A Bus in Yangon

There are many things circling in my head about the past three weeks. New sights new smells, and new experiences external and Internally.  So I begin here with the bus.
It all started one wintry day in Vancouver.  I had been visiting a friend who lived on the other side of the city from my home. We had spent the afternoon talking and eating and enjoyed each others company so much that I hadn't realized how late it was getting, but the snow that had started to fall gently earlier was now coming down and piling up on the sidewalks and street. We said our goodbye at the bus-stop for nearly 2 hours since every bus that passed by flashed their lit up sign saying "Sorry Full". When i finally got on I found a seat and sat comfortably pondering the conversations with a friend.
Several years later I am standing on a bus Around four in the afternoon in Yangon. No room to sit the and the isle is full and the smell of sweat hangs on everyone as they make their way home from work and a busy day.  I am reminded of the time the buses passed me up because they were full. I was glad to be on the bus and not passed up; I smile at the heat that is present instead of snow.  We stop and a couple people exit and 4 people get on.  We are motioned by the door keeper (a well built man with tattoos covering his arm chewing beetle nut) as he barked out in a loud voice with words I gathered meant 'scoot toward the back of the bus'. We drive on, and the next stop one person gets off and 6 get on. Further down 6 on 2 off, we start to move on but slow for the 5 boys that are running for the bus. Scoot further back we are told, but how can i when there is no where to move? Yet non the less we maneuver  around and the people at the stop are accommodated into the tight space. 4 on one off, 5 on two off, 6 on one off. We continue in this fashion turning no one a way for over an hour. "Thamine Lan So" we had told the door keeper that was our stop, when we got on. Now he hollered out those words and motioned for us to come to the door. After over an hour of accommodating people and very few exiting we could only imagine what he was meaning for us to do as we stood wedged in to the others on the bus. What followed was to me the strangest and a new sensation for me (or t least new to my memory). I now know the feeling  from the perspective of a new born, of being pushed and pulled out of the birthing canal.  No one stepped out of the way, because there was no where to go. It would be like asking an internal organ to step aside so the baby can stretch inside the womb. but each person did there part to contract like a muscle that inched us toward the open door. The whole time the door keeper like a midwife, kept motioning us forward and reaching over heads to help pull at least our arm through the crowd.(All on a moving bus might I add.)  Relatively sooner than I had anticipated we arrived at the front door. Many were smiling around us at our inexperienced achievement of this task. Monica was just a step ahead of me and as the bus came to a stop she proceeded to start to exit the bus. This evidently was not the moment for such actions for a wave went over the crowd  and though in reality it may have only been 6 men and the midwife (door keeper) Lunged after her to keep her on the bus, it certainly felt like half the bus responded to her. After a few awkward moments as we stood with them babbling to each other in Burmese and smiling at us we were then gestured with great ado that now was the time to exit. We thanked them, were waved at as the bus drove on and we laughed at the whole experience.
          A few days later we were headed into the downtown area and were enjoying that the mid morning hours provided us with a bus with plenty of room. A seat for everyone! And more for those we might pick up along the way. How pleasant I thought to myself, this is good to keep in mind as I travel to and fro in the future. I sit in the back seat observing all the interactions especially the door keeper and the money collector as they look a bit bored, but liven themselves with swapping funny stories. then wander the isle counting people. both men do this a couple times and then go up to the driver as we  are waiting at a stop light.  Suddenly they turn around and shout out something in Burmese, which causes the 20 so people on the bus to start mumbling as they grab their belongings and exit the bus.  A bit bewildered My friend and I gather ourselves as well and follow everyone off. Was the bus broken down? They hurried last of us off the bus as the light changed green and the bus sped away. Not broken. "Welcome to Burma!" Said a taller Burmese man in English. He told us there would be another bus coming that would take us where we wanted to go, and pointed to a different numbered bus a bit  down the rode. Why did we have to get off?  He smiled, "the bus was too empty." and we hoped on the the next bus--standing room only.
So my dear Vancouver, and all other public buses, I'm letting you know a fact that Asians know that is a unknown secret on snowy winter days in the west.  Bus cannot be too full, it it can be too empty.