The U Bien Bridge Ride

In Myanmar it’s illegal to rent a motorbike for foreigners, and for good reason.
It was only two weeks ago that my Chiang Mai motorcycle adventure landed me in a Thai hospital with seven stitches. But that’s a survival story for another time.
So far in Myanmar I’ve relied on my legs and the bus in Hpa-an, taxis in Yangon, and an e-bike in Bagan. But after a taxi trip in Mandalay the only solo option was a push bike.
As budding photographers, Burak and I ventured out on our bikes to take photos of the U Bein Bridge.
But this seemingly safe, scenic, and leisurely ride around Mandalay quickly turned into an adrenaline filled fight for my life.
This beguiled bike ride was not going to be as safe as it sounded. In fact, compared to the bicycle, the motorbike looked like a walk in the park.
The way to the bridge was only a taste of what was to come.
The sun was beaming down. Traffic revving up dust. The roads broken up, rocks flying at my face, and choking on black exhaust, I followed Burak. Anticipating his every move. Navigating turns, crossing intersections (nine times out of ten) without traffic lights. The adrenaline kicked in, and I’m having a great time despite three near misses.
“Not bad for 40 minute ride!” I said with spurious enthusiasm.
We made it onto the U Bien Bridge (the longest wooden bridge in the world), the sun was out and we were exploring. Watching the boats and the lovely local couples explore this romantic view, but it was packed.

In minutes it all changed — people dissipating, dark clouds forming and it started to spit. Now the bridge was completely empty. And in our naivety Burak and I were ecstatic!

“This will make for great photos!” he said.
“This is great! There is like no one here, this never happens!”
So we kept making our way along the bridge. But then came the rains and a torrential down pour with powerful winds that rapidly worsened.


We stood there stuck in the middle of the bridge.
Hours passed as we watched the sun go down, and the many brave souls attempt to escape the bridge during the storm.
On the bright side though, it made for some great photos, and once it calmed down enough we made our way off.

Then we remembered the bikes…

We told our new Burmese friend how we were getting home, and he face palmed! The universal sign for, ‘you idiots!’ Which is exactly what we wanted to see from a local. Followed by, “this is dangerous,” exactly what we wanted to hear from a local.
So with our confidence crushed, we laughed it off and make our way on the pitch black roads.

To begin with, little traffic gave me a false sense of security. Then startled into reality by a vicious dog mauling a small mutt right beside my bike made me speed up, now sitting right behind Burak.
Traffic drastically increased. Two lanes both ways, the rain was pouring and the road momentarily lit up by lighting. It was wonderful and yet simultaneously scary as hell.
“NEXT LEFT!” Barak yelled.
I turned my head to the left behind me to check traffic and a massive truck blew right past my face. My heart skipped a beat and then pounded 4x faster — way too close!
We slowed to a stop before the turn, looking at the traffic.
“How the fuck are we going to cross four lanes of traffic?” I thought.
Whilst contemplating the traffic and my imminent death, the wind blew my soaking wet hair into my face obstructing my view. At this point, I felt like crossing the road blind wouldn’t make much of a difference to my survival odds, though naturally, I brushed it back. But as I did I felt this massive lump on my head.
“What the?”
I brushed over it again, but no movement. Then I hit it, but nothing. Then came my sub-sequential freakout…
“AHHHHH! BURAK! WHAT THE HECK IS ON MY HEAD?”
His eyes widened — “HOLY SHIT!”
WHACK! He hit me across the head.
“Sorry, it’s really big!”
“Ahhh!” I let out a harrowing cry.
WHACK!
“Okay, it’s gone.”
Because this ride is clearly not exciting enough… Turns out a massive beetle fell on my head and had gone unnoticed because of the heavy downpour.
After that, we braved it across, and with a stroke of luck, we made it.
In Myanmar, there are no road rules, and next to no traffic lights, with a few saved for main intersections. The only rule is to beep loud and to beep often. One beep is to say, ‘Hey, I’m here!’ Two beeps are ‘I’m coming, keep clear’ the rest I don’t know. But what I did know is our bike bells were useless. All we had was a rusty bell that barely rang loud enough for us to hear. And to top it all off, it’s pitch black, we have no lights on our bikes, it’s bucketing down with rain, the roads are so broken up, I can’t feel my butt, and we’ve got a forty-minute ride to the hostel!
I knew we’d be lucky to make it back alive.
After 20 minutes of mostly straight roads, we hit many intersections. I approached each one with a fluttering heart and a prayer. I’m not religious, but that day I believed in something greater. Well at least I was talking to someone other than myself. With each intersection we survived, I literally looked up and said, “thank you.”
I also felt lucky to be shielded by Burak. Every time he hit a pothole I could avoid it. Every time he came to a head with a motorcycle, I could stop. And every time he braved it across an intersection, for better or for worse, he gave me the courage to do the same.
The oncoming motorbikes could only see us when we were right in front of them so it wasn’t easy. The rains got crazier as we reached the more lit up streets, but there were people on the road. One man I passed was juggling a soccer ball on the road right next to me and I almost took out his leg! In the poorly lit road, another guy right by his stall didn’t see me and spat red tobacco (common in Myanmar) right onto my previously white and very wet pants.
By this point, I’m laughing at this entire turn of events. And I’d been comically narrating the trip for the past 15 minutes in my head, pretending it was a movie I was watching, with the hope for a happy ending.
And no, not the Thailand type…
With all the near misses I started to feel invincible. Until…
We reached the biggest intersection I’d seen so far. A major road I’d equate to a highway — very wide with four lanes to cross and heavy traffic. I looked both ways and was sure if I tried, this was where I would die.
I pulled up beside Burak.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Happy to be alive.”
“Haha yeah, me too…”
“Anyway, we can avoid this road?”
“No. But I can see traffic lights a way down so hopefully, there will be a gap.”
With the thought of crossing my eyes were screaming. Burak took the first move disrupting the traffic, and only made it halfway (with no island) — fucking terrifying! The cars were moving so fast, I worried he’d be taken out. Some cars screeched to a halt. Eek!
He made it.
I saw a break. “It’s now or never,” I thought. Though I knew no one stuck to the same speed, there was no way of telling if they’d speed up into me at a moments notice.
Cycling as fast as I can on this 100-year-old piece of scrap metal attached to some rubber on the road I had complete confidence I could out ride this oncoming traffic.
I could see a car ripping up the road towards me. I almost closed my eyes, peddling faster, and turning to the farthest right side of the road. The car blew right past me. I made it! I felt somewhat elated.
“Only 5 minutes to go!” Burak exclaimed.
“Thank Fuck”, I thought.
Right off the main street we reached some flooding. I almost lost traction and turned onto the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic — yay me! Some swerving took place as I made my way across, and as we turned right into our final side street. I stepped off my bike with my heart pounding. Going from peak alertness to relief, to sheer exhaustion in a mere moment.
“We made it!” I said wearily.
Bruised bums, soaking wet, and splashed with red spit, but we made it.
And with sheer gratitude, I looked up for a final thank you.
