A woman was selling watermelons on the ferry with a cut watermelon over her head

Woman selling watermelons on ferry — Woman selling watermelons on the ferry

The ferry crossing the Ayeyarwady River links central Yangon with the opposite bank on a short route. Air-conditioning is, of course, out of the question. The ceiling hangs low, its steel beams painted white, and the mismatched plastic chairs crammed beneath them have been sat on so many times that their surfaces have taken on a strange, glossy sheen. Passengers sit as they please—spreading out newspapers, peeling boiled eggs from paper bags.

Threading through them are the hawkers, moving like small boats pushing upstream against the river’s current. The voyage lasts only a few dozen minutes, yet their movements are astonishingly swift, with not a single wasted step. Some have children in tow, the little hands swinging bags of sweets to catch customers’ eyes. The woman in my photograph was one of them, balancing a large tray on her head piled high with sliced watermelon.

In Myanmar, watermelons are at their sweetest between the end of the dry season and the start of the rains. Served chilled, they’re said to be unrivaled. Naturally, there’s no refrigerator aboard this ferry, but when the juice begins to drip, that too is counted as a kind of natural refreshment. On the woman’s cheeks was a light coating of thanaka, the traditional Myanmar cosmetic said to protect from the sun and bring good fortune in trade. As I searched for my wallet, I found myself thinking that this short shuttle across the river might make up the greater part of her working day—though I had no time to sink into idle sentiment. The ferry was already nearing the pier, and the current of hawkers would soon quicken, ready to greet the next boatload of passengers.

Yangon on Google Map

Comment via

日本語