Trains, Buses and Delays
Trip Start
Aug 01, 2009
1
24
31
Trip End
Nov 08, 2009
Huaihua, Hunan, China
Monday, October 19, 2009
Well, I guessed that's what the train station announcement meant, as the barriers were opened and the crowds surged forward, each man for himself, elbowing round anyone beside them, shoving up against anyone in front, and gaining leverage by squeezing their bags into any tiny gap. With my now way too heavy backpack (shouldn't have shopped in Beijing and Chengdu...) rendering me less than stable on my feet, I was nearly unbalanced several times. as I tried to hold my own. Not that there was any fear of me falling as wasn't enough space! I realised that most of the bodies were male and re-thought the George Clooney announcement... maybe it was that the last cigarette in China was waiting for grabs on platform two... that would certainly get them moving.
I can't understand why there is always this insane panic to board the train
The queue of traffic...
! I look at my ticket with its carriage and berth number and think, well, it doesn't really matter if I'm last on, does it? But then I discover that not all the passengers are in my situation. Although 'hard sleeper' (the equivalent of the Russsian 'platskartny') may seem basic to the average westerner, it's actually fairly luxurious compared to 'hard seat'. While the use of 'hard' as an adjective in the sleeper carriages is misleading, as berths are slightly padded and, with thin bedrolls, are perfectly comfy, in seat sections 'hard' means just that. Wooden bench seats on which are usually squeezed more people than seems feasible, and those who don't manage to get a seat number are left standing... for hours. And while in 'sleeper', the majority of passengers obey the 'no smoking' and 'no spitting' signs in the actual carriages, cramming into the connecting areas to smoke themselves to imminent death and plaster the floor with unwanted phlegm, apparently in 'seat' things are less ordered... I haven't been struck with the desire to investigate in person!So, maybe those in the apparent life-or-death rush are just trying to get themselves a perch, or at least something to lean on as they stand for hour after hour through the dark night. I forgive them for pushing!
The stations themselves are interesting, being as carefully controlled as many other areas of Chinese life: after passing their luggage through large x-ray machines, passengers move into the allotted waiting area for their particular train, separated from the stairs to the platforms by metal 'fences', waiting for an official to unlock the gate when the train is ready for boarding, and thus unleash the chaos. It's all very organised, and, though the departures board is all in Chinese characters, the train numbers are in numerals I recognise, so the only deciphering I have to do is of the waiting area numbered in Chinese script. There are reasonable loos and even a hot water boiler for access to drinking water, a feature I love and one found in trains, stations and hostels everywhere. My only difficulty is in trying to find a floor space for my bag, which isn't already home to spit, fag ends and unwanted food, dumped on the ground!
The only trouble I've had on the transport front was when I had to take a bus, from Fenghuang to Huaihua, as the former is not on a train route. As usual the cheery Chinese came to the rescue when I couldn't figure out where to catch the bus, and a man staying at the hostel donned his waterproofs and escorted me down the slippery, wet lanes to put me on the right bus. Past its prime, the seats were worn thin and pretty uncomfortable as a result, but it was only a two and a half hour drive... or at least it would have been, had there not been an accident blocking the road, which turned out to have been a collision between a bus and a car. Given the manner in which my driver was intent on overtaking every other vehicle we met, regardless of the wet conditions, the hilly, twisty roads, the blind bends and the fact that the bus was a wreck already, I was very lucky that it wasn't my bus that had come a cropper.
We joined what looked like a long line of traffic and, as we waited, I wondered at the cause. Minor hitch, I told myself, we'll be on our way soon... but when the driver turned off the engine and the passengers uttered sighs of resignation I figured we could be there a while. Half of those on board were a group of young art students, and it was the smiley one beside me who used her broken English to explain the situation. We waited... and waited... and eventually my shoulder could cope no longer with the poor seat so I stepped off, to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. I had my shewee in my pocket but every time I tried to slope off to find a spot to use it, some fool ahead would start an engine and the ripple along the line would mean that my driver was hooting his horn and waving for me to return! Eventually the students had a bit of a conflab and nominated a spokesperson to come and ask me "You are want wc..?" "Yes!!!" I replied, "I am want wc... very much!" And so, after negotiations with the driver, a group of giggling girls led me up a hill, along a squelchy mud path to a wooden farmhouse, where we stepped over the excited hens, and my escorts asked the occupant if I might use their loo. It was in the yard, in a tiny room, with a holey partition between it and the pig pen, so I could feel the breath from the pig's snuffling snout on my wobbling from as I squatted! It was too dark for me to compare it with your porkers, Stephen, but its silhouette in the dark was huge and I was glad the flimsy partition held against its pushing!
Loosened up by our toilet bonding experience, the girls rushed back to the bus to get their cameras and begin the 'I met a foreigner' photos, and before I knew it, it seemed every other driver on the road was climbing out of their cars to do the same! Still, it passed a bit of time!
Back on the bus I looked at my watch and realised we had been stuck for four hours. My world was starting to crumble, as it does when I have missed a meal, and I kept thinking of the private ensuite room I had booked in a railway hotel in Huaihua, splashing out to the tune of eight euro, in order to sleep close to the venue of my 6am departure. My first single room of the trip... with its very own bathroom... I just wanted to get there, eat, and lounge in it! I resorted to my ipod, closed my eyes and allowed Van the man to transport me to a different place as I fantasised about a plate of my mom's thick, saucy cauliflower cheese, a fat dollop of creamy mash covered in black pepper, and a big crusty baguette slathered in real butter...
Reaching Huaihua six hours late, I didn't get too much time to enjoy my room but it was good while it lasted!
