November the 14th found me packing my bags for the next stage of my journey. Xian waited. Here I hoped to see the fabled terracotta army: silent witnesses to the past. In the waiting room at Chengdu railway station I was joined by an Irish girl named Carmel. We had a good gossip. She had travelled extensively throughout Asia and was looking for love. She wants, she said, an interesting, well read man.
"God," I said, "Don't ask for too much will you? Don't you know most men twitter on about their cars and their CD players?"
"Really!" said Carmel, " Do you find that too? How smug they are?"
We began to laugh helplessly at these hapless and boring men who neither travel nor read. Our merriment was short lived. One of this sex had decided to cancel Carmel's train and she erupted into an Irish rage. In a seething fury she starts to hurl her rucksack around in a fine passion.
"No," she said, "NO! It took three days to get this ticket. I must get out of Chengdu TONIGHT".
Watching, I was not sure this wrath is the best way to deal with the Chinese. This was confirmed when, after she has flounced out, the 'helpful' man who has been trying to translate for her does a wicked imitation of her behind her back. The guards all laugh: face saved.
But I was about to hit my own troubles. My train to Xian was called and so I trotted trustingly down the platform to the train. It was very dark and the platform was full of army conscripts.
I found my carriage and the guard. "Xian?" I said, more as a matter of form as I began to climb on board. "No way!" he replied in Chinese. I had heard my friends say this too many times to street traders outrageous prices not to recognise it.
I walked the length of the platform trying to work this out. I had the right train, the right ticket, so why the bloody hell wasn't it going to Xian.
"Hello, hello," said the soldiers like so many parrots. Even in England I loathe train stations late at night and I became increasingly more defensive as I tried to make sense of the situation. I arrived back at the original carriage and confronted the guard.
"Xian," I insisted.
"No way," he replied. Even though he agreed my ticket was for Xian and this is the Xian train. I was completely baffled. The guard gave me the information that the train is going to Beijing and I began to conclude that I ought to take this train anyway since I am need to reach that city to leave China. But I still paused in front of the guard unable to make any sense...
"Miss, Excuse me," a voice at my shoulder made me turn. A man stood by me.
"This train was going to Xian but there has been an accident, maybe a tunnel has collapsed and all the trains are going directly to Beijing."
My confusion melted with relief and as the guard agreed to take me to Peking - for a fee. I decided to go. I knew to remain in Chengdu was dubious. It had taken Carmel days to get a ticket and I sensed that the Chinese Travel Service had known of this problem for some time which is why they had been so obstructive when I had tried to collect my ticket from them in Chengdu and had booked me onto the through train without explanation. I climbed aboard. It was by now past ten in the evening and I had been waiting for three hours in the waiting room. I was tired and rattled.
The English speaker followed me into the carriage. I felt my hackles rise. He sat opposite me.
"You are alone?" he asked.
My defences began to go into an alert situation. I am travelling to friends I explained - not quite truthfully.
"It's very dangerous to travel alone," said the stranger. "You have to be careful with your bags and you are a girl. It is very bad."
I began to think I was in a carriage with a wolf. It is not a difficult ploy to conjure up dangers from which they pretend to rescue you. I told him I had felt very safe in China. He was not impressed. It transpired he came from Taiwan which caused me some sudden panic. In my tiredness I temporarily confused Bangkok as the capital city. How then, could he view women alone? He stood up switched off the light and shut the door.
"Shit!" I thought.
"What's the problem with the light?" I asked.
He explained the fluorescent bulb was not working correctly and was irritating him. I rapidly checked the side lights above the bunks. They were not working either.
"Let me try", I said and tried a different combination of switches. Thank God. They worked - light with no flicker.
"Do you want the bottom bunk ?" asked the stranger.
No I did not!
a: I had seen enough prison sit-coms to insist on the top bunk
b: It would be a much better position to repel borders.
I climbed to the bed and review my defences. One book, 'The Crystal and the way of light' by Norbu might prove a useful blunt instrument along with a perfume spray.
At least, I comforted myself, in China you are never alone. These should give me enough time to scream the place down and raise hell.
To my relief, however, at the next station two Chinese joined us. I began to doze, fully clothed on the bunk. In the night I was woken by the sensation of somebody stroking my hair.
I woke instantly to find a figure looming over me.
"No, No" I said, "What are you doing?" To my relief the figure backed off rapidly. It was the Chinese from the opposite bunk.
Part of my brain seethed with exasperation. 'What are you doing?' What kind of question was that? No wonder women got raped if they stopped to ask such stupid questions. But strangely the deep centre of my brain refused to be shaken. It was certain (though who knows why) that
a: I should be in China and
b: China was a safe place to be in at that time.
My surface consciousness rattled on but my inner sense won the day and unbelievably I slept. The next morning I saw my instinct was correct. There were two ways to get down from the bunk; the first like a horse and the second - the Chinese way, with your back to the bed , in which case you were forced to sway over the opposite bed to steady yourself.
I decided to stop being so silly and make the best of what promised to be a long journey.
The guard arrived to know if we wanted breakfast. Suddenly I realised I was ravenous. I ordered up noodles and the trimmings and was shown to the restaurant car. Delicious!.
This train was a lot cleaner than the first but the washing facilities were still not good. It was easier not to wash than paddle around in greasy pools of stagnant cold water. As for the toilets...
I decided that, faced with the choice of a dirty western loo or a dirty Chinese one, to opt for the latter. You don't actually have to make contact then.
Mr Taiwan refused point blank to allow his fellow travellers to throw their rubbish out of the window and insists they use the bin in the corridor. "It's not right" he tells me-truly enough. I had to agree. But I confess I had chucked most of the waste out of the window on the GuanZhou -Chengdu train. In a subversive way it was strangely exhilarating to throw everything out and know that you don't have to worry about it again ever. Look along any Chinese railway track and you will see a steady stream of old food trays, napkins, paper et al. It must have been an utter nuisance to the poor farmers working in the paddy fields which continue right up to the edge of the track. But on this train - I could enjoy a clear conscience.
Mr Taiwan showed me his map. The new route of the train was hundreds of miles out of the way.
"It's going to be an experience for us," he said. I told him I thought it was a sign that we have to return to China and visit Xian. He smiled agreements.
"You see, you understand this country", he said.
We began to discuss the history of Taiwan and British economies and history. We are both struck by China's remoteness throughout history. How little she ever wanted to play a part on the world stage and, with a country three times the size of Europe and vast potential both with people and resources, she continued to wish the world away and continue untouched with her own pattern.
"She is like a sleeping giant" said Mr Taiwan.
"Maybe she is stirring now" I replied, thinking of all western type goodies which could be found in the shops in Chengdu.
"Or maybe she is just turning over in her sleep" Mr Taiwan was sceptical.
Whatever the truth, Mr Taiwan was taking advantage of the more relaxed policy of the moment and was travelling in search of new Chinese medicines to sell in Taiwan and Japan. Some of our conversation he related to the two travellers sharing the carriage with us. They transpired to be salesmen - also enjoying the new economic climate. They sprung into action and displayed little carved figures in ivory. "No, not ivory," says Mr Taiwan, "a good copy.".
The two Chinese are trying to promote interest in the West. When they learn I work for a chemical company they were very interested. They cannot believe their luck.
Mr Taiwan translated, "Mr Lee is a very good contact. He has many contacts in Mongolia."
They have an animated conversation. They had tried to sell to Russia but the infrastructure was completely broken down. An experience echoed in the West I knew. Mr Lee is very keen to arrange a business trip to Mongolia. He would take us hunting and fishing, which sounded brilliant. I made a mental note that should any orders arise from this meeting, I will demand to be taken with what ever salesman is sent.
When the three salesmen dozed or left for a meal I was free to study the passing countryside. How can I convey its beauty to you?
Even in cold November the earth glows red, yellow and gold. No traffic and no cars. Water oxen graze in the fields or pull great wagons of hay through a landscape which might have been painted by Constable. I could, in fact, be looking at Europe before the industrial revolution. Everything is done by hand. Buckets are carried on yokes, cement mixed on the ground, long twig brooms sweep the pavements. Cottages the colour of the earth nestle beneath the trees or are walled around to define the hamlet. Villages sit squarely in the centre of fields which look as if they are being farmed in the medieval strip fashion. Every plant is tended by hand.
Once, when we were walking in the countryside around Chengdu, my friend and I heard a strange sobbing sound and, hurrying to the spot, found a pig held firmly down by some farmers. It was a handsome pig, furry, black and grey. very gently the farmers rolled the pig into a sling and lifted the poles onto their shoulders. The pig opened its eyes and saw us standing there. How it moaned and pleaded for the help it needed. It needed only the ability to cry to make it human. I was so glad I had given up pork. These animals are too intelligent and know their fate.
I saw a water ox run across its field. How ungainly it was and how like a prehistoric painting where the animals are shown running with curved backs and head thrown up with legs thrust out at all angles.
The mountains began to rise up around the train. They are not the great sulking hulks of Welsh mountains nor the stately and solid range of the Alps. These mountains looked as if they are made of translucent porcelain. the light seemed to shine through them. As the train twisted amongst them, I saw this was partly caused by the thinness of the ranges which are almost two dimensional. The mist rises above them as if they were softly back lit for a stage setting. It was easy to believe they were the home of dragons.
The rock was quite soft and eroded. In the foothills and in the mountains I saw little doors and hollows. I was told, that about forty years ago, the very poor lived in these caves. But actually some are still inhabited I noticed, with washing hung out to dry. Some have walled gardens and carved decorations around the door. There were even tiny windows to hint of several storeys inside. I wanted to stop the train and dive in. In one valley there seemed to be an entire village carved from the hills. Children played in the yellow dust outside the doors.
Occasionally and tantalisingly I saw beautiful black and red steam engines smoke their way across the landscape, but they were moving too fast for my camera to focus on them. But, I hope, caught and fixed forever in my memory.
As the train neared towns we began to pass little industrial complexes and some old warehouses. Single storey brick buildings with broken panes, scrubby tufts of grass protruding from the brickwork, lined the track. Tall chimneys belched smoke into the atmosphere and around their feet I noticed living accommodation.
Rivers ran with great stretches of water-dyed vibrant greens and yellows - a direct result of the factories which squatted along the banks. What is the industry? I wondered. Like the river, the air was yellow. Piping ran around some of these industrial complexes in a completely Heath Robinson fashion. A lot of the people, I noticed, were wearing little face masks as they cycled through their environment. Small children played in the waste tips. More and more I felt reminded of the Victorian etchings of Industrial towns: man as slave to his machine.
Just as I was thinking this, standing swaying to the movement of the train, I heard the familiar, "Hello, how are you?"
I turned and expected to see another Chinese repeating his schoolboy English. I only have to smile and say "Hello" in return for him to go pink, giggle and run away.
This one, however, did not. He stood before me in an ill fitting fawn nylon sweater and blue trousers. For some reason I took an instant dislike to him. "I teach applied maths and physics in Beijing," he informed me.
" Hmmm," I thought. When I told him I was not a student, he asked avariciously, "How much are you earning?"
"Not enough," squeaked a little voice in my head which I stamped on immediately and stared at him in disbelief.
"You want to know how much I earn?" I was both incredulous and angry.
"Yes," he said smiling away.
"That's private," I said and turned away to look out of the window.
For the first time in China I had been deliberately rude. Although I know, even in England, this question is now more common than before, I still find it an incredible trespass into privacy. And, should I tell this man my salary, it would have no relevance to him than if he lived in the moon. He would not understand the house pricing, the car prices which causes such wages. It would confirm the - to him- astronomical sums which westerners earn without conveying any of the day to day slog of keeping mortgage, home and soul together. I looked out onto the silent landscape, fuming.
After a few moments I turned to find him still beside me. He seemed embarrassed. I relented. After all he wasn't to know. And perhaps other travellers happily disclosed such matters. I introduced him to Mr Taiwan and they chatted away amicably enough.
To my surprise I learnt, via Mr Taiwan, that the teacher's burning desire was to open a bread shop, supply the newly opened MacDonalds with an everlasting supply of rolls for their burgers and thus make his fortune.
From my astonishment at the idea of the Big Mac in Beijing the conversation turns to the radical experiment with the economy and the opening up to Western ideas. Suddenly Mr Taiwan turned to me and said, "You know, this man does not want democracy. He thinks it will cause many many problems for the people".
I assumed the man meant that many people would fall through the net should capitalism and individualism win the day . There would be a sharp rise in unemployment for example and the vulnerable in society would have to face a radical new order which would not necessarily protect them. But no. Mr Taiwan continued, "Democracy will lead to protests, like the accident in Tiannamen Square."
The train pulled into Beijing at 1:30 in the morning and Mr Taiwan- who turned out to be a saint - saw me safely to my hotel before finding his own.
to be continued... Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Author: Sarah Keen Date: June 18, 2008 |