeeps are fixed with the Japanese parts. Although it seems fine parts-wise, because of the cutting and fitting of the body they should be listed as used cars.”

Today, zone-made jeeps in good condition still fetch upward of K5 million. They’re meant to last over a decade, as most are used for rough work only, and many owners are looking to trade them in if possible.

For those with the money, the tradition of keeping an old car on the road indefinitely seems to be waning. As a character on a recent South Korean soap opera said, “The car we are using is even three years old now, and we should exchange it.”

It seems Myanmar drivers are thinking the same way too.

When the government’s car substitution program began in September 2011, allowing people to trade in old cars for a licence to purchase a newer one, it transformed the look of Myanmar’s roads in one punch. But it also wiped out a once-thriving industry of local car production

Local car manufacturers left in the dust

Workers assemble vehicles in Mandalay’s industrial zone in 2007, the golden era of local car production. Photo: Phyo Wai Kyaw

Current used car prices

Model Price in lakhs US equivalent Year

Toyota Belta 140-145 $14,214-$14,721 2008 X-Grade

130-135 $13,198-$13,706 2007 G-Grade

160 $16,244 2010 X-Grade

Toyota Probox 120-135 $12,183-$13,706 2007 F-Grade

Toyota Vitz 105-115 $10,660-$11,676 2007

Honda Fit 145 $14,721 2008 L-Smart

155 $15,736 2011

105 $10,660 2008

Toyota Wish 240-230 $24,366-$23,351 2003

Toyota Surf (Diesel) 340 $34,518 1999

285 $28,934 1998

Toyota Land Cruiser (Diesel) 550 $55,838 1998

Suzuki Swift 115 $11676 2006-2007

160 $16244 2010-2013

1 lakh = K100,000; US$1 = K985Souce: Hanthawaddy car market as of February 15, 2014

Imported used cars are displayed for sale at a car lot in South Okkalapa

township in Yangon. More than two years after the government’s car

import system came into effect, about 200,000 vehicles have been imported, most of them destined for the streets

of Yangon where they’ve resulted in heavy traffic jams. But with thousands

of automobiles still parked in car yards across the city, and several thousand

more idling at Thilawa port near Thanlyin, market sources complain

that sales have come to almost a complete stop, with car prices

remaining relatively unchanged over the past six months.

Photo: Boothee

CARS AWAIT CuSTOMeRS

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rosie

CAR washes in downtown Yangon happen much like everything else there does – roadside, and by hand.

If you head along the upper blocks of Bo Aung Kyaw or Pansodan, you may see a group of men hunched down at the side of the road trying to catch the attention of passing cars.

They’re not looking for a ride, though. They’re looking for a job.

If you pull over, they’ll wash your windows and polish your doors. They’ll hose down your hood and roof and trunk and wash them by hand. They’ll strip out the floor mats and even your seats, if you want them to, and while they’re at it they’ll ask if you’re interested in their most recent

service – a check of the engine, say, or a quick fix or minor repair.

Ko Pahr Lay is 34 years old. He lives in Tamwe township but he’s been coming downtown to work at the streetside car wash on Bo Aung Kyaw since he was about 14.

“The daily income is irregular,” he says. “It depends on the customers. Sometimes there’s no income in a day. It’s not enough to support the family and the children’s schooling like before. But I can only do this job, so I will keep doing it for a long time.”

Life in the Yangon pit crew hasn’t been easy, they say.

It all began on upper Pansodan Street around 1980, when a man named Hah Shin started the first roadside car wash.

Hah Shin started with one bucket, they say, and a bar of soap, because at that time there was no powdered soap detergent in Myanmar.

There were also fewer kinds of cars. Hah Shin and those who joined him used to wash mostly Japanese imports like Sunnys, Hiluxs, Publicas – the kinds of cars everyone drove back then.

Some cars were so old, they say, you could put a hole in the side if you washed them with a pressure hose – a business advantage for anyone working by hand with soap and bucket.

From upper Pansodan the car-washers spread to what before 1990 were known as Creek Street (today’s Bo Myat Tun), Eden Street (today’s Botahtaung Zay) and then finally Sparks Street (today’s Bo

Aung Kyaw).Eventually each group’s leader

came to make K75-100 a day; an assistant earned K50-70. It was reliable, and in those days it was more than enough to cover expenses for themselves and their families.

But it all came to a stop in 1990-1 with “the law to block the road”, which meant no one was allowed to set up street stalls on public property or otherwise encroach on the space where traffic should be.

The car-washers found their buckets and equipment being confiscated by the Yangon City Development Committee, and they were sometimes fined.

After two or three years, the city gave them permission to work at the Hanthawaddy car market, further north in Kamayut township. But their customers didn’t follow them there; and with the high costs of water, and having to pay the city daily fees even for the stools they sat on, they weren’t left with any profits in the end. It only took a few days before they were back to their old locations.

Since 2010 they’ve also offered car repair services. There’s even some buying and selling of vehicles happening from time to time.

And sometimes they’re called on to do house-calls, with a customer picking them up, driving them to their homes to wash their cars and then ferrying them back to work.

That’s on a good day, the kind of day they might make K20,000. But other days they may earn K500 to K2000 – or nothing at all.

U Kyaw Soe is 44 years old. He’s worked as a car washer for about 23 years.

“When I started this job, you only saw the Sunny, Hilux, Publica ... Nowadays it’s Hilux Surf, Cygnus Land Cruisers, Prados, Super Customs and Alphards.”

He says there are only a few people left in the business, and it’s too unstable to support his family.

“But we can’t do other jobs and have no education. We will keep doing car servicing and washing by hand until we die.”

Another young car-washer agrees.“I can do only this job. I have no education. I will keep on in this business. But if YCDC does not allow us to do this job, how can I find another job? Where should I go and work?”

U Kyaw remembers how, when the offices of the Ministry of Information were located on upper Bo Aung Kyaw, the car-washers would regularly wash the . information minister’s car, a black Audi, to try to build a relationship with the government and protect

their jobs.Today, they’re still trying to

work out arrangements. Usually they’re allowed to stay, but if a VIP is travelling nearby, they and other street businesses need to clear out.

U Kyaw says the car-washers want a steady place from the government where they can work without harassment from officials or passersby, where it is convenient for customers and where the fees are something they can afford.

He also says they would like to meet the man who started it all.

Today’s car-washers, at Bo Aung Kyaw or Pansodan, don’t know much about Hah Shin. But they’ve all heard of him, and they all agree he’s probably about 70 by now, and that he’s Muslim. They’ve also heard he’s living in Thaketa township.

“The last thing I want to say is thank you to the person who started this job, Hah Shin Bi,” U

Kyaw says.“We’ve only heard about him

and we have never seen him. We want to know who Hah Shin is.”

‘If YCDC does not allow us to do this job, how can I find another job? Where should I go and work?’

– Bo Aung Kyaw car-washer

For decades the car-washers of downtown Yangon have watched good times and bad times roll by. They say they owe it all to one man – if only they could find him

Car-wash legend

Photo: Aung Htay Hlaing

Do you know Hah Shin? If so, please contact The Myanmar Times at newsroom@mmtimes.com or by calling 253642. We’d love to put him in touch with those who want to meet him.

douglas long

THE first car I drove extensively in Yangon turned out to be a remarkably poor choice.

It was equipped with a 3.2-litre engine, but its bulk sapped the snap from the acceleration, making it tough to dodge all those red-light-running buses.

Meanwhile, the car’s 300-centimetre wheelbase, coupled with a mere 114 millimetres of ground clearance, left it scraping bottom on some of the city’s more severe speed bumps. It also didn’t do very well staying above the waterline on monsoon-flooded streets.

Fortunately, some car manufacturers keen to break into “frontier markets” like Indonesia, Malaysia and Myanmar are recognising the unique driving conditions in Southeast Asia and designing vehicles accordingly.

One of these companies is Ford, which late last year opened its first dealership in Yangon and also unveiled its 2014 Fiesta model, which features a new overall design for all markets, as well as some specific tweaks on models intended for sale in Myanmar and the rest of the ASEAN region.

A few weeks ago I had

the opportunity to test-drive a new Fiesta in northern Thailand, taking the car through its paces on urban streets, fast and straight highways, and coiling mountain roads.

I harboured a few reservations about operating a car in a left-hand-drive country – something I had never done before – but it turned out to be a trouble-free experience: My group of 15 or so test drivers travelled in a well-monitored caravan with a police escort, and there was also a guy in the lead car who radioed back to warn us about oncoming traffic, sharp turns and stray dogs that might provide cause for evasive action.

It also helped that the five-door hatchback Fiesta looked like something I would actually want to drive. The recently redesigned exterior features sleek and sporty lines, with a trapezoidal front grille – described in the marketing packet as a “key element of Ford DNA” – that evokes a classic, James Bond-esque Aston Martin profile.

The interior was surprisingly stylish and spacious for a small sedan, complete with a leather steering wheel with audio controls, and a dashboard that the designers said was inspired by state-of-the-

art mobile

phone interfaces. The car is equipped with Ford’s

SYNC system, which allows voice-activated control of mobile phones and media devices. This facilitates hands-free phone conversations as well as voice activation of USB-connected music players. Incoming SMS text messages can also be converted to audible speech.

Fiestas are available with standard 1.5-litre petrol engines, but for ASEAN countries the company is pushing its innovative 1.0-litre EcoBoost system, which won the International Engine of the Year Award for 2012 and 2013, and the International Paul Pietsch Award 2013 for technological innovation in Germany.

While a single litre might seem undersized for a car engine, the EcoBoost combines direct injection, turbo-charging and variable valve timing to deliver power and performance roughly equivalent to a traditional 1.6-litre four-cylinder petrol engine.

At the same time, fuel efficiency registers at an impressive 18.9 kilometres per litre of petrol – or about 800km from a tank of fuel.

In ASEAN countries, the EcoBoost engine is matched with a six-speed automatic transmission, and the Fiesta’s engineers also focused on methods for dampening

vibration and rattle for a quieter ride, including the use of

a belt-in-oil drive system, and an

innovative clutch and flywheel design.

Also important for monsoon-plagued countries like Myanmar is the water-wading rating for Fiestas marketed in Asia, which is higher than that of the European models: The ground clearance is 168mm, a respectable rating for a small sedan. (The Honda Fit, by comparison, measures about 150mm.)

The 235km (146-mile) test drive, which started and ended in Chiang Mai, can only be described as colossal fun.

I spent the first few kilometres settling into the cosy driver’s seat and testing out the voice controls on the sound system, simultaneously entertained by the technology and annoyed at the unimaginative, pop-oriented music selection supplied by Ford.

I also had to dedicate a handful of brain cells to remembering to stay in the left lane, but that effort was made simpler by the fact that the steering was easy and positive, allowing for confident manoeuvring

through traffic.Our caravan picked

up speed on the outskirts of the city, and

it was here that vibration-dampening technologies

proved their worth: Cruising along at 100kph was only slightly rougher

and noisier than crawling at 30kph, although the ride did get noticeably jerky when travelling at higher speeds on uneven surfaces.

The Fiesta really came into its own on the tortuously twisty and undulating roads northwest of Chiang Mai. The car delivered an agile, European driving style with smooth and precise braking, supple cornering and zippy uphill acceleration out of tight curves.

Residents of Yangon would have to drive up to Thaundaung Gyi east of Taungoo to find similarly curvy and precipitous driving conditions in Myanmar. But the Fiesta – with its excellent fuel efficiency, quiet ride, assured steering and high ground clearance – would also be an excellent choice for cruising around the city in any season.

Production of the 2014 Fiesta EcoBoost started in Thailand in late October, with deliveries in Thailand and Malaysia expected early this year.

At the test drive in Chiang Mai, the Ford representatives said they were aiming to make the Fiesta available in Myanmar by the end of March. But they would not specify prices, and a request last week for updated information on the Fiesta in Myanmar went unanswered by Ford.

Ford signals a turn to the southeastThe 2014 Fiesta EcoBoost is designed for ASEAN nations, but as a test drive in northern Thailand shows, it’s not lacking in European style and power

Photo: Supplied

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Phot

o: S

uppl

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Myo lWin andMya Kay Khine

WITH a squeal of brakes, the bus rolls up to the curb along Yangon’s Pansodan

Street. Before it has even stopped, the young man hanging off the stairs starts calling out rapid-fire destinations before hopping down to the pavement. “Sule-Ahlone-Thiri Mingalar Zay-Kyimyaingdaing-Myauk Okkalapa...” Soon, he’s helping passengers down and ushering others aboard, tapping each new fare on the shoulder as they pass to keep count. Then, with a call to the driver, he sends the bus onward again, hopping back onboard himself only at the last second, like a boatman pushing his own craft out from shore.

Bus conductors in Myanmar are usually called spares, or “spay-yahs”: They’re thought of as being something extra, and because of this many look down on them, taking them to be lower-class, or dirty and impolite.

As a conversation with one Yangon conductor proves, that’s far from the case.

Myo Win Aung fell in love with big vehicles at age 13. After getting to know long-distance commercial transport from his uncle, a truck driver, he dropped out of state school in ninth standard to work alongside him. In 2006, he gave up trucking and took a job as a bus

conductor. He now works on line No 157,

which connects North Okkalapa township on the city’s northeast edge to Sule Pagoda at the heart of its southern city centre.

Like all of Yangon’s overburdened bus routes, it’s a busy line. Commuters ride in to work on it and head home again at night. At peak times – which seems to be all the time – passengers along certain stretches of the route are packed in without any room to breath, with around 100 crowded into a full bus and no chance for personal space.

Of course, no one rides this way if they can avoid it. They do it because hiring a taxi from one end of the line to the other would cost about K4000 – 20 times as much as a K200 bus ride. And they do it because owning their own cars is something they can only dream of.

While the price of a bus ride is affordable, there’s no one who isn’t relieved when they get to their destination and manage to squeeze their way up to the doors and out into the open air once again.

Except for Myo Win Aung. Despite the hard life he lives each day, the 32-year-old says has no plans to change career.

Working as a bus conductor lets him earn enough to support his mother and sister in Mingaladon township. It also challenges him a lot more than people realise.

In addition to collecting fees from passengers, he is the one responsible for making sure they, his co-workers

and the bus’s owner stay happy. He has to sure the bus is taking on enough passengers. He helps the driver negiotiate the big bus through the often-angry traffic. He makes sure that the breakdowns are fixed as soon as possible, sometimes by fixing them himself, so that the running hours are not affected. He even washes the bus and sweeps out the inside.

On a normal day, he travels over 100 miles (160 kilometres) during his rounds. He probably also walks a few extra miles too, making his way up and down the packed aisle collecting fares from passengers and making sure everyone fits in – and gets out – as they should.

Work starts at 4am. On a normal day he finishes at 9pm. When the bus needs to wait at a gas filling station, though, it could be 11pm. He has no days off.

Nor can he skip out early – Myo Win Aung, a confirmed bachelor, stores his things at the bus terminal and sleeps on the bus each night, on the back row of seats where he can stretch out straight. Partly this is for security, but it’s also because he has no time in between shifts to go back to his family’s home, which is 15 miles (24km) away.

He’s not only the bus manager but also a businessperson.

“Whenever there is something we need to fix on the bus, I clarify the expenses with the owner. I give him genuine receipts for the mechanic’s fees, for every single part we replace, so there is no misunderstanding between us,” he says.

In a big bus like the one Myo Win Aung is working, the driver gets 15 percent of the day’s total income. Another 15pc is split between the two spares: There are normally two because one can collect money in the car while another can hang around – sometimes literally – at the entrance, calling out the routes, inviting the passengers in, telling the inside spare how many are getting on so no one dodges payment, and directing the bus driver on where to stop and when to overtake other traffic.

The line collects K200 for every passenger, although Myo Win Aung lets monks and nuns ride free. With the total number of passengers ranging from 700 to 1000 daily, an

average day’s gross income works out to more than K150,000.

“The cost of meals for three of us, the fuel, the bus line’s daily fees and the tea money for traffic police all along the way are paid for from our total amount,” he says.

How do they know he’s not pocketing an extra cut off the top? It’s all about trust, Myo Win Aung replies.

“We are not getting the exact same amount of income every day. Sometimes we give the owner a little less than K100,000 when we get less. Sometimes we get more than that, and then we can give the owner more and I get more.

“I am happy that we have trust among the four of us – the owner, the driver and two spares.”

As he has to spend so many hours on the bus, he has to stay relaxed at work, because there’s no time to do it afterward.

When they need to drive faster to get more passengers, he says, they become serious and alert, to make sure they’re being careful. But when they’re driving steadily and it’s not too busy, the three of them like to tease one other.

Sometimes the joking actually helps keep them safe. “We like to have pork curry with lots of fat and rice for lunch. After a heavy meal, we normally feel sleepy. It is important that the driver doesn’t fall asleep while driving. So I need to keep him awake and alert, especially after a lunch of pork curry. I have to make jokes, and he loves it.”

Lightening the mood can also make it easier to interact with passengers. “Stop speaking on the mobile phone when stepping on to the bus,” he’ll say to anyone whose attention is distracted while climbing aboard. “You can be run over by the rear wheels. And don’t expect that these wounds can be treated with Lingzhi balm.”

Joking aside, he says, he thinks of the passengers as his benefactors.

“They are the customers who are feeding us and we need to understand them. We need to be patient.”

Not that it’s always easy. “The worst passengers are the

drunkards. They are very difficult to deal with.”

Likewise the traffic police, to whom they must pay bribes –

colloquially known as “tea money” – each day. He says that’s one of the worst parts of his job.

Likewise, he dreads dealing with pickpockets: “They get on the bus in groups. Sometimes six or seven get on board at the same time. They look the same as other passengers – they wear nice clothes; they have mobile phones – but they also have pointed objects like small knives and steel bars which they can use when necessary. So we dare not approach them.”

When they notice there are pickpockets aboard, he said, they drive to the next stop and let off whoever wants to get off. But they don’t let new passengers on, and they do the same at the next stop and the next. The bus begins to empty, and when the thieves realise no more passengers are getting on, they generally leave as well.

On one occasion, however, a group of known pickpockets climbed aboard, and after the doors closed Myo Win Aung instructed the driver to drive directly to the police station, where the trapped criminals were apprehended.

Sometimes there are also more delicate matters to worry about.

“Our culture does not allow us to touch any parts of a girl’s body, not even her hands. But at times we need to get passengers off at a stop in a hurry, and if a girl is on the steps, we simply have to help her.

“Most of the time, it is okay. But I had a bad experience with a girl who fell down at the steps and I had to catch her. So she fell into my arms. She was so shy that she tried to file a suit against me. But she didn’t appear at the police station. So it was a sigh of relief for me that it ended quickly. From that time on, I have had to be extra careful.”

Touching aside, has anyone ever caught his eye?

“Marriage is like a prison,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t want to be in prison. I like to live freely supporting my family.”

He says he can earn over K200,000 a month after expenses, and has a circle of friends at the terminal who understand the demands of a bus conductor’s life.

“It is hard work,” Myo Aung Win says.“But as a car-lover, I enjoy being close to the vehicles that help me earn a living.”

For one Yangon bus conductor, the job’s a 24/7 ride that never stops. And with the bus serving as his office,dining room and bedroom, he says he wouldn’t hop off for anything

All aboard

Photo: Thiri Lu

Photo: Thiri Lu

10 11

sandar lWin

THERE’S good news and bad news for drivers worried about themselves and their cars while out on the road.

The good news is that the Myanmar government has recently allowed private insurers to offer comprehensive vehicle insurance.

The bad news is that the policies and premiums will be the same for all insurance firms operating under the Insurance Business Supervisory Board (IBSB) – so forget about shopping around.

Officials say the new offerings will expand the presently nascent market, while providers worry they stand to make poor profits, and possibly even losses. Still, they say

it’s important not to delay getting covered – especially with today’s hectic traffic conditions and lots of new and expensive vehicles hitting the streets.

Ten insurance firms are now operating, including government-run Myanma Insurance Enterprise. Dealing with any of them should be much easier than in the past: They provide door-to-door service and no agent fees, so all you have to do is check out their policies and documents and answer some of their questions.

They will prepare all the forms and procedures except your money transfer to the respective bank. And when you need to make a claim for damages, just collect the available evidence and inform them of your

accident as soon as possible.All the forms are in English,

though, so make sure you’re able to understand them fully, and don’t be afraid to ask follow-up questions if you don’t.

Independent insurance sale agent Ko Nyi Nyi Min Htet (Ko Nyi, for short) are eager for Myanmar-language documents. He says he hasn’t experienced problems due to a language barrier yet, but adds that it would help the buyers if they could be more independent and capable throughout the process.

U Saw Sein Linn, assistant manager of Myanma Insurance Enterprise, says a precise translation would be “difficult”, however, due to the precise law terms used.

Comprehensive coverage insures you against accidents, damage caused by things falling on your car, fire, intentional damage, loss of the entire car, a stolen car, damage during delivery, and damage during riots or natural disasters.

One year’s comprehensive protection works out to under 1 percent of showroom price of the car, Ko Nyi says. Policies are transferrable between old and new vehicles, provided they’re of equivalent value, and if you happen to be insuring a fleet of 10 vehicles or more, you can even get a 10 percent discount.

You can also get a separate premium covering damage to others. You’ll automatically have the option when you get your

vehicle licence – and it starts at just K2000 for a standard five-person vehicle, topping out at K9500 for a taxi truck. Insurers say not many people are aware of this and they want to get the word out to the public about this easy coverage.

“The present insurance policies are really beneficial to the buyers,” U Saw Sein Linn says. He encouraged car owners not to delay – not only because it’s important to get protection as soon as possible, but also because, as the industry develops, he foresees policies becoming “more complex” and “more restrictive for buyers”.

According to the IBSB’s policies, insurance companies must reserve 40pc of total capital for paying back customers filing claims.

You can’t put a price on health – but K2000 a year is a good startWith private insurers now offering car insurance, there’s no time like the present to get insurance and peace of mind

Roadside assistanceSometimes there’s just no way to avoid an accident

Myo lWin

It all happened in a split second.Three years ago I was driving

home from work with my son around 5:45pm when I came around a curve on Thanthumar Road near Thuwunna Stadium and my jeep smashed head-on into a taxi coming in the opposite direction.

The accident was no one’s fault: As we later discovered, my jeep’s front axle simply broke, and I lost control of the car. But what was purely bad luck was that, even though I was only driving 30 kilometres per hour, there were two other cars driving in the lanes to my right, so I took the curve quite close to the centre solid line. The broken axle dragged the car 3 feet to the left – over the centre line and into oncoming traffic.

But we only worked that out afterward. At the time the car came to a stop, I had blood dripping down my forehead. But I couldn’t take care of myself first, because my son was beside me. When I looked at him I saw he had blood oozing from small cuts on his head.

“How are you?”I asked him. “Okay,” he replied, “just minor.” That was my first sigh of relief.

The second was when I saw the other driver – the only person in the sedan – getting out totally uninjured.

If he had been hospitalised, it would have been unimaginable. I could have been arrested, at least for a few weeks. And of course if he had died I would have never gotten over this terrible event.

As it was, the front ends of both our cars were both totally crushed: Windshields, headlamps, grilles

and radiators were all broken and scattered across the road. Both vehicles looked like they were beyond repair. I was certain I’d need to pay at least a few million kyat.

My son had called my relatives and they arrived at the scene around the same time the traffic police did. I remember my sister anxiously telling them, “Oh, my brother has many high-level contacts in the military and government. So everything should be fair. He will pay for the damages,” and the police officer just nodding. But I made it clear to the other driver and the officers that the accident was cause by a mechanical fault in my car, and that I would of course pay for all the damage.

By the time 15 minutes had passed, a crowd of onlookers had gathered and were looking at us and the debris. They, my relatives and the police were kind and helpful.

One man advised me to go to the hospital quickly. Others said I shouldn’t, lest it become a criminal case.

In the end, a taxi driver volunteered to drive me to one clinic after another. But at each the doctors said my wound was too deep for them to treat. An hour later, I was sitting in Yangon General Hospital. The traffic police were there also, waiting to find out my condition.

The doctors asked me to walk

straight for about 20 feet, which I could do perfectly. Next I was told to raise one finger in the air and touch it with another finger from my other hand. I passed that test too.

Then I was carried to an X-ray room, which I remember was quite dirty and smelt awful. Even worse was that, as soon as I laid down on the bed, the electricity went off. I was left alone in the dark for about 5 minutes until I heard the generator start and the lights came back on.

Luckily, the X-ray showed no fractures in my skull. But I was told to go to neurology, where I again had to wait, and where the young surgeons when they saw me asked my wife whether or not they should use good quality stitches. The cost would be K15,000, they warned; they needed her permission to use them.

Without any pause, my wife urged them to use the best, and to do it as quickly as possible. Already three hours had passed since the accident, but blood was still pumping out against the cloth I had pressed to my forehead.

Half an hour later, the doctors let me go home. But in truth I couldn’t go home: I had to go to the police station, to settle the payment of damages to the other car.

By 1am we all agreed I would pay compensation of 15 lakhs (K1,500,000) to the taxi driver.

By 2am I was home, but soon I started to feel the pain more strongly. I started getting a fever and feeling cold.

That night my relatives slept beside me that night. Each time I grumbled because of the pain they

got up and massaged my legs softly to calm me down.

Today, the pain is long gone. But my 3-inch-long scar is still visible, despite the good-quality stitches the doctors used.

Whenever I see it in the mirror, that scar reminds me of a number of things. First, I learned that one single mechanical fault in a car can ruin many lives. Second, it often makes me think that if I’d not taken the left lane, I wouldn’t have crashed into the oncoming car. But then again, maybe I would have crashed into another car going the same direction I was.

Another lesson – a more reassuring one – was that many people have loving-kindness, and I appreciated those who came to my aid during that nightmare. The police officers were good to me. The taxi driver and owner were kind and able to settle the damage payments quickly. The cabbie who drove me from clinic to clinic called me later on, to check that I was okay. And my relatives came forward with the money I needed right away – even though it took me two years to pay them back for the cost of the damages, to my car and others’.

And there’s one other thing I know: If I’d been wearing a seatbelt, I wouldn’t have this scar on my face today.

Lessons in living and driving

Another lesson was that many people have loving-kindness, and I appreciated those who came to my aid

during that nightmare

douglas long

THERE is something about being run over by a fast-moving car that is decidedly unpleasant.

I discovered this the hard way a few weeks ago when some young thug driving a black Suzuki Swift slammed into me from behind while I was pedalling my bike along Baho Road in Yangon’s Insein township.

Upon impact, I flew over the handlebars and hit the grimy, oily pavement at about 30 kilometres per hour; the driver, following conduct not uncommon in Myanmar, kept on going, entirely unconcerned about whether the person he had just cuffed was alive or dead.

My high-speed glide across the road left me bleeding from gaping wounds on my hands, arms and legs. Where once there was skin, now there was raw-hamburger-like gore.

Not one of the dozens of slack-jawed bystanders nearby offered any help, but at the time this listless lack of loving-kindness didn’t really concern me: A cursory assessment revealed that my bike was more or less unscathed, so I picked myself up, remounted and started chasing the swerving psychopath who had run me down.

I caught up with him less than 2km down the road, where he had made a right turn onto a side street and sat waiting at a traffic light.

Had I been in a more decorous state of mind, I would have simply photographed his licence plate and turned it over to the police, ensuring an appreciable stint of jail time for the driver.

But I wasn’t thinking very clearly. The collision had thrown a switch in my brain, inducing a fit of rage- and adrenaline-fueled intoxication. I was in Judge Dredd mode, intent on administering a hefty dose of medieval street justice.

I flew past the idling car on the left side – the driver clearly had

no idea I was coming up from behind – and used my right fist to punch the side-view mirror. The glass shattered, and the plastic housing snapped against the side of the car.

Satisfied that I had grabbed the driver’s attention, I slammed on my brakes, came to a complete stop and turned around in anticipation of a spirited melee.

My fervent hope was that the pitiable fool would emerge from his car and start shouting about his broken mirror, at which point I planned on knocking him to the ground, stomping his greasy guts out all over the pavement and throwing his car keys into the nearest sludge-filled drain.

I would then ride home for a pleasant evening of scrubbing the gravel out of my oozing sores.

But he didn’t get out of the car. He and his 20-something male passenger sat frozen and bug-eyed for a second or two, seemingly both surprised and horrified to find I was still alive.

Then, snapping out of his momentary hypnosis, the lunatic gunned the engine, swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic and sped to the traffic light, where he made a fantastically dangerous right turn across two lanes of moving cars. And then he was gone.

I thought about continuing the chase but realised I had already pedalled myself well into the pulmonary red zone. While I would have thoroughly enjoyed destroying another side-view mirror (and perhaps crafting a nice necklace out of the driver’s teeth), I had already defied death once and I was feeling about two

heartbeats away from cardiac arrest.

As I cycled the last few kilometres to my house, I reflected on various aspects of the incident.

Of course I was angry that the barbarian behind the wheel had a) hit me and b) not stopped. I was also extremely disappointed that none of the onlookers had made a move to see if I was okay – so much for the stereotype of the “friendly and helpful” locals.

Then there was my reaction: that I “shoulda woulda coulda” avoided flying into an uncontrollable rage, and instead used the opportunity to gather evidence that would get the hit-and-run driver off the streets and into a jail cell where he belongs.

But equally unsettling was the fact that I got whacked on a stretch of road I had always considered relatively safe. I spend a lot of time cycling in far sketchier places, where chaotic traffic patterns demand quick reflexes and split-second improvisation.

The “accident” had occurred at a spot where the road was wide and straight, where traffic was light and where there were few random obstacles.

These conditions allowed me to ride closer to the right-hand curb than usual – as in, well out of the way of the regular flow of traffic – and at the moment of impact I was travelling in an unwaveringly straight line: a skill acquired through tens of thousands of kilometres of cycling and many years of competing in bicycle road races.

It just goes to show: When it comes to danger, death and narrow escapes – or the unruly troglodytes who instigate them – there’s no accounting for time, place or circumstance. The unavoidable “dark horizon of our future” is always there in front of us, and when we are cycling out on the road – with nothing for protection but paper-thin fabric and a Styrofoam helmet – we can find ourselves propelled across it anywhere, anytime.

A hit-and-run collision leaves one Yangon cyclist with bloody arms, clenched fists and reflections on how you never can tell when your number may be up

Cracked rear viewWarning: Objects in mirror are closer

than they appear. Photo: Boothee

su Phyo Win

LONG past the turn-off for Mingaladon airport, but before the Htauk Kyant War Cemetery where the

British war dead are buried, the part of Pyay Road leading north out of Yangon is not an especially busy stretch. But if you’re heading out of the city, you may pass a small traffic jam forming on the other side of the road, with cars pulling over and waiting their turns in front of a small concrete building nestled in the shade of a great banyan tree.

They’re not stopping for petrol or supplies: They’re here to get blessed.

The scene is hectic but respectful: The lot in front is crowded with flower-sellers and cars, and children play games nearby. But when one young boy runs inside the building in front of the statues that stand facing the road wearing nearly identical expressions – each with a clear box full of donation money on the ground before it – his mother scolds him with a slap.

“How dare you play in front of Bo Bo Gyi? Do you want to suffer in hell?”

This is the scene at the Shwenyaungbin Bo Bo Gyi shrine, the larger of two famous car blessing shrines, both located just a short distance apart from one another alon the same stretch of road. Shwe nyaung bin means golden banyan tree, and Bo Bo Gyi (meaning great-

grandfather) is a nat, or spirit, of the Myanmar animist folk tradition that has been interwoven with Buddhism for centuries. He carries a stick and symbolises old age, and is worshipped at a number of shrines across the country.

But only these two Bo Bo Gyi shrines give out blessings to cars.

U Mya Aye, 72, is the head car blesser (or nan htein kyi) at Shwenyaungbin. He performs blessings during the even months of the year; his sister, Daw Khin Nan Nwe, performs them during odd months.

“Car blessing can be done all day and all night,” he says. “More than 100 cars come for blessings on busy days such as gazetted holidays.”

And the blessings don’t extend only to Buddhists; people of other faiths visit too. U Mya Aye says Muslim drivers come for blessings too, but let others get behind the wheel during the actual ceremony.

After a car pulls up in front of the building, the nan htein kyi recites some words – including the model and licence plate number of the car – and blesses the car, its driver and all future passengers so they will free from danger and accidents. Then he will pour water on the hood and the length of the car using a baung taw – usually a Eugenia branch, some jasmine leaves and a red-and-white cloth – and afterward they tie this to the car. U Mya Aye says some who live abroad take a baung taw home

with them again use on their cars in other countries.

The driver then gently drives the car forward a few feet and reverses to the previous position: Forward and back, forward and back – three approaches are made as a way of paying respect to the Bo Bo Gyi statues, just as one bows down three times before a Buddha image.

The official price is K1500 for the blessing, though sometimes drivers pay more. If someone wants to make an offering of banana and coconut to the nats also, that costs K3500.

Two other men, U Aung Mhu and U Yar Zar Min, help U Mya Aye with the blessings, working alternating 12-hour shifts at the shrine.

Over 100 flower-sellers rotate their own turns at the lucrative spot. They only work certain shifts, so everyone has a chance, and during their shift they can only sell to one car at a time before – carefully watched by a supervisor – they have to go back to the end of the line again. Still, the place is such a good spot for business they have agreed not to allow anyone else in. If a new seller wants to join, he or she has to buy out an existing seller’s spot. The current asking price? Fifteen lakhs – around US$1500.

City buses are too large to pull in, but sometimes they pause on the roadside and a seller will run out with strings of jasmine to be hung in the rearview mirrors.

Sometimes the blessing-seekers include women who are having trouble conceiving, who hope the visit will help them one day carry a little passenger of their own.

How did this tradition become so powerful? It all started in 1935 with U Mya Aye’s grandmother.

“My grandma just made a small shelf at the tree to place a Bo Bo Gyi statue in because Myanmar people have a saying that if there is a tree there has to be a guardian spirit of the tree.”

The tree, which shone in the sun, was thereafter referred to as the golden banyan tree – hence the

Shwenyaungbin name. “When drivers passed by on Pyay

Road, they saw my granny blessing the statue and they were curious. They asked what she was doing with the statue and whether it would have a good effect on her. And my granny answered, “If you bless the statue, you and your passengers will be safe and free from danger.”

Of course, back in 1935 there weren’t many cars on the road. It was mostly ox-carts then; but it’s still possible that the age of the place might explain why it’s on the side of the road going in to the city, rather than the one going out of it, as you might expect. Back when the shrine was founded, under colonial times, traffic moved on the left as in Britain, not on the right as Myanmar does today.

Ox-cart drivers and other passersby began giving money to Daw Aye Yin to bless their rides. But later the golden banyan tree fell down; the blessings moved to another place nearby, with a wooden shrine, but after a fire the shrine itself burned down.

That was in 1953: Soon after the fire, that area of Pyay Road was being paved for the first time, and the official in charge of the work crew gave Daw Aye Yin permission to set up a new shrine in the present location. It’s remained there ever since – though the current occupants still need to pay tax on the property, and there have been disputes over ownership in the past.

Another shrine – Pyin Ma Pin Bo Bo Gyi – was also set up around 1953, closer to the original tree’s location. But drivers don’t go there as often. It has one Bo Bo

Gyi instead of five – the other four at Shwenyaungbin were given by donors – but it does feature a statue of a man riding a white horse and holding a sword – Myin Phyu Shin, one of Myanmar’s 37 major nats.

The blesser at this shrine said, “I have this statue because I have strong faith in Myin Phyu Shin.”

Taxi driver U Soe Naing said that even though he’s been driving a cab for more than two years, he doesn’t make a habit of visiting either of the Bo Bo Gyi shrines. But some car owners bless new cars immediately after purchasing them – the government’s car replacement policy means more visitors are arriving now than ever – while others only go once a year. Some just stop in at one or both of the shrines whenever they happen to be driving by.

Daw Than Than, wife of U Mya Aye, said the car owners who come to Shwenyaungbin for blessings have strong faith in Bo Bo Gyi. Some are even afraid of him, she said, and think that if they don’t stop in for a blessing they will face evil things on the road ahead.

“I feel unsafe until I have the blessing,” said U Tin Maung Thein, who has been coming to the shrine for more than 20 years. “I don’t care about the cost of the blessing. It is just a small amount for me.”

Another car owner, U Khine Htet Aung, said, “If we buy a new car, we just go for a blessing because we can’t know if the car we bought was possessed by an evil spirit if it was in an accident. So if we have the car blessed the evil things will leave, because we are under the shadow of Bo Bo Gyi.”

For nearly 80 years, drivers have been pulling over at a shrine in north Yangon to have their vehicles blessed

Photo: Boothee

Photo: Wade Guyitt

At the time this lack of loving-kindness didn’t

concern me: My bike was more or less unscathed, so I picked myself up, remounted and started chasing the swerving

psychopath who had run me down.