Seat of Our Pants

“Martin! Get your backpack on, I think we have to make a run for it.”

We’d arrived at the train station ten minutes earlier. After a leisurely stroll to find a good place to put our bags down we’d played our usual game of rock-paper-scissors to see who bought the tickets. I’d lost and had sauntered over to the ticket booth and patiently waited for a throng of pushing locals to get their tickets. When no one else was left I’d asked the ticket agent if they sold tickets to Mandalay.

“PASSPORT!” was his reply. A train bell began to ring in the distance. I handed over our passports.

“Um, do you have any tickets in upper-class sleepers – you know, sleeping cabins?” I’d lost him, I could tell. He understood very little English – but what did I expect? We were in the middle-of-nowhere Myanmar.

“FIRST CLASS TICKET,” he said while filling out our tickets as fast as his pudgy hand could go. The man seemed a bit on edge, but the urgency of the matter hadn’t registered with me yet.

“OK, first class sounds pretty good. Which train is it?”

“That train,” his associate pointed to a train that was pulling away from the station.

This was when I yelled my instructions to Martin. After a quick exchange of money, the station manager was running full tilt toward the front of the train, waving his arms and screaming “Touris. Touris. Touris!” The ticket man, who had our ticket and passports in hand, grabbed me and started running in the same direction.

Who was left in the dust of all this confusion: Martin with all of our backpacks (we counted last night in a fit of laughter – they weigh 115 lbs in total). In a move driven by pure desperation, he picked them all up and started to run – well, I’m not sure it qualified as running, per se – after his yelling wife.

“Come on, Martin! We can’t miss this train.” I yelled over my shoulder while running as fast as I could.

Fortunately for us, the “Touris. Touris” yell worked. The train had stopped to allow the two tourists – one bright-eyed and laughing, the other sweaty and so out of breath it took 10 mintues to crack a smile – to board their 1st class car.

Unfortunately, this scene was witnessed by no less than 500 locals – all, and I mean all, of whom were laughing their asses off. That, and our 1st class seats turned out to be wood-backed benches.

It’s pretty safe to say that Martin will be buying train tickets from now on.

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