Eight Days

Step 1- Leaving the Land of the Vikings

It took me eight days to get from Verdal, in the centre of Norway, to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi.

We’d tried to get new visas for China in Norway, but the first time we phoned the embassy in Oslo, nobody answered. The second time, the guy who answered said, “I don’t know, I’m on holiday here.” Brilliant. So we decided to book tickets to Hong Kong, get our visas there, then figure out the rest.

The night before we left I stayed up the whole night, thinking that if I slept I wouldn’t wake up in time. And besides, I could always sleep on the planes. SIR drove me up the hill where we picked up BV and K, then we drove down to Trondheim airport, at some place called Vaernes, I believe, which, strange as it may sound, is just north of Hell. But Hell is another story.

BV insisted on getting a cup of coffee. Coffee wouldn’t be served on the flight to Oslo, he insisted, ‘cos the airline in question (whose name I’ve since forgotten) was a piece of crap. And because this airline didn’t cooperate with SAS, the first thing we’d have to do in Oslo is make sure our baggage was checked through on to the flight to Copenhagen. Because we were in Norway and everybody was desperate for a coffee they swore would not be served on the flight, it took him a long time to get his precious caffeine fix, and we were the last on the flight.

And then just after take off the stewardess came around serving coffee.

We landed in Oslo and ran around like headless chickens trying to find where we could make sure our luggage had been checked through onto the SAS flight to Copenhagen, because, as BV insisted, those two airlines didn’t cooperate.

Eventually we found the right desk and discovered the airlines did at least cooperate enough to take luggage from one flight and put it on the other.

Copenhagen transit lounge for four hours. It’s huge, and there’s stacks of shops and stuff, but at the time there was no internet. Pretty soon it got kinda boring. Actually, that’s about all I remember of Copenhagen airport. Next up was the 11 or 12 hour flight to Bangkok.

Step 2- Zipping through the Fragrant Harbour

We’d spent six hours in transit in Bangkok on the way to Norway and I wasn’t looking forward to our four hour stopover on this trip. The transit lounge had been a dingy little dump with only a bare minimum of facilities. But, somehow on that first stopover I’d managed to completely mess up the money conversion and wound up with more Thai baht than I’d ever need. So much so that even after having spent a fair bit of it on that first stopover and then given SIR a wad of baht as a joking contribution to petrol costs when he picked us up from Stockholm airport, I still had more than I would need on this four hour stopover.

So in Bangkok I bought a few books and that was enough for me. I still had a bit of baht left over, and BV and K were wanting to stock up on booze and foreign (non-Chinese) cigarettes, so I swapped them Norwegian kroner (knowing I could change it easily in Hong Kong) for the rest of my baht. They bought their stuff, we still had a couple of hours to wait, and we still had a bit of baht left. I really did mess up that money changing thing on the first stopover in Bangkok. As it turned out, we had just enough baht for two cups of coffee. So we bought two cups of coffee and the three of us sat down to drink: Take a sip from one cup, pass it to the next. The second cup is passed to you, take a sip, pass it on. We must have seemed the cheapest, most miserable trio of backpackers to have ever found ourselves in an airport transit lounge.

It was only three or four hours, if I remember rightly, from Bangkok to Hong Kong, and we arrived about midday on Day Two of the trip. I scribbled “Chungking Mansions, 30 Nathan Road, Tsimshatsui” in the ‘address in Hong Kong’ space, got through customs (even though that address isn’t actually correct, even, but it always works) and got on the bus. Bus A31, I believe, is the one that runs from the airport pretty much the full length of Nathan Road down to the Tsimshatsui ferry terminal.

Well, made a bit of a mess of finding accommodation, getting off the bus too early, then going to the wrong places looking for cheap accommodation outside Chungking Mansions. But we wound up with a place in Chungking Mansions, the three of us sharing one room thanks to our fairly tight budgets. Then we realised we had just enough time to sprint over to the visa office and hand in our applications, which would mean we could leave Hong Kong the next day. So we did.

We jumped on the MTR to Wanchai (I have since discovered that the ferry is just as quick, more convenient, and a fraction of the price). Then we got lost and wound up wandering through a million buildings we shouldn’t have been wandering through until we eventually found our way to the visa office. Fortunately it was late enough for the visa office to be almost empty, but early enough for us to hand in our applications. We quickly filled in our forms and handed them over with our documents and money (you had to pay in advance back then), took our receipts and went our way.

We got some dinner, went back to our room, and crashed. And so ended Day Two. Day Three dawned and we decided BV would go and collect our passports with, hopefully, our visas in them while K and I packed up our stuff and carted it downstairs to wait for him. Sometime just after midday BV came back. A quick check: Yes, we can all go to China, then we carted all our stuff down into the MTR to take the train round to Kowloon Tong (the KCR now runs all the way to Tsimshatsui, but didn't back then). We transferred to the KCR and rode out to Lo Wu, then carted our stuff through the border crossing and up to Shenzhen Railway Station.

Step 3- Into the Mainland, and the beginnings of Train Ticket Hell

Crossing the border was strange, after Scandinavia. Scandinavia has had open borders since nineteen fifty something very early. So far as I know, there is no record of me ever having entered, stayed in, or left Norway. We flew into Stockholm then drove north up past Ostersund, across the mountains and down into Verdal. I remember the border clearly: A sign spotted with rust and a barrier arm that looked rusted into the ‘up’ position, the sign saying “Riksgrense Sverige” (The Swedish Border, roughly) followed by, 10 metres down the road, a sign, equally spotted with rust, but minus a barrier arm, saying “Riksgrens Norge” (The Norwegian Border, equally roughly. And I can’t vouch for my Norwegian or Swedish spelling). No customs, no immigration, no checkpoint, nothing but the road, the forest around us, two signs and a barrier arm. The flight from Oslo to Stockholm was equally devoid of passport checks, customs, or other such officialdom. Getting from Hong Kong to Shenzhen, both part of the People’s Republic of China, involved all the immigration and customs checks you expect of an international border followed by a bridge over a muddy stream whose banks were lined with fences and fortifications and barbed wire and security cameras and probably more than a few armed guards, followed by immigration and customs checks like an international border again. But never mind, after the usual standing in queues and getting stamps in passports we got through, back in the Mainland.

So we got to the railway station, sat on our stuff, and discussed what we should do next. Lunch was top of the list of priorities, so we dragged our luggage down to McDonalds. Then BV and K decided they’d try and get a flight to Guiyang, their destination, while I went back to the railway station looking for trains heading in a northerly direction.

I had consulted the map in the Lonely Planet (but only the map, knowing how much the rest could be trusted and for what) and figured out where the major junctions that would be useful to me were and what my plan of action would be in the highly likely event I had trouble getting tickets. Step 1: Train to Guangzhou. Simple, easy. I arrived in Guangzhou slightly over an hour after I bought the ticket. The first thing I did there was find the ticket office and ask if there was anything going towards Taiyuan. Not for another five days. I can’t afford to wait that long, so I ask for a train to Guilin. Tomorrow, she says. Fine, I say. And as it turns out, there’s a hotel in the station where I crashed for the night.

Next day I left the hotel and, still within the station, found a restaurant to serve me brunch. Nicely fed, I went off looking for a left-luggage office where I could ditch my stuff for the day lest my shoulders crumble under the weight of all my worldly goods and treasures. I found the office, but when they saw my train ticket they refused to take my stuff. They saw the look of confusion on my face and told me, “This is the East Station, you’re train is from the main station. You can’t leave your stuff here you have to go to the main station.” So I thanked them profusely and walked off to find a taxi.
“Huochezhan,” I said.
“Huh?” the driver said.
“Huochezhan. Guangzhouzhan.”
“Huh?”
This goes on for five minutes at least, me getting more and more flustered. Then a light goes on somewhere behind the taxi driver’s eyes.
“Fuotsedzan ah?” he asks.
“Huh?” I say.
“Fuotsedzan ah?”
I think, that sounds kinda like Changshahua. So I say, “Yes!” and nod vigorously.
So off we go, with the driver, for the whole length of the trip, periodically pointing at street signs and asking: “Fuotsedzan ah?” and me replying: “Yes!” and nodding vigorously. Then we arrive at the station, he points at it and says: “Fuotsedzan ah?”, and I reply “Yes! Thank you!” pay my money, get my stuff, and escape.

Step 4- Getting somewhere, at least

It was about midday. My train left at about 5 or 6 in the evening. I spent the first couple of hours sitting on my luggage in the station forecourt with several thousand peasants. Then I decided I didn’t want to get rained on anymore, so I went inside. I got chased away from my first sitting and waiting on the floor spot by some woman who seemed to need a megaphone even when she was standing right next to her targets. So I found the gate my train would be loaded from and claimed an empty patch of floor. Then I was found by the last dinosaur who refuses to accept that a foreigner could travel by anything other than soft sleep and she led me off to the soft sleep waiting room. When I realised where she was taking me and that I had no right to be there, having only a hard seat ticket, I just disappeared and claimed a new patch of spare floor to wait. But she found me again and tried the same thing. So I ignored her a second time.

Then I got talking to some poor soul from Xinjiang who had four days on a train to look forward to. Damn. I only had 12 or 13 hours to worry about till Guilin.

So the time came to board the train. I wrestled my way on, found my seat, kicked the usual idiot out of my seat and settled in for the night. Sometime into the night I played the usual dumb whitey game and asked my neighbours for help finding Guilin. It’s a useful tactic if you’re in hard seat and aren’t sure of the journey. But as it turned out, the usual traveller’s instinct kicked in and I recognised Guilin anyway.

So I arrived in Guilin and the first thing I did was go to the ticket office and ask for a ticket to Taiyuan. On the way I was accosted by the usual suspect. Some guy keen to practice his English and help dumb whitey. What the hell, I decided to play along ‘cos he might turn out to be useful, even though I knew he was going to get some money out of me somehow along the way (Guilin Railway Station has always been like that). He said he’d help me get a ticket, and after convincing him I wanted to go to Taiyuan, not Taiwan, and that’s the capital of Shanxi Province, just so you know for sure where I’m trying to get to, no not Shaanxi Xi’an, Shanxi Shandong. Yes, that Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi. I know everyone says it's a dump with nothing but coal and pollution and it’s freezing cold in winter, no I’m not staying in Guilin any longer than necessary, although I appreciate your offer of help finding a job at your friend’s school. No really, all I want is a ticket to Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi, yes Shandong Shanxi, yes that Taiyuan, a hard sleep ticket if possible. Yes, really. No tickets. Alright, what about Zhengzhou? Yes, hard sleep. Two nights from now? Sweet. And now that you mention it, yes, I would like to go to Yangshuo, I have friends out there and now I have two spare days. You know a hotel? How much? Sixty kuai per night is fine. And you’ll get me on the bus for local price? Really? Cool.

And so he got me a ticket to Zhengzhou leaving at four in the morning two nights later and a bus ride to Yangshuo for only five kuai, including my luggage, just what the locals pay, with a promise I’d be met by his friends at the bus station.

But as it turns out the bus driver and conductor were not too happy about me paying only five kuai like a local. They tried to dump me somewhere just outside of Yangshuo, on the other side of the mountain the highway curves around to enter Yangshuo. No, you can’t cheat me, I’ve been here twice before, I know where I am, I’m not getting off the bus, so close the door and drive. I won. We arrived at the bus stop, and as soon as the door opened a voice is calling out “Chris! Are you Chris?”
“Yes.”
“We’re from the Mayflower Hotel.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”

So I crashed, washed up, got myself human again, and wandered off to look for my friends.

Step 5- Getting closer... slowly

Disaster. There had been some fairly big changes in the cafe scene of West Street since I was there last. Or at least, in that section of West Street I was interested in. The Blue Lotus had changed hands. The cafe itself hadn’t changed, the decor was identical, but the spirit had died, the warmth had gone out of the place. The people who had worked there had scattered around West Street finding work in new places. But I found most of them and relaxed and had a good time. I also bumped into some young Englishman who I’d met in Yangshuo a couple of times before. As it turns out, he was getting the same train as me, but going all the way to Beijing. So we arranged to catch the bus back into Guilin together the next evening.

My stay in Yangshuo was the usual hanging out in West Street cafes, avoiding souvenir sellers, beggars, and “tour guides”, drinking coffee and beer (not necessarily together) and generally relaxing, getting some relief from the aches and pains of travelling. Just before seven the next evening I arrived at the bus station to meet this Englishman, and we got on the last bus back to Guilin, bargaining the price down to as low as we could. We got to the station, dodged the usual “Hello! Hello! Yangshuo! Yangshuo!” hustler trouble, found the left luggage office and dumped our stuff, then found a restaurant just outside the station to spend the evening. The guy who’d helped me get my ticket to Zhengzhou showed up for one last attempt to convince me to work at his friend’s school in Guilin instead of going to the frozen, polluted wastes of the north. He failed, again. About three we got our luggage and went to the waiting room.

The train was alright, I mean, I was in hard sleep, where the number of passengers is limited to the number of bunks, which adds a lot to the comfort of the journey. But I was on the top bunk, which is stifling hot, and the trip was something like 27 or 28 hours. I bumped into some characters on the train: An Israeli woman who said she was a teacher, but would say no more. A couple of Norwegians, one of whom came from the province where I’d just spent six weeks, who had been travelling through Southeast Asia. Vietnam they hated, but the other countries they’d visited they were totally in love with. The three of them, the Israeli and the two Norwegians were headed for Beijing, another twelve hours further on from Zhengzhou. Then there was a bunch of PLA recruits, soldiers in training keen to practice their English.

We passed through Changsha in the afternoon of the next day. It was funny seeing this city I had become so familiar with from the train as we rolled through. As we were waiting at the station for people to be on- and off-loaded, a bunch of cops arrested some guy. The usual story, a few extra punches and kicks thrown in, the guy dragged off by the handcuffs. No mercy. Sometime that night we crossed the Yangtze, Hubei, and most of Henan. Then early the next morning we arrived in Zhengzhou.

The same plan: Get off the train, find the ticket office, try and get a ticket to Taiyuan. But walking out of the station I tripped and fell down the last step, twisting my ankle and scattering my luggage everywhere. Instantly I was surrounded by who knows how many Chinese people who picked me up, put my luggage on me, and disappeared before I’d even realised what had happened, leaving me standing there offering a surprised, but forlorn and lonely “Thank you….” to the space which had just been occupied by an untold number of mysteriously vanishing kind helpers. Then I limped off to the ticket office.

“Taiyuan” I said.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian.” (Today) I replied.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!” this time with a little more force in my voice.
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“Jintian!!”
“Jintian mingtian?” (Today or tomorrow?) she asked.
“JINTIAN!!!”
This went on for about 15 minutes, she asking constantly whether I wanted to go to Taiyuan today or tomorrow, me constantly replying that I wanted to go today, she refusing to understand. So she went off to find an English speaker to translate. The English speaker wasn’t, and so the 15 minutes of frustration repeated itself until she ran off to find another English speaker to translate. This second English speaker was actually capable of speaking a little English and managed to sell me a ticket, hard sleeper, leaving at eight that evening for Taiyuan. Finally.

So I limped out of the ticket office and went to find a hotel that would let me rent a room for the day so that I could rest, clean myself up, and have a place to crash and stash my stuff until my train. Found one right next to the railway station. It was a bit more expensive than I would have preferred, but I was too tired to walk any further, it was clean, tidy and actually nice, which is not something I had ever been able to afford before, and it was convenient. And so I cleaned myself up, got some breakfast, and rested for the morning. But I couldn’t sleep and the hotel room got pretty boring pretty quickly.

So I consulted the Lonely Planet and got myself an idea of the layout of downtown Zhengzhou. Then off I wandered to explore. I found the Erqi Pagoda. It was nice enough, but stuck in the middle of an intersection (which I already knew, so I wasn’t surprised) and generally underwhelming. And I got the impression that Zhengzhou was really just another provincial, industrial dump. Sure, there’s lots of cool stuff in the vicinity, especially for history and archaeology buffs, but the city itself struck me as being the definition of bland. Not that a few hours wandering around after so much time on the road never properly rested is enough to get a feel for a city, but that’s the impression I left with.

Step 6- Arrival, a bit of a shock, really

The next morning I woke up bright and early, as I always do when I’m travelling. I looked out of the train window and was surprised by the flatness of the landscape. Weren’t we only a couple of hours out of Taiyuan? Wasn’t Shanxi supposed to be all mountains? What’s going on? Well, sure enough, I was on the right train and we arrived in Taiyuan. I just hadn’t realised how wide the Fen River Valley was. But apart from the flatness, the rest of the landscape was as I expected: Poor, dirty, industrial in a rundown, underdeveloped way when settlements presented themselves. A kind of khaki green brown grey colour pervading everything below, a dull blue grey for sky.

I got off the train, walked out of the station, found a payphone, and dialled the only number I had for my school. A fax machine answered. So I jumped in a miandi taxi and showed the driver the address.
“30 kuai” she said.
“Alright” I said. I mean, I had an idea of where I needed to go judging by the maps I’d seen, but I had no idea of the actual distance, there was no meter in the miandi, as there never is, and 30 seemed reasonable. So off we went.

Cruising down Yingze Dajie, what the maps I’d seen suggested was the main street, everything seemed alright. We got to a bridge about where I expected a bridge to be, but the maps had promised a river flowing under the bridge. All I could see was grass, not to healthy looking grass, at that, until about three quarters of the way across the bridge there was a tiny, pathetic little stream desperately trying to impersonate the once-mighty, powerful, famous Fen River. On the other side of the bridge the city looked a little more run down than over on Yingze Dajie, but no big deal, most of Changsha looked the same. We veered right at about where the maps I’d seen suggested we should veer right. The landscape took a definite turn for the worse, the buildings looking quite rough and rundown indeed. But still, parts of Changsha were the same, and they were ok, I told myself. We crossed a railway line and turned right, again, as the maps had suggested we would. The city had suddenly seemed to become a very poor, dirty, rundown village. The road had been replaced with a long, thin gap between the buildings that may have been paved once. Then there were cornfields. Then a bridge across a filthy little stream, the bridge being nothing more than a concrete slab just barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. Then what seemed like a village that had been cruelly turned into a Dickensian industrial hellhole that hadn’t seen any maintenance since the reign of the Emperor Qianlong, with the ‘road’ getting rougher as we progressed. Then we arrived at the gate of my school. The driver asked for directions to the Foreign Affairs Office, then deposited me outside a building whose ground floor was occupied by a restaurant. She pointed me in the direction of a non-descript looking side door and left me to it. I walked in to find myself in a construction zone, the hallways and stairways cluttered with ladders and scaffolding. Eventually I roused the attention of the people who worked there, who put me in my apartment and hurriedly cleaned the place up and put in the final touches: Microwave, TV, rice cooker, etc.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d arrive today?” they asked.
“I tried to email RYW to tell him I’d be arriving, but he never replied. Then when I got off the train I called the only phone number I had and a fax machine answered. And RYW didn’t tell me anybody else I could contact or give me any other phone number.”
“Oh. He’s in Shanghai, he’ll be there another month.”

Brilliant. But at least I’d made it, safe and sound.